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The vision passes on in icy scorn,
And seeks the blushing morn;
For bell of prayer, a funeral toll
Greets mournfully a parting soul;

The winds howl fearfully,

The despairing pleads tearfully,
But the hoarse rocks mock at his lonely moan,
The wild waters stifle his last death-groan-

The waves flow'd calm as before,
And a body lay cold on the shore.

The very winds their tributes bear

The river's course along,
Whose perfume fills the gentle air,

Half burden'd with sweet song.
And so I pass a pleasant time,

Unmindful of the strife
That mingles with the city's chime,

And speaks of human life.
The world may scoff,-Yet what care I?

Let it laugh, and still I'll tune my merry melody

To the click-clack of the mill.

Miscellaneous.

"I have here made only a nosegay of culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own, but the string that ties them."--Montaigne.

THE GRAVE.

BY GRACE.
The grave is deep and stilly,

Fear round its brink abides;
With veil all dark and chilly,

An unknown land it hides. Its silence is unbroken

By the sweet night-bird's song; Affection's flowery token

Fades on the moss erelong. There widowed brides may languish,

And wring their hands in vaiu; The orphan's cries of anguish

Pierce not that dark domain. Yet, there alone can mortals

Their rest, long wished-for, find; There lies beyond those portals,

A home for all mankind.
The heart, long rainly pressing,

Through storms to reach the shore, Finds peace, that priceless blessing,

Where it can beat no more.

VILLAGE LYRICS.

Time is like a ship which never anchors: while I am on board, I had better do those things that may profit me at my landing, than practise such as shall cause my commitment when I come ashore. Whatsoever I do, I would think what will become of it when it is done. If good, I will go on to finish it; if bad, I will either leave off where I am, or not undertake it at all. Vice, like an unthrift, sells away the inheritance, while it is but in reversion: but virtue, husbanding all things well, is a purchaser.--Feltham.

THOSE who place their affections at first on trifles for amusement, will find these trifles become at last their most serious concerns.-Goldsmith.

The passions, like heavy bodies down steep hills, once in motion, move themselves, and know no ground but the bottom.-Fuller.

These latter ages of the world have declined into a softness above the effeminacy of Asian princes, and have contracted customs which those innocent and healthful days of our ancestors knew not, whose piety was natural, whose charity was operative, whose policy was just and valiant, and whosc economy was sincere and proportionable to the disposition and requisites of nature. — Jeremy Taylor.

Taste and elegance, though they are reckoned only among the smaller and secondary morals, yet are of no mean importance in the regulation of life. A moral taste is not of force to turn vice into virtue; but it recommends virtue, with something like the blandishments of pleasure.-- Burke.

He whose heart is not excited upon the spot which a martyr has sanctified by his sufferings, or at the grave of one who has largely benefited mankind, must be more inferior to the multitude in his moral, than he can possibly be raised above them in his intellectual nature.-Southey.

Trust him little who praises all, him less who censures all, and him least who is indifferent about all.Lavater.

No. IV.-AN ANGLER'S SONG.

W. BRAILSFORD.

The light hath shot atlıwart the stream

Three mortal hours ago,
And I have left my morning dream

To wander down below;
Where trout and perch so destly glide

In the shadows of the trees,
And blossonis from the orchard side

Are floating round the bees.
The world may scoff, -Yet what care I?

Let it langhi, and still I'll tune iny merry melody

To the click-clack of the niill.
With rod and line I am a king,

My subjects all obey ;
The bullfinch plumes his dainty wins,

And sings for me to-day.
The heron, from the reedy lake,

Hath paused to note my path,
The bittern, in the sedgy brake,

Hatlı stayed his screaming wrath, The world may scoff,-- Yet what care IP

Let it laugh, -and still I'll tune my merry melody

To the click-clack of the mill.
The birds are singing madrigals

Adown cach bosky dell,
And sweetly o'er the waterfalls

“ The native wood-notes" swell. My footsteps, sure, the bee doth know,

By the bruised and shrinking thyme; He hovers o'er the way I go,

'Neath the blossom o' the lime. The world may scoff, -Yet what care I?

Let it laugh,—and still I'll tune my merry melody

To the click-clack of the mill.

