THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES MISCELLANIES IN PROSE AND VERSE. BY BEN. HARDACRE Well ! — be the faceless lineaments confest ! I do enjoy tliis bounteous beauteous earth ; And dote upon a jest "Within the limits of becoming mirth." —Hood. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL &. CO. BRADFORD: T. 15REAR and W. ]\I()1{GAN. 1874. ENTEREB AT STATIONEES' HALL. PR TO HIS VERY GENEROUS FEIEND, MR. RICHARD HOLT, WHO HAS A KEEN RELISH FOR HUMOUR AND- IS HIMSELF A HUMORIST, AND WHO HAS WITHAL A NICE APPRECIATION OF POETIC SENTIMENT, THIS VOLUME IS WITH SINCERE PLEASURE INSCRIBED BV THE AUTHOR. 8G189S PREFACE Gentle reader (readers are always gentle), should you read this preface before reading the whole or a part of the contents of this book, it may ^ve you some idea what you may expect. I, the writer, have principally touched upon scenes, objects, and subjects belonging this sublunary world, holding the conservative notion that it is best for a man to keep within his own sphere, I have ventured in one lofty flight to touch on those luminaries, the sun, moon, and stars, but not so as to aflfect their evolutionary motions, or throw any new light on them. The deepest subject that I have tried to fathom is coal, a subject that might give much liglit if properly handled, though some consider it a miner question that may be easily settled. As I have not been a student in any department of science or learning, I do not presume to teach, therefore there will bo found in this volume little that is instructive. To some extent I have been an observer of humanity, and I VI. PEEFACE. have discovered that one of its distinguishing characteristics, is the power to cachinnate when those organs called risibilities^which do not exist in the ass and other serious animals — are tickled, and I find most people like to have their risibilities tickled. I hope my readers of this class will not be disappointed with my amateur efforts, but mil find in the volume that which will tickle and amuse. There must of necessity be circumstances and occurrences in this life to force seriousness upon us, such as grinding poverty, and the severance of ties of affection and friendship. Levity would be ■out of place in the presence of want, affliction, and mourning, but I do not see why seriousness should be cultivated as though it were an attribute of goodness. There is a time to laugh, and there are persons so constituted, with such a keen and ready perception of the humorous and the ludicrous, that when any droll sight or saying suddenly present themselves to the eye and ear, for such persons to resist the impulse to laugh would be impossible. Such was the case with one of Bradford's worthies, the late Dr. Godwin. The following anec- dote which I have heard, if true, illustrates and confirms what I have stated. It was stated that PREFACE. Vll. the Dr. was preaching to a congregation, as it seems, a not very awakening sermon, inasmuch as a deep somnolency came over one of his hearers, whose head went hack and whose mouth became receptive, as if desiring the fulfihnent of the promise, — "Open thy mouth wide and I will fill it." A power above, in the shape of a young lU'chin in the gallery, on looking over the front and seeing this apparently expectant feature directly underneath, unawed by the sanctity of the place, let down a small object by a thread, intended for the mouth of the sleeper. No sooner had the vigilant eye of the Dr. caught this piece of impish waggery than he suddenly became lost to sight, only that he was seen by occupants of the gallery making efforts with his handkerchief as if a terrible twinge of toothache had seized him, when in reality it was an eftbrt to prevent exploding with laughter. It is this class of persons who may appreciate my small eftorts to amuse. I lay no claim to any poetic faculty. I have never sat with pen in hand, looking up with an ether-piercing eye, in expectancy of a descent upon me of the divine aflliitus. To put togetber a liii of jingling rhyme has oft been a pleasant bit of pastime. I only wish VIU. PREFACE. that my liberal Bradford friends and others, whom I sincerely thank for their patronage, may have as ninch enjoyment in reading these trifles as I have had in writing them. I will here thank my friend Mr. James Wiggiesworth, of Westgrove Street, for his kind aid in adding to my list of patrons. B. HARD ACRE. 15, Ehor Street, Horton Lane, Bradford. CONTENTS PAGE Sexton Dickey 1 Eambling Etchings ... ... ... ... ... ... 14 A Tailor's Tale 18 Eshton Hall and its Surroundings 22 Table Talk ( a fable ) 25 June 27 Ireland witli Denominational Teaching 29 Epicurean Musings ... ... ... ... ... ... 32 The American War ... ... ... ... ... ... 34 The Spring of 1867 37 Craven Scenery ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 39 Lunar Reflections ... ... ... ... ... ... 43 Hints on the Beautiful ... ... ... ... ... ... 46 A Craven Fishing Tale (in the vernacular) 50 False Pretences 60 Serenade 62 A Lancashire Witch ... ... ... ... ... ... 63 (B)ironical Lines ... ... ... ... ... ... 64 Short on the Shortness of Life 67 Love and Murder 72 Bolton Woods 76 What might have been 78 The Decline and Fall of Punch 80 Wakefield and Goldsmith 83 Dick Splinter 87 The Early Days of Adam 93 A Bar Stave 97 Striking Lines ... ... ... ... .. ... ... 99 To Dr. Cumming 101 X. CONTENTS. PAGE I would not be a Bird * . 103 Lines to E ... ... 104 To my NiecG on her Birthday . . lor, The Muse ... 107 A Lay on Banks .. .. no A Banker's Lay ... ... 111 The Workman .. . 112 A Musical Eesponse ... 115 Wanted a Wife ... 119 An Epitaph on a Policeman . 123 Trips to Masham ... 124 The Broken Spell ... 143 To Ben. Preston ... ... 146 Punch's Head ... . 149 An old Bachelor's Keminiscenc BS 149 LOCAL PIECES PERTAINING TO BRADFORD. Bradford in its Transition State A Mother's Homely Talk (iu the vernacular) Town and Trade of Bradford Laying the Foundation Stone of the Bradford Town Hall The New Town Hall and its Royal Embellishments Apologetic A Musical Society (a sketch) 152 159 164 165 173 179 183 MISCELLANIES. SEXTON DICKEY. It is a fact worthy of notice that many of onr distinguished men, men of genius and origi- nality of character, have had their origin and have been found like precious metals in oixt-of-the-way places. It seems as if the partial isolation of small communities favours the development, and brings out ini,o prominent relief more strongly marked characteristics in individuals than is the case ■^^^th town-life. I have in my mind's eye, as well as in my memory, the recollection of sayings and doings, together with the appearance of cha- racters in my own native village home, who, if faithfully represented on the stage, would bring rounds of applause. To give a sketch of a Long Preston charac- ter, whom I knew in my boyish days, it will be necessary to describe the state at which the cultiva- tion of music had arrived there some forty years ago. Music at that time was in a very primitive state. The most people ]i;ul attained to was to 2 SEXTON DICKEY. sing by rote tunes learnt through the ear. You might have entered Church, Chapel, or Meeting- house, and have heard nothing more than the simple melody of a tune being sung by both men and women, except occasionally some one with an extra musical ear venturing on extem- porising a few notes of bass, yet even in this rude time there were some faint glimmerings of a knowledge of light and shade. Whether those ideas had been handed down from a more culti- vated time, or the knowledge, or rather taste, was intuitive in the natives, I will not say ; but in the singing of certain tunes the men would sud- denly stop, leaving the women to continue the strain, when the men would again join in, and so finish the tnne. This, no doubt, was to realise our modern idea of Piano and Forte. "With a few exceptions, tunes were only known by being asso- ciated with certain hymns. When it was said, "Let us sing such a hymn," the first line of the hymn suggested the tune. There being no regularly-appointed leading singer, it would occur sometimes that two or three persons would be attempting to start the same tune at one and the same time in as many different keys. The person with the greatest confidence and strongest lungs, and bent on winning musical honours, would predominate, and take the con- gregation with him. The generally self-appointed SEXTON DICKEY. 6 leading singer and the organist of the Parish Church may serve for a future sketch. One of the most advanced musicians of these times was one Richard Hardacre, better known by the cognomen of " Sexton Dickey," bearing this name in consequence of hohiing the very grave position (that of Sexton) in the Church, as well as to distinguish him from others bearing a similar name; for be it known, O Reader, although there may be some very uncommon men possessing the name of Hardacre, yet I must own, as far as Long Preston was concerned, it was a very common name. Our friend Dickey being officially a pillar of the Church, his musical abilities were in frequent requisition. His genius was of a varied order, combining in his own person, poet, musician, bell-ringer, as well as being a thorough proficient in all the multifarious duties pertaining to the office of Sexton. It would be no very grave charge to bring against him to say that he wore a very grave expression of countenance, probably contracted by liis (jccupation of grave digging and interring the dead, — if so, grave digging may be said to have given him a grave dignity of manner and appearance, for lie cer- tainly did everytliing pertaining io his melan- choly office with dignity and becoming gravity. If, as it fr-equently occurred, when a funeral came from a distance, he had to announce to the 4 SEXTON DICKEY. mourners at the end of the Burial Service, that certain refreshment had been provided at the inn for the inner man, he would, with the ap- parent gravity of a judge, and, I will not say, with a sepulchral voice, but with an utterance reminding one of the pompous gobble of a turkeycock, give out the following stereotyped invitation: — "All you who have been invited to the funeral are requested to attend at the Boar's Head Inn, and take such as is provided for you." This invitation, with Dickey's peculiar utterance, was a sudden transition from the solemn and impressive Burial Service ; from the contem- plation of the grave to gravy — n resuscitation from death to life. I can fancy myself in Long Preston Church on a Sunday afternoon as a Sunday scholar, with from thirty to forty other boys, the only congregation, save two or three solitary staunch adherents of the Church, for Long Preston and its surroundings have always been hotbeds of Dissent. The duties of the curate were comparatively light. One sermon on a Sunday was all that was requix^ed of him, and that was in the morning. In the afternoon, the even- ing service was thought sufficient for us boys and the two or three scattered adult hearers. The service is read over ; the comfortable-looking clerk, with double chin, and George the Fourth style of face, sings out musically his sonorous SEXTON DICKEY. 