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 Y^ 
 
 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 THE COTTON LORD. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 London: 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bentley, Wilson, and Fley, 
 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane,
 
 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 COTTON LORD. 
 
 BY MRS. STONE, 
 
 AUTHORESS OF " THE ART OF NEEDLEWORK. 
 
 Of manufactures, trade, inventions rare, 
 Steam towers and looms." 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1842.
 
 ^P3 
 
 TO JOHN WHEELER, ESQUIRE, 
 
 LATE PROPRIETOR OF 
 
 "THE MANCHESTER CHRONICLE," 
 
 WHOSE ARDUOUS CAREER AS A PUBLIC JOURNALIST 
 
 CONTINUED THROUGH A LONG COURSE OF YEARS, 
 
 AND DURING MANY TROUBLOUS TIMES, 
 
 WAS INVARIABLY DISTINGUISHED 
 
 BY 
 
 INTEGRITY, TALENT, AND COURTESY, 
 
 ^ THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED 
 
 , ' BY 
 
 § . HIS DAUGHTER. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction .... 1 
 
 The Heroine . . . . 12 
 
 A Cotton-man's Dinner, an every-day Concern 33 
 The Old Maid ... 52 
 
 The Hero and a Cotton-man . . 64 
 
 An Evening Walk ... 76 
 
 A Modern Hermit . . .84 
 
 A pair of Lovers . . . 107 
 
 Two Cotton-men . . . .117 
 
 A Cotton-man's Dinner, not an everjz-day 
 
 Concern . . . .129 
 
 A Cotton-man in a Passion . . 144 
 
 An " Operative" and his Family . 156 
 
 The Rise of the Cottonocracy . . 168 
 
 Another Cotton-man and his Guests . 184 
 
 A Wooer . . . .204 
 
 Manchester in the Race Week . > 218 
 
 Manchester Races . . . 235 
 
 Not a Duel . . . .253 
 
 Going Abroad . . .268 
 
 The Spell . . . .276 
 
 The Traveller . . .289 
 
 Another Fair One . . .297 
 
 A Domestic Colloquy . . 310
 
 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The scene of our tale lies in the manufac- 
 turing districts. 
 
 Cotton bags, cotton mills, spinning-jennies, 
 power-looms and steam-engines ; smoking chim- 
 neys, odious factories, vulgar proprietors, and 
 their still more vulgar wives, and their su- 
 perlatively-vulgar pretensions ; dense popula- 
 tion, filthy streets, drunken men, reckless wo- 
 men, immoral girls, and squalid children ; dirt, 
 filth, misery, and crime; — such are the interest- 
 ing images which rise, " a busy throng to crowd 
 the brain," at the bare mention of the *'manu- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 facturing districts:" vulgarity and vice walk- 
 ing side by side; ostentatious extravagance 
 on the one hand, battening on the miseries 
 of degraded and suffering humanity on the 
 other; and this almost without redeeming 
 circumstances — we are told. Is it so ? 
 
 Lancashire, though it has many beauti- 
 ful and interesting relics of antiquity, is yet 
 not so rich in memorials of the " olden time " 
 as several of the more southern counties. 
 It was a district of considerable importance in 
 the time of the Romans, fragments of whose 
 works in many parts of the county still attest 
 the high importance which these polished in- 
 truders attributed to the location ; but for 
 many centuries after their departure Lanca- 
 shire was little heard of, little known, and in 
 the statistical records of the country was 
 scarcely, if at all, mentioned. In many of 
 the southern counties, peculiar costumes and 
 antiquated customs present themselves on every 
 hand, and would give the idea of habits trans-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. S 
 
 mitted through many generations, even if tra- 
 dition and history did not attest the fact. In 
 Lancashire this is not the case ; and the 
 general tone of custom throughout the county 
 evidences that it was not thickly populated 
 until a comparatively modern date. It gave, 
 indeed, " titles to nobles, and sovereigns to 
 the throne;" it possessed several valuable and 
 beautiful ecclesiastical buildings, relics which 
 — alas ! that they should be but relics — still 
 hallow the soil : it was the site of some mag- 
 nificent feudal castles which were the favourite 
 residences of barons and nobles, the loftiest 
 and noblest of the land, distinguished for 
 munificence, far famed for hospitality, for 
 manly exercises, and for comely persons ; but 
 its aspect generally was v/ild, its population 
 thinly scattered, its estimation among other 
 counties of England, low. Perhaps the set- 
 tlement here of the Flemings in the fourteenth 
 century was the first step towards that com- 
 mercial importance which has raised Lanca- 
 shire to so elevated a rank in the country ; 
 
 B 2
 
 4 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 and, through her commercial intercourse, to so 
 important a position with regard to the world 
 at large. 
 
 Lancashire is a county possessing many 
 natural beauties. Its eastern and northern 
 fronts are bounded by lofty hills, from whose 
 steep summits the eye may sweep over varied 
 and beautiful scenery till it dimly glances 
 toward the ocean waves which lave the west- 
 ern shore, and, freighted with life, and health, 
 and wealth, wing their gladsome way to the 
 spacious and ready ports. Tracks of moor- 
 land, bleak and barren, stretch abroad in strik- 
 ing contrast to rich and verdant plains; and 
 if such wild and desolate districts as Pendle 
 Forest, and some few others, the unhallowed 
 haunts of witches and their fearful associates 
 in days of old, cast a shade of reproach on 
 the county, the stigma is abundantly done 
 away by the pleasant contemplation of those 
 gentle and sunny vales which have rejoiced 
 in a happier and holier fame. Such, more 
 especially, was the wide-spreading and fertile 
 tract between the Ribble and Mersey, to which
 
 THE COTTON LORD. ^ 
 
 an appellation no less honourable than 
 " Christ's Croft" was appropriated. 
 
 " When all Englande is alofte, 
 Hale are they that are in Christis Crofte ; 
 And where should Christis Crofte be 
 But between Ribble and Mersey." 
 
 The wooded doughs and bosky dells of 
 Lancashire are features almost peculiar to it- 
 self. They are very small (which circum- 
 stance is indeed a characteristic feature), but 
 surpassingly beautiful, abruptly and unex- 
 pectedly breaking the uniformity of the ge- 
 neral surface, and suddenly immerging the 
 unaccustomed traveller in secluded spots which 
 fairies would love to haunt, or hamadryads 
 would choose to hold their revels in. The 
 sudden and tiny ravine — too precipitous to 
 be perfectly easy in descent, but too inviting 
 to be passed aside from — is thickly shrouded 
 in trees, among which the foliage of the ash 
 and the oak shines most conspicuously. But 
 the hazel hangs its tempting clusters over the 
 brisk sparkling stream that frequently ripples 
 below ; the honeysuckle gleams amid the dark
 
 6 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 foliage ; the ivy wreathes its verdant shroud 
 round many an aged trunk ; the magnificent 
 foxglove glows amid the fern, while the timid 
 harebell droops beautiful at its side ; and well 
 do we know where the earthnut grows the 
 sweetest, the wild strawberry blooms the rud- 
 diest, or the autumn blackberry — that " berry 
 of such old renown " — offers most temptingly 
 its juicy fruit. 
 
 Lancashire's sparkling rivers flow with life 
 and spirit through jutting banks and lofty 
 crags, which, without having much of mag- 
 nificence, are yet, with the branching trees 
 which now tower aloft and anon sweep over 
 the water, and the clustering foliage which 
 covers the banks, save where some jutting 
 crag obtrudes its rugged front, sufficiently 
 varied to present a succession of rich and 
 beautiful landscapes. These are frequently 
 completed by a range of far-off hills, which 
 rise softened in the distance, or, more beau- 
 tifully, by an ancient church towering on a 
 gentle eminence ; while its heavenward spire
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 7 
 
 — fitting emblem of that hope which rests 
 for ever in the skies — gleams like molten gold 
 in the sunshine ; while ever and anon a velvet 
 lawn sweeps to the water's edge, giving to 
 view a time-honoured mansion, flanked by its 
 guardian oaks. 
 
 Such, in its natural features is, or rather 
 was, Lancashire. " God made the country ;" 
 but the town — and Lancashire bids fair to 
 be one day a continuous mass of building — 
 man made that. So rapid, so sweeping, has 
 been the progress of the manufacturer, that 
 the time seems but too likely to arrive when 
 it will be difficult to select a spot unconta- 
 minated by his finger. Immense manufac- 
 tories seem to spring up everywhere. The 
 most beautiful retreats are the most likely to 
 be infested, because they generally offer that 
 si?ie qua non of the manufacturer, a running 
 stream. And wherever one of these unsightly 
 buildings is raised, its natural and necessary 
 concomitants, crepant noises, frightful chim- 
 neys belching volumes of smoke, black, noi-
 
 8 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 some, and destructive, on all around ; a low, 
 a numerous, and, in many instances, a de- 
 graded population is speedily congregated. 
 
 Another circumstance emanating from its 
 own innate wealth has likewise contributed 
 much to disfigure the fair face of Lancashire. 
 The coal strata are numerous, good, and in- 
 calculably valuable, whether considered merely 
 in regard to the comforts of domestic life, 
 affording to the poor, almost the poorest arti- 
 zan, the luxury of a glowing hearth, or in 
 reference to that manufacturing prosperity 
 of which these inexhaustible mines are very 
 sinews and supports. But the working of 
 them necessarily must and does deface the 
 appearance of the country in which the seams 
 prevail. 
 
 To the list of acquired outward disfigure- 
 ments we may add the railroads, which now 
 extending their branching arms cancerwise over 
 the whole country, originated in Lancashire, 
 where they run in various directions, and have 
 been proved of the highest commercial utihty. 
 
 It is hardly to be wondered at that the hasty
 
 THE COTTON LORD. if 
 
 tourist should now represent Lancashire as the 
 reverse of picturesque. 
 
 In contradistinction to these, tastefully 
 speaking, disparaging circumstances, Lanca- 
 shire boasts herself the heart and life of that 
 commerce for which England is renowned; 
 she presents an enormous mass of industrious 
 population, possessed of more than an average 
 share of talent, and, in proportion to its im- 
 mensity, not disfigured by a more than average 
 share of licentiousness or crime. The " hot- 
 beds of vice,""' the manufactories, are, perhaps, 
 not more redolent of crime — in proportion to 
 the numbers congregated — than are the po- 
 ♦^-to-tracts and harvest-fields in those counties 
 wnere a great proportion of out-door work is 
 still done by females, and where the first barrier 
 of womanly delicacy is destroyed by young 
 girls, when equipped for field labour, being- 
 dressed — necessarily, perhaps, but still it is 
 so — in garments of a shape and form quite 
 the reverse of feminine. In the agricultural 
 counties young children have the inestimable 
 advantage of roving in the free air of heaven 
 
 b5
 
 10 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 till their limbs are strong and their bodies 
 vigorous and healthy. In the manufacturing 
 districts the price heretofore put on their lit- 
 tle fingers has been a strong temptation to 
 parents to deprive them of that liberty which 
 was their free-born heritage. But with 
 regard to the simple question of the mo- 
 rality of the manufacturing districts as com- 
 pared with the agricultural, there is perhaps 
 less difference than is generally imagined; 
 and that difference — always bearing in mind 
 the immense disproportion in numbers — is 
 somewhat in favour of the former.* 
 
 The natives of Lancashire are not only, 
 as a body, remarkably intelligent, but they 
 are noted for a very extraordinary degree of 
 natural musical talent. This is, among many 
 even of the lowest, improved by cultivation 
 and practice. The Lancashire chorus-singers 
 have long been celebrated ; the hand-bell 
 
 * Some experience, both in a manufacturing town 
 and a secluded agricultural comity, has led us to form 
 this opinion, which, however, we should scarcely have 
 obtruded here, but that, as we believe,, the statistical 
 records bear us out.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 11 
 
 ringers make musical the air with the most 
 softened and touching, as well as the most 
 merry tunes on their annual peregrinations ; 
 many a village has its glee club ; the Sun- 
 day peal is rung forth from the tower of 
 the country church not only merrily, but 
 most melodiously ; and the singing itself 
 in most of those churches, is such as might 
 put to shame the badly-executed chants of 
 many metropolitan fanes. 
 
 The people (natives) of Lancashire have 
 been gifted by nature with tall and well- 
 proportioned bodies, and with intelligent 
 minds; and the pursuits of the county 
 are such as to excite, not repress, the as- 
 pirings of an inquiring intellect.
 
 12 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE HEROINE. 
 
 " But if we judge by either words or looks, 
 
 Her mode of life, her morals, or her books. 
 
 Her pure devotion, unaffected sense. 
 
 Her placid air, her mild benevolence, 
 
 Her gay good humour, and her manners free, 
 
 She is as happy as a maid can be." 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 " These and the tasks successive masters brought — 
 The French they conn'd, the curious works they wrought, 
 The hours they made their taper fingers strike 
 Note after note, all dull to them alike ; 
 Their drawings, dancings on appointed days. 
 Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays — " 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Langshawe lived in the 
 manufacturing districts. He was a cotton- 
 man, and 
 
 " A cotton-man ! the manufacturing dis- 
 tricts ! " — what a host of unpoetical, unro-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 13 
 
 mantic associations does the very term ex- 
 cite in the mind, vapoury and wearisome as 
 was the lengthened and unwelcome vision 
 of Banquo's descendants to the aching eye 
 of Macbeth ! 
 
 " The manufacturing districts !" — " A cot- 
 ton-man!" exclaims some parvenue, when she 
 opens her monthly importation of novels, 
 and glances over the first page of each — 
 '* What can Hookham have been thinking of 
 to send this? it must go back immediately." 
 
 *' But," remarks a companion, " you de- 
 sire him to send everything that comes out." 
 
 " Certainly, everything readable, but who 
 who can read this ? " 
 
 "Marvellous!" exclaims the Marchioness 
 of X — , when her monthly importation of 
 fashionable literature also arrives, *' Here 's a 
 book about the ' Manufacturing Districts ! ' 
 that may go in the returning box at once." 
 
 " What sort of a book is it ?" says her lord. 
 
 " What sort ? why, a novel, to be sure." 
 
 " Oh, capital : there '11 be some fun in
 
 14 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 that; — the Cotton-bags enacting the senti- 
 mental !" 
 
 " Sentiment ! what sentiment is it within 
 the limits of possibility to infuse into smok- 
 ing chimneys and cotton bags ? '* 
 
 " We will see. Don't send it back.'* 
 
 And so my book, having by the lucky 
 whim of a peer, fairly found its way into 
 the recesses of an aristocratic boudoir, it will 
 be a sad want of taste in you " courteous 
 reader," whomsoever you may be, not to fol- 
 low the example thus nobli/ set you, and to 
 patronise the plebeian publication. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Langshawe lived in the heart 
 of the manufacturing districts, in a beautiful 
 house a few miles from Manchester. The 
 windows overlooked a pleasure-ground well 
 arranged in lawn and parterre, kept in the 
 most exquisite order, and exhibiting all the 
 approved rarities of shrub or flower ; and 
 skirting this garden were conservatories and
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 15 
 
 forcing-houses, which would not have dis- 
 graced the mansion of a peer. At the dis- 
 tance perhaps of half a mile, was a cluster- 
 ing mass of cottage buildings ; and close to 
 it one of the unsightly erections peculiar to 
 the district raised its cumbrous form. Va- 
 rious detached residences were scattered at 
 intervals around ; a handsome, but some- 
 what staring new church, crowned a small 
 eminence; meadow and woodland, interspersed 
 with red brick buildings of various forms 
 and qualities, but most chiefly of the un- 
 sightly kind appertaining to manufactures, 
 spread over a considerable tract of interest- 
 ing country, which now swelled into gentle 
 eminences, now sunk in wooded dells, 
 while at intervals the sunbeam sparkled on 
 a rippling brook or rapid-flowing river; and 
 the whole was bounded by a range of hills. 
 These, indeed, almost encircle this particular 
 district, and by intercepting the clouds in 
 their course, are no doubt one cause of the 
 abundance of rain, for which it is remark- 
 able, and which has procured for it, though
 
 16 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 somewhat unfairly, the distinctive appella- 
 tion of " the watering-pot of England." 
 
 The lord and lady of the mansion were loung- 
 ing in an elegantly-furnished boudoir during 
 that idle hour which precedes the pleasant 
 labours of the toilette. The repose was 
 peculiarly grateful to the lady, as she had 
 been busily engrossed in the very active su- 
 perintendence of culinary preparations for the 
 entertainment of a dinner party, and the gentle- 
 man had but just returned from town. He, 
 with untied knees and slippers on, had disposed 
 his somewhat lumbering limbs on a lounging- 
 chair near a rich ottoman on which his lady 
 had bounced. Certainly the appearance and 
 manners of this worthy couple were hardly 
 in unison with the elegancies amid which 
 they reposed. Mrs. Langshawe had the ap- 
 pearance of an over- fed well-dressed house- 
 keeper ; her manners were somewhat bois- 
 terous, her countenance was decidedly vulgar, 
 but relieved by an expression of such win- 
 ning good temper, that it was, after all,
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 17 
 
 impossible to look in her face without ad- 
 miring her. Mr. Langshawe's enunciation 
 was even less polished than his lady's, but 
 his accents were softer ; his physiognomy was 
 also of a superior stamp: it was not exactly 
 (to use a very hackneyed word) what is 
 now called intellectual, but there was shrewd 
 penetration written in every line of it, and 
 especially in the muscles which contracted 
 round a dark grey eye, whose beams seemed 
 to pierce all which they looked upon. 
 
 The door opened and their only daughter 
 entered, who, in answer to her father's in- 
 quiry, said that she had been to see William 
 Bladow. 
 
 " What, the mad hermit?" 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " You are very fond of his company of 
 late, Edith." 
 
 ''Not of late only, papa; you know I have 
 known him ever since I was a child." 
 
 " And what art thou now, Edith ?" 
 
 " Why, my dear father, your child of
 
 18 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 course; but not a child to any one else, I 
 expect'' — and the young lady bridled up a 
 little. 
 
 *' Well, well, Edith, mind what you 're 
 about, that 's all ; 1 've given you every ad- 
 vantage of education, all the accomplish- 
 ments that money could purchase, and all 
 the comforts that kindness could bestow ; 
 and on the day you Ve married, Edith, I '11 
 give you fifty thousand pounds down — down, 
 girl, down — and mayhap more than that 
 when your mother and I are carried to the 
 churchyard, provided — pro-vid-ed you marry 
 to please me. I Ve earned all my money by 
 the sweat of my brow ; I don't care who 
 knows it ; I began the world an errand-boy, 
 and not a shilling of what I 've so hardly 
 gained shall go to pamper any idle gentle- 
 man or fashionable spendthrift : so mind 
 what you 're about." 
 
 " Indeed, papa, I 've not the slightest pre- 
 dilection for any idle gentleman at present, 
 except it be yourself, sir." 
 
 "Well, well, we shall see; but I fancy
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 19 
 
 young Frank Walmsley flutters about you a 
 good deal of late." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort, sir, (but ablush rather 
 belied the words,) and as to being idle, you 
 know he has only just returned from college, 
 and has not occasion to exert himself, he has 
 such good expectations from his uncle." 
 
 " Expectations from his fiddle-stick — don't 
 tell me of any young man's expectations. I 
 like something solid. His uncle may marry, 
 or his uncle may die and leave his money 
 away, or he may lose it before he dies, as 
 many a warmer man has done. Show me a 
 young man with his business in his fingers, 
 a clear head, a calculating mind, and indus- 
 trious, frugal, hardworking habits — there 's 
 solidity in such a character as that — and on 
 such a one, if he had not a guinea in his 
 purse nor a second coat to his back, I would 
 not look askance. This, Edith, made your 
 father rich ; but such as this Frank Walms- 
 ley — though he 's a good youth too — but 
 such as this he will never be."
 
 20 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Edith's eyes suffused, but she did not reply ; 
 and the trio separated to dress. 
 
 And we will look at our heroine as she 
 reappeared in a gossamer robe of spotless 
 white; her only decoration a damask rose- 
 bud wreathed in the braids of her dark hair ; 
 her only jewellery a small chain from which 
 was suspended a locket containing her father's 
 and mother'^s hair entwined. 
 
 She was a sweet-looking creature, and it 
 was easy to trace a resemblance to both her 
 parents in the soft lineaments of her face. 
 The beaming good-temper was her mother's, 
 as was the curled and rosy lip, and the 
 straight and well-formed nose : the dark eye 
 also was her mother's, but its flashing beam 
 claimed kindred with her father's, as the broad 
 and intelligent forehead also proclaimed their 
 near relationship, and the animated intelligence 
 that shone in every feature was his softened 
 reflex. Her cheek was glowing with rosy 
 health, and — 
 
 " Shocking !" exclaim my lady readers ; " a 
 dairy-maid sylph ! — a rosy-cheeked heroine ! '"
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 21 
 
 And even my condescending Marchioness 
 exclaims, as she lays down the book, " This 
 is too bad !" 
 
 Dear lady ! condescend, I pray you, to 
 recollect that our scene lies not amongst the 
 arist — but the co^^o w-ocracy. 
 
 Have patience, my fair readers, have pa- 
 tience. My Edith deserves a little grace at 
 your hands. She is not pale ; she is not sen- 
 timental ; but she is fair, and feminine, and 
 gentle, and generous, and good. Fear not 
 but her trials will come ; fear not but her 
 cheek will be pale. Woman's lot is on her, 
 and she will yet be proved by suffering. 
 Faith and patience — undeviating faith, un- 
 wearying patience — constancy, which is neither 
 corrupted by prosperity nor overcome by ad- 
 versity ; vigils, tearful perhaps, but uncom- 
 plaining — to hope against hope — to trust, 
 and though betrayed, still to trust again ; 
 this is woman's heritage. The plant is nur- 
 tured in earthly soil ; it shall bear fruit in 
 heaven. 
 
 But not yet : youthful, healthful, beautiful,
 
 22 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 and gay, Miss Langshawe moved like a being 
 of a brighter world. Her eye was yet un- 
 dimmed by grief, her cheek unblanched by 
 sorrow, her brow unwrinkled by care. The 
 idol of her parents, the darling of all around, 
 loved and courted, flattered and caressed, the 
 world was as yet to her but a long day-dream 
 of joy ; she lived in a fairy land of hope and 
 happiness. Ere long must she awake to the 
 painful realities of life, to the withered hope, 
 the blighting care, the fleeting joy, the linger- 
 ing sorrow — a weary train ! But there is 
 energy in her lofty brow to combat — there is 
 patience in her meek face to endure ; there is 
 hope enwreathed in every magic line of her 
 sweet countenance. There shine " pure 
 thoughts, kind thoughts, high thoughts." A 
 mortal she is, and the trials of mortality she 
 must endure ; a spirit she is, and a spirit for 
 immortality is perfected by the trials of 
 time. 
 
 Reader ! will she not do for a heroine ? 
 
 And how is it that Miss Langshawe is of 
 so superior a stamp to her parents ? The
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 23 
 
 circumstance is easily accounted for, and is 
 no uncommon feature in Lancashire society, 
 where the rising generation enjoy advantages 
 to which their parents had no access. 
 
 Without any wish himself to acquire the 
 conventional rules of polished life, nay, with 
 even something of contempt for them, Mr. 
 Langshawe was fully aware of his own de- 
 ficiencies in that respect. Besides the proud 
 desire, natural to a father, to see his offspring 
 distinguished, especially when that offspring is 
 limited to one darling child, the future heiress 
 of a considerable fortune, he felt that the 
 dotino^ indulgence of her mother was as little 
 likely to regulate the temper and disposition 
 of his daughter to good, as her habits were 
 to mould her to gentility. Mr. Langshawe 
 dearly loved and respected his wife, and he 
 had every cause to do so ; but she was of an 
 origin even lower than his own, and had not 
 the shrewd discernment and natural talent 
 which in himself abated the disadvantages re- 
 sulting from the want of early education. She 
 was an affectionate wife, a doting mother, a
 
 24 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 kind mistress to her servants, a generous be- 
 nefactress to the poor, and her manners were 
 in some degree polished by society, and by 
 constant intercourse with others; but the ca- 
 libre of her mind was precisely of its original 
 dimensions. Mr. Langshawe early saw in 
 Edith indications of quick intelligence not 
 uncombined with symptoms of strong resolu- 
 tion. He saw materials from which might be 
 formed an admirable character, but he judged, 
 and in this he judged most truly, that they 
 would require the moulding of a master-hand. 
 This he determined his daughter should have. 
 He lonp" hesitated in his choice; but when 
 
 o 
 
 once made it was unaltered : and " do not make 
 my girl a fine lady" was his earnest parting 
 injunction to Mrs. Maitland. 
 
 This lady was well qualified for the im- 
 portant charge which the fond father com- 
 mitted to her keeping. The excellent and 
 really accomplished wife of a clergyman, she 
 was but too happy to aid by her exertions 
 that income which high talent and character 
 on his part did not suffice to render suffi-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 25 
 
 cient. Under her judicious and aiFectionate 
 care, Edith Langshawe was habituated to 
 think like a responsible being, and to behave 
 like a gentlewoman. In Mr. Maitland's 
 household she saw the good effects of pru- 
 dent superintendence ; and in the devoted 
 esteem and affection of his poor parishioners 
 the happy results of judicious and discrimi- 
 nating charity. The worthlessness of accom- 
 plishments as the great end and aim of 
 education was strongly inculcated ; but under 
 proper limitation, and in rigid subjection to 
 more valuable pursuits, they were sedulously 
 cultivated as an ornament to gay, and a re- 
 fuge in solitary hours. Edith had an affec- 
 tionate heart and quick talents : she was an 
 apt pupil in all that was good. 
 
 Mr. Langshawe had heroically withstood 
 the pleadings of her mother and the yearn- 
 ings of his own heart, and from the age of 
 nine years had permitted only short and 
 far-between visits from his darling child. 
 At seventeen she returned to him, and the 
 father was richly rewarded for his self-denial : 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 he had sown the good seed, he now reaped 
 the plenteous harvest. For two years Edith's 
 bright face had gladdened his fireside, and 
 her unpretending but gentle, assiduous atten- 
 tions to him and her mother had cast a 
 gleam of indescribable comfort over him and 
 his whole household. She was beloved by 
 them all. 
 
 In no circumstance of his life did Mr. 
 Langshawe show more discriminating judg- 
 ment than in the style in which he chose to 
 have his daughter educated. A modern 
 fashionable education seems to be the per- 
 version of everything reasonable, at least for 
 the middle classes of society. It would be 
 an amusing occupation to trace the changes 
 and gradations in the style of these things 
 even for only a century past. It is very 
 little more since in " the metropolis of the 
 North," Manchester, there was a Pastry 
 School, which was frequented not only by 
 the daughters of the townspeople, but by 
 those also of the neighbouring gentlemen ; 
 and there was about the same time a dancing-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 27 
 
 master, who on certain occasions used to make 
 his pupils, boys and girls — of the then most 
 respectable families — parade two and two 
 through the principal streets. 
 
 We have heard a lady of a later generation 
 say, that at the boarding-school where she 
 was placed for education, the pupils during 
 their last year were taught to make pastry 
 and shape garments ; and were initiated into 
 some other of the lighter mysteries of house- 
 keeping : the elder ones also took it in turn 
 to accompany their governess on her tea-visits; 
 where, with elbows pushed back, and bodies 
 bolt upright, pokerwise, they sipped their 
 thimblefuls of bohea, and learnt how " to 
 behave discreetly" in company. A generation 
 later these customs were abolished, and 
 we were supposed to be ignorant (and by 
 tacit agreement we each concealed our home- 
 acquired knowledge of the fact) that ladies' 
 fingers could contaminate themselves by com- 
 pounding mixtures of butter and flour and 
 suet ; and as to shaping and seaming such 
 garments as from their universal adoption 
 
 c 2
 
 28 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 we may fairly suppose to be most useful — 
 this was never dreamt of. Plain sewing was 
 forbidden by the rules of the school. Now, 
 if this had been a school — if there be such an 
 one — for duchesses, countesses, and baronesses 
 in embryo, all might have been very well ; 
 but it was one specifically for the middle 
 classes ; the parents were all tradesmen ; 
 and though the pupils might be spoiled 
 children in their parents'* houses, they had 
 no prospect but of being necessarily active 
 housekeepers in their own. Why then did 
 parents in those days pay a high price for 
 boarding-schools ? Grammar, geography, his- 
 toiy, and accounts, were taught, parrot-like, 
 from the book ; but by far the greatest por- 
 tion of time was given to bad music, worse 
 drawing, and trumpery fancy-work, all which 
 were probably laid aside immediately, and 
 most certainly were so with the first occur- 
 rences that entailed responsible duties. Where, 
 then, was education ? The very principle of 
 useful knowledge had afterwards to be learnt. 
 And the now hackneyed term '* Useful Know-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 29 
 
 ledge," suggests to the mind the educational 
 system of the present day. We do not mean 
 that of the ''operatives," nor do we allude 
 to any of the thousand-and-one systems by 
 which philanthropists propose to regenerate 
 the universe ; but to the '' education of young 
 ladies" of the middle classes. Formerly 
 there was too little culture for the mind ; 
 now, probably, there is too much. The 
 attempt to excel in a variety of things can 
 only, with ordinary minds, lead to disap- 
 pointment in all : neither are people in the 
 middle rank any happier for having imbibed 
 tastes which only the possessors of rank and 
 fortune can indulge. The multitude of pur- 
 suits to which the attention is directed pre- 
 vents the mind from dwelling clearly, and 
 with sufficient intensity, on any to master it ; 
 and many fashionably-educated young ladies 
 are regular olios of bits and scraps. There 
 are many ladies, indeed, whose talents have 
 obtained most honourable notoriety ; who have 
 ingrafted some of the distinguishing charac- 
 teristics of the other sex on the virtues of
 
 30 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 their own, and have soared the flight of man, 
 without forgetting or neglecting the domestic 
 destination of woman ! All praise and honour 
 attend them, and all such ! But in emulating 
 their career, women of lower minds and infe- 
 rior capabilities are apt to underrate domestic 
 claims — the first, the most valuable, the most 
 honourable to them ; and this is an evil which 
 is by no means diminished by the system of 
 training in modern boarding-schools. There 
 is no necessity, indeed, that domestic and 
 housewifery duties should, as formerly, be 
 taught in them ; but it is a pity that the 
 time and talents of some of the best years 
 ot life should be devoted exclusively to pur- 
 suits which are of exceedingly problematical 
 value. 
 
 Another great evil of modern fashionable 
 education, is the absurd and extreme preference 
 adjudged to everything foreign — frequently 
 almost to the exclusion of the most valu- 
 able English acquirements. The young lady 
 who has easily acquired a little of the trickery 
 of Italian singing — which passes with real
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 31 
 
 judges for just so much as it is worth — will 
 execute a fashionable canzonetta ; but if asked 
 by an old-fashioned person for an English 
 ballad, will be fain to confess that she has 
 not studied English singing. She will talk 
 of Tasso, and even approach Goethe ; but 
 she will say nothing of Addison or Cow- 
 per, of Johnson or Milton, and perhaps has 
 hardly heard of Richardson or Defoe. Nay, 
 there are strong symptoms of Shakspeare going 
 out of fashion, and Byron — what an absurd- 
 ity ! — is patronised in an Italian translation. 
 The time of many, very many, fashionably- 
 educated young ladies, is almost entirely oc- 
 cupied in the construction of elaborate trifles, 
 and their conversation is of course usually 
 on a par with this occupation. Nobody likes 
 « old heads on young shoulders," but eighteen 
 or nineteen years is just the age for the spark- 
 ling thought, the bright idea, the gushing 
 feeling, the generous resolve, the enterprising 
 spirit that would level mountains in its onward 
 course; and these high and heaven-born feel- 
 ings are checked and quenched in many in
 
 32 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 pursuance of that phantom of the imagina- 
 tion — a fashionable education ; which when 
 acquired scarcely fits its possessor for time, 
 and certainly does not prepare her for eter- 
 nity.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 A cotton-man's dinner, an everyday concern. 
 
 " And in fact he knew this world to be 
 An astonishing piece of cookery." 
 
 H. G, Wheeler. 
 " Endless it were to sing the powers of all. 
 Their names, their numbers, how they rise and fall." 
 
 Craebe. 
 
 " My dear Harriet, how happy I am to 
 see you," said Miss Langshawe as, on return- 
 ing accidentally to the breakfast-room, she 
 found her schoolmate and friend there. 
 
 *' I thought you would find me," said Miss 
 Wolstenholme ; *' so now let us enjoy our- 
 selves here awhile before we go and play at 
 ladies — always a bore." 
 
 " But where are your father and brother ?'' 
 
 " Henry ""s somewhere about ; my father will
 
 34 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 be here by-and-bye ; but tell me who 's com- 
 ing, and who 's who ; I suppose, of course, 
 that the bride is the star of first magnitude 
 in your drawing-room horizon to-night." 
 
 '' Of course," replied Edith, "we must pay 
 all due deference to her new honours.*" 
 
 " And no other strangers ? " 
 
 " None, I think, to you, except Mr. Ash- 
 worth." 
 
 " Oh, he 's only an old bachelor !" 
 
 " Nay, nay, Harriet, not quite so desperate; 
 he is not much more than forty." 
 
 " What does his age matter ? it is not years 
 that ruin a man — at least, not years alone." 
 
 "What, then, is the matter with Mr. Ash- 
 worth ?" 
 
 " The matter is, that he has too much mat- 
 ter. He 's large, lusty, witty, and satirical ; 
 he talks loud, laughs louder ; he quotes Pope 
 the snarler, Boileau the cynic, and La Bruyere 
 the satirical.'' 
 
 " A charming catalogue raisonne, indeed ; 
 where have you learnt all this ?" 
 
 " No matter where — I hate him in anti-
 
 THE COTTON LORD, 35 
 
 cipation ; I know he will be the death of 
 me." 
 
 " I hope, love, you won't resign life without 
 a slight struggle," said Edith, with mock com- 
 miseration, as she arranged the cushions of 
 the couch on which her friend had thrown 
 herself in apparent despair. 
 
 " And who and what is he ?" said the young 
 lady, starting up as suddenly as she had lain 
 down ; " and who is this high and mighty 
 old woman who fastens him to her apron- 
 string, and is come to show off her airs on 
 us poor cotton folks ?" 
 
 " I really cannot answer you, for I have 
 not had the privilege of seeing him tied to 
 the apron-string of any woman high or 
 mighty.'' 
 
 " Now, Edith, give over quizzing : you 
 know I mean the stiff-necked old maid he 
 lives with." 
 
 " His aunt ! she is elderly certainly ; but as 
 she is neither high, mighty, nor stiff-necked, 
 you must pardon me if I did not at the mo- 
 ment recognize your description."
 
 36 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " She is a decent body, then." 
 
 " She is, in ever}^ sense of the word, a lady, 
 and a kind-hearted one, and, as you may ima- 
 gine, a very valuable acquisition to our cir- 
 cle." 
 
 " She is a person of good family, I 've un- 
 derstood." f" 
 
 " Undeniably so." 
 
 " And even speaks of a grandfather." 
 
 " And of his grandfather's grandfather be- 
 fore him." 
 
 " Amazing ! what a lion she *ll be ; what 
 in the world can have brought her to our 
 ' region of savages ?' '" 
 
 " I really don't know." 
 
 " And you are intimate with her, Edith .?" 
 
 " More so than I had any cause to expect 
 in so short a time ; but that is owing to the 
 partial report of our dear kind friend, Mrs. 
 Maitland, with whom she is well acquainted." 
 
 " Oh, I see ! Well you must show your 
 gratitude to our old gouvernante by qualify- 
 ing your new friend for our circle as quickly 
 as possible."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 37 
 
 " What do you mean ?'' 
 
 " You must be aware, my dear, how utterly 
 at fault she must be amongst us unless some 
 kind friend give her a few hints for her guid- 
 ance. For instance, I shouldn't wonder if she 
 never heard of ' raw material,' or ' thrown 
 silk,' and takes ' mules' and ' throstles' 
 to mean long-eared quadrupeds and singing 
 birds." 
 
 Edith laughed heartily ; but her merry 
 friend's further comments were interrupted by 
 the arrival of some of the guests, and the 
 party was speedily assembled. 
 