N.B.--A Stamped Edition of this Periodical can be forwarded free of postage, on application to the Publisher, for the convenience of parties residing at a distance, price 28.6d. per quarter.

CONTENTS.
Page

Page The Rustic Nurse (with Il- Country Sketches, No. VI.

lustration by Weigall)..... 386 The Ruins of CaisterCastle 398 On theyPoetry and the Poets POETRY: of the Age....

386

The Lost Hope............... 399 The Maiden Aunt, No. IV.

The Grave....

400 Chap. IV..

387

Village Lyrics, No. IV.Kenilworth Castle

391 An Angler's Song.......... 400 The Little Printer 393 Miscellaneous

400

PRINTED by RICHARD Clay, of Nos, 7 and 8, Bread Street Hill, in the

Parish of St. Nicholas Olave, in the City of London, at his Printing Ofice at the same place, and published by Tuomas BOWDLER SHARPE, of No. 15, Skinner Street, in the l'arish of St. Sepulchre, in the City of London.Saturday, October 16, 1847.

London

Magazine:

A JOURNAL OF ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION

FOR GENERAL READING.

No. 104.]

OCTOBER 23, 1847.

-UNSTAMPED, 1 d.
STAMPED, 210.

A CHARADE--NOT ALL ACTING.

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FRANK FAIRLEGH;

reply. "I did it once, and never was so tired in my life

before. I suppose you mean to have speaking charades; OR, OLD COMPANIONS IN NEW SCENES.'

and there is something in the feeling that one has so many words to recollect, which obliges one to keep the

memory always on the stretch, and the attention up to CHAP. XV.

concert pitch, in a way that is far too fatiguing to be agreeable."

Well, as you please, most indolent of men; pray, Lawless's penitence, when he learned the danger in make yourself quite at home, this is Liberty Halí, isn't which Fanny had been placed by his thoughtlessness it, Lawless ?" returned Coleman, with a glance at the and impetuosity, was so deep and sincere, that it was person named, who, seated on the table, with his legs impossible to be angry with him; and even Oaklands, twisted round the back of a chair, was sacrificing who at first declared he considered his conduct unpar: etiquette to comfort with the most delightful uncondonable, was obliged to confess that, when a man had sciousness. owned his fault frankly, and told you he was really sorry

“Eh ? yes to be sure, no end of liberty," rejoined Law. for it, nothing remained but to forgive and forget it. less ; “what are you laughing at ?-my legs ? — They are And so every thing fell into its old train once more, very comfortable, I can tell you, if they're not over and the next few days passed smoothly and uneventfully. ornamental; never mind about attitude, let us get I had again received a note from Clara, in answer to one

on to business, I want to know wbat I'm to do." I had written to her. Its tenour was much the same as

" The first thing is to find out a good word," returned that of the last she had sent me. Cumberland was still Coleman. absent, and Mr. Vernon so constantly occupied that she

“What do you say to Matchlock ?" inquired I. saw very little of him. She begged me not to attempt

“You might as well have Blunderbuss while you are to visit her at present; a request in the advisability of about it," was the reply. "No, both words are dreadfully which reason so fully acquiesced, that although feeling hackneyed ; let us try and find out something original rebelled against it with the greatest obstinacy, 1 yet felt if possible.” bound to yield. Harry's strength seemned now so tho- " Eh? yes, something original, by all means; what roughly re-established, that Sir John, who was never so

do you say to Steeple-chase?" suggested Lawless. happy as when he could exercise hospitality, had invited Original, certainly,” returned Freddy ; " but there a party of friends for the ensuing week, several of whom might be difficulties in the way. For instance, how were to stay at the Hall for a few days,-amongst others, would you set about acting a steeple ?" Freddy Coleman, who was to arrive beforehand, and

“Ehnever thought of that," rejoined Lawless; “I assist in the preparations; for charades were to be really don't know, unless Oaklands would stand with a enacted, and he was reported skilful in the arrangement | fool's cap on his bead to look like one.". of these saturnalia of civilized sociсty, or, as he himself

“Much obliged, Lawless; but I'd rather be excused,” expressed it, he was “up to all the dodges connected with replied Harry, smiling. the minor domestic enigmatical melodrama." By

