PE 1948 
 
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 Copy 1 
 
Class - 
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1 
 
FOLK SONG 
 
 FOLK SPEECH OF LANCASHIRE, 
 
BY THE SAME WRITER. 
 
 The Name of God in 405 Languages. 2d. 
 Manchester; Tubbs & Brook. 
 
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 Boggart of Orton Clough. id. 
 
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 The Black Knight of Ashton, being an Account of a Visit to 
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 The Literature of the Lancashire Dialect, a Bibliographical 
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 London . Trubner & Co. 
 
FOLK SONG 
 
 AND 
 
 POLK -SPEECH OF LANCASHIRE 
 
 ON THE BALLADS AND SONGS OF THE COUNTY PALATINE, 
 
 WITH NOTES ON THE DIALECT IN WHICH MANY 
 
 OF THEM ARE WRITTEN, 
 
 AND AN APPENDIX OX LANCASHIRE FOLK-LORE. 
 
 WILLIAM E, A, AXON, F.R.S.L, 
 
 Author of " The Literature of the Lancashire Dialect : 
 A Bibliographical Essay ; n " The Black Kniglit of Ashton^" &>c. 
 
 MANCHESTER : 
 
 TUBBS AND BROOK, n, MARKET STREET. 
 
• p 
 
 
 (V* 
 
 ■=; ao.-^l 
 
 4 
 
 0<f\ 
 
 ( « , i * t < 
 
TO 
 
 T. T. WILKINSON, F.R.A.S., 
 
 IN ADMIRATION OF HIS TALENTS, 
 
 AND OF HIS ACQUIREMENTS IN BIBLIOGRAPHY, SCIENCE, 
 
 AND ARCHAEOLOGY. 
 
PRE FA C E. 
 
 The following pages are an attempt to give a bird's 
 eye view of the popular literature of the County 
 Palatine. A paper contributed to the Saint James's 
 Magazine has formed the groundwork of the present 
 Essay, but the six or eight pages of that article have 
 been extended to the size of the present publication 
 by the desire of giving a comprehensive survey of 
 our folk-literature. 
 
 Those who desire to extend their acquaintance 
 further than these pages will guide them, may avail 
 themselves of the following works : — 
 
 Gems of Thought and Flowers of Fancy. Edited by 
 Kichard Wright Procter. London, 1855. 
 
 Palatine Anthology : a Collection of Ancient Poems and 
 Ballads relating to Lancashire and Cheshire. Edited by James 
 Orchards Halliwell, F.R.S. London, 1850. 4to. 
 
 Palatine Garland : being a selection of Ballads and Frag- 
 ments supplementary to the Palatine Anthology. London, 
 1850. 4to. 
 
 Ballads and Songs of Lancashire, chiefly older than the 
 nineteenth century. Collected, compiled, and edited, with notes, 
 by John Harland, F.S.A. London, 1850. 8vo. 
 
 Lancashire Lyrics : Modern Songs and Ballads of the 
 County Palatine. Edited by John Harland, F.S.A. London, 
 1866. 8vo. 
 
Vlll. 
 
 The Literature of Lancashire Dialect. A Biblographical 
 Essay. By William E. A. Axon, F.R.S.L. London, 1870. 8vo. 
 
 For the further study of the grammatical idioms 
 and peculiar words and phrases of the dialect, we 
 may refer to the following works : — 
 
 Two Lectures on the Lancashire Dialect. By the Rev. W. 
 Gaskell, M.A. London, 1854. 8vo. 
 
 On the South Lancashire Dialect, with Biographical Notices 
 of John Collier, the author of Tim Bobbin. By Thomas 
 Heywood, F.S.A. Printed for the Chetham Society, 1861. 
 4to. (Chetham Miscellanies, vol. iii.) 
 
 The South Lancashire Dialect. By J. A. Picton, F.S.A. 
 Extracted by permission from the Transactions of the Literary 
 and Philosophical Society of Liverpool. Liverpool, 1865. 8vo. 
 
 The Races of Lancashire, as indicated by the local names 
 and the dialect of the county. By the Rev. John Davies. 
 London, 1856. 8vo. Reprinted from the Transactions of the 
 Philological Society. 
 
 To Mr. Thomas Hallam, a singularly accurate and 
 minute observer of Phonetics; and to Mr. John 
 Higson, of Lees, near Manchester, whose depth of 
 antiquarian lore is only equalled by his readiness to 
 impart it to others, I am under obligation for much 
 assistance. 
 
 Strangeways. 
 
FOLK SONG 
 
 AND 
 
 FOLK SPEECH OF LANCASHIRE. 
 
 TO many minds the name of Lancashire conveys 
 only ideas of cotton. It exists in their vocabularies 
 merely as a synonyme for a place of wondrous wealth 
 and immense manufacturing energy, — a district where 
 Gold reigns supreme, and where men are too eager in 
 their pursuit of riches to pay much attention to the 
 higher aims of life. Even now, by many people, a 
 Manchester man is supposed to have a huge pocket, in- 
 stead of the head and heart usually accorded to the 
 sons of Adam. Even now, there are persons whose 
 idea of the scenery of Lancashire is derived from see- 
 ing the smoky, grimy streets of Manchester, and who 
 listen with feelings of incredulity to those who speak 
 of her pleasant cloughs and murmuring rindles. 
 
 And yet "time-honoured Lancaster'' can boast of 
 scenery as beautiful as any in the land ; and we, who 
 have been nursed in her lap, look with pride on her 
 
10 
 
 fertile valleys, decked with pleasant farms, " bosomed 
 high in tufted trees,' ' even although in their neigh* 
 bourhood may be heard the noise of the steam-engine 
 and the whirr of the shuttle. Dear to us is the old 
 county, with its hill-side tarns, its brown moors, green 
 lanes, and spreading trees. Her merchant princes 
 have ever been ready with liberal hand to encourage 
 art and intelligence of every class, as the noble public 
 institutions of the county amply testify; and those 
 who think of her humbler sons as mere human calico- 
 spinning machines, would alter their views if they 
 visited them in their homes. There they would meet 
 men who, toiling all day long in the factory or the 
 machine shop, devote their leisure hours to studying 
 the plants and flowers which deck the bosom of old 
 mother earth. Others sedulously fill case after case 
 with rare and beauteous entomological specimens. 
 Some are numismatists, others dabble in antiquities ; 
 nor have the followers of James Butterworth and 
 other self-taught mathematicians yet died out. Every 
 village and hamlet, almost, has its library of one sort 
 or another, and the contents of some of these store- 
 houses of knowledge would greatly astonish the sub- 
 scribers to Mr. Mudie. 
 
 "Nor is there wanting 'mid the busy throng, 
 The tuneful echoes of the poet's song." 
 
 Indeed, so numerous are the singers becoming, that 
 they bid fair to make their quaint, strong dialect as 
 rich in literature as the Scottish Doric of Robert 
 Burns. 
 
11 
 
 " The poet in a golden clime was born, 
 
 With golden stars above ; 
 Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, 
 
 The love of love ; 
 
 and endowed with quicker eye, and finer brain, and. 
 kindlier heart than ours, he can, like melancholy 
 Jacqnes, 
 
 " Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
 Mankind, in general, are of the same class as that 
 Peter Bell, to whom 
 
 " A primrose by the river's brim, 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 And it was nothing more." 
 
 although to the poet it might give rise to " thoughts 
 that he too deep for tears," thoughts which he conld 
 not " half express, yet dare not all conceal." 
 
 The poet stands aloof from his fellow-men, and clad in 
 singing robes he interprets to all who choose to hear the 
 mysterious symbols written in the book of Nature, 
 the tendernesses and solemnities of this visible world, 
 the hopes, fears, and passions of the human race, even 
 as the priest of old stood in his robes of holiness, re- 
 vealing to the hosts of Israel the commands of the 
 Lord God of Sabaoth. The poet sees with an obser- 
 vant eye the beauties of external nature ; to him, the 
 brook that ripples o'er the many- coloured stones with 
 soothing song, the trees with whose luxuriant leaves 
 the summer winds do play, the buzzing bee that rifles 
 
12 
 
 from each flower its " own peculiar sweet/' each rock, 
 each stone, is unto him a book wherein he reads 
 lessons of truth, of pity, and of love. The heart of 
 man lies open to his view, from the sorrows and 
 struggles of his own mind he acquires dearly bought wis- 
 dom ; and these lessons he sings unto his fellow-men, 
 pouring his very soul into the lay, and making a 
 melody as sweet as that which wells from the breast 
 of Israfel, " whose heartstrings are a lute, and who 
 hath the sweetest voice of all God's creatures. " 
 
 We have compared the poet's office to the solemn 
 functions of the Hebrew priesthood ; unlike the priest 
 the poet is of no particular tribe, and one of the race 
 of Issacher, crouching between two burdens, who has 
 bowed his shoulders to bear, and become a servant 
 unto tribute, is as likely to receive the poet's chrism 
 as one of the saintly line of Levi. 
 
 The earliest relic we possess- of English poetry was 
 written by a ploughman, and since Csedmon sung the 
 wrath of the All-father, many a son of toil has put on 
 singing robes, and uttered strains which the world will 
 "not willingly let die." The majority of our Lanca- 
 shire singers are working men. Waugh, Bamford, 
 Prince, Laycock, Procter, James Dawson, Jun., 
 Ramsbottom, are all of them sons of the soil, and not 
 mere rhymers, but men who have drunk deeply of the 
 Heliconian spring — men who 
 
 " On honey-dew have fed, 
 
 And drunk the milk of paradise.'* 
 
 The older Lancashire ballads have, as a rule, very 
 
13 
 
 little of literary excellence about them ; nevertheless 
 they are worthy of preservation, and sometimes throw 
 a curious light upon the social history of the past. 
 The "Bewsey Tragedy," the " Trafford and Byron 
 Feud," are not without interest, but it is not due to 
 the charms of poetry. Of our Jacobite relics almost 
 the only one of merit is the " Preston Prisoners to 
 the Ladies about Court and Town." The May songs, 
 which Mr. Harland mentions, are not without merit, 
 and the " Liverpool Tragedy " is a curiously barbar- 
 ous version of that incident said to have occurred at 
 Perin, in Cornwall, in September, 1617, and on which. 
 Lillo founded his tragedy of Fatal Curiosity. 
 
 The song of Lady Bessy — that is, the Princess 
 Elizabeth, afterwards wife of Henry VII. — has an 
 historical value . ' ' The Tyrannical Husband ' ' exhibits 
 considerable humour, but our Lancashire version is a 
 mere fragment. The subject is a favourite one with 
 the old ballad-mongers, and various songs relating the 
 misadventures of the goodman who would undertake 
 the goodwife's duties are extant. 
 
 "Fair Ellen of Radcliffe " is a horrible domestic 
 tragedy, related in the most homely style. There is 
 but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and 
 the old rhymer has unhesitatingly taken it. 
 
 In this, as in other matters, Lancashire is chiefly 
 noticeable for what has been done within the present 
 century. Beyond it she does not possess many lyrics 
 of much note or beauty. 
 
 There are some exceptions to this rule, for instance- 
 
14 
 
 the charming old song of the Lancashire Witches, 
 and Byrom's quaintly intricate and pleasant song of 
 ^Careless Content, of which we quote a verse, — 
 
 " I am content, I do not care, 
 Wag as it will the world for me ; 
 When fuss and fret was all my fare, 
 It got no ground as I did see ; 
 So when away my caring went, 
 I counted cost, and was content." 
 
 The most interesting portions of the Lancashire 
 anthologies, in our estimation, are those which con- 
 tain the home songs of the Lancashire people, the 
 work-a-day literature of that great hive of modern 
 industry. The strains which, appealing to the hearts 
 of the people, have become household words ; the 
 songs that are sung to the accompaniment of the 
 flying shuttle, that go echoing through the noisy mill, 
 and fill the workman's cottage with pleasant music ; 
 the melodies that may be heard alike in the streets of 
 smoky Manchester, and in the green country fields on 
 pleasant summer evenings. 
 
 The majority of these popular lyrics are written in 
 the Lancashire dialect, and are occupied with the de- 
 tails of the sufferings and enjoyments of the daily life 
 of the people. Side by side with this poetical litera- 
 ture there has grown up a prose literature of similar 
 object and extent. With the view of illustrating 
 fully the peculiarities of the county folk-speech, we 
 shall take a rapid survey of its literature, illustrating 
 the subject with extracts from both the poetical and 
 
15 
 
 prose works written in the dialect. With the excep- 
 tion of some early metrical romances, the oldest poem 
 in the Lancashire dialect is the popular ballad of — 
 
 WAEBJKEN FAIR. 
 
 Now, an yo good gentlefoak, an yo won tarry, 
 
 I'll tell yo how Gilbert Scott soud his mare Barry j 
 
 He sond his mare Barry at Warriken fair, 
 
 Bnt when he'll be paid, he knows no, I'll swear. 
 
 So when he coom whom, an tond his woife Grace, 
 Hoo stnd np o' th' kippo, and swat him o'er th' face, 
 Hoo pick'd him o' th' hillock, an he fawd wi a whack, 
 That he thont would welly ha brocken his back. 
 
 41 O woife," qno he, " if thou'll le'mme but rise, 
 I'll gi' thee an' th' leet wench i'mme that lies ; " 
 *' Tho ndgit," qno hoo, " bnt wheer does he dwell ? " 
 •" By lakin," qno he, " that an conno tell. 
 
 *' I tuck him for t'be some gentlemon's son, 
 For he spent twopence on me when we had dnn, 
 An' he gen me a lnnchin o' denty snig poy, 
 And by th' hond did he shak me most lovingly/' 
 
 Then Grace hoo prompted her neatly and fine, 
 
 And to Warriken went o' We'nsday betime ; 
 
 An theer too hoo staid for foive market days, 
 
 Till th' mon wi' th' mare were cum t' Rondle Shay's. 
 
 An as hoo war resting one day in hnr rowm, 
 Hoo spoy'd th' mon a-riding th' mare into th' town, 
 Then bounce goos her heart, an' hoo wur so gloppen, 
 That out o' th' winder hoo'd loike for to loppen. 
 
16 
 
 Hoo stamped an hoo stared, and down stairs hoo run ; 
 Wi' hur heart in hur hont, an hur wynt welly gone ; 
 Hur head-gear flew off, an' so did her snood ; 
 Hoo stamped, an' hoo stared, as if hoo'd bin woode. 
 
 To Rondle's hoo's hied, an hoo hov up the latch, 
 Afore th' mon had tied th' mare gradely to th' cratch ! 
 " My good mon," quo hoo, " Gilbert greets you right merry,, 
 And begs that you'll send him th' money for Berry." 
 
 " Oh money," quo he, " that connot I spare ; " 
 " Be lakin," quo hoo, " then I'll ha' th' mare." 
 Hoo poo'd an hoo thrumper'd him sham' to be seen, 
 " Thou hangman," quo hoo, " I'll poo out thy e'en. 
 
 "I'll mak thee a sompan, I'll houd thee a groat, 
 I'll auther ha' th' money, or poo' out thi throat ; " 
 So between 'em they made such a wearisom' din, 
 That to mak 'em at peace Rondle Shay did come in. 
 
 " Come, fye, naunty Grace, come, fye, an be dun ; 
 Yo'st ha th' mare, or th' money, whether yo won." 
 So Grace geet th' money, an whomwards hoo's gone, 
 But hoo keeps it hursell, and gies Gilbert Scott none. 
 
 It must be confessed that this first portrait of a 
 "Lancashire Witch" is not painted in very gentle 
 colours, — one can better admire her energy and persev- 
 erance, than her gentleness and womanly grace. As 
 she evidently possesses the stronger brain of the two, it 
 is perhaps best for poor Gilbert Scott that Naunty 
 Grace should constitute herself the treasurer of the 
 household. The authorship of this song is not known, 
 but "its date is fixed by the name 'Rondle Shays,' 
 in the fifth verse; for the name of Sir Thomas Butler's 
 
17 
 
 bailiff in the reign of Edward II. (1548) was Handle 
 Shay or Shaw." 
 
 In Bichard Braithwait's Two Lancashire Lovers 
 (1640) there is one Master Camillus, a country clown, 
 who woos the dainty heroine in this gallant and 
 courtly style, which we hardly recognize as the Lan- 
 cashire vernacular : — 
 
 "Yaw, Iantlewoman, with the saffron snude, you 
 shall know that I am Master Camillas, my mothers 
 anely white boy. And she wad han you of all loves 
 to wad me : And you shall han me for your tougher. 
 We han store of goodly cattell : for home, hare and 
 leather, peepe here and peepe there, au the wide dale 
 is but snever to them. My mother, though she bee a 
 vixon, shee will blenke blithly on you for my cause ; 
 and we will ga to the Dawnes, and slubber up a 
 Sillibub : and I will look babbies in your eyes, and 
 picke silly cornes out of your toes ; and we will han a 
 whiskin at every rush-bearing ; a wassell cup at yule; 
 a seed-cake at Fastens; and a lusty cheese-cake at 
 our sheepe-wash. And will not au this done bravely 
 Iantlewoman ?" 
 
 We find the learned and pious John Byrom was 
 attracted to the dialect of his native county. The 
 poems which he has written in this style are not, 
 however, equal in merit with his English writings, 
 and even these, are little read now-a-days. His 
 charming lyric of "Careless Content" we have already 
 quoted. Once upon a time no collection of English 
 poems was thought complete if it did not contain his 
 
18 
 
 pastoral of " Colin and Phebe," now almost forgotten, 
 whilst his "Three Black Crows" lingers doubtfully 
 in " Complete Reciters," and snch like excuses for 
 fame. As a poet his reputation may safely be founded 
 upon that noble and mystical hymn, which at the 
 Christmastide may be heard sweetly and solemnly 
 rising like incense from every Lancashire valley, and 
 from every Lancashire town. This carol alone will 
 keep his memory green as one of the " sweet singer s 
 of the church." The only piece from his pen written 
 entirely in the dialect is a "Lancashire Dialogue occa- 
 sioned by a clergyman preaching without notes," a 
 circumstance not very remarkable although it appears 
 to have made a deep impression upon honest James, 
 who is disposed to deny the title of preacher to one 
 who reads a prepared discourse : 
 
 Sich as we han I do no meean to bleeame, 
 
 But conno' can it fairly bi that neeame. 
 