6 Amen ; the Eveniug Hymu, welcome to us boys as a sign of release, is announced ; and now our faces begin to brighten up, for Dickey makes his ap- pearance, with an instrument ycleped in the vernacular, "T'baas Fiddle," makes a temporary music stand of a coffin-stool, and, as a prelimi- nary step to devotional exercise, affectionately takes his loved instrument between his knees, and inclines his ear towards its graceful neck in a listening attitude, and coaxiugly tries to ascertain if it will give forth its notes in tune. Now, Dickey had a remarkable face, particularly when seen in profile ; bald head, long shaggy eye-brows, a very prominent Wellington-shaped nose, thin face, and a chin of considerable pretensions. In tuning his instrument his chin seemed to sympathise Avith his ear ; as he screwed up the peg his chin took a sidereal motion, and got to the extent of its gauge as the acuteuess of the sound or tone approached its proper pitch. Sometimes his ear would not serve him correctly, and he would screw a string up beyond its power of tension, when there would be a sudden report and as sudden an exclamation from Dickey, which will be the best expressed by the interjectional .syllable, " Yoh ! " When his ear had become satisfied ho would open his wonderful ]3ook of Tunes, in manuscript, copied by himself, wliicli made him seem to us boys at that time as learned as an astrologer, for those mystic characters, called 6 SEXTON DICKEY. notes, were really deep and hidden mysteries, but Dickey not only " Kneto f notes, hud cud mah'em his-sel." Without much effort the right page would be found — for the same tune, by Tallis, was sung every Sunday afternoon, and probably is to this day. And now Dickey's varied talents are brought into exercise, for he can sing the melody of the tune and play the bass part with his instrument at one and the same time. He would begin the tune with vigour and energy, but at the close of every verse he invariably left the finishing note deficient in vocal sustentation for want of breath ; but endeavoured to make up that deficiency by a sudden burst on to the last note with his interjec- tion, "Yoli!" It certainly did seem an odd substitute for the last word of the last line of each verse ; of coui'se due length was given to the note with his instrument and his chin, the latter oscillating in unison with his bow. Christmas was the time when Dickey came out in all his brilliancy. To us boys Dickey was an institution, and Christ- mas would not have been Christmas without him. At this jubilant time he would dispense with the more devotional-like instrument for the mirth- accompanying one, called by the natives " T'lile Fiddle," but which he very pompously called a violin ; yet, I must confess that in his Christmas peregrinations he had no other covering for his instrument than the common vulgar green baize SEXTON DICKEY. 7 tag, nsed by itinerant scrapers, who visit feasts and fairs ; yet Dickey was something more than an ordinary scraper. N'o doubt he was a remnant of those minstrels of the middle ages, who sang of deeds of chivalry, in stirring compositions of their own. Although Dickey's compositions partook somewhat of the Christmas carol, still there would be an appropriate blending in of passing events, for instance, on one pinching occasion the " quality folks" had subscribed money and bought a quantity of potatoes to dole out to the poor ; Dickey recorded this piece of potato benevolence in the following couplet : — We should be thankful to our friends For pot-a-toes, which make amends. This is t])e only flight of Dickey's genius as a poet that has retained its hold on my memory, though I believe he at times aspired to loftier themes. When this was the case, the natives, with a degree of ill nature, put on a wise and knowing look, and said, " borrud," thereby intending you to infer that Dickey was a plagiarist ; some went so far as to say that he pilfered from Dr. Watts, but I will leave that to be settled by Dickey's future biograph- ers, and speak of his manipulations on the violin. Dickey, like most of our original geniu.ses, was self- taught, and therefore could not be supposed to have learnt any graceful rnaiinct- of attitudinising, and only possessed those graces which nature had be- S SEXTON DICKEY. stowed, and wliicli were artless, -unadorned, and somewhat angular in their development. His action was spasmodic, particularly with what pro- fessionals would term his bow arm, for he literally elbowed his way through the piece he was per- forming. The contortion of his features varied according to the difficulties he had to encounter, and though he might not be skilled in making use of the shifts, yet his whole performance was an affair of shifts. If Hogarth could have seen Dickey in the full excitement of a pei'formance of one of his most elaborate pieces, Dickey certainly would have been immortalised. The climax of Dickey's efforts in the way of music, and which he himself considered as such, was the multiplication table, which he had with great labour, zeal, and assiduity, adapted to music. Dickey had not the least perception or appreciation of the ludicrous, or what may be called the comical phases of humanity ; yet I fancy he looked upon this as a clever comic song, calculated to amuse as well as instruct. Wherein lay its merits as a libretto for a musical performance I have not yet been able to discover. Tet Dickey, after having figured through this piece of figured music, seemed to think that he had " cut " quite a figure, as a peculiar chuckle would come from him consisting of a series of explosive yohs, indicating great self- satisfaction, or that it was a thing which he SEXTON DICKEY. 9 could laugh at whetlier you could or not. After all, we must give Dickey credit for having at least attempted to extract poetry out of figures and bare absolute facts. If Dickey thought and felt it to be his mission to carry glad tidings at Christmas time, I have no doubt he had an eye to being made glad himself. If his homeward track of an evening could have been mapped out it would have shown some rather eccentric cm^vings and divergences from what would be considered a straightforward sober course, and might also have shown other impressions than those of footpi'ints : giving humbling evidences of his falling and fallen nature, and of having jeopardised the instrument that had been made to accompany his lofty strains during the day. Dickey was a welcome visitor at the houses of the great, " the quality :" and for the rich enter- tainment that he could give, they would in return not only praise his performances and original inspirations, but give him inspiring draughts, which, to speak diplomatically, had a tendency to destroy the balance of power, or, more cor- rectly, the power to balance. After these times of rejoicing, Dickey's prominent nose would look still more prominent, and sometimes showed signs of having been on tlie wrong scent, or as if he had been trying a mouldwarpish experiment. Notwith- standing tliis apparent grovelling disposition, and 10 SEXTON DICKEY. these earthly tendencies, I believe Dickey was not habitually a toper, as is wont to be the case with many of his cloth ; for it is well known that the social qualities of the genus-lyrical often lead to habits of intemperance. Dickey's friends (the quality), being much amused with him under the influence of his own inspirations, no doubt had a desire to see him under other influences : so that with their cheers and their cheer Dickey became doubly intoxicated. One great person's praise served as a passport to his reception elsewhere : for he would pompously say that Mr. So-and-So had been highly delighted. From having occasionally to act as clerk, Dickey had thrown off and rid himself of his native idiom, and pronounced his words with a degree of refinement and propriety. The natives charged him with " knacking," winch, when translated, means a b^se imitation of the " quality-folk." It gives me pain to recall the persecutions and annoyances that Dickey had to endure from us boys. We somehow seemed to think that he was legitimate game, on whom we could play mischievous pranks. We rather enjoyed the excitement of being chased : a good thump at his door of an evening would be sure to bring him out. From his domestic habits and love of home, as well as of connubial bliss, he had contracted a second marriasre; but I am afraid SEXT)N DICKEY. 11 his household economy was not of that nature to always keep him square with the world. His mode of living, together with his wife's manage- ment, caused him to have now and then a feast, with long fasts between : in short, he has been known to have to resort to extreme measures to secure a meal, even of having to mortgage anti- cipated burial fees. He was most in clover when the bill of mortality ran high in the parish, but what caused him to rejoice most was when a funeral came from beyond its precincts : then inwardly Dickey triumphed over death and the srrave with the thought of handlincr double dues. Of course Dickey's rejoicings connected with his office of sexton were all inward, as most becoming ; and the inward want of a dinner is a sufficient cause for a serious external appearance ; and the near prospect of relief is a mattf^r for inward rejoicing. I have seen him in his own loved home after one of those funerals. Dickey's home was a kind of " Curiosity Shop," it always had the appearance as if some one had just moved into it, and were held in suspense as to the best mode of disposing of the furniture. Tlic only thing that seemed like a fixture was Dickey's spouse, his dear Ellen, for the reason tluit she was what is termed shiftless. Of tlu; few elegant accomplishments which she had acquired, one was the frequent use of a short japau-likc polished 12 SEXTON DICKEY. pipe, her apology for its use beiug tliat the doctor had said it was an excellent thing for moving wind ; however this might be, it had no effect on moving her, hence the necessity for Dickey having to raise the wind sometimes in an extraordinary manner. Dickey professed to keep a shop, but for want of capital or want of credit, his stock was limited, and of a miscella- neous nature ; if his stock had been catalogued and inventoried the most prominent items would have been pipes, red herring, and nursery books fcr children. In warm Smamer time This short simple rhyme For a sign would appear In his window — " Sold Here Home Brewed Treacle Beer." A be v' rage to cheer, And not very dear. This sign so in^'iting, With its jingLLng inditing, Was Dickey's handwriting, Which I may as well state, Was like fine copper-plate. The most prominent scent that would have greeted your nostrils on entering the house would have been a compound one of red herring and to- bacco. Of the many turns that Dickey had taken to keep the wheels of life turning, was that of having a mangle to turn, and what with this piece of furniture, and others of a more antiquated SEXTON DICKEY. 13 appearance, there was scarcely room to turn in the house, so that he had little capital to turn over, and little room to turn in ; no wonder, then, that he should rejoice in double dues. I have witnessed him partake of an evening meal, after having performed the last rites over the departed, and become possessed of the dues. His fare was coffee and "sad Dick," a kind of improvised bread, which was baked in the frying-pan, and produced on the shortest notice. He would begin silently and in earnest ; but oh ye bilious dyspeptics, how ye would have envied Dickey his appetite could ye have seen him eating "sad Dick." After having appeased the severer pangs of hunger, his face would settle down into a placid expression of contented satisfaction, his eyes would twinkle and become half-closed as he munched, and his lower jaw would work with an oscillating motion, so that his face altogether, while eating the latter part of his meal, assumed the contented expression of a cow, while chewing its cud. After the evening's meal he would enjoy the pipe of peace with his wife, and no doubt his sleep afterwards would be so sound as to bid de- fiance to the nightmare. But poor Dickey has passed away, and has been gathered to his fathers, and I would fain hope that he who lived by others dying has himself died to live. 14 RAMBLING ETCHINGS. RAMBLING ETCHINGS. Inclined was I one day to rove By river's side, through field, and grove, In pleasant paths, and shady lanes. Where birds give out their gladsome strains. Observant of each pleasing scene ; The distant bills, and dales between, The atmosphere so purely clear, I noted objects far and near. The field of deep green wavy corn, Inclosed with hedge of sweet hawthorn, From which, at intervals, there grew Umbrageous trees, that darkly threw Their arms athwart the light, and made, With leafy fingers spread, a shade. Beneath their overhanging boughs Ave round-eyed, ruminating cows. Each whisking ofi", with pliant tail, Persistent flies, which so assail. The clacking mill, whose course's stream Comes tumbling on with sparkling gleam ; Its placid pond, as smooth as glass. Reflects its margin, fringed with grass. Gyrating insects lave their wings. And make, like rain drops, wavelet-rings, RAMBLING ETCHINGS. 