“I've got an idea !"exclaimed I. Harry's recoinmendation 1 despatched a letter to Mr. “No! you don't say so? you are joking,” remarked Frampton, claiming his promise of viriting me at Heath- Freddy, in a tone of affected surprise. field Cottage, urging as a reason for his now doing so,

Stay a minute," continued I, musing. ance, viz. Oaklands, Lawless, Coleman, and myself

. me," rejoined Coleman, politely: The morning after Coleman's arrival, the whole party

Yes! that will do; come here, Freddy,” added I, formed themselves into a committee of taste, to decide and, drawing him on one side, I communicated to him on the most appropriate words for the charades, select my ideas on the subject, of which, after suggesting one dresses, and, in short, make all necessary arrangements

or two improvements on my original design, he was for realizing a few of the very strong and original, but graciously pleased to approve. Of what this idea consomewbat vague ideas, which everybody appeared to sisted, the reader will be apprised in due time. Suffice have conceived on the subject.

it at present to add, that Fanny having consented to “Now, ladies and gentlemen," began Freddy, who perform the part of a bar-maid, and it being necessary had been unanimously elected chairman, stage-manager,

to provide her with a lover, Lawless volunteered for the and commander-in-chief of the whole affair, “ in the character, and supported his claim with so much persefirst place, who is willing to take a part? Let all those verance, not to say obstinacy, that Coleman, albeit he who wish for an engagement at the Thcatre Royal, considered him utterly unsuited to the part, was fain to Hleathfield, hold up their hands."

yield to his importunity. Lawless, Coleman, and I, were the first who made the For the next few days Heathfield Hall presented one required signal, and next the little white palms of l'anny continual scene of bustle and confusion. Carpenters and Lucy Markham (whom Mrs. Coleman had mado

were at work converting the library into an extempore over to my mother's custody for a few days) were added theatre. Ladies and ladies'-maids were busily occupied to the number.

in manufacturing dresses. Lawless spent whole hours “Harry, you'll act, will you not ?" asked I.

in pacing up and down the billiard-room, reciting his "Not if you can contrive to do without me,” was the part, which had been remodelled to suit him, and the

acquisition of which appeared a labour analogous to that (1) Continued from p. 860.

of Sisyphus, as, by tho time he reached the end of his

VOL. IV.

task, he had invariably forgotten the beginning. Every John. Well, if you must needs know, the party's one was in a state of the greatest eagerness and excite- name is Susan. ment about something-nobody exactly knew what; and Susan (still with an air of unconsciousness). Let me the interest Ellis took in the whole affair was wonderful sec, where is there a Susan let me think a minute. Oh ! to behold. The unnecessary number of times people ran one of Darling the blacksmith's girls, I dare say ; it's up and down stairs was inconceivable, and the pace at

Susan Darling! which they did so terrific. Sir John spent his time in John (rubbing his nose, and looking cunning). Well, walking about with a hammer and a bag of nails, one of 'tis Susan darling, certainly; yes, you're about right which he was constantly driving in and clenching there--Susan, darling. beyond all power of extraction, in some totally wrong Susan (pouting). So you're in love with that girl, place, a line of conduct which reduced the head car- are you, Mr. John? A foolish, flirting thing, that cares penter to the borders of insanity.

for nothing but dancing and finery; a nice wife for a

poor man she'll make, indeed-charming ! On the morning of the memorable day when the

John. Now don't go and fluster yourself about event was to come off, Mr. Frampton made his appear nothing, it ain't that girl as I'm in love with; I was ance in a high state of preservation, shook my mother only a-making fun of you. by both hands as warmly as if he had known her from

Susan (crossly). There, I wish you wou'dn't keep childhood, and saluted the young ladies with a hearty teasing of me so; I don't care anything about it-1 kiss, to their extreme astonishment, which a paroxysm dare say I've never seen her. of grunting (wound up by the usual soliloquy, "Just

John. Oh ! if that's all, I'll very soon show her to like me !") did not tend to diminish. A large party was

you-come along. (Takes her hand, and leads her up invited in the evening to witness our performance, and, to the looking-glass.) There's the Susan I'm in love as some of the guests began to arrive soon after nine, it with, and hope to marry some day; hasn't she got a was considered advisable that the actors and actresses pretty face? and isn't she a darling? (Susan looks should go and dress, so that they might be in readiness

at him for a minute, and then bursts into tears ; bell to appear when called upon.