 A book may do at whooam for laming seeake, 
 
 But in a pulpit, wheer a mon shid speeake 
 
 And look at th' congregation i' their feeace, 
 
 He canno' do't for pappers in a keease. 
 
 He ta'es fro them what he mun say, and then 
 
 Just looks as if he gan it nm again. 
 
 It is i'th' chnrch, or one could hairdly tell 
 
 But he wur conning summat to himsel : 
 
 Monny a good thing, there, I ha' hard read oo'er 
 
 But never knew what preeaching was before. 
 
 John wishing to impress his interlocutor James 
 with the full beauty of extempore discourse, by an 
 artful question elicits from him this reminiscence 
 
19 
 
 of a barrister, whose eloquence had excited his ad- 
 miration : 
 
 James, " Remember ?" Ay and shall do while I'm whick, 
 
 Haoo bravely he fund aoo t a knavish trick. 
 
 He seeav'd my fait her monny a starling paoond, 
 
 And bu' for him I had no bin o'th' graoond. 
 
 That was a man worth h'yearing ! — if yoar mon 
 
 Could talk like him, I shid be gloppend John. 
 
 But lukko' me, theeas lowyers are au tou't 
 
 To speak their nomminies as soon as thou't : 
 
 Haoo done yo think would judge and jury look, 
 
 If onny on W shid go tak a book 
 
 Aoot of his pocket, and so read away ? 
 
 They d'n soon think he hadno mich to say. 
 
 Aoor honest lowyer had my faither's deed ; 
 
 But mon, he gan it th' dark o'th' court to read ; 
 
 And then, he spooak ! And if you had bu' seen — 
 
 Whoy, th' judge himsel could ne'er keep off his een ; 
 
 The jury gaupt agen ; — and weel they meeght, 
 
 For e'ry word 'at he had said wus reeght. 
 
 John now triumphantly remarks — 
 
 Weel, Jeeams, — and if a man shid be as wairm 
 Abaoot his hev'n as yo abaoot yoar fairm, 
 Dunno' yo think he'd be as pleeast to hear 
 A pairson mak his reeght to howd it cleear ? 
 And show the de'il to be as fause a foe 
 As that ou'd rogue the justice wus to yo ? 
 
 This taste may suffice to show the quality of the 
 Lancashire rhymes of the witty and wise Dr. Byrom. 
 
 A different character altogether was his contempo- 
 rary John Collier. Some twenty years younger than 
 Byrom, his life had run in a very different groove. 
 
20 
 
 Born in 1709-10, at Urmston, near Flixton, of which 
 his father was for a short time schoolmaster, his 
 early years were passed in that " iron penury,' ! which 
 might be expected to harass the family of "a poor 
 curate in Lancashire, whose stipend never amounted 
 to thirty pounds a year." He tells us that he " lived 
 as some other boys did, content with water porridge, 
 buttermilk, and jannock, until he was between thir- 
 teen and fourteen years of age" (1722), when he 
 was apprenticed to a Dutch loom weaver at Newton 
 Moor, in Mottram, where "he met with treacle to 
 his porridge, and sometimes a little for his buttermilk." 
 His father had intended him for the church, and with 
 that view probably gave him a better education than 
 would generally fall to the lot of the " fellows of the 
 Sisyphian Society of Dutch Loom Weavers." That 
 his father was his tutor seems certain, we never read 
 of him attending any school, and at the mature age 
 of fifteen he abandoned his looms for the more con- 
 genial tasks incident to the profession of a travelling 
 schoolmaster, " going about from one small town to 
 another to teach reading, writing, and accounts." In 
 1729, he became sub-master of the free school at 
 Milnrow, which had been built in 1724, by Mr. 
 Richard Townley, of Rochdale, mercer, and steward 
 of Mr. Alexander Butterworth, of Belfield Hall. Mr, 
 Butterworth endowed it with £20 per annum, the 
 nomination of the master remaining with the owner 
 of Belfield Hall for the time being. Belfield Hall 
 and the other property of Mr. Butterworth were be- 
 
21 
 
 queathed to his steward, whose son, Colonel Richard 
 Townley, was the friend and patron of Tim Bobbin. 
 In 1739, the death of Rev. Robert Pearson, the head 
 master, lead to the appointment of Collier in his place, 
 and with slight intermission he held the post until his 
 decease in 1786. And now commenced Collier's edu- 
 cation of himself, and in spite of the many disadvan- 
 tages of his situation he learned to draw, model, and 
 paint, and acquired the use of the etching needle. He 
 was a competent Latin scholar, and is said to have 
 had some acquaintance with Anglo-Saxon. It is to 
 be hoped that Collier's knowledge of music (another 
 of his accomplishments) was greater than his know- 
 ledge of art, for his pictorial efforts are execrable. A 
 book to make an artist shudder is John Colliers 
 "Human Passions delineated," where the coarse 
 awkward drawings fittingly set forth a humour, gros3 
 and cruel. He was a keen observer of human nature, 
 and a frequent visitor to village ale-houses, where he 
 picked up subjects for his burlesque pictures, and 
 hecame thoroughly familiar with the county speech. 
 He indeed styles himself " an oppen speyker o'th' 
 dialect," and he appears to have amused himself by 
 collecting those words in it, which are not to be found 
 in conventional English. As aids to its proper study 
 he was possessed of various vocabularies, Chaucer's 
 Canterbury Tales (a Caxton), and some other early 
 English literature. In 1746, appeared the first edition 
 of his "View of the Lancashire Dialect: by way of 
 dialogue, between Tummus o' Williams's, o' Margit o 7 
 
22 
 
 Roaphs, and Meary o' Dick's, o' Tummy o' Peggj's- 
 Showing in that speech the comical adventures and 
 misfortunes of a Lancashire clown, by Tim Bobbin," a 
 workwhichhas had an unexampled popularity, andbeen 
 constantly reprinted in all shapes and sizes from that 
 time to the present day. The success of the pamphlet 
 induced some roguish booksellers to print private edi- 
 tions, which Tim bitterly resented. To circumvent them 
 he enlarged it, and added to it some illustrative etchings, 
 all of them, with the exception of the frontispiece y 
 which is a spirited likeness of the author, poor both 
 in conception and execution. Perhaps the best test 
 to which they can be put is to compare them with the 
 illustrations designed by George Cruikshank for the 
 edition of 1828, which are marvels of artistic humour 
 and finish. The humour of Collier is of the broadest 
 nature, he revels in coarse farcial situations, in prac- 
 tical joking and horseplay of the rudest description. 
 There is a glimpse of the saturnine in his face, and in 
 his writings we find a corresponding cynical pleasure 
 in the sight of thoughtless torture inflicted upon the 
 unoffending. Doubtless the picture is a true one, and 
 pourtrays faithfully some phases of Lancashire life of 
 the last century, but we cannot accept it as a correct 
 general delineation. The mind sees only that which 
 it has within it, and Collier, to judge from his life, 
 does not appear to have been one likely to discern 
 beauty or pathos or sublimity in the lives of the 
 humble hinds around him, even where those qualities 
 existed. Himself, a free living, improvident man r 
 
23 
 
 given to self indulgence, with no very shining moral 
 qualities, he was not likely to recognise in others 
 virtues of which he himself was destitute. 
 
 Collier was married on the 1st of April, 1 744,'to Mary 
 Clay, a Yorkshire beauty, who had been some time in 
 London, and coming down to Milnrow, had fascinated 
 the heart of the witty and clever schoolmaster ; 
 though they do not appear to have been a well assorted 
 pair, the union was a happy one, and his affection 
 for his "crooked rib," visible in various passages of 
 his correspondence, is one of the most genial traits in 
 his character. As their family increased, Collier took 
 seriously to the painting profession as a means of in- 
 creasing his income, and the demand for his grotesque 
 paintings was so great that, aided by the sale of his 
 etchings and of his bandyhewits, as he often termed 
 his view of the Lancashire dialect, he was able to bring 
 up his children in comfort, and even to surround himself 
 with some of the luxuries of life. He died at Milnrow, 
 July 14th, 1786, and is buried at Eochdale Church. 
 
 Mr. Waugh applies Shakspere's well-known words 
 to Tim Bobbin : 
 
 1 ( A merrier man, 
 Within the limits of becoming mirth., 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal : 
 His eye begets occasion for his wit : 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth moving jest ; 
 Which his fair tongue (conceit's expositor) 
 Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 
 That aged ears play truant to his tales." 
 
24 
 
 It is pleasant to find this tribute to the saturnine 
 genius of the old schoolmaster from his more genial 
 successor, whose greater talent is not more remarkable 
 than is his possession of that kindliness of feeling, 
 and healthy moral tone, not always found in John 
 Collier. 
 
 As an example of Tim Bobbin's style, we quote 
 his anecdote of 
 
 THE VILLAGE WISEACRE AND THE 
 HEDGEHOG. 
 
 "A tealier e CrumnnTs time wur thrunk pooing 
 turmits in his pingot, or fund an urchon ith' hadloon- 
 trean ; he glendart at't lung boh cou'd mey now't 
 ont. He whoavt his wisket oe'rt, runs whoam, an 
 tells his neighbours he thowt in his guts ot he'd fund 
 a think at God never mede eawt ; for it had nother 
 heead nor tele ; hont nor hough ; midst nor eend ! 
 Loath t' believe this, hoave a duzz'n on em wou'd 
 geaw t' see if they coud'n mey shift to gawm it, boh 
 it capt um aw ; for they newer o won on um ee's saigh 
 th' like afore. Then theyd'n a keawnsil, on th' eend 
 ont wur, ot teydn fotch a lawm, fawse owd felly : het 
 on elder, ot coud tell oytch think ; for they look'nt 
 on im as th' Hammil-Scoance, an thowt he'r fuller o 
 leet then a glowworm. When theyd'n towd him th' 
 kese he stroakt his beeart ; sowght ; an ordert th' 
 
25 
 
 wheelbarrow with, spon-new trindle t' be fotcht. Twnr 
 dun an the beawlt'nt him away to th' urchon in a 
 crack. He glooart at't a good while; droyd his beeart 
 deawn, and wawtit it o'eer weh his crutch. Wheel 
 meh obeawt ogen o'th tother side, sed he, far it sturs 
 an be that it shou'd be whick. Then he dons his 
 spectacles, steeart at't agen, on sowghing sed; Breether, 
 its summot : boh Feather Adam nother did nor cou'd 
 kersun it. Wheel me whoam ogen." * 
 
 Robert Walker, or Tim Bobbin the Second, as he 
 was more generally called, was in every respect of life 
 a better man than the one who first bore that pseu- 
 donym. He was born at Carrington Barn, Auden- 
 shaw, July 27, 1728, and died at Little Moss in the 
 same neighbourhood on the 6th of May, 1803, having 
 overstepped the appointed three score and ten by half 
 a decade. A staunch old reformer of the true Lan- 
 cashire type he struck a hard blow for liberty in the 
 little book by which he is now best known. He 
 appears to have been a man of kindly disposition, re- 
 spected by all his friends and neighbours. He lived 
 a quiet life of peaceful industry, and his memory 
 should not be allowed to die out, but should be 
 religiously preserved among the Lancashire valleys, as 
 that of a man who, in troubled times, when free 
 speech was not, as now, the undisputed heritage of 
 
 * Did Collier pick up this anecdote during his sojourn in 
 Yorkshire ? The Rev. Wm. Gaskell, who narrates the legend 
 in his Lecture on the Lancashire Dialect, appears to have 
 forgotten the use which Collier had made of it. 
 
26 
 
 all, spoke out freely and frankly, without fear of 
 consequences. He lies buried in Ashton churchyard, 
 and his tombstone bears the following inscription : — 
 "Here resteth the body of Robert Walker, late of 
 Little Moss, who died May 6th, 1803, in the 75th year 
 of his age. When the corroding hand of time, and 
 the foot of the busy passenger shall have obliterated 
 this engraving, perhaps a memento may still remain 
 in the integrity of heart, and the wit displayed in the 
 little pieces published by him, which will endear his 
 memory to genius, to liberty, and to virtue. " 
 
 It was in 1796, he published " Plebeian Politics ; 
 or the Principles and Practices of certain Mole-eyed 
 Warrites exposed, by way of Dialogue between two 
 Lancashire Clowns, together with several fugitive 
 pieces. By Tim Bobbin the Second. Manchester : 
 printed by W. Cowdroy, Gazette office, Hunter's 
 Lane." The object of the book is to express the dis- 
 approval felt by those of the author's way of thinking of 
 the war with France. This is done in the form of a con- 
 versation between two friendly "Jacobins," Whistle-pig 
 and Tim Grunt, and in the course of their "cank" 
 they present to us a very vivid picture of the social 
 condition of the people at that period. The humour 
 is sometimes akin to pathos in the round unvarnished 
 tale which is delivered of daily struggles with hunger 
 and want, and injustice. The fun is of the healthy 
 sort, not caused by the sight of human suffering, like 
 that of his predecessor, but good humoured laughter at 
 folly and self-sufficient arrogance. The tone of the 
 
book is more healthy than that of Tim Bobbin, and is- 
 pitched in a higher key of morality. Perhaps we may 
 find the cause of the difference in the several objects of 
 the authors. Collier's, commendable enough in itself, 
 was to collect in one narrative all the quaint words 
 and phrases which he observed among his neighbours. 
 Walker's chief object was certainly a political one, he 
 wished to throw his entire influence in the scale of 
 peace, nor can we conceive how he could better have 
 strengthened the hands of the small but active 
 peace party in Lancashire than by the homely argu- 
 ments of the two neighbours, and their simple and 
 truthful paintings of the distress occasioned by that 
 cruel war. This temporary intention of the book, 
 and its uninviting title, have had a disastrous effect 
 on the lasting reputation of Tim Bobbin the Second, 
 and his work, of which the early editions are now 
 become scarce, has not of late years been reprinted, 
 although it is well worthy of that honour. 
 Our first extract is that relating to : — 
 
 "THE SADDLEWORTH SHOUTING 
 TELEGRAPH." 
 
 " Wh. Boh I'll tell theh whot Turn, owd Dick o r 
 Jonny o'- JSToggs, e Saddlewort, had a better shift thin 
 o' that'n, for som time abeawt latter eend o' th' last 
 February, after him an th' wife an four lads had'n 
 
28 
 
 liv't a whole day o'nout "boh abeawt a quart o' nettle 
 porritch an a bit ov a krust o' breawn George : lie 
 geet up th' mornink after, an sed to th' wife, ' I'll tell 
 theh what, Nan, I'm very wammo this mornink, an I 
 conna stond for t' weave ineh bit o' th/ peese eawt 
 beawt summot t' eat, an wee'n nowt e th' heawse ; 
 boh I've a kratchin kom'n int' meh yed, ot iv it 
 awnsers, we kon toar on till I woven my wough an 
 peese eawt ; ' ' Eigh ! ' says Nan, ' an whot is it ? ' 
 * Wha,' says he, c ween send eawr Ned to Jone's o' 
 Robin's o' Sim's o' Will's, for a quartern o' mele ; an 
 tell 'im eawr kase ; an t' other three lads shan gooa 
 with 'im, an stond abeawt hawv a quarter ov a mile, 
 one behind another (for theaw knows ot th* shop is 
 abeawt hawv a mile off,) an iv eawr Ned speeds, hee'st 
 set up a sheawt to eawr "Will, an Turn an Dick shan 
 sheawt to one another, an theaw' st stond at th' fout- 
 yate, an theaw mey ha' th' porritch on in a krak.' 
 
 ' Tum. Bith' wunds Whistle Pig, ov o' th' scheeams 
 ot won has hyerd on (an won has hyerd o' monny a 
 won) this sheds o' ! won has hyerd ov a kontrivance 
 ot tey had'n e Prance, fort carry nuse a grate way in 
 a little time, ot tey kod'n a telegraff : Mass ! Whistle- 
 pig, this shall be kode th' Saddleworth sheawtink 
 telegraff.' 
 
 c Wh. God a massey, Tum ! theaw's kersunt it 
 efeath ; boh, as I' re tellink theh, they sent'n th' lads 
 off, an they stood'n oz they'rn ordert ; so Ned went 
 into th' shop, an sed, ' I'am kom'n fort' see iv yoah'n 
 le' meh hav a quartern o' mele' for wee'n had nout t* 
 
29 
 
 eat sun yestur mornink, boh abeawt a quart o' nettle 
 porritcn an a breawn George krust ; an wee'n nout 
 eth' heawse.' ' Hark the' meh, Ned/ says tb' shop- 
 keeper, ' wheear did teaw leet o' tbeb nettles ot t'is- 
 time o' tb' year; for there's none heearabeawt/ 
 'Wha,' says Ned, 'I went deawn into tb' Watur- 
 heawses, an leet o' som ot back o Jim Tealier's at tb' 
 war-offis, in a warm pleck ot side o' Joe o' tb' 
 Ho Meddow : an oz I're gooink fort' tell yoah, meh 
 fetber has nout bob a wougb an a peese fort' weave, 
 an bee'l gooab down to Mossley an tak it with 'im, an 
 ther will be oather munny or papper, an bee'l pay 
 yoab oather to neet or i'tb/ mornink, an a kreawn 
 toart tb' owd ot we ow'n yoab.' ' Good lad,' sed th' 
 shopkeeper, ; theaw tells a good tale enough, iv I do 
 oz t' seys, theawst ba't.' — So Ned eawt o' th' shop as- 
 fast oz he kud, an seet up a sheawt to Will, an Will 
 to Turn ; and Turn to Dick ; an Dick to owd Nan, at 
 fout-yate ; an beh this shift hoo geet th' porritch on 
 oz soon oz Ned bad geeten th' mele int' his poke ; 
 for owd Dick o' Johnny o' Noggs sweer ut no time 
 should be lost, for he kud goah to no wark till bee'd 
 summut t' eat ; beh this kontrivanse theh geet'n 
 round th' porritch dish beh won kud say trapstick, 
 after Ned koom into th' heawse wi' th' mele.' " 
 
 Another quotation will show the state of alarm in 
 which the powers that be were kept by the rumour of 
 conspiracies and midnight meetings. 
 