15 Which ope and glide, -with motion slight, And gently ebb away from sight. In sylvan, shady, sheltered sj)ot Imbowered is seen an ivied cot ; Leafed tendrils o'er its old porch steal, And flowers its windows half conceal ; With bashful looks, and wondering stare, Are ruddy, rosy children there, Who cease their gambols on the grass, To coyly watch the stranger pass. On river's bank, with cautious eye, A luring angler throws the fly. In winding road, and 'tween the trees, A lagging horse and cart one sees ; The driver whistles as he goes. And cracks his whip, with loud gehoes. A kind of company it feels. To hear the rattling of the wheels. On distant, rocky, hill- sides steep, Seen are herbage-cropping sheep. And round a hoary ivied keep The noisy rooks in circles sweep. The river past it smoothly glides In silence, and its sloping sides Are decked with flowers, e'en to its brim. And swallows swiftly o'er it skim. And, as my eyes fresh beauties search, I see a village and its church ; Above fine trees, I so admire. 16 RAMBLING ETCHINGS. Gleams in the sun its burnisli'd. spire. The smoke, which human life denotes, Blue o'er the sleepy hamlet floats ; And here are homesteads, trim and nice, Each one a little paradise, With bordered fronts, bedecked with flowers, And trellissed porches, forming bowers. Here, too, the humble cottage door Has honeysuckle climbing o'er. The odour-scented air is balm. And all is sweet repose and calm. Then, sloping up the valley's side, O'er which, like magic, shadows glide, Woods and hedgerows neat are seen, Inclosing meadows richly green. Ayont again, broad pastures spread, And then the blufi" rears up its head. The dark-blue moors extend from thence, Like ramparts huge for safe defence. Those rugged mounts and heath-clad hills, Adown whose sides roll sparkling rills, Uprear their tops so towering high. Their summits seem to reach the sky : A sky with fleecy clouds, which made The landscapes have due light and shade. And now I hear, from where I stand. Sweet songs and sounds, from wood and land ; A pleasure^ dreamy-like, it yields. To hear the varied notes from fields ; RAMBLING ETCHINGS. 17 Sheep's bloatings plaintive, cattle lowing, From farmstead, shrilly, comes the crowing Of some proud, strutting chanticleer. Soon echoed by a rival near. Outflows from wood-secluded nook, "With gurgling noise, a pebbly brook, Pellucid, pure, its purling notes Blend sweetly with the songs from throats Of warblers, who, in leafy bowers Express their joys. Then honeyed flowers, The bees hum reedy notes among. And lark's impassioned lofty song. The bard of birds, who soars above. To trill his thrilling lay of love, A gushing, rapturous, silvery chain — Like song, in one melodious strain. At intervals, from o'er the way, Comes thrush's mellow roundelay. With each and all the sounds that come, The songs of birds, and insects' hum. The flow of streams, and all one hears. Must be the music of the spheres Of which one reads, and so I deem, 'Tis that of which the Poets dream. 18 A tailor's tale. A TAILOR'S TALE. Let those who so despise our trade, and name, And manhood us deny, this story scan, And learn from whence, and how, this saying came, So often used, " Nine tailors make a man." There was a time (so some historians say) When Albion's sons would stoop not to servility — Ere trade, and men of commerce had a sway. And when this island had its old nobility. Of which our Mannerscs, and great ones dream : An age Elysian, called by bards the golden ; Long, long ere Watt had made a noise with steam, Or Newton's lofty theories were uufolden. Few books were added then to learning's stock : Then, education bills none were demanding ; An unsophisticated time it was, ere Locke Had turned the key to ope the Understanding. An age for which one sighs with vain regrets ; When maids, all innocence, wore ringlet-tresses ; When loving shepherd swains, with flageolets, Played plaintive airs to please their shepherdesses. A tailor's tale. 19 On village green danced lads and lasses gay, 'Round Maypole tall, with wreaths of flowers hnng, When loveliest maid was crowned the Queen of May, And pleasing, lively madrigals were sung. Then forth came barons from their stately halls, With ladies fair, on prancing palfreys borne — A brilliant cavalcade : within their calls Were willing aids, who came at sound of horn. Bright costumes mingling with the landscape green, When sallying forth to hunt with hawk and hound, Gave life and picture-beauty to the scene. While dosrs and horn made hill and dale resound. •'»" Then none lacked food, for 'tis by some a boast That oxen whole, oft-times, at feasts were roasted ; Then stately dames knew naught of tea and toast : In goblets, gallant knights fair ladies toasted ; For whom, if need be, they would wield the lance, Their courage and their gallantry to prove ; Or slay in fight an enemy perchance. And win by valour a sweet lady-love. 'Tis said that honour was their guiding-star ; They would not insult bear, nor brook out-rivalry ; And great by sea and land, in love and war. Were they, in those old palmy days of chivalry. 20 A tailor's tale. Then beggars grim and sturdy were not known, Nor pauper-prisons were erected then : 'Twas ere the seeds of poverty were sown — would those rare old times were here again ! 'Twas in this sweet Arcadian time, I ween, From which a story has been handed down, That in some hostelry occurred a scene Which gave to tailors fame and some renown. Nine of the art together met to dine. Some great occasion then to celebrate ; Of many things they talked while o'er their wine, But made of no aflPair affairs of State. For tailors were not politicians then, Nor was there Commons House with M.P.'s sitting ; Yet then they talked of "measures and of men," And clothed their themes in dress of words befitting. They tried to brew, not revolution's storm ; Their pressings hot were then their greatest pressures ; Their laws of form sometimes they would reform ; And lords and king submitted to their measures. There were no taxes : nor, as now, a debt. To reckon which would tax the powers of Babbage : They talked of esculents, and that on wliich is set The mind of all their order — namely, cabbage. A tailor's tale. 21 A man reduced to penury and want By fickle fortune, chanced that way to roam, And called to rest his limbs in that snug haunt, And told a tale of loss and ruined home. The mirthful burly landlord ceased his jests. And paused to listen to a case so rare ; Then straightway took the stranger to his guests, Who bid him welcome to their board and fare. They heard his tale : each, with a feeling heart. Then gave, with liberal hand, a piece of gold — A fortune then, with which the man could start Again in life, in that rare time of old. "With feelings that he could not well conceal, He bowed his thanks. " Of gratitude," said he, " I have not words to tell how much I feel ; You, gentlemen, have made a man of me." How few would own, as did this man, our skill To make anew ; though thought of lower grade By some, perchance, who owe a tailor's bill. Who nought would be, were they not tailor-made. In our creative power few hold belief. Yet 'tis the tailor's due from fop to Quaker, All, suited well with garments should, in brief, Acknowledge him and laud who is the maker. 22 ESHTON HALL. ESHTON HALL AND ITS SUREOUNDTNGS. Among bold Craven's craggy hills, In winding Aire's romantic dale, Where water unpolluted rills, And near to Gargrave's lovely vale. On Eastern brow of hilly mound, Stands generous Wilson's well-placed seat, With varied beauty all around — A sylvan-sheltered, sweet retreat. At base of slope, a babbling stream. Trout-haunted, beautifies the scene ; Its purling ripplings sparkling gleam, With ray of sun and moonlight sheen. Tree-studded pastures large and fine, With sward in richest shade of green, On which luxuriate the kine. Unconscious of their fate I ween. Outskirted by food-yielding meads, — Of yore the scene of raid and pillage, — And by a shady lane which leads To pleasant rural stream-laved village. Sweet Eshton, spot art thou to love, Which but to see is to admire ; ESHTON HALL. 23 "Where sports the hare and coos the dove, And sings the joyous woodland choir. For thee hath Nature done her part, And placed art thou near to the grand ; Made beautiful art thou by art, With waving woods, and cared- for land. The heath-clad hills, so rudely wild. Give contrast to the cultured dale, Whose bare and rocky heights up-piled Make lovelier look thy verdant vale. Here seen are some of Nature's freaks : For shelter, rears up easternward Bold Flashy Fell's fantastic peaks, That stand like sentinels to guard. Those peaks, bleak-looking from below, When Winter comes, and birds have flown, When capp'd with glistening wreaths of snow, Will have a beauty of their own. From terraced front, or sloping sward Of flower-decked lawn, or Icaf-bower'd seat, Are seen fine views, that claim regard, Of wliicli a painter well might treat. Tlic fertile and tlio sterile blend ; The mountain, stream, grove, glen and glade All objects seen tlidr beauties lend. To give each view its light and shade. 24 ESHTON HALL. To see thee Eshton, and thy bowers, Thy grove-encircled gardens neat, To scent thy odour-breathing flowers, — And 'scape awhile the noisy street. The smoky town, the cooping mills, The clacking loom's loud deafening din, And breathe pure air from lofty hills. Have hundreds of our toilers been. No high exclusive fence is here To hide thy beauties from the sight Of those who Nature's scenes revere, And in the picturesque delight. !No churl is he who ownetli thee : In reason, there's no let, or ban. To those who ask his grounds to see : For Wilson loves his fellow-man. TABLE-TALK. 25 TABLE-TALK, A FABLE. A USEFUL couple — Fork and Knife — About tlieir occupation, Began a pointed, cutting strife ; Said Knife to Fork : " Upon my life, You get above your station ! What would you do, without my aid, Should we be separated ? Though some your silvery charms parade, And treat me as a common blade, Yet you are only plated. I still am pressed with finger-tips, By ladies of good breeding : But, though I have their friendly grips. They never take me to their lips Whilst in the act of feeding." "Now, Mr. Knife, don't you begin A quarrel, as to footing ; Don't show your edge and make a din ; 'Tis I who do the pitching-in : You may as well be cnttiiig. 