 The drawing-room in which Mrs. Langshawe 
 received her visitors was as splendid as money 
 could make it. The furniture and the deco- 
 rations w^ere, however, all good — the best of 
 their kind ; but there was an elaboration in 
 the style, and a profuseness in the ornaments, 
 that savoured more of a heavy purse than a 
 cultivated taste. The walls were hung with 
 silk damask, finished off by massive gold cor- 
 nices and mouldings, or draped round the 
 magnificent mirrors extending almost from
 
 38 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 the ceiling to the ground, which reflected the 
 forms of a fair bevy of ladies, whose gar- 
 ments were not certainly their least notice- 
 able appendage. The couches, the ottomans, 
 the bosses, the buhl timepiece, the profusion of 
 ornamental trifles that glittered around ; the 
 choice exotics in the recesses, the elegant 
 china ornaments, and the magnificent cut- 
 glass chandelier which sparkled like diamonds 
 in ten thousand different hues, and, gleaming 
 in the mirrors, gave the idea of a fairy-land 
 vista opening on every side — these, each in 
 itself fit for the mansion of a nobleman — were 
 yet clustered and crowded incongruously. 
 They were, however, not merely collected, but, 
 comparatively speaking, naturalized in the 
 house of this lowborn and uneducated cotton 
 manufacturer. 
 
 The dining-room was equally expensive and 
 luxurious, though somewhat more sombre in 
 its adornments. But the Dinner — ye gods ! 
 
 The table was profusely decorated with 
 plate, magnificent and modern, and literally
 
 THE COTTON LORD. o9 
 
 groaned under the weight of all those eatables 
 that " man''s gurmandize can feed." The rich- 
 est of soups and the most luxurious of fish 
 were followed by a course of more substantial 
 food, which in its turn gave way to a succes- 
 sion of such elaborate collections of eatables 
 as most surely were never congregated on 
 any but a " cotton-man's" table. And then 
 the manner of discussing it ! Most earnestly 
 did the good company do homage to the treat. 
 There was no elegant trifling with plates and 
 forks ; no sentimental withdrawal from the 
 vulgar and everyday habit of eating. The 
 dinner was actually and elaborately devoured. 
 Little was spoken during its progress except 
 on the merits of the various dishes, and the 
 intricacies of the calinary preparations. The 
 good hostess entered with great animation 
 into the mysteries of her cuisine, and exchanged 
 sundry remarks with a well-dressed and ra- 
 ther saturnine-visaged gentleman on her left 
 hand, on the propriety of this sauce having a 
 grain more cayenne, or that ragout a thought
 
 40 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 less seasoning. Never had dinner more jus- 
 tice done to it. The company evidently met 
 to eat ; and eat they did. 
 
 There was, it may be supposed, none of that 
 quietude of manner which in really highly-bred 
 company places visitors, even of inferior rank, 
 so completely at their ease, v^^hen their wants 
 are supplied they know not how, and their 
 feeling of strangeness is banished — how — they 
 never think to inquire : still less was there that 
 caricature of high breeding assumed by the 
 "doubtfully distinguished," when a frigidity 
 that chills the very blood to an icicle is sub- 
 stituted for aristocratic ease, a meagre table for 
 a " genteel '' display, and a cold indifference to 
 your wants as a proof of fashionable noncha- 
 lance. The courtesies of Mr. and Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe''s table were of a different order. Most 
 actively, most unweariedly, did they exert 
 themselves in specific attentions to each indi- 
 vidual at the somewhat crowded table. Dish 
 after dish was recommended and pressed on 
 each ; voices rose to a somewhat lofty pitch 
 in the earnestness of hospitable entreaty; and
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 41 
 
 once a momentary sensation was caused by 
 the sudden and by no means gentle descent of 
 Mrs. Langshawe's clenched fist on the table, 
 as her most obvious and ready method of ob- 
 taining the attention of her busily-occupied 
 partner to the wants of a lady near her. The 
 sensation seemed but instantaneous ; perhaps 
 the circumstance was not of unusual occur- 
 rence. Never was hospitality more genuine ; 
 never was enjoyment more real. 
 
 Whilst eating was at its climax, the door 
 opened and a gentleman entered. He was 
 short in person and rather stout, with a good- 
 tempered ruddy face and small sparkling 
 eyes. 
 
 " Come, Wolstenholme, I 'm very glad to 
 see you ; I thought you 'd forgotten us. You 
 see we've not waited." 
 
 " No, no ! all right : I '11 soon make up for 
 lost time." 
 
 He was cheerily greeted by all as he passed 
 on towards the lady of the house, and one, 
 Mr. Laycock, held out his hand to the new- 
 comer.
 
 42 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 A hearty smack on it was the reply to this 
 salutation, accompanied by the words " I 've 
 a crow to pull with you, Laycock." 
 " Well, now 's your time." 
 " Nay, — I '11 get my dinner first." 
 This important matter was in due time 
 achieved by all, and 
 
 " The dinner things removed, 
 They all began to sing ; 
 And they soon made the place 
 Near a mile round to ring ;" 
 
 so says a very charming little ancient history ; 
 and certainly the grove on that memorable oc- 
 casion was not made more suddenly vocal than 
 was Mr. Langshawe's dining-room on the ap- 
 pearance of the dessert, which, like the dinner 
 before it, comprised every luxury that wealth 
 could purchase. The dinner had been a seri- 
 ous and business-like affair, on the due and 
 proper discussion of which no exertion had 
 been spared ; now, the guests seemed to have 
 a little time to congratulate themselves and 
 each other. 
 
 Mr. Laycock addressed Mr. AYolstenholme.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 43 
 
 " Well, — what have I been doing wrong ?" 
 
 " Thee ! nothing that I know of, man." 
 
 " But you said you had a crow to pull 
 with me."" 
 
 " Oh ! ay, ay : it 's t 'other way : it 's me 
 that 's in fault, not you. I 've been thinking 
 that I made a great fool of myself t 'other 
 day." 
 
 " I 've no doubt you did : does your con- 
 science accuse you ?" 
 
 " It does." 
 
 " On what particular points ?" 
 
 " Why, — I 've been very uncomfortable ever 
 since. I 've some sort of a confused remem- 
 brance that I would let nobody talk but 
 myself." 
 
 " For that, my good sir," interrupted ano- 
 ther, " you are by no means answerable." 
 
 " No ! how so ?" 
 
 " That is entirely attributable to the cham- 
 pagne, not to you." 
 
 " Well, well ; thank you, sir, thank you," 
 said Mr. Wolstenholme, seemingly not dis- 
 pleased at the suggestion, and proceeding to
 
 44 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 repeat apologies to which it was evident he was 
 prompted unnecessarily by an over-scrupulous 
 conscience. 
 
 He then turned to Mr. Ashworth, with an 
 unpolished but most kind and courteous ex- 
 pression of welcome to the neighbourhood, and 
 hope that he might find it agreeable. This 
 gentleman, whose capacious person and ample 
 cheeks bore testimony to the broad and beau- 
 tiful enjoyment of all the good things of life, 
 albeit 
 
 " In manners frank, in manly spirit liigh, 
 Alert good-nature sparkled in his eye," 
 
 received this advance towards intimacy as cor- 
 dially as it was offered. He spoke loud, as 
 Miss Wolstenholme had said, and had an 
 ugly habit of concluding most of his remarks 
 with a short, loud, unmusical laugh, which 
 seemed, perhaps from habit, to have become 
 involuntary. As that young lady had said, 
 moreover, he was somewhat given to satire, but 
 its expression was much softened by habitual 
 good temper, by gentlemanly breeding, and 
 just now evidently by unsophisticated relish
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 45 
 
 of the good things around him. The wine 
 circulated pretty freely, and under its soothing 
 influence he began to grow sentimental, and 
 talked of " evaporating in a sigh." 
 
 " What a great fog there would be !" said 
 Miss Wolstenholme. 
 
 " You talk of ' evaporating in a sigh,' " said 
 the saturnine-visaged gentleman, who had 
 shown such skill in the science of cookery; 
 *' I should think a sigh itself breathed by you 
 would have some difficulty to evaporate." 
 
 "Then," interposed the gay Edith, "such 
 a sigh would just suit papa." 
 
 " Suit me, child ? *' inquired her father. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; you told me this morning you 
 loved solidity in everything." 
 
 " But who ever heard of a solid sigh ? " 
 
 " Mr. H imagined one at any rate." 
 
 " Lczsa majestas against the state and dignity 
 of Cupid, whose unworthy representative for 
 the present I am," said the portly Mr. Ash- 
 worth, with a sonorous sigh which made every- 
 body laugh, and concluding with a still more 
 sonorous haw ! haw !
 
 46 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " If the remainder of your godsbip's artil- 
 lery, your tears, your glances, and your darts," 
 said Miss Wolstenholme, " be as substantial 
 as your sighs, you will be a fearful oppo- 
 nent." 
 
 " Upon my word," said Mr. Ashworth, sud- 
 denly relinquishing his impersonation of the 
 Paphian god, " I do not know why you 
 should all look so quizzically on me and my 
 aspirations. Is it because I am large and 
 lusty that you laugh at my lover-like enact- 
 ments.? Why these are the very proofs of 
 the truth of my pretensions. We perpetually 
 hear of lovers ' sighing like a furnace," which 
 infers, I imagine, some warmth of complexion, 
 ' love's own rosy hue ; * and we have it on 
 indisputable authority, that sighing ' swells a 
 man out like a bladder,' and that is precisely 
 my case, since I have been sighing away my 
 soul at the feet of Miss Wolstenholme for the 
 last two hours." 
 
 He then turned suddenly to Edith, and 
 asked her if she had lately seen "that gentle 
 shepherd born in Arcadie, who tuned his harp
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 47 
 
 to the soft wind's moan ' under the shade of 
 melancholy boughs/ " 
 
 Miss Langshawe laughed at this flight, and 
 replied that she had seen the hermit that 
 morning. 
 
 " And who is this hermit ? and what is 
 he ? " inquired a lady. 
 
 " A quiet madman, who lives alone in a hut 
 of his own building.'"* 
 
 " And is he not annoyed by idle neighbours 
 and mischievous intrusions ? " 
 
 " No ! not now ; he was so annoyed at first; 
 but long habit, for he has been here twenty 
 years, has accustomed the people to him : he 
 has indeed no very near neighbours ; and his 
 kind heart, his inoffensive disposition, and his 
 excellent character, have gained the esteem of 
 those who know him."" 
 
 " But what is the cause of such a strange 
 and recluse life ? " 
 
 " I have been told it was some disappoint- 
 ment in love or matrimony, which acting upon 
 a weak mind, and a sensitive disposition, led 
 him to adopt his present mode of life. This
 
 48 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 account seems natural ; whether true or not 
 I don't know ; for he came here a stranger, 
 and he never alludes to his own circum- 
 stances." 
 
 Mrs. Langshawe'*s clenched hand (Anglice 
 fist,) again made the glasses ring. 
 
 " William, tell me this moment ; did you 
 not say that Mr. Wilson was a natural son ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did," said Mr. Langshawe. 
 
 " Mr. Wilson is a relative of mine,"*' said 
 a lady, who appeared much excited ; " I 
 should like to learn the author of this ca- 
 lumny." 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Irton was my informant," 
 said he, looking towards a lady who was at- 
 tired both with elegance and magnificence, 
 but who seemed engrossed in some ineffably 
 composing reflections, and sat sleepy, silent, 
 comfortable, and inattentive. But she was 
 roused by the parties interested. 
 
 " Did you not tell me," said Mr. Lang- 
 shawe, " that Mr. Wilson was a natural 
 child?" 
 
 "' Yes, I did." 
 
 X
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 49 
 
 " And pray who told you ? '** 
 
 " I don't know, I forget ; I think Mr. 
 Ash worth told me." 
 
 " ' Lord ! Lord ! ' said he, ' how this world 
 is given to lying,' begging a thousand pardons 
 for the quotation; but I told you, ma'am, 
 that Mr. Wilson was a posthumous child. 
 Haw ! haw !" 
 
 " Well, I thought it was the same thing," 
 said the lady.* 
 
 «> Haw ! haw ! haw ! " 
 
 The conversation returned to its old chan- 
 nels ; the gentlemen occasionally vouchsafing a 
 passing remark on the lighter topics discussed 
 by the ladies. Their own, though brisk and 
 intelligent, had reference, somewhat too ex- 
 clusively, to what is aptly termed " the shop," 
 to matters of business, and subjects of trade. 
 One of the circle, a lady-like person, ventured 
 a joking, and perfectly well-bred remonstrance 
 to the gentlemen generally. 
 
 '* Hold your tongue," growled a vulgar- 
 looking man on the opposite side of the table, 
 
 * Fact. 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " and meddle with your own matters ; / stink 
 o' cotton, and I don't care who knows it ; so 
 give us none o' your fine-lady airs here, and 
 be hanged to them." 
 
 " There was a lady loved a s-svine, 
 Hone}'-, said she. 
 Pig hog, will you be mine ? 
 
 Humph ! said he, — " 
 
 whispered Mr. Ashworth, and Edith could not 
 repress a smile, though she was too good- 
 natured to encourage him in his satire. 
 
 In the drawing-room, the usual topics of 
 female conversation were varied and enlivened 
 by the presence of the rich bride, whose dress 
 and ornaments, which before dinner had been 
 covertly glanced at, were now, under its in- 
 spiriting and heart-opening influences, openly 
 admired and canvassed. The lady did not 
 discourage the scrutiny. 
 
 " Do you admire my chain ? this cost sixty 
 guineas, but I 've a much more expensive one 
 at home." 
 
 " Mine is a pretty one, though, in point of 
 expense and massiveness, not to be named with 
 yours."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 6l 
 
 " That !" (with a glance almost too scornful 
 to be consistent with politeness,) " yes, it 's 
 pretty enough ; I have three or four such. 
 You 're looking at my handkerchief, it cost 
 seven guineas ; I got only a dozen of them 
 in Paris. I shall be there again in a few 
 months, and then I mean to supply myself 
 better." 
 
 " Hail to the disjecta membra /" whispered 
 some one near Miss Langshawe, and to con- 
 ceal the gathering smile she turned to her 
 " fat friend," who had been the first to obey 
 the summons to tea. " Will they not," con- 
 tinued he, " take out a new escutcheon ? — 
 raw-head-and-bloody-bones, with poultice and 
 plaster, parted per pale, on a field tinctured 
 gules : crest, an eye twisted ? Haw ! haw V 
 
 The gentlemen were now re-assembled in the 
 drawing-room, and short whist on their part 
 and quadrille by the ladies, were prosecuted 
 with zeal and alacrity until the " witching 
 time of night." 
 
 d2 
 
 DNlVEfiSITY Of 
 IU.INOIS LIBRARY
 
 52 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE OLD MAID. 
 
 " O Lady, worthy of earth's proudest throne I 
 Nor less by excellence of nature fit 
 Beside an unambitious hearth to sit 
 Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 The next morning being beautifully fine, 
 Edith proposed to her friend Miss Wolsten- 
 holme that they should call on her new neigh- 
 bour, Mrs. Frances Hailing, who was already 
 acquainted with her schoolmate by name. 
 Harriet readily consented, — not that she cared 
 anything in reality about the lady ; but she 
 was at that happy age, and of that careless 
 though not unamiable disposition, which takes 
 everything that comes easily and cheerily : 
 '•' She doifed the world aside, and bid it pass."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 5S 
 
 True, indeed, that world had as yet never 
 frowned on her ; she had seen only that gay 
 and roseate countenance with which it greet> 
 the youthful, healthful, and unthinking child of 
 prosperity. She and her brother, Henry, were 
 the eldest of a very large family, though 
 several intervening: deaths which occurred be- 
 tween them and the younger children had 
 naturally divided them from their brothers 
 and sisters in pursuits and habits — not in 
 affection : they were entirely a united and 
 affectionate household. Their parents occu- 
 pied a similar position to that of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Langshawe ; they had risen from the 
 lowest rank by industry, and that almost 
 magical good fortune which was so often in 
 the earlier period of their existence an attend- 
 ant on cotton-mills, to great wealth, which 
 they displayed in the usual style of their 
 compeers, but which was dignified and adorned 
 by an open-hearted hospitality, and by a wide- 
 ly-extended and unwearying benevolence which 
 redeems the character of Lancashire " cotton- 
 folks'' generally from much that might other-
 
 54 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 wise degrade it, though it be not generally 
 so shiningly pre-eminent as it was in Mr. and 
 Mrs. Wolstenholme. They and the Lang- 
 shawes had been early intimates in a very 
 different sphere of life, and it was more from 
 the influence of this lasting regard and un- 
 broken intimacy, than from any participation 
 in his friend's more high-minded notions on 
 the subject of education, that Mr. Wolsten- 
 holme placed his daughter, fortunately for 
 her, under the same tuition as Edith Lang- 
 shawe. 
 
 The friends set out on their walk, which 
 led through one of those wooded dells or 
 doughs which are so beautiful and peculiar 
 a feature in Lancashire, and to which we have 
 referred more particularly in our introductory 
 sketch. 
 
 On emerging from this clough, they reached 
 a narrow winding lane, bounded on each side 
 by high hedges of hazel and hawthorn, and 
 varied by ash, oak, and sycamore trees, now 
 clothed in the vivid green of spring. The 
 lane itself terminated abruptly and completely
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 55 
 
 in a large farm-yard ; but, ere you quite 
 arrived at this ultimatum, a path diverged 
 from it which brought you to one of the 
 prettiest habitations possible. It could hardly 
 be called a house, yet it was certainly a great 
 deal too convenient for a cottage; it was not 
 lofty enough for the one, nor homely enough 
 for the other, and it seemed to go in and out 
 in every possible direction. Moreover, it was 
 almost covered with climbing plants ; and the 
 red and yellow japonicas were giving way 
 to the early leaves of the exotic, but now 
 universal Virginian creeper, the twice-flower- 
 ing Budleia, the springing shoots of the 
 naturalized passion-flower, and clusters of the 
 ever-blooming rose. The bright sun fell full 
 on the house, and a gush of light streamed 
 in at the open door. 
 
 " It is far too pretty for an old maid," 
 said Harriet, as they turned into the small 
 but exquisitely-arranged parterre which in- 
 tervened between the house and the lane. A 
 lady who was occupied in re-fastening a bough 
 of the beautiful but frapjile rose acacia, which
 
 56 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 had broken from its support, turned quickly 
 on hearing the click of the garden gate, and 
 seeing Miss Langshawe, advanced to meet her 
 with a cordial smile of welcome. 
 
 It is the fashion, perhaps we should rather 
 say the custom, to describe old maids as stiff 
 and formal, and as universally distinguished 
 personally, if not mentally, by a peculiar 
 rigidity and formality which does not ap- 
 pertain to the wife or the widow. Whether 
 this be the case generally we cannot say; 
 our own experience would lead us to suppose 
 not. At all events we describe what we have 
 seen. 
 
 So totally unmarked by any peculiarity 
 was Mrs. Frances Halling'*s dress and appear- 
 ance, that even Miss Wolstenholme, who had 
 gone predisposed to quiz, could not, when 
 she called her thoughts to counsel afterwards, 
 remember at all of what that dress consisted. 
 In person the lady was neither tall nor short, 
 neither thin nor lusty ; a common observer 
 would have passed her unnoticed in a crowd, 
 for her only distinguishing characteristics were
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 57 
 
 such as would hardly be noted by a common 
 observer, viz., a somewhat thoughtful, yet 
 benevolent, expression of countenance, and a 
 gentle cordiality of manner. 
 
 Edith introduced her friend, who was wel- 
 comed with frank kindness, and Mrs. Hailing 
 led her visitors to the sunny breakfast-parlour, 
 where, reposing his huge bulk on the sofa, 
 was her nephew, Mr. Ashworth, dividing his 
 attentions between a newspaper and a New- 
 foundland dog almost as huge as himself. 
 But he started up with the celerity of a 
 stripling, or *' thread paper," on the first 
 glimpse of the young ladies ; and if his wel- 
 come was considerably more boisterous than 
 Mrs. Halling's had been, it was not a whit 
 the less cordial. Miss Langshawe was already 
 an established favourite with both. 
 
 As the regions of aristocratic and fashion- 
 able life are a terra incognita to us, we 
 cannot tell what is the usual mode of open- 
 ing a conversation within their charmed 
 circles, but in others, however varied their 
 characteristics, " the weather " is the universal 
 
 D 5
 
 5S WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 refuge. The dull and the witty alike refer to 
 it; the former indeed may cling to it as a 
 theme, while the latter only glance at it as 
 a prelude ; but in one way or other it is 
 indispensable to all. 
 
 And now its various phases past, present, 
 and to come were fully discussed, ere another 
 point was alluded to. 
 
 " I came to entreat," said Edith ; " that 
 you would favour us with your company at 
 Lime Grove on Thursday, in your own way, 
 very quietly. I ask it on my friend's account as 
 well as my own ; her stay with us is so short." 
 
 " I shall feel much pleasure in improving 
 my acquaintance with Miss Wolstenholme, and 
 also in visiting you. I have just been forming 
 a conditional engagement for a later period. 
 Mr. Ainsley has promised to pioneer me 
 through his cotton-factory." 
 
 " Go through a cotton-factory ! How 
 strange !" said Miss Wolstenholme. 
 
 "Why strange?" 
 
 " Oil, I don't know ; but we never think 
 of such a thing."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 59 
 
 " On the same principle, I suppose," said [/ 
 Mr. Ash worth, " if principle it can be called, 
 which keeps the denizen of London a 
 stranger to the Tower, the Abbey, and the 
 British Museum !" 
 
 *' Principle, indeed, you can hardly call it," 
 said Mrs. Frances ; " unless you distinguish 
 by the name of principle that which certainly 
 does appear to be an instinct of nature, — 
 that is the propensity to think lightly, or 
 perhaps I should rather say not to think at 
 all, of what is within our reach." 
 
 " I fancy, dear madam, it is often more 
 want of thought, than thinking lightly," said 
 Edith. " When 1 was in London a short time 
 ago, my friends exerted themselves so much 
 to make parties every day to visit some great 
 sight or other, that I felt uncomfortable, and 
 begged that I might not disarrange their usual 
 habits; but the reply, which appeared as 
 sincere as it was courteous, was, that the 
 obligation was on their side, for these sights 
 were really a treat to them; they had never 
 had opportunity to see them ; and should
 
 60 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 scarcely have made one if a stranger had not 
 claimed their good offices." 
 
 " Quite true, I doubt not ; and we who 
 are tied to our country-homes spend half 
 our lives in vain longings to behold spots 
 which are enshrined in our imaginations with 
 all the pomp and circumstance of chivalry 
 and history, and of which we fancy the very 
 dust must be vocal, while a Londoner will 
 lay his head on his pillow every night of 
 his life and never once dream of their near 
 locality/' 
 
 " No," said Harriet, '' and all that I deem 
 very barbarous, and I would not be an in- 
 habitant of Cockaigne — if such phlegmatic 
 disposition be indigenous to the soil — for the 
 wide world ; but still curiosity about the 
 White Tower, or the old Royal home of 
 England, or the Tombs of her noblest and 
 mightiest sons, is so very different from a 
 desire to see a cotton-factory. — My dear Mrs. 
 Hailing, I cannot understand it." 
 
 " That is quite probable, my dear. Yours 
 are the years for action and impulse ; as these
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 61 
 
 qualities subside and reflection, with age, 
 steals over you, you will find that you are 
 not, that you cannot be, indifferent to any 
 subject in which the welfare of so large and 
 increasing a portion of your fellow-creatures 
 is concerned, even though that subject be a 
 cotton factory." 
 
 There seenned to be a tacit reproach in these 
 words which caused Miss Wolstenholme's 
 cheek to flush; but as she looked in the be- 
 nevolent and gracious countenance of the 
 speaker, she found that any reproach was 
 pointed by her own conscience alone. Mrs. 
 Frances Hailing had evidently no covert 
 meaning in her words. 
 
 " I take shame to myself,'* said the young 
 lady, ingenuously, " that I have never even 
 thought of a factory in this light." 
 
 " It would perhaps, my dear, have been 
 somewhat surprising if you had at your age." 
 
 " I don't know that, madam ;" said Harriet, 
 now that her feelings were touched, setting 
 no bounds to her ingenuous confession ; " I 
 know, indeed, that papa's people have only
 
 62 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 to come to him or mamma, when they are 
 ill or in trouble, and get relieved, and I have 
 thought no more about it ; I have scarcely 
 been inside the mill : but here is Edith, who 
 is younger than I am, has been through her 
 father's mill many a time ; and not only that, 
 she often superintends the school belonging 
 to it." 
 
 " In doing that, I am only obeying my 
 dear good father's wish ; and he has insisted 
 on my frequently visiting the mill with him, 
 in order, as he said, that I might have a just 
 idea of the value of wealth by seeing the 
 toil to others by which it was obtained/' 
 
 " I honour him, my dear, for his conduct ; 
 he deserves his wealth," said Mrs. Hailing, 
 with glistening eyes. 
 
 " But dear Mrs. Frances,'' said Edith, wish- 
 ing to turn the conversation, " don't let my 
 friend escape without the punishment she 
 justly deserves. You have no idea how she 
 slandered you yesterday." 
 
 " I am all curiosity : pray let me hear." 
 
 " She said you did not know the mean-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 6S 
 
 ing of ' mules,' ' throstles,' and ' spinning- 
 jennies."* " 
 
 " It was a vile slander, and she shall dearly 
 rue it; but first bring her into the dining- 
 room to have some luncheon."
 
 64 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE HERO AND A COTTON-MAN. 
 
 " Now who hath played a feter cast, 
 Since ingling first begoiine, 
 In knitting of himselfe so fast, 
 Himselfe he hath vndone." 
 
 Earl of Surrey. 
 
 " I CANNOT consent to it, Frank ; I cannot 
 consent." 
 
 " But, sir, what is your objection to Miss 
 Langshawe ?" 
 
 " That is not the point : Miss Langshawe, 
 I have no doubt is a very charming girl: I 
 am sure she is a very sweet-looking one ; my 
 objection is not to her, but to her family." 
 
 " I am sure, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Langshawe 
 are very respectable people in their way."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 65 
 
 " So are my coachman and cook very re- 
 spectable in their way; yet you would hardly 
 like to dub them father and mother." 
 
 " Pshaw, uncle, there is no analogy — " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, nephew, there is a 
 strong analogy, or rather a strong similarity. 
 Far be it from me to depreciate Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe's actual worth ; she is an excellent wife, 
 a kind mother, a staunch friend, and an un- 
 wearying benefactress to the poor; but with 
 all this she is vulgarity personified ; and 
 smoothl}^ as you may gloss over the circum- 
 stance noiu^ your cheek would glow, and your 
 fingers would tingle, Frank, to have this lady 
 expatiating at your table with the freedom 
 of a near relative. Mr. Lano^shawe is a 
 shrewd and worldly man ; his calculating head 
 and his busy fingers have told a golden tale 
 for him ; but his heart and soul are wrapt 
 in his counting-house and ledger, and he looks 
 with feelings not very remote from contempt 
 on such a dreaming youngster as yourself. 
 Besides I have other views for you."' 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," said Frank, with some
 
 66 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 hauteur, "if I deem that my own views are 
 of some consequence in this affair." 
 
 " As you please, nephew ; exactly as you 
 please,"" said Mr. Ainsley smiling ; " only 
 hear me out. Listen to all I have to say, and 
 then I will attend to your reply. 
 
 " I have a considerable fortune, acquired, 
 as you know, in the trade of the times ; but 
 hand-in-hand with riches have I striven to 
 gain those habitudes, tastes, and acquirements 
 which alone can make riches respectable. 
 Night after night, for weary hours after a 
 day of toil, have I laboured as intently at 
 mental acquirements as during the dayhght 
 hours I have at the business of the counting- 
 house. Whilst Mr. Langshawe and others of 
 my compeers closed the day by a social meet- 
 ing at a tavern, or by a domestic debauch, I 
 took a slender and simple meal, not for econo- 
 my's sake, but to keep my head cool and 
 my intellects clear for that object on which 
 I had set my heart. Sir, it made my blood 
 boil to hear the sneers and the ridicule cast on 
 the 'cotton-lords.* I did not see why trade
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 67 
 
 was inconsistent with gentlemanly habits and 
 refined manners, and I was determined to 
 prove in my own person that it was not. 
 I determined to be a merchant prince — and 
 I am. 
 
 ''I do not forget that for many things I 
 am indebted to a career more fortunate than 
 I had any right to calculate on ; but I also 
 remember with unmingled satisfaction how 
 much is the result of my own unwearying 
 exertions. Now, the few real gentry who 
 inhabit our environs, and the few aristocratic 
 travellers who visit the town, are not victim- 
 ized at my dinner-table, or wearied in my 
 drawing-room. But how little do any of 
 them suppose that the man who can discourse 
 of a Titian or Correggio, not indeed in the 
 jargon of a connoisseur, but with taste and 
 judgment — who can lead his own domestic 
 orchestra correctly in a concerted piece — or 
 stand without wincing if a French satirist or 
 an Italian poet be glanced at — how little do 
 they think that the man who does this could 
 not at twenty years old write an Enghsh sen-
 
 68 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 tence grammatically, and has acquired his 
 hard-earned accomplishments entirely in the 
 intervals of a laborious business ! 
 
 " Frank, those advantages which I so bit- 
 terly felt the want of, I have bestowed freely, 
 liberally, nobly, on you. I have spared no 
 expense, no exertion, to give you the edu- 
 cation of a gentleman ; I have succeeded in 
 introducing you to such society as may con- 
 firm you in the manners and habits of one, 
 and it is but justice to you to add, that hi- 
 therto you have amply fulfilled my hopes and 
 expectations. Do not disappoint me now. 
 Do not for a passing fancy demolish the 
 fabric which I have been long years in erect- 
 ing. In the hope that you may fulfil my 
 wishes, it is my intention to bequeath to you 
 my entire property ; but do not deceive 
 yourself, Frank ! I indeed have not a mo- 
 ment's thought of disinheriting the nephew 
 whom I have accustomed to look to me for 
 support; but there is a difference between a 
 moderate income and great wealth — the for- 
 mer is yours, under any circumstances, the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 69 
 
 latter but conditionally. My wealth shall 
 never go to support vulgar ostentation." 
 
 "But, my dear uncle," said Frank, " if 
 you would take the trouble to know Miss 
 Langshawe, you would find her the reverse 
 of ' vulgar' or ' ostentatious.' " 
 
 " So she may appear now in your eyes, or 
 even in the eyes of others, with the last touch 
 of ' finishing-school' manners in all their 
 freshness, and the ingenuous modesty of 
 youth, of which I can easily believe she has her 
 share — glowing round her; but wait a few 
 years; there's a homely proverb, ' What's bred 
 in the bone will out in the flesh ;"* — / know 
 old Langshawe and his wife well." 
 
 " I might, certainly, form a more aristo- 
 cratic connexion. There are, I doubt not, 
 titled and highly-descended ladies, who would 
 condescend to take me for the sake of the 
 money you promise me. I should be, per- 
 chance, a contemptible cipher in my own 
 house, but that would be of little conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " Of none in the world," said Mr. Ainsley,
 
 70 WILLIAM LANGSHAVVE, 
 
 laughing heartily : '' No, Frank, you are per- 
 versely mistaking me; my ambition for you 
 is much higher than that.'* 
 
 Frank looked with some surprise. 
 
 " Much higher than that," continued Mr. 
 Ainsley, '' for I consider the woman who will 
 marry beneath her own rank merely for the 
 sake of an establishment, of wealth, must have 
 a mind — be her inherited rank what it may — 
 a degree more vulgar than the vulgarest of 
 our cottonocracy. I do not want you to step 
 out of your sphere, Frank, I merely wish 
 that you should maintain in all respects an 
 elevated position in that sphere. And if your 
 heart is set on takinoj a cotton-man's daug^hter '^ 
 for a bride, I have no possible objection to 
 that ; only I would wish you to select — which 
 you may easily do — among more creditable 
 specimens of our brotherhood than Mr. Lang- 
 shawe." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, I hear Mr. Langshawe spoken 
 of with much respect, as a man of great na- 
 tural talent : it is not his fault that he was 
 born in low life."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 71 
 
 " It is not, certainly ; but that does not 
 take away from the odious reality of his pre- 
 ^ sent vulgar habits. Miss Langshawe will not 
 do, Frank." 
 
 " Then, sir, with deep and heartfelt thanks 
 for your great goodness to me, do not think 
 me ungrateful if I prefer the small income you 
 may be pleased to allow me, and marry Miss 
 Langshawe." 
 
 '* And show your disinterested aifection for 
 an amiable girl^ by depriving her of all the 
 expensive luxuries to which from her cradle 
 she has been accustomed." 
 
 " Miss Langshawe is an heiress." 
 
 " And you will prove your manly inde- 
 pendence by being indebted to your wife for 
 your shirts and shoe-strings." 
 
 Walmsley's cheek flushed, and his lip 
 curled : his uncle saw the sarcasm was not 
 lost. He continued : 
 
 " But even if these difficulties did not exist, 
 there appears to me to be a strong probabi- 
 lity of one which does not seem to have oc- 
 curred to you. This proposal may be no
 
 72 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 more agreeable to Mr. Langshawe than it is 
 to me." 
 
 " Mr. Langshawe dearly loves his daughter, 
 and would, I am sure, do anything to contri- 
 bute to her happiness."" 
 
 " Mr. Langshawe loves his daughter more 
 dearly, I doubt not, than any earthly thing — 
 save his money. Frank, you cannot form 
 an idea how that man's heart is wrapt up in 
 his ledger ; he lives on figures by day, he 
 dreams of pounds, shillings, and pence by 
 night — nay, his very aspirations to heaven are 
 mingled with the intricacies of debtor-and- 
 creditor accounts. In former years, he at- 
 tended the old church; our pews joined, and 
 I have seen him — seen him, sir — not one time, 
 nor twenty, but a hundred times, when on his 
 knees, steal a small pencil from his waistcoat- 
 pocket, and while his voice ejaculated as loudly 
 as any in the church, ' Lord have mercy upon 
 us, miserable sinners V the blank leaf of his 
 prayer-book was rapidly filling with a myriad 
 of complicated figures. That Mr. Langshawe 
 loves his daughter, I do not doubt ; that he
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 73 
 
 will compel her to marry contrar}^ to her own 
 inclination, I do not suppose ; but that he 
 will ever willingly give her to a man who has 
 no practical knowledge of trade — I cannot for 
 a moment imagine." 
 
 The preceding conversation will give the 
 reader some insight into the character of Mr. 
 Ainsley ; his nephew must have a few lines 
 devoted to him. Consigned in infancy, an 
 orphan, to the care of his uncle, that uncle had 
 performed a father's part to him ; and as his 
 own fortune increased, so did his views for the 
 advancement of his adopted child become ele- 
 vated and expanded. Frank Walmsley had 
 had a college education, and was keeping terms 
 prior to being called to the bar; more how- 
 ever, as an ostensible pursuit in life, than from 
 any idea of deriving an income from his 
 profession. He bore indeed a fair character 
 for acquirements, but not more ; and the 
 placid and gentlemanly contour of his coun- 
 tenance was not marked by any decided indi- 
 cations of superior talent. His clustering fair 
 hair fell over a somewhat melancholy fore- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 head ; and a pale cheek, and a slight bend in 
 his tall figure, united with quiet and gentle- 
 manly manners, combined to form a whole for 
 which we wish we could find a better term than 
 that hackneyed one — interesting. Somebody 
 had called him *' a dreaming youth ;" perhaps 
 he was so : but for some time past all his air- 
 wrought castles had risen in their unsubstan- 
 tial beauty around a shrine on which Miss 
 Langshawe's image reposed. 
 
 With the hopeful anticipation of a lover, 
 he would not suffer himself to look on his 
 uncle's non-approval of his passion as fixed and 
 definitive. He persuaded himself that a little 
 time only was wanting to soften him to com- 
 pliance with his wishes. He fancied that he 
 himself had no intention to act contrary to 
 Mr. Ainsley's commands ; but then, he never 
 suffered himself to suppose that a command 
 contrary to his own wishes would be given. 
 He felt galled and annoyed at the humiliating, 
 nay, despicable light in which Mr. Ainsley 
 had portrayed him, as offering unwelcome 
 attentions; but, with a very common mental 
 artifice, he resolutely closed his eyes to this
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 75 
 
 view of the subject. He would not suppose 
 that his uncle meant really to disinherit him ; 
 still less would he allow himself to think that 
 Mr. Langshawe would discourage attentions, 
 if they were agreeable to his daughter, — and 
 on this point he had some hopeful feelings — 
 from one who was fully her equal in all re- 
 spects ; that is, in education and money, or 
 to speak more correctly, in money and edu- 
 cation ; for money is the be-all, the do-all, 
 and the make-all, and a man's good qualities 
 are reckoned by the number of guineas he has 
 realized. Birth and parentage amongst the 
 Cottonocracy are not talked about, and " ances- 
 tor" is in their dictionaries designated " an 
 obsolete word." 
 