rings violently, and a gruff voice calls impatiently, The entertainments began with certain tableaux- Susan! Susan'?) vivans, in which both Harry and I took a part; the

Susan. Coming, Sir, coming. (Wipes her eyes with former having been induced to do so by the assurance her apron.) that nothing would be expected of him but to stand

John. Let the old curmudgeon wait! (Voice behind still and be looked at—an occupation which even he the scenes, John!-John Ostler, I say !). Coming, Sir; could not consider very hard work: and exceedingly yes, Sir. Sir, indeed—an old brute; but now, Susan, well worth looking at he appeared when the curtain what do you say ? do you love me? and will you have drew up, and discovered him as the Leicester in Scott's me for a husband? (Takes her hand.) novel of “Kenilworth," the magnificent dress setting off

(Voice. John ! John! I say. Susan ! where are you ! his noble figure to the utmost advantage; while Fanny, and enter Mr. FRAMPTON, dressed as the Landlord, on as Amy Robsart, looked prettier and more interesting crutches, and with his gouty foot in a sling.) than I had ever seen her before. Various tableaux

Landlord. John! you idle, good-for-nothing vagawere in turn presented, and passed off with much éclat, bond, why don't you come when you're called ?-eh? and then there was a pause before the charade, the Susan. Oh, Sir! John was just coming, Sir; and so grand event of the evening, commenced. Oaklands

was I, Sir, if you please. and I, having nothing to do in it, (Fanny having per- Landlord. You, indeed-ugh! you're just as bad as suaded Mr. Frampton to undertake a short part which he is, making love in corners, (aside, Wonder whether I was to have performed, but which she declared was so she does really,) instead of attending to the customers; exactly suited to him that she would never forgive him nice set of servants I have, to be sure. If this is all if he refused to fill it,) wished the actors success, and

one gets by inn-keeping, it's not worth having. I keep came in front to join the spectators. After about ten minutes of breathless expectation, Horrid old joke, what made me put that in, I wonder !

the inn, and I expect the inn to keep me. (A side. the curtain drew up, and exhibited Scene 1st, the Bar just like me—umph!) There's my wife, too-pretty of a Country Inn and here I shall adopt the play- | hostess she makes. wright's fashion, and leave the characters to tell their

John. So she does, master, surely. own tale:

Landlord. Hold your tongue, fool-what do you SCENE I.

know about it? (Bell rings.) There, do you hear that? Enter Susan Cowslip, the Barmaid (Fanny), and John run and see who that is, or I shall lose à customer by Shortoats, the Ostler (LAWLESS).

your carelessness, next. Oh! the bother of servants, John. Well Susan, girl, what sort of a morning oh! the trouble of keeping an inn! (Hobbles out, have you had of it? how's master's gout to-day? driving Susan and John before him. Curtain falls.)

Sušan. Very bad, John, very bad indeed; he has not got a leg to stand upon; and as to his shoe, try As the first scene ended, the audience applauded everything we can think of, we can't make him put his loudly, and then began hazarding various conjectures foot in it.

as to the possible meaning of what they had witnessed. [Extempore soliloquy by Lawless. Precious odd if While the confusion of sounds was at the highest, he doesn't, for he's not half up in his part, I know.] Oaklands drew me on one side, and inquired, in an

John. Can't you, really? well, if that's the case, I under tone, what I thought of Lawless's acting. “I was needn't ask how his temper is?

agreeably surprised,” returned 1, "I had no notion he Susan. Bad enough, I can tell you; Missus has would have entered into the part so thoroughly, or have plenty to bear, poor thing!

acted with so much spirit.” John. Indeed she has, and she's too young and “ He did it con amore, certainly,” replied Oaklands, pretty to be used in that manner. Ah! that comes of with bitterness; “I considered his manner objectionable marrying an old man for his money; she's uncommon in the highest degree. I wonder you can allow him to pretty, to be sure, I only knows one prettier face in the act with your sister; that man is in love with her-I whole village.

feel sure of it he meant every word he said. I hate Susan (with an air of forced unconcern). Aye, this kind of thing altogether-I never approved of it; John, and whose may that be, pray? Mary Bennett, no lady should be subjected to such annoyance.” perhaps, or Lucy Jones?