26 TABLE-TALK. The right to feed to me belongs ; I help to keep from starving ; Then why need you complain of wrongs ? I've stuck to you with all my prongs, And helped you with your carving. O'er fancied wrongs then do not brood, Or fashions new and novel : If people will fork-in their food, It is because they think it rude To use you as a shovel." MORAL. Let Man and Wife, whate'er their grade May be, or their position, Give to each other loving aid. As if for one another made ; And so fulfil their mission. JUNE. 27 JUNE. Written during the Continental War. I like the sunny, flowery montli of June, Fit time for bard to celebrate in ballad ; A time when soaring larks their songs attune ; A time for lamb, potatoes new, and salad. A time for shady walks, for loving swain To whisper vows to fair one, and to court her ; A time to now and then enjoy a drain Of something cool, or swig the creamy porter. A time to range high hills, and breathe pure air, A wide expanse of wooded vale to scan. And then to some snug wayside inn repair, To wash, and well refresh the inner-man. A time to roam by tinkling, silvery stream That glistening winds tlirough lovely verdant dale, By farmstead, where is had the sweetest cream. And eggs, new-laid, and home-brewed, nut-brown ale. The monks of olden time, and friars grey. Oft named in song, of whom our records tell, And who in valleys used to wend their way. Were wise and knew the art of living well. 28 JUNE. Whene'er I stand -within the sacred gates Of Bolton's ruin old, with fancy's eye I see the gaberdined with shining pates Partaking clotted cream and warden pie. Whate'er might be their faith, they lacked not reason ; Some worship wealth — are devotees to Mammon ; Give me good things to eat, that are in season ; A time is this for parsley sauce and salmon. Abstainer lean, repressive laws would make ; For evermore he homilies is giving How men should live ; I ask, " For goodness sake, What better thing can be than right good living ?" Let him vituperate, and me assail With names of drunkard, epicure, and glutton, Though virtuous he, I'll have my cake and ale. And pleasant walk, and " walks into the mutton." Howe'er we set our minds on things above. Below we somehow like a well-spread table ; 'Tis well, and good while here, to live and love — Enjoy and make enjoy, while we are able. Then here's to thee, sweet month of fruits and flowers, Thy sunny time ascetic ones might please ; Thou mayest not bring to Continental powers An early peace, but thou wilt bring us peas. IRELAND. 29 IRELAND WITH DENOMINATIONAL TEACHING. 0, Erin, green Erin, that land of unquiet ! Whose warm-hearted children love rumpus and riot, Who merry can be on a very low diet, And somehow are easily led. Who cling to country, to kith and to kin. And Death, when he enters their hovels within. So makes them to revel and howl with such din, 'Tis said that they e'en wake their dead. The base robber owners, away from the soil. Enjoy and luxuriantly live on the spoil Produced by Paddy's laborious toil ; While othei's who see it expedient Keep liini through life in leading strings. With a charming inducement of future good things, Provided that he be obedient. Thereby is Pat's mind enveloped in fog, And stagnant as water in Allan's big bog. And he herds and shares his meals with his hog In a hovel of mud for a home. For the good of his soul he contributes his mite ; Potheen and a shindy are Paddy's delight — 30 IRELAND. And ready is lie, and big with fight, For Peter's successor at Rome. He charges all ills to Saxon rule, A thought thrust into his pate, poor fool. With lasting impressions instilled at school. The earliest seeds that are sown. And he scratches his frowsy, unkempt poll, And is wholly under another's control — - Who takes the charge and cure of his soul. Which he dare not call his own. To him it would be the blessedest thing If Ireland had but an Irish king, Whose name the first letter in shape like a rino-, Would ring in such name as O'Connor. Och ! wouldn't he revel in mud wid the pig, And ate his purhatees, and feel moighty bio-, And flourish his shtick, and dance his jig. And a dhrap o' the crather deloiglited he'd swig. And pledge ould Ireland's honour. Should that be the case, then Pat wouldn't roam To lands far away from his own island home. Against which the wild waves of ocean dash foam, The emerald gvm of the say. He then wouldn't be at the beck and the nod Of any base Saxon to serve with a hod ; He could then go about, his feet in brogues shod. Or not, as best suited his way. IRELAND. 31 Och ! wouldn't lie then have of whishkey a lot, And Oirish shte-w done in a big pot ; And butthermilk then would in plenty be got, That such time would come is Pat's prayer. And that makes the saw in one's mind to arise, '• 'Tis folly where ignorance is bliss to be wise," The cloud-minded lowly poor have their blue skies, And of love and affection their share. Priestly teachers do well to stoutly contend For aid from the State their young twigs to bend ; Their teachings are meant as means to an end — To wit, Erin's sons for example ; Whose early taught lessons, wherever they go. Shine forth, and their shindies enliven, and show That a faith instilled early makes goodness to flow ; They do the behests of their priesthood we know — Who would on all heretics trample. Give power to the Church through the aid of the State To mould the young mind, and to educate, Then cease would sedition, and unloyal prate ; 'Twould strengthen the bonds of society : Church prelates, and rulers in places high, Who o'er our degen'rate days often sigh. Would feel that for them would be more of State pie, Should workers have more of State piety. 32 EPICUREAN MUSINGS. EPICUREAN" MUSINGS. I like a rambling walk along the river's side, A friend with whom to talk, then sweet the moments glide ; There's beauty in each sight, the breeze comes pure and sweet. And sharpens up the appetite for something good to eat ; To see the river's flow, to hear its murm'ring mutter, It's well-fed trout I know are nice when fried in butter ; And here's the bold hillside and sloping sward below. And beeves, the farmer's pride, are grazing as we go ; I like to hear their lowing, their sounds fond memories v/ake, I feel a pride in knowing in the country I've a stahe. One hears the plaintive bleat of sheep in pastures green. How prime their legs to eat will be, what chops, I ween ! And now the farmyard's din, the fowls — their noisy cackle — If cooked, I could begin their joints to foully tackle ; With fowls I would have bacon, altho' the Jews deride it. EPICUREAN MUSINGS. 33 I think tliem much mistaken, they surely can't have tried it. The ducks I hear them quack, they give me thoughts that please, They take my memory back to times of early peas. Their flavour needs no puffing — whate'er are our opinions Respecting kinds of stuffing, I give my vote for onions ; And I would pardon beg of ladies and the rest, I like a good plump leg, a white and tender breast ; I like to hear Miss Goose — whose father 's given to wander, Suggesting notions loose on the part of Mr. Gander, — I like to see her dressed, a dress of stuff in season Becomes her figure best, but taste should sway one's reason, I feel myself a cannibal to think how I should treat her. When chance occurs I shall, no doubt, with others eat her. Away from busy strife here I should like to dwell, A good and happy life I'd lead by living well. I like that good Friar's song, who used to wend his way, And as he tripped along trolled out his triplet lay ; His was no sickly theme, nor whining, wailing cry, He sang of clotted cream, of wine and warden pie ; No banner did he flaunt with Excelsior device, 34 THE AMERICAN WAR. His highest earthly want was something good and nice. I would not give my praise to themes some tune the lyre on, Should I a banner raise 'twould be a large gridii'on ; Then broils, away from strife, I'd have, and then a fry. And thus a higher life I'd live by living high. WRITTEN DURING THE AMERICAN WAR. Who is this Southern rebel foe Who seeks a nation's overthrow. And vainly vaunts a chivalry ? Who treats the Northern man with scorn, As one to menial labour born. While his own trade is devilry. Who for an institution wars. That with the thought of freedom jars, 'Tis Afric's blood and bone ! That monster slav'ry, foul and fell. Base oflPspring born of lowest hell, He makes his corner-stone. THE AMEEICAN WAR. 35 He proudly spurns -with bitter hate That which is noble, good and great, Free labour's rightful claim. Poor helpless woman he can scourge With stripes, he binding chains can forge ; Enslaving is his aim. Crush out as with an iron heel Would he a nation's highest weal : To freedom's light a foe ; A despot with a heart of steel, Nursed to oppress and cannot feel His fellow-mortal's woe. Fight, Northmen, fight, for freedom's cause,. Yes, fight for equal, humane laws, And patriots true be ye ; Far better fight and even fall, Than tyrant foe should you enthrall ; Your cause is liberty. On, Sheridan, on ! on, brave Sherman ! Lead on to victory each warman. And boldly face your foe ; Let not that foe your courage daunt, No quarter give unswerving Grant, Deal death In every blow. 36 THE AMERICAN WAR. His prowess lie so proudly boasts, With all his coerced servile hosts, Your Northmen yet will quell : Forward, brave men ! firm, stout and staunch, Fall on him like an avalanche With grape-shot and with shell. Haters of freedom, tyrants all Are looking for your country's fall With grim sardonic grin. Then show them that when freemen fight 'Gainst vassal hordes and tyrant might They have the power to win. Brave out your rebel foe ingrate ; The demon Slav'ry extirpate : Then may your starr'd flag wave In triumph o'er a nation free, A land where is true liberty For all the good and brave. THE SPEING. 37 THE SPRmG OF 1867. Spring ! that sliould'st have gentle mien, Of seasons called by bards the queen, For thou hast raining powers ; "With March, and canopied in cloud. Thou earnest in -with noises loud. And hailed us with thy showers. Spring ! thou art a maiden coy ; What is it gives thee such annoy ? Why art thou so complaining ? Thy wailing windy, long prelude Shows thou hast had a training rude, Or rudimental training, Spring ! thy youth is scarce a theme For bards to sing, who often dream Of beings transcendental : So born of storms, thy infant course Of early schooling has perforce Been chiefly elemental. maiden Spring ! that erst so chaste Wert thou, and mild ; why dost thou waste Thy strength and youihrul hours 38 THE SPRING. In boist'rous fliglitiness eacli day, Without or sunny smile or ray, When thou shoulcl'st deck with flowers ? maiden Spring ! in dress of green, Instead of balm and calm serene, Thy conduct shocks us daily : Our window panes, our doors with locks Thou shak'st with equinoctial knocks ; Thou art not gay but galey. O Spring ! the thought of thee beguiles Through Winter's tedious hours ; thy smiles We all anticipate. Then cease thy wailings loud and long, Bring scented flowers and genial song. With joy reanimate. CRAVEN SCENERY. 39 CRAVEN SCENERY. Sweet Settle in Craven, tliou rock-sheltered haven, Thy beauties a stave on bard-like would I sing ; Thy echoing hills, and cascading rills. That would turn clacking mills, have a musical ring. Thy rock-bedded river, the pleasing sport giver, To those who deliver the barbed hook with line ; Thy carpet-like sward, that slopes riverward, From rocks that stand guard and shelter the kine. In the still vale below, the stream's gentle flow. So sluggish and slow, on noiselessly glides ; Its smooth waters creep through its worn channel deep. And willows that weep bend over its sides. Its serpent-like windings to me are remindings Of death's rude unbindings : those friends once so near, AVith whom I have fought the fierce pike, and caught And gallantly brought to land, are not here. By trout-haunted brooks, in warm sheltered nooks. With pale modest looks, primroses in spring Peep out with mild f\xccs, in groups like the graces ; Each spot fancy traces fond memories bring. 