 Perhaps, considering the self-satisfying ten- 
 dency of Mr. Walmsley's meditations, it is not 
 surprising that in no very long space after his 
 conversation with his uncle, he should be found 
 slowly riding along the lanes in the direc- 
 tion of Lime Grove; or it might be that the 
 sagacious horse took his inattentive master 
 along the well-accustomed road. 
 
 e2
 
 76 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN EVENING "WALK. 
 
 " These are beauties which shall last, 
 When the crimson blood shall waste, 
 And the shining hair wax grey, 
 Or with age be worn away ; 
 These peld pleasures such as might 
 Be remember' d with delight, 
 When we gasp our latest breath 
 On the loathed bed of death." 
 
 Wither. 
 
 It was a beautiful afternoon in early sum- 
 mer when Edith Langshawe quitted her mo- 
 ther at the garden gate, in order to speak to 
 William Bladow, the hermit, about a delicate 
 plant which he had lately given her, and 
 which did not seem to thrive in its new home. 
 But she had likewise a great deal of business
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 77 
 
 on hand. She had to call on Betty Maye, 
 (who had just added twin infants to a family 
 that seemed not to want addition,) to tell her 
 that a supply of gruel, and a set of little- 
 clothes for the extra-additional stranger waited 
 at the house for her sending: she had to 
 inform Dame Parkinson, who had a school 
 in which she taught " reding and soing at 
 threepence a week, with a penny extra for 
 manners," that the new hornbooks and cate- 
 chisms which her father had promised were 
 come; and her tasty reticule contained the 
 somewhat vulnjar freis^htao^e of a slice of de- 
 lioate cold meat for old Betty Foster, who 
 never tasted butcher's meat, except when it 
 was given to her by Miss Langshawe or some 
 other kind lady ; for her son could not afford 
 to buy it for his large family, and the old 
 woman would not be indulged in what they 
 did not take. 
 
 " Edith, my dear," said the generous but 
 less discriminating Mrs. Langshawe, as for the 
 fiftieth time she found her daughter in the 
 larder purloining something, " why do you do
 
 78 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 this ? Why don't you send Roberts down at 
 once with a joint to any deserving person ? " 
 
 " My dear mother, where is the good of 
 sending a joint of meat to a poor, sick woman, 
 who can hardly eat an ounce? The meat 
 must necessarily be given to the children who 
 are hearty and happy without it, and the poor 
 old woman would be no better for it." 
 
 '' Well, my dear, why don't you then send 
 a servant with what you like ? " 
 
 " Because, mamma, these people are as in- 
 dependent in their feelings as you are, and 
 would rather not taste a dainty from year's 
 end to year's end, than have it brought as a 
 charity by a pampered servant. Do let me 
 have my own way, mamma ; in fact, you must, 
 for my father says he can't manage me, and 
 therefore, I don't think it becoming in you to 
 try. So do, dear mother, retire to your own 
 proper apartments." 
 
 And the gay girl placed her hands on her 
 mother's shoulders, and pushing her out of the 
 larder, shut the door. The proud and happy 
 mother retired, but it was only to put on her
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 79 
 
 bonnet that she might walk with her child 
 through the plantation, and -dismiss her with 
 an unspoken but heart-breathed blessing. 
 
 And Edith was blessed. The blessing of 
 the widow and the fatherless ; the blessing of 
 the stricken, the desolate, and the poor, came 
 upon her. Her father, though liberal, was 
 somewhat ostentatious in his charities ; they 
 had reference to societies, not individuals : her 
 mother's was a great, but undiscriminating 
 generosity ; but Edith's was like the gentle 
 dew from heaven, irrigating and refreshing 
 with perpetual moisture. She gave away to 
 no very great amount; she would have had 
 no difficulty in obtaining five times as much 
 from her father, but she did not want it. She 
 knew that perpetual giving is apt to deaden 
 those feelings of independence which are the 
 pledge of the well doing of poor people. She 
 stimulated them to exertion by occasional and 
 well-timed aid; but especially by taking an 
 obvious interest in their pursuits. This dis- 
 criminating wisdom of thought and action she 
 had acquired from the example of Mrs. Mait-
 
 80 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 land, during her many years' residence in that 
 lady's house. 
 
 Her purse, however, was always quickly 
 opened on occasions of emergency ; and one 
 of her errands to-day was to take a paper to 
 Thomas Grimshaw, which she had coaxed from 
 her father at breakfast that morning, containing 
 a discharge in full for his last quarter's rent. 
 
 " I tell you, Edith, you '11 ruin me, child ; 
 that will be the end of it." 
 
 '< Never mind, dear father, if I do ; only 
 think how comparatively happy these poor 
 folks will be!" 
 
 " Comparatively ! I think they ought to 
 be superlatively happy, picking my pocket 
 in that way. And what is it all for, pray ? "" 
 
 " It will only be very comparative happiness 
 after all, sir : their cow, which was their chief 
 means of support, died yesterday : this will 
 not make up the loss." 
 
 <' No more it will, child. Stay, Edith ; they 
 are industrious folk, I know. You had better 
 tell them to come here daily for their milk 
 until they have got another cow ; your mother
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 81 
 
 will give the necessary orders. And — give 
 me that paper, Edith, I think I may as well 
 extend the discharge over the coming quarter, 
 and that will give him time to get round." 
 
 And having done this the Cotton-lord hasten- 
 ed from the room to escape his daughter's 
 thanks, muttering that she '* always made a 
 fool of him." 
 
 After Edith had executed her various 
 commissions she turned into a long winding 
 lane, bordered with high hedges in which the 
 hawthorn was givins^ place to the doij-rose and 
 honeysuckle. A fine ash tree, a branching 
 oak, or a massy chestnut sprang at intervals 
 from the hedge-row, spreading half across the 
 lane. The lark was soaring aloft in the deep 
 blue sky, receding from the watching eye 
 until it was utterly lost in the bright beams 
 whither the strained and aching S^aze refused 
 to follow it, and then suddenly re-appearing, 
 approached with incredible velocity until it 
 dropped like a shot upon the earth. 
 
 As she was slowly moving along she heard 
 the sound of a horse's feet, and turnincr, she
 
 82 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 saw a gentleman advancing whom she imme- 
 diately recognised. The recognition was mu- 
 tual ; for with an eager gesture and a delighted 
 exclamation of " My dear Miss Langshawe is 
 that you ? " he sprang from his horse. 
 
 " My dearest Miss Langshawe/' he again 
 ejaculated; when, seeing Edith's look of sur- 
 prise, he instantly checked himself, and said in 
 a more self-possessed manner — 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Langshawe, you cannot form 
 an idea of the pleasure I felt at meeting you 
 here, when I expected only to see bees and 
 butterflies." 
 
 " Some of your polite sex would say that 
 you had met with nothing else now," laughed 
 Edith. 
 
 " They would belie you then, at any rate ; 
 but what an independent rambler you are to 
 be here alone ! " 
 
 '' I have been accustomed to these lanes all 
 my life, and am quite in the habit of walking 
 alone; though I confess I shall be somewhat 
 later than I anticipated." 
 
 '' I am not at all," said Walmsley, '' an
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 83 
 
 admirer of those dainty young ladies who 
 cannot cross their own thresholds without a 
 body-guard in the shape of a pampered foot- 
 man, and I am especially happy to find you 
 without one now, as it enables me more boldly 
 to offer my attendance." 
 
 " As a pampered footman ? '' 
 
 " As what you please," said he, laughing, 
 " so that you permit me to walk with you." 
 
 " Well ! I think I must not discourage so 
 humble-minded a servitor ; but my indulgence 
 by no means extends to your horse, which 
 will be a rather inconvenient attendant. Can 
 you not leave it at this farm ? "
 
 84 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A MODERN HERMIT. 
 
 " A lonely man, 
 Of spirit sad and mild, 
 Who hath his little dwelling-place 
 
 Amid a region wild. 
 The wild-flowers of the desert 
 
 Grow romid him thick as weeds, 
 And, in their beautiful array, 
 Of holy things he reads." 
 
 Mary Howitt 
 
 They shortly quitted the lane and advanced 
 by a footpath across some fields which seemed 
 but partially reclaimed, and which brought 
 them towards one of those wooded dells or 
 doughs which are so beautiful a feature of 
 Lancashire scenery. They threaded a narrow 
 path amongst the tangled shrubs and bushes 
 which clothed the sides of a rather abrupt 
 declivity. At the bottom of the dell a brisk
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 85 
 
 and sparkling streamlet was spanned by a 
 plank by no means particularly broad or 
 steady, over which Edith tripped with the 
 lightness of a sylph. Her companion followed 
 on a winding-path up the gentler ascent on 
 the other side, and after tracing its devious 
 windings for a short space, they turned an 
 abrupt angle which gave to view a scene which 
 caused Mr. Walmsley to utter a vivid expres- 
 sion of astonishment and delight. On the 
 summit of a very small hill, or hillock, right 
 before them, was erected a low, one-storied 
 habitation. It was constructed of rou^h small 
 stones of all shapes and sizes, filled up with 
 plaster; the windows, of which there were 
 several, were neatly bordered round with 
 pebbles, shells, &c., in fanciful devices ; the 
 roof was thatched, and surmounted by a rustic 
 chimney ; and the porch which was low, so low 
 as to oblige the visitor to stoop on entering, 
 was formed of fantastic bars of wood, thickly 
 entwined with honeysuckle and China roses. 
 The cottage itself was half hidden in the 
 plants which were cherished around it, and a
 
 86 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 branch of giant ivy had surmounted the lowly 
 roof, and was twining its clasping arm round 
 the chimney. 
 
 To one side, open to the south, and securely 
 sheltered from less genial quarters by a skele- 
 ton house, so constructed as to form no inapt 
 accompaniment to the dwelling-house, were two 
 rows of straw bee-hives, and close behind grew 
 a weeping birch, its graceful and feathery 
 foliage drooping as if in protection and de- 
 fence over the lowly habitation of these useful 
 and beautiful creatures. The garden, which 
 was of tolerable extent, was laid out in fan- 
 ciful devices, and evidently tended with the 
 greatest care. A laburnum, whose decaying 
 flowers gave token of lately having shone a 
 mass of lustrous gold, flung its branches ar- 
 cade-wise over the rustic wicket ; while a 
 willow, trained to meet it from the opposite 
 side, gave to the entrance the appearance of a 
 Gothic arch. Honeysuckles, carefully trained 
 round the trunks of both, and now breathing 
 sweetness, mingled their blossoms with the 
 pretty laburnum leaves, as if to console them
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 87 
 
 for the flowers that were dead, or blazed like 
 meteors amid the dark narrow leaves of the 
 willow, whose branches swept the ground. 
 The elderberry tree in the full perfection of 
 its beauty — and a beautiful flower it bears — 
 grew wildly on the outskirts of the garden, 
 mingled with the mountain ash, (now also in 
 flower,) the elegant birch, the wide-spreading 
 oak, the young larch opening in a green of 
 vivid brightness, and the magnificent horse- 
 chestnut presenting a dark mass of almost 
 impenetrable foliage. Some aspens quivered 
 in the zephyr-like air ; and a clump of dark 
 old firs, far outstripping in height everything 
 around, stood out in splendid relief against 
 the bright sky. The long slanting beams of 
 the declining sun threw a halo of glory over 
 everything. 
 
 No sounds broke the stillness save those 
 which fitly accompany and seem not to dis- 
 turb, but to give a character to the silence 
 of the country. The bleat of a sheep, or the 
 occasional lowing of a cow, came softened 
 through the distance from the common in
 
 88 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 which this clough at no Ions distance ter- 
 minated. The ripple of the brook below was 
 " most musical, most melancholy," as was the 
 cooing of some wood-pigeons ; the clear 
 whistle of the throstle sounded like a chaunt 
 of joy and happiness, and the bees murmured 
 a thanksgiving as with honey-laden thighs they 
 clustered round the entrances of their homes ; 
 whilst every leaf that waved in the air made 
 music of its own that formed no unfitting 
 accompaniment to the wild, wailing, spirit- 
 like tones which now rose on the air, and 
 anon sunk into silence, merely to resume 
 almost instantaneously the fairy-like strain. 
 
 On stooping to the earth the ear would 
 catch a mingled multitude of sounds, subdued 
 yet clamorous, confused yet harmonious, gen- 
 tle yet undeniably distinct. A fairy-tale 
 writer would say the spirit-dwarfs were at 
 work in the mines : a dweller in cities would 
 say it was the distant busy hum of men ; a 
 speculative theorist has guessed, possibly not 
 inaptly, that it is Nature at work in the earth, 
 elaborately preparing under ground the myriad
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 89 
 
 productions which refresh and delight us. Be 
 it what it may, in the quiet and calm of a 
 summer's night it may ever, by the earnest 
 listener, be distinctly heard. 
 
 After the first exclamation of surprise, Walms- 
 ley stood like one entranced ; but when that 
 unearthly and solemn strain stole on his ear, 
 like the vesper-hymn of some disembodied 
 spirit, his countenance assumed an appearance 
 of perplexity. 
 
 " This is some enchantment. Miss Lang- 
 shawe !" said he. 
 
 " It is an aeolian harp in yonder tree,'"* 
 replied she. " Come, come in !'"* 
 
 So saying, she led the way through the 
 wicket- gate into the garden, and there, seated 
 on a rustic bench, under the shade of a large 
 pink hawthorn in full flower, was seated a 
 person most singularly-attired in garments of 
 a Spanish form ; but his appearance, though 
 outre and singular in the extreme, was per- 
 fectly neat. At his feet crouched a shepherd's 
 dog, which frequently raised its head to its 
 master's knee as the ready hand descended to
 
 90 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Stroke and fondle it. Suddenly it pricked 
 up its ears and barked, but quickly darted 
 off, and was whining and fawning round Miss 
 Langshawe, who seemed to be on very familiar 
 terms with it. The strange master of the 
 domain also advanced, and welcomed her with 
 evident satisfaction, and her companion with 
 kindly courtesy. He was in person tall and 
 slim, though somewhat bent ; his countenance 
 was mild and melancholy, his face pale, his 
 manners gentle, and his grey beard descended 
 almost to his breast. His dialect and speech 
 declared him at once to belong to the humbler 
 walks of life ; but with a homely dialect there 
 was a meek and unoffending retiredness of 
 manner, a winning gentleness of speech, that 
 far outdid any conventional politeness ; and 
 a peculiar thoughtful tone of remark which 
 indicated habits of somewhat melancholy re- 
 flection. 
 
 " This is a pleasure I had not looked for to- 
 night, Miss Langshawe, or I would have been 
 in better order to receive you." 
 
 Mr. Walmsley, at any rate, thought that
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 91 
 
 there was no need for the apology, as with a 
 wondering eye he followed the hermit into 
 his singular abode. They first, however, sur- 
 veyed the garden, passing along narrow zig- 
 zag walks, leading between flower-beds redo- 
 lent of sweets, kept beautifully neat, and where 
 not even a solitary weed ventured to raise its 
 proscribed head amongst 
 
 " The little borders quaintly cut 
 In fancies rich and rare." 
 
 Here and there mimic rockeries were raised ; 
 fantastic devices and ornaments of various 
 kinds, sculptures " quaint and rude," baby 
 grottoes and Liliputian images diversified the 
 scene. They passed also small plots of herbs 
 and vegetables neatly planted off by a very 
 low range of rockery-work almost hidden in 
 creeping plants; half a dozen gooseberry-bushes 
 occupied one corner, and the orchard boasted 
 a single apple tree, on whose trunk was 
 flourishing magnificently a cluster of that 
 curious excrescence the misletoe. Miss Lang- 
 shawe, who knew the old man's pride in it, 
 took care to refer with pleasure to the beau-
 
 92 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 tiful clusters of gleaming white berries with 
 which she had been presented for two or 
 three successive winters from this very plant ; 
 and the old man told of his having carried 
 the seeds eighty miles, of his having given 
 many away, but of none having flourished 
 but his own. 
 
 Their progress brought them along the side 
 of the cottage, adjoining which, and under 
 the same roof, was a shed in which was 
 comfortably housed a rough pony of the 
 smallest breed, being hardly larger than a 
 Newfoundland dog. They passed this, and 
 stooping low entered the dwelling. Here, in 
 what might politely be termed the hall, was 
 placed a square table, on which nuts, ginger- 
 bread, ginger beer, cakes, honeycomb, and 
 trifling confectionary were laid out in neat 
 order as for sale. Numbers of persons who, 
 however, crossed the garden by a much more 
 direct path than Edith had chosen, visited 
 the hermit, and after making their purchases 
 at this table were ushered by him over his 
 domain. The house consisted of several small
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 93 
 
 apartments, or cribs, in not one of which it 
 was possible to stand upright, and which 
 were as pecuhar in the fitting up as in the 
 construction. The walls were entirely hung 
 with pieces of print, chintz, damask, gingham, 
 arranged with extreme neatness ; and the fur- 
 niture was an odd accumulation of chairs, 
 tables, 8cc., of an infinity of shapes and ages ; 
 some gilded, all antiquely carved. It seemed 
 marvellous how the owner could have pro- 
 cured them to those who did not know that 
 they wei*e the gradual accumulation of more 
 than twenty years, during which, silent and 
 solitary, he had resided here. Nothing of a 
 novel appearance which was offered to him, 
 or which he had the means to purchase was 
 refused an asylum ; and Walmsley was as- 
 tonished to see busts, casts from human fea- 
 tures, curious carvings and pictures arranged 
 with evident attention to light and effect. 
 Taste is of no rank ; it may be improved and 
 refined, and drawn out by cultivation, but 
 it cannot be created. The seed must be sown 
 by Nature. But what struck our visitor the
 
 94 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 most was a picture in the room evidently 
 much occupied by the hermit, of a female in 
 the act of presenting a bowl. It was exquisitely 
 beautiful in outline and design, and would 
 well, Walmsley thought, have graced the 
 gallery of a connoisseur. He was gazing on 
 it with great admiration when he was inter- 
 rupted by a sigh heaved near him. He turn- 
 ed and saw the hermit re^ardinor him with 
 a look of intense earnestness, so intense, in- 
 deed, that he did not immediately perceive 
 Walmsley's surprise; at last he spoke. "For- 
 give me, young sir, but your countenance 
 brought my short days of happiness to my 
 mind." 
 
 He was, then, not happy. Did he sigh for 
 communion with his kind ? — that could hardly 
 be, for he had voluntarily quitted them, and 
 might any day return to them ! Did he love 
 solitude ? — what could be more perfect than 
 his : Did he want money ? — no ; for he fre- 
 quently refused it when offered ; and besides, 
 when did money alone produce happiness? 
 
 Frank, much struck with the remark, was
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 95 
 
 looking on him with deep interest, when 
 Miss Langshawe, with ready kindness and 
 delicacy, made some remark on the paint- 
 ing. 
 
 " It is, indeed, beautiful ! " said Frank. 
 " Many an hour do I sit looking on it,'* 
 said the old man. 
 
 " Did you, then, know the original ?" 
 " No sir, no. I obtained the picture by 
 mere chance, and knew nothing of the original. 
 But the picture is enough to fill one's mind, 
 for I look and look till I almost fancy it 
 speaks to me. Oh I God Almighty has made 
 nothing so beautiful, in this beautiful world, 
 as a woman's face ; and wher^it is lighted 
 up with good humour, and the eyes beam 
 on you in kindness, it is almost too beautiful 
 for earth!" 
 
 "Is that the reason," said Frank, smiling, 
 " that you run away from them all into this 
 hut?" 
 
 " Mr. — , sir, — I don't know your name, but 
 whoever you are, don't joke with an old man's 
 sorrows. You are young yet, sir, but you
 
 96 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 may live to know that life may bring troubles 
 
 which time cannot heal." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, most sincerely," said 
 
 Frank ; " I had not the slightest intention 
 
 to hurt your feelings." 
 
 " No offence, sir, — no offence," replied the 
 
 kind-hearted recluse ; " I was foolish to think 
 
 of it; but I am, as you see, lonesome and 
 
 given to fancies/* 
 
 " Are you never dull here ? Do you not 
 want company ?" 
 
 " Want company ! no, never ! My house 
 and my garden, let alone, the people who 
 come to see them, occupy me so much that 
 I have no time to be idle or dull. But 
 everything about me is busy and occupied, 
 and why should I be idle? Before I am up 
 in the morning, and I am no sluggard, the 
 lark is singing in heaven, and the throstle 
 is whistling a merry tune ; the bees are not 
 abroad so soon, but it is not idleness; for I 
 watch 'em creep, one after another, out of 
 their hives, as if they were trying whether 
 the air would do yet or not ; the flowers, too,
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 97 
 
 which had been hanging their heads through 
 the damp and dew of night, open their leaves 
 by degrees, and spread their broad heads to 
 the sun ; the swallows — there are a dozen 
 nests building now round the hut, — twitter 
 and chirp, and bustle, as if they had all the 
 business of the country on their hands. Oh ! 
 it is a blessed and a holy time is the early 
 morning, when everything is fresh, and bright, 
 and beautiful; and the air is full of bright 
 sparkles, which I sometimes fancy are the 
 angels which have kept watch over us by 
 night, who are going back to heaven before 
 man has had time to do any of the follies 
 and crimes which they weep to behold ! " 
 
 " And do you really think that the angels 
 visit earth ? " 
 
 " My dear Miss Edith, yes ! Often and 
 often do I sit in the calm evenings till I 
 almost fancy I hear them ; that is fancy I 
 know, but not the less surely do I know 
 they are there. And soon the stars come out, 
 one after another, and glimmer in the water, 
 and the leaves of the dark trees glisten like 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 silver in the bright moonlight, and all grows 
 hushed and still ; and I look round again 
 and the whole heaven is blazing with millions 
 of stars, and the earth looks almost as beau- 
 tiful as heaven, and the holy silence is not 
 broken even by the chirp of a bird, — oh ! then 
 I think. Miss Langshawe, that all that glory 
 could not be made for the weak and wicked 
 men that are sleeping in idleness ; and I feel 
 that hosts of angels are about me, and I 
 steal to my hut, and I implore the God of 
 all these bright and glorious hosts that he 
 would have mercy upon me, a weak and miser- 
 able sinner. And he has ; for I dream beau- 
 tiful visions the live-long night, and I awake 
 so happy ! " 
 
 And the pious enthusiast sat with folded 
 hands and his face raised upwards, as if real- 
 izing the visions which his fancy had con- 
 jured up. 
 
 " Reader, these impulses 
 Blame tliou not lightly ; nor will I profane. 
 With hasty judgment or injurious douht, 
 That man's sublimer spirit, who can feel 
 That God is everywhere ! "
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 99 
 
 " I am indebted to you, INIiss Langshawe, 
 for a most unexpected pleasure," said Walm- 
 sley, as they left the hermitage : " this scene 
 is quite a romance !"" 
 
 " So should I often think, if it were not 
 reality,*' said Edith ; " but it is all true ; and 
 the hero is never otherwise than as you have 
 seen him, except that I never heard him speak 
 so openly as he did to you this evening about 
 the picture." 
 
 Walmsley was silent, for the mention of the 
 picture had called, with more than usual vivid- 
 ness to his mind, divers thoughts connected 
 with the living picture at his side ; — thoughts 
 to which he had twenty times during the 
 afternoon been on the point of giving utter- 
 ance, but had checked himself. 
 
 Edith was silent also. 
 
 The gentle flush of evening had taken place 
 of the glowing tints of afternoon, and was 
 steeping all around in a halo of mellowing 
 and softening light. The sun's disc was sink- 
 ing below the horizon, but his fiery hosts yet 
 hung out their gorgeous banners in the western 
 
 F 2
 
 100 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 sky ; while in the east, one gentle star, like 
 a " a pale votarist in palmer's weeds," heralded 
 the approach of the queen of night and her 
 brilliant train. The evening was calm, and 
 still, and soft. Its influences were irresis- 
 tible, and ere the cottage was reached which 
 sheltered Walmsley's horse, wishes were spoken 
 which had hitherto found no vent in words, 
 and hopes were uttered which till now had 
 been " prisoners closely pent." Little was 
 said by him ; by Edith nothing. But the 
 spell had been broken. 
 
 Note to the preceding Chapter, 
 
 In a book so professedly matter of fact as 
 this, it may be thought I have outraged pro- 
 bability in the delineation of this character. 
 The following letter, which I transcribe lite- 
 rally, will, I think, clear me from this impu- 
 tation, and show that the licence I have taken 
 is not more than " poetical." Those hints 
 about the hermit's dress, mode of travelling, 
 &c., which are not contained in the letter.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 101 
 
 were communicated to me by the writer, during 
 the one only evening which I ever had the 
 pleasure to spend in his company. 
 
 I have myself once seen this hermit in Man- 
 chester. 
 
 " Middleton, Jan. 15, 1839. 
 " Madam, 
 
 ** In accordance with the request of your 
 brother, I forward to you such particulars of 
 the life and character of William Butterworth, 
 commonly known as the Gloddit hermit, as I 
 have been able to obtain from persons who 
 knew him, and the history of his life, well 
 
 " His father, a worthy and honest man, was 
 a clockmaker, residing at the small hamlet of 
 Round Thorn, near Oldham. William was 
 instructed in the art of weaving, but never 
 was partial to the work, which was too con- 
 fining and sedentary for his taste. He early 
 displayed traits of eccentricity, and when saffi- 
 ciently grown to be in some degree above the 
 control of his father, he walled up the door 
 of his chamber at his parents' residence, so as
 
 102 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 to prevent commuiiication with the other rooms 
 of the house, and opening a door outside, he 
 ascended and descended by a ladder, which 
 he drew up when he wished to be alone. 
 
 " About this time he had a love affair, and 
 was disappointed ; and his family, probably 
 knowing the cause of his retirement, forbore 
 to annoy him, by intrusion or remonstrance, 
 and his passion was, in time, succeeded by 
 a kind of serene melancholy, blended with all 
 gentleness and simplicity. Previously to this 
 trial he had shown some disposition to cul- 
 tivate the arts. He had become a tolerable 
 proficient in painting, and was considered by 
 his neighbours as a youth of great promise in 
 that line ; but, though he afterwards became a 
 rather clever scene-painter, he never attempted 
 the higher branches of the art. It would seem 
 as if his genius had been overthrown with his 
 happiness. 
 
 "When, after this seclusion, he again sought 
 the world, he became a performer on the boards 
 of a rustic theatre at Royton, where he tried 
 to dispel the cloud from his brow, and to
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 103 
 
 forget the bitterness at his heart, by enacting 
 the low parts of comedy. These exhibitions 
 were much attended at that time ; they were 
 performed in the large room of a public-house 
 (the Unicorn) ; and Butterworth was considered 
 a good actor in his line. He never formed, 
 nor attempted to form a second attachment ; 
 the name of his fair one is not known, nor 
 has it been ascertained whether the disappoint- 
 ment arose from her death, or insensibility to 
 his merits. Her name, I believe, never escaped 
 his lips, though the fact of his having been 
 disappointed was several times avowed by 
 him. 
 
 " As he advanced in years, his wish for seclu- 
 sion returned; he received little sympathy 
 from his immediate neighbours, and probably 
 concluded that all was " vanity of vanities.'* 
 He accordingly obtained permission from a 
 Mr. Becket, a shopkeeper at Glodwick, to 
 enclose a nook of waste land, called The Close, 
 situated on the brow of a hill near the village. 
 He there laid out a garden, and erected a 
 lowly cottage (lowly, as if to prevent the
 
 104 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 winds from sweeping it away), wherein he 
 took up his abode, and continued to reside 
 during the remainder of his life. This place 
 he embellished according to his uncultivated 
 taste ; and nothing of a novel appearance was 
 refused a place in his depository. The roof, as 
 before intimated, was low, and the visitor had 
 to stoop, except when seated ; the rooms, or 
 rather cribs, of which there were several, were 
 hung with tarnished drapery, gingham, or 
 printed cotton, and furnished with sofas, 
 chairs, and stools, antiquely gilt, or carved : 
 there were busts ; casts from human features ; 
 curious carvings and pictures ; and one of 
 these, a beautiful female with a bowl which 
 she was presenting, was of surpassing loveli- 
 ness. The garden was jumbled with grinning 
 images at every turn, and curious stones, 
 formed into small rockeries; willows were 
 sweeping in the wind, and rose-bushes and 
 flowers mingled wildly. The garden was en- 
 tered beneath an arch of honeysuckles twined 
 around willows; and threading narrow and
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 105 
 
 crooked paths, the visitor entered the hermit's 
 hall of audience (if it might be so termed) where 
 he found the old man seated behind a table, 
 spread with cakes, nuts, ginger-beer, and con- 
 fectionary : these articles were on sale, and 
 each visitor was expected to purchase some- 
 thing. They were then conducted through 
 the little fairy cell, the venerable occupant 
 attending, and giving such explanations as 
 were required. His portrait has, I am in- 
 formed, appeared in the *' Metropolitan Ma- 
 gazine ;" it is said to be a good likeness, and 
 to that I must beg to refer you.* 
 
 " In this retirement he lived about twenty-six 
 years, and died, after a short illness, five or 
 six years ago. It was supposed he had saved 
 money, as his visitors were numerous, and 
 many of them wealthy ; and his relations, in 
 expectation of finding a hoard, razed the cot- 
 tage to the ground; but they found nothing 
 to compensate for their labour. The site is 
 now scarcely distinguishable ; and the me- 
 
 * I have not been able to find this portrait. 
 
 f5
 
 106 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 mory of this modern hermit is passing into 
 oblivion. 
 
 " I am, madam, 
 
 " Your most humble servant, 
 
 " Samuel Bamford."
 
 THE COTTON-LORD. 107 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A PAIR OF LOVERS. 
 
 " Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me ; do not, Phoebe ; 
 Say that you love me not ; but say not so 
 In bitterness." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 In a similar shady lane, in the soft balmy 
 air, and beneath the same gentle and radiant 
 moon, but at several miles' distance from 
 the scene of our last chapter, another couple 
 were loitering on their homeward way. The 
 youth — for from his appearance you would 
 scarcely have supposed he had attained the 
 age of manhood — was somewhat pale and 
 sickly-looking ; his features were rather hand- 
 some, especially as they were now lighted up
 
 108 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 by a colour and animation somewhat unusual ; 
 for, as we have said, his general appearance 
 was sickly, and the prevailing characteristic of 
 his countenance was a deficiency of expression, 
 indicative certainly of want of energy, perhaps 
 of want of intellect. He was dressed in home- 
 spun fustian of the rudest make — the usual 
 attire of his class. He was an " operative," 
 belonging to one of the neighbouring cotton- 
 mills. 
 
 His companion, a young girl of the same 
 class, was pretty, exceedingly ; and her coun- 
 tenance betrayed none of that want of energy 
 or intellect which characterised her lover's, 
 for there was self-will and a consciousness of 
 beauty written in every line of it. Its 
 piquante expression was rather enhanced by 
 her costume — the usual one of the country girls 
 of the neighbourhood — and which would be 
 considered picturesque, if represented as Swiss 
 or Italian. Custom is a sad foe to the inte- 
 resting. She wore a black stuff petticoat, and 
 a short pink bed-gown, which was a little open
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 109 
 
 at the throat and also left her arms bare, and 
 was gathered tightly and neatly round her slim 
 waist by the band of her checked apron. She 
 had enormous wooden-clogs, above which a 
 very neat ankle appeared in a black worsted 
 stocking ; her hair was neatly braided, and a 
 Barcelona silk handkerchief, which about half 
 covered the crown of her head, was tied under 
 her chin, the point of the handkerchief hang- 
 ing down behind. With a mixture, as it 
 seemed, of vexation and mirth, half-laughing, 
 half-pouting, and, perhaps, a little, " a very 
 leetle" sulking, she passed along, snatching 
 at the flowers in the hedges as she went, 
 breaking and scattering them, as it seemed, in 
 mere spite. 
 
 " Why do you bother and torment me so ? 
 you let me have no peace." 
 
 " I don''t want to bother you, Nancy : I only 
 want you to be kind." 
 
 '' Well, I am kind ; didn't I come a- walk- 
 ing the minute you asked me ! What would 
 you have ?*'
 
 110 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " Ah, Nance ! I 've seen the time when you 
 didn't want asking, but came of your own self 
 to meet me." 
 
 " More fool me, for my pains." 
 
 " Don't say that, lass ; don't say that. 
 Those were happy days; but I'm afraid 
 they 're over. You 're not like you used to 
 be." 
 
 " There ! Again finding fault, all for no- 
 thing!" 
 
 " No, Nancy, it 's not all for nothing ; you 
 know it is not : you know what people say of 
 you." 
 
 " What do they say .'^^ said she, turning sud- 
 denly and facing her companion, while a deep 
 crimson flushed her cheek. 
 
 ••' They say you listen too much to the 
 young master." 
 
 " And you believe 'em, Jem ? " 
 
 " No Nancy, I don't believe 'em ; if I be- 
 lieved 'em, poor as I am, and humble as I 
 am," — and for a moment he looked as ani- 
 mated as herself — " you'd be no wife for me. 
 No Nancy, love," continued he, putting his
 
 THE COTTON LORD. Ill 
 
 arm round her waist, while, with the other 
 hand he drew something from his breast, 
 " How can I look at this and believe 'em ?" 
 
 It was a simple token enough ; half a six- 
 pence, with a small hole bored in it by which 
 it was hung by a string round his neck. 
 
 " Nance, love, show me the other half,'' he 
 whispered. 
 
 The maiden seemed touched ; she answered 
 not a word, but quietly drew a correspond- 
 ing token from her own bosom. 
 
 The lover seemed almost as much over- 
 joyed as if he had previously doubted its ex- 
 istence, or at any rate its location ; and in the 
 strength of his renewed confidence he again 
 urged the suit which had previously been re- 
 ceived with such contumely, viz. that he 
 might be allowed at once to put up the banns 
 for their marriage. 
 
 " I shall work, Nancy ! I shall work with 
 the strength of two men when I have you 
 all my own to work for : I 'm sure I shall ! We 
 will begin quite quiet; just hire one small 
 room. I 've saved something toward fur-
 
 112 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 niture for it, and our overseer would advance 
 me a little I know : and it shall go hard, 
 my girl, but you shall have a little house of 
 your own before long. Now, Nance, hear 
 reason, do." 
 
 Whether it were reason or not, it was 
 love ; and if there be any truth in proverbs, 
 true love, too : for a cross was on the wind 
 even while he spoke ; his true love did not 
 "run smooth." 
 
 Either her own conscience, or her lover's 
 pleading, or the sight of the token had sof- 
 tened Nancy's humour very considerably ; and 
 if not an encouraging, she was at least about 
 to give a gentle reply to the youth's petition ; 
 when, on raising her eyes for the purpose, she 
 saw a gentleman advancing towards them. She 
 started, gave a second keen glance, then ab- 
 ruptly shook off her lover's arm which still 
 encircled her waist, drew herself up, and gave 
 the discomfited young man a peremptory look 
 which said, as plainly as a look could say, — 
 
 " Keep your distance !" 
 By this time the horseman was close to
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 113 
 
 them, and Nancy all smiles and radiance drop- 
 ped a curtsy. The gentleman, Mr. Langshawe, 
 looked, hesitated, looked again, and then sud- 
 denly stopped his horse, and cordially held out 
 his hand. 
 
 " Is that you, Nancy ? I *m glad to see you ; 
 and to see you looking so well, too. How is 
 your mother, and all the bantlings ? quite 
 well?'' 
 
 " Yes, sir, thank you, quite well." 
 
 " And who is this you have with you ?" 
 asked Mr. Langshawe, turning to the lover 
 who stood, hat in hand, looking sheepish 
 enough. 
 
 *'Jem Forshaw, sir," said Nancy, very de- 
 murely. 
 
 " Oh, this is Jem Forshaw, is it ? I've heard 
 of him. Nay, never blush, Nancy : when both 
 father and mother approve, there is nothing 
 to blush for. Young man, I've heard a good 
 character of you ; continue to deserve it, and 
 you shall not want a friend to help you on 
 in the world. Your sweetheart is a kinswo- 
 man of mine."
 
 114 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 With these words he nodded kindly to both 
 and pushed on. 
 
 Not quite sure whether he really stood 
 yet in this rough and toiling world, or whe- 
 ther he had been suddenly wafted to some 
 paradise of cotton-operatives, the young man 
 turned with a glowing countenance to his 
 bride-elect ; but no correspondent glow illu- 
 mined her features. She was not pettish, as 
 she had been, but she was cold and shy ; and 
 with a heart more than ever chilled and sad 
 from the elation he had just before experi- 
 enced, the disappointed young man attended 
 her in almost unbroken silence to her mother's 
 door. 
 