 " Tum. — Ho ! eigb, eigh ; I kon tell the o' abeawt 
 it. Theaw mun kno, ther' wur a boyhnk whot loyal 
 
30 
 
 son o'th' gally-pott, ot went eawt won afthnrnoon 
 amnng his pashonts, on oz he'r kommink toart whom 
 aghen, at th' edge o' dark, he met six fellos gooink a 
 fotchink a loom, an a bit furr he met six or seven 
 mooar ot had'n bin at a kokink, an presently he o'er- 
 took a lad, ot had mooar mischief oth inside on him, 
 thin truth, an he sed, "My lad, kon teaw tell meh 
 whot o' yond fellos ar for ?" Eigh, sez th' lad, "Ther's 
 for t'be a grete jakobin meetink at Ask'n Moss kneet." 
 " Duz teaw sey so ? " says Mr.Pake'm. "Eigh sez th' 
 lad, ther'll be monyoah hundurt;" Mr. Bolus war so 
 feeart ot he kewart whakerink np o'th'tit, oz ill oz 
 Felix did before Paul when he'r pretchink to 'im, an 
 he tlapt th' spurs to th' tit, an rid off neck or na 
 joint, an akquaintot a wizeaker sun o'th' bench; an 
 presently ther' koom an ordthur for eawer green 
 hurn't warriors, an a pasel o' skotch plod-leggs ot 
 wur'n quarturt i'th' teawn, (sum on em kode eawt o' 
 the'r beds at ten o'tlock at neet), for t' gooah a shif- 
 tink theese jakobins ; boah whot kare ther wur tayne, 
 fur feear o' sumbody gooink before an akquaintink 
 thees jakobins whot wur komink upon 'em. So they 
 went'n eawt o'th' teawn, an devidnt too or three ways, 
 for t' meet ot a sartin plek, whear they ekspekt'nt em 
 for t' be, ot tey kud'n soreawn'd em, when they 
 koomnto th' spot. When tey koom'n there, a sartin 
 Mr. Wizeaker keawart 'im deawn an peept between 
 anth' sky an' sed, "Husht ! husht ! I see 'em, ther's 
 monyoah skore " ; presently they kod'n eawt, "Disperse 
 yoah rogues," boah nobudy sed nout. So it wur sed 
 
31 
 
 titer wur an ordtb.nr for t' foyor : so afthur that Mr. 
 Wizdom keawrt 'im deawn aghen, an peept between 
 an th* sky, and sed these jakobins are hard, for they 
 ston'n yond yet, an ne'er meeon' n'em : so ther wnr 
 an ordthur for t' advanse. But oh ! whot shall e say 
 neaw ? for when o' koom to o', theese jakobins proo- 
 fht nothing niooar thin a pasel o' turf stakes. Boh 
 theaw'd a laight the sides sore for t' hah seen 'em 
 a komn bak aghen, for theaw'd a sworn ot sumbody 
 had sent a wholesale ordthur a boots amung 'em, 
 theydn bin up to th' knees i'th' moss doytches, so ot 
 the'r plod hoze wur'n nout to be seen on. Ana this'n 
 eendot this kuiksotik ekspedeshon." 
 
 The Greenside Wakes- Song is not much more 
 modern than the days of Tim Bobbin. Greenside is 
 a small hamlet near Droylsden, and this wakes cus- 
 tom was imported about 1814, from Woodhouses, 
 " where it had been prevalent for more than the third 
 of a century." Two men, one of them being dressed 
 to represent a woman, rode in a ceremonious manner, 
 each of them spinning flax, and engaged in a dialogue, 
 which shows the progress and amicable winding up 
 of a domestic dispute as to their relative skill. This 
 song has been printed with the music in Chambers's 
 Book of Days, as well as in Mr. Harland's volume, 
 from which we now quote it : 
 
 DBOTLSDEX WAKES SOXG. 
 
 He 
 
 It's Dreighlsdin Tvakes, im wey're comin' to teawn, 
 To tell to o' sometliin' o' great reneawn. 
 
32 
 
 Un if this owd jade nil lem'mi begin, 
 Aw'l show yo how hard un how fast aw con spin. 
 Chokus. — So its threedywheel, threedywheel, dan, don, dill, doe. 
 
 She. 
 
 Theaw brags o' thisel, bur aw dunno think it's true, 
 For aw will uphowd thi, thy fawts arn't a few, 
 For when theaw hast done, un spun very hard, 
 O' this awm weel sure, thi wark is marr'd. 
 
 So its threedywheel, &e. 
 He. 
 Theaw saucy owd jade, theaws'dt best howd thi tung, 
 Or else awst be thumpin thi ere it be lung, 
 Un iy 'ot aw do, theawrt sure for to rue, 
 For aw con ha' monny o one as good as you. 
 
 So its threedywheel, &c. 
 
 She. 
 
 Whot is it to me whoe yo con have ? 
 
 Aw shanno be lung ere aw'm laid i' my grave ; 
 
 Un when ut aw'm deod, un have done what aw con, 
 
 Yo may foind one ot'll spin as hard as aw've done. 
 
 So its threedywheel, &c. 
 He. 
 Com, com, mi dear woife, aw'll not ha' thi rue, 
 Un this aw will tell yo, an aw'll tell yo true, 
 Neaw if yo'll forgie me for what aw have said, 
 Aw'll do my endavur to pleos yo instead. 
 
 So its threedywheel, &c. 
 
 She. 
 Aw'm glad for to yeor 'ot yo win me forgive, 
 Un aw will do by yo as long as aw live j 
 So let us unite, an live free fro o' sin, 
 Un then we shall have nowt to think at but spin. 
 
 So its threedywheel, &c» 
 
33 
 
 Both, 
 So neaw let's conclude an here eendeth our sung, 
 Aw hope it has pleost this numerous throng j 
 Bur iv it 'os mist, yo neednt to fear, 
 Wey'll do eawr endevur to pleos yo next year. 
 
 So its threedywheel, threedywheel, dan, don, dill doe> 
 
 About the end of the last century a local song en- 
 titled " Owd j^ed's a rare strung chap " was very 
 popular, far more so than it deserved, for it is 
 destitute of literary merit. Perhaps the following* 
 song may be slightly older than the one just named. 
 It was at one time very popular in Lancashire, and 
 gave rise to a phrase which is still occasionally heard, 
 " A mon o' Measter Grundy's." The meaning of the 
 phrase may be seen from the ballad : — 
 
 " Good law, how things are altered now, 
 
 Aw'm grown as foine as fippence ; 
 Bu' when aw us't to follow th' plough, 
 
 Aw ne'er could muster threepence. 
 Bu' zounds, did you but see me now, 
 
 Sit down to dine on Sundays, 
 Egad, you'd stare like anything 
 
 At th' mon o' Measter Grundy's. Ri to ral, &c. 
 
 "Aw us't to stride about i' clogs 
 
 As thick as sides o' bacon ; 
 Bu' now my clogs as well as hogs 
 
 Aw've totally forsaken ; 
 An' little Peg I lik't so well, 
 
 An' walk't out upo' Sundays, 
 Aw've left, an now it's cookmaid Nell, 
 
 An' th' mon o' Measter Grundy's. 
 C 
 
34 
 
 41 One day aw met rny cousin Ralph * 
 
 Says he, ' How art ta, Willie ? ' 
 "* Begone,' says aw, ( thou clownish elf, 
 
 An' dunno be so silly.' 
 * Why, do'st forget since constant we 
 
 To market trudged o' Mondays ? ' 
 Says aw, ' Good lad, don't talk to me, 
 
 Aw'm th' mon o Measter Grundy's.' 
 
 " ' Egad,' said Ralph, ( who arta now ? 
 
 Aw thought no harm i' spaykin ; 
 AwVe seen the day thou's follow'd th' plough, 
 
 An' glad my hand were shakin' ; 
 But now, egad, thou struts about 
 
 So very fine o' Sundays,' 
 Says aw, c Thou country clod, get out, 
 
 Aw'm th' mon o' Measter Grundy's. 
 
 " On good roast beef an' buttermilk, 
 
 Awhoam aw lived i' clover, 
 An wished such feasting while aw lived, 
 
 It never might be over ; 
 Bu' zounds, did you but see me now 
 
 Sit down to dine on Sunday's, 
 Egad, you'd stare like anything 
 
 At th' mon o'. Measter Grundy's. 
 
 u Now aw'm advanced from th' tail o' plough, 
 
 Like many a peer o' th' nation, 
 Aw find it easy knowing how 
 
 T' forget my former station ; 
 Who knows bu' aw may strut a squire, 
 
 Wi' powder't wig o' Sundays, 
 Though now content to be no more 
 
 Than th' mon o' Measter Grundy's ? " 
 
35 
 
 At the commencement of the present century, a 
 family named Wilson, who were all skilled in 
 rhyming, gave a new impetus to this class of literature. 
 Their songs are all marked by the same characteristics ; 
 great descriptive power and an artistic perception of 
 the ludicrous and amusing points in every scene 
 which they paint, combined with a rare knowledge of 
 Lancashire nature, and a complete mastery over its 
 dialect, have given their poems an enduring popular- 
 ity among the people for whom they sang. As 
 pictures of local life and manners they are singularly 
 accurate and vivid, and in some respects they are still 
 faithful pictures, notwithstanding the many changes 
 which have taken place since they were written. The 
 best of these songs, and the one that has been most 
 widely popular is 
 
 JOHNNY GREEN'S WEDDIN'. 
 
 BY ALEXANDER WILSON. 
 
 Neaw lads, wheer ar yo beawn so fast ? 
 Yo happun ha no yerd whot's past j 
 Aw getten wed sin aw'r here last, 
 
 Just three week sin, come Sunday. 
 Aw ax'd th' owd folk, an' aw wur reet, 
 So Nan an' me agreed tat n eight, 
 Ot if we could mak boath ends meet, 
 
 We'd wed o' Easter Monday. 
 
 That morn, as prim as pewter quarts. 
 Aw th' wenches coom an' browt th' sweethearts, 
 Aw fund we're loike to ha' three carts, 
 'Twur thrunk as Eccles wakes mon - 3 
 
36 
 
 We don'd eawr tits i' ribbins too — 
 One red, one green, and tone wur blue, 
 So hey ! lads, hey ! away we flew, 
 
 Loike a race for th' Ledger stakes, mon.- 
 
 Beight merrily we drove, fall bat, 
 An' eh ! heaw Duke and Dobbin swat ; 
 Owd Grizzle wur so lawm an' fat, 
 
 Fro soide to soide hoo jow'd urn ; 
 Deawn Withy Grove at last we coom, 
 An' stopt at Seven Stars, by gum, 
 An' drunk as mich warm ale an' rum, 
 
 As'd drown o' th' folk i' Owdham. 
 
 When th' shot were paid, an' drink wur done, 
 Up Fennel street, to th' church for fun, 
 We donc'd like morris -dancers dun, 
 
 To th' best aw o' mea knowledge ; 
 So th' job wur done, i' hoave a crack, 
 Boh eh ! whot fun to get th' first smack ; 
 So neaw, mea lads, 'fore we gun back, 
 
 Says aw, " We'n look at th' College." 
 
 We seed a clockcase, first, good laws ! 
 Where deoth stonds up wi' great lung claws ; 
 His legs, an' wings, an' lantern jaws, 
 
 They really lookt quite feorink. 
 There's snakes, an' watchbills, just loike poike 
 Ut Hunt an' aw th' reform ink toikes, 
 An' thee, an' me, an' Sam o' Moik's, 
 
 Once took a blanketeerink. 
 
 Eh ! lorjus days, boath far an' woide, 
 Theer's yards o' books at every stroide, 
 Fro' top to bothum eend an' soide, 
 Sich plecks there's very few so ; 
 
37 
 
 Aw axt Mm if they wurnt for t' sell ; 
 For Nan loikes readink vastly well ; 
 Boh th' measter wur eawt, so he couldna tell, 
 Or aw'd bowt her Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 Theer's a trumpet speyks an' makes a din, 
 An' a shute o' clooas made o' tin, 
 For folk to goo a feightink in, 
 
 Just loike thoose chaps o' Boney's ; 
 An' theer's a table carv'd so queer, 
 Wi' os mony planks as days i' th' year, 
 An* crinkum-crankums here an' theer, 
 
 Loike th' clooas press at my granny's. 
 
 Theer's Oliver Crumill's bums and balls, 
 An' Frenchmen's gun's they'd tean i' squalls, 
 An' swords, os lunk os me, on th' walls, 
 
 An' bows an' arrows too, mon : 
 Aw didna moind his fearfu words, 
 Nor skeletons o' men an' birds ; 
 Boh aw fair hate th' seet o' great lunk swords, 
 
 Sin th' feight at Peterloo, mon. 
 
 We seed a wooden cock loikewise ; 
 Boh dang it, mon, these college boys, 
 They tell'n a pack o' starink loies, 
 
 Os sure os teawr a sinner ; 
 " That cock, when it smells roast beef,'ll crow," 
 Says he ; " Boh," aw said, " teaw lies, aw know, 
 An' aw con prove it plainly so, 
 
 Aw've a peawnd i' mea hat for mea dinner." 
 
 Boh th' hairy mon had miss'd mea thowt, 
 An' th' clog fair crackt by thunner bowt, 
 An' th' woman noather lawint nor nowt, 
 Theaw ne'er seed loike sin t'ur born, mon. 
 
38 
 
 Theer's crocodiles, an' things indeed, 
 Aw colours, mak, shap, size, an' breed ; 
 An' if aw moot tell ton hoave aw seed, 
 We moot sit an' smook till morn, mon. 
 
 Then deawn Long Millgate we did steer r 
 To owd Moike Wilson's goods-shop theer, 
 To bey eawr Nan a rockink cheer, 
 
 An' pots, an' spoons, an' ladles ; 
 Nan bowt a glass for lookink in, 
 A tin Dutch oon for cookink in ; 
 Aw bowt a cheer for smookink in, 
 
 An' Nan axt th' price o' th' cradles. 
 
 Then the fiddler struck up th' honey -moon,, 
 An off we seet for Owdham soon ; 
 We made owd Grizzle trot to th' tune, 
 
 Every yard o' th' way, mon. 
 At neight, oych lad and bonny lass, 
 Laws ! they donc'd an' drunk their glass ; 
 So tyrt wur Nan an' I, by th' mass, 
 
 Ot wea leigh 'till twelve next day, mon. 
 
 In 1819 appeared a " Sequel to the Lancashire dia- 
 lect by Paul Bobbin. " Of this work Mr. Thomas 
 Heywood justly remarks, " The book is extraordinarily 
 coarse, the dialogue void of pleasantry, and the 
 incidents improbable and disgusting." 
 
 Samuel Bamford, who is still amongst us in a 
 green and honoured old age, is not a cultivator of the 
 folk- speech of his native shire, having only written 
 one humourous ballad — sufficient however to make us 
 wish he had done more : — 
 
39 
 TBI BOBBIN'S GRAVE. 
 
 T stoode beside Tim Bobbin's grave, 
 'At looks o'er Katchda teawn ; 
 An' th' owd lad woke within bis yerth, 
 An' sed, " Wbeer arto beawn ? " 
 
 " Aw'm gooin' into tn' Packer Street, 
 As fur as tb' l Gowden Bell, 
 To taste a Daniel's Kesmus ale." 
 Ti3f. — " Aw end bke a saup mysel." 
 
 " An' by tbis bont o' niy reet arm, 
 If fro' that hole tbeaw'll reawk, 
 Tbeawst have a sanp o' tb' best breawn ale 
 'At ever lips did seawk." 
 
 The greawnd it stnrr'd beneath my feet, 
 An' then aw yerd a groan ; 
 He shook the dust fro' off his skull, 
 An' rowlt away the stone. 
 
 Aw browt him up a deep breawn jug, 
 'At a gallon did contain ; 
 An' he took it at one blessed draught, 
 An' laid him deawn again. 
 
 Mr. Elijah. Ridings also has vrritten only one song 
 in the dialect, although a prolific rhymer in other 
 lines of literature. The solitary production has been 
 much admired and is entitled 
 
 ALE AXD PHYSIC. 
 
 Aw'r gooin by a docthur's shop, 
 Ut top o' Newton Yeth ; 
 Un theer aw gan a sudden stop, 
 Un began t' be feort o' deoth. 
 
40 
 
 My honds shak'd loike an aspen leaf, 
 Aw dithert i' my shoon ; 
 It seemt as dark as twelve at neet, 
 Though it war boh twelve at noon. 
 
 Aw thowt aw seed the gallows tree, 
 Wheer th' Yorn-croft thief were swung ; 
 Un ut owd Nick wur takkin me, 
 Un theer he'd ha' me hung. 
 
 Aw grop'd my way to th' docthur's heawse, 
 Un then aw tumblet deawn ; 
 Th' floor it gan me such a seawse, 
 Aw welly brock my creawn. 
 
 Neaw what wur th' docthur thinking on, 
 
 Fort' bring me to mysel, 
 
 Un save a sick and deein mon, 
 
 So feort o' deoth an' hell ? 
 