40 CEAVEN SCENERY. I have heard village bells, ring clear through the dells, And echoed in swells, by soft breezes borne. Their heavings and beatings, and wavj repeatings, Were welcoming greetings on sweet Sabbath morn. Those bright scenes of childhood, the river, the wild wood, The mountains up-piled could attract and amaze ; The moors heather-crowned, and Ryeloaf so round, The world's utmost bound — in those childish days. In fresh boyhood's prime, these heights I would climb. Where grew the wild thyme and bilberries blue. When wild bird's wings whirr'd and sheep's bleatings were heard. And the notes of that bird, rarely seen, the curlew. On clear day and still, when larks above trill, Then peak, crag, and hill, like listeners stand round : And Pennyghent tall, peers up over all. And you hear waters fall with a low lulling sound. Thy rocks Attermire, whose peaks high aspire, When tipped as with fire by Sol's parting glance. Look beamy and bold, like clouds edged with gold. In masses uprolled — a scene to entrance. Antiquarians who pore o'er hist'ries of yore, In raptures explore thy archive-like caves. Whose relics unfold, what books have not told, Of peoples of old, ere Britain ruled waves. CEAVEN SCENERY. 41 Those Alpine-like cones, as giants on thrones, In twihght's deep tones weird-like upward loom ; I have seen their dusk forms, like clouds that bring storms, With childish alarms, depart with night's gloom. When clouds come together in hot sultry weather, Like clans o'er the heather, with threat'ning presage, With a stillness intense you wait in suspense. When a few moments hence heaven's clangour will rage. 'Tis fearfully grand in some place to stand, A view to command of crags, peaks, and hills ; And see the fierce flash and bolt's downward dash, And hear the loud crash, give a feeling that thrills. While elements battle, resounding hills rattle ; In terror the cattle get near to the wall ; The rollings and rumblings like huge mountain tumblings Receding with grumblings our senses appal. Then down pours the rain, with big hail amain, We think o'er again of a deluge \vith gloom ; That now will be hurled to destruction the world, And the last end unfurled by the great crack of doom. 42 CRAVEN SCENERY. From gorges and gills, from cleft-rocks, and hills, The brooklets and rills leap foamily down ; The cattle that shiver in fields by the river, From death to deliver men ride from the town. The rough swollen tide will its bounds over-ride, And destruction spread wide o'er its erst peaceful vale, With storm madden'd force 'twill o'erwhelm in its course, Without or remorse or an ear for grief's wail. Those fierce storms would make the vale like a lake, And farmers would quake for their outlying hay. As each smiling field, by water concealed, Might give up its yield to be floated away. Once rife was a tale in sweet Ribblesdale, That a youth strong and hale, was borne down by the flood From home far away on a stack of new hay. While sleeping he lay, past Arnford's dark wood. On waking he found from the loud surging sound, That somehow he bound was to some distant shore. And he dreamily guessed that while taking his rest, Some crew had him pressed, home ne'er to see more. On Ararat mound, his ark went aground, And strangers floisked 'round and asked whence he hailed ! He answered in short, and said that the port Was Rathmell in England from which he had sailed. LUNAB REFLECTIONS. 43 LUNAR REFLECTION'S. 'Tis sfiid that the feminine moon a planet is, And favours the loves of the tender ; Her pleasant, pale, silvery light, tho' wan it is, Imparts a mild halo of splendour. She moves in soft silence, and lonely she seems, As if without friends or connections. And yet from her face a mild loveliness beams That gives us the sweetest reflections. In night's stillest hour, when was heard not a sound. Her face I have thought boded sorrow, A cloud would steal over that sweet face so round ; I thought of the light she'd to borrow. I grant you it oft puts my brain on tho rack. To try in some slight way to scan it ; Does ever she pay Sol the borrowed light back, If not, then, pray how does she plan it ? I know that old Sol is a lilicial fclhnv, Dundreary would call hini a " bwick," It seems his delight to make night's queen mellow, Does she pay, or is't lunar " tick ? " 44 LUNAK REFLECTIONS. He loves lier, I think, if the truth must be told, So oft he has with her a shine — And then he so frequently " tips" her with gold : — When she's full, is't think you with wine ? We all may have noticed this curious thing, When towards her our thoughts have been carried. We've seen her encircled sometimes with a ring, Suggesting the thought that she's married. Though oft she is seen raking out of a night, Without e'er a partner, alone, Yet fair ones with arms round their waists in her sight. Have never seen arms round her zone. Not spotless is she, still I think she is pure. And must have the power of resistance ; Though stars in high circles may try to allure By winks, they are kept at a distance. Yet like the sweet fair who are given to slander And boast of their high-born connections, She makes no remarks on stars that may wander, On us 'tis she casts her reflections. Miss Juliet once called her inconstant, I know ; For changes she makes, it is known ; She has her own orbit, in which she will go, Or bits of odd ways of her own. LUNAE REFLECTIONS. 45 I frequently have on her face fixed my gaze, And could not suppose her two-faced, 'Tis known now and then she assumes a fresh phase. Yet still she is thought very chaste. One cannot say much for the courses of stars, So vast is the distance between us ; 'Tis likely that Venus may ogle at Mars, And Mars may " tip winks" at fair Venus. But 'tis not for beings like us to intrude, Or raise in high circles a scandal ; Slight sayings at one time were wrongly construed, Which gave the Star Chamber a handle. Historians profane have said of old Mars That a war-god he was and had sons ; He may bo the father of those shooting stars That blaze away, yet have no guns. Are stars brought to being as we are by birth, And fed in their own milky way ? No doubt they have circles as we have on earth, Will sparkle their time and decay. 46 HINTS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. HINTS ON THE BEAUTIFUL. For beauty I possess an eye Pertaining to the ladies ; I like to see a well-draped form That graceful and well-made is. A head well-groomed, surmounted by A captivating hat ; A rounded chin and peach-like cheeks That make one long to pat. A smooth white brow and loving eyes ; And I am one of those Who think a face is not complete "Without a well-formed nose. The leading feature of the face, — Though some may blow it light, — Requires a nice artistic skill To handle it aright. Some etchers oddly treat the nose, And some there are, I find, Who say that 'tis an in-, or ra- Ther out-dex to the mind. HINTS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 47 Tliat like the hand on dial's face, It indicates, they say, The way and how a man will go, And tells his time of day. Hence, some will noses classify ; Give each its generic name ; Define how noses take the lead — How scent their little game. There are the sharp and pointed ones. Acutely keen of scent ; And scornful tura-up pugs there are. With look impertinent. There are the bold and martial ones. Commanding, prominent ; And broad and flat, with nostril wide, And those with bridges bent. ••&'■ And knobby ones there are, and those That much awry have grown ; And those much like a red, red rose In June, that's newly blown. That tell of often moistened clay, With somctliing more than slops ; That nightly, like the rose, drink dew. And have at morn their drops. 48 HINTS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. And then there is the Punch-like nose, Provocative of fun ; And there's the sniffing one and slow, Yet much inclined to run. Thore are the hooked ones, called beaks, And poking ones, called snipe, And classic ones, quite Venus-like, Which are of Grecian type. I like a mouth with pearly teeth, And luscious fruit-like lips ; Fine moulded arms, with tapering hands To pink-nailed finger tips. Of heads and their adornments too, I have my own ideal ; I like rich golden tresses, when I know them to be real. 'Tis strange how much barbaric taste Our fair ones still retain ; The trinkets, beads and jewelled ears, How much they bear of pain. The pinned-up hair, the pads they wear, The heels so elevated ; The waist mada slight, the boots worn tight, And corns much cultivated. HINTS OF THE BEAUTIFUL. 49 The heads are magnified, and raised To such a lofty pitch, The myst'ry is, how get relief When heads begin to itch ? For hair is now so bolstered up. So fortified they wear it, That if should bite a parasite. They can't but grin and bear it. Profuse and richly flowing curls, Or neatly woven braids, Outvie all vile excrescences, Or adventitious aids. By men of cultivated taste The false in art is scorned ; They like in oi-nament the chaste, And beauty unadorned. To try to please by what is false Is but a vain endeavour ; What's beauty noiv, in woman's eye. Is not a joy for ever : For fashions change, and ladles will Their ornaments renew ; And fathers who have daughters now Should have a decent " screw." D 50 A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. And anyone who watches well The ways of beauty's queens, Will say, the man who means to wed Should be a man of means. A GRAVEN FISHING TALE. IN THE VERNACDLAK. "Whew I wor^ a lad, an lived wi' my dad. At Preston, ca'd Lang, near Settle i' Craaven, Then oft 'twor my wish to gah^ graap for fish, An monny a do I could gi' a lang stave on. Then what pleased my taast, an suited meh^ t'maast, Wor fishin^ up t'beck, and demin an laadin ; "We'd tak feofuP paans, an graap undher staans. An monny's the time weh gat wetshod wi' waadin. A quear actin tike, by t'mess if yeh like, Wor to us at times a regular botherer ; If he'd seen a gert looach, wi' t'speed ov a cooach. He'd run shoutin lads, look here what a lotherer !^ A chap they ca'd Kit, Hardacre to wit, A clog an shoe-makker wor his okkepashun ; He'd nobbud'' yan^ ee, a " topper " to see When lookin for fish, 'ted deep penetrashun. A CRAVEN FISHING TALE 51 Afih ! oft wod I sit, an hearken to Kit, Tellin gert roamin taals ov fiishin an pooacliin ; Ov hairbreadth escaaps fra spring-guns an snaaps,^ An keepers to keep sich as him fra incrooachin. Ov fauselj^*' maad snaai'S for hangin tpoor haars. An a' soorts o' nets for bajjofin o' s:aam : Ov dogs 'at wor traan'd, an what could be gaan'd For a good bangin haul wi' sellin o' t'saam. He bed quite a taast, if 'tworrent soa chaast, For music an musical instrumentaation ; He plaad an he sang wi' gert voice an Strang, An sometimes at church he maad. a sensaashun. Oft hed he a trial to mak a baas viol, Wi' shoe-makkin tools an sooal-cuttin blaads ; A thing he mich needed, at last he succeeded, For Kit wor a chap 'at wor Jack ov a' traads. His tow-heeaded^^ barns 'ud gaap at his yarns, It pleeas'd him to t'life, wi' ro-mance to cap^^ 'em ; If onny yan me'ld ov his lads, or lees teld. He'd double his kncaf ^'^ an threeaten to wap 'em. We'd oft heeard him saya, in his emphatic waya, 'At some day, he knew, a gert fish he sud hook Says he, " D'ya knah, when out yancc I sah A whaal ov a pike i' oud Tomiiiy Crook. 52 A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. I sail it," says he, " I sah't wi' my ee, An gav it a naam by way a ov a kersnin ;i* I'se kuah it agaan, whenivver it's ta'en, Oud Judy's it naam," says he, his ee glis'nin : "It weighs twenty pund," he maad marks o' t'grund. And shaw'd us wi' pride, it bookthis an it length ; Shaw'd how it wor shapp'd, we glooard, and were capp'd; Said t'line to hod it sud be a gaah^s strength. 'Tedi'' teeth like a shark, and then 'ted a mark On it heead resemblin a capital B ; If hungry, t'wod itis a joint fra a spit. If oflfer'd i' true fishin style, d' ya see. " I sah it," says he, " I tell theW^ naya lee. To hook it, by gen ! 