 The accidental meeting with Mr. Langshawe 
 had re-awakened in their full intensity, feel- 
 ings and aspirations which had in some de- 
 gree lain dormant under the influence of her 
 attachment to Forshaw. Other circumstan- 
 ces also had of late excited them ; and they 
 were of a kind which expressly militated 
 against the happiness of her lover. Her mo- 
 ther and Mrs. Langshawe were first cousins ;
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 115 
 
 in childhood intimates and playmates; and 
 though in after-life their lot was cast so dif- 
 ferently, Mrs. Langshawe, to her credit be it 
 spoken, never forgot the companion of her 
 youth. She had, indeed, in the plenitude of 
 her liberality, wished to raise her cousin 
 in society by means of wealth, the universal 
 passport in Lancashire, and a pretty consi- 
 derable one elsewhere : but to this proposition 
 her better-judging husband peremptorily re- 
 fused to accede. •' It would be no real kind- 
 ness," he said, '' to transplant them sudden- 
 ly from the place and the station to which 
 they had been accustomed. Help^ assist ance 
 when they want it, I am always ready to give 
 them.^' And this his actions had frequently 
 proved. Then he would add, while a sarcas- 
 tic smile passed over his countenance, " Let 
 them work their way as I have done ; we were 
 equal once. I have not worked hard all my 
 life through from philanthropy, or to enrich 
 other people's children ; but my own." 
 
 During one of the good woman''s missions 
 to Lime Grove to solicit on occasion that as-
 
 116 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 sistance which was always generously accord- 
 ed, Mrs. Halliwell had taken her eldest daugh- 
 ter, Nancy — then a girl of about fourteen 
 years — with her. They were both kindly wel- 
 comed, and the girl, from a feeling of kind- 
 ness^ towards her, was detained for a week. 
 This mistaken indulgence was most prejudi- 
 cial to Nancy. Ideas were then awakened 
 in her mind, which, though they lay dor- 
 mant for some time, had only wanted exciting : 
 discontent with her own coarse fare, humble 
 abode, and hard labour was then first engen- 
 dered; and all her manifold musings on her 
 lot thereafter ended with the ejaculation — 
 thought, if not uttered : — " They were once 
 such as I am, why may not I some day be 
 like them ?" 
 
 She was now really attached to Jem For- 
 shaw, but ambition and love waged severe 
 warfare within her ; and it was always an un- 
 propitious hour for her lover''s suit when any 
 thought of " Cousin Langshawe"*' crossed her 
 mind.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 117 
 
 CHAPTER VIII, 
 
 TWO COTTON-MEN. 
 
 " — The only true philosophy 
 Is to jog through life most easily." 
 
 H. G. Wheeler. 
 
 " Still common minds with us in common trade 
 Have gain'd more wealth than ever student made." 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 " I 'm reeght glad to see thee, Mr. Langshawe, 
 that I am ; you '11 e'en tak me as ye find 
 me : we 've known each other these forty year, 
 and the world 's gone well wi' us both : thanks 
 to luck and our own wit." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Balshawe ushered his un- 
 expected visitor through the passages of a 
 large and elegant house, and finally enthroned 
 him in an armed chair in the kitchen — his own 
 accustomed domicile when guests were absent.
 
 118 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 «' Now Stir yoursel', Maggy, come ! Don't let 
 the grass grow under 3^our feet ! If I 'd done 
 so, you 'd ne'er hae had this fine house about 
 ye ; come, mistress, stir yourself, will you ; 
 look sharp — be slippery !" 
 
 And Mrs. Balshawe did stir herself. With 
 the quiet celerity of one well accustomed to 
 the work, she laid a cloth with other etceteras 
 on the table, and turning up the sleeves of her 
 gown, did rather more than superintend the 
 progress of a steak which a servant was cook- 
 ing. This operation achieved, she removed it 
 to the table, placed chairs for her husband 
 and his guest, and as her wont was on ordi- 
 nary occasions, prepared herself to wait upon 
 them. This she did with great quietude and 
 good-humour; she looked meek and gentle, 
 and it was quite evident that the leading prin- 
 ciple to which she had been for a lifetime 
 habituated was, that man was the nobler ani- 
 mal of the two ; and if that was the case 
 five-and-twenty years before, when her hus- 
 band stepped from his little clay-paved loom- 
 shop into the small apartment which was
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 1]9 
 
 " parlour and bed-room and all," how much 
 more must it be the case now, when he " was 
 monarch of all he surveyed" in his elegant 
 and capacious mansion, or in the magnificent 
 factory and thickly-populated hamlet which 
 nearly adjoined it ? So she continued her at- 
 tendance without remark, the husband expect- 
 ing it as a matter of course, and his friend 
 not seeming to think the circumstance re- 
 markable enough to elicit any notice, though 
 varying from his own domestic economy, 
 
 « That *U do,'^ said Mr. Balshawe, as his 
 wife placed water, glasses, a flask of brandy, 
 and pipes, on the table; " that '11 do. Now, 
 make thysel' scarce ; go to roost, and, I say, 
 Mag, mind th' parlour 's ready in good time 
 i' th' mornin'; and stir your chalks, wo- 
 man, and make those lazy husseys do it too. 
 I mean to have some old cronies to dinner 
 to-morrow, and mind, I '11 have no slammack- 
 ing and shirking o' work, but a right good 
 dinner, well got. — There — be off." 
 
 And this charming, but not unique speci- 
 men of the " Cotton-aristocracy," and of the
 
 120 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Reformed legislature of our country, was left 
 alone with his friend. 
 
 Their conversation was long and confidential, 
 for the subject was one in which their interests 
 were deeply concerned. Mr. Langshawe, as 
 a kind of connecting link between the con- 
 centrated interests of the great commercial 
 mart and the scattered manufacturers of the 
 surrounding districts, was well acquainted with 
 the peculiarities of both ; and it was in order 
 to obtain the views of the influential manufac- 
 turers in these scattered districts on the present 
 posture of affairs, that he made his present 
 visit. He knew of old the cool and calculating 
 mind and the shrewd intellect of his quondam 
 friend, and he was quite sure that any opinions 
 he might broach would be based on sufficient 
 grounds. 
 
 From topics of general business, the friends 
 digressed to other matters more strictly per- 
 sonal, having reference both to ancient days 
 and to future prospects. 
 
 " Dost mind thee, Will, dost remember, 
 man, a bill we got in from Gloddart and
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 121 
 
 Heartshaw ? we were raw uns then, I reckon ; 
 dost remember. 
 
 To lbs. Cotton twist 60 hank, . £ — „ — „ — 
 
 To ditto ditto, . £ — „ — „ — 
 
 and we knew the first line well enough, but 
 couldn't make out the second. And thou 
 comes to me, and thou says, 'Hast thou had 
 any ditto V — ' No,' says I, * I 've had no 
 ditto.' — 'I 've had none neither,' says you; 
 ' I can't make it out !' — ' Oh ! ' says thou, a 
 minute or two after, ' I '11 tell thee what it 
 is — I have it now, man: ditto's the same 
 repeated — the same over again, man — and we 
 had two parcels o' twist.' We Ve learned 
 summat since then, I reckon."* 
 
 Mr. Langshawe laughed his assent, and the 
 old friends got on merrily : they became 
 more and more communicative — more and 
 more confidential ; till at length the host started 
 the possibility of there being a community of 
 interests between them by a matrimonial con- 
 nection between their families. 
 
 * This improbable-looking incident is fact. 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 And could Mr. Langshawe for one moment 
 listen to such a proposal for his gentle and 
 beautiful girl ? his only child — the very pride 
 and delight of his heart ? He could, he did ; 
 but there were various causes to render this 
 circumstance less enormous to him than it 
 seems to us. 
 
 He and Mr. Balshawe had begun life to- 
 gether, and he knew well that such in acquire- 
 ment, in style, and in manner, as Mr. Bal- 
 shawe was now, had nearly all the peers of 
 the Cottonocracy been in youth ; though many 
 like himself, from the circumstance of much 
 travelling, (for business had taken him much 
 abroad,) and from perpetual intercourse with the 
 intelligent inhabitants of the principal manu- 
 facturing towns, had become civilized in manners 
 and usages ; while some few had taken a higher 
 flight, and become in fact and in habit gen- 
 tlemen. But those who, like Mr. Balshawe, had 
 lived in secluded districts, had been the suns 
 of a little sphere, the lords paramount among 
 the artizans whom their manufactories sup- 
 ported, and of the small shopkeepers around ;
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 123 
 
 and whose fiat could at once throng these 
 shops with customers, or deprive them en- 
 tirely of support — even if indeed, as was often 
 the case, they were not themselves de facto the 
 real owners of them — such men became demi- 
 gods in their several districts. They had none 
 to coerce, none to restrain them by precept 
 or example where none other was on equal 
 terms. They were frequently the only magis- 
 trates of their district, and interpreted the law 
 as it pleased them. Such plenitude of power 
 did not soften an arbitrary disposition, nor 
 render a hasty temper more gentle ; and unless 
 gifted with great natural goodness, these 
 mushroom princes oftener enacted the tyran- 
 nical despot than the considerate master in 
 their domain. Such was Mr. Balshawe, and 
 such Mr. Langshawe knew him to be ; but he 
 attributed his faults to accidental causes, his 
 virtues, — i. e. his wealth, his influence, his 
 station, he knew to be the result of that shrewd 
 and logical brain, that calculating mind and 
 that unflinching industry, by which he himself 
 
 G 2
 
 124 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 had also risen, and which he esteemed as the 
 first and noblest attributes of man. 
 
 With all Mr. Balshawe's overwhelming vul- 
 garity, Mr. Langshawe knew that parental 
 pride had caused him to have his son well 
 educated, or at least sent to expensive schools ; 
 and he was more pleased than otherwise to 
 find that the young man had not imbibed 
 any very inordinate taste for literature. Such 
 taste Mr. Langshawe thought quite incompati- 
 ble with business habits, — such habits as he flat- 
 tered himself were Mr. John Balshawe's, when 
 he found that if not occupied in travelling for 
 the firm abroad, he was regular in his at- 
 tendance at the manufactory at home. He 
 did not know that he was a low-lived libertine, 
 carrying, in the indulgence of his brutal plea- 
 sures, shame and sorrow to the lowly hearths 
 of those whom his father was bound by every 
 tie of decency and morality to protect and 
 cherish. Too often is this the case with 
 the half-fledged sons of these secluded petty 
 princes, who carry on a wasting warfare upon 
 the morality and domestic comfort of their
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 125 
 
 petty localities. Mr. Langshawe was well 
 acquainted with this general fact, and deplored 
 it ; for he was a man of kind- heart, and of 
 rigid morality ; a pattern of liberality and 
 kindness and propriety in his domestic esta- 
 blishment, and of justice in his mercantile one. 
 His operatives respected him, his domestics 
 loved him. But even more than he lamented 
 these and other debasing circumstances for 
 their immorality, did he deplore them because 
 of the disparaging shade they cast over the 
 " cotton system"; that system which he thought 
 the most magnificent triumph of humanity ; 
 and he knew that this, at any rate, was one 
 of the depreciating evils which the legislature, 
 with its now vast infusion of mercantile wealth 
 into it, dare not grapple with and put down. 
 
 Never once dreaming of the possibility, not 
 to say probability, of the son of his old friend 
 (who was quite unknown to him) being one 
 of these libertines, Mr. Langshawe quickly 
 followed up the idea which had been started 
 of a union between their families, and of the 
 satisfaction and advantages therefrom deriv-
 
 126 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 able. Not that he had the slightest idea then 
 of coercing the affections of his gentle girl; 
 but the projected match had so many advan- 
 tages every way, that if, as he did not suffer 
 himself to doubt, the young man was an 
 agreeable one, it was more than likely that 
 Edith would without repugnance accommo- 
 date herself to his wishes. 
 
 So the two old men replenished their tum- 
 blers and laid down their plans. They were 
 both, they thought, getting to an age when 
 less responsibility and care would be agreeable, 
 and they would resign the staff of authority 
 into younger and stronger hands, and sit by 
 in their arm-chairs and superintend. And 
 this they did really persuade themselves was 
 their intention, even while they were planning 
 the construction of a new mill on a much 
 larger scale than either possessed now, on a 
 piece of ground admirably adapted for the 
 purpose, which belonged to Mr. Balshawe, 
 and was not very far distant from his present 
 works. To this each was to contribute his 
 quota of thousands, and his share of active
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 127 
 
 superintendence ; and here was Mr. John Bal- 
 shawe, having married his fair wife, to be 
 planted as nominal ruler, though in reality 
 under the rigid surveillance of two lynx-eyed 
 viceroys. And then they drew golden cal- 
 culations for future days, of bargains to be 
 made, of dunces to be outreached, of specu- 
 lations to be hazarded, of risks to be run, 
 and of certain profits to accrue, forgetting 
 that ere, even according to their own sunny 
 calculation, any of these golden visions could 
 be realized, their capacity for enjoying them 
 must in the natural course of things, if not 
 annihilated by death, be destroyed by the 
 benumbing torpor of age. Nor can it be 
 said that they were thus planning out of phi- 
 lanthropical love for their descendants. Mr. 
 Balshawe's family was reduced to one, — Mr. 
 Langshawe had never had more ; and these 
 children were already heirs to more thousands 
 than an uncalculating head could reckon ; to 
 more wealth than they were able to spend 
 with any propriety and consistency in the 
 station to which they had been brought up.
 
 128 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 No ; the two old gentlemen, while they made 
 their children the apparent motive of their 
 plans, were in reality only indulging a habit 
 which had become second nature to them. 
 Their whole souls were wrapped up in mer- 
 cantile speculation ; and while they were in- 
 deed of an age to require relaxation, and had 
 in reality no earthly motive for extraordinary 
 exertion, since they yearly laid aside a much 
 larger sum than they spent, did still toil day 
 after day as regularly, as elaborately, as if 
 they really had to earn their daily food.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 129 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A cotton-man's dinner, not an efery-day concern. 
 
 " Thus we play the fools with the time ; and the spirits 
 of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 '' What, in the name of Heaven, makes the 
 governor in such a devil of a hurry ?" was the 
 elegant interrogation of Mr. John Balshawe, 
 as his mother made her appearance for the 
 third time at his bed-side, to summon him 
 to his father's presence. 
 
 " I don't know what he wants," replied 
 his mother ; " but really, John, you ought 
 to come ; it is very late, and your father — " 
 
 " Now, my dear mother, don't fatigue your- 
 self; I suppose my honoured father wants to 
 blow me up for something or other, and really 
 
 G 5
 
 130 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 one sermon a day is as much as my nerves 
 will support. Now, pray — " continued he, 
 seeing that his mother was about to speak 
 again, " I regret, — but I 'm under the necessity 
 of requesting that you will cut your stick." 
 
 And so this affectionate and well-trained son 
 prepared to rise. He did not in the least 
 hurry himself in his operations, nor did the 
 anticipation of the forthcoming paternal re- 
 proof cause him to bestow a whit the less 
 time and attention on the duties of the toi- 
 let ; and as Mr. John Balshawe was a very 
 personable young man ; as he had sufficient 
 wit to be fully aware of the circumstance, 
 and sufficient discretion to employ a first-rate 
 tailor, he really looked, when fully equipped, 
 a young man of whom any father might be 
 proud. And his father was proud of him. 
 To be sure, a close and disinterested observer 
 might have traced, even in his young face, 
 lines and lineaments which indicated rather 
 sensuality and selfishness than that undisguised 
 and generous frankness which should dwell on 
 the open brow of youth. But his father was
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 131 
 
 not a close and disinterested observer, and 
 the appearance and " outward man " of his 
 son and heir, as he now stood before him, 
 were such as to give him undiminished satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Mr. Balshawe opened his communication 
 with somewhat more of the reserve of an ex- 
 perienced tactician than might have been ex- 
 pected from so downright a character. For, 
 sooth to say, John Balshawe, senior, esquire, 
 of Broomshaw Lodge, proprietor of one of 
 the largest mills in the country, one of her 
 Majesty's justices of the peace for the county 
 of Lancaster, and still holding a commission 
 in a yeomanry corps — a tyrant to his wdfe, 
 a despot over his workpeople, and a person 
 of no slight influence around — this potent 
 personage did yet stand in a sort of awe of 
 his hopeful son and heir. Yet it was not 
 that awe which is inspired by involuntary 
 respect, for his son deserved none ; and, grown 
 to man's estate as he was, the father would yet 
 not have hesitated to impose the most absolute 
 commands on indifferent subjects, with the
 
 132 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 full intention of seeing them immediately 
 obeyed, or of proceeding to any extremities 
 to enforce obedience. But it was the innate 
 conviction that in certain matters Mr. John 
 had as absolute a will of his own as his father 
 could possibly have, and as absolute a method 
 of enforcing it too ; and it was a sort of tacit 
 and well-understood, though unspoken agree- 
 ment which, preventing certain points and 
 opinions and habits from being canvassed, had 
 hitherto kept the father and son on good terms 
 during the daily routine of life. Now Mr. 
 Balshawe was perfectly aware that marriage 
 was a subject on which his son would not bear 
 the shadow of dictation ; but he trusted to 
 certain well-known points in his character for 
 a favourable reception of his present proposal. 
 He very carefully laid before his son the plan 
 he had been cogitating, taking care to give 
 the whole rather the semblance of a project 
 passing through his own mind, than of one 
 of which he had actually fixed the details. 
 But he rather overshot the mark ; the son 
 perceived by his father's unwonted caution that
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 133 
 
 more was meant than met the ear, and he 
 played his part accordingly. He listened with 
 the most stoical indifference; he moved not 
 a muscle, he raised not an eyelid, he uttered 
 not a syllable. At length the father closed 
 his long-winded oration, and then Mr. John, 
 without raising his eyes and almost without 
 opening his lips, articulated, 
 
 " And who may be the happy lady, sir ?" 
 
 "The only daughter and heiress of Mr. 
 Langshawe, of Lime Grove." 
 
 " Miss Langshawe ! " cried he, springing 
 up, "by Jupiter, sir, she^s the prettiest girl 
 in Lancashire ! " 
 
 " She has above a hundred thousand pounds !" 
 replied the father. 
 
 The matter was settled. The young gen- 
 tleman was docile directly. He had seen Miss 
 Langshawe at an archery ball given in the 
 neighbourhood a short time before, and was 
 dying to be introduced to her, but did not 
 succeed. Her extreme beauty flashed vividly 
 on his recollection ; he was not of a consti- 
 tution to be indifferent to that ; he remem-
 
 134 WILLIAxM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 bered the devoted attentions paid to her by 
 others, from whom it would be the greatest 
 gratification to him to bear off the prize ; and, 
 finally, one hundred thousand pounds was a 
 sum the very idea of which made Mr. John 
 Balshawe's fingers to tingle, and his heart to 
 heave. 
 
 "But, John," said Mr. Balshawe, who, now that 
 his son so heartily met his views, thought that 
 he might assume a little of the mood paternal, 
 " you 're not to consider this matter as settled. 
 Old Langshawe doats on his daughter, as well 
 as his money, and he '11 not give her to a rake 
 if he knows it. And I fear me, Jack, thou 'rt 
 rather inclined that way ; only thou 'rt ver}^ 
 young, and marriage I hope may settle thee." 
 
 "Never doubt it, -sir; not the least fear of 
 it. I '11 be as proper and as pious as a parson ; 
 go to church twice on a Sunday, have family 
 prayers at home, and look as demure as a saint. 
 By Jove ! won't I cut a swell ! D— n my 
 eyes, if she isn't — " 
 
 " Hush, John ! is swearing the way to re- 
 form .?''
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 135 
 
 " By Jupiter, sir ! I was only giving out 
 a little ejaculation of thanksgiving in the style 
 of my honoured father ; ' honour thy father,' 
 you know, sir : that is, walk in his steps ; that 
 is, swear as he does : but if you seriously dis- 
 approve, sir, of those little deprecatory ejacu- 
 lations, I must presume you use them as the 
 Spartans made their Helots drunk ; — but I 
 forget, my dear sir, you perhaps never heard 
 of the Spartans ? " 
 
 " One thing I never heard, sir. I never 
 heard so impudent a tongue in all my born 
 days. But come to breakfast. Jack, and mind 
 thy Ps and Qs." 
 
 "By Jove!" soliloquised the hopeful son, 
 as his father left the room ; "by the living 
 Jingo ! I didn't give the old codger credit 
 for so much wit : he 's up to a thing or two 
 yet, the old hunks ! Miss Langshawe ! by 
 Heaven ! the finest woman in Lancashire ! the 
 toast of the county for miles round ! and a hun- 
 dred thousand pounds ! Whew ! won't I go it ?" 
 
 And the accomplished young man followed 
 his sire.
 
 136 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 As ordained the night before, breakfast was 
 served in one of the parlours, and, as usual, 
 Mrs. Balshawe waited at the table, but her 
 task was rendered lighter than ordinary by 
 the good-humoured demeanour of her husband, 
 and the gay jokes of her son. The latter 
 was, however, quite upon his good behaviour: 
 he could be courteous if he chose it, and he 
 did choose it ; moreover, his knowledge of 
 business was not superficial, and his remarks 
 on the sudden fall in cotton, with its pro- 
 bable influence on the markets and on trade 
 in general, the different qualities of twist, &c. 
 &c., surprised and delighted Mr. Langshawe ; 
 and when we add to this his prepossessing 
 appearance, to a person who saw him under 
 advantageous circumstances, we cannot wonder 
 that that gentleman was, on the whole, any- 
 thing but disposed to withdraw from his half- 
 formed agreement of the night before. 
 
 It had been Mr. Langshawe's intention, 
 who had merely come to consult his friend 
 about a matter of business, to return on the 
 forenoon of this day ; but Mr. Balshawe
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 137 
 
 formed no exception to the hospitable race 
 amongst and with whom he had risen. The 
 love of ostentatious display, which is so pro- 
 minent a feature of the Cottonocracy, is digni- 
 fied and adorned by a hearty and genuine 
 hospitality, which is a prevailing characteristic 
 of the county. The magnificence of the cotton 
 lords has become a theme for general satire, 
 and deservedly so; still it is admitted on all 
 hands, that their magnificence, however osten- 
 tatious, is real : their gold, is gold ; their silver, 
 silver : they do not sport tinsel. And it is 
 not to be wondered at that he who in his 
 youth dined off pewter, or made one at his 
 master's table where a round bowl of porridge 
 in the centre served alike for the master of 
 the house, his family, and his apprentices — it 
 is not wonderful that such a one should look 
 with more complacency on the gorgeous ser- 
 vice of plate which his own hands have pro- 
 cured, than if, from being accustomed to it 
 from his cradle, it should hardly have struck 
 him to remark its beauty. The rising gene- 
 ration, educated in a better style and habi-
 
 138 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 tuated from childhood to more civilized usages, 
 may redeem this flaw in the character of the 
 race, if, indeed — and this is the opinion of 
 many well qualified to judge — if, indeed, gen- 
 tlemanly habits, delicate feelings, and culti- 
 vated minds, are not inconsistent with success 
 in Manchester trade. That there are suc- 
 cessful tradesmen who possess these refining 
 characteristics is well known, but they are 
 considered only as the exceptions that prove 
 the rule; and so strongly does this prejudice — 
 if prejudice it be — still exist, that on 'Change a 
 man of education and refined manners is looked 
 on as an animal to be stared at and pitied. 
 And so long as the cotton trade exists, it is very 
 possible that the gentleman will be surpassed 
 in the race by the low-born mechanic, whose 
 powers of calculation are not checked, and 
 whose shrewdness in worldly things is not 
 clogged, nor his " push-on, keep-moving " 
 course not impeded, by any of those delicate 
 embarrassments which might arise in a refined 
 and cultivated mind. 
 
 But to return. The heartv and unbounded
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 139 
 
 hospitality which is the characteristic of Lan- 
 cashire society, amongst high or low, rich or 
 poor, prevailed to its full extent in the mansion 
 of Mr. Balshawe. His lady (save the mark !) 
 did not often indeed publicly exercise it. She 
 gave a dance, now-and-then, when her really 
 beautiful mansion shone in all its splendour ; 
 and ostentatious carriages, attended by servants 
 in glittering liveries, deposited their over- 
 dressed burthens at her portal. Then was the 
 good lady busy and bustling; then did rich 
 and luxurious condiments pass round, and 
 costly wines vanish like smoke ; and then, 
 after a few hours, the wearied ladies and their 
 wine-soaked escorts departed ; the entertaining 
 rooms received the necessary purifications, the 
 mistress heartily helping her maids in the 
 accustomed task ; the silken hangings were 
 carefully folded and laid by ; the luxurious 
 ottomans were ensconced in their brown hol- 
 land covers; the glittering gewgaws were placed 
 in a snug chest ; and the smart albums were 
 carefully enfolded in paper ; and the meek mis- 
 tress and her purse-proud lord resumed their
 
 140 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 accustomed posts in the kitchen. Mrs. Bal- 
 shawe's hospitality during the remainder of 
 the year had a less conspicuous but a more 
 valuable range. Her proud elevation of purse 
 had not in the least affected the natural simpli- 
 city of her character ; her former co-mates were 
 always sure of a welcome and a meal at her 
 fireside ; and her charity to the poor was, like 
 that of numbers of her class, unwearied and 
 unbounded. Thus she held on her way. Her 
 husband's — besides the changes that business 
 enforced — was more varied by pleasure-engage- 
 ments. He frequently dined out, and enter- 
 tained friends at home ; and it was for one of 
 these accustomed engagements that he insisted 
 on Mr. Langshawe's stay till the following 
 morning. 
 
 " Hang it man, you shanna go : burst me 
 if you shall ! What ! tell me that Bill Lang- 
 shawe's grown craven, and is afeard to crush 
 a bottle with a friend ! " 
 
 And he did stay, though much disappointed 
 to find that his son-in-law elect had an impe- 
 rative engagement elsewhere. The dinner was
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 141 
 
 luxurious ; the wines the finest and most 
 costly that money could procure, and no in- 
 ferior ones were introduced. Mr. Langshawe 
 was not afraid of a bottle or two of wine; 
 but at a latish hour, feeling that he had had 
 enough, he rose with the view of quietly 
 effecting his retreat. His host caught a 
 glimpse of his receding figure, and rushed 
 after him, calling on his friends for assistance. 
 This was speedily obtained ; the culprit was 
 brought back vi et armisj and pushed down 
 into his chair. The servant was ordered to 
 close the shutters and curtains against the 
 intruding beams of daylight, fresh decanters 
 were put on the table, and plentiful refresh- 
 ments placed within reach ; and the waiter, 
 having done all this with the air of one not 
 unaccustomed to the task, was told to " make 
 himself scarce, and be d — d to him.*' The 
 master of the feast locked the door, and put 
 the key in his pocket : returning to the table 
 he filled a bumper, and requiring all to honour 
 his toast, immediately gave out the elegant 
 sentiment — " Damnation to all skulkers."
 
 142 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Then commenced the peculiar luxuries of 
 a manufacturing gentleman of the out-dis^ 
 tricts. Boxes of cigars had been placed upon 
 the table ; pipes and tobacco were in readiness 
 for those who preferred the unsophisticated 
 herb ; and costly claret, drunk, not from a 
 miserable wine-glass, but from goblets — kept 
 clear the throats of these thorough-going sons 
 of profligacy. The night passed gloriously ; 
 riotous songs and unequivocal jests sweetened 
 the wine, or rather the tobacco ; for flavour 
 of course the wine had none, to men whose 
 throats were as so many chimneys ; and if 
 their free libations to Bacchus did kindle " a 
 row" and a flght at this end of the table ; 
 or induced a sudden secession from chair to 
 floor among some of the weaker-organed, the 
 skirmish and the fall were alike unheeded. 
 Of the combatants it was but for the weaker 
 " to give in ;" and for the man who couldn't 
 drink all night, but must needs tumble from 
 his chair, why it was by universal acclaim 
 decreed that he had better lie there. Nor did 
 the gradually-increasing bustle beyond the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 143 
 
 Still-locked door, which told that Mrs. Bal- 
 shawe and her assistants were up and busy in 
 their preparation for another day's business, 
 stop the coarse and vociferous hilarity. Coffee 
 and ale, anchovies, deviled goose, and red 
 herrings were called in ; palled palates were 
 forced into sickly activity again, and the 
 carousal was renewed for the day. 
 
 Towards night, some of the younger pro- 
 fligates, the consequences of whose absence 
 from " th' mill" or " th' warehouse" during 
 the day began to glimmer upon their con- 
 sciences vvith a potenc}^ above that of the wine, 
 quietly stole away. The elders followed — by 
 nine o'clock the house was empty, and Peter 
 was called to carry to his bed — there, in all 
 probability, to lie for a fortnight — the hos- 
 pitable purveyor of this banquet, who for some 
 hours had sat on his chair, — to all appearance 
 awake, but silent, helpless, motionless, save in 
 an occasional heavy waving of the head, — a 
 disgusting picture of brutal excess. * 
 
 * If it be thought this picture is overdrawn, I can only 
 reply that it was sketched to me by a gentleman who was 
 accidentally a guest at one of these degrading revelries.
 
 144 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A COTTON-MAN IN A PASSION. 
 
 " No means were found 
 Could bring liim round, 
 And give him a rehearance.'* 
 
 Gent's Mag. 
 
 Mr. Walmsley set out on his ride one 
 morning, not indeed with the exact intention 
 of going to the house at Lime Grove, but 
 certainly without any very absolute vow 
 against it. When, however, he came within 
 view of the belt of fine old trees, from which 
 the estate had received its name, he perceived 
 Miss Langshawe walking in their shade, accom- 
 panied by a gentleman, whom he would have 
 recognised by his portly appearance, even if 
 the energetic " haw, haw, "" had not already 
 reached his ears. Frank alighted and eagerly 
 joined them.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 145 
 
 " So, Mr. Walmsley, you are seeking in- 
 spiration from the country ; the sweet sights 
 and pleasant sounds, the verdant lawns and 
 sunny meads !" 
 
 " My inspiration is Aere," said Frank, 
 quietly, but emphatically. 
 
 " Truly," said Mr. Ashworth, looking to- 
 wards the trees under which they were, " she 
 is sub-lime : haw, haw !'* 
 
 " That is so vile a pun," said Edith, 
 " as scarcely to be tolerated, even from 
 you." 
 
 " From whom even vile things are tolerable, 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " No ; I didn't mean that." 
 
 " Well, Miss Langshawe, I can easily con- 
 ceive that I am intolerable now, haw ! haw ! 
 Good morning ! " 
 
 And before the disconcerted Edith could 
 stop him, he was really gone, much to the 
 satisfaction of Walmsley, who could not resist 
 the opportunity thus afforded of pleading 
 more earnestly than he had hitherto done for 
 a favourable answer to his heart-cherished 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 hopes. Edith, thus taken by surprise, though 
 she did not accord all he wished, felt it yet 
 impossible to withhold some degree of encou- 
 ragement. Her own feelings and wishes were 
 all in his favour; but she liad an inward pre- 
 sentiment, if not indeed something more than 
 that, that her father might not so easily be 
 won over from his own peculiar opinions. 
 This internal struggle of feeling was very evi- 
 dent in her agitated countenance. Her lover 
 thought this agitation no unfavourable sign ; 
 had his suit been quite indifferent to her, there 
 had been no call for either delay or perplexity 
 in rejecting it. 
 
 " My dearest Miss Langshawe, you permit 
 me to hope — say that you do ; I pray you, 
 say so ! *" 
 
 " I am afraid to say so, Mr. Walmsley." 
 
 " Why, dear Edith, why ? " 
 
 " I am afraid — I fear — perhaps — my father 
 might not — " 
 
 " Might not approve of my suit, you would 
 say." 
 
 " Yes."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 147 
 
 Notwithstanding his philosophical determi- 
 nation not to be swayed by the chimerical 
 objections which his uncle, Mr. Ainsley, had 
 raised, that gentleman's vaticinations, neverthe- 
 less, dwelt on Walmsley's mind; that part of 
 them which intimated his own possible unac- 
 ceptableness to Mr. Langshawe, now suddenly 
 recurred to his memory, and crimsoned his 
 face with no very pleasant emotion. But there 
 was a counter-influence which soon resumed its 
 sway ; Edith did not refer to her own objec- 
 tions but to her father's ; the lover could not 
 but draw a hopeful inference from this cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 " Why should your father be unpropitious 
 to me ? Is it my rank, my family ? — he might 
 undoubtedly look higher for you." 
 
 " Oh, no : it is not that." 
 
 " My character, I trust — " 
 
 " Is irreproachable, he readily allows." 
 
 " And fortune I shall not want, even if I 
 do not achieve it, which I feel to be not im- 
 possible when I think of you." 
 
 " I do not think he would^ mind that." 
 
 h2
 
 148 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " These objections, then, dear Edith — they 
 are surely not insuperable ? " 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 " Bless you ! bless you ! for that hope," he 
 exclaimed, with so much ardour as first to 
 awaken Edith to a full sense of all that might 
 be implied from her words. Though thus 
 unwittingly betrayed into giving more decided 
 encouragement to her lover than she had in- 
 tended to do unsanctioned by her father, she 
 could not bring herself to recal it. She 
 scorned affectation in every shape, and she felt 
 that in her very heart of hearts she wished 
 her father's prejudices to be overcome. 
 
 But the happy Walmsley, in the proud en- 
 thusiasm of the moment, totally forgot the 
 numerous obstacles " on both sides the 
 house" which must be subdued ere he could 
 bring his wishes to a successful termination, 
 and gave himself up to delighted anticipations 
 and glowing descriptions of future happiness, 
 to which Edith, tearful, yet pleased, listened 
 in silence. 
 
 Their glowing hopes were quickly quenched 
 in disappointment.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 149 
 
 Mr. Langshawe, fevered with the effects of 
 his debauch at Mr. Balshawe's, vexed at the 
 loss of time it had entailed, angry with himself 
 for having given way to it, and not insensible to 
 the degrading influence of such low-lived revels 
 — was just in that amiable state of mind which 
 disposes a person to see cause for anger and 
 vexation in every circumstance that occurs 
 around him. Few are those happy persons 
 who can look through their past lives without 
 some recollection of a similar state of feeling, 
 induced in man}-, nay, in all cases, by the tacit 
 though it may be unacknowledged, prompt- 
 ings of a self-reproaching conscience. We fly 
 from self-examination, and endeavour to drown 
 the upbraiding voice within, by a lynx-eyed 
 investigation of the crimes and follies of our 
 neighbours. 
 
 Considering the state of mind and of feeling 
 in which he then* was ; considering; also the 
 peculiar nature of part of his conference with 
 Mr. Balshawe, it is not surprising that when 
 Mr. Langshawe, on approaching his own 
 neighbourhood, saw his daughter and Mr.
 
 150 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Walmsley advancing, and engaged in such 
 close and interesting conversation, that he was 
 within a very few paces of them ere they had 
 any idea of his proximity — it is not surprising 
 that he should look on this accidental meeting 
 as a concerted one, and that he should give 
 instant credence to a supposition which flashed 
 on his mind, of its only being one, perhaps, 
 of a series of such interviews, calculated in 
 the upshot to thwart his long-cherished hopes, 
 and to annihilate his newly-formed plan. In 
 a perfect storm of passion he dismounted from 
 his horse, and rudely drawing his daughter*s 
 arm from Mr. Walmsley's, he placed it within 
 his own, telling the latter gentleman " that 
 he was much obliged by his considerate at- 
 tention to his daughter, whom, however, he 
 at present felt fully equal himself to protect." 
 
 Astounded at his rudeness, and maddened 
 at his sneer, Walmsley attempted some sort of 
 expostulation, but his voice was lost in the 
 thundering invectives of the father, which were 
 quickly exciting him to all the forgetfulness 
 of wrath, when Edith interposed. She was as
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 151 
 
 pale as death, and trembled like a leaf; but 
 though for a moment she spoke inarticulately, 
 her voice quickly gained distinctness and firm- 
 ness. 
 
 " Father, you do me injustice; this meeting 
 was purely accidental ; and was unexpected 
 both by Mr. Walmsley and myself." 
 
 His daughter's words, combined with the 
 open and truthful look she cast upon him, 
 disarmed the angry father ; and he contented 
 himself with telling Mr. Walmsley in more 
 measured terms, that the views he entertained 
 for his daughter were totally incompatible 
 with attentions which, it had not escaped his 
 observation, the young gentleman had been 
 paying her, and which must now entirely 
 cease. To this he added, that under such 
 circumstances, Mr. Walmsley would do well 
 to discontinue his usual calls at Lime Grove. 
 