Supposing it really were as you fancy, Harry, how John. No, it ain't either of them.

do you know it would be so great an annoyance? It is Susan. Who is it, then?

just possible Fanny may like him," rejoined I.

66

-BEST ROOM IN THE INN,

“Oh, certainly ! pray let me know when I am to Hyacinth. Howwid fellar-I thought I should nevar congratulate you,” replied Oaklands, with a scornful get wid of him-it's evident he's jealous--ar, good idea laugh; and turning away abruptly, he crossed the -I'll give him something to be jealous of. I'll wing rooin, joined a party of young ladies, and began talking the bell, and finish captivating Susan. (Rings. Re-enter and laughing with a recklessness and excitability John.) quite unusual to him. While he was so doing, the John. Want me, Sir ? Here I am, Sir-fed the horse, curtain drew up, and discovered

Sir.

Hyacinth (waving his hand angrily towards the SCENE II.

door). Ar-go away, fellar, and tell the young woman Enter Susan, showing in Hyacinth Adonis Brown to answer that bell. (John leaves the room, muttering, (COLEMAN), dressed as a caricature of the fashion,

“If I do I'm blessed." Hyacinth struts up to the glass, with lemon-coloured kid gloves, noisy-patterned trow- arranges his hair, pulls up his shirt-collar, and rings sers, sporting-coat, dc.

again. Re-enter Susan).

Hyacinth. Pray, Susan, are you going to be mawwied ? Susan. This is the settin'room, if you please, Sir. Susan (colouring). No, Sir-a-yes, Sir-I can't tell,

Il yacinth (fixing his glass in his eye, and scrutinizing Sir. the apartment). This is the settin'-woom, is it? to set, Hyacinth. No, Sir-yes, Sir-ar– I see how it is— to incubate as a hen-can't mean that, I imagine the idea has occurred to you--it's that fellar John, I pwovincial idiom, pwobably-aw-ya'as—I dare say I

suppose ? shall be able to exist in it as long as may be necessary Susan. Yes, Sir-it's John, Sir, if you please. -ar-let me have dinnaar, young woman, as soon as it Hyacinth. Well-ar-I don't exactly please. Now can be got weady.

listen to me, Susan. I'm an independent gentleman, Susan. Yes, Sir. What would you please to like, vewy wich (aside, Wish I was) - lots of servants and cawSir?

wiages, and all that sort of thing. I only want a wife, Hyacinth (looking at her with his glass still in his and, captivated by your beauty, I'm wesolved to mawwy eye). Hem ! pwetty gal--ar-like, my doar, like?-(vewy you. (A side. That will do the business.) pwetty gal!)

Susan. La ! Sir, you're joking. Susan. Beg pardon, Sir, what did you say you would Hyacinth. Ar--I never joko-ar-of course you like?

consent? Hyacinth. Chickens tendar here, my dear ?

Susan. To marry you, Sir ? Susan. Very tender, Sir.

Hyacinth. Ar-yes-to mawwy me. Hyacinth (approaching her). What's your name, my Susan. What! and give up John? dear?

Hyacinth. I fear we cannot dispense with that Susan. Susan, if you please, Sir.

sacwitice. Hyacinth. Vewy pwetty name, indeed-(Aside. Gal's Susan. And you would have me prove false to my worth cultivating-I'll do a little bit of fascination.) | true love,--deceive a poor lad that cares for me ; wring Ahem! Chickens, Susan, are not the only things that his honest heart, and perhaps drive him to take to evil can be tendar. (Advances, and attempts to take her courses, for the sake of your fine carriages and servants ? hand. Enter John hastily, and runs against Hyacinth, No, Sir, if you was a duke, I would not give up John to apparently by accident.)

marry you. Hyacinth (angrily). Now, fellar, where are you push- Hyacinth. Vewy fine, you did that little bit of coning to, eh?

stancy in vewy good style, but now having welieved your John. Beg parding, Sir, I was a looking for you, Sir, feelings, you may as well do a little bit of nature, and (places himself between Susan and Hyacinth).

own that, woman-like, you have changed your mind. Hyacinth. Looking for me, fellar ?