 He used no lance, he used no drug, 
 Ut strengthens or ut soothes ; 
 Boh he browt some strong ale in a jug, 
 Ut ud come fro' Willey Booth's. 
 
 He put it in my whackerin hont, 
 Ut wur so pale an' thin ; 
 Aw swoipt it o' off at a woint, 
 Un aw never ail't nowt sin. 
 
 In 1851 appeared " M tru un pertikler okeawnt 
 o bwoth wat aw seed un wat aw yerd we gooin too 
 th' greyt Eggshibishan e Lundun, be o Felley fro 
 Rachde"; it immediately took firm hold of the 
 popular taste, and notwithstanding the ephemeral 
 character of its subject is still one of the most 
 
41 
 
 popular works in the dialect, and deservedly so. 
 Written in the genuine folk- speech of the Rochdale 
 district, its delineation of the shrewd yet ignorant 
 "felley," his amusing want of acquaintance with 
 everything five miles off Smobridge, his disregard of 
 proportion in his estimation and comparison of things 
 with which he is acquainted with those of which he 
 is ignorant, his genial good humour, and his demon- 
 strative loyalty, is an amusingly faithful picture. You 
 feel, however, in holding the Eachde felly by the 
 hand, that you are not dealing with one of Tim 
 Bobbin's soulless boors, but a man, touched with the 
 spirit of the times, and in spite of limited education, 
 and its consequent prejudices, one of those whose 
 strong hands and stronger brains have built up the 
 prosperity of Lancashire. We select as a specimen 
 the hero's account of his 
 
 VISIT TO MADAME TUSSAUDS. 
 
 Fro theere aw went ramblin obeawt till aw koome 
 to wat they koed Madum Tussawds, un aw went op 
 sum stayres, un wen aw'd pade me shillin, hin aw 
 went, un eh ! wat a seet, fur shure — kings un 
 quenes be wholsale, un they fare glittert ogen. We 
 bein raythur tyert, aw seete mesel deawn oppo o shet 
 oeronent o rook o foine figgers, aside uv o owd gray- 
 yedded chap we o leet culurt quot on, us wor stayrin 
 at um loike o gud un. Thynks aw to mesel, th' owd 
 felley mun nevur o bin e sich o spot us this afore. E 
 
42 
 
 luket so gloppent. Aw sed too im, This us o grand 
 konsarn, mestnr, iv yo plez, but E stayrt oway un 
 nevur sed naut. Onuther rnon us wor neslit to me 
 uth tuther soide sed u must speke op, me man, the 
 old gentulmun's o littul def. Aw sed, is E ; but 
 awl may im yer, yo's see, un aw koed eawt raythur x 
 leawd, dunnut yo thynk us this o grand konsarn : but 
 E stayrt oway un seet theere us quoite us o meawse. 
 Just then, aw seed tuthre foke laffin, un restin ther 
 een obeawt weere aw wor, un a mon tutcht me 
 shilder un sed, — The old man's waxwurk. Sur, aw 
 sed, nevur, far shure ! Aw gan im a gradely stayre 
 ith faze un awl be sunken iv E wornt o wax chap 
 saime us tuther, but aut moore natteruble cuddent be 
 dun, to maw thynkin. Whoo dun yo think it wor ? 
 Waw it wur owd Billy Kobbitt, fur aw noed im we 
 wonst yerin im lektur e Rachde. It wor ith Unitay- 
 rian Chappil, un aw rekillekt verri wele us his kan- 
 duls wantud snuffin, un o chap koed eawt ith gallure 
 us they'rn o pare o snuffers oside on im, un Billy geet 
 howd on um, un made us laff we sayin Aw gues o 
 political parsun mun snuf his own kanduls. E wor o 
 fanny owd dog, wor Billy, wen E'd a moind. Sum 
 uth figgers wor unkommun natter ul, moore pertiklur 
 thoose as turnt ther yeds reawnd, un heaw that wur 
 dun aw connut gaum fur th' loike on me. Wen aw 
 geet tuth far end, o chap ax'd me iv aw'd goo hinto 
 th' chaimbur o orrors. Aw sed wat han yo e thut 
 orrobul chaimbur us yo koen it ? Wy E sed, o num- 
 ber ov the biggest skoundrils that evur liv'd. Nay, 
 
43 
 
 aw sed, yo'r mistaen theere, nion, far ther's won rap- 
 skallion us yo shudden av in afore th' reawm nl be 
 gradely fit op e that loine, o biggrtr thefe, to maw 
 thynkin, nur ony lis yo han tlieere. TTkoo's that? E 
 sed. Waw, aw sed, o villun ov a powsedurt ov o 
 thefe, us rogned me eawt ov o snverin tuther day. 
 heaw sumewur, aw sed, aw'l av o bit ov o pepe at nm, 
 tin aw wor gooin in. but E koed eawt, Ther's six- 
 punze to pay. Xoane for me, aw sed, awd o gin o 
 shillin rathtir nttr o sin that thefe us aw towd yo on, 
 tin aw'm noane sich a foo us to gie yo sixpunze far to 
 see hauve o duzzen sich loike, tin we that aw turnt 
 mesel reawnd ogen, un wen aw'd luke'tut th' whacks- 
 wurk kraturs whol aw wor tyret, aw went streyt 
 whoame to Mestur Pike's. 
 
 The late John Bolton Hogerson, whose fame was 
 achieved as a lyrist, and whose charming song of 
 " Nothing More " will alone suffice to perpetuate 
 his name for long years has written one humourous 
 ballad in the vernacular dialect, entitled, ;; Th' 
 Bailies." 
 
 So far in our rapid survey we have seen that for more 
 than a hundred years the dialect has been used by 
 many writers known and unknown, as a suitable 
 vehicle for humourous narrative seldom of a very 
 refined character, seldom having any higher object 
 than to excite a laugh at the misfortunes of some 
 ,; clown." Rarely do we find any attempt to pene- 
 trate beyond the veil, or show us what there is of 
 truth, endurance, and love within the sanctuary. 
 
44 
 
 Although he has had many predecessors in the use of 
 the dialect, Mr. Waugh was the first who painted at 
 full length, with all its lights and shades, the portrait 
 of a Lancashire lad. He thus opened a vein of con- 
 siderable richness, and although many have followed 
 in his footsteps none have surpassed him. The pathos 
 and simplicity of his now famous lyric " Come Whoam 
 to thi Childher an Me," at once gave him the place as 
 the laureate of Lancashire ; and a succession of 
 charming songs, some of which, in beauty, far excel 
 that maiden effort bear witness to his dramatic power, 
 and his ability to link together beauty of thought and 
 language "in lengthened sweetness, long drawn out." 
 Mr. Waugh was born at Rochdale in 1819, and is a 
 self-educated man. In his youth and early man- 
 hood he was engaged as a journeyman printer. During 
 the existence of the National School Association, he 
 was one of its secretaries, and since then has chiefly 
 devoted himself to literature. His philosophy is of 
 the genial order, he is no lachrymose sage running 
 hither and thither, and crying woe, woe, but one 
 loving the sunny side of things, blessed with a keen 
 enjoyment of life, a vivid perception of the beauty of 
 nature, and deriving from it compensation for the 
 crosses of life. The dignity and nobility of labour, 
 the sacredness of duty, the claims of home and 
 family, of brotherhood and humanity are the chief 
 doctrines in his creed. 
 
 It is somewhat difficult to quote from Mr. Waugh ; 
 his songs are household words throughout the county. 
 
45 
 
 As a specimen of careful Flemish painting what can 
 be finer than " Eawr Folk," or more spirited than its 
 enthusiastic finale? The rural sweetness of the 
 " Sweetheart Gate," and the tendor pathos of 
 "Willie's Grave," show Mr. Waugh's mastery over 
 the varied emotions of the human heart and prove his- 
 claim to a place among the priests of Poesy. 
 As a specimen of his poetic writing we select 
 
 CHIRRUP. 
 
 Young Chirrup wur a mettled cowt : 
 
 His heart an' limbs wur true ; 
 At foot race, or at wrostlin'-beawt, 
 
 Or aught he buckled to ; 
 At wark or play, reet gallantly 
 
 He laid into his game : 
 An' he're very fond o' singin'-brids — 
 
 That's heaw he geet his name. 
 
 He're straight as ony pickin'-rod, 
 
 An' limber as a snig ; 
 An' th' heartist cock o' th' village clod, 
 
 At every country rig : 
 His shinin' een wur clear an' blue ; 
 
 His face wur frank an' bowd ; 
 An' th' yure abeawt his monly broo 
 
 Wur crisp t i' curls o' gowd. 
 
 Young Chirrup donned his clinker't shoon r 
 
 An' startin' off to th' fair, 
 He swore by th' leet o' th' harvest moon, 
 
 He'd have a marlock there ; 
 He poo'd a sprig fro th' hawthorn -tree, 
 
 That blossomed by the way : — 
 " Iv ony mon says wrang to me, 
 
 Aw'll tan his hide to-day !" 
 
46 
 
 Full sorely mony a lass would sigh, 
 
 That chanced to wander near, 
 An' peep into his een to spy 
 
 Iv luv war lurkin' theer ; 
 So fair an' free he stept o'th' green, 
 
 An' trollin' eawt a song, 
 We leetsome heart, an' twinklin' een, 
 
 Went chirrupin' along. 
 
 Young Chirrup woo'd a village maid, — 
 
 An 5 hoo wur th' flower ov o', — 
 Wi' kisses kind, i'th' woodlan' shade, 
 
 An' whispers soft an' low ; 
 V Matty's ear twur th' sweetest chime 
 
 That ever mortal sung ; 
 An' Matty's heart beat pleasant time 
 
 To th' music ov his tung. 
 
 Oh, th' kindest mates, this world within, 
 
 Mun sometimes meet wi' pain ; 
 But, iv this pair could life begin, 
 
 They'd buckle to again ; 
 For, though he're hearty, blunt, an' tough, 
 
 An' Matty sweet and mild, 
 For three -score year, through smooth an' rough, 
 
 Hoo led him like a child. 
 
 As an example of Mr. Waugh's skill as a prose 
 humourist, we quote his account of 
 
 BODLE'S ADVENTURE AS A SWEEP. 
 
 " Bodle an' Owd Ned had bin upo' th' fuddle a day 
 or two ; an* one mornin' they'd just getten a yure o' 
 
47 
 
 th' owd dog into 'em, an' sit deawn afore th' kitchen 
 fire, as quiet, to look at, as two pot dolls. But they 
 did'nt feel so noather, for they'd some ov a sore yed 
 a piece that mornin', th' owd lads had. Well, theer 
 they sit, in a sort ov a slow boil, turnin' things o'er 
 an' gruntrn', an' try in' to spit eawt neaw an' then ; 
 when, o' at once, Bodle, began o' lookin' yearn'stfully 
 at th' fire hole, an he said, ' Aw'll tell tho what, 
 Ned ; aw've a good mind to go up th' chimbley. ' 
 Well, yo know'n, owd Neddy likes a spree as weel as 
 ony mon livin' ; an' he's noan tickle what mak o' 
 one it is, noather ; so when he yerd that, he jumped 
 up an' said — ' Eh, do, owd lad ! Go up ! Up wi' 
 tho ! Thae'rt just i' reet fettle for a job o' that mak 
 this mornin' ! " Bodle stood a minute scrattin' his 
 yed, an' lookin' at th' chimbley ; an' then he began o' 
 doublin' his laps up, an' he said, — ' Well, but, neaw ; 
 do est o rayley think 'at aw should go up, owd crater ? ' 
 ' Go up ? Ay ! what else ! ' said Neddy, ' Up wi' 
 tho, mon! Soot's a good thing forth' bally- warche ! 
 Beside it'll be a bit ov an eawt for tho ! It's as good 
 as gooin' to Blackpool ! Aw'd ha' gone up mysel' iv 
 aw'd had my Sunday clooas on. Go up ! Aw'll gi' 
 tho a quart ov ale when tho conies deawn again ! " 
 Wilto, for sure ? ' said Bodle, prickin' his ears. ' Is 
 it a bargain ? Come, fair doo's amoon mates ! ' ' Iv 
 aw live, an' thae lives, Bodle,' said owd Neddy, 
 ' theawst have a quart as soon as tho comes down 
 again, iv ever theaw does come deawn again ! Here's 
 my hont, owd lad ! ' ' Done,' said Bodle, ' an ' neaw 
 
48 
 
 for summit fresh/ as Adam o' Rappers said when he 
 roll't off th' kitchen slate into th' midden-hole. Eh, 
 Summit Tunnel's a foo to this ! But aw'll go up iv 
 it's as lung as a steeple.' So th' owd lad made no 
 moor bawks abeawt it but set tone foot upo th' top 
 bar, an' crope reet up into th' smudge-hole. Just as 
 he're rommin hisser in at th' bothom, th 1 owd woman 
 coom in to see what they had'n agate ; an' when 
 Bodle yerd her speyk, he co'd out — ' Hey, Ned ; houd 
 her back a bit or else hoo'll poo mo deawn again.' 
 Th' owd woman stare't awhile afore hoo could make 
 it eawt, whatever it wur that wur creepin' up th' 
 chimbley o' that shap ; an hoo said, ' What mak o' 
 lumber han yo afoot neaw ? Yo're a rook o' th* 
 big'st foo's at ever trode a floor ! Yo'n some devil- 
 ment agate i' th' chimbley aw declare. It's that 
 drunken waistrel ov a Bodle, aw believe ! Aw know 
 him bi his clogs. Th' tone on 'em's brawsen. Eh 
 thae greyt gawmless foo ! Wheer arto for up theer ! 
 Thae'll be smoor't, mon ! ' Hoo would ha darted 
 forrud an' gettin' hold on him, but owd Ned kept 
 stoppin' her, an' sayin', ' Let him a-be, mon! It's 
 nobbut a bit ov a spree. He's gone up a bit ov an 
 arran' for me. He'll be back directly ; wi' a new suit 
 o' black on/ Then he looked o'er his shoolder, and 
 sheawted, ' Bodle, get forrud wi' tho ! Thae met ha* 
 bin deawn again by neaw ! ' An' then as soon as he 
 thowt th' owd lad wur meeterly weel up th' flue, he 
 leet her off; but hoo wur too lat to get howd on him. 
 Hoo could just reytch to hit him o' th' legs wi' th* 
 
49 
 
 poker. When lie felt Imr hittin' him, lie sheawted 
 deawn th' chimbley, ' Who's that 'at's hittin mo ? * 
 'Whau/ said hoo, 'it's me, thae greyt leather-yed. 
 Come deawn wi tho ! What arto doin' i' th' chim- 
 bley ? ' ' Aw'm gooin' up for ale,' said Bodle. ' Ale ! ' 
 said hoo, i there's no ale up theer, thae brawsen foo ! 
 Eh, aw wish yo're Mally wur here ! ' ' Aw wish hoo 
 war here istid o' me/ said Bodle. ' Come down wi* 
 tho, this minit, thae greyt drunken hal/ said th' owd 
 woman ; c or aw'll set tho a fire, — that aw will ! ' 
 4 Aw cannot come back yet, aw tell yo,' said Bodle. 
 * There's ale at th' end o' this job, or else aw'd never 
 ha come'n as fur up as aw ha done. But aw'll not be 
 long, yo may depend ; for its noan a nice place, this 
 is'nt. Eh, there is some ov a smudge ! An' it gwos 
 wur as aw go fur ! By guy, aw can see noan — nor 
 talk noather. Grer off wi' yo ; an' let mo get it o'er, 
 afore aw'm chauk't ! ' An' then he crope forrud. 
 
 " When owd Neddy had watched Bodle draw his 
 legs out o' seet, he set agate o' hommerin' th' 
 chimbley-wole wi' his hont, an' sheawtin', ' Go on, 
 Bodle, owd lad ! go on, owd mon ! Thae'rt a reet un 
 i' tha loses ! Thae'st have a quart o' th' best ale i* 
 this hole, i' tho lives to come deawn again ; an' i' tho 
 dees through it, owd brid, aw'll be fourpence or fip- 
 pence toward thi berrin'.' An' then he sheawted up 
 an' deawn th' heawse, ' Hey ! dun yo yer, lads ! Owd 
 Bodle' s gwon up th' chimbley ! Aw never sprad my 
 e'en upo' th' marrow trick to this ! ' Well, th' whol 
 heawse wur up in a sniffc, an rare gam they had'm 
 D 
 
50 
 
 Owd Ned kept gooin to th* eawtside to see iv Bodle 
 had getten his yed eawt o* th* top, an* then rllIlnin , in 
 again, an bawlin up th' flue, ' Bodle, heaw arto gettin* 
 on ? Go through wi't, owd cock ! Dunnot be lick't 
 wi' a chimbley ! ' But just as he wur starin up an' 
 talkin', Bodle lost his howd, somewheer abeawt th' 
 top, an' he coom shutterin' deawn ; an o' th' soot i'th* 
 chimbley wi' him. Then he let wi' his hinder end 
 thump o' th' top-bar, an' roll't deawn upo' th' har' stone, 
 like a greyt pokeful o' sleek. Eh, what a blash-bog- 
 gart he looked ! Th' owd lad did'nt know wheer he 
 wur for awhile, so he lee rolTt up o' th' floor, amung 
 a cleawd o' soot; an owd Neddy kept laughin' an* 
 wipein' his e'en, and sayin', 'Taythi wyntabit, Bodle! 
 Thae'rt safe londed, iv it be hard leetin' ! It's a good 
 job thae leet o'th soft end on tho, too, owd lad. But, 
 when aw come to think, aw dunnot know which is th' 
 softest end o' thee. But thae'rt a good un ; bith mon 
 arto ! Tay thi wynt, owd brid ! Thae'st have a 
 quart, owd lad, as soon as ever aw con see my gate to 
 th/ bar through this smudge 'at thae's brought wi' 
 tho ! Aw never had my chimbley swept as chep i* 
 my life, never! ' " 
 
 The success of the Eatchda Pelley and of Waugh's 
 Lyrics probably lead the late John Scholes to turn 
 his attention to the dialect. As " Sam Sondnokkur" 
 he relates his experiences on a visit to " Manchestur 
 Mekaniks Hinstitushun Sho"; under the disguise of 
 44 Tim Gamwattle" he narrates a " Jawnt i' Ab-o'- 
 Dicks oth' Doldrums Waggin wi' a whull waggin full 
 
51 
 
 o' foak a seeint Quene," and in other disguises re- 
 counts homely stories of the country side, full of 
 hearty, healthy laughter, and with here and there an 
 indication of higher power than he lived fully to ex- 
 press. One of the most perfect lyrics in the Lancashire 
 dialect, if not, indeed, the best of its love poems, is his 
 
 LANCASHIRE WITCH. 
 