 Frank, with a lip quivering with suppressed 
 vexation, inquired if the young lady's feelings 
 and wishes were to be totally unconsidered 
 in this arrangement.
 
 152 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " That point, sir, my daughter and I can 
 decide without your assistance." 
 
 The lover approached his mistress as if to 
 take her hand — a movement which renewed 
 the father's ire at once. 
 
 " Begone, sir, instantly ; and leave her.'' 
 
 " I will not : from no lips but her own 
 will I take a rejection. Edith, dearest Edith ! 
 I will not molest you ; I will not even come 
 near you, until your father relents, if you 
 will only say you do not give me up so 
 hastily." 
 
 Sobs, still more convulsive, were Edith's 
 only answer, as she leaned against the trunk 
 of a tree. 
 
 " She will say nothing of the kind. Edith 
 listen to me, to your father ! I have reasons 
 with which you are unacquainted for dis- 
 approving of Mr. Walmsley's addresses, and 
 I desire — as your parent I have a right to 
 do so, — that you will reject them at once, 
 and for ever! Edith, do you hear me?" 
 resumed he, more sternly.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 153 
 
 " Time, father ; give me time/"' murmured 
 she. 
 
 " No time like the present," returned Mr. 
 Langshawe, whose ire was rapidly rising again. 
 Through the influence of the jaundiced tem- 
 per and imagination which, at the present 
 unhappy moment, made him view everything 
 through a distorted medium, he fancied some 
 covert meaning implied in these simple words. 
 
 " No time like the present. If you marry 
 this young man, Edith, you forfeit every 
 guinea of my money ; that, perhaps, in your 
 childish folly you may despise : but you will 
 forfeit my blessing also, for it shall never go 
 with a disobedient child. I command you to 
 discard Mr. Walmsley. Will you obey me ?" 
 
 Edith had ceased weeping, but was still 
 leaning, pale and almost exhausted, against 
 the tree. She raised her eyes with a sup- 
 plicating glance to her father's countenance, 
 but she read no symptoms of relenting there ; 
 and at length she feebly uttered, " I will obey 
 you, sir." 
 
 H 5
 
 154 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " You promise?" 
 
 " I do ! " 
 
 Walmsley stood an instant as if irresolute, 
 and then abruptly darting past to where his 
 horse was tied, he threw himself on its back 
 and galloped away as if he were mad. 
 
 Mr. Langshawe threw the bridle of his horse 
 over his arm, and prepared to assist his 
 daughter home ; and much did she need it, 
 for she was faint, trembling, and utterly ex- 
 hausted. With the most tender care he as- 
 sisted her, and letting his horse go loose as 
 soon as he was within the precincts of his 
 own domain, he supported her to the house, 
 and even to the door of her own chamber, 
 where he left her, saying that he would send 
 her mother to her. But when Mrs. Lang- 
 shawe — having heard from her husband that 
 he had had "a settling row" with young 
 Walmsley, and of course the poor child was 
 foolish and fretting, — came to her daughter's 
 chamber, she found the door fastened against 
 even her intrusion ; and Edith was for many 
 hours alone.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 155 
 
 When she re-appeared in the parlour her 
 father gave her a quick keen glance, and saw 
 that her face though pale, had its wonted 
 composure, her manners their accustomed 
 cheerful steadiness. There was, indeed, none 
 of her sunny joyousness, and there was, every 
 now and then, a nervous tremor which seem- 
 ed to shake her ; but the latter was but oc- 
 casional and transient, and the former Mr. 
 Langshawe allowed to himself he could not 
 expect so soon. He did not know, and he 
 did not think of the bitter mental struggles 
 his daughter had undergone ; and he put a 
 comfortable salvo on his conscience from the 
 sight of her outward composure and placid 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 " It will pass over her,*" thought he, '' more 
 lightly even than I could have hoped." 
 
 And nothing could exceed the affectionate 
 regard and attention evinced by both father 
 and daughter towards each other throughout 
 the evening of that memorable day.
 
 156 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AN " operative" and HIS FAMILY. 
 
 " Born 
 Life's daily tasks with them to share 
 Who, whether from their lowly bed 
 They rise, or rest the weary head, 
 Ponder the blessing they entreat 
 From Heaven, and feel what they repeat, 
 While they give utterance to that prayer 
 That asks Jo?' daily hreadJ' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Certainly a more complete contrast in abode 
 could hardly exist than that exhibited by the 
 palace inhabited by Mrs. Langshawe, and the 
 cabin occupied by her less fortunate cousin, 
 Mrs. Halliwell. It was not the less remarkable, 
 because it is so common. Nowhere do ex- 
 tremes meet more glaringly than in London, 
 where houses that might almost vie with Alad-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 157 
 
 din*s palace in splendour, do absolutely touch 
 upon dens of the utterest filth, misery, wretch- 
 edness and crime. But these are peculiarities, 
 and are marked as such, when known ; in Lan- 
 cashire this contrast is so evident a consequence 
 of " the system," and is of such universal oc- 
 currence that it is hardly remarked. 
 
 In Lancashire, too, so bountifully has Na- 
 ture diffused one of her greatest blessings, 
 that the poorest and humblest cabin derives a 
 gleam of comfort from that which the wretched 
 Londoner dare not think of — a glowing coal- 
 fire. Oh ! in age or sickness it is almost more 
 comforting than the food necessary to exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Mrs. Halliwell lived in one of a row of 
 cottages which had risen with a hundred more 
 in the immediate neifjhbourhood of a larore 
 mill. The road or street was not paved, and 
 was consequently miserable ; the cottages bad 
 each a little court or garden in front, from 
 the state of which might easily be guessed the 
 character of the occupant of the cottage at- 
 tached : some were mere receptacles of filth,
 
 158 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 and excrement, and noisome pools of stagnant 
 water : others were kept in comparatively de- 
 cent order ; and here and there was one, and 
 amongst these Mrs. Halliwell's was most con- 
 spicuous, which exhibited neat and wholesome 
 flower-beds, or plots of herbs. Numberless 
 were the broken windows in the row, and 
 various were the modes in which the unwel- 
 come gaps were filled up ; and various, indeed, 
 and in many instances most unsightly, were 
 the groups of inhabitants clustered here and 
 there for a gossip on the fine evening. Some 
 looked healthy, many were squalid : some 
 few were clean and respectable, but many 
 also looked filthy and disreputable. Amid the 
 throngs of the cotton operatives, as in Mil- 
 ton's Pandemonium, " the mind is its own 
 place." 
 
 May we not hope that the earnest measures 
 which have been of late resorted to by some 
 of the most eminent mill-holders, to give some 
 degree of cultivation to the minds and habits 
 of the children they employ, may cause hence- 
 forth the generality of the operatives' habita-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 159 
 
 tions to be such as the one which now we are 
 describing — not from fancy — we have seen, 
 and know it well. 
 
 About the centre, then, of the row of cot- 
 tages to which we have referred, was one of 
 which the garden-court was arranged with the 
 utmost neatness, and the flower-beds filled with 
 common but fragrant and carefully-tended 
 flowers. Climbing-plants were likewise trained 
 round the cottage-door, which stood open, and 
 the window was filled with pots of geraniums. 
 The ground-floor consisted of the loom-shop, 
 the kitchen, and a small wash-house or pantry. 
 Here, evening though it be, the work does 
 not seem to be over, you are literally deafened 
 on entering, and not being able to hear, you 
 must be content to see. 
 
 By the fire is a hearty-looking woman, 
 washing a roaring youngster of two years, 
 before she puts him to bed ; the baby lies 
 awake in the cradle ; a girl of five years old 
 is attempting with most laughable propriety, 
 to arrange the night toilet of a brother a 
 few months younger, who demurs magnani-
 
 160 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 mously. A little apart are two rather bigger 
 boys, each with a large wheel before them 
 " winding." If you peep into the clay-floored 
 loom-shop, which opens out of the kitchen, 
 you will see four looms, three of which are 
 going with full activity, the idle one being 
 that which the mother claims during any ces- 
 sation of attendance on her nine children. 
 You think that even the roarings of the 
 rebellious youngster are musical to the noise 
 which now deafens you ; but in an instant it 
 is hushed: the father has seen you, and comes 
 forward, having first made a signal to the 
 others to stop — a hearty boy and girl, who 
 follow him. 
 
 He himself looks pale and sickly ; but his 
 family, he says, are quite hearty ; and, indeed, 
 they look so. 
 
 He attributes much of this to their working 
 under his own eye, at home. A parent may 
 contrive gentle relaxations to individuals, when 
 necessary, without encroaching materially on 
 the necessary quantity of labour. In a fac-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 161 
 
 tory, this is impossible. Let a master be ever 
 so kindly disposed, the great magician, Steam, 
 is absolute and inflexible in his exactions ; and 
 while he is " on" the appointed labourers must 
 not slacken their exertions. Still, as Joe Halli- 
 weH now said, the mill has its advantages : 
 you earn much higher wages there than you 
 can by any degree of labour acquire at home. 
 " That," he said, " took his Nancy to the mill, 
 and though he would fain have had her con- 
 tent at home, she fancied she should do better 
 there, so he would not forbid her. It was 
 time now, though, she should be coming 
 home.'' 
 
 And here she is at the threshold. 
 
 But only for an instant : she merely lays 
 her bundle on the chair, gives a good-hu- 
 moured glance and nod around, and retreats, 
 without giving time for the question or re- 
 monstrance which she seems to anticipate from 
 her mother. Mrs. Halliwell coloured deeply 
 with vexation, and turned to her husband. 
 
 "Joe, I wish you'd follow Nancy."
 
 162 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 '' Follow her, what for ? she 's only gone 
 for a walk, I suppose ; and what can she do 
 better this fine evening ? " 
 
 " Nothing : if she's in proper company ; but 
 somehow my mind misgives me." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! woman ; you fidget your- 
 self for nothing ; our Nance will take care of 
 herself, I '11 warrant." 
 
 And so the father addressed himself entirely 
 to a romp with his baby, whom he had at 
 once taken from the cradle ; and the mother, 
 not liking to say more before her wondering 
 children, smothered her anxiety as well as she 
 could. 
 
 Meantime Nancy eluded the chit-chat of 
 her neighbours as quickly as she had the 
 catechising of her mother, and threading her 
 way down two or three broken streets or lanes, 
 similar to the one we have described, soon 
 gained the fields, and proceeded at a rapid 
 pace across some of them till she reached a 
 gate, which opened on a bye-road to the fac- 
 tory in which she worked. She was not first 
 at the try sting-place ; a genteel-looking well-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 163 
 
 dressed young man, who was leaning carelessly 
 over it, switching it with his cane — a token of 
 deep mental occupation — and whistling at the 
 same time " for want of thought," roused 
 himself on seeing her approach, and advanced 
 with alacrity to meet her. 
 
 " Ah, Nancy, my dear," said he, " I was 
 afraid you were going to disappoint me. What 
 a time I have waited." 
 
 " I couldn't help it, indeed ; for I was 
 obliged to go all the way round by our own 
 cottage, for fear the other folk from the mill 
 should suspect anything." 
 
 " You did very right, very properly, 
 Nancy ; and you Ve a very thoughtful, good 
 girl." 
 
 " But, Mr. John, why should we keep it 
 all so close ? " 
 
 " It is better, my love, much better.*' 
 
 " You swore you meant honorably by me;*' 
 somewhat excited. 
 
 " I swear it again, love." 
 
 " And you mean to marry me ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it ? "'
 
 164 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " I don't doubt it— I don't doubt it," said 
 she, at length, re-assured by his earnest pro- 
 testations; " but, then, I don't see what need 
 there is of all this secrecy." 
 
 " My dear Nancy, there is great need of 
 it. Do you think I would require it, if it 
 was not necessary ? In fact, if it does get 
 known, I shan't be able to marry you ; and 
 you know what a blow that will be to both 
 of us." 
 
 " It would, indeed," said poor Nancy, panic- 
 struck. *' If I might only tell my mother," 
 faltered she, " I should be content." 
 
 " It cannot be, Nancy ; and if you tor- 
 ment me thus, I shall be obliged to give 
 you up." 
 
 " Oh no, no, no ! " 
 
 " Why, are you not unreasonable .^" said he, 
 still crossly. " Don't I promise to make you 
 a lady, give you all sorts of fine things, and 
 money without end ? and all I ask is that you 
 should keep our meetings secret for a little 
 while, and you refuse me ! " 
 
 " No, no, I don't refuse," said she, weep-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 165 
 
 ing ; *' and you promise it *s only for a little 
 while?" 
 
 '' That I do, my girl, that I do." And now 
 having sufficiently alarmed her, he conde- 
 scended to be lover- like again, and by working 
 on her pride as he well knew how, and drawing 
 inflated pictures of the grandeur and conse- 
 quence to be hers after a while, he succeeded 
 as usual in engaging her strict acquiescence 
 in his injunctions, one of which was, that she 
 should still keep up appearances with her hum- 
 bler lover, Jem Forshaw. 
 
 This grated upon Nancy's better feelings, y 
 which were deadened, but not yet extinguished, 
 by the false and injurious pride which was 
 destroying the pure and healthy part of her 
 nature; but she yielded. 
 
 " And, perhaps," said she, when they were 
 going to part, and her lover's flatteries had 
 wrought her vanity to the highest pitch, 
 " perhaps, then, next Christmas, I may be 
 riding in my own carriage, like my grand 
 cousin?" 
 
 " No doubt of it, love ; but who is your 
 grand cousin?"
 
 166 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " Why, didn't you know ? I 'm of a good 
 family : Mrs. Langshawe of Lime Grove 's my 
 cousin." 
 
 " The devil!"— 
 
 This interjection was lost on Nancy, who 
 was pre-occupied with the grandeur of her 
 family tree. 
 
 " So you see, Mr. John, you won't match 
 so unequal after all." 
 
 A hasty kiss was " Mr. John's" only reply 
 to this vaunt ; as he turned quickly away to 
 hide his consternation from Nancy, and to 
 take counsel with his own thoughts in this 
 dilemma. 
 
 "Who the devil could have thought it?" 
 was uttered as a sort of " escape-valve" to 
 the torrent of his thoughts. For a little 
 while they were sufficiently perplexed. To 
 pursue his designs on Miss Langshawe's cou- 
 sin at the same time that he was affecting 
 honourable courtship to the lady herself, 
 was not to be thought of; yet, to give up 
 Nancy — the pretty, pouting, saucy, piquante 
 Nancy — really, it was a hard case.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 167 
 
 So Mr. John Balshawe walked and thought, 
 and thought and walked ; and it may be that, 
 in due time, the result of his deliberations will 
 be made known to the reader.
 
 168 WILLIAM LANGSUAWEj 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE RISE OF THE COTTONOCRACY. 
 
 " ' Describe the Borougli' — though our idle tribe 
 May love description, can we so describe ? " 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 Good reader ! suffer me now to introduce 
 you to the presiding genius of our district ; 
 to the favourite haunt of a necromancer, to 
 whom Aladdin's sprite was a nonentity — to 
 whom the bright fairies of the East, and the 
 fearful wizards of the North, were mere shuf- 
 flers, and before whom all thK^mighty genii 
 of all ages " hide their diminished heads." 
 Of no sex, of no visible power; quiet in his 
 operations, but mighty in his effects, this 
 enchanter subverts the accustomed order of 
 society ; pulls one down and raises up an-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 169 
 
 other, makes kings of dust, and counsellors of 
 fools, and creates palaces in the wilderness and 
 thronged cities in the desert. Of no beauty 
 of countenance that we should admire, nor 
 grandeur of appearance that we should won- 
 der, but possessing that inward loveliness 
 that passeth show, that internal power which 
 sinks into nothingness all outward attributes, 
 being, in fact, the wonderful alembic after 
 which the world and all its philosophy have 
 for ages run mad; the crucible to swallow 
 dross and eject gold which Science has seen 
 " through a glass darkly," and Credulity has g, 
 viewed in a sunbeam brightly, and Avarice 
 has clutched like his own shadow greedily; 
 — this mighty potentate has fixed the cardinal 
 points of his dominion in the length and 
 breadth and depth of Manchester with a grasp 
 and a certainty which only Cotton could as- 
 sume. Cotton is lord of the ascendant in 
 the Manchester house of destiny; or rather, 
 Cotton is that creative, vivifying, radiating 
 power, " Totus, teres, atque rotundus," from 
 which emanate, the suns and stars and comets, 
 
 VOL. 1. I
 
 170 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 the life and light and being of the Manchester 
 '' system;" in short — The Cottonocracy.* 
 
 Magnificent and marvellous indeed has been 
 the rise of this, the '' fifth estate " of the realm. 
 A stranger surveying Manchester as it now 
 exists, — its length, its breadth, its immense 
 population ; seeing its numerous and beautiful 
 public institutions, and having some knowledge 
 of its wealthy and intelligent population, — such 
 a one would have some difficulty in realizing 
 the picture which might be shown him of this 
 *' Metropolis of the North " a hundred years 
 ago. Then the plain and plodding tradesman 
 ate homely water-porridge with his apprentice. 
 Then a young man was stigmatised as " a 
 rake and a spendthrift " because he sent to 
 the hotel for a pint of foreign wine to enter- 
 tain a valued customer ; and the only private 
 carriages then seen or heard of, were three or 
 four belonging to old families in the neigh- 
 
 * Those who are acquainted with Lancashire, will at 
 once admit the propriety of our selecting Manchester as a 
 fair specimen of the county at large, in all points referring 
 to the sudden and amazing rise of the commerce of the 
 county, and of the peculiarities which that commerce 
 draws forth.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 171 
 
 bourhood, of whom the habits were still so 
 primitive, that of the owner of one of them 
 it is recorded that she could not bring her- 
 self to countenance the newly-imported luxu- 
 ries of tea and coffee, but when she visited 
 her friends she was always regaled with a 
 tankard of ale and a pipe. Great was the out- 
 cry, — for the circumstance was thought to 
 forerun utter ruin or worse, — great was the 
 outcry when in 1758 a successful tradesman 
 set up a carriage of his own. Now, the re- 
 markable circumstance is to see " a cotton-man " 
 without one; and the accumulated mass of 
 brains in the Herald's Office hardly suffices 
 to invent armorial bearings fast enough. 
 " Thank heaven," said an aristocrat, " they 
 may build fine houses, and sport fine equipages, 
 but they cannot purchase avenues of old oaks 
 wherewith to environ their mushroom palaces." 
 It was thought a happy hit of the person who 
 suggested as motto to the wealthy tobacconist's 
 newly-assumed crest " Quid rides ;" many of 
 the Cottonocracy content themselves with less 
 appropriate ones. 
 
 I 2
 
 172 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Formerly the few aristocratic inhabitants 
 of Manchester made their way weekly with 
 pattens and lantern to an assembly for cards 
 and dancing, to which they subscribed the 
 then ample sum of two shillings and sixpence 
 per quarter ! the Assembly was continued 
 at, of course, an advancing rate of admission ; 
 but as great folks multiplied, unwonted incon- 
 veniences were experienced. In turning in a 
 cotillon (waltzes had not reached Manchester 
 then) the " whole piece " calico man w^as 
 dodged by him who sold half a piece ; and 
 in a '* contre danse" the lady of a ware- 
 house proprietor found herself under the 
 necessity of crossing hands with the sister of 
 a shopkeeper. Such rencontres were not to 
 be borne. It was not fitting that he who sold 
 a single yard of calico at 16d. should have 
 refreshment at the same table with him who 
 was content to pocket 14d. provided his 
 customer " took the piece together"" ; nor was 
 it likely that he who under the rose " cut a 
 piece " in his warehouse for a friend, should 
 wriggle his heels in the same room with him 
 who cut it openly in a retail shop.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 173 
 
 Therefore, a very few years ago, tico assem- 
 blies were instituted, the qualifications for 
 admission to each being, as we were credibly 
 informed, distinctly defined. The first was 
 patronized by those who sold " a whole piece " 
 of calico, and those who " cut it in two " went 
 to the other. But clear as these arrangements 
 seemed to be, it was not found easy to reduce 
 them to practice, or at least, the scheme did 
 not answer. The intelligent, wealthy, and 
 respectable tradesman who measured out his 
 cotton from behind a counter, thought it hard 
 to be excluded from the haunts of men infinite- 
 ly more vulgar than himself, because these 
 held a measuring-yard in a warehouse instead 
 of a shop ! In fact the degradation was felt 
 to be more than human flesh and blood could 
 sustain ; and the second assembly died a 
 natural death. Painfully did the " exclusives " 
 try to keep up the caste of the first, but in 
 vain ; " untoward" spirits would intrude, and 
 though the Manchester Assemblies still exist, 
 they are not remarkable for the presence, exclu- 
 sively, of the " Heads of the Cottonocracy."
 
 174 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 In ancient towns where " blood " and 
 '' family " are recognised and known, and rank 
 has its clearly-defined and duly-admitted pre- 
 cedence, these anomalies do not occur ; but 
 in towns of sudden and manufacturing growth 
 they are neither infrequent nor unamusing. 
 It is an admitted axiom that the Manchester 
 people *' have no grandfathers" ; it is surely, 
 therefore, most praiseworthy in those who 
 according to the existing state of things are 
 all of them " heads of families," to endeavour 
 to secure for themselves an elevated position 
 in society. Hence, however, the bane of Man- 
 chester social life. Hence the custom of out- 
 vying each other even to folly. Hence the 
 " out-Heroding Herod," in dress, in equipage, 
 in entertainments, in luxury, in expense, and 
 extravagance of every kind, which so often 
 makes the «' cotton-man," despite fifty redeem- 
 ing qualities, the butt and the ridicule of 
 those, from home, with whom he may chance 
 to associate. " He is a cotton-man" seems to 
 be a sufficient explanation for anything that 
 may seem absurdly ostentatious or extrava-
 
 THE COTTON LORD 175 
 
 gant ; and it is a common by- word in the 
 mouths of many who are themselves totally 
 deficient both in the shrewdness to plan, or 
 the unwearied energetic assiduity to realize, 
 the undertakings which make the cotton 
 manufacturer what he is. Of one stock, of 
 one (so to speak) common parentage, all, — 
 with very few exceptions, — in a fewer or 
 greater number of years having risen from 
 the soil by the machinations of those twin 
 necromancers, — Cotton and Steam, the Cot- 
 tonocracy generally have no other method 
 of displaying to an admiring world the envia- 
 ble elevation they have obtained in the scale 
 of society, but by display and expense. It is 
 very far from our meaning to depreciate the 
 intelligence existing in Manchester, — we have 
 lived amongst it, and we know it ; but still 
 it will we think be acknowledged by all fully 
 acquainted with the place, that nowhere is 
 money so influential as amongst the mass of 
 Manchester society : nowhere does it cover 
 such a multitude of sins — of ignorance. 
 
 It is a praiseworthy trait in the Cotton-
 
 176 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 ocracy that they are proud of their trade ; they 
 are not, as a body, " ashamed of the shop ;" 
 and it was this laudable, though possibly in 
 that particular instance, somewhat ill-display- 
 ed pride, which led them on a memorable 
 occasion, to decorate a festival hall with min- 
 iature emblems of trade.* We know gentle- 
 men, brothers, now in the enjoyment of every 
 luxury that money can bestow, and also of 
 those far higher gratifications which result 
 from the esteem of the rich and the blessings 
 of the poor, who frequently point out, near 
 their princely mansion, the site of the humble 
 cottage where their early years were spent.f 
 
 This feeling, though general, is of course 
 not universal. A gentleman, an eminent bank- 
 er, admirable in every circumstance of life, 
 
 * " I cannot even see those ornaments that have been 
 placed there to pay a compliment to me — (here the Right 
 Hon. Gent, pointed the attention of the company to some 
 pastry models of steam machinery placed on the table 
 immediately opposite to him) — I cannot see that shuttle 
 without feeling myself deeply connected vs^ith it." (Tre- 
 mendous cheering.) The Times, Oct. 7. 1828. 
 
 t Since the writing of this sketch death has been busy 
 here.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 177 
 
 and beloved and reverenced by all, on a cer- 
 tain wet and dirty day was proceeding home- 
 wards in his carriage, when he perceived two 
 humble neighbours trudging through the rain. 
 He stopped his carriage, and insisted on their 
 taking seats in it, which they would fain have 
 declined on the plea of being very wet. He 
 insisted, however, and not only accommodated, 
 but placed them quite at their ease. So much 
 so, that one of them, a retired butcher — or 
 as perhaps we ought to say " purveyor" — 
 began to wax talkative, and recalled to the 
 mind of the now great man their relative 
 situations in early days. The theme was 
 evidently not altogether agreeable, nevertheless 
 the gentleman behaved as a gentleman, bowed 
 and assented with silent suavity. 
 
 " And so I was a-saying, Mr. H , ye 
 
 warna always, ye know, the great man as 
 ye are now. Aye, I can remember, many a 
 time, comin' to th' little shop ye kept at th' 
 
 corner of alley for an ounce o' tea ; ye 
 
 wur nobody much then, man. What i' th* 
 name o' Heaven, Buckshaw, (turning suddenly 
 
 i5
 
 178 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 on his friend, who with more tact wished to 
 check him) d 'ye keep pinchin' me that gate 
 for ?" 
 
 The exemplification of the otium cum dig- 
 nitate in this gentleman — the retired butcher 
 we mean — was somewhat peculiar. He plant- 
 ed, he builded. His houses, one of which 
 he occupied himself — " genteer' houses, in a 
 row, with flower -parterres in front and kitchen- 
 gardens behind — were much sought after by 
 rheuniatized ladies and elderly gentlemen, be- 
 cause out of due and necessary consideration 
 to the goodly proportions — if proportion might 
 be predicated of that which shape had none 
 — of himself and his " missis," he had given 
 to his forty guinea houses a width to the door- 
 ways and an easiness of ascent to the stairs 
 which is not always to be met with in mansions 
 of treble the rent. He was, moreover, a liberal 
 and excellent landlord and neighbour, and 
 therefore courted and welcomed as a visitor by 
 tenants who in the conventional politeness of life 
 were much his superiors. His prime relaxa- 
 tion was a barrel organ, in the purchase of which
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 179 
 
 he spared no expense, and to which he kept 
 buying additional barrels. Every day he ground 
 round his tunes once, from beginning to end, 
 psalms and dances, jigs and hymns, at the 
 same regular railroad speed ; and having had 
 " his music," as he somewhat curiously term- 
 ed it, he was ready for the other duties of 
 the day. The culture of his mind was by 
 no means neglected. He had read the En- 
 cyclopedia through — regularly through — from 
 the beginning to the end — from the first page 
 to the last ; and was now, in about his seven- 
 tieth year, beginning the supplement, or as 
 he called it, supple-ment. 
 
 His wife was not less methodical in her 
 ways, though her occupations were less va- 
 ried. Some little she might do about her 
 house, but much bodily exertion could nei- 
 ther be agreeable nor convenient to her. For 
 many consecutive hours every day she might 
 be seen in her pretty parlour knitting. Every 
 faculty was absorbed in the occupation, and 
 her whole pride and delight — except the pro- 
 portion which was run away with annually
 
 180 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 by her transparently-preserved green goose- 
 berries — were centered in having her husband's 
 hose, gloves, and mufFatees — all her own knit- 
 ted manufacture — in superlative order. She 
 was his third wife, and he was about seventy, 
 but she often said '' he 's sure to outlive me, 
 and of course he 11 marry again ; and I'm 
 
 very anxious that the next Mrs. B y, 
 
 should at any rate find his stockings in good 
 order;" and forthwith she would open the 
 large drawer of a store wardrobe, and dis- 
 play it to her admiring listener, literally filled 
 with stockings of her own knitting, which 
 were hardly likely to be wanted for years, so 
 liberally were his everyday depositories sup- 
 plied. But this is a long digression. 
 
 " Do you know," said a gentleman, high 
 in the official as well as in the private social 
 circles of the town, to a bookseller, " do you 
 know a writer named Tom Moore ?" 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 " What has he written.?" 
 
 " Oh, many things : Lalla Rookh, Hebrew 
 Melodies, and "
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 181 
 
 " Oh, very well : when he writes anything 
 in English, send it me." 
 
 And another seeing a book lettered " Vicar 
 of Wakefield." 
 
 " Th' Vicar o' Wakefield— who 's he ? Oh, 
 (answering his own question) some writer ou 
 church rates, I suppose." 
 
 Though these are true, and not altogether 
 unique specimens of the literary qualifications 
 of the senior race of Cottonocracy in the mid- 
 dle of the nineteenth century, yet these cir- 
 cumstances, and many peculiarities, and ab- 
 surdities, and extravagances, which cause 
 Manchester people to be proverbed elsewhere, 
 and often afibrd no small amusement at home, 
 are but as spots on the face of the sun com- 
 pared with the integrity and radiating bene- 
 volence of Manchester character generally ; 
 or they are as the '' foam on the crest of 
 the billow," whose very excess of spume and 
 froth indicates the depth and the power of 
 the waters beneath. Manchester wealth and 
 consequence have sprung quickly as mush- 
 rooms from the soil ; but with them, step by
 
 IB2 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Step, have risen and flourished institutions for 
 the promotion of knowledge, of art, of science, 
 and above all, for the exercise of humanity, 
 which have never found their superiors, seldom 
 their parallels. 
 
 As a whole, Manchester stands high for her 
 intelligent and benevolent community ; but no 
 one can be conversant with society in the 
 manufacturing districts without being aware, 
 that while a great and characteristic resem- 
 blance may be traced through the whole, 
 there are yet such varying circumstances ap- 
 pertaining to it as almost to divide it into 
 distinct and separate classes. Though by the 
 self-same steps, and in the same — to speak 
 technically — " line of business," all have risen 
 from a low rank in life to one of wealth and 
 power, and influence ; yet light and darkness 
 are scarcely more dissimilar than is the low- 
 lived and ignorant, though shrewd, mill-owner 
 of some out-lying district, from the cultivated 
 denizen of the town ; and the disgust with 
 which the vulgar pleasures and brutal ex- 
 cesses of the former are regarded by the latter, 
 are only equalled by the pitying contempt
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 183 
 
 with which the magnate of the country looks 
 upon the more refined gratifications of his 
 compeer of the town. Between these extremes 
 there is a third class, a connecting medium, 
 partaking in some degree both of the vices 
 of the one and the refinements of the other, 
 formed, as may be expected, from circum- 
 stances which draw it within the influences 
 of both without entailing exclusive connexion 
 with either. 
 
 It would be absurd to suppose that men 
 of mediocre birth, whose whole energies are 
 devoted to the active pursuits of trade, can 
 have acquired the grace of manner and re- 
 finement of taste which characterize those of 
 higher rank, whose chief occupation is to adorn 
 their leisure. But as a whole — notwithstand- 
 ing the peculiarities and vulgarities which are 
 become proverbial — as a whole, the inhabitants 
 of Manchester rank high for intelligence and 
 benevolence ; and the native population of the 
 county, through all its grades, will bear com- 
 parison with any in the empire for vigour 
 of intellect and — where peremptory engage- 
 ments have allowed — for acquired knowledge.
 
 184 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ANOTHER COTTON-MAN AND HIS GUESTS. 
 
 " Amang a' the wondrous improvements e'er made, 
 What do you now think o' the spinnin' o't, 
 That fountain and prop o' our flourishing trade, 
 How changed since the weary beginnin' o't. 
 Wi' the rock and the spindle our grannies began, 
 Neist at their wee wheelies they spat and they span, 
 little they thought o' the beautiful plan 
 That now is spread wide for the spinnin' o't." 
 
 Scotch Song. 
 
 " On these we look 
 As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger book." 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 The day came when Mr. Ainsley fulfilled 
 the engagement, which at her request he had 
 long before entered into, and conducted Mrs. 
 Frances Hailing through his mill. A pe- 
 remptory summons obliged him to leave her
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 185 
 
 somewhat abruptly, but she minded this the 
 less as she was previously engaged to his 
 house to dine that evening, where she and 
 her nephew duly arrived. 
 
 The hypercritic might say there was a 
 little too much ornament in the drawing-room, 
 a little too much decoration on the ladies; 
 but the embellishments of the room were in 
 good taste and well contrasted: the dress of 
 the ladies was more rich than fine. 
 
 Amongst others whom we may now venture 
 to record was a venerable-looking lady, dress- 
 ed in black silk, with a profusion of clear 
 snowy muslin over her throat and neck ; her 
 silver hair was rolled in antique style over 
 her forehead, and was surmounted by a spot- 
 less mob cap. Her sister, a very tall thin 
 lady, was somewhat more modern in her 
 toilet, and appeared in all the bravery of 
 a turban, and matronly-looking grey silk 
 gown, wearing, also, a gold chain, and two 
 or three antique mourning-rings. The man- 
 ners of these ladies were not marked by any 
 peculiar polish ; nor did their conversation in-
 
 186 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 dicate any peculiar accomplishment ; but they 
 received from all present a degree of welcome, 
 or rather a sort of welcome, which their im- 
 mense property alone could not have induced 
 even in Manchester. The cause was indexed 
 in countenances whose every line told of a 
 long and virtuous life spent in rational pur- 
 suits, and the practice of active benevolence. 
 
 Near them was a gentleman who, though 
 totally unconnected with them, might well be 
 included in the same description. He was 
 advanced in life, heavy in appearance, and 
 somewhat infirm ; but his countenance beamed 
 with benevolence, and his manners were marked 
 071 all occasions by the most polished and gen- 
 tlemanly suavity — a characteristic which he has 
 bequeathed to his descendants. And in the 
 downhill of life also, but still with a ruddy 
 cheek and stalwart frame, was the *' Beau 
 Brummeir' of Manchester — the last male re- 
 presentative of an old and honoured family. 
 
 In a retired corner, shrinking as it were 
 from notice, sat a thin, pale, old man, in a 
 quaker's garb, with thin grey hair, (which
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 187 
 
 ever and anon he stroked down with his hand,) 
 and a countenance in which intelligence, bene- 
 volence, and simplicity seemed to struggle for 
 mastery. He hardly looked in his element ; 
 and, as he disappeared immediately after din- 
 ner, we rather suppose he had yielded to the 
 entreaties of the hospitable master of the 
 mansion in venturing for a short time into a 
 scene for which his usual habits and pursuits 
 gave him a distaste. A beautiful child of three 
 years old, a young visitor at the house, had 
 fearlessly established herself on his knee, and 
 his regards were divided between her and a 
 pale sickly gentleman, thin and rather small, 
 with prominent bright eyes, and most intel- 
 ligent countenance, who was conversing with 
 great energy on some matter of science. There 
 were other ladies — in the course of the evening 
 several — and gentlemen, who still adorn the 
 town in and by whose commerce they have 
 risen. 
 
 The dinner passed oiF as quietly and easily 
 as dinners in a well-regulated establishment, 
 and amongst people who do not live to eat,
 
 188 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 but eat to live, usually do. Good society is 
 the same everywhere; it may, and of course 
 does, vary in minor circumstances, but in a 
 private social meeting of well-bred people there 
 is little on which to expatiate. The same 
 may be said of the conversation generally of 
 such reunions ; but this evening it impercep- 
 tibly and not unnaturally had a peculiar 
 reference to the occupation which had be- 
 guiled the morning of the host and several 
 of his guests, who had politely accompanied 
 Mrs. Hailing through the, to her, strange 
 scene. 
 
 Mr. Ashworth, though too well-informed to 
 credit all the horrors which were circulating * 
 
 * This sketch was written some three years ago, when 
 a periodical work was in circulation which defeated its 
 own benevolent and honourable ends by the exaggerations 
 of its statements. These exaggerated horrors were dra^\^l, 
 it is said, fi-om a very scarce pamphlet, (of which I possess 
 a copy,) called "A Memoir of Robert Blincoe," which 
 was suppressed almost immediately on its publication. 
 
 Into the mouth of my cotton-merchant in the text I 
 have put sentiments and opinions, not such as might ap- 
 pertain to the hero of a novel, but such as I believe a great 
 portion of his class to possess.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 189 
 
 respecting " the filth, the misery, the famine, 
 and the vice" generated in the cotton-mills, 
 did yet frankly confess himself agreeably sur- 
 prised by the very opposite character they 
 exhibited. 
 
 " But I do suppose," said he, " that we 
 have perhaps been through a pattern or show- 
 mill." 
 
 "By no means; I could take you through 
 many mills in Manchester which, though vary- 
 ing in size, are conducted; exactly on the 
 same principles ; and the mills in the country 
 districts are, from many favouring circum- 
 stances, superior in their arrangements to 
 these." 
 