'nd be sich a spree." An he slapp'd his theegh i' t'wildest o' glee, Then look'd straight at me wi' his piercin yan ee. One mornin, says he, to t'oud'st lad and me, " I've nowt mich to do i' t'clog-makkin waya, "We'll gah down to Kibble, an try for a nibble. For fishin for pike it's just a reyt daya." While trudgin alang, t'birds chirrup'd an sang, Reyt bonny wor t'fields wi' butther-cups speck'd, Aboon t'sky wor blue, saavleet clouds 'at threw rieetin shadows 'at flew ower meads daasy deck'd. A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. 53 Then down Bigliolmes looan awaya I've oft gooan, I bev't i' my ee at this far off daya, Oad esh trees ower hingin, an on ther boughs singin Sweet sangs wor lile birds to pleeas us on t'waya. On, on as we went, ! sweet was the scent Era fair-faced lile flowers faintly fanned by the breeze, Soa pure i' ther wildness, wi' paal looks o' mildness, Ther honey-sweet leeaf-lips wor kussed by the bees. Here primroses grew, an bonny bells blue. Here t'wild breear it-*^ breet colour'd beauties displaad, Here blossom'd the thorn 'at scented the morn, An here, I consaat-^, wod be love-matches maad. Fra here wor seen gills," and green slopin hills, A pictur it wor to see kye-^ an sheep browsin ; Soa clear, an serene, spots far off wor seen, Wi' hulls here an theear for t'cattle to house in. Away back i' t'distance, Avi' good ecu's assistance, Wor seen hills to rise, whal lost in a haas, D.jwn i' t'valley below, wi' wcemliest^'^ flow, Kan t'ripliu river reflecting t' sun's raas. Abooii, up i' t'west, wi' lioii-like crest. Uproars luglcborough, ov hills Yorkshire's pride, It top oft snow-capp'd, bud of'ner cloud wrapp'd. Like bards, whea-'' ther meeauins i' mistiness hide. 54 A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. Fra it a bit N^ortli, ower bonny Staanforth, Pearks up into t'seet ta' Pennjghent bill, Sbapp'd like flower liawf ov a gert sugar loaf, Standin up like a maastlier to keep t'lile ou's^^ still. Then, turn round to t'lef t, look dowubank,-^ ye'll hev't, I' see't Pendle Hill, for a' t' world like a wliaal. As if it wod spout saut wattber about. An Lancasbire folk gi' a lasb wi' it taal. 'Twod faal meb to tell, of moorland and fell, Ov ling cover'd mountains, wbear loonliness raaus, Tbe wild birds' wild boam, ower wbicb sportsmen roam, Wbear M.P.'s may rest tber ower-warked braans. All bere could be seen, tbrougb t'opnins atween, T' snig-like-^ bendin river, sncakin^^ slowly alang. Sea wisbtly^o it creeps tbrougb Lang Preston deeps, Wi' snod^^ sbinin face as if 't couldn't gab wraug. Bud if yell sud ventur to cross it an enter, Wi' aam to fatliom it deptb an it leeanins, -Ye mud tbiuk it shallow, bud then it 'ud swallow Yah up, an deeatb wod be t'end o' yer gleeanins. Wi' rod, flees, an line, t'day breezy an fine, If on it green banks for spooart ye're inclined, Wi' skill, tbere's Hie doubt ye may book a faew trout. Or mebbe a salmon, or fisb o' some kind. A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. OO 'Tween hills aboou Settle, when storms try it mettle, It loups madly down ower rock, foss,^^ an fa' ; Comes rushin and foamin, an then, widely roamin, It covers a' t'land anent Wigglesworth Ha'. At Rarmel^s beck mouth, whear t' river bends south, T'fish theh ca' gudgeon i' gert shoals abound ; Theas fish, I may staat, are reyt ou's for baat, When cunnin'ly fix'd an maad to spin round. Then to it sets Kit, some gudgeon to git, And shaws off his skill wi' baatin his hooks ; Wi' slaw mezzer'd stroll for pike we now troll, An carefully try i' a' t'likeliest nooks. I cannot say less, we'd mid'lin success. For pike are nooau kiesty^* when wantin to feed We cowt two or three, a fair size d'ya see. But Judy wor left for another day deed. And here let meh naam, before weh went haam, 'Cross Tommy^ Crook mouth we fix'd a neet Hue ; Noa cbanches neglectin, an somehow expectin 'At Judy mud'^*^ want to supper or dine. " To morn I sal fettle, an gah up to Settle," Says Kit to us lads in a confidiu waya, " Meet meh reyt soon it 'midafthernoon ; I've nobbud lile business, an net laug to staya. 56 A CEAVEN FISHING TALE. An mind meh reyt weel, or this ye sal feel," An he held up his kneeaf to mak an impreshun, " If thear before rae, then waat, d'ya see, If net ye'll git wapp'd in a reyt graadly^'' feshun." We gat thear next daya, I's reyt if I saya, An hour to soon, by t'clock, I'll apod^^ it, We said we sud like to kuah if a pike Like Judy i' weight wor hook'd, could weh hod it ? Wlial thus spekelaatin, we gat stoad^'' wi' waatin, An said we could look, an Kit nivver need kuah, About it Tom set ower t'watther to get. An hevin done this, we gav t'liue a dhrah. " Young lads will be forrud," a sayin I've borrud, Soa ready, Eve-like, if tempted to straya, That headlang they'll gah, into danger we knah, For fruit that is stown is t'sweetest, they saya. We worrn't soa dull, when feelin t'line pull, As to loss onny time wi' study an thinkin ; Bud knahin t'reyt quii-k, we gav t'line a jerk, To strike t'hook into it innards like winkin. We'd net lang to waat, a pike hed ta'en t'baat, Enow,'*'^ it com up in a rampagious waya. And seemed i' heigh dudgeon, 'cos cowt wi' a gadgeou, Bud what were it size, yau could'nt weel saya. A CKAVEN FISHING TALE. 57 Bad my stars an garters ! if outlandish Tartars Hed come up at yance, like boggards^i i' t'neet, 1 don't think weh sud, nay, I doubt if weh could, Ha' bin maar capsized 'an weh wor wi' this seat. By gow ! what a splash, then, off at a dash It 'ud goa, bud we gav it a gaa length o' band ; We said it's a capper if that beeant a wapper; An Kit mud gali look ! if weh gat it to land. We font it a while i' reyt fishin style. An just lookin up, I spied out oud Kit. By gen ! Tom, he's comin ! he'll give us a pummin ; Tom look'd as if ommast flaad''- out ov his wit. When Kit gat up to us, an look'd past his nooas He sah what wor up down below wi' wer line ; He set up a shout, wak'uin t'echoes about. Says I to mysel, now then for a shine. He swahr a gert aath he'd wallop us baath, Maad up to Lis lad wi furious sthride, Au knock'd him aside, "I'll tan iluh (lii hide" He said, "I's so mad^'' I can hardly bide." Seeaz'd t'line in a minute, " Here's a prize, I mun win it," Says Kit, or seemed soa to say by his mouashuns ; Wi' look quite mysterious, a faas laiig an serious, It mud slip us, I tliout, wer yan ov his nooashuus. 58 A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. He hedn't been lang when cLang'd wor his twang, For leetsome he gat an cut a faew caapers, As if he'd been eas'd fra paan 'at bed seeaz'd On his innards wi' gripins or what's ca'd vaapers. He'd lots o' coDsaat thrus'n up in his paat, An hked to shaw oS whene'er he'd a chance ; He knew he could dc it, an set his sel to it, Lookin ower at me wi' a knahin-like glance. I makka-like^ thought, bud ye mind I said nout, He wanted a' t'credit o' t'job to his sel ; He maad sich a spreead wi' feet an wi' heead, 'Twod puzzle my knob to describe or tell. Soa queer wor eeach antic, like yan gahin frantic, Sich peearin i' t'watther, an sich signs o' glee ; At iv'ry fresh seet it rahas up i' weight, " Egad ! lad, it's Judy!" he shouted to me. He sliaw'd off his skill an fought it his fill, Then drew it to t'side hauf deead, I sud saya, Wi' t'grip ov his hand he brought it to land. Then up flew wer hats an we shouted hurraa. Bud what I'll be bun for, t'poor fish wor near dun for Before Kit began, I'll lig onny money, So a' his queer prances an sharp yan ee glances Seems when yan thinks on't to look varry funny. A CRAVEN FISHING TALE. 59 As it laad at full length, a' shorn ov it strength, We stood by an glooar'd at wer wondherful prize ; " Ye see now," says Kit, " did I ratch it a bit, When I tell'd what I'd seen," an he look'd a bit wise. Then off we set haam expecting some faam, Wi' pow*^ through it gills it wor borne sliowdherheight. An as lads we felt proud, wi' bein allowed To carry a pike ommast*^ twenty pund weight. NOTES TO "A CRAVEX FISHING TALE." ' Was. " Go. ' Me, tlie e having the same short sound as in the article the. * The learned in dialects say that the g ending participles is a modern addition, and to make use of the eUsiou mark is superfluous ; the same with the conjunction and, the cf is never sounded. ^ Much, a corruption of fearful. " A coined word derived from the plashing noise a largo fish makes when caught. " Only. ' One. '■" Traps or snares. " Cunningly. '' Flaxen. ^ Surprise. » Fist. "■' Christening. ^'^ Bulk. i° Meant here more than ordinary. " It had. " Eat. ^'■' Thee pro- nounced the. ^' The possessive in speaking is never used : John Smith's lad, would be John Smith lad. -' Conceive. " Glens or rarines. ^ Cows. ** A pure dialect word meaning silently smooth. ''■' Who. ^^ Little ones. -" To go westward or nor-west wa^ to go upbank, and in the opposite direction was to go downbiink. -'' Eel-like. '"' A stealtliy movement. 3" Silently. "'' Smooth. ^' Force. ^^ Kathmell. ^' Not nice as to what tlioy feed on. '^ A bend in the river of the form of a horse shoe, the land ini.ide belonging at the time to Tommy sumeone, from whom it would take its name. ^'' .Might, perchance. ^" Ajjplied to a person means decent. ^ Uphold. *^ Weary. '" By-and-by. " Ghosts. " Frightened. -' Grieved. " Kind of. " Pole. '" Abnost. 60 FALSE PRETENCES. FALSE PRETENCES. It may not be believed, In spite of mucli revealment, How men may be deceived By art and nice concealment. Some figures we may know Their value by up-adding ; But figures draped for show, How calculate on padding ? I, at a verdant age. Took to myself a wife ; I took her from the stage To act a part in life. On her my eyes would dwell, And I too fondly dreamed Each pleasing rounded swell "Would be like what it seemed. She seemed my belle ideal. How I miscalculated ! I found her so unreal, So much adulterated ! FALSE PRETENCES. 01 Her teeth were things of art ; Her hair, Oh ! goodness gracions ! Her form, each rounded part Was equally fallacious. Her mould, ere we were bound. Seemed plump, yet not too fat ; "With nearer tie I found Her neither this nor that. Her eyes, I will confess, Were fringed with silk-like lashes, Her face, I rather guess, Was fair with certain washes. Else, why at times so coarse, Just after an ablution ? The reason asked, perforce. Was cause of much confusion. And then, I was misled By her most leading feature — At times, when tinged with rod. She seemed another creature. Her virtues she would praise, I thought, more than enougli ; Wlicn T, who have my ways, Would grnflly say, " a?Z sti The toui' of Rome some make, whose talk Of ruins never ceases, But let them make this tour of rooms, And see a world in pieces. You next can have some checkered scenes With sorters sorting fleeces ; The staple of a stapler's speech "Will be of staple length, And whether it be long or short In that consists its strength. His sort of talk will be of sorts Of what will make a top To spin ; his yarn will be of wool, The staple of his shop ; And yarns, if you will thread your way To trace them to their sources. You'll find that those who spin them make- Them threads of their discourses. A man of yarns will talk of counts — Not Counts of Spain or France ; And lustres, — not illustrious names That figure in romance ; — His yarns are not those read in books, As tales of Rome or Greece, But those when thoy a I'ccding get, "Will make a lustrous piece ; A lively turn they have while spinning, And what is most their good, 156 EEADFORD IN ITS TRANSITION STATE. If not the spinner's thread of life, They are his livelihood. He spins his tops and has his reels, And, like a wag jocose. He tells you yarns are very good When taken in the gross. I should have ranked the combers first, But that may make no odds. The oddest thing is this that tods Of wool are combed by Todds. Yon may say this of Bradford, 'tis A rising — falling town, 'Tis plainly an uneven place, And somewhat ujj and down ; For Kirkgate, Westgate, Darley Street, With Dale Street, Piccadilly ; All they who make th' ascent of these Assent that they are hilly. And rising streets and insing men, As streams with lofty sources. Whatever heights they may attain, Have likewise downward courses. I do dislike a level town. It seems so dead and flat, As if some low deed it had done. And wished to keep it " squat." Then Bradford has its pretty names. So suited to the place. BRADFORD IN ITS TRANSITION STATE. 