 " An owd maid aw shall be, for aw'm eighteen to-morn, 
 
 An aw my en to keep sengle an' free ; 
 But the dnle's i' th' lads, for a plagne thi were born, 
 
 An' thi never can let one a-be, a-be, 
 
 They never can let one a-be. 
 
 Folk seyn aw'm to' pratty to dee an owd maid, 
 
 An' at love sits an' laughs i' my ee ; 
 By leddy aw'm capt at folk wantin' to wed, 
 
 Thi mey o' tarry sengle for me, for me, 
 
 Thi mey o* tarry sengle for me. 
 
 There's Robin a' mill — he's so fond of his brass, — 
 
 Thinks to bargain like shoddy for me $ 
 He may see a foo's face if he looks in his glass, 
 
 An' aw'd thank him to let me a-be, a-be, 
 
 Aw'd thank him to let me a-be. 
 
 Coom a chap t'other day o' i hallidi trim, 
 An' he swoor he'd go dreawn him for me ; 
 
 Hie thi whoam first and doff thi aw sed bonny Jim, 
 Or the'll spnyl a good shnte, does ta see, does ta see, 
 Thae'll spuyl a good shute, does ta see. 
 
52 
 
 Cousin Dick says aw've heawses, an* land, an* some gowd, 
 An' he's planned it so weel, done yo see ; 
 
 When we're wed he'll ha' th' heawses new fettled an' soud, 
 But aw think he may let um a-be, a-be, 
 Sly Dicky may let um a-be. 
 
 Ned's just volunteered into th' roifles recruits, 
 
 An' a dashing young sodiur is he, 
 If his gun's like his een it'll kill where it shoots, 
 
 But aw'll mind as they dunnot shoot me, shoot me, 
 
 Aw'll mind as they dunnot shoot me. 
 
 He sidles i' th' lone, an' he frimbles at th* yate, 
 
 An' he cooms as he coom no for me ; 
 He spers for ar John, bo' says nought abeawt Kate, 
 
 An just gies a glent wi' his ee, his ee, 
 
 An' just gies a glent wi' his ee. 
 
 He's tall, en' he's straight, an* his curls are like gowd, 
 
 An' there's summat so sweet in his ee, 
 At aw think i' my heart, if he'd nobbut be bowt, 
 
 He needna quite let me a-be, a-be, 
 
 He needna quite let me a-be. 
 
 Mr. Benjamin Brierley is best known by his skill 
 as a novelist, but lie has, nevertheless, written some 
 charming lyrics, the prettiest of them being the 
 quaint song of the 
 
 WEAVER OF WELLBUOOK. 
 
 Ye gentlemen o' with yor heawnds an' yor parks — 
 Yo may gamble an' sport till yo dee ; 
 
 Bo a quiet heawse nook, a good wife, an' a book, 
 Is mooar to the likins o' me-e. 
 
53 
 
 Wi' mi pickers and pins, 
 
 An' mi wellers to th' shins, 
 Mi linderins, shuttle, and yeald-hook, 
 
 Mi treddles an' sticks, 
 
 Mi weights, ropes, an' bricks, 
 What a life ! said the Wayver of Wellbrook. 
 
 Aw care no' for titles, nor heawses, nor lond, 
 
 Owd Jone's a name fittin for me ; 
 An' gie mi a thatch wi' a wooden dur-latch, 
 . An' six feet o' greawnd when aw dee. Wi' mi, &c. 
 
 Some folke liken' t stuff their owd wallets wi' mayte, 
 Till they're as reawnt an* as brawsen as frogs ; 
 
 Bo for me aw'm content when aw've paid down mi rent, 
 Wi' enoof t' keep me np i' mi clogs-ogs. Wi mi, &c. 
 
 An' then some are too idle to use ther own feet, 
 
 An' mun keawr an' stroddle i' th' lone ; 
 Bo when aw'm wheelt or carried, it'll be to get berried, 
 
 An* then dicky -up wi' owd Jone-one. Wi' mi, &c. 
 
 Yo may turn up yor noses at me an' th' owd dame, 
 
 An thrutch us like dogs agen th' wo : 
 Bo as lung 's aw con nayger, aw'll ne'er be a beggar, 
 
 So aw care no a cuss for yo o-o'. Wi' mi, &c. 
 
 Then, Margit, turn round that hum-a-drum wheel, 
 
 An' mi shuttle shall fly like a brid ; 
 An' when aw no lunger con use bont or finger, 
 
 They'm say, — while aw could do aw did-id. Wi' mi, &c. 
 
 Mr. Brierley was born at Failsworth in 1825, and was 
 folly thirty years of age when he commenced author. 
 The account of his visit to Daisy ISTook published un- 
 
64 
 
 der the title of " A Day Out,'' at once showed that a 
 new and talented painter of Lancashire life had arisen 
 to share the fame of Collier and Waugh. The favour- 
 able impression made by this first effort has been 
 greatly increased by his subsequent writings, in which 
 he has shown not only skill in painting the daily life 
 of Lancashire, the loves, joys, and sorrows of the 
 people among whom he dwells, but a dramatic power 
 and freshness by no means common. But whilst the 
 fable of his fictions are with few exceptions ingenious 
 and artistic, it is unquestionably to the rare combina- 
 tion of humour and pathos in his characters that his 
 wide popularity is owing. Like Edwin Waugh's 
 famous fiddler he is alternately gleeful and tender : — 
 
 An' sometimes, th' wayter in his e'en, 
 'At f nn has teyched to flow, 
 Can hardly roll away, afore 
 It's wash'd wi' drops o woe. 
 
 The same hand that has drawn scenes as broad in 
 humour as any of Collier's, fan as unrestrained as a 
 Dutch Kermasse, has also painted that solemn scene of 
 Shadow's Deathbed. "Humour quaint and old- 
 world like," says a modern critic, " yet genial as the 
 newest day in summer — at times subdued and calm 
 as the smile on the face of a sleeping child, or gushing 
 forth joyously — yet ever humour ; pathos touching and 
 tender as the face of your dear dead girl, and leaving a 
 sadness in your heart, and tears in your eyes ; and wit, 
 bright and cutting as a Damascus blade, and bending 
 like one, — are thrown together in the same pages with 
 
55 
 
 a magical power ; and the smile, the hearty laugh, the 
 quiet tear are created by reading almost any one of 
 Mr. Brierley's stories. The creation of such real last- 
 ing feelings is the most blessed privilege of trua 
 genius ; it is true art, and not acquired by studying 
 certain cold dry rules — but the art inborn, and there- 
 fore god-given, and part of the soul. It may seem a 
 simple thing to make the human heart thrill with joy 
 or throb with pain ; but in the sense we speak of, 
 geiius, and genius alone, can play upon the wondrous 
 harp, evoking wild sad laments, or glorious gushes of 
 thaakful praise. Benjamin Brierley can do this, and 
 the laughter he creates is as healthy as the tears you 
 cannot keep back when he introduces you to such 
 men as i Hobson ' and l Shadow.' " 
 
 Perhaps after Waugh, no Lancashire songwriter 
 has attained such popularity as Mr. Samuel Laycock, 
 whose separate poems (originally published on fly- 
 sheets) sold to the extent of forty-thousand copies 
 before they were collected into permanent form as a 
 book, and although his writings are somewhat unequal 
 there can be no doubt that he amply merits the ap- 
 plause which he has received. 
 
 The native humour and subdued pathos of " Welcome 
 Bonny Brid " have made it a universal favourite, but 
 the finest poem he has yet produced is "Bowton's 
 Yard," which describes in homely rhymes the fortunes 
 and characters of each denizen of the now famous 
 yard. What a beautiful picture is that of the aged 
 shoemaker, 
 
56 
 
 At number nine th' owd cobbler lives, th' owd chap 'at mends 
 
 mi shoon, 
 He's gettin' very weak an' done, aw think he'll leave us soon j 
 He reads bis Bible every day, an' sings just like a lark, 
 He says he's practising for heaven, he's welly done his wark. 
 
 " Th' Coortin* Neet," is a faithful picture of a rus- 
 tic wooing, and "The Village Pedlar' ' is a vividly 
 sketched portrait of one of those characters who are 
 fast disappearing before the march of improvement. 
 As a fair specimen of Mr. Laycock's powers we quote 
 the following poem : — 
 
 THEE AW ME. 
 
 Tha'rt livin at thi country seat, 
 
 Among o' th' gents and nobs : 
 Tha's sarvant girls to cook thi meat, 
 
 An do thi o thi jobs. 
 Awm lodgin here wi' Bridget Yates, 
 
 At th' hut near th' ceaw-lone well ; 
 Aw mend mi stockins, pill th' potates, 
 
 An wesh mi shurts mysel. 
 
 Tha wears a finer cooat nor me, 
 
 Thi purse is better lined ; 
 An fortin's lavished more o' thee 
 
 Nor th' rest o' human kind. 
 Life storms that rage around this yed, 
 
 An pelt so hard at me, 
 Till mony a time aw've wished awm dyed 
 
 But seldom trouble thee. 
 
57 
 
 Tha'rt rich i' o this world can give, 
 
 Tha's silver an tha's gowd j 
 But me — aw find it hard to live, 
 
 Aw'm poor, an' gettin owd : 
 These fields and lones aw'm ramblin through- 
 
 They o belong to thee ; 
 AwVe ony just a yard or two, 
 
 To ceawer in when aw dee. 
 
 When tha rides eawt, th' folks o areawnd 
 
 Stond gapin up at thee, 
 Becose tha'rt worth ten theawsand peawnd, 
 
 But scarcely notice me. 
 Aw trudge abeawt fro spot to spot, 
 
 An* nob'dy seems to care ; 
 They never seek my humble cot, 
 
 To ax me heaw aw fare. 
 
 If tha should dee, there's lots o' folk 
 
 Would fret an cry, no deawt ; 
 When aw shut up they'll only joke, 
 
 An say, " He's just gone eawt, — 
 Well, never heed him, let him go, 
 
 An find another port ; 
 We're never to a chap or two, 
 
 We'n plenty moor o' th' sort." 
 
 Tha'll have a stone placed o'er thy grave 
 
 To shew thi name an age ; 
 An o tha's done at's good an brave, 
 
 Be seen o* history's page. 
 When aw get tumbled into th' greawnd 
 
 There'll ne'er be nowt to show 
 Who's res tin neaththat grassy meawnd, — 
 
 An nob'dy '11 want to know. 
 
58 
 
 But deawn i' th' grave, what spoils o th' sport, 
 
 No ray o' leet can shine, — 
 An th' worms below can hardly sort 
 
 Thy pampered clay fro' mine. 
 So when this world for th' next tha swaps, 
 
 Tak wi' thi under th' stone 
 Thi cooat ov arms, an bits o' traps, 
 
 Or else tha'll ne'er be known. 
 
 But up above there's One 'at sees 
 
 Through th' heart o' every mon ; 
 An he'll just find thee as tha dees, 
 
 So dee as weel as t' con : 
 An aw'll do the same, owd friend, an then, 
 
 Wi* o eawr fauts forgiven, 
 P'raps thee an me may meet again, 
 
 An booath shake honds i' heaven. 
 
 Mr. Bealey is another most successful delineator of 
 Lancashire character. The most beautiful of his 
 efforts is probably his portrait of " Eawr Bessy/' 
 golden-haired child, the light of the household, who 
 seems to have had glimpses of the asphodel valleys 
 beyond the dark river, and who longs for the land of 
 light and love. " Whom the Gods love die young," 
 and so this fair and fragile flower of the flock is called 
 away, 
 
 Aw thowt hoo're gooin', an' aw ax'd 
 
 If hoo ud like to dee, 
 An' live wi' th' angels ? but hoo said, 
 
 " Aw'd rayther stay wi' thee." 
 
 But then hoo seemed to look abeawt, 
 
 Then fixed her little e'en ; 
 An sich a look coom o'er her face 
 
 As if hoo'd summat seen. 
 
59 
 
 Then stretchin eawt her little arms, 
 
 An' lookin' up aboon, 
 Her e'en as breet as stars, hoo said, 
 
 " Aw'm comin' — comin' — soon." 
 
 An 5 with a smile upon her face, 
 
 TJt seemed like break o' day, 
 Hoo went just like a mornin' star, 
 
 TJt dayleet melts away. 
 
 The description of " Eawr Bessy " and the mother's 
 anguish at the death of her darling, are painted with 
 great truth and homely pathos. In another mood al- 
 together is " My Johnny, " a simple picture of honest 
 love, showing how Dan Cupid rules his subjects in 
 South Lancashire. As we have only to speak here of 
 the folk songs of Lancashire, we must omit all the 
 more general writings of the authors we have named. 
 For this reason we do not stay to examine Mr. 
 Bealey's general poetry, but content ourselves with 
 another song of his which has attained a deserved 
 popularity, and which breathes a wise tolerance and 
 childlike confidence in the goodness of the Father. 
 
 MY PIECE IS 0' BUT WOVEN EAWT. 
 
 My piece is o' but woven eawt, 
 
 My wark is welly done ; 
 Aw've treddled at it day by day, 
 
 Sin th' time nt aw begun. 
 Aw've sat i'th loom-heawse long enoof, 
 
 An' made th' owd shuttle fly, 
 An* neaw aw'm fain to stop it off, 
 
 An' lay my weyvin' by. 
 
60 
 
 Aw dun not know heaw th* piece is done, 
 
 Aw'm fear'd it's marr'd enoof, 
 But th' warp wern't made o' th' best o' yarn, 
 
 An* th.' weft wur nobbut rough. 
 Aw've been some botlier'd neaw and then 
 
 Wi' knots an' breakin's too ; 
 They'n hamper'd me so mich at times, 
 
 Aw've scarce known what to do. 
 
 But th' Mester's just, and weel He knows, 
 
 Ut th* yarn wur noan so good ; 
 He winna bate me when He sees 
 
 Aw've done as weel 's aw could. 
 Aw'se get my wage, aw'm sure o' that, 
 
 He'll gie me o' ut's due, 
 An' maybe, in His t'other place, 
 
 Some better wark to do. 
 
 But then, aw reckon, 'tisn't th' stuff 
 
 We'n gatten t' put i' th' loom, 
 But what we mak on't, good or bad. 
 
 TJt th' credit on't '11 come. 
 Some wark i' silk, an' other some 
 
 Ha' cotton i' their gear ; 
 But silk or cotton matters nowt, 
 
 If nobbut th' skill be theer. 
 
 But now it's nee to th' eend o' th* week, 
 
 An' close to th' reckonin' day : 
 Aw'll tak my "piece" upo' my back, 
 
 An' yer what th' Mester '11 say ; 
 An' if aw nobbut yer His voice 
 
 Pronounce my wark weel done, 
 Aw'll straight forget o' th' trouble past, 
 
 In th' pleasure ut's begun. 
 
 The limits of an essay of this nature prevent us 
 
61 
 
 from doing justice to all who have written in the dia- 
 lect, we can only give a brief appreciation of the 
 works of Joseph Ramsbottom, J. T. Staton, Thomas 
 Brierley, Joseph Charlesworth, John Higson, George 
 Richardson, who have all attained some popularity 
 and success in this style of writing. ISTor can we stay 
 to particularize the talented sketches of Miss M. R. 
 Lahee. We recognize at once the graphic portraiture 
 of honest "Owd Neddy Fitton," and sympathise with 
 the struggles of " Jomes Wrigley." Mr. Mellor, 
 better known as " Uncle Owdam," is another of our 
 Lancashire minstrels, and we venture to quote a little 
 lyric of his entitled 
 
 LOVE THOWTS. 
 
 Oych morn when th' pattin' ov his clogs, 
 
 Maks music close to th' cottage winder, 
 Aw peep through th' "blind, he looks an' smiles, 
 
 My face bruns like a red-whot cinder. 
 That look an' smile whol day-leet lasts, 
 
 Are coals 'at keep my heart-foyr brunnin' ; 
 An' sometimes too such thowts '11 come, 
 
 'At set my een agate a-runnin. 
 
 Oych neet when passin' by again, 
 
 His face reet full o' looks so winning 
 He'll stop an' stond at th' cottage dur, 
 
 While mother an' mysel sit sp inni n*. 
 An' then he'll say,— so ticin' too, 
 
 While th' roses to my cheeks are rushin', 
 " Come, Mary, lass ! will t'have a walk ?" 
 
 Aw wonder who could help fro blushin' I 
 
62 
 
 Eh ! heaw aw lung tcrlink wi' him, 
 
 Down th' shady lone when th' brids are singin', 
 Eh ! heaw aw love to yer his voice, 
 
 So nobly an' so sweetly ringin\ 
 An* when he puts his face to mine, 
 
 An' starts a smilin', then a kissin', 
 Eh ! heaw mi heart jumps to my meawth — 
 
 Aw feel — aw don't know heaw — God bless him ! 
 