 "Is there not extreme cruelty practised in 
 some of them ?" said Mrs. Hailing. 
 
 " On my conscience, no ; I believe — no." 
 
 " Whence, then, has the widely-circulated 
 belief in it originated ?"" 
 
 " It originated in a state of things which 
 now no longer exists. For instance, crippled 
 or deformed limbs are considered by many 
 to be the necessary concomitants of factory-
 
 190 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 labour. It is true that the old spinning- 
 frame very frequently induced deformity, be- 
 cause it entailed on the operative the necessity 
 of perpetual stooping, almost to the ground. 
 But for many years the use of that machine 
 has been entirely superseded by one which 
 is worked in an upright and natural attitude, 
 and does not necessarily induce deformity ; that 
 evil is therefore done away." 
 
 " But severe and fatal accidents do fre- 
 quently occur.""' 
 
 *' There is no trade or business in life that 
 is not liable to its own peculiar risks and 
 accidents. It has been proved from statistical 
 facts, that fatal accidents are not one twentieth 
 part so common in cotton-factories as in coal- 
 mines.* I have no reason to suppose that I 
 have been peculiarly or singularly fortunate 
 in my experience ; I employ 1,100 hands in 
 
 * I liave before reiKarked that this chajDter (then in- 
 tended merely as part of a slighter sketch) was written 
 some time ago, and consequently before those fearful and 
 disgusting discoveries of the nature of coal-mine labour 
 which have recently been elicited in Parliament, to the 
 horror and disgust of every thinking person.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 191 
 
 one mill, and amongst these only one fatal 
 accident has occurred in fifteen years, and 
 that was occasioned by carelessness so extreme, 
 as to be almost unaccountable." 
 
 " But, still the people are overworked/' 
 
 " No ; the hours of labour were formerly 
 extrem.e, and, in consequence, cruel in their 
 results ; this is not the case now, and surely, 
 surely, it is not too much to require that 
 we be judged by what we are, and not be 
 blindly condemned by statements, many of 
 them exaggerated, of what others have been.^^ 
 
 *'But the children," said Mrs. Hailing; 
 " you must allow that the very fact of their 
 being worked ten hours in the day is suf- 
 ficiently lamentable." 
 
 "It is so ; and to look at it theoretically 
 ever}^ man with a humane heart would wish 
 that children should be free and unfettered, 
 and pass their early years in gaiety and liberty. 
 But this is impossible. The children of the 
 poor must work ; and that being the case, the 
 true philanthropist will bend his energies ra- 
 ther towards the amelioration of existing evils,
 
 192 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 than to the invention of a Utopian and un- 
 attainable system of freedom and happiness. 
 From their very earliest years the children of 
 the poor everywhere are accustomed to labour 
 towards their own subsistence. Parliament 
 has enacted that children under thirteen shall 
 not be employed in factories, and consequently 
 parents send their children to other trades, — 
 frequently those in which labour is harder and 
 worse paid, — until they are of an age to be ad- 
 mitted into factories, and very, very frequently 
 the parents themselves overstate the ages of 
 their children in order to obtain their admis- 
 sion into factories.'' 
 
 "Can any labour be harder than factory- 
 labour .? " 
 
 ^' My dear Mrs. Hailing, you, who have re- 
 posed in ease and independence from your 
 birth, can form no idea of the comparative 
 degrees of labour and toil. You can hardly 
 judge of the energies of the youthful mind, 
 and its aptitude in conforming itself to those 
 circumstances of toil and of hardship which 
 the great proportion of human beings are
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 193 
 
 formed to endure. I, on the contrary, who 
 was born in almost the lowest rank in life, I 
 cannot refer to the period of childhood without 
 calling to mind numerous instances, which oc- 
 curred around me, of youthful, I may almost 
 say of infantile, privation and endurance, to 
 which the merely bodily labour of the youth- 
 ful factory-artisan, continuous though it be, 
 appears not only endurable but easy. Do- 
 mestic operatives, hand-loom weavers, lace- 
 manufacturers, stocking or framework-knitters, 
 work from twelve to sixteen hours a day, — 
 never under fourteen, — to earn the very barest 
 subsistence ; and this in close, damp, unwhole- 
 some cottages, to which the worst-constructed 
 factory, as they now exist, is a very retreat 
 of health. A hundred and fifty thousand fe- 
 males are employed in lace-running — a domestic 
 employment ; they begin this work at nine 
 or ten years of age, working early and late 
 in a constantly stooping position, injuring their 
 eyesight, their growth, and frequently inducing 
 consumption. I need not remind you of the 
 proverbial endurance of the milliners and 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 straw-bonnet workers; they are usually ap- 
 prenticed at the very age when, if ever, the 
 youthful female requires relaxation and re- 
 lief; their hours of work are said to be 
 twelve, but for three parts of their time these 
 young females are kept fourteen, sixteen, se- 
 venteen hours closely sewing, and they are 
 not infrequently detained all night. For 
 this spirit-breaking, health-consuming toil, the 
 apprentice receives nothing, literally nothing 
 but on the contrary frequently pays a high 
 premium. But the business is genteel^ and is 
 therefore preferred to that of a factory ope- 
 rative ; though the latter at the same age will 
 not only be supporting herself comfortably, 
 but if prudent, will be laying something by." 
 
 "But these factory children certainly look 
 pale." 
 
 " They do : but take a hundred, fifty, 
 twenty factory children, and compare them 
 with the same number of Manchester children 
 taken from any trade out of the factories, and 
 if the difference be not rather in favour of the 
 former than otherwise I will relinquish the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 195 
 
 argument at once. But the truth is that a 
 number of children, factory and non- factory, 
 have been literally weighed and measured, 
 and the difference was scarcely perceptible." 
 
 " Your arguments are powerful," said Mr. 
 Ashworth ; '' but the truth is, — as doubtless 
 you will have guessed from my good aunt's 
 earnest catechising, — that our minds have been 
 somewhat prejudiced against the factory sys- 
 tem." 
 
 " My good sir," returned Mr. Ainsley, *^ it 
 is easy for you to satisfy yourself of the truth 
 of what I have advanced. Visit the different 
 mills ; examine the operatives for yourself; 
 judge for yourself, weigh, measure, scrutinize. 
 It is moreover plainly the master's interest to 
 keep his workpeople in health and good-hu- 
 mour. But I will not dwell on this view of 
 the subject. The Lancashire cotton-men may be 
 humbly born, and it may be that their habits 
 and manners as a body are obnoxious to 
 criticism and to ridicule; they may be eager 
 after money; they may be given to luxury; 
 but the}' are men of like hearts, souls, and 
 
 VOL. I. K 2
 
 196 WILUAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 feelings with others more favourably placed in 
 life; they are responsible beings, and in 
 general they feel their responsibility. Every 
 body of men will have some " untoward" spi- 
 rits among them, and I do not deny that there 
 may be some such amongst the Cottonocracy : 
 but I do aver that a system which is fostered 
 by such men as the Grants, the Birleys, 
 and others like them, both in town and 
 country, — I do say that this system cannot 
 be one which would encourage its upholders, 
 — were they so disposed — " daily to send (as it 
 has been lately said) millions of groans to be 
 registered in heaven from joyless young hearts 
 and aching infant limbs." 
 
 *' I shall begin to think that you consider 
 the factory-system very perfection itself." 
 
 " Then will your conclusion outrun my ar- 
 gument. That a great, a most beneficial and 
 enlightening change has taken place in the 
 factory-system since the time when its degrad- 
 ing and destructive influence gave rise to the 
 evils which have been so loudly proclaimed — 
 is true. That the morals and the habits of
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 197 
 
 the operatives are improving, and that their 
 comforts are better attended to than formerly, 
 I beh'eve. The education of the children is 
 also gradually and systematically progressing ; 
 though that has seldom been below the stand- 
 ard of non-factory operatives, as the tables of 
 the various Sunday-schools will show. But 
 in my opinion, an inestimable advantage at- 
 tending the day-schools now attached to many 
 of the mills is, that young girls are taught 
 the use of the needle; for one great cause of 
 the misery and squalidness hitherto so pre- 
 valent in the cottages of the factory-people, 
 has been the utter inability of women brought 
 up almost from their cradles in factories, to 
 make or even to repair their own apparel 
 and that of their families. This evil is dis- 
 appearing ; and though I do not call the fac- 
 tory system ' perfection' — though sometimes 
 even the thought crosses my mind, that manu- 
 facturing interests are assuming a too great 
 preponderance in the affairs of the country,* 
 
 * Perhaps this opinion can scarcely be attributed to 
 the Cotton lords generally.
 
 198 WILLIAM LANGSHAVVE, 
 
 Still I do hope and believe that ' our system,"* 
 if fairly examined, will stand the test." 
 
 The conversation now reverted to general 
 topics. 
 
 Mr. Ashworth was, as usual, one of th^ 
 most chatty and entertaining of the party. 
 He remarked how full of metaphors the Eng- 
 lish language is, and that persons who have 
 not the most remote idea of what a metaphor 
 means, are perpetually using them. 
 
 " If a man," says he, " is successful in any 
 undertaking, you say he ' carries the day :* he 
 does no such thing ; how can he carry the 
 day ? — he carries nothing. Again ; he ' came 
 off with flying colours,'' — ^why, nothing of the 
 kind ; he had no colours." 
 
 " No,'' said Mr. Ainsley ; " but I imagine 
 the metaphor may be easily explained. It 
 originated, I believe, in the old custom of 
 decking a successful candidate in variously- 
 coloured ribbons, which were frequently fast- 
 ened round his hat and so went flying in the 
 wind." 
 
 Some one asked Mr. Walmsley, the nephew
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 199 
 
 of the host, whether he had subscribed the 
 petition which was circulating on some poli- 
 tical matter. 
 
 " No, I have not." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because it went against my conscience." 
 
 " There ! — there again !" joyously exclaimed 
 Mr. Ash worth ; *' it went against his conscience, 
 it went against his conscience — what ^ — a 
 steam-carriage ? — something goes full tilt 
 against something — and he says it went 
 against his conscience. There 's metaphor, for 
 you !" 
 
 All laughed at this sally, and having thus 
 slaughtered a gentleman, Mr. Ash worth ad- 
 dressed himself " in courteous wise," to a young 
 lady ; but received rather a provoking retort 
 to one of his most amiable witticisms. He 
 appealed in revenge to his host, asking 
 if he countenanced " blue stockings" at his 
 table. 
 
 " Certainly !" replied Mr. Ainsley, " when, 
 as in the case of this lady, they are concealed 
 by a robe of taste and elegance.""
 
 200 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 The lusty Lothario, rejected by the young, 
 directed his attention to the elderly ladies, but 
 with still worse success ; for, when one, in her 
 turn appealed to Mr. Ainsley, that gentleman 
 said something so courteously about the satis- 
 faction there was " in seeing the experience 
 and propriety of age combined with some of 
 the most engaging qualities of youth,'' that 
 the palm for saying " the prettiest things " was 
 yielded to him by acclamation; above which, 
 however, the jocund " haw ! haw ! '* of the 
 discomfited hero was distinctly audible. 
 
 Mr. Ashworth then addressed the ladies 
 generally, entreating that " some one would 
 for charity's sweet sake instruct him in the 
 art of saying pretty things;" but, seemingly, 
 the immensity of the undertaking alarmed 
 them, for they almost instantly retired. 
 
 Cards were introduced in the evening, but 
 no one seemed disposed to play ; and Mr. 
 Ainsley conducted Mrs. Hailing into an apart- 
 ment purposely erected for, and admirably 
 suited to its destination as, a music-room. In 
 Manchester it is not easy to get into an un-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 201 
 
 musical circle ; the science is not only gene- 
 rally loved, but is really studied to an extent 
 not common elsewhere. Some of the circle 
 here were peculiarly accomplished, and the 
 evening passed rapidly away. 
 
 As Mrs. Halling's carriage rolled homeward 
 with its occupants, its course lay through a 
 long, quiet street, which at that hour was 
 as still and dark as if all its inhabitants were 
 buried in repose. Not, however, exclusively 
 so. In one apartment of a house, which was 
 somewhat different in its form from the ad- 
 joining ones, a light gleamed through the 
 crevices of the shutters. 
 
 Could Mr. Ashworth or Mrs. Hailing have 
 entered the room at that moment, probably 
 their first impulse would have been to smile 
 at the heterogeneous assortment of articles it 
 contained. In the centre was a table covered 
 with a baize that perhaps had once been 
 green, and a deal form on one side, and a 
 slate or two, with a few dogs'-eared books at 
 one corner, gave token that this was the place 
 appropriated to urchins who came thither for
 
 202 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 initiation into the mysteries of science. A 
 table in a recess, supported a small pair of 
 globes, and a few books; other books, in 
 most unattractive bindings, were arranged — or 
 as far as outward appearance went, we should 
 say, disarranged — on shelves on one side of 
 the fire-place, the lower space being occupied 
 by a coal-scuttle, a brush, a duster, &c. &c. ; 
 and on one of the corresponding shelves of 
 the other side, were placed some phials (which 
 might have passed in appearance for the 
 debris collected after some bankrupt druggist's 
 sale of effects), and a collection of glasses, 
 cups, and retorts, which might puzzle any philo- 
 sopher in the world to tell the use of. The 
 mantel-shelf was occupied with nondescript 
 articles; and in front of the fire, with the 
 light gleaming strongly on his face, sat the 
 grey-haired gentleman we have before alluded 
 to. His countenance beaming with animation, 
 he sat totally unconscious, apparently, of the 
 flight of time, of the lateness of the hour, or 
 of anything but a chemical preparation, the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 203 
 
 progress of which, over a small spirit-lamp, 
 he was intently watching. 
 
 Perhaps the result of this solitary vigil, was 
 a discovery which, in its consequences, might 
 affect the welfare of a world. 
 
 Is there any reason that we should not 
 write the name of our ancient instructor and 
 revered friend — Dr. Dalton ?
 
 204} WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Her hopes have no abode." 
 
 It was about noontime one warm and sunny 
 day, that a peculiar-looking vehicle was slowly 
 
 proceeding up the cross road between 
 
 and . It was a gig, calculated only for 
 
 one, and not very much higher from the 
 ground than a child's carriage. To this a 
 Liliputian pony was harnessed, and seemed 
 to draw it along cheerily. In it was seated 
 an old man of very peculiar dress and appear- 
 ance ; he had a broad leathern belt round his 
 waist and a sword by his side. On his head 
 he wore a black velvet hat, surmounted by 
 a plume of feathers. He was pale and ema-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 205 
 
 dated in appearance; and there was a rest- 
 lessness in his light eye, an uncertain, un- 
 settled flashing, which spoke of disordered 
 intellect, even if his strange equipment had 
 not told the fact. A gentleman was advancing 
 rapidly in a gig in an opposite direction, and 
 he drew up his horse as he approached the 
 hermit. 
 
 " I say, old 'un, which is the way to Lime 
 Grove?" 
 
 Self-respect, to a certain degree, is one of 
 the most ennobling attributes of our nature; 
 indeed, a being totally divested of it will sink 
 below, not rise above, the common herd. In 
 foolish people and in idiots it degenerates into 
 vanity, and is contemptible or ridiculous ; but 
 it is often found in its loftiest aspect in 
 people who, from extraneous causes, we should 
 consider little likely to possess it. We have 
 represented our hermit as meek and humble- 
 minded, and so he was ; yet, combined with 
 his natural humility, and with his impaired 
 intellect, was an independent principle within, 
 a just self-estimation, which would have led
 
 206 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 him fearlessly to repel insult, though offered 
 by a prince. The contemptuous tone of this 
 interrogation roused up every latent spark of 
 pride. 
 
 " Did you speak to me, sir ?" 
 
 " Why, who the devil should I be speaking 
 to, but you, ye old dotard ? There 's not 
 another fool in sight." 
 
 " That may, or may not be," said the hermit, 
 whistling his pony to proceed. 
 
 Mr. John Balshawe — for it was he — made 
 a snatch at the reins by which the carriage 
 was driven, which he contrived to get hold of 
 and retain. 
 
 " Now, ye d — dullard, tell me the way to 
 Lime Grove, or, by Heaven ! I '11 drag your 
 fool's carcase along with me, and make a show 
 of you to Miss Langshawe."' 
 
 <' Miss Langshawe ! " said the old man, 
 tamed at once. " What have you to do with 
 her ? " 
 
 " Oh, ho ! and what 's that to you, my fine 
 fellow ? Suppose I 'm going a-courting, will 
 you come and be a thriving wooer, too, eh ? 
 I shall be quite afraid of you."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 207 
 
 " That road will lead you direct to Lime 
 Grove, Mr. John, for I remember you now," 
 and the hermit endeavoured to re-possess him- 
 self of the reins. 
 
 " But Mr. John Balshawe was far too face- 
 tious and high-spirited a gentleman to let this 
 be effected without " a bit of a spree." So 
 before the old man with feeble and trembling 
 hands had arranged them, he gave the pony 
 some desperate switches with his gig-whip, 
 which sent it madly off, and the frail carriage, 
 jerking against a heap of stones in the road, 
 was broken and very nearly upset. After 
 whooping with laughter at this estimable spe- 
 cimen of his wit, he proceeded on the road 
 which the hermit had pointed out. 
 
 The latter, having obtained the assistance 
 of some less witty and less spirited persons 
 to repair his crazy vehicle, wended slowly 
 homeward. The careless words of the young 
 man respecting Miss Langshawe, (which almost 
 any one else would have regarded as mere 
 impudent flash,) dwelt on his mind, and in 
 the end he formed the idea, which he clung
 
 S08 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 to with the pertinacity of a weak mind, that 
 a marriage was in prospect. He well knew 
 Mr. Langshawe*s fondness for money, and he 
 knew by report of the great wealth of Mr. 
 Balshawe, sen., and his dreaming mind soon 
 drew out a little romance, not so far from 
 the truth, except that he substituted com- 
 pulsion for what was meant to be effected by 
 persuasion. 
 
 He had known Miss Langshawe from her 
 infancy ; when she was a child he was in the 
 habit of propitiating her by little presents 
 of flowers, or baskets and other playthings 
 twined of rushes, which he made with great 
 ingenuity ; and she, who knew not what it 
 was to forget a kindness, however trivial, she 
 on her occasional visits from school, had always 
 begged to be taken to see him : and since her 
 permanent return home had visited him perpe- 
 tually, and had taken every opportunity of 
 evincing kindness towards him. No wonder 
 that such winning conduct should make deep 
 impression on a mind which, naturally affec- 
 tionate, and limited by peculiar circumstances
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 209 
 
 in the sphere of its regards, vented its affection 
 with more intensity on the few who came with- 
 in its contracted orbit. There was no sacri- 
 fice of personal comfort which he would not 
 have made to secure even a passing pleasure 
 to Miss Langshawe; is it surprising, then, 
 that a circumstance like the one which he was 
 now considering should engross every energy 
 of his being ? He knew well that young Bal- 
 shawe was not worthy of Miss Langshawe, 
 and he considered, therefore, that if a mar- 
 riage was in agitation — and he had worked 
 himself up to a full belief on this point — either 
 the young lady was unacquainted with the 
 true character of her lover, or, if acquainted 
 with it, that undue influence was exercised 
 over her. In either case, he considered him- 
 self bound to interfere in her behalf, and in 
 the silence of his solitary abode he set himself 
 to cogitate on the best manner of prosecuting 
 what he conceived to be his duty. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Balshawe, junior, had found 
 his way to Lime Grove, where his reception 
 from the owner of the mansion and his lady
 
 SIO WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 was all that heart could wish. When intro- 
 duced to Edith, she welcomed him with the 
 lady-like cordiality which she always extended 
 towards her father's guests, but which was 
 secretly interpreted by the young man into 
 something more personally flattering. Under 
 the influence of this feeling, his attentions 
 before the evening closed, had assumed an 
 earnestness and particularity which her father 
 saw would quickly frighten his shy bird from 
 the lure, and he therefore lost no time in 
 telling Mr. Balshawe, that though he should 
 feel proud and happy when the day came that 
 should complete the contract on which he 
 had set his heart, still he had not yet even 
 intimated his wishes to his daughter. 
 
 " Edith," he added, " has not been well of 
 late, and her mother and I thought that the 
 subject might perhaps agitate her." 
 
 He could not conceal from himself that 
 Edith was paler and thinner ; but as she con- 
 tinued cheerful and talkative, he resolutely 
 shut his eyes to the fact, that her voice had 
 lost much of its joyousness, her conversation 
 much of its animated gaiety.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 211 
 
 Mr. Balshawe promised to attend to the 
 hint thus given him ; the visit passed ofF ex- 
 ceedingly well, and he was pressed by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Langshawe to return at the races which 
 were fast approaching. This invitation did not 
 seem anything extraordinary to Edith, as the 
 race-time is one of universal bustle and gaiety ; 
 and it is considered a point of hospitable 
 pride to fill your house somewhat '* fuller 
 than it will hold.'' 
 
 A few days before this notably-stirring time, 
 Edith was told that William Bladow wished 
 to speak with her. She went to him imme- 
 diately, and was lured by him into the garden, 
 under some pretence about a plant ; when 
 there, however, he seemed lost in thought, and 
 paid no attention to the flower which she sup- 
 posed he had come expressly to see. Accus- 
 tomed to his odd ways, she kindly humoured 
 him, and walked on silently and slowly. 
 At last he abruptly exclaimed, as if think- 
 ing aloud, 
 
 '« Oh ! Miss Edith, he isn 't worthy of 
 you!"
 
 ^1^ WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " What do you mean?" said Edith. 
 
 " Indeed, my dear young lady, it grieves 
 me to say a word that may hurt you; but 
 indeed, indeed, I know it to be true, or I 
 would not speak it. He 's a bad man, and you 
 cannot be happy." 
 
 " Who ? what do you mean ? I don*t know 
 what you allude to." 
 
 " Why, this wedding — Mr. John Bal- 
 shawe.*" 
 
 ''Wedding! Mr. Balshawe !" repeated the 
 amazed Edith : " there is no wedding, nor 
 likely to be." 
 
 «' Isn't there ? Thank God for that, then ! 
 But the whole country-side is ringing with 
 it, and I feared it was but too true. Be 
 praised it isn't." 
 
 " What put such folly into your head, 
 Bladow?" 
 
 '* Nay, Miss Langshawe, folly or not, him- 
 self told me.'* 
 
 " He told you— what ?" 
 
 *' That he was coming a-courting to you ; 
 and sorry and vex'd was I to hear it ; and then
 
 THE COTTON LORD. SI 3 
 
 I thought may be, most like — you wouldn't 
 have him ; but when he stayed here day after 
 day — and the neighbourhood was full of it — and 
 folk said that anyhow the old people had made 
 it up — and no doubt they 'd persuade the young 
 lady into it — then I made up my mind to speak 
 to ye ; but I didn't know how to manage it 
 for fear of giving offence, which I 'd loth do 
 to you. And, now, if I've vexed you, ye 
 must forgive me; for ye 're as dear to me as 
 my own child." 
 
 The kind old man might have gone on for 
 some time longer, ere Edith found voice to 
 stop him. However she rallied, and telling 
 him that far from being offended, she was 
 obliged to him ; that there was not the slightest 
 foundation for the report, and that she begged 
 he would contradict it wherever he heard 
 it, — a commission that made him completely 
 happy, — she hurried from him to her own 
 chamber. There she collected her scattered 
 thoughts, and she remembered twenty trivial 
 circumstances, unheeded at the time, which 
 struck her now forcibly, as confirming the
 
 214 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 vague hints of the hermit, of a marriage with 
 their late visitor being projected by her father. 
 Above all, Mr. Langshawe's unjustifiable 
 conduct to Frank Walmsley; for whatever 
 might be his right, his manner of exercising 
 it was unjustifiable — this conduct, which at 
 the time struck her with astonishment and 
 dismay, seemed to her now fully accounted 
 for by the clue she had obtained to his mo- 
 tives. 
 
 " And was it for this," she said — " for a 
 mercenary bargain with the son of a vulgar, 
 profligate man — himself I fancy by no means 
 immaculate — was it for this that such a man 
 as Mr. Walmsley was to be treated with scorn 
 and contumely ? " 
 
 And she shed bitter tears of anger and mor- 
 tification. 
 
 But ere long calmer thoughts and a better 
 spirit resumed their accustomed sway. She 
 remembered the unvarying, the undeviating, 
 and unbounded kindness with which her father 
 had ever treated her ; and though she knew 
 his prejudices were strong on some points, she
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 215 
 
 had always felt assured in her own mind, that 
 his affection for her would ultimately triumph 
 over them. Nor would she suffer herself to 
 doubt it, even now. Then as she became 
 cooler, she reflected on the very uncertain 
 source from which her information was de- 
 rived ; she knew the weakness of the hermit's 
 mind, and how during his long hours of seclu- 
 sion he brooded on ideas till they became reali- 
 ties. Then, again, she knew that he was truth 
 itself; and he had said that this wedding, 
 projected by the two fathers, was the talk of 
 the neighbourhood. She also recalled many 
 instances of more than hospitable — of peculiar 
 and striking attentions which her father had 
 paid to the young man ; and again her heart 
 misgave her. 
 
 She resolved, however, to know the truth, 
 and at first she thought of applying to her 
 mother; but this, on second thoughts, she 
 felt it better not to do. Edith dearly loved 
 her mother, and for any participation in 
 her joy, or kind sympathy in her sorrow, 
 she would have flown at once to her arms.
 
 216 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 But as well as knowing that to her father's will, 
 whatever it might be, her mother had ever 
 shown the most devoted and unenquiring obe- 
 dience, she had also been accustomed to feel 
 that the judgment that should guide, the wisdom 
 that should direct, the firmness that should re- 
 solve, in cases of doubt or difficulty, had hardly 
 been accorded to her mother. And though 
 shrinking in spirit from the task, she yet, with 
 the firmness of mind which characterised all 
 her deliberate actions, sought her father. 
 
 Mr. Langshawe found that his daughter 
 had received some intimation of his projects, 
 and he at once declared that he had indulged 
 the idea of her union, at some time, with the 
 son of his old friend, supposing it more than 
 probable, from what he had seen of the young 
 man, that he might in time render himself 
 agreeable to her ; but he totally and entirely 
 disclaimed on his own part, any idea of ex- 
 ercising undue authority over her. He added, 
 that as the young gentleman was returning 
 in a few days, Edith would please him much 
 by endeavouring to look at him favourably.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 217 
 
 " My father, my dear, dear father, I pro- 
 mised you that I would give no encouragement 
 to Mr. Wahnsley, and I will faithfully, reli- 
 giously, keep my promise ; but more you 
 must not require of me."" 
 
 " I do not require anything of you : I mere- 
 ly ask that you will receive this young gen- 
 tleman as my particular friend." 
 
 " But will he not, sir, infer something fur- 
 ther in such a reception from me ?"* 
 
 " Perhaps he may ; but what of that — it 
 does not tie you.'* 
 
 " Yes, indeed, sir, it would, virtually." 
 
 A hasty reply was on the father's lip, but 
 he checked himself, and merely said, 
 
 " Mr. John Balshawe will be here next 
 week ; the house will be full of company, 
 which will take away any appearance of par- 
 ticularity in his visit ; and it can be no great 
 trial to you to receive from him those atten- 
 tions which every other man in the house 
 will be sure to pay you." 
 
 He left the room, and his daughter durst 
 not then press the subject any further. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MANCHESTER IN THE RACE WEEK. 
 
 " Of our amusements ask you ?" 
 
 Crabbe. 
 
 " The scholar forgets his learning, 
 The poet his fancied woes." 
 
 There is one short season of the year when 
 the female world in and about the " metro- 
 polis of the North"" is shorn of its outward 
 lustre, and the horizon of dress and fashion 
 is dimmed by a transient cloud. 
 
 Ladies, usually the " glass of fashion," ap- 
 pear in a last summer's vamped-up bonnet, 
 (for winter habiliments are no longer endur- 
 able,) and " bright stars in the galaxy" of 
 dress and show are content to confer grace 
 and dignity on a humble plaited straw. Are 
 the modistes asleep ? — Oh ! by no means. The
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 219 
 
 very newspapers abridge the reported eloquence 
 of the senate, the glories of the Conservative 
 Dinner, or the details of the " Radical De- 
 monstration" — the patriotic effusions of O'Con- 
 nell, or the marvellous meanderings of his 
 "Tail," in order to announce in imposing type 
 a lengthened array of such " at homes'" as the 
 following : — 
 
 " Miss Hamilton has the honour to announce 
 her return from London, with an elegant as- 
 sortment of Millinery^ which she trusts the 
 ladies of Manchester will do her the favour 
 of inspecting on Tuesday next." 
 " 39, Princes St." 
 
 " Mesdames Shaw & Co, 23, St. Anne's 
 Square, respectfully announce their intention 
 of showing the London and Parisian Summer 
 Fashions on Thursday next and ensuing days." 
 
 " Shaw and Baldwin beg most respectfully 
 to inform the ladies of Manchester, Salford, 
 and their vicinities, that Miss Shaw is just 
 returned from London with millinery, dresses, 
 TUSCAN and straw bonnets, together with a 
 
 l2
 
 220 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 choice assortment of ribbons, french flowers, 
 &c., &c., which will be ready for inspection 
 on Tuesday next." 
 
 " 4, St. Anne's Place." 
 " Mrs. Wareing begs to inform the ladies 
 of Manchester and its vicinity, that she is now 
 in London selecting summer fashions, which 
 she will have the pleasure of showing in a 
 few days." 
 
 " Miss M'Ghie begs to inform the ladies 
 of Manchester and its vicinity, that she is re- 
 turned from London, where she has selected 
 from the first houses at the West end a fashion- 
 able variety of millinery, pelisses, dresses, 
 &c., figured, plain, and watered silk, French 
 ribbons, andfiowers. The whole will be ready 
 for inspection on Tuesday next and following 
 days." 
 
 " Mrs. Murry, grateful to the ladies of 
 Manchester and its neighbourhood for the 
 favours she has received, respectfully begs to 
 inform them she is now in London, selecting 
 with care and attention everi/ article for the 
 present and ensuing season, and which will
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 221 
 
 be open for inspection on Tuesday the 10th 
 of May, soliciting a continuance of their future 
 favours." 
 
 " 63, King-street." 
 
 Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. 
 
 No, the modistes are not in fault ; notwith- 
 standing the fatigues of their late journeys, 
 they are to be seen with dim eyes, pale faces, 
 and aching brows, stitch, stitch, stitching, sew, 
 sew, sewing, from early morning to past mid- 
 night, while the graceful draperies and gos- 
 samer bonnets multiply under their busy fin- 
 gers. Nay, we have heard it intimated that 
 these assiduous devotees at the shrine of taste 
 multiply themselves as well as their dresses ; 
 and that during their periodical absences in 
 London and Paris, assimilating, assorting, and 
 catering with all the energies of a spirit de- 
 voted to tulle, and blonde, and peau de sole, 
 they are hodily imprisoned in their own back 
 parlour, stitching, and shaping, and sewing, 
 much to the edification and comfort of their 
 juvenile assistants. Who will say that the
 
 222 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 occupation of a modiste is not an intellectual 
 one, since it thus tends to the severing of 
 body and spirit ? 
 
 Neither are the gentlemen of the shears 
 less occupied, and trowsers or pantaloons, "those 
 indispensable appendages to gentlemen,'"' {vide 
 " John Bull,") in every variety of long or 
 short, of wide or tight, or slack or " slack- 
 tights," as the case may be, " white, black, 
 or grey," like the old witches, as the fashion 
 may be, are heaped a mighty mass, an un- 
 distinguishable throng, amidst silken waist- 
 coats the very acme of taste, and broadcloth 
 coats the very " mould of form." The quota- 
 tion is not misapplied ; the form is fully as 
 often in the coat as in the wearer, and an 
 accomplished habit-maker — there are no tailors 
 now! — knows his duty much better than to 
 leave Nature to herself. " Nature unadorned !" 
 — pshaw! — the poet in all his dreams never 
 chanced to have a prophetic vision of the 
 glories of the golden Cottonocracy. " If na- 
 ture is to be modeled,'' says L. E. L. "let 
 it be by refinement, grace, and education."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 223 
 
 Ah ! L. E. L. never had the advantage of 
 a sojourn in the metropolis of the North or 
 its environs, or she would have known that 
 there are other ways of modeling nature. 
 
 But why is all this preparation afloat ? why 
 do the ladies delay to appropriate the satin 
 and blonde which courts their notice in every 
 hue that nature herself can invent, in every 
 attractive form that fancy can devise ? and 
 why do not the gentlemen hasten to display 
 the glories of the last new cut ? Is there an 
 annual coronation of a cotton king for which 
 all these preparations are being made ? No, 
 not so ; but there is a festival at hand at 
 which the pink and the primrose must appear 
 in their first blush and beauty, and before 
 which the delicate lilac and the zephyr crape, 
 that grow pale beneath a summer's breath, or 
 shrink beneath the touch of rain, must not 
 yield up their " sweet lives." Fashions may 
 be renewed monthly, and wardrobes may be 
 renewed with them ; but the peculiar fashions 
 that harbinger the summer, the parents of the 
 frail and fragile family of beautiful trifles
 
 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 which have been unheard of amid the furs 
 and stuffs of winter, but now come forth radi- 
 ant as butterflies from their shrouds, and which 
 are from their novelty more beautiful than any 
 of their progeny of succeeding months ; these 
 must still repose within the sheltering folds 
 of paper — white — brown — cap — whitey-brown 
 — or tissue. 
 
 Next week are The Races ! 
 
 The " great festival of the North," which 
 has not its parallel in England, — the Man- 
 chester races, come next week. 
 
 Miserable Manchester in the race-week ! 
 
 Nay, even the indefatigable and almost ex- 
 hausted modiste^ 
 
 " By that best of all ways 
 To lengthen the days, 
 To steal a few hours from the night ;" 
 
 even she, by this ingenious but harassing 
 expedient, has despatched her last promised 
 dress, and flown on the wings of the time 
 to the races ! 
 
 The habit-maker, having by inexpressible 
 exertions completed the inexpressible number
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 225 
 
 of inexpressibles which were ordered in an 
 inexpressibly short time, is to his own inex- 
 pressible satisfaction sporting a pair of his own 
 inexpressibly-beautiful inexpressibles at Ker- 
 sal Moor. 
 
 The climbing-boy keeps holiday, the itine- 
 rant match-seller goes with him ; the lame beg- 
 gar has found his feet, the blind one his eyes. 
 Ladies are gone in their carriages, gentlemen 
 are gone in their gigs, and people have taken 
 every coach, cart, gig, horse, shandry, barrow, 
 donkey, and dog in the town. The banker 
 closes his house, the tradesman shuts his ware- 
 house, the shopkeeper deserts his counter, the 
 usurer leaves his desk, for none come to chaffer, 
 nay, the attorney lays aside his books, for none 
 have time to quarrel. 
 
 The clock of St. Anne's church sullenly 
 tolls the hour, and startles the square with 
 its echoes. Most of the shops, even in that 
 mart of noonday bustle, are closed ; here and 
 there is one open, and its single occupant — 
 like Goldsmith's traveller, " weary, pensive, 
 solitary, slow," — regards you with a look of 
 
 L 5
 
 226 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 wistful surprise, as if he had not thought of 
 the possibility of anyone being absent from 
 the races but his unlucky self. Nay, even 
 Mr. Satterfield's favourite and fashionable 
 place of resort is no exception ; and the locum 
 tenens of that ever-liberal, and obliging, and 
 gentlemanly caterer does absolutely yawn and 
 drop his scissors in cutting off your yards of 
 ribbon. He could not help it, nor could we 
 — for sympathy. 
 
 The languid sparrows hop across the de- 
 serted square, and seem too much out of spirits 
 even to chirp ; while the afternoon sun pours 
 his intense glare from end to end and from 
 side to side, not a single object intervening 
 to cast even a passing shadow. You pass on ; 
 the post-office is closed, and you almost feel 
 inclined to doubt whether it will be opened 
 when the mails come in, or whether the mails 
 do come in on a race-day. The elegant semi- 
 circular exchange is as quiet as its own shadow ; 
 no busy crowds throng the area in front, no 
 eager murmuring of voices is heard to issue 
 from its portal ; you peep in at the windows,
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 227 
 
 you do not see even a solitary " elderly re- 
 spectable gentleman "*' poring over a newspaper. 
 No, it is the races ! You just bethink you that 
 Bulwer's new novel, which you have been 
 promised so long, will be in now, and you 
 step round the walls to the library. The 
 door is shut — that is a disappointment; for 
 though you care not a pin about the races, 
 you feel the general dulness wrap you round 
 as a shroud. It cannot be helped ; you turn 
 from the door. 
 