Susan. When I do, Sir, I'll be sure to let you know. John. I ha' rubbed down your horse, Sir, and I was (A side. A dandified fop! why, John's worth twenty such a wishin' to know when you would like him fed. (Makes as him.) I'll send John in with your dimer, Sir. sijns to Susan to leave the room).

[Curtsies and exit, leaving Hyacinth transfixed with Hyacinth. Fed !-aw !--directly, to be 'su-ar. (To astonishment.] Susan, who is going out.) Ar-don't you go. John. No, Sir, I ain't a-going. When shall I water

SCENE III.-FRONT OF INN. him, Sir ?

Enter Susan with black ribbons in her cap. Hyacinth (Aside. Fellar talks as if the animal were a pot of mignonette). Ar-you'll give him some wataar Susan. Heigho! so the gout's carried off poor old as soon as he's eaten his dinnaar.

master at last. Ah! well, he was always a great plague, John. Werry good, Sir; and how about hay, Sir? and it's one's duty to be resigned-he's been dead more

Hyacinth (aside. What a bo-ar the fellar is; I wish than two months now, and it's above a month since he'd take himself off.) Weally, I must leave the hay to mistress went to Broadstairs for a change, and left John your discwession.

and me to keep house-ah! it was very pleasant-we John. Werry well, Sir; couldn't do a better thing, was so comfortable. Now if in a year or two mistress Sir. How about his clothing? shall I keep a cloth on was to sell the business, and John and me could save him, Sir ? (Winks at Susan, who goes out laughing.) money enough to buy it, and was to be married, and

Hyacinth. Yaas ! you can keep a cloth on-ar-and | live here; la ! I should be as happy as the day's long. -that will do. (Waves his hand towards the door.) I've been dull enough the last week though-forlast Mon

John. Do you like his feet stopped at night, Sir ? day---no, last Saturday--that is, the Saturday before

Hyacinth. Ar-I leave all these points to my gwoom last, John went for a holiday to see his friends in York-ar-would you go?

shire, and there's been nobody at home but me and the John. I suppose there will be no harm in water cat-1 can't think what ailed him before he went away, brushing his mane?

he seemed to avoid me like---and when he bid me good Hyacinth (angrily). Ar-weally l-ar-will you go? | bye, he told me if I should happen to pick up a sweetJohn. Becos some folks thinks it makes the hair heart while he was gone, he would not be jealous - what

could he mean by that? I dare say he only said it to Hyacinth (indignantly). Ar-leave the woom, fellar! tease me--I ought to have a letter soon to say when

John. Yes, Sir; you may depend upon me takin' mistress is coming back. [Enter boy with letter, which proper care on him, Sir; and if I should think o' any he gives to Susan and exit] Well, that is curious-it thing else, I'll be sure to come and ask you, Sir. (Goes is from Broadstairs, I see by the post-mark. Why, bless out grinning.)

it's in John's hand-writing-he can't be at Broad

come off.

me,

stairs, surely- I feel all of a tremble. (Opens the letter ! amenities of southern society invaded the coarse habits and reads.) “My dear Seusan, Hafter i left yeu, i thort | and savage bearing of the men of Lancashire. Since i should not ave time to go hall the way to York, so by that period the change in the character of the people way of a change i cum down here, where I met poor inhabiting the towns, especially, has been truly marMrs. who seemed quite in the dumps and low like, about old master being dead, which is huinan natur cut down vellous-wonderful in its kind, and rapid in the deve

The rural districts can still furnish like grass, Seusan, and not having a creetur to speak to, lopment. naturally took to me, which was an old tho' humbei specimens worthy of former times, it is true, the very friend, Seusan-and---do not think me guilty of hincon-existence of which, when brought into the populous stancy, which I never felt, but the long and short of it quarters, and placed in juxta-position to the emaciated is, that we was married” (the wretch !) " yesterday, and and shrunken pigmies of the factory-presenting the is comin home to-morrow, where I hopes to remain very very extremes of power and imbecility-show, in a most faithfully your affexionate Master and Mrs.