 He's never axed mi t'wed him yet 5 
 
 Bur well aw know he'll never lave mi ; 
 Nowe ! Billy is too good a lad, 
 
 His love's too true for t'e'er desave mi. 
 Aw'll bide mi time, — its till he's sav't 
 
 A bit o' brass, — he mun be waitin' ; 
 Hush ! that's his fuut — aye, aye, it's it ! 
 
 Eh ! heaw it sets mi heart a batein' ! 
 
 It would be an easy and a pleasant task to extend 
 these observations on this part of our subject, by re- 
 ferring to the works of the writers we have named, and 
 others of the same class, but we hope that enough has 
 already been said to show how rich and varied in in- 
 terest is the literature of the Lancashire folk-speech. 
 
 In the preceding extracts which form an epitome of 
 the history of the dialect, we have scrupulously ad- 
 hered to each authorV orthography. Owing to the 
 confused and arbitrary system which Englishmen are 
 content to dignify by the name of spelling, this 
 orthography seldom conveys any idea of the pronuncia- 
 tion to one not already familiar with it. To obviate 
 this difficulty our concluding extract is written in the 
 glossic alphabet invented by Mr. Alexander J. Ellis, 
 
63 
 
 F.R.S., for the representation of ordinary English and 
 its varied dialects. 
 
 KOARTI'X TOY1L 
 
 Uv oa* th)toymz n)tih dai* tm niyt, 
 Thur)z won ut an* loyk th)baest ; 
 
 It kuumz wi J )rh diyi'n u)th liyt, 
 Waen th)suon uz gon tu raest. 
 
 Un waen th)uuwd tlok iz uopu)th st'roa'k. 
 
 Mi' aart iz rae'r un farn ; 
 Au donz mi' saving' ur on, nn guoz 
 
 To miyt mi' swiytaart Jarn. 
 
 Un waen tu)th wuodn brij au kuum, 
 
 Ut)s tloa's bi' Laangli'-Liy ; 
 Au staarts u wisli'n 'dnaen loyk maad, 
 
 Til th)brid kuumz uuwi tu miy. 
 
 Un boy uuwd Pind'u'r mil wf goo*, 
 Un duuwn bi')th bruok soyd wau'k ; 
 
 Un pae'rri'n toym uz auiu'z kuum, 
 Ufoa'r we')n duon uuwr tau'k. 
 
 Ai* ! th)nuuwu'rz i' ivu'ri' loa'n uow noa'Z ; 
 
 Thur narmz bi' aart uow)z got ; 
 Un in mi' koou'i; laasL niyr: uow puot 
 
 U biuow fu'rgyaet-mi'-not. 
 
 Un dnaat, bi')th maas, au nivur shaal, 
 
 Uz luong uz au')m u sinu'r ; 
 Un iv uow iz bu'r tu bi' wuon, 
 
 Bi' )th maaski'nz dhaen au)l win ur. 
 
64 
 
 Translated into book English from " Dr. Rondeau's 
 Revenge," and other Lancashire sketches. 
 
 COURTING TIME. 
 
 Of all the times of the day and night, 
 Theirs one that I like the best, 
 It comes with the dying of the light, 
 When the sun has gone to rest. 
 
 And when the old clock is upon the stroke, 
 My heart is rare and fain ; 
 I don my swinger on, and go 
 To see my sweetheart Jane. 
 
 And when to the wooden bridge I come, 
 That's close by Langiey-lea, 
 I start a- whistling then like mad, 
 Till the bird comes owt to me. 
 
 And by old Pinder's mill we go, 
 And down by the brookside walk, 
 And parting time has always come, 
 Before we've done our talk. 
 
 Ah ! the flowers in eVry lane she knows, 
 Their names by heart she's got ; 
 And in my coat, last night, she put 
 A blue Forget-Me-Not. 
 
 And that by the mass I never shall 
 As long as I'm a sinner, 
 And if she is but to be won, 
 By the maskins then I'll win her. 
 
 The following will show the precise value of the 
 
65 
 
 glossic symbols employed in the above extract ; for 
 further details we must refer to Mr. Ellis's lecture, 
 delivered before the Society of Arts, April 20th, 
 1870 :— 
 
 1. ee 
 
 beer=beeu'r. 
 
 2. i 
 
 fit. 
 
 3. ai 
 
 name= naim 
 
 4. ae 
 
 pair=pae'r. 
 
 
 bed=baed. 
 
 
 pet=pa'et. 
 
 5. aa 
 
 haa. 
 
 
 «rt=aart. 
 
 
 fat = f aat. 
 
 6. au 
 
 call=kau. 
 
 
 I unemphatic au. 
 
 7. o 
 
 not. 
 
 8. uu 
 
 love = luti v. 
 
 
 kirn=tuurn. 
 
 9. oa 
 
 coal. 
 
 
 domain = doamain. 
 
 10. no 
 
 <mp=kuop. . 
 
 
 son = suon. 
 
 11. 00 
 
 poor=poou'r (The Northern short u). 
 
 12. i> 
 
 pity=piti\ 
 
 
 coming = kuumi'ng. 
 
 13. u' 
 
 mention = maenshu'n. 
 
 
 water=wautVr. 
 
 2 & 1. 
 
 iee=iy; see=siy; feel=fiyl. 
 
 10 & 11. 
 
 uooo=uow; cool=kuowl. 
 
 Long i== 
 
 °7; > 
 
 Long u— 
 
 -initial = yoo ; humour= yoomu'r 
 
 medial or final iw or eew;tune=tiVn or teewm 
 
 E 
 
 
66 
 
 4 & 1. aeee=aey; weight=waeyt. 
 
 8 & 11. uuoo=uuw; owt=uuwt. 
 
 tl for cl; clock=£Zok. 
 
 ell for gl; gloppent=c?Zopnt. 
 
 dental t ; t' tree=t'riy ; water=waitVr. 
 
 dental d ; d' drink = d'rink. 
 
 fodder=fod'd J u'r. 
 Palatal k=k' ; cart=kyaart. 
 Palatal g— g' ; garden =gyaardi'n. 
 
 The first column contains the glossic symbols or 
 notation for the vowels, dipthongs, and peculiar con- 
 sonantal sounds in the South Lancashire dialect ; 
 and the second column the key words in which the 
 sounds of the glossic symbols are printed in italics. 
 
 Accent. — Place a stress on the first syllable when 
 not otherwise marked. 
 
 Quantity op Vowels. — All vowels are to be read 
 short or medial, except otherwise marked. 
 
 The Stress (*) placed immediately after a vowel 
 shows it to be long and accented, as aw gust ; placed 
 immmediately after a consonant, it shows that the 
 preceding vowel is short and accented, as augus't. 
 
 Divider ) , occasionally used to assist the reader 
 by separating to the eye words not separated to the 
 ear, as tael)ur dhaet)l duow. 
 
 Several of these sounds do not occur in conven- 
 tional English. The most noticeable is (uuw) which 
 has been not inappropriately called the Lancashire 
 Shibboleth, and (aey) which, although not recognised 
 by the dictionaries, appears still to linger in the words 
 
67 
 
 eight, weight, freight, which are often marked to 
 rhyme with hate, fate, &c, although their general 
 pronunciation is very distinct from the vowel (ai) in 
 those words. 
 
 "The leading characteristics of the South Lanca- 
 shire dialect," says Mr. Picton, "may be comprised 
 under the following heads : — 1. Obsolete and peculiar 
 words and phraseology ; 2. Peculiar grammatical 
 forms ; 3. Peculiar contractions in the combination of 
 words; 4. Peculiarity of pronunciation. " # 
 
 Mr. Thomas Heywood, the Rev. John Davies, the 
 Bev. Wm. Graskell, Mr. Picton, and the late Mr. Harland 
 have, in the several memoirs on the subject, so well 
 examined the philological structure of the dialect 
 that nothing fresh remains to be said. The dialect 
 retains traces of all the various tribes by whom the 
 district has been peopled, the preponderating element 
 heing Anglo-Saxon. Mr. Gaskell gives observations 
 on the etymology of 177 words or phrases. Of these 
 29 appear to be of Keltic origin, and the remainder 
 Teutonic, generally derived from the Anglo-Saxon, 
 .■although, in some cases, more probable roots may be 
 found in the other Gothic dialects. These represent 
 the influence of the old Frisian section of the early 
 settlers, and of the Danes, whose settlements have 
 given names to several places in the county. Mr. 
 Picton has examined 222 words, and assigns 54 of 
 
 * Trans. Literary and Philosophical Society of Liverpool, 
 six., 24. 
 
68 
 
 them to a Welsh origin, 15 to old Frisian, 100 to 
 Anglo-Saxon, 40 to Danish, and 13 to Norman 
 French. 
 
 There appears to be gaining ground a belief that 
 the influence of the Kelts in the formation of the 
 English race has been underrated. The theory of 
 their almost total extinction by the Anglo-Saxons has 
 long been received without much examination. In 
 Lancashire, at all events, they have left their mark 
 upon the language of the people. It has been said, 
 however, that Lancashire is the most Keltic county in 
 England. 
 
 The grammatical peculiarities of the dialect are 
 generally owing to the retention of old forms of ex- 
 pression, which have either dropped out of conven- 
 tional English or become corrupted. Thus hoo (she) 
 is the Anglo-Saxon personal feminine pronoun, and 
 um is not a construction of them as might at first be 
 thought, but the Anglo-Saxon lieom. Axen, hrast, 
 &c, are more ancient than ask and burst. The ter- 
 mination of verbs in en, wMch may be found in 
 Chaucer and Pier's Ploughman, is retained in the 
 dialect. The plural ending in en may be seen in een, 
 shoon, Icine (from cy ' A. S.) . It is to be regretted that 
 the sibillant s has almost universally replaced this 
 more euphonious form in the sign of the plural. "If," 
 says Sir Francis Doyle, "we could call back from 
 oblivion and disuse that valuable termination in en, it is 
 impossible to say what metrical triumphs might not 
 be achieved. We might even hope to allay, if we 
 
69 
 
 could not fully quench, the disembodied hiss which, 
 floats round a church, whenever the school children 
 pause in their hymn."* 
 
 The tendency to contractions is very great, render- 
 ing some sentences unintelligible to a "foreigner." 
 Lutliee preo (look thee, pray you) ; mitch goodeeto 
 (much good may it do you). 
 
 The peculiarities of our folk-speech will be best 
 
 seen by the following miniature glossary, in which 
 
 will be found an explanation of all the words that 
 
 occur in the preceding extracts, and differ materially 
 
 from conventional English. From the occasional 
 
 notes appended, it will be seen that in many cases we 
 
 have retained archaic forms in the dialect which have 
 
 disappeared from the literary language. 
 
 Ax = ask (Acsian, axian A. S.) "Therefor nyle ze 
 
 be made like to hem, for youre fadir woot what is 
 
 nede to zou; before that ye axen him.' , Wiclif. 
 
 Test. 1380. Matt. vi. 8. Axe is used in Tyndall's 
 
 version of 1534, whilst Cranmer, five years later, 
 
 employs aske. 
 
 Bawks = baulks. 
 
 Beawn = bound. "Now, in Icelandic buinn is the 
 participle of bua, signifying prepared, addressed to, 
 or, as we have the word somewhat disguised in 
 English, ' bound for.' In old English, we have the 
 word as * boun'." — Gaskell. 
 Blash = a blaze, a flash, a sudden burst, as "a blash 
 o' foyar " or " leetnin'." Blash-boggart may mean 
 
 * Lectures on Poetry, p. 58. 
 
70 
 
 an apparition that appears for an instant, then dis- 
 appears. Blasli— (blcece A.S. paleness ?) 
 
 Boggart = a spirit, an apparition, a ghost or goblin. 
 " In welsh Bogelu signifies to affright. The root 
 of the word, which is bwg, is not unlikely to be 
 that from which boggart, or buggart, is derived." 
 — Gaskell. 
 
 Brawsen — bursting, burst, bursted. Also glutted 
 (Braisg, Welsh, coarse.) 
 
 Brids = birds. (Briddes, A.S. — " The young of any 
 bird or animal." — Bosworth. "Briddis of heuene 
 han nestis."— Wiclif's Test. 1380. Also, meta- 
 phorically, children, as, " Ther's o bonny show o r 
 brids i'th' nest." 
 
 Clinkert = sound of metals. (Klincken, Dutch.) Clink, 
 clinker, from clinch = a smart blow, a ringing slap, 
 a "run bar punse;" clinker=a jingling sound; also 
 a strong, large-headed nail used for heavy country 
 shoes ; also a large crossled cinder or salamander ; 
 clinker't — crossled ; also the noise made when a 
 person walks over flags with clinkered shoes on. 
 
 Cratch=( Creche, French.) a rack for hay in a stable. 
 
 Crinkum-crankums=odds and ends, curiosities. 
 
 Dithert=trembled, quaked. 
 
 Doff=do off, take off. 
 
 Een=eyes. (Eagan A.S.) 
 
 Eigh=aye, yes ; also an interjection meaning, "Is it 
 so ? " Eigh-eigh !=a strong affirmation. Eigh-lats I 
 =a word to hie, encourage, or set on a dog. Eigh- 
 lads-Eigh !=a phrase enjoining every one to haste 
 and look out for himself. 
 
71 
 
 Fare, fair, feor=Faer, A.S. — intense, great, actually, 
 extreme. As "Fair freetont (or feeort);" "Fair 
 cheeotin, &c." Fairation=fair play. Fair-faw (or 
 fo')=fair fall i. e. good attend yon ; to happen well 
 to; also preferable, as "Fair faw snow to rain.' * 
 Fair-grand=splendid, 
 
 Fanse, fawse=quick, intelligent, subtle, cunning, 
 crafty. Also false, as the "fawsebothom" of a box ; 
 Fawse-loffc = an attic or place of concealment. 
 
 Frimbles = tries ineffectually; shapes awkwardly as 
 if " He're o' fingers un' thumbs." 
 
 Fuddle ( ? from foot- ale, beverage required from one 
 entering a new occupation) = to tipple ; a drinking 
 bout ; Fuddlt = fuddled, drunk ; to make drunk, to 
 intoxicate. 
 
 Gawm=to understand, to comprehend ; to gather the 
 meaning. Gyman A.S. attention. Heywood says 
 gaumjau (Goth.) and geomian A.S., but this is 
 doubtful ; geomian — gieman is to regard, not to 
 understand. The root appears to be Gothic as Mr. 
 Gaskell points out, in which tongue Gaumidedun is 
 they saw, they perceived. 
 
 Glendart=stared. Collier says A.S., which is doubt- 
 ful. There is Glendrian A.S. — To swallow, devour, 
 to gluttonize. — Bosworth. 
 
 Glooart=looked intently. Glaere A.S. glare. Why 
 
 glare thyn eyes in thy head? Palsgrave, 1540, 
 
 quoted by Halliwell. It is given by Levins (1570). 
 
 Gloppen=to frighten ; (Glop, Glupna, Norse, means 
 
 to despond, to lose courage.) " Thowe wenys to 
 
72 
 
 glopyne me with thy gret wordez." Morte Arthure. 
 (Halliwell.) Glop=to stare, to be surprised ; Glop- 
 pen=to astonish, to stupify ; Gloppen, gloppent= 
 surprised, amazed, frightened. 
 
 Gooah^go. Ga, A.S.=go. 
 
 Guts = " The guts are with us what the brains are to 
 other people. Butler seated the affections in this 
 part of the body : ' It grieved him to the guts that 
 they* — Hudibras, part 1, canto 2, line 893. i He has 
 no guts in Ms brains. 9 ' The anfractus of the brain 
 looked upon when the dura mater is taken off, do 
 much resemble guts." — Say. Heywood on Lane. 
 Dial., p. 24. 
 
 Hadloontrean = the gutter or space between the head- 
 lands (or buts) and others. A.S. Rein, ren = rain; 
 Renian=to rain. Ren, rin, rine, ryne=a gutter, a 
 water furrow, a watercourse. 
 
 Hal=a fool. 
 
 Hammil-scoance== Village Lantern ; satirically means 
 the hamlet (or village) Solomon. Sconce occurs 
 in Levins 1570, and in Minsheu. 
 
 Hoo=she. From heo, the third person feminine of 
 the A.S. personal pronoun. 
 
 Kersun=christen. (Kersten. Dutch.) 
 
 Xippo, kibbo=a long stick. 
 
 Xokink=a cocking-match. (Kok, coc, A.S.) 
 
 Kratchin=fad, whim, scheme or conceit. 
 
 Lawm=lame. (Lam, A.S.) 
 
 Lemme=let me 
 
 Limber=supple, flexible. This occurs in Minsheu. 
 
73 
 
 Loppen=past tense of leap ; also cropped. 
 
 Lukko=look yon. 
 
 Lumber=mischief ; damage; rubbish, L e. old or odd 
 
 valueless things. 
 Lnncnin=lnncheon. 
 
 Mario ck=lark, frolic, vagary, antic, ridiculous ges- 
 ture. Marlockin' — gambolling, playing. 
 Marrow=like, companion ; a mate, an equal, a match. 
 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie bride, 
 Busk ye, my winsome marrow. 
 
 Braes of Yarrow. 
 Maskins— a diminutive of "By the mass." 
 Meeterley=moderately, tolerably. Hollinshed uses 
 
 this word (mcetre A.S.) Levins has meetely. 
 Mey=make. 
 ~Naygur=negro, used as an equivalent for hard, 
 
 drudging labour. 
 Noniony, nominy=a wordy speech, recitation, or 
 
 address ; a profuse, formal address or invocation. 
 