 On your right hand Market Street, on the 
 left St. Mary''s Gate and its continuation stretch 
 their long arms, and the Market Place lies 
 before you ; all is dull, and still, and silent. 
 The littered ground strewed with the debris 
 of fruit and vegetables bears evidence to a 
 yesterday's market ; but the hucksters are 
 gone : there is not even an orange barrow. The 
 fish market seems open, but what of that ? 
 the fish is half cooked by the heat while the 
 scanty attendants have fallen asleep ; they 
 don't fear thieves here on a race day. You 
 hear sounds at a little distance, you approach
 
 228 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 them, and you find " a gentleman of the coun- 
 ter '' has to his own infinite delight, and that 
 of a young lady (by courtesy) who is with 
 him, succeeded in routing from the recesses of 
 a third-rate livery-stable a crazy gig and a 
 broken-winded wall-eyed horse, which even 
 in the overwhelming request for any and every- 
 thing in the shape of a horse and carriage had 
 hitherto been passed by. 
 
 " I say this beast won't kick, will it ? "" 
 
 " As quiet as a lamb, sir, if you knows how 
 to manage him ; and don't overdrive him ; and 
 be careful over the rough bits, sir ; the springs 
 is rather loose/' 
 
 And with this caution as a salvo to his 
 conscience the ostler pocketed two guineas, and 
 touched his hat. 
 
 " Set the beast off, will you ? he 's sulky." 
 The man gives the animal a scutch 
 which sends him off at speed, — amidst the 
 shrieking laughter of the lady, and the en- 
 couraging whistles of the gentleman uttered 
 with all the vociferation of shop-boy Jehuism, — 
 to the races !
 
 THE COTTON LORD. S29 
 
 You walk up Market Street, the windows 
 are all closed : you meet occasionally a passen- 
 ger : he eyes you with somewhat of a suspicious 
 look, you return it, — " I wonder,'* you say to 
 yourself, " why he is not at the races." \^ 
 
 You come to the Royal Hotel, and walk 
 past the Albion, up Piccadilly ; all looks hot 
 and quiet, and in Portland Place the very 
 houses themselves are asleep. You return, the 
 Infirmary Gardens look as dull and as dusty 
 as usual ; the Infirmary Pond as dark and 
 unsightly as ever. You almost wish that it 
 had been made into a " ship canal," as was 
 somewhile talked of, in order that you might 
 see a sign of life about it. You look up at 
 the Infirmary ; it is a blessed charity, which 
 stays not for time or season on its healing 
 course, but — pshaw ! moralizing at the races ! 
 
 You pass along Mosley Street ; the lofty 
 and spacious houses give little token of habita- 
 tion : the Portico steps are unoccupied, and 
 no hope of its library being open ; the Assem- 
 bly Room door is shut ; the new Club House 
 seems to be empty ; the Royal Institution looks
 
 S30 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 more dungeon-like than ordinary. You pass 
 St. Peter's church ; the Oxford Road bears 
 none of the usual tides of human life on its 
 broad surface ; the groaning factories are still ; 
 the tall chimneys send forth no smoke ; 
 the usual din is hushed. The reason ? The 
 Millocrat and his thousands are at the races. 
 The Concert Hall is passed, and you look to 
 the Hall of Natural History, — it is but a few 
 paces ; it is worth the trial. Open by all that's 
 wonderful ! (A lady is allowed to swear if 
 she do but mince and mouth it prettily.) 
 
 " Why Mrs, Reynolds, is that you yourself 
 or your ghost ? Why are you not at the races ? "" 
 " My husband is gone, ma'am, and we can't 
 both leave here." 
 
 Happy hearing thought we : and we soon 
 forgot the races, our own blue devils, and what 
 was a greater forget than either, " Zanoni ! " 
 
 We knew a youth, a boy, who was treasuring 
 his money for the next races. His parents 
 were not wealthy; his weekly allowance was 
 but trifling. With a unity of purpose worthy 
 a better cause, he debarred himself the indul-
 
 THE COTTON LORD. ^l 
 
 gences which his pocket-money usually sup- 
 plied, and for many months he laid up every 
 penny. The races came. He would not attend 
 them on Wednesday, because Thursday is 
 usually a better day. Thursday he went, and 
 he returned quietly home in the evening with- 
 out a penny in his pockets, rather to the dis- 
 comfiture of his parents who had no idea of 
 his executing his plan so literally. He had 
 spent all his savings, and if they had amounted 
 to as much again he would have spent them. 
 It was his hobby ; he had ridden it and was 
 satisfied ; nor did he ever give the slightest 
 intimation in any way that could lead one to 
 suppose he thought " he had given too much 
 for his whistle." 
 
 Manchester people are brought up to go 
 to the races as regularly though not so fre- 
 quently as to church. Their return seems to be 
 considered as infallible and as important in 
 summer, as that of Christmas in winter. And 
 the preparation of green gooseberry raised tarts 
 for one, as important a piece of housewifery as 
 that of mince pies for the other. Raised veal
 
 232 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 pies, gooseberry ditto, cold ham, cold tongue, 
 cold beef, cold fowls, &c. &c , are as insepara- 
 bly united in the mind of a child with one 
 season of the year, as mince-pie, plum-pudding, 
 snap-dragon and twelfth-cake are with another. 
 We do not by any means wish to insinuate 
 that gooseberry pies and cold beef are not to 
 be met with in Manchester at other seasons 
 of the year ; but certainly this is the only 
 season when for three days together every 
 dining table is stretched to its full dimensions, 
 and by eleven o'clock in a morning, people 
 who are ceremonious enough on most occasions, 
 pour in sans ceremonie for the professed pur- 
 pose of eating and drinking. 
 
 Gooseberry tarts vanish like smoke! — fresh, 
 natural, unforced gooseberries are somewhat of 
 a rarity then. Beef and ham, and fowl and 
 tongue, disappear miraculously ; while with 
 the liberality, and almost with the celerity, of 
 the Slaves of the Lamp, the happy servants 
 — themselves equipped for flight, — bring rein- 
 forcements of provisions more — yes, it is in 
 Lancashire ! — more than proportioned to the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 2S3 
 
 succession of hungry mouths that crowd round 
 them. Ladies that pick daintily as a bird at 
 other times will positively take a raised pie in 
 their fingers and eat it as if they enjoyed it. 
 As to the gentlemen, they think the having 
 dinner an hour or two later than usual suf- 
 ficient excuse for eating enough for a week. 
 N'importe, Everybody is busy, and bustling, 
 and good humoured, 
 
 "For the races come but once a year, 
 And to them we will go," 
 
 as said the cook when her mistress was giving 
 her some orders at the beginning of the race- 
 week. 
 
 " But I can't do it then, ma'am, I shall be at 
 the races." 
 
 *' No, indeed, Betty, you can't go that day." 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, I must go all three days. 
 I '11 work like a slave to please you between 
 times, but three days I must go." 
 
 " You cannot, Betty : you shall go one 
 day with pleasure ; a second if possible ; but 
 certainly not three; your fellow -servants must 
 have their turns."
 
 234f WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " I don't care, ma'am ; I never missed a day 
 in my life, and I never will ; I '11 go all three 
 days/' 
 
 « Very well, Betty, be it so : but you will 
 prepare to quit your place ; you have hitherto 
 suited me very well, but if you break my rules 
 of course you quit my house." 
 
 '* Very well ma'am ; it 's not the first place 
 I 've given up for it." 
 
 " But are you not foolish, if you like your 
 situation ? " 
 
 "I like my place very well, ma'am ; I never 
 had a better ; but I always did go three days 
 to the races, and I 've quarreled with many a 
 mistress for it : and I '11 not stop now." 
 
 The lady turned away ; but before she 
 reached the parlour she heard her servant 
 chanting a melodious finale to the argument, 
 
 " For the races come but once a year, 
 And to them I will go." 
 
 And she did.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 THE MANCHESTER RACES. 
 
 " So floats our life down time's rough stream, 
 Such is its constant motion ; 
 And hubbies on the land will gleam 
 Like bubbles on the ocean." 
 
 Rev. R. Parkinson. 
 
 Hasten we now to the busy scene which 
 is considered to be without parallel in Eng- 
 land. These races are the annual carnival of 
 the cotton operatives, and Kersal Moor — the 
 scene of their enaction — is literally swamped 
 throughout its length and breadth by the 
 mass of plebeianism congregated on it. The 
 Great Unwashed are lords paramount of the 
 time, and for three days they " fool it to the 
 top of their bent." So decidedly, indeed, has 
 this been the characteristic of the Manchester 
 races, that the sport itself exhibited here has 
 been but lightly esteemed by the ** knowing-
 
 2S6 WILLIAM LANGS H AWE, 
 
 ones" of the turf until of late years, when 
 greater inducements have been thrown out, 
 and greater exertions made — and with good 
 effect — to induce the leading professors of the 
 sublime science of horse-racing to honour this 
 meeting with their presence. A new grand 
 stand was erected a few years ago — which is 
 remarkable only for the peculiar advantage 
 of being on the wrong side of the course — and 
 hither congregate the families of the Cotton- 
 ocracy, together with such '' shining ornaments 
 of the turf as chance, or whim, or interest, 
 may draw from afar. But the gentility is 
 but as a drop in the ocean of plebeianism, 
 and the race itself is the least important at- 
 traction to nine tenths of the people con- 
 gregated there. Those on, or in the immediate 
 neighbourhood of the grand stand do take, or 
 profess to take, some interest in it ; and doubt- 
 less around the starting chair, and so on, are 
 collected real lovers of the sport ; but this 
 is not the case with the general mass, whose 
 hundred varied amusements are proceeding 
 often with perfect indifference to the race, and 
 almost up to the very cords of the course 
 itself.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 237 
 
 Kersal Moor was, some years ago, a wild 
 and beautiful scene. The increase of popu- 
 lation around, and the forming of the new 
 Bury road so near it, are causing a complete 
 subversion of its natural features. Flaring 
 brick mansions are starting up, tall chimneys 
 are emitting their volumes of smoke, and the 
 whole district gives token of the improver's — 
 or, as regards the picturesque, — the destroyer's 
 hand. But until very late years Kersal Moor 
 was, as its name imports, a wide tract of moor- 
 land, beautifully diversified into hill and dale, 
 and thickly bestrewn with cranberry and bil- 
 berry bushes, and with the most varied and 
 delicate heaths and bog-plants. Here, of yore, 
 the air was resonant with the wild hymns of 
 myriads of nature's choristers, and thousands 
 of larks soared to heaven, and dropped fear- 
 lessly on their then secure, though unhidden 
 nests; the bees reveled in the fragrant heaths; 
 and the wild rabbits burrowed in the unmo- 
 lested soil. And if, when the lightning flash- 
 ed, and the tempest howled, the shrill cry of 
 the unhallowed witch — that bane of Lancashire 
 — pierced the startled air, or her shrouded 
 form was dimly seen athwart the gloom, yet
 
 2S8 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 more often, more frequent, was the revel of 
 the tiny fairies among the mossy hollows, or 
 the joyous gala of the blackberry-loving group 
 amid the woody dingles. 
 
 From the eminences on the north side of 
 the moor you have at your feet " The course ; " 
 and right in front you trace the meanderings 
 of the sparkling river in the romantic and 
 beautiful vale of Broughton ; further on the 
 spires of the Manchester churches gleam in 
 the sunshine which is shedding a softened 
 radiance on the distant hills. On both sides 
 of the course, on the slopes of the hills, and 
 in many of the sheltered nooks, are long rows 
 of seats of turf, placed as closely and as re- 
 gularly as forms or benches would be for a 
 meeting. These, artificial of course, originally, 
 appear now but as part and parcel of the 
 moor itself. Over these the operative Restau- 
 rateurs erect their tents, and thus have in- 
 ternal accommodation almost ready to their 
 hand. 
 
 But this is, or rather was, Kersal Moor on 
 a fine day, a quiet day, and assuredly not on 
 a race day. For then one hundred thousand 
 people are congregated with, as it should seem.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 239 
 
 the one sole view of utterly annihilating every 
 vestige by which the original features of the 
 spot might be traced. The roads and avenues 
 on every side are thronged with approaching 
 vehicles of every sort, size, shape, and make; 
 and all around as far as the eye can reach, 
 hill and hollow present one dense mass of 
 human beings, intermixed with dogs, horses, 
 carriages, shows, booths, tents, stands, and all 
 the interminable mirahilia which are to be 
 seen only at this carnival of the " Great Un- 
 washed ! " As to the conflicting noises ! — 
 Babel itself must have been harmonious com- 
 pared with them. 
 
 The hollow on the Broughton side of the 
 course is usually appropriated to the shows, 
 &c, ; which are removed hither from the Whit- 
 suntide fair, held in Salford. Here are won- 
 ders without end or measure. There is a 
 giant with six fingers on each hand, and a 
 dwarf without any hands at all. There is a 
 pig with two heads, and a sheep with six feet, 
 and a prize ox — the last importation from 
 Yankee land — which was so large that it could 
 hardly get into England at all. On one hand 
 you are invited to see a hero " bewitch the
 
 240 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 world with gallant horsemanship," as he fairly 
 bestrides six horses at a time ; or if this be 
 too sublime a pitch for your aim, you may, 
 for the same moderate price, accompany the 
 '' tailor to Brentford." 
 
 For three copper impresses of royalty you 
 may behold the " Sublime and moving tragedy 
 of the Fatal Ring, or the BLOODY SPIRIT 
 of the Castle ; showing how a beautiful and 
 elegant young lady was spirited away by the 
 wicked devices of her faithless lover ; and how 
 she was cruelly murdered; and how her 
 bloody spirit ever after haunted the place ; 
 and how her faithless lover disappeared in a 
 sheet of flame ; with all the sublime^ and 
 moving, and touching, and wonderful cata- 
 strophe; being a wonderful representation of 
 true facts." Then there is "a true likeness 
 of the Duke of Wellington in the act of lead- 
 ing the Imperial Guards to the charge of 
 Waterloo when the Prussians were over- 
 thrown, and Paris was sacked, and the glorious 
 freedom of England's rights established for 
 ever." 
 
 " There you see,"" exclaims the eloquent 
 showman, " There you see the glorious duke
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 24fl 
 
 leading them on, and there's the great Mar- 
 shal Blucher— " 
 
 " Please, sir, which is the Duke of Wel- 
 lington, and which is Marshal Blucher?*' 
 
 " Whichever you please, my pretty dear ! 
 There you see — " 
 
 The royal din of the beefeaters' horns at- 
 tracts you to the spot where the wild denizens 
 of the forest are enthralled. " Walk in, ladies 
 and gemmen, walk in ! — walk in and see the 
 beasts and beastesses. Here 's a royal Bengal 
 tiger what comes from Bottomless Bay in the 
 West Ingies : there 's no two spots on his body 
 alike, and all of 'em different! — he measures 
 seven feet five inches from the tip of his tail to 
 his snout, and nine feet six inches from his 
 snout to the tip of his tail ! Here 's the great 
 sea-serpent from the Equator, that followed 
 Captain Parry to the North Pole, and stung 
 seventeen sailors to death before he was taken ! 
 — Walk in, ladies and gemmen, walk in I" 
 
 Between and around these sublime spectacles 
 are boys with hurdy-gurdies and white mice; 
 with barrel-organs and dancing-dogs ; with 
 French pianos and tame monkeys. There are 
 old women bawling " Last dying speech and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 confession," and younger ones with touching 
 ditties — 
 
 " Of tales of love, and maids forsaken, 
 Of battles fought, and captives taken." 
 
 There are old Jew pedlars with Turkey rhu- 
 barb, and other delights ; and itinerant medi- 
 ciners, one with the " Original infallible salve 
 for corns and bunions,'' and another with 
 " The real original infallible salve for bunions 
 and corns of all sorts ; for hard corns, soft 
 corns, and for bloody corns ;" and they have 
 also in juxta-position mint-cake, lollipops, " real 
 original Ormskirk gingerbread," and gexmine 
 Eccles cake. 
 
 There are beggars of all sorts : some wed 
 soft music to immortal verse — 
 
 " And when you hear my great misfortune 
 I hope to pity you '11 incline — 
 
 for, ladies and gentlemen, I 'm qui-i-ite blind !" 
 Another, less melodious, but quite as pathetic, 
 whose weathered chin seemed to have endured 
 the scrapes of some five-and-forty summers, 
 touchingly implores your charity, for he was 
 " blind at his birth, and is a poor orphan^ 
 Conjuring, — box i' th' hole, — kiss i' th' ring.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 243 
 
 — thimble-rig, — and archery, have all their 
 scientific professors, and their ardent aspir- 
 ants; foot-races and donkey-races are got up 
 with a facility that is perfectly astonishing to 
 those who don't remember the adage tbat 
 " where there's a will there's a way." Betting 
 and gambling are the order of the day ; black- 
 guardism and quarreling are necessary con- 
 comitants ; and " all the 'currents of a heady 
 fight," are visible at all times in almost every 
 direction. 
 
 But the operative frequenters of the races 
 are not all intent on sport. Many go for plea- 
 sure, for relaxation, for change ; and numbers 
 go for no definite object either of business or 
 pleasure, but, as we said before, merely be- 
 cause it is not possible to stay away. The 
 following colloquy is given verbatim : — 
 
 " Well, Agnes," said Betty, " who 'd ha'e 
 thought o' seeing thee here ! How 's thy hus- 
 band.?" 
 
 " Oh ! he's vast bad, Betty: oh ! if it would 
 but please the Lord to tak"* him to hisself, it 
 would be a blessed thing for me I" 
 
 " Ay, so it would forshure ! thou'st a weary 
 life wi' him !" 
 
 M 2
 
 244 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " You may say that : but how 's little 
 Lizzy ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Lizzy's dying : I 'm sure on't." 
 
 " You don't say so ! What does its father 
 say ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Dav-yid takes on sadly ! — but I says 
 to him, ' Davwd,' I says, ' thee needn't fret 
 about Lizzy, for if the Lord chooses to tak 
 Lizzy to hisself, we 'st ne 'er hear no bad o' 
 her, and the Lord '11 do better for her than 
 we can ; besides, Davvid,' I says, ' it may 
 please the Lord for her to get better, then, 
 sure, thee needn't fret ! ' " 
 
 But the signal is given to clear the course, 
 and the scene changes in an instant. The 
 people who had been refreshing in the booths 
 beneath the stands, rush to the seats above, 
 and the frail-looking buildings are crowded 
 to intensity ; the tents pour out their myriads ; 
 the thimble-riggers lose their customers ; the 
 embryo bets and incipient fights are post- 
 poned ; all rush towards the course, and the 
 moor is alive with expectation. The hills on 
 all sides are crowded with gazers ; the whole 
 intervening space is, with the bare exception of 
 the course, a dense mass, a wedge of eager
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 245 
 
 participants. The balcony of the grand stand 
 is crowded with ladies ; the roof is thronged 
 with the gentlemen most eager in the sport. 
 
 " My lord, I offer fifty to two on Black cap." 
 
 " /usually bet with gentlemen^ 
 
 " My lord, if you 're disposed to sell your 
 rent-roll, I '11 lay down the ready this evening." 
 
 The conscious nobleman turned away, and 
 the cotton lord enjoyed his vulgar triumph. 
 
 But now were all hearts and eyes on the 
 qui vive, for the grand race of the day was 
 about to commence. It is said that The Cup 
 is always given to the " prettiest girl" on the 
 grand stand to hold whilst it is run for. This 
 is not invariably the case ; but certainly on 
 this day there was not even a dissentient whis- 
 per when the steward gallantly presented the 
 golden vase to Miss Langshawe. Her mother's 
 face beamed with delight, and her father, 
 though he pretended to ridicule the circum- 
 stance, evinced no dissatisfaction. The excite- 
 ment of the scene had restored the bloom to 
 her face, and it was not lessened by the con- 
 sciousness of Mr. Walmsley's presence. He 
 had greeted her merely by a distant bow, and 
 she felt, rather than saw, that though he was
 
 ^46 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 ostensibly occupied with another party, he 
 regarded her with undeviating attention. She 
 saw his start of pleasure as the cup was pre- 
 sented to her, and she felt a degree of com- 
 parative happiness in the certainty thus afford- 
 ed of his continued interest in her. Under 
 the influence of this pleasing thought she bore 
 Mr. John Balshawe's assiduities with a com- 
 placency which that gentleman attributed en- 
 tirely to his own merits ; and she listened to 
 the jokes of Mr. Ashworth with something of 
 her accustomed hilarity. 
 
 Far differently was Mr. Walmsley influ- 
 enced. Young Balshawe's attentions were too 
 pointed to escape the notice of a jealous lover, 
 and the seeming satisfaction with which Edith 
 listened — a satisfaction originating, in fact, in 
 circumstances most flattering to himself — were 
 attributed by Frank, not unnaturally, to causes 
 the very reverse of those really in operation. 
 With contending, but smothered feelings of 
 regret, mortification and anger, he continued 
 to watch her whilst ostensibly engaged with 
 his own circle. 
 
 Meanwhile the day passes, and the sports 
 close; and if anything can exceed the intense
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 247 
 
 eagerness to reach the course, it is the mad 
 impetuosity displayed in leaving it. Risk of 
 life or limb seems of little consequence com- 
 pared with the glory of being foremost in the 
 homeward race. So exciting is this feeling 
 that it influences those who have really little 
 taste for the sport, and no interest in the race. 
 For instance, we knew an elderly and some- 
 what grave gentleman, who was taking his 
 accustomed ride, and slowly paced towards the 
 moor from no other earthly reason than the 
 impossibility which a Manchester man feels of 
 keeping away from it ; and turning down one 
 of the lanes which leads from the high road to 
 the scene of action he perceived that the race 
 was over. Instantly he turned his horse's 
 head, and scampered homeward. 
 
 " Is the race over ?" cries one. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Who's won?" 
 
 On he went, conveniently deaf. 
 
 " Who's won ? who's won .?" 
 
 On he went. 
 
 The turnpike-gate, like the one in John 
 Gilpin's famous race of yore, "flew wide at 
 his approach."
 
 248 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " Who 's won ?'* said the gate-keeper. 
 
 " I haven't time to tell you." 
 
 " Rat it, mon," said the sage of the 
 pike, scratching his head, "thee moight 
 ha tell 't one i'less toime than thee 's takken to 
 say noy." 
 
 On he went, but ere he entered his own 
 house he had provided himself with a return 
 list. 
 
 As Mr. Walmsley was threading his way 
 homeward on horseback along a lane literally 
 choked with carriages, he observed some stop- 
 page a little onward, accompanied with all 
 the vociferous confusion usually attendant on 
 such a circumstance; and looking more ear- 
 nestly, for he recognised the liveries of the 
 carriage from which the general halt originated, 
 he saw Miss Langshawe look from the win- 
 dow with alarm depicted on her countenance. 
 In a moment he was at the spot, had opened 
 the carriage-door, and was assisting the ter- 
 rified ladies to alight, whilst Mr. John Bal- 
 shawe, who acted as charioteer, was vocife- 
 rously calling to them to keep their seats. 
 However, finding he was not heeded, he re- 
 signed the reins to the attendants who were
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 249 
 
 busied in disengaging the wheel which was 
 fast locked with that of another chariot, and 
 followed the ladies to a little recess, formed 
 by a gate in the road side, whither for momen- 
 tary safety Mr. Walmsley had conducted them. 
 He impetuously reproached them for leaving 
 the carriage, and called Mr. Walmsley "a 
 d — d fool for his pains." Frank bit his lip, 
 but took no notice; but Balshawe, irritated at 
 the accident his own mad driving had caused, 
 stimulated perhaps a little by liquor, and 
 stung with vexation and jealousy at the evi- 
 dent reliance with which both Mrs. Langshawe 
 and her daughter clung to Mr. Walmsley, 
 loaded him with epithets too reproachful and 
 abusive for any gentleman to endure. 
 
 In the meantime others had surrounded 
 them with offers of assistance. But the car- 
 riage was by this time disentangled, and the 
 ladies were replaced in it, Mrs. Langshawe 
 having insisted that Mr. Balshawe should 
 resign the reins to her own coachman. To 
 this regulation the gentleman, albeit very 
 sulkily, submitted. As soon as the carriage- 
 door had closed on them, Mr. Walmsley touch- 
 ed Mr. Balshawe's arm. 
 
 IM 5
 
 250 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " Hark ye, sir, I am not such a coward 
 as to bully before ladies ! here is my card ; 
 may I beg the honour of your address ?" 
 
 This was certainly not exactly what Mr. 
 John Balshavve had calculated on ; but he gave 
 his card with a good grace, and took his place 
 by the side of the coachman. 
 
 All this had passed in much less time than 
 it has taken to write it ; but Edith's quick 
 heart instantly divined the whole, when she 
 found there was a momentary delay in Mr. 
 Balshawe's mounting the box, and saw a card 
 in his hand as he did so. 
 
 When Mr. Langshawe, who had been es- 
 corting a friend in his gig, arrived at home, 
 he w^as informed by his wife of the accident, 
 and also that Edith had a bad head-ache with 
 the fright, and had retired to lie down, but 
 would rejoin the party at dessert. 
 
 Hundreds, we might almost say thousands, 
 of the operatives and lower classes remain on 
 the ground all night ; many in necessary 
 care of their property ; many with prudent 
 forethought, to be ready for the business 
 or the pleasure of the ensuing day ; many 
 from reckless and careless joviality ; and not
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 25i 
 
 a few from brutal intoxication. The last le- 
 gitimate race day is Friday ; but there are 
 always donkey-races, wrestling and boxing 
 matches on Saturday ; and miserable is the 
 spectacle which this erstwhile quiet and beau- 
 ful spot exhibits on Sunday ; though, as far 
 as possible, the authorities have the ground 
 cleared of all its temporary erections against 
 that day — but miserable at all times, and in 
 all circumstances, is the ghost of departed 
 revelry. 
 
 The most attractive feature of the Man- 
 chester race week is the exhibition it affords 
 of generous, general, open, hearty hospitality — 
 that winning unpretending hospitality which, 
 forgetting form and etiquette in the feelings 
 of cordial liberality, is a distinctive charac- 
 teristic of Lancashire, where it prevails to a 
 degree which might surprise the more courtly 
 and cultivated but etiquette-ruled inhabitants 
 of the south. But at no season of the year 
 is this beguiling quality so universally diffus- 
 ed, so openly displayed, as in the race week. 
 Every house is stretched to more than its full 
 dimensions; every table is crowded with more 
 than its legitimate complement of covers ; every
 
 252 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 door is open, and every visitor welcome. The 
 evenings are passed in social reunions, which 
 are frequently more regarded than the morn- 
 ing entertainments. These are interrupted 
 on the Thursday evening by a race ball, which 
 somewhat resembles the sports on " The Moor,'* 
 inasmuch as it is not the most recherche af- 
 fair possible ; and on Saturday night the race- 
 stewards bespeak a play ; the theatre — which 
 is considered an elegant one — is crowded 
 from pit to ceiling ; and amid the obstrepe- 
 rous din of the gods above, and the jovial 
 participation of the boisterous revellers below, 
 the energetic apostrophes of the heroes of the 
 buskin are audible or not, as the case may be. 
 Thus ends the Race Week !
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 NOT A DUEL. 
 
 " I will ease my heart, 
 Although it be ivith hazard of my head.'* 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 In no very enviable mood, Mr. Walmsley 
 remounted after the fracas mentioned in the 
 last chapter, and turned his horse's head 
 from the moor. He did not, however, go to- 
 wards Manchester, for he was in no humour 
 immediately to join the gay circle which he 
 knew would be assembled at his uncle's. He 
 was at once proud and angry, hopeful and de- 
 sponding. He was proud of the evident re- 
 liance Mrs. and Miss Langshawe, and especially 
 the latter, placed in him when he proffered 
 his assistance ; but he was stung with morti- 
 fication when he called to mind Edith's cheer- 
 ful countenance and the encouragement she
 
 254* WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 had throughout the day displayed to the 
 very man whose vulgar and fool-hardy conduct 
 had subsequently placed her life in jeopardy, 
 and who had vented on himself epithets under 
 which it was impossible any gentleman could 
 remain quiet. Then, he could not understand 
 Miss Langshawe's conduct. That she was 
 sincerely attached to him he had once no doubt ; 
 had she not, at any rate, allowed him unre- 
 proved, to infer as much ? and had she not 
 appeared literally broken-hearted when her 
 father so harshly and unhesitatingly checked 
 their young hopes ? Yes, indeed, she had ; and 
 deeply in his own heart had he blessed her for 
 it at the time ; and yet, now — only so short 
 a time after the occurrence, that every inci- 
 dent, nay, indeed, even the thoughts of each 
 moment were vivid on his mind as if now 
 occurring, even so soon had she, in his very 
 presence, and before a host of witnesses, dealt 
 out smiles and encouragement most liberally 
 to another, and that other one, certainly, Frank 
 thought, not altogether such as he should have 
 imagined Miss Langshawe would have preferred 
 to himself. But, thought he, very heroically, 
 if she prefers this gentleman — why let her.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 255 
 
 And then again he checked himself. Was he 
 not giving the reins too wildly to his imagi- 
 nations ? Had she, after all, paid more atten- 
 tion to this gentleman than other young ladies 
 had done to those who happened to be with 
 them ? And had he not — though once only, 
 and that but instantaneously — caught Edith''s 
 eye fixed on himself with anything but a 
 mirthful expression. He tried to take great 
 comfort from this recollection ; but another, 
 equally sudden, rushed across his mind and 
 quickly disturbed his incipient equanimity. 
 This was the remembrance of the insulting 
 epithets heaped on him by Mr. John Balshawe, 
 and he instantaneously resolved that he must 
 have satisfaction. 
 
 They say you have only to wish for the 
 devil, and you find him at your elbow. He 
 appeared now in the shape of an old school 
 acquaintance of Frank''s, with whom he was 
 on the best terms when they did meet, though 
 little intercourse was kept up between them. 
 
 Mr. Walmsley had got into a bye lane, so 
 entirely cut off from the scene of the late 
 bustle, that it was with some surprise he heard 
 the tramp of a horse's feet behind him. He
 
 256 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 turned and saw a genteel young man, with 
 an open and most engaging countenance. 
 
 " Why, Walmsley, is that you ? " 
 
 " My dear Wolstenholme," said Frank, "you 
 are the very man of all others I wished to 
 see/' 
 
 " Well, Frank, I must say, that if you 
 wanted me, this was a strange place to seek 
 me in." 
 
 " A truce with your jests ; I did not say 
 I was looking for you, but that I wished to 
 see you. Will you do me a kindness ? " . 
 
 " Can you doubt it?" 
 
 " I want you to carry me a message — *" 
 
 " A message ! " 
 
 " To Mr. John Balshawe : he has insulted 
 me grossly.'* 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 Frank related. 
 
 All trace of pleasantry had disappeared from 
 Henry Wolstenholme's face, and he said, very 
 earnestly and very seriously, 
 
 "Walmsley, you must not do this." 
 
 " I requested your assistance, not your ad- 
 vice," said Frank, haughtily. 
 
 " My dear Frank, you may be as tart as
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 257 
 
 you please, you shall not make me quarrel 
 with you : we are old friends and school- 
 fellows, and I will not, if I can help it, see 
 you throw yourself away for a vulgar brawl 
 of this sort." 
 
 " And do you call yourself my friend, 
 Henry, and yet counsel me tamely to submit 
 to insult ? " 
 
 " By no means, by no manner of means; but 
 why throw your pearls before swine ? why offer 
 gentlemanly weapons to a vulgar coxcomb ? 
 why risk your own life for one who is not worth 
 your Uttle finger? No, no; my advice is, 
 that you shake your cane over his shoulders 
 on 'Change next Tuesday." 
 
 " And so have the whole host of the cotton- 
 ocracy raising their hands and most sweet voices 
 in tradesman-like horror at their sanctuary being 
 polluted, and that, too, by a reckless youth 
 ignorant of the mysteries of cotton-twist ! No, 
 no, that won't do ! However, you will at all 
 events keep counsel, if you will not help me ; 
 and I must apply to some one else." 
 
 " No, Walmsley, that you shall not do : if 
 this affair must be gone on with, I will under- 
 take the task ; though I do freely confess that
 
 258 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 I do it chiefly in the hope of bringing it to 
 an amicable conclusion." 
 
 " Keep faith with me, Wolstenholme ; a 
 full, open, apology — nothing less — or — " 
 
 " Make yourself easy ; I know as well as 
 you do what is due to a gentleman." 
 
 Frank then proceeded to explain further ; 
 that he believed Mr. John Balshawe was stay- 
 ing at Lime Grove; but that he was sure his 
 friend would proceed cautiously, so as to give 
 no hint of his purpose to any of the family ; 
 but Mr. Wolstenholme hastened to put an 
 end to these instructions, by the information 
 that he and his sister were also visitors there, 
 having come for the races. 
 
 The friends then shook hands and parted. 
 
 Great was the hilarity at Mr. Langshawe's 
 this evening ; for at this joyous season every 
 house is open, and every chance caller receives 
 a cordial and hearty welcome. Etiquette is 
 laid aside, and even those differences of rank 
 and caste which, probably from their being less 
 clearly definable, are usually more rigidly 
 adhered to in Manchester than elsewhere — 
 even these are by no means insisted on at 
 *« Race-time."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 259 
 
 "Edith, what is the matter with you?" 
 said Harriet Wolstenholme, as they passed 
 from the dining-room ; " you 're grave, and 
 pale, and melancholy, and not at all like 
 yourself. Got a head-ache ! — pooh ! I don't 
 believe it : you never used to have head- 
 aches. What should give you a head- 
 ache ? " 
 
 '' Nothing."* 
 
 "Why, no — don't I say there's nothing. 
 But, however, if we really must have a make- 
 believe head-ache, come this way quietly, and. 
 leave all those vulgar folks to their tea and 
 their scandal. Your mother can do the ho- 
 nours in both." 
 
 " Harriet, I will not have it — " 
 
 '' Well, there now : I did but want to see 
 whether you were alive or not. Bless me — I 
 quiz my own mother often enough." 
 
 "That may be — but you shall not quiz^ 
 mine." 
 
 " But I shall if I choose. I tell you what, 
 Edith, you are, to borrow the elegant expres- 
 sion with which your adorer, Mr. John Bal- 
 shawe, addressed his groom — -' you are as surly 
 as a bear with a sore ear.' "
 
 260 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " Am I ?" said Edith, very quietly; and her 
 friend, to her discomfort and astonishment, 
 instead of the laugh which she expected, saw 
 tears trickling down her cheeks. 
 
 " My dear, dear Edith," said she, throwing 
 her arm round her, " what is the meaning of 
 all this ? I only meant to amuse you ; I would 
 not hurt you for the world !" 
 
 " I know you would not," said Edith, 
 returning the caress. 
 
 " Then tell me what is the matter ? *" 
 
 " Only this : Mr. Balshawe in driving us 
 home got the carriage entangled ; we w^ere 
 indebted to Mr. Walmsley for assistance, and — 
 and — I don't know exactly how it happened, 
 but there passed hard words between them." 
 
 " Well— what then ? " 
 
 " I 'm afraid of consequences." 
 
 " Pooh ! two brawling boys." 
 
 " Mr. Walmsley is no brawling boy, Har- 
 riet. His face, his lips, were perfectly white 
 with suppressed passion — but he never spoke — 
 while we were present.'"' 
 
 '' Tell your father, Edith/' 
 
 " Not for the world : my father is too much 
 prejudiced against Mr. Walmsley already."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 261 
 
 The words were very simple ; but Edith's 
 manner, and the sudden burst of tears, opened 
 a volume to her quick- minded friend, who had 
 not been many hours in the house with Miss 
 Langshawe ere she discovered that some sha- 
 dow was over her spirits, though both affection 
 and delicacy had prevented her from remark- 
 ing on the change. Now, she shrewdly sus- 
 pected the cause. 
 
 Miss Wolstenholme was two or three years 
 older than Edith ; but they had continual inter- 
 course as children, and this intercourse had 
 ripened into affectionate intimacy during the 
 time they were domiciled together beneath the 
 roof of Mrs. Maitland for their education. 
 