157 Toil might suppose it picturesque They give it such a grace ; With Banks and Brays, and Hills and Dales, With Trees, and Woods and Rooks, With Shepherds, and with loving Swaines, With Bridges and with Brooks ; o And if there is no bonnie Doon, Why there are bonnie lasses, And he wbo would enjoy the brays Can go among the asses. And there are streams — impure, I grant- That ripple past us daily ; And there is Ripley's pois'ning dyes That kill off all the scaly. There's water pent in reservoirs — A large supply and good — And you can get on swimmingly In baths, without a flood. Some streets are being wider made To give us greater range, Displaced has been an ugly pile, To place a new Exchange. Our wants have much increased of late, And so we've told our betters ; A better, more commodious place We want for men of letters. Directors of the Midland lino Had got us in a bad fix, 158 BRADFORD IN ITS TRANSITION STATE. But some one timely, like a clock, Was quite well up in tackticks ; 'Tis lioped tla' enlightened town will see To get a better site — The building for our postal use, By all means post it right. And there are other things to do ; I hope in time we shall Both get a clearer atmosphere Aud clear out the canal. I met a friend the other day Who gave my ribs a poke — "■ You must be on for ribaldry," Said I, " Pray what's your joke ?" Says he, " Old boy, it gives me joy To see you ; how's your chest ?" "This smoke," I said, "is very bad, I cough, and feel oppressed." Says he, " The chimneys belch it out, All things exposed are sooty. The atmosphere, once sometimes blue. Is now most vile and smutty ; Can nought be done, its getting thicker, The sky, one can't discern it ?" I said, " You'd better see the Vicar;" * At which he said, " burn it !" * At the time the foregoing was written, the late Vicar of Bradford (Dr. Burnett) was living; also the changes hinted at have been more than reaHsed. A mother's homely talk. 159 I said, " The "Vicar that would name As the best thing to end it ; But come and have a smoke with me, And see if that will mend it." A MOTHER'S HOMELY TALK. IN THE VERNACULAR. 'Tis said, the gentler sex, the old, and young. The tall, the short, and those of middle size, Whate'er they lack besides, lack naught of tongue, And even some have lovely speaking eyes. I know a mother, and a loving wife, Who when I call, pours out of words a flood ; Though hers is but a humble sphere of life. She honest is, straightforward, plain, and good. Her home and children are her chief delights ; Affection makes her constant toil a pleasure. And though she has her bits o' tifts and flights. Her last born child she calls her greatest treasure. Her talk is in accordance with her light, A rough, unpolished gem of worth is she. Her language may seem coarse to ears polite, But she is guileless, and has innate modesty. 160 A mother's homely talk. Her offspring are her never-ending theme, Their constant daily needs from head to feet ; She tells me how she has to plan and scheme lu order, as she says, to mak ends meet. She says — Wi' mendin stockins, claahtin clooaz, It seems as if a body ne'er hed doin ; They rive, an teear, an care net haah things gooaz. They want noa end o' clogs, an boits, an shoin. Ah say, sometimes, they'd keep a cobbler dooin ; An as for that, a tailyer too, by t' megs ! For soils are al'ays other gone or gooin. An troozei's aaht at knees, or torn i' t'leo-s. They'er betther soa ner bein ill i' bed. Ah knaw, an soa ah al'ays tell ahr Ben ; He grummals, says it's t'fruits o' bein' wed, Bud then, ye knaw, that's al'ays t'way wi' men. Ah say, gi' me a bit a dahn goid meyt, It's betther far ner hevin doctor's bills, For bams will thrive if they can nobbud eyt ; It's nowt o'clock, that payin brass for pills. Bud bless yeh ! talkin's nother here ner theear, Sometimes ah tell 'em t'door we's ha' to cloize ; Bud efther all is said and doin they're heear, Not one, God bless 'em ! sud ah like to loize. A mother's homely talk. 161 When Betty coom all hoped we'st ha' no mooar ; (Just reyk that hippiu, will yeh, aht o' t'oom.) Let onny one like me hev hauf a scooar, They'll fiund they'll ha to tak 'em as theh coom. This little thing is t'best we've ivver hed ; Oh ! bless it ! sich a comfort to its mammy ; It gits its pap, an then it goaz to bed ; They say its like ahr Ben, we call it Sammy. Whaat dids 'em oin it den, mah little pet, Well, it sal hev its titty den it sal : Oh ! deary me, it maks it sen soa wet : Here, tak theas clahts and put 'em sideway. Pal. Nah, childher, will yeh, prayeh du be still. One cannot hear one's sen, oh, dear ! oh, dear ! It's fair enif to mak a body ill. They're al'ays warst when onny body's here. Ah knaw barns will be barns, they like to laak, Bud when one talks, an tells 'em ower an ower ; Nah, Sal, just give 'em all a piece o' caak, An let 'em, pray theh, go to laak at t'door. Nah sit yoh still, yecs hev a cup o' tea, It's net so oft a body sees ycr fiias ; We'er sayin t'other day, ahr Ben an me, Ye must scwcrleo ha' quite forgitten t'plaas. 162 A mother's homely talk. Nail, Moll, set tul an just git t' tea tilings alit, Thali knaws them cups an saucers bran span new, Just reyk 'em claim, an mind what ta's abaht, An try an let fowk see nah what ta can du. Ah want to git this little thing to sleep ; Here, Moll, tak t'shool an fetch some turly coils, Then wesh thysen, tha'rt black as ouny sweep ; We'll ha' wer tea as soin as t'kettle boils. An d'yeh say oud Mally Morton's deead ? We heeard shoo're nobbud in a poorish way ; Slioo's latly hed a weary time to leead ; We talked abaht 'em nobbud t'other day. Wah ! poor ond Johnny he'll be ooanly nah, An nout's been heeard thro' Jack 'at ran away r They used to be weel oif, an kept a cah Or two ; what fowk nay come to's net to say. Ah think that lass o' theirs nooan did so weel ; Ah think that chap slioo wed wer nout so smart, (For a' shoo used to be so heigh i' t'heel). They say he hawks abaht wi' summat in a cart. Nah just dhraw tul an mak yersen at hooam, Ahr Ben he may be other lat or soin ; Yon barns hes got a knife, Sal, tak it thro' 'em, An keep 'em aht at door wal we ha doiii. A mother's homely talk, 163 Xali hod yer din, a sup o' summat mends it, Ye knavT ye hev to walk, ye dunnot ride ; It's varry gold ; we're friends wi' t'mau 'at sends it ; A sup on't does one goid, an warms t'inside. We've hed some varry tryin' times, ye mind ; A sup o' snmmat's useful nah an then ; Ben order'd this afore ah'r last confined, A goid an thoutful chap, ye mind, is Ben. Or else, ah cannot say wi him and me 'At sperrits is so varry mich i' favour ; Ah think a spoinfnl in a cup o' tea. If out, like givs't a raather betther flavour. When ah've bin aht o' sooarts, an nooau felt brect, Like stufF'd wi' coud, and cuddent dahn my jock, Ah've ta'en a sup reyt hot last thing o' t'neet. An wakken'd up i' t'mornin reyt as t'clock. Gi' me a sup o' goid hooam-brew'd, ali say, Ah nl'ays think for sich as mcit's t'best ; A hauf o' pint or so 'baht twice i' t'day Ls nooan to mich when one's a cliild at t'breast. Nah, hev another cup, nah, dooant say nay, Nah, tak yer hand away, an say ye'll hev't ; Ah knaw ye want to go ye cannot stay : Ye knaw it's al'ays t'best is t'sup at's left. 164 THE TOWN AND TRADE OF BRADFORD. An dooant be leng before yeh come agean, Ab tbink ye'll manage boam wal't bods up leet : Ye knaw ab al'ays say just wbat ab meean ; Tbank me, noa tbauks, ye're welcome lad, gold neet ! TOWN AND TRADE OF BRADFORD, ADAPTED TO THE MUSIC OF MENDELSSOHK's vintager's song. With downy fleece and woven piece Our good town gains its treasure ; O may its liealtb and wealtb increase Preserved from panic's pressure. Its skilful sons of enterprise. May tbey witb it still bigber rise, And bave of life full measure. Our fabrics float o'er ev'ry sea, To every clime and nation. To grace tbe fair wbere'er tbey be Is Bradford's bigb vocation. To sing in barmony its praise, We tunefully our voices raise In notes of gratulation. LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. 165 Then here's to Bradford and its trade, Its weavers and its spinners, Its artizans of everj grade. Bread eaters and bread winners. May we ne'er hear war's cannons boom, But spindles whirl and clack of loom. And dins that bring us dinners. May prosper all who here reside, Whate'er their race or nation ; May each and all with honest pride. Seek Bradford's elevation. May greed ne'er tarnish its fair name. Fair be its deeds, fair be its fame, World-wide its reputation. LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE THE BRADFORD TOWN HALL, August 10th, 1870. OF Events, with the wheeling of time, move so fast. It seems but as days, though long years have past. Since Bradford, increasing, was ui-ged on at laat To appeal to the heads of the nation ; 166 LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. And a chart of municipal right was then given, For which a large party had ardently striven, And since which the Corporate body has thriven By feeding its Corporation. The great civic feasts and Mayors' rich treats, Of soups and wines and courses of meats, Made Aldermen grow so large in their seats Confinement became past endurance. When Alderman Farrar, with upraised hand, In manner majestic, and gesture so grand, Contended for room in which to expand. So big had he got with assurance. And many bright speeches and talk called small Came from shortest of Members to Broadbent tall. Respecting erecting a New Town Hall, Till at last their words were plighted. Then as to a site they differed in views. And a sight of wrangling before they could choose Some got into stews, and some wrote to tbe News, And many good views were sighted. At last a spot was fixed on as best Its cost summed up and put to the test — And forcibly urged on by one Edward West, Who then was the Mayor, and presided. LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. 167 And for his exertious 'twas thought of by all, The honour on him would deservedly fall Of laying- the foundation-stone of the Hall, — For which a resolve was provided, Eut time wore on, and "West's term expired, And Dawson came in, a man much admired, Who took the oaths and seals as required. And again what's been said I will say it. A mare's nest was made by friends unremitting, Who said that the layer of the stone most befitting Was the mayor of the time avIio, hen-like was sitting, And wanted to lay and should lay it. This led to the making a modest request By Alderman Scott for Alderman West, That to rescind the resolve would set it at rest. After which there were speeches long-winded. 'Twas argued the thing was unfair and unjust. And could not be binding on new men in trust, And the question was somewhat diffusely discussed, When at length the resolve was rescinded. So now to record the event which outshone All others, thougli made of contention a bone. The laying of the first foundation stone Of Bradford's Town Hall, long projected. 