 N"omminies=long statements generally got by heart. 
 Owd=old. (Oud, Dutch.) 
 Pick'd^vomited ; cast out; thrown, pitched; also 
 
 woven, or thrown the weft once across the warp. 
 Pingot=a small croft near a house. 
 Plek=place (plaece A.S., a street, an open place) a 
 
 spot. . 
 Poo'd=pulled. 
 Potates=potatoes. This is generally pronounced as a 
 
 word of two syllables, the termination being disused. 
 Powse-durt (Poussiere, French, dust)=lumber, offal, 
 
74 
 
 rubbish ; a term of reproach. Mr. Graskell suggests 
 that this is from " the Welsh Pws, which means 
 what is expelled or rejected, refuse." 
 Prompted. (Then Grace hoo prompted her featly 
 and foine.) This means she made herself quite prim. 
 Reawk= (if fro that greawnd tha'll reawk. Bamford. ) 
 Bamford inserted this word to meet the exigencies 
 of the rhyme. Reawk=to meet in neighbours 
 houses and spend time in idle gossip. Reawkin'= 
 sitting close ; tarrying out at nights ; meeting to- 
 gether. Reawk't=raked out at night ; rooked ; 
 collected. Reawken = they rake, &c. ; Reawken't 
 =they raked, &c. 
 
 Rig=sport; a trick or frolic; also to jest. 
 
 Scoance=see Hammil Scoance. 
 
 Scratt=scratching. This occurs in Levins and is not 
 an uncommon form in Early English. Black Scrat 
 and Owd Scrat=the Devil. 
 
 Seawse=blow with the open hand, or hand partially 
 open; a box or " clout" on the head; also to plunge 
 or immerse. "And geve them a soivce with his 
 hande." Robert the Devyll (quoted by Halliwell). 
 Pig-seawse=potted pigs head. 
 
 Shoon=shoes. (Scon, sceon, A.S.) 
 
 Shutterin= slipping, sliding. An elongation of the A. 
 S. Scitan, scedtan — to shoot. 
 
 Sidles = (sidles i' th' lone) — follows a lass bashfully 
 and secretly. 
 
 Smudge=small or slack coals, as "smithy smudge." 
 Also a stink or stench, as of smoky steam, when 
 
75 
 
 a smith puts water on his fire ; also a hearty kiss ;. 
 
 also to smear. 
 Snever=slender, smooth. 
 
 Snig=eel. (A.S. Snican=to sneak, to creep ?) 
 Snood=a fillet, cap, hood ; artificial hair; a fillet to tie 
 
 up a woman's hair. Snod A.S. 
 Sompan=a corruption of sample or example. 
 Sowght = sighed. 
 Spers=asks. (Spyrian A.S. — to ask. Speriend A.S. 
 
 =an enquirer.) 
 Spon new=brand new. 
 Swaps=exchanges. 
 
 Swat=struck, so as to draw blood. (Swat A.S.) 
 Swoipt= drank at one breath or swoop. 
 Thrumper'd= thumped, beat with the clinched fist. 
 Tickle=particular, as a squeamish man ; easily moved, 
 
 as a trap when set; uncertain, as applied to the 
 
 weather ; excitable as to tickle a man's fancy. 
 Tone,=one, t'one or to'ther the one, or the other. 
 
 " Tone, tother, oather'll do," is a not uncommon 
 
 phrase. 
 Tougher=portion or dowry. 
 Udgit=ddiot. 
 Urn, em=them, (heom A.S. dative plural pronoun.) 
 
 " Hem seemed hem han getten hem protection." 
 
 Chaucer. 
 Un, an=and. (Un, Dutch.) 
 Urchon=hedgehog. 
 Waistrel, (from waste) =a good-for-nothing article or 
 
76 
 
 person ; a scoundrel ; primarily, an article spoiled 
 
 during its fabrication. 
 Wammo=weakly ; hungry and tired. 
 Warch=ache, pain. (Waerc, weorc, A.S.) 
 Wawtit=over turned, (Waeltan* wealtian, A.S. — to 
 
 roll, reel, or stagger, to tumble.) 
 Welly=well nigh, almost. 
 Whack=a box or bump; a smart, loud blow; also, 
 
 to thrash or beat ; also alcoholic drink, as " He 
 
 likes his whack;" also to share with, as " Theau'st 
 
 whack wi' me." 
 Whackerin=trembling, quaking. 
 Whick=quick, alive. 
 Whoavt=turned. 
 Whoam=home. (Is not this the terribly aspirated 
 
 A.S. Ham?) 
 Wisket=a large flat basket, without handle, and made 
 
 of unpeeled twigs or osiers. 
 Woode=mad; stark- woo de= stark mad. (Wdd, A.S.) 
 Wough=weft. 
 
 Wur=was ; were ; also worse. 
 Yearnstful=:earnestly, i. e., full of earnest. 
 Yo=you. (A.S. eow.) 
 Yure=hair. (Haer, A.S.) 
 
 When the Professor of Poetry in the University of 
 Oxford devotes one of his lectures to the subject of 
 " Provincial Poetry," and elucidates his remarks by 
 quotations from poems written in the homely folk- 
 speech of Dorsetshire, we may congratulate ourselves 
 
77 
 
 that the irrational prejudice against dialects is fast 
 dying out, and is being succeeded by a more catholic 
 spirit of criticism. 
 
 Philology has shown us their value, and many a 
 curious relic of old world belief has been found fossi- 
 lized in the provincial speech. Mr. W. Aldis Wright 
 has suggested the compilation of a general Provincial 
 glossary, and the formation of a society for its execu- 
 tion. It is to be hoped that the proposal will receive 
 cordial support and be prosecuted to a successful 
 issue. I venture here to reproduce a suggestion 
 contributed to "Notes and Queries" of June 11th. 
 
 " Whilst fully agreeing with Mr. Wright as to the 
 importance of the proposed work (and its desirability 
 is so self-evident that it would be a waste of valuable 
 space to insist upon it further), I would suggest that, 
 instead of creating a new society to perform this 
 special work, it should be done by the co-operation of 
 societies already existing. The main difficulty about 
 the compilation of the glossary would be the creation 
 of an adequate machinery for the collection of words, 
 and equally so for the arrangement of the rude mate- 
 rial collected. The first would necessitate the presence 
 of a committee of workers in every shire of the land. 
 Might not the existing learned and literary societies 
 furnish a machinery ready made for both these objects ? 
 The Royal Society, although founded for the " ad- 
 vancement of natural knowledge," pays so little 
 attention to anything but natural philosophy, that its 
 eo-operation could perhaps not be counted upon, in 
 
78 
 
 spite of Dr. Max Miiller's vindication of philology as 
 one of the physical sciences. But the Society of An- 
 tiquaries, the Royal Society of Literature, the Ethno- 
 logical Society, the Philological Society, and the 
 Anthropological Society in England; the Royal Society 
 of Edinburgh, the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland 
 in North Britain ; and the Royal Hibernian Academy 
 in Ireland, could certainly furnish a better staff of 
 collectors than would be otherwise obtained. There 
 should be added to this list also the local literary 
 societies (some of which, the Literary and Philoso- 
 phical Society of Liverpool and the Historic Society 
 of Lancashire and Cheshire for instance, have published 
 in their Transactions valuable papers relating to dia- 
 lects), and also printing clubs of the character of the 
 Camden, Chetham, and Surtees, the Early English 
 Text, Chaucer and Ballad Societies. 
 
 " A provincial glossary would be so great a gain to 
 archaeology, ethnology, and philology, and would 
 throw such new light upon the English language, 
 manners, and customs, that the associations devoted 
 to those branches of knowledge could not fail to be 
 interested in the success of the undertaking. A cir- 
 cular addressed to them would, I feel certain, bring 
 forth a cordial response. Their members might con- 
 stitute in each district a local committee, "with power 
 to add workers to their number; " and this enlarge- 
 ment might proceed until all the students of folk-speech 
 were included in the network. A point of great 
 importance is that the collectors of words should record 
 
79 
 
 them uniformly — in fact, is the old difficulty about the 
 absurdly unphonetic nature of our ordinary orthography 
 and its entire unfitness for representing dialectic 
 shades of pronunciation. The alphabet of Mr. Isaac 
 Pitman, although well fitted for representing the 
 sounds of conventional English, is also inadequate for 
 the purpose. A few years ago this would have been 
 a serious difficulty, but the physiological alphabet (so 
 long despaired of) has at last been invented. In 
 Melville Bell's Visible Speech we have a scientific and 
 exact registering of all spoken sounds, and in the 
 glossotype (and glossic) of Mr. Ellis, we have the 
 scheme adapted to our ordinary type. 
 
 "The forthcoming volume of Mr. Ellis's Early 
 English Pronunciatioii containing the section on 
 English dialects will, no doubt, contain valuable 
 material for the proposed glossary. The aid of the 
 accomplished author of this important work will be 
 of the greatest service. There are other portions of 
 the subject which require careful consideration, but a 
 regard for the patience of both editor and reader leads 
 me to postpone any remarks upon them, and to content 
 myself with urging the advisability of compiling, con- 
 currently with the glossary, a bibliography of the 
 literature of provincial dialects. Some of the dialects 
 are very rich in tales and poems. Perhaps the most 
 extensively cultivated is that of South Lancashire. 
 A bibliography of works in this dialect, which is now 
 being prepared for the press, contains about two 
 hundred titles." * 
 
 * The bibliography here alluded to has since been published 
 
80 
 
 There have been several essays at a Lancashire 
 glossary. Collier has appended one to his " Tummus- 
 and Meary," in which he has occasionally marked 
 the Anglo-Saxon derivations. Mr. Bamford's amended 
 edition of "Tim Bobbin" includes an enlarged 
 glossary. Finally, Mr. John Higson, whose wide 
 acquaintance with the dialect and its literature make 
 him peculiarly eligible for the task, is now preparing 
 one which will be of great value, as it is the fruit of 
 years of patient observation and study. 
 
 Though the greater part of the Lancashire lyrics 
 are written in the folk speech, our poetical treasures 
 are by no means limited to that class of composition. 
 True, there are few romantic or legendary ballads; 
 for Lancashire, although rich in traditions of the past, 
 is singularly deficient in those rhyming records of 
 them, which appear to be so common in some counties. 
 Bamford's " Wild Rider,' ' the "Billmen of Bowland," 
 and Ains worth's capital ballad of " Old Grindrod's 
 Ghost," are enough to redeem the county from the 
 charge of poverty. 
 
 In "love songs and praises of the fair" we have a 
 long array of lyrics, from which we may learn how 
 Dan Cupid rules hearts among our Lancashire cloughs 
 and gloomy streets. What can be more beautiful 
 than this portrait of 
 
 under the title of " The Literature of the Lancashire Dialect," 
 a bibliographical essay, London : Trubner & Co., and records 
 the titles (with occasional annotations) of two hundred and 
 seventy-nine publications illustrative of this dialect. 
 
81 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Artist's chisel could not trace 
 Such a form, with so much grace ; 
 !Neyer in Italian skies 
 Dwells such light as in her eves. 
 Sweeter music ne'er was sung 
 Than hangs ever on her tongue. 
 Eoses have not such a glow 
 As that upon her brilliant brow : 
 All that's bright and fair are met 
 In lovely, charming Margaret. 
 
 TMs is from a poem which was written by "William 
 Rowlinson, a canvasser for a local directory, who was 
 drowned whilst bathing in the Thames. 
 
 The love songs of Swain and Eogerson are well 
 known, as also Mr. Bealey's lovely <; Sweet-heart 
 Maggie. n Not so well known, however, is Mr. Thos. 
 A. Tidmarsh's poem of " Cupid's Love Draught " — 
 one of the richest and sweetest love songs in the 
 language. "We quote a verse : — 
 
 u I will gather the smiles of the fairest of women/' 
 Said Cupid one evening to me, 
 M In a goblet of wine for thy spirit to swim in, 
 And bring it all glowing to thee, 
 
 If thou'lt swear by the cup, 
 
 Ere thou drainest it up, 
 That thou'lt worship no maiden beside, 
 
 And affirm by the shine 
 
 Of her smiles in the wine 
 That thou'lt woo her and make her thy bride ; 
 
82 
 
 And she shall be lustre and glory to thee, 
 Enchanting thy bosom with heaven-born glee; 
 For she is the brightest and loveliest thing 
 That ever I pressed with the down of my wing." 
 
 Then follows a gorgeous vision of fair women, 
 dowered with " beauty and splendour, " with " hearts 
 young and tender, which felt not, which dreamt not 
 of care," but among the glittering throng he looks 
 in vain for the promised maiden, but as he is about 
 to depart, she sits down by his side, 
 
 Round a goblet her tapering white fingers did twine 
 
 Like lilies, and blushing she bent 
 O'er the brim to behold her dark eyes in the wine, 
 
 Which retained all the lustre they'd lent. 
 
 If the Lancashire lad is an impassioned wooer, he 
 is equally faithful as a husband, and kind as a father, 
 the home-affections twine close round his heart, and 
 he loves to celebrate the joys of the fireside, 
 
 "Where the calm tender tones of affection are heard ; 
 
 Where the child's gladsome carol is ringing ; 
 Where the heart's best emotions are quicken'd and stirr'd 
 
 By the founts that are inwardly springing. 
 
 As examples we may refer to Mr. Proctor's " Early 
 Haunts revisited," J. C. Prince's " As Welcome as 
 Mowers in May," Samuel Bamford's lines addressed 
 to his wife during her recovery from a long illness, — 
 
 Full thirty years have o'er us pass'd 
 
 Since thou and I were wed, 
 And time hath dealt us many a blast, 
 
 And somewhat bowed thy head, 
 
83 
 
 And torn thin thy bright brown hair, 
 That stream'd so wild and free, 
 
 But oh ! thy tresses still art fair, 
 And beautiful to me ! 
 
 Another home lyric of the same class is 
 
 t^THE KISS BENEATH THE HOLLY. 
 
 By Mrs. Hobson Farrand. 
 
 " Be merry and wise," says the good old song, 
 
 And joy to the heart that penn'd it ; 
 If we've ought to fret, the stately et pet " 
 
 Will never reform or mend it. 
 On Christmas night, when the log burns bright, 
 
 To be joyous is not folly; 
 There's nought amiss in the playful kiss 
 
 That's stolen beneath the holly. 
 
 Let hand clasp hand with a hearty clasp, 
 
 To all give a welcome greeting ; 
 Fling pride afar ; don't gloom or mar 
 
 The coming Christmas meeting. 
 " Be merry and wise," say sparkling eyes, 
 
 Away with all melancholy — 
 There's nought amiss, just laugh at the kiss 
 
 That's stolen beneath the holly. 
 
 Oh, welcome with glee the festive night, 
 
 When the joyous bells are ringing ; 
 But once a year the chime we hear, 
 
 That the Christmas time is bringing. 
 Don't pout or frown 'neath the mystic crown — 
 
 To be joyous is not folly ; 
 There's nought amiss in the Christmas kiss 
 
 That's stolen beneath the holly. 
 
It would be unjust to pass on without mentioning 
 one writer of whom Lancashire will one day be proud. 
 Mr. Dawson's lyrics are noticeable for their careful 
 finish, subtle thoughtfulness, and tender, sombre 
 gracefulness. Take for example 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 Day is dying, ploughed with scars ; 
 
 Night takes up the reins of time, 
 Driving careful, till the stars — 
 Lamps, to light her countless cars — 
 Gleam athwart yon amber bars, 
 
 Koyal, radiant, and sublime. 
 
 And through space that has no bound, 
 
 Grim old Silence— older far 
 Than his sprightlier brother, Sound — 
 Heaves and palpitates around, 
 Breathless, faint, as Age is found 
 Ever where the Seasons are. 
 
 And the zephyrs have no rest, 
 To embrace the willing corn, 
 
 And the stilly skies no quest 
 
 'Till the quiet of the west 
 
 Makes a motion of its rest 
 
 As the evening winds are born. 
 
 Fainter fades the dim daylight, 
 
 Falling like some sweet song sent 
 Wandering on the winds at night, 
 Wavering till it dies outright, 
 Slow dissolved, as if by blight, 
 To its native element. 
 
85 
 
 Songs of life and brotherhood are numerous, 
 
 preaching for the most part a gospel of cheerfulness, 
 
 labour, and contentment. Of this nature is Mr. 
 Charles Swain's poem, 
 
 BE KIM) TO EACH OTHER. 
 
 Be kind to each other ! 
 
 The night's coming on, 
 When friend and when brother 
 
 Perchance may be gone ! 
 Then midst our dejection, 
 
 How sweet to have earn'd 
 The blest recollection 
 
 Of kindness — return'd. 
 "When day hath departed 
 
 And memory keeps 
 Her watch — broken hearted — 
 
 Where all she loved sleeps. 
 Let falsehood assail not — 
 
 Nor envy disprove, — 
 Let trifles prevail not, 
 
 Against those ye love. 
 Nor change with the morrow 
 
 Should fortune take wing, 
 But the deeper the sorrow 
 
 The closer still cling ! 
 
 Some of Bamford's finest writings belong to this 
 class, " The Song for the Brave," and the gloomy 
 " Pass of Death." 
 
 In devotional poetry, we have already named the 
 grand carol — " Christians Awake" — but it would be un- 
 
86 
 
 just to close our imperfect review without noticing 
 the sacred poetry of Mrs. T. D. Crewdson. 
 
 In her case, Faith and Imagination have kissed 
 together; Religion and Poesy have embraced. We 
 offer in justification, this — ■ 
 
 THANKSGIVING FOR THE HARVEST. 
 
 For the sunshine and the rain, 
 For the dew and for the shower, 
 
 For the yellow, ripened grain, 
 And the golden harvest hour, 
 We bless Thee, oh our God ! 
 
 For the heat and for the shade, 
 For the gladness and the grief, 
 
 For the tender sprouting blade, 
 And for the nodding sheaf, 
 
 We bless Thee, oh our God ! 
 
 For the hope and for the fear, 
 For the storms and for the peace, 
 
 For the trembling and the cheer, 
 And for the glad increase, 
 
 We bless Thee, oh our God ! 
 