“Joun and BETSEY SHORTOATS." striking manner, the present anomalous condition of (Susan tears the letter, bursts into tears, and sinks the pursuits, habits, and general capabilities of the back into a chair, faintingcurtain drops.]

working population. But to disregard specific changes, and to adhere to our purpose of giving a few remarks

respecting Lancashire manners. Surnames are as little [When we commenced the third portion of this our used as possible ; the people of a whole district, or the veritable history, and induced the reader to accompany hands employed in a large manufactory, distinguishing his Old Companions through certain New Scenes, and addressing each other by their christian names, we announced our intention of rendering it the con- preferring, when some more special mark may be clusion of our adventures, and we were sincere in so necessary, to invent an appellation descriptive of some doing, fully purporting by the end of the last chapter personal or circumstantial peculiarity connected with to have had ourselves comfortably shot, married, or the party spoken of, to formally making use of his drowned (for we trust we are not reserved for hanging), surname. Consistent in their primitive ideas in this out of the way. But as we unrolled the volume of our respect, the prefix of Mister is seldom given, some of past life, and recalled the shadow of bye-gone days, old the most wealthy manufacturers in the county being recollections crowded upon us, and our story grew upon familiarly alluded to by their own work people merely by our hands till it was impossible to compress it into the the use of their names, without prefix or appendage; thus limits we had originally assigned it. Shall we, then, be the family of the Fieldens, who in wealth may vie with asking too much of our gentle Public, if we beg them to princes, are never spoken of in their own neighbourhood grant one more last appearance to their old favourite, otherwise than as John Fielden, Henry, &c. Formerly, Frank Fairlegh?]

in many parts of the county, surnames were totally disregarded — if they had ever been introduced-one

man being distinguished from another of the same A SLIGHT SKETCH OF MEN AND MANNERS name by his particular genealogy, which, indeed, IN LANCASHIRE.

was recounted, whenever, in being spoken of, his simple

name was not sufficiently descriptive. Thus, John's This county possesses an amount of interest which father being William, he would be styled Jack o' Bill, cannot be surpassed certainly, and most likely is not to to distinguish him from other men of the name of be equalled, by any British province. If we regard it John, who, in like manner, would be known by connectas a mart for the fabrication and sale of textures and ing their own with their father's name, Then John, fabrics suited to the wants of all climes, and neces- the son of William, having a son Peter, would by sary to the convenience of every nation, it is full of paternity attach his sire's, as well as his own name to interest; but when we find-seeing, as we do, social the boy's, and so he would be Peter o' Jack o' Bill, and wants known only to people in the most advanced in this manner a string of epithets amounting to perstages of civilization, anticipated by the co-operation of haps a score would be applied to one individual: this art and science—the traces, nay, the very types, of man- remarkable vestige of Saxon simplicity is not entirely ners and habits suitable only to the primeval stages obliterated even at the present day. About fifteen of society, a feeling of astonishment is naturally years ago public attention was, in some degree, drawn awakened.

to this peculiar subject from the following incident. The natives of Lancashire are by nature hardy and An old man, upwards of eighty years of age, with his robust; of Saxon origin, they maintained to a recent son, a powerful man of middle life, occupied a lonely period, the athletic amusements, the language, the alehouse, situated on a moor in the neighbourhood of hospitality, and, above all, the democratic, or if it may | Saddleworth; the old man and his son were murdered be so termed, the plebeian character of that people. after a bloody conflict, at noon-day, by five Irish reapers. Indeed, their dialect differed almost as widely from that the circumstances of unusual atrocity which accomof their neighbours to the north, as it did from that of panied this deed, together with the audacity of the the Southerns.

perpetrators, who made their inhuman attack in the Although at the commencement of the present light of day, attracted to the spot numbers of the century the manufactures of Lancashire had arrived at curious from distant parts of the country, who, in pursuch importance as to constitute the leading feature in suit only of the particulars of the occurrence, gathered the commerce of this country, the habits and ideas of the astonishing information relative to the manners and mass of the population yet remained unchanged, or customs of the locality. The public-house was called had but slightly degenerated from their pristine sim- | Bill o' Jack's house; Bill was the name of the old man, plicity--perhaps we ought to say, from their native who inherited it from his ancestor Jack. The younger barbarism. An unnatural description of labour had man, who was butchered with his father Bill, only not yet reduced the physical power, nor had the awaited his parent's demise to add a third name to bis

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