168 LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. Fixed was the day when the stone should be laid, And great preparations for show and parade Were extensively, aye ! and expensively made, And a great display was expected. By post, invitations dispatched were amain, For the Halifax Mayor to come with his chain ; And friends from afar to be brought by train, To join and swell the procession. And orders were given for a rich repast, With iced champagne on a scale so vast, That into the shade would other feasts cast — Even Mitchell's that made an impression. Auspicious the morn, when lined was each street, With sight-seeing people our gi^eat Mayor to greet,. To see all our magnates and Bradford's elite Was a sight for the gods to behold. Men of renown of the gown you might see, A bishop and canons and one M.P., And plumed ones of rank in the line two or three, And mayors who chained were with gold. And as elements sometimes are said to jar. There were those who wound and kill in war. And doctors who cure, and those of the Bar, And those with a " saving kuowledofe," LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. IGO Men wlio in pulpits both teach and preach, To show grovelling man how to upwards reach — Mitten and Smith, and others, with Leach In robes of his order at college. And men were there with remarkable brains, For 'cuteness in modes of acquiring gains, But none with a drop of blue blood in his veins, Save Poole the great auctioneer. Some who if told what they once were would frown, For many have risen in this rising town. But Poole has got np by knocking things down Belonging to those in arrear. With some the wish is innate to acquire, And to gain with them is a burning desire, And like an ever-consuming fire, 'Tis a feeling tliey never can quench. An inordinate thirst some have to be In Senate, and add to their names M.P., And some few who get, as one sometimes may sec, To be Shallows, and sit on the bench. 'Tis strange that men with great acquisitions Because of their wealth get into positions, Requiring a knowledge for legal decisions For which they can have no pretence. 170 LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. Bat then there are those in the uppermost class, If not born to wealth could not wealth amass ; Wealth stands — for the veriest Dogberry ass — In the place of learning and sense. T sing not of heroes who win the wreath, But of those who have raised themselves up from beneath By combing as t'were in spite of their teeth. From a very humble beginning. And of those who to wealth have woven their way, And those who have saved by ivaste strange to say, And those who by toj)s are tip-top to-day, And those who have whirl'd up by spinning. Right laudable 'tis for men to aspire, With motto " Excelsior," higher and higher ; The salt of the earth are those we admire, Who strive for the good of humanity ; But he who aspires himself to raise To posts of honour, to attract the gaze Of the vulgar, in order to gain their praise. Is only a victim to vanity. Some who affect aristocracy's air Have gold-banded flunkies and horses a pair. Whose grandfathers scarcely had shoes to wear- But 'tis bootless this long digression. LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. 171 Far be it from me to envy oi' blame, Or detract from auy man's fair risen fame, Fault-finders would doubtless, so placed, do the same, So now I will join the procession. 'Twas noticed tbat some had a look that was arch, At keepers of peace, stiff locking as starch, Who led the train in a kind of dead march. With their chief in uniform dress. And others were there who the town have well served. Men who have rarely from what was right swerved. And he of the Ohserver was there, I observed, With others belonging the Press. And here is the place wherein best it chimes. To mention in these desultory rhymes, That along witli the eminent men of our Times, Was one the greatest of any : So tellingly graphic is he with his pen. Our morals lie Shields and exposes bad men. And he never turns round, excepting that when His turning will turn Iiiui a penny. There were Farrar, J.i\, the pompous and grand, And Farrar the tall, the maker of band. And Storey, the famed, who would largely expand At the feast at which they were sharers. 172 LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE. And children came there in many a troop, And men and women in many a group, Outsiders who hadn't a ticket for soup, But merely were gapers and starers. Then came to a stand the great parade. Where ladies in tiers all their beauty displayed ; Where Brown a speech — not a maiden one — made, Though said to be somewhat effeminate. Where Alderman West, who the stone should have laid,. Held forth, and the Bishop devoutly prayed. That counsels wise might prevail, and for aid, That good might be widely disseminate. Then the Mayor, the occasion to him so proud. With wonted politeness most graciously bowed, And kindly, smilingly, looked on the crowd, Like one with compassionate bowels. And the part of laying he did with a will, And deposited coins as into a till, And the trowel he handled with mason-like skill. As though he were well used to trowels. And the ladies so fair who were there to stare. Admired the Mayor, who did well his share With mallet and trowel and plummet and square, With a true workmanlike celerity. THE NEW TOWN HALL. 173 And papers and records belonging tlie town, And who at the time wore England's crown; And the name Mark Dawson he handed down, With other great names, to posterity. When speeches had ended, he waved his hand To ladies like flowers on a hot-house stand ; And " God save the Queen " was played by the band, Which told of being ", happy and glorious." For many who stood in the sun I opine, Would think of the shade and cool iced Viine ; And some like old Sol, would be in for a shine, For 'tis said that the close was uproarious. THE NEW TOWN HALL AND ITS ROYAL EMBELLISHMENTS. When Bradford first began its trade, In tliat for wliicli it has a name, And just a few stuii" pieces made. It dreamt not then of future fame. Then streams ran clear where now are streets, And healtliy trees adorned its valleys, But now foul odour oft times greets One's nose, from goits and slums and alleys. 174 THE NEW TOWN HALL. Now seen are stately structures grand, And merchants' homes ornate with s"ildine" And signs of wealth on every hand, Withal a spacious pauper-building. Devoutly cared for are the people, And kept in bounds are vice and sin ; Points upwards here and there a steeple, And Templars good bar use of gin. Now have we " piping times of peace ; " Past are those plug and Chartist scenes ; Of wealth so great is our increase, We've raised a line of Kings and Queens. Our Town Hall shows that we are rich. Yea, tells a tale of wealth, unbounded. For crowns are seen in every niche — And then with sovereigns 'tis surrounded. In sovereign power great Lockwood shines, Our local senate owns his skill. And carries out his rich designs And freely works his sovereign will. Great George the Fourth, that Prince so gay, Who tried to gratify each whim ; Whose debts the nation had to pay, — Thank goodness, we have chisell'd him. THE NEW TOWN' HALL. 1 ( ;> A loyal people are we now, And seek not Bradlaugli notoriety ; To Kings and Queens we gladly bow, So ornamental to society. Some call tliese statues costly tilings, And ask, " What from them shall we reap ? "" Pounds sixty-five a-piece for Kings ! Why, goodness gracious me, how cheap ! Ye toiling poor, with Avhat pretence Can you complain ? Thank ye the Fates,. These Kings are raised through Providence, To help, no doubt, to raise your rates. They will not need great grants and aids, Nor guards on chargers bold and dashing,. Nor will they need blithe laundry-maids, Pours from above will do their washincy. They have no powers they can abuse. Though they have hearts of stone, I wot : No ribald language will they use. But they will be a smutty lot. Ye Rads. who so of thrones complain. These Kings will be when you are gone ; O'er ye they will not rule or reign. But oft will tliey be rained upon. 176 THE NEW TOWN HALL. Some say tlie Hal] is low and flat, And that its tower is far too tall, "Wliile some say tliis, and some say that, Some say, " It ain't a hall at all." Some say its style is rich and rare, Some say it looks its very best. And quite complete all round and square, When seen as seen by Edward West. I think myself 'tis high enough. When up its cost is summ'd, why zounds ! But after all, to men of stuff", What is a hundred thousand pounds ? Ye poor, the trifle you will pay Will be as naught, as go the times, Ye'll get to know the time of day. And for your " chink " ye'il have the chimes. Some say friend West has done his best, And that he careful is, and minding. And would not have the poor oppress'd, But ah ! he guilty is of grinding.* Oh, Edward ! how I am deceived, Much I relied on thy " Thus saith ; '* That thou wert saving I believed. Because thou held'st a saving faith. * As a corn miller. THE NEW TCSYN HALL. 177 I thouglit thou would'st not sanction waste On sculptured monarchs, cliimes, and paving ;, The grace of art, howe'er so chaste, Is not the grace thj sect calls saving. One townsman should have had a place, Who lustre adds to Bradford's glory ; Had he been raised the Hall to grace. It would have had another Storey. A man Avho for the million caters, Who took the place of William Morgan, Most surely he can have no haters : Think how he pleased us with the organ. Of all the men, both great and small, He is the man on whom to pitch To open with eclat the Hal], Who has an itchinsr for a niche. o This man of influence, and of power, Should have — I would sugrnrest ere closinsf — His statue on the Town Hall's tower. There, as in life, to look imposing. I long to see the opening day, When Grauhan will grandly head his force ; Ye gods ! 'twill be a grand display, The Mayor, perchance, on back of horse, M 178 THE NEW TOWN HALL. Illustrious in tlie grand parade, Like Rome's great senators of old, Our councilmen in robes arrayed Will be ; the Mayor enchained with gold. George Poole, in senatorial guise, Who in a bit of blue takes pride, Will look as dignified and wise, As wisdom's self personified. Our orators, deep learned in lore. Our Uawsons and our Robertshaws, . Will much resemble those of yore. The Antonys and Ciceros. Earned Storey — known as one of those Whose speeches rivet and enthral — Will be, with his fine Roman nose. The greatest Roman of them all. The bells will ring a merry peal. The chimes will make a pretty noise, And all will quite delighted feel, — Especially the little boys. Just one thing more claims my regard, I know there will a banquet be. Which makes me feel as did the bard, Who said, " May I be there to — See." APOLOGETIC. 179 APOLOGETIC. The writer wishes to apologise to those gen- tlemen whose names he has made use of with, perhaps, too great a familiarity. It is, I believe, generally understood that persons who are put forward, or who put themselves forward as official administrators in corporation and other public affairs, render themselves liable to criticism, and are targets for the shafts of the satirist, especially when partisan feeling runs high, and a political bias is shown. Some of the gentlemen have been personal friends of the writer for years, and have the good sense to know that nothing- further is meant than a little liarmless political banter. When they come to consider how long a bit of jingling rhyme lives, and that they, through the writer, may become to future gene- rations historical personages, and tliat centuries hence some future Bradford historian may, in searching for historical material respecting the origin of the building of the Town Hall, find in the archives of the then Bradford Libraries, or some future Hailstone's collection of Yorkshire literature, a true and correct account, &c., &c., in verse, the writer thinks that the least they 1