 Our hands have tilled the sod, 
 And the torpid seed have sown ; 
 
 But the quickening was of God, 
 And the praise be His alone. 
 
 We bless Thee, oh our God I 
 
 For the sunshine and the shower, 
 For the dew and for the rain, 
 
 For the golden harvest hour, 
 And for the garnered grain, 
 
 We bless Thee, oh our God ! 
 
87 
 
 There are certain characteristics which are more or 
 less shared by all these productions, and which some- 
 what puzzle us for a definition of poetry which shall 
 fairly include all these outpourings of the Lancashire 
 singer. He is no grand minstrel, setting forth, in 
 words sublime, the bloody triumphs of the battle-fields, 
 nor does he indite a "woeful ballad to his mistress' 
 eyebrows ;" his songs are not of blossoming hawthorn 
 and the golden sun of June, nor of the war and strife 
 of human passions in their highest intensity ; and yet 
 his strains are truest poetry, and instinct with human 
 interest. 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor, their virtues, 
 loves, and failings, — these are the subjects of his rhymes, 
 and fitter subjects for poets of this class could not be 
 found than the working men of Lancashire. The 
 genuine Lancashire lad is a being worthy of study ; 
 his deep sense of humour, his patient endurance of 
 adversity, his life-long struggle with want, his indomi- 
 table perseverance, his love of home — all point him 
 out as one of a remarkable race ; and, despite his some- 
 times rough exterior and uncouth language, your real 
 Lancashire lad is one of nature's gentlemen at heart. 
 
 And well have these characteristics been reproduced 
 by men like Edwin Waugh, Benjamin Brierley, Sam. 
 Bamford, Samuel Laycock, and others. These men 
 have been, to a great extent, self-educated, themselves 
 a portion of the people whom they describe ; and their 
 pictures may therefore be taken, not as the random ex- 
 pressions of a casual stranger, but as the conclusions 
 
88 
 
 of persons thoroughly acquainted with the men whose 
 lives and feelings they describe with such humour, 
 pathos, and dramatic power, and running through their 
 writings is a vein of tenderest humanity, of brotherly 
 love for their fellow men, however degraded by sin 
 and misery. 
 
 LofC. 
 
LANCASHIRE FOLK-LORE. 
 
 T\URING the present age the rapid diffusion of 
 -L' knowledge has happily driven forth much an- 
 tique superstition; but there is a temptation to 
 exaggerate the extent of the effects which have thus 
 Been produced, and few people, we fancy, would credit 
 the ignorance and credulity that yet exist in civilized 
 England. 
 
 It is not impossible, gentle reader, that in your own 
 vicinity there are persons who practise with a tho- 
 rough conviction of their efficacy, charms which may 
 once have formed part of the Druidic, or some still 
 older religious ceremonial: people who consult the 
 " Golden Dream Book " every morning, who have 
 faith in "cunning women" and "wise men," who 
 would'nt walk under a ladder on any account, who 
 shudder if salt is spilled at the table, and who cry 
 * l God bless you " to one who sneezes, just as they did 
 in Rome two thousand years ago. 
 
 A little inquiry will show that the lower orders es- 
 pecially are particularly conservative of their unwrit- 
 ten belief, for the most part one of great antiquity, 
 and including articles which once formed integral 
 portions of myth ologic systems long since superseded 
 By a purer faith. " Indeed," say our authors, " Folk- 
 lore superstitions may be said to be the debris of 
 
90 
 
 ancient mythologies, it may be of India or Egypt, 
 Greece or Rome, Germany or Scandinavia. 
 
 Some of the opinions and observances which are 
 called by the general name of folk-lore, are perfectly 
 innocent in themselves, and have so quaint an air that 
 one hardly desires to see them abolished, but the 
 majority are objectionable in every respect, and the 
 sooner they become extinct the better. 
 
 In Lancashire, where we might have expected to 
 find that the noise of the steam-engine had frightened 
 away both the fairies and the queen of the May, and 
 the spread of knowledge to have destroyed all 
 faith in spells and charms, Messrs. Harland and 
 Wilkinson have collected sufficient of this floating 
 traditionary folk-lore to make a goodly and interesting 
 volume. Many years attention to this subject has 
 enabled them to produce a book which contains a 
 careful summary of Lancashire superstition, and 
 which is of considerable value to the student of an- 
 thropology and mythology.* The collection is a very 
 complete one, though no doubt the interest attendant 
 upon the publication of this work, will bring to light 
 many more curious fragments of old wife's learning. 
 
 Many observances are connected with particular 
 seasons of the year. Thus on New Year's day there is 
 a firm belief that if a light-haired person " let in " the 
 New Year, a twelve month of ill-luck will be the re- 
 
 * Lancashire Folk Lore, compiled and edited by John Har. 
 land, F.S.A., and T. T. Wilkinson, F.K.A.S. London: 
 F. Warne, 1867. 
 
91 
 
 suit, and thai on the contrary dark persons will bring- 
 with them a year of good fortune. 
 
 So Pan-cake Tuesday, Simnel Sunday, Easter, May 
 Day, Christmas, eto., have each their special customs 
 still observed in Lancashire, though in many cases so 
 shorn of their ancient glories as to be little more than 
 relics of former greatness. 
 
 The habit of attaching a symbolic importance even 
 to the most trifling occurrences, is strikingly illustrated 
 in the following quotations : 
 
 " Most grandmothers will exclaim, ' God bless you V when they 
 hear a child sneeze, and they sum up the philosophy of the sub^ 
 ject with the following lines, which used to delight the writer 
 in the days of his childhood : 
 
 ' Sneeze on a Monday, you sneeze for danger ; 
 
 Sneeze on a Tuesday, you kiss a stranger ; 
 
 Sneeze on a Wednesday, you sneeze for a letter ; 
 
 Sneeze on a Thursday, for something better ; 
 
 Sneeze on a Friday, you sneeze for sorrow ; 
 
 Sneeze on a Saturday, your sweetheart to-morrow, 
 
 Sneeze on a Sunday, your safety seek, 
 
 The Devil will hare you the whole of the week." 
 
 This is certainly a comprehensive epitome of the 
 entire philosophy of sneezing. Equally precise are 
 the lines relating to the cutting of the finger nails : 
 
 " Cut your nails on a Monday, cut them for news ; 
 Cut them on Tuesday, a pair of new shoes," 
 
 In connection with this part of the subject, we once 
 chanced to hear a bit of Lancashire folk-lore which 
 we have not noticed in the present volume, that is r 
 that the finger nails of a baby should be bit shorter^ 
 
92 
 
 If they are cut, the child will become "sharp fingered " 
 — i.e., thievish. 
 
 The inhabitants of Cockerham, having made np 
 their minds that the devil had been showing an un- 
 reasonable partiality to their village, gave the school- 
 master the not very pleasant task of expelling the 
 Prince of Darkness from their midst. The man of 
 letters having raised the foul fiend appointed him 
 three tasks ; if he failed to accomplish them he was 
 never to appear again at Cockerham, but if he succeed- 
 ed in their performance, the pedagogue became his prey. 
 The two first tasks were soon done, but the third, the 
 fatal, mystic third — 
 
 " Now make me, dear sir, a rope of yon sand, 
 
 Which will bear washing in Cocker, and not lose a strand " — 
 
 jproved too much even for the ingenuity of the Father 
 of Evil, and if he stuck to his bargain Cockerham 
 must be the happiest place on earth ! This legend of 
 the Three Tasks, we may remark, is not confined to 
 Lancashire, but is also narrated in connection with 
 .Merton Sands, Cheshire, and a Cornish version forms 
 the subject of one of the Rev. R. S. Hawker's wildest 
 Jyrics. 
 
 " The parochial church at Burnley," it is said, "was 
 originally intended to be built on the site occupied by 
 the old Saxon Cross in Godly Lane; but however much 
 the masons might have built during the day, both 
 stones and scaffolding were invariably found where 
 the church now stands, on their coming to work next 
 morning." " This legend," say the editors, " is told 
 
93 
 
 also of Rochdale, Winwick, and Samlesbury churches," 
 to which we may add that it is also attached to the 
 churches of Over, Saddleworth, and Churchdown y 
 and many others. 
 
 A winding sheet in the candle, spilling the salt, 
 crossing knives, and various other trifles, are omens 
 of evil to thousands at this day. Should one of* 
 your children fall sick when on a visit at a friend's 
 house, it is held to be sure to entail bad luck on 
 that family for the rest of the year, if you stay 
 over New Year's Day Persons have been known to 
 travel sixty miles with a sick child, rather than run 
 the risk. A flake of soot on the bars of the grate, is 
 said to indicate the approach of a stranger ; a bright 
 spark on the wick of a candle, or a long piece of stalk 
 in the tea-cup, betokens a similar event. When the 
 fire burns briskly, some lover smirks or is good-hu- 
 moured. A cinder thrown out of the fire by a jet of 
 gas from burning coals, is looked upon as a coffin if 
 its hollow be long ; as a purse of gold if the cavity be 
 roundish. Crickets in houses are said to indicate 
 good fortune ; but should they forsake the chimney 
 corner, it is a sure sign of coming misfortune. 
 
 We learn that in the Fylde the following charm is 
 still used for the cure of tooth-ache : — 
 
 " Peter sat weeping on a marble stone, 
 
 Jesns came near and said, ( What aileth thee, Peter ? ' 
 
 He answered and said, ' My Lord and my God ! ' 
 
 He that can say this, and believe it for my sake, 
 
 Never more shall have the toothache." 
 
94 
 
 Our " wise men " still sell the following charm for 
 the cure of continued toothache, but it must be worn 
 inside the vest or stays, and over the left breast : — 
 
 " As Sant Petter sat at the geats of Jerusalm our blessed 
 Lord and Sevour Jesus Crist pased by and sead, ' What eleth 
 thee/ he sead, ' Lord my teeth ecketh,' he sead, ' Arise and fol- 
 low me, and thy teeth shall never eake eney moor. Fiat f 
 Fiat f Fiat f 
 
 From the wide range of the subject it is impossible 
 to take all its branches into consideration here ; but 
 sufficient has, perhaps, been done to show the in- 
 teresting character of the book If we could look up- 
 on its contents entirely as relics of the past, the pleas- 
 ure would be greater; but nonsense of this sort is 
 still firmly believed in by many ; a fact that should 
 give a slight shock to that spirit of complacency with 
 which we are apt to glorify the " wondrous, wondrous 
 age." We do not look at this mass of ignorance 
 honestly and frankly, but try to deceive ourselves 
 that it does not exist, and so leave it to fester and 
 corrupt the very life-blood of the community. 
 
 " Superstition," says Theophrastus, "proceeds from 
 unworthy conceptions of the Deity." As the people 
 become mentally and spiritually enlightened, these 
 relics of heathendom will disappear from the national 
 mind ; the shades of darkness will roll away, and 
 vanish from the sky as the bright sun arises in his 
 power and might, heralding another and a brighter 
 day. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Ainsworth, W. H., 80. 
 Ale and Physic, 39 
 
 Axon, W. E. A., viii, 80; Courting 
 Time, in glossic, 53 ; in book Eng- 
 lish, 64 ; on proposed provincial 
 glossary, 77 
 
 Banrford, S., 38, 80, 82, 85, 87; Tim 
 Bobbins Grave, 39 
 
 Be kind to each other, 85 
 
 Bealey, R. R., 58-60, 81; extract 
 from Eaicr Bessy, 58 ; My Piece 
 is o but woven eaict, 59 
 
 Bell, A. M., 79 
 
 * Bewsey Tragedy,' 13 
 
 Bobbin, Paul, i.e. J. Butterworth, 38 
 
 Bobbin, Tim, 19-24 
 
 Bobbin, Tim (the Second), 25-31 
 
 Bodies Adventure as a Sweep, 46 
 
 Braithwaite, R., extract from his 
 Two Lancashire Lovers, 17 
 
 Brierley, B., 52, 55, 87 ; Weaver of 
 Wellbrook, 52 
 
 Brierlev, T.,61 
 
 Butterworth, J., 20 
 
 Byrom, J., 17, 85 ; extract from 
 his Careless Content, 14 ; from his 
 Lancashire Dialogue occasioned by 
 a Clergyman preaching without 
 notes, 18 
 
 Careless Content, 14 
 
 Charlesworth, J., 61 
 
 Chetham Hospital and Library, 35 
 
 Chirrup, 45 
 
 Clay, Mary, 23 
 
 Cobbett, W., 42 
 
 Collier, J. , 19 ; extract from Tim 
 Bobbin: The Village Wiseacre and 
 the Hedgehog, 24 
 
 Crewdson, Mrs. T. D. : Thanks- 
 giving for the harvest, 86 
 
 Cruikshank, G., 22 
 
 Cupid's Love Draught, 81 
 
 Davis, Rev. J., viii, 67 
 
 Dawson, J, jun : Twilight, 84 
 
 Doyle, Sir F., 68 
 
 Droylsden Wakes Song, 31 
 
 J5 aw r Bessy, 58 
 
 Ellis, A; J., 62, 79 
 
 Exhibition of 1851: Rachda Felley's 
 Visit to it, 40 
 
 ' Fair Ellen of Radcliffe,' 13 
 
 Farrand, Mrs. Hob son : A Kiss 
 beneath the Holly, 83 
 
 Folk-Lore of Lancashire, 89 
 
 Folk-Speech of Lancashire, 65-80 : 
 its phonetic representation, 
 63-66; peculiar sounds, 66; ety- 
 mology, 67 ; grammatical struc- 
 ture, 68 ; glossary of the folk- 
 words occurring in this essay, 
 ($-76 ; proposed glossary, 80 
 
 Gamwattle, Tim, 50 
 
 Gaskell, Rev. W., viii, 25, 67 
 
 Glossary, Provincial, 77. of Lanca- 
 shire words occurring in this 
 essay, 69-76 ; proposed, 80. 
 
 Glossic, 62 ; explanation of Lanca- 
 shire glossic. 65 
 
 Greenside Wakes Song, 31 
 
 Hallam, T., viii 
 
 Halliwell, J. O., vii 
 
 Hammil Scoance an tK urchin, 24 
 
 Harland, J., viii, 13, 31, 67, 90 
 
 Hawker, Rev. R. S., 92 
 
 Heywood, T., viii, 138, 67 
 
 Higson, J. , preparing a Lancashire 
 glossary, 80 
 
 Hobson Farrand, Mrs., 83 
 
 Jacobin Meeting, 29 
 
 Johnny Green's Weddin' 35 
 
 Kiss beneath the Holly, 83 
 
 ' Lady Bessy,' 13 
 
 Lahee, M. R., 61 
 
 Lancashire Dialogue occasioned by a 
 Clergyman preaching without 
 thotes, 18 
 
 Lancashire, its scenery, 9 ; work- 
 ing men, 16 ; ancient ballads, 
 12 ; work-a-day literature, 14 ; 
 dialect, 14, 65-76, 80 ; Folk-lore, 89 
 
 Laycock, Samuel, 55-58, 81; Thee 
 an' Me, 56 
 
 ' Liverpool Tragedy,' 13 
 
 Love Thowts, 61 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Margaret, 81 
 
 May Songs, 13 
 
 Mellor, J. W., 61-62; Love Thoicts, 
 
 61 
 Mon o' M easier Grundy s, 33 
 My piece is o but woven eawt, 59 
 
 * Owd Ned s a rare strung chap,' 33 
 Paul Bobbin, 38 
 
 Pearson, Rev. R., 21 
 Picton, J. A., viii, 67 
 
 * Preston Prisoners to the Ladies 
 
 about Court, 13 
 Prince, J. C, 82 
 Procter, R. W., vii, 82 
 Provincial speech, its philologieal 
 
 value, 77 
 Rachda felley, 40; his Visit to 
 
 Madame Tussaud's, 41 
 Ramsbottoni, J., 61 
 Richardson, G. 61 
 Ridings, K, Ale and Physic, 39 
 Rogerson, J. B., 43, 81 
 Rowlinson, "VV., 81; extract from 
 
 Margaret, 81 
 Saddleworth Shouting Telegraph, 27 
 Sam Sondnokkur, 50 
 Scholes, J., 50 ; Lancashire Witch, 51 
 Scott, Gilbert, 15 
 Shaw or Shay, Randle, 16-17 
 Sondnokkur, Sam, 50 
 Staton, J. T., 
 Swain, C., 81 ; Be land to each ether. 
 
 85 
 
 Thanksgiving for the Harvest, 86 
 
 Thee an Me, 56 
 
 Theophrastus, 95 
 
 Tidmarsh, T. A., extract from his- 
 Cupid's Love Draught, 81 
 
 Tim Bobbin's Grave, 39 
 
 Tim Bobbin, 19-24 
 
 Tim Bobbin the Second, 25-31 
 
 Tim Gamwattie, 50 
 
 Townley, R., 20 
 
 Twilight, 84 
 
 'Tyrannical Husband,' 13 
 
 ■ Trafford and Byrom Feud', 13 
 
 Tussaud, Madame, 41 
 
 Wakes Songs, 31 
 
 Walker, R., 25-31; extracts front 
 his Plebeian Politics : The 
 Saddleworth Shokting Telegraph 
 27 ; Jacobin Meeting, 29 
 
 Warriken Fair, 15 
 
 Waugh, E., 44-50, 23, 87 ; Chirrup, 
 45: Bodle s Adventure as a Sweep, 
 46 
 
 Weaver of Wellbrook, 52 
 
 Wilkinson, T. T., ii, 90 
 
 Wilson, A., Johnny Greens Weddin, 
 35 
 
 Wilson Family, 35 
 
 Wright, W. A., suggests a Pro- 
 vincial Glossary, 77 
 
 Village Wiseacre and the Iledgshoj, 
 24 
 
 Visit to Madame Tussaud's, 41 
 
 Tubbs <£• Brook, Printers, 11, Market Street, Manchester, 
 
FEB 15 1902 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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