 Never was the adage of opposites making 
 the best friends more fully exempHfied than in 
 the present case. Miss Wolstenholme was the 
 very reverse of Edith, who, though gay, play- 
 ful, and animated, was still quiet, retiring, and 
 often thoughtful. Miss Harriet Wolstenholme 
 was unbounded in her glee, untameable in her 
 mirth ; she quizzed her parents, tormented her 
 brother, laughed at her friends, and was indeed, 
 as her father said, perfectly intractable. In 
 company her gaiety and mirth were so un-
 
 262 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 bounded, so unvarying, that Mr. Ashworth, 
 with whom she usually carried on a sort of 
 wordy warfare, a " keen encounter," as Bene- 
 dict calls it, of wits, had that very morning, 
 with most elaborate emphasis, addressed her 
 in the words of the poet — 
 
 " Prythee, weep, May Lilian ! 
 
 Gaiety without eclipse 
 
 Wearieth me, May Lilian." 
 
 But she could be steady on occasion, and 
 she now soothed Edith, by representing to her 
 that Mr. Balshawe was at the dinner-table as 
 usual, and therefore, at present all was right ; 
 and she proposed that they should return to 
 the company and closely watch his movements. 
 They went round through the offices, where 
 Edith stayed to give some orders, and as Miss 
 Wolstenholme went on towards the drawing- 
 room, she was surprised to see two gentlemen 
 dart somewhat suddenly into an apartment 
 opening from the passage she was traversing. 
 She felt sure that one of them was her brother, 
 and partly in mischief determined to follow 
 him, as her intimate acquaintance with the 
 geography of the house led her to know that 
 visitors were not expected to be there. Just as
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 263 
 
 she had her hand on the door, she heard a voice 
 which she knew to be Mr. John Balshawe's, 
 and from a word or two which instantaneously 
 caught her ear — ''I shall make none — name 
 your place and time"' — the truth flashed on 
 her mind. She had observed that her brother 
 was grave and absent at dinner ; he had come 
 in late, too, and when she questioned him, he 
 said he had been with Mr. Walmsley, and then 
 abruptly stopped and turned away, as if he had 
 said more than he intended. 
 
 She hesitated one moment — but the next 
 her resolution was taken. She speeded swiftly 
 and quietly away, and sent a footman to Mr. 
 Ashworth, who had not left the dining-room, 
 to say that he was wanted without. He came 
 directly, but was surprised to find no one in 
 the room to which he was summoned but Miss 
 Wolstenholme. 
 
 " I sent for you, Mr. Ashworth ; I want your 
 assistance.*' 
 
 "I'm sure, my fair queen of mirth," said 
 he, thinking some joke was a-foot, "you may 
 command me." 
 
 " I am in earnest, sir, and serious." 
 
 Mr. Ashworth looked at her for a moment,
 
 264 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 and then in the most kindly and respectful man- 
 ner asked what he could do for her. 
 
 She related the fracas between the two 
 young men ; told him her reasons for suppos- 
 ing that something further was in agitation ; 
 said that she knew him to be a personal friend 
 of one of the parties, and that she had applied 
 to him simply to avoid putting Mr. Langshawe 
 in a painful situation in his own house, (which 
 though the truth, was, it must be confessed, 
 hardly all the truth,) and that though he, 
 Mr. Ash worth, might think she was making 
 too much of the matter, it was one of those 
 cases in which prevention was much easier 
 than cure. 
 
 Mr. Ashworth looked at her in evident ad- 
 miration of the unwonted steadiness she dis- 
 played ; and then told her to make herself 
 perfectly easy, that everything was in good 
 time owing to her promptitude, and that he 
 would take all responsibility on himself. 
 
 She returned to the drawing-room, where 
 also came soon her brother and Mr. John 
 Balshawe, the latter appearing just as usual, 
 but in the former she detected an unwonted 
 exertion to be gay.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 265 
 
 In about an hour Mr. Ashworth came in, gay 
 and smiling as usual. He did not immediately 
 approach Miss Wolstenholme, but in a short 
 time he did so unobserved, and whispered in 
 her ear the comforting tidings, that a messenger 
 was on his road to arrest Mr. Walmsley, and 
 that Mr. Balshawe would be "nabbed" the 
 moment he crossed the threshold. 
 
 " And what then ? " 
 
 " They will be bound over to keep the 
 peace." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I had forgotten." And happy 
 and relieved, she went to whisper the agreeable 
 news to Edith. 
 
 On the ensuing morning the usual pacifi- 
 catory measures were taken by the ma- 
 gistrate, to which, it must be confessed, 
 Mr. Walmsley appeared the most opposed. 
 He imagined too, and not without some appa- 
 rent reason, that his friend Henry Wolsten- 
 holme had been playing him false, and had 
 given information, at the same time that he 
 professed to be forwarding their proceedings. 
 On this point, however, Mr. Ashworth set 
 him right. 
 
 But before the legal engagements could be 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE5 
 
 entered into their necessity was superseded by 
 the manly apology — not the less thought of 
 from its being totally unexpected — proffered 
 by Mr. John Balshawe. 
 
 "He thought before, and he still thought, 
 that Mr. Walmsley would have done better not 
 to meddle with the carriage, and he was in a 
 passion at his doing so, and perhaps said 
 some things he had better have let alone. If 
 so, he was sorry for it." 
 
 " And why, sir," inquired the magistrate, 
 *' why did you so positively refuse any apology 
 yesterday, when Mr. Walmsley 's friend waited 
 on you ? " 
 
 " Because my blood was up ; he hadn't 
 given me time to cool. Besides, I 'm no 
 coward ! and I didn't wish them to think they 
 could frighten me into an apology." 
 
 Thus the matter ended, except that Mr. 
 Langshawe, who had learned what was occur- 
 ring, and was now present, could not repress 
 his joyous admiration of Mr. Balshawe's con- 
 duct, while, though he was too generous to 
 express it, poor Walmsley sank proportionally 
 in his esteem. 
 
 " He knev/ not," he said, " what tradesmen
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 261 
 
 had to do with duelling; it was quite incon- 
 sistent with their habits and stations. Quarrels 
 would occur occasionally, but a good ash 
 plant was infinitely a more manly weapon 
 than a pistol : fitter for an Englishman in 
 every way, and certainly more suitable to a 
 tradesman." 
 
 n2
 
 268 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 GOING ABROAD. 
 
 " Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you 
 To leave this place." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Mr. Ainsley and his nephew were seated 
 over their wine in a room which, though spa- 
 cious and convenient, had little of ornament 
 except the paintings with which the walls were 
 covered. There were a few originals of some 
 of those mighty spirits whose works still 
 breathe the inspiration of beauty into thou- 
 sands, while the hands which traced them have 
 long mouldered into dust ; and there was a 
 greater variety of works of English artists, 
 amongst which some of Gainsborough's beau- 
 tiful landscapes, and of Morland's exquisite 
 cottage groups, were the most conspicuous. 
 
 But the beauties alike of foreign or English 
 artists were lost upon Frank Walmsley, as he
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 269 
 
 sate chipping a small piece of candied orange- 
 peel into as great a multitude of fragments 
 as if he were intent on giving ocular proof of 
 the theory respecting the infinite divisibility 
 of matter ; but his thoughts were truly far 
 enough from his occupation, and from the 
 place and presence in which his mortal frame 
 then sojourned. It may readily be imagined, 
 therefore, that he was not the most enlivening 
 companion in the world ; and, after many 
 ineffectual attempts to draw him into conver- 
 sation, his uncle fairly gave him up to the 
 luxury of his own meditations. 
 
 But, in good sooth, they were not of a very 
 exhilarating tendency. He had just heard — 
 a St. Ann's Square 07i dit — that Miss Lang- 
 shawe was engaged to be married to Mr. John 
 Balshawe. The report was totally false, and in 
 a cooler moment Frank would have seen (and 
 did see) that it was so ; but just now he was but 
 too much disposed to give credence to the 
 fabrication. It tallied well with the polite 
 courtesies, which he had construed into encou- 
 raging smiles, of Edith to young Balshawe, 
 in the race-stand : it tallied well with Mr. 
 Balshawe's assumption of authority in the
 
 270 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 drive home : it tallied well with the presence, 
 and most encouraging and approving support 
 of that gentleman by Mr. Langshawe in the 
 magistrate's office : it tallied well with the irate 
 father's explicit declaration on a former occa- 
 sion, that Mr. Walmsley's attentions were 
 unwelcome, because he had other views for his 
 daughter : it tallied well with the knowledge 
 he possessed that John Balshawe was still 
 abiding at Lime Grove — still — long after all 
 the race-week visitors had departed. It was 
 a marriage of particular fitness too. Mr. John 
 Balshawe was of a suitable age, of her own 
 rank in life, a very personable young man, 
 heir to a considerable fortune, partner in a 
 flourishing trade, and, — over and above all — 
 a man of business habits, which his contemned 
 rival decidedly was not. Oh ! there could be 
 no hesitation about the matter ; it was so 
 beyond the shadow of a doubt. 
 
 [Oh, Frank ! Frank ! will you not hereafter 
 repent your hasty credulity, in dust and 
 ashes ?] 
 
 But Frank's time for repentance was not 
 yet come. His mind was made up ; at least 
 he thought it was, and acted accordingly.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 271 
 
 « Uncle," said he. 
 
 His uncle started, for he too had become 
 absorbed in his own meditations: and Frank 
 was shocked to see his uncle's start ; he was 
 becoming nervous ; he felt his courage, like that 
 of a certain celebrated hero, whose Christian 
 name was " Bob," oozing out rapidly at his 
 " finger-ends." He rallied himself, however, 
 and screwed up his courage to the sticking 
 point. 
 
 " Uncle, you have often said that you thought 
 a short delay before my entering on my pro- 
 fession might be no disadvantage to me."" 
 
 " That would entirely depend on the man- 
 ner in which the time occupied in that delay 
 was appropriated. I am certainly of opinion 
 that in any profession, requiring the exercise of 
 skill and judgment, as that of a barrister cer- 
 tainly does, the added experience of a few years 
 cannot but be advantageous." 
 
 '* I do not want to trifle my time away, I do 
 assure you." 
 
 " Tell me plainly what you do want, Frank ; 
 unless you are explicit it is impossible that I 
 can judge for you, or advise you." 
 
 " I wish to travel for a year or two, sir."
 
 27^ WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " And I have not the slightest objection to 
 your doing so.'' 
 
 ''Thank you, my dear uncle, thank you: 
 you are very good, very generous to me." 
 
 This ebullition of gratitude on the part of 
 his nephew somewhat touched Mr. Ainsley, 
 more especially as his conscience told him he 
 did not quite so fully deserve it as the young 
 man thought. True indeed it was that Frank's 
 well-doing was the one object nearest to his 
 heart, and to promote that he would readily 
 have furnished funds for one year's travelling, 
 or ten years' ; — it would have made no difference 
 to him. But he felt inwardly conscious that 
 a leading motive with him now was to effect 
 Frank's separation from Miss Langshawe ; 
 more especially, as he perceived, or rather sus- 
 pected, that his nephew was under a false im- 
 pression with regard to that lady. He also had 
 watched her closely in the race-stand ; he had 
 observed her open smiles, her courteous com- 
 plaisance to John Balshawe, but he had also 
 noted, far, far more accurately than his nephew 
 had done, her anxious stolen glances at a cava- 
 lier, who stood aloof, a certain Frank Walm- 
 sley. He had also heard the report of her
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 273 
 
 intended marriage with Mr. Balshawe, but 
 seeing what he had seen, he attached not the 
 slightest credence to it. Mr. Ainsley, the old 
 bachelor, was, as the ladies often said, a shrewd 
 observer. 
 
 But, firm in his purpose, and acting, as he 
 sincerely believed, with a single-hearted view to 
 Frank's ultimate welfare, the discovery of Miss 
 Langshawe's ;?o«-indifFerence only made him 
 the more anxious to remove his nephew from 
 the sphere of her influence. Hence, his earn- 
 estly-ready acquiescence in Frank's expression 
 of a wish to travel ; and hence, also, the gentle 
 self-upbraidings when his nephew turned his 
 truthful open countenance in thankfulness upon 
 him. 
 
 " And where do you propose to go, Frank ?" 
 
 " Indeed I have not decided ; have, in fact, 
 hardly given it a thought. I wish to leave 
 England for some time ; but I do assure you 
 that I have no intention of trifling away my 
 time ; neither do I wish to remain long a mere 
 burthen on your generosity — but — '' 
 
 " My dear boy," said Mr. Ainsley, inter- 
 rupting him, ** say nothing on that point. I 
 am sincerely pleased at your intention of tra-
 
 274f WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 veiling : it is exactly what I wished. With re- 
 gard to means — your uniformly unexceptionable 
 conduct hitherto, Frank, deserves confidence 
 and liberality — it shall find both. I am sure 
 you will not abuse my confidence. I give you 
 unlimited leave of absence, and when I am 
 fully informed of your route, you shall have 
 letters of credit in every city on its line. Only 
 remember, that you leave one at home who will 
 feel lonely till your return, and whose happi- 
 ness is involved in your own well-doing." 
 
 Frank was too much touched to reply ; 
 nor did his uncle renew the conversation for 
 some time. At length he did so, but in a style 
 that made Frank smile in spite of himself. 
 
 " I see what you 're smiling at, you saucy 
 jdog: you have some of your infamous wit- 
 ticisms about ' the system, ' or ' the shop,' 
 at your tongue's end. I see you have." 
 
 " No, indeed, uncle — " 
 
 " Hold your^ tongue, sir, and don't add false- 
 hood to impudence. I repeat, that you may 
 do me effectual service by proceeding straight 
 to Genoa ; and your taking Italy first, cannot, 
 I should think, make any material difference in 
 your line of route."
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 275 
 
 " Seeing that I have no ' line,' probably it 
 may not/' said Frank gravely. 
 
 Mr. Ainsley only laughed at his nephew's 
 sauciness, and proceeded. " The commissions 
 with which I shall trouble you are such as need 
 give you no uneasiness, or particular trou- 
 ble in the detail. They are such as any man 
 of intelligent mind may at once fully compre- 
 hend. That they have not been executed be- 
 fore this time has been because I wished them 
 to be undertaken by some one of liberal gentle- 
 manly mind, and refined manners. And our 
 ' system,' Master Frank, does not produce 
 ' travellers ' of that description every day. Mr. 
 Luttrell is a very old gentleman ; but if my 
 impression be correct, you will find him, though 
 a tradesman, * every inch a gentleman,' and a 
 man of much informatii)n and hospitable habits. 
 I, on my part, shall feel both pride and pleasure 
 in preparing him for your visit."
 
 216 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE SPELL. 
 
 His only visitants a straggling sheep, 
 The stone-chat, or the glancing sandpiper : 
 And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath. 
 And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, 
 Fixing his downcast eye, for many an hour." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 " Be, be it so, and let this be, 
 A divination unto me." 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 In the wildest part of Lancashire, amid 
 those desolate moors and heaths, some of 
 which yet remain untamed, and rise in rugged 
 and solitary majesty even in that county 
 which is supposed by many to be from Alpha 
 to Omega one unbroken mass of cotton fac- 
 tories — in such a region, in a lowly and lonely 
 cottage, whose thatched roof seemed almost
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 217 
 
 part and parcel of the steep and rugged hill 
 which rising abruptly behind it, sheltered it 
 from the northern blasts, while in front and 
 around for miles spread a desolate and barren 
 moor — barren save for its myriad of beautiful 
 heath-plants, which refreshed the eye, its pro- 
 fusion of cranberries and winberries, pleasant 
 to the taste, its numerous medicinal herbs, 
 valuable to the sick — desolate, save for the 
 numerous flocks of mountain sheep which 
 cropped a wholesome pasture, and its multi- 
 tude of heath birds which flew around in 
 gladness, unconscious of their enemy man, and 
 ever and anon dipped their wing in a moun- 
 tain brook which brawled noisily and spark- 
 lingly along — in such a spot and in such a cot- 
 tage lives, or did live at no very distant 
 period, one but slightly indeed connected with 
 our tale, but to whom we shall, " for auld 
 lang syne," dedicate a few lines. 
 
 He was formed in nature's largest mould, 
 and his stalwart limbs were well-proportioned 
 and strongly knit. His dark but silver- streak- 
 ed hair shaded a countenance hardly and 
 strongly, but kindly drawn ; features homely 
 but intelligent. His manners were as uncul-
 
 278 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 tivated as it was possible they could be, his 
 dialect as broad as the broadest of Lancashire's 
 sons could revel in, yet an earnest desire to 
 oblige and to please — an innate principle 
 which governed his conduct — ^joined to a na- 
 turally superior and a not uncultivated mind, 
 and the tone of thought, which his peculiar 
 habits induced, rendered him frequently an 
 interesting companion. 
 
 He conversed with nature in every shape ; 
 and the sportive fairies who haunt the sweet 
 dingles and bosky dells of his native county, 
 or the midnight witches who hold their un- 
 hallowed revels on the blasted heaths and de- 
 solate wilds, which, anciently the general re- 
 proach of Lancashire, still spread their un- 
 tamed solitudes amid her recesses — these he 
 called up at will and without effort, investing 
 them with lith and limb, with life and reality, 
 so that scarcely have you ceased shuddering 
 at the vivid portraiture of the one ere you 
 find yourself gently tripping the daisy-spangled 
 sod with the other. You watch the vivid 
 flashing of his grey eye, and the muscular 
 workings of his strongly-marked countenance, 
 and while the tones of his deep voice thrill
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 279 
 
 on your nerves you see before you the varied 
 picture which he draws. 
 
 Now you listen to his awakened inspira- 
 tion, and far around you spreads a stony heath, 
 breathing desolation. Far, far as the eye 
 can reach in its frightened glance nought is 
 seen but solitude wild and bare ; nor flock, 
 nor herd, nor human creature, nor sparkling 
 rivulet, nor bosky-dell, nought is there to 
 gladden the eye or relieve the cheerless and 
 gloomy quiet. The dull uniformity is only 
 broken by the shattered trunk of one enor- 
 mous pine, which, struck by lightning, spreads 
 its blasted and blackened arms athwart the 
 sky, which night is fast shrouding in her 
 sable robe. 
 
 In the west, the sun is sinking like a globe 
 of crimson fire, and, reflected through the 
 gloom and mist, his vehement rays dart on 
 the scathed tree and gleam on its gnarled 
 branches with a lurid and unnatural lustre, 
 which they also impart to the unholy object 
 at its foot. There — her grey hair floating on 
 the wind, her tall form enveloped in a scarlet 
 cloak, scarcely concealing her shriveled flesh, 
 and with one bare and withered arm extended.
 
 SSO WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 is THE LATEST WITCH OF LANCASHIRE. Her keen 
 grey eyes, of evil omen, are piercing through 
 the gloom, her skinny lips move as if impre- 
 cating curses, " deep not loud,*" and her arm, 
 which slowly waves in the heavy air as if to 
 assist her unholy spell, is attenuated and dry, 
 till the veins, the very sluices of health and 
 beauty in others, in her appear 
 
 " Like worms that have begun to glide 
 Around her carcass ere she died." 
 
 Such dread beings does this village bard 
 call up effortless, to chill the tide of mirth 
 as it flows from the lips of thoughtless youth 
 and placid beauty ; and whilst the spell of 
 his sorcery is yet upon you, he will easily, 
 almost imperceptibly, change the theme and 
 talk of the silver-footed fairies, who, even 
 when the latest witch has yielded to irrevoca- 
 ble fate, still haunt the wooded dells of Lan- 
 cashire, and grace with their gentle presence 
 her mossy glades. It is their voices which 
 render melodious the rippling brook ; it is 
 they who give to the aspen its quivering note, 
 to the willow its gentle wail, to the oak and 
 the beech their merry exhilarating rustle ;
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 281 
 
 they fly amain indeed before the advancing 
 tread of the steam-engine, but he freely of- 
 fers to guide any believing friend of nature 
 to bright green nooks, unthought-of by the 
 busy world, where they yet hold their merry 
 revels on the moonlit sward. 
 
 Nor does his own especial inspiration leave 
 him when called to the topics of every-day life. 
 He does his " spiriting" most gently. If asked 
 to contribute the usual quota to mirth — a song 
 — he would decline; but if urged more strongly, 
 he accedes ; deprecating censure, however, as 
 being not accustomed '' to sing afore gentle- 
 folk, nor indeed, ever, save only to wile the 
 time a bit wi** his old woman in their lonely 
 cabin." His voice is stentorian, his manner 
 simple and somewhat plaintive, but his song, 
 his own composition, is the gentlest of all ap- 
 peals to his " old woman." He invites her to 
 the homely but kindly luxuries of rural life. 
 He '11 bring her 
 
 " fresh milk from the cow, 
 Fresh butter from the churn, 
 Fresh fuel from the heather mow. 
 Fresh water from the burn." 
 
 If we add, that he has the most intimate and
 
 282 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 familiar acquaintance with all the old super- 
 stitions of his native county (some of which 
 are yet in operation), and that he has, in all 
 kindliness, an irrepressible love at times for a 
 little innocent mischief or bamboozling, we 
 shall have sketched the chief points of his cha- 
 racter, as connected with our tale. 
 
 It was in such a mood that one evening he 
 chanced to encounter Jem Forshaw, who was 
 returning from a tryst with Nancy Halliwell, 
 in which she had been even more than usually 
 pettish and ungracious. 
 
 "Well, Jem, how's a' wi' ye, mon; how 
 does thy courtin' prosper ? " 
 
 " Bad enough, Sam ; bad enough." 
 
 " I 'm sorry to hear that, mon. What is 
 Nance skittish ? " 
 
 " As an untamed colt ; but that I would na' 
 care for, iv I war sure she loved me yet." 
 
 " Why sure ye dunna doubt that." 
 
 " I dun though : she 's grown so cold o' 
 late." 
 
 " Oh, ne'er mind that ; we'll bring her 
 round. 1 say, mon, ye mun gather some fern- 
 seed." 
 
 " I 've heerd o' that afore, and thought of it ;
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 283 
 
 but I say, Sam, is it really a charm, or do folk 
 only fancy it ? " 
 
 " Of course it 's a charm, to be sure it is ; 
 and it 11 bring her round at once : and now I 
 think on 't, to-night's St. John's eve; let's 
 gang now and gather it." 
 
 Jem willingly consented : he did not observe 
 the twinkle in his companion's eye, neither did 
 he remark that he more than once raised his 
 handkerchief to his mouth. 
 
 He turned aside in the direction of a thickly- 
 wooded clough, which lay about half a mile 
 from the place where they now were, and for a 
 little way they walked on in silence, but once 
 Jem's mind seemed to misgive him. 
 
 "Now you're not deceivin' me, Sam, are 
 you.? for you love mischief, I know. I 've 
 often thought this talk of a charm were may be 
 aw gammon." 
 
 "And what for should I deceive you, Jem ?"" 
 said Sam, turning as if to go back; '* on the 
 contrary, I 've left my own road to go with 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, come on, come on, Sam ; pray come 
 on ; I wasn't meaning to offend you : but is it 
 true that spirits whisk about you when you 
 get it ? ""
 
 ^84 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " True as the Gospel, mon." 
 
 " And I \'e often heerd also that the ghosts 
 of all the folk that have been buried since last 
 Midsummer-eve rise out of their graves and 
 walk to-night." 
 
 " That 's true, too : it 's a fearsome night is 
 John Baptist's eve." 
 
 " Oh, then, Sam, had na' we better put it off 
 till another night ? " 
 
 " What an innocent the man is ! Why, 
 Jem, dunna ye know as it's the night that 
 maks the charm ? The fern-seed 's no more 
 spell in it than any other seed, except on this 
 night : but if thy heart fails thee, turn back, 
 mon, turn back." 
 
 '' My heart doesn't fail me," said Jem reso- 
 lutely : " my heart '11 never fail in aught that 11 
 win Nance H alii well. That I \n a bit afeard 
 I dunna deny. But tell me, what must I do if 
 the spirits come?" 
 
 " For the life of ye, ye munna speak : if thou 
 keeps thy tongue still they canna harm thee." 
 
 " And how must I catch the seed ? or will 
 you gather it ? " 
 
 " No, that would do thee no good : the 
 charm wouldn't work if thou didn't gather it
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 2S5 
 
 thysel. But I will stand by thee. Thou must 
 get a rod of witch-hazel — here 's a nice bush of 
 it here, cut one : not that, not that ; it must be a 
 forked rod — this is just the thing. Well, now 
 we must choose a fine plant — there are some 
 bonny ones down in the clough here, and when 
 the moon shines right on the plant you must 
 hold the fork of the hazel over it, but on no 
 account shake it, but wait till the seed drops 
 of itself into your hat, and be sure you don't 
 lose it, for the spirits will try all they can to 
 get it from you." * 
 
 They now went down into the clough, and 
 Sara, after a great deal of apparent delibera- 
 tion and scrutiny, pitched upon a plant suited 
 for his purpose. He kept the most profound 
 silence, and motioned Forshaw to do the same, 
 and at length the moon's rays silvered the edge 
 of the plant. He made signs to his companion, 
 who immediately extended the forked hazel rod 
 over it in the manner which had been explained, 
 and stood in trembling silence for some time. 
 
 * The seed of the St. John's fern is attached to the 
 under side of the leaf. Its minuteness may be guessed 
 from the circumstance that one leaf is said to bear a mil- 
 lion seeds.
 
 286 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 Suddenly his companion nudged his elbow, 
 still making signs of silence, and pointed to a 
 corner of the dingle on which the moon's rays 
 fell with surpassing brightness; but intercept- 
 ing the silvery gleams were three tall gigantic 
 forms, as black as night. Sam instantly took 
 to his heels, and Forshaw followed, but not till 
 the brave-hearted fellow — ^brave in spite of the 
 superstitious terror which made him transform 
 the trunks of trees into ghosts — he moved not 
 till he had carefully taken away his hat from 
 under the fern leaves, that hat which contained 
 what was to win his Nancy. 
 
 He was for some time silent from terror, 
 and his companion was also silent, from that 
 or some other cause. At length Jem spoke. 
 
 " And now, Sam, this seed — '' 
 
 "Hast got it, mon ?" 
 
 " Why, sure I have. I heard it drop into 
 the hat plain enough." 
 
 " Well, let 's look at it." 
 
 They examined the hat very carefully ; but, 
 lo I it was empty. 
 
 Jem's disappointment was extreme, and his 
 companion seemed to sympathize with him. 
 At length he said :
 
 THE COTTON LORD. gl87 
 
 " I '11 tell thee what, Jem, it 's always a 
 ticklish affair, and right seldom does it an- 
 swer ; I know that ; the spirits are mighty 
 jealous o' their fern-seed. But I say, mon, 
 this is an awfu' night, and there 's a vast 
 many charms on it. Hie thee home, Forshaw, 
 hie thee home : get to bed ; but first hang 
 thy shirt on a chair afore th' fire, and leave 
 the door ajar, and watch till midnight, and 
 then see what comes. But whatever thou sees, 
 Jem, dunna speak to it." 
 
 Forshaw went home, and followed the di- 
 rections given him, and next morning, acci- 
 dentally, of course, Sam overtook him as he 
 was going to the mill. 
 
 " Well, Jem, did she come last night.?" 
 
 " Oh, Sam ! 1 'm right glad to see thee. 
 Yes, she did come. I left the door open, as 
 you said, and she came in, not walking, for 
 I could not hear a foot-fall, but sliding like." 
 
 " Ay ; and she went to th' fire and turned 
 thy shirt, didn't she ? " 
 
 "Yes, she did; just exactly as you told 
 me she would : but, oh, Sam ! she was so 
 pale ; and she was crying, crying so sadly ; 
 and she wrung her hands, and bemoaned her- 
 self so."
 
 2S8 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 "Indeed!" said Sam. "I didr/t expect 
 that/' 
 
 " No, nor I neither ; and I 'ra afeard it 's a 
 bad omen. Poor Nance ! Is it a warning, 
 Sam, d'ye think.?" 
 
 *' More like a dream, mon.""
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 " Busy rival of old Tjre, 
 WTiose merchants princes were, whose decks were thrones." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 It was night when Mr. Walmsley anchored 
 in the Bay of Genoa, and perhaps that superb 
 city is never seen to greater advantage than 
 by moonlight ; at least Frank thought that 
 Imagination herself could not picture a more 
 beautiful scene. The ocean was like a mass 
 of molten silver, the moon and the stars glowed 
 in the clear deep blue sky with a fervour 
 "which seemed to impart heat as well as bril- 
 liancy. In shore a thousand lights flashed in 
 the water, which reflected and refracted all 
 that were gleaming in the marble palaces, 
 which rose tier above tier like an amphitheatre; 
 while behind, the Apennines towered into the 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 sky, and borrowed silvery gleams from the 
 glorious hosts which reigned there. 
 
 Frank quickly procured a guide, and fol- 
 lowed him through a labyrinth of streets, 
 which formed, in detail, a strange contrast 
 to the magnificent whole on which he had 
 been gazing, so squalid were they, so narrow, 
 so filthy and confined. The houses were an 
 enormous height, a circumstance which forms 
 one of the most happy features of Genoa, since 
 it insures shade to the inhabitants during the 
 heats of summer ; but our Englishman, who 
 had as yet no practical experience of this 
 advantage, was astonished in one street, where 
 the houses on each side were lofty, and in 
 themselves handsome, to have to push hastily 
 into a gateway, in order to leave room for 
 the passage of a laden mule. Indeed, except 
 in the two or three principal streets, there 
 is scarcely space in any for a carriage; and 
 the entrance to his elegant hotel, the " Alberga 
 della Villa,'' was through a narrow flagged lane, 
 where it seemed all but impossible that a car- 
 riage could pass. 
 
 Before reaching this, however, he experi- 
 enced another interruption of a sort that
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 291 
 
 awakened his English and Protestant curiosity 
 to the utmost ; this was a grand procession 
 passing to the principal church. There was 
 a long line of ecclesiastics in rich dresses, of 
 varied and brilliant colours, and gorgeous with 
 jewellery ; these were accompanied by monks 
 of various Orders, each in their appropriate 
 costume, the simple grey or the doleful black 
 forming a strange contrast with the showy 
 habiliments of the priests : innumerable tapers 
 and torches were carried, many of them by 
 youths habited in white, and these flashing on 
 the various jewellery displayed in the dresses, 
 banners, and various symbols of religion which 
 were borne along, made them glitter like fairy- 
 things. In the centre of the procession, on 
 a richly gilded litter, was borne the image of 
 the Virgin, the size of life, bearing in her 
 arms the effigy of the crucified Saviour. 
 
 The effect of this grand spectacle was height- 
 ened by the rich and solemn music by which it 
 was accompanied, and Frank, to whom all was 
 perfectly new, stood like one entranced, much 
 to the astonishment of his guide, who removed 
 his scarlet cap and bent his knee with reve- 
 rence, but seemed to marvel much at the 
 
 o 2
 
 292 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 rapt attention of the " signer." They are 
 so perpetually recurring at Genoa, scarcely a 
 day passing without a procession of some or 
 other of the Orders of religion, that the in- 
 habitants look on them much as matters of 
 course. 
 
 Frank's daylight visions of the " city and 
 palaces " were scarcely less gratifying and 
 brilliant than those of the evening. The 
 richest decorations, marble columns, friezes, 
 statues, and arcades, mingled with elegant 
 fountains and rich gardens, met the eye on 
 every side. The orange too, growing unshel- 
 tered in its genial clime, with its golden fruit 
 and pearly-hued blossom, this a kind of Alad- 
 din"*s-lamp vision to an English eye, was as 
 common as hops in Kent or apples in Here- 
 fordshire. He went early in the morning on 
 a ramble of discovery, and quickly found 
 himself in the flower-market, the " Covent 
 Garden^' of Genoa, where, as it seemed to 
 him, the whole population of the city were 
 hastening. The flowers were arranged in rows 
 for sale in large vessels ; and thither came 
 purchasers of all sorts and descriptions, who 
 seemed to regard them as necessaries, and to
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 29^ 
 
 come as regularly to procure them. Priests 
 and monks came in numbers, and purchased 
 large quantities, a circumstance which did not 
 surprise Frank when, during two or three days' 
 sojourn at Genoa, he had opportunity to ob- 
 serve the profusion with which they were ex- 
 hibited on the altars, and in the various services 
 of Divine worship. 
 
 On passing through the streets on his return 
 to his hotel, Mr. Walmsley was surprised to 
 see portable cook-shops established in most 
 of them, and also many ranged along the 
 quays. Many of these are for the regular 
 supply of the lower classes with the common 
 dishes of food ; but others are of superior order, 
 and offer a tempting supply of dainties, cutletSj 
 capons, &c., which are cooked at the back of 
 the shop when you want them. Thus do many 
 very respectable persons avoid the inconveni- 
 ence and discomfort of fires at home in the 
 hot season. 
 
 Mr. Walmsley found that the gentleman 
 to whom his mission referred, Mr. Luttrell, 
 was at present residing at his marine villa 
 beyond Finale, and thither our hero, after 
 having gratified his curiosity at Genoa, pre-
 
 294} WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 pared to follow him. His course lay along 
 the Cornice, the imperial coast-road which 
 Buonaparte began. Everything of sublimity 
 and beauty which can gratify the eye or fill 
 the imagination is met with on this route from 
 Genoa to Nice, and even in the portion of it 
 which Walmsley traversed he met with enough 
 to enrapture him. The everlasting Apennines 
 were behind him, the heaving ocean with its 
 bright blue waves on his left hand was never 
 lost sight of long together ; sometimes his mule 
 was down on the sands, where so narrow was 
 the track that the waves bathed the feet of 
 the animal, and anon the patient creature would 
 be toiling over the tremendous precipices, from 
 which the feluccas in the water below would 
 look like cockle-shells. Sometimes the pro- 
 spect, though grand, was wild, desolate, and 
 sterile ; nothing to be seen but dark rocks 
 cleaving the sky, and bearing on their hoar 
 sides some dismal pines or gigantic aloes ; but 
 another turn would bring you to a village, 
 whose white buildings gleamed amid verdant 
 gardens, and were backed by a group of lofty 
 palm-trees, an oriental landscape. Many were 
 the marble villas, with their open halls and
 
 THE COTTON LORD. ^5 
 
 corridors, supported by richly-carved pillars, 
 (round which the vine would twist its rich 
 foliage, and hang out its luscious clusters,) 
 which seemed to rise as it were from the sea, 
 embosomed in groves of orange, myrtle, and 
 arbutus, which deepened and spread into wider 
 plantations of olive, ilex, and pine. Such 
 was Mr. LuttrelFs. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, the surpassing 
 beauty and sublimity of his route, two or three 
 days' fatiguing and unwonted exertion, com- 
 bined with the discomforts of his nightly 
 sojourns in a "locanda," which possibly had 
 not near so many claims to respectability as the 
 commonest of our public-houses, caused Frank 
 to feel a sensation of unmixed delight when his 
 muleteer pointed out to him his place of desti- 
 nation. This poor fellow had run alongside 
 him the whole way, leading the mule over the 
 difficult passes, broiling and sweating in the 
 sun, as elastic as a cork and as tough as 
 Indian-rubber, singing, chattering, and whist- 
 ling, as if there were not a care in the world. 
 Frank's English reserve was a little discom- 
 posed at first by the perfect unconcern and 
 familiarity with which Giacomo would take a
 
 296 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 seat by his side to discuss any questions con- 
 nected with their route ; but, finding this was 
 a mere habit, and done without the slightest 
 thought or intention of disrespect, he was 
 quickly reconciled to it, found a most cheerful 
 and intelligent companion in his guide, and 
 finally made him a compliment of money above 
 the stipulated sura, which called forth a whole 
 torrent of benedictions on his head. 
 
 It was late at night when Frank arrived 
 at Mr. Luttreirs palazzo; his coming had 
 been anticipated, and his reception was cordial 
 as he could hope. But, weary and exhausted, 
 he could hardly feel thankful enough for that 
 considerate kindness in his host, which led him, 
 when he saw the young man's utter fatigue, to 
 leave him at once to the refreshments of bath, 
 bed, and repose.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 297 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ANOTHER FAIR ONE. 
 
 " So smooth, SO sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice. 
 As, could they hear, the damn'd would make no noise ; 
 But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber, 
 Melting melodious words to lutes of amber." 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 Mr. Walmsley was early astir the next 
 morning, and roving amid lawns, terraces, and 
 fountains, embosomed in the most luxuriant 
 foliage, and arranged with the most exquisite 
 taste. He thought himself in a very garden 
 of Eden. The glowing blue sky, the soft and 
 balmy air, heavy with the rich scents of a pro- 
 fusion of fruits and shrubs and flowers, which 
 glowed with a brilliancy of colouring unknown 
 rn our colder clime, all conduced to steep his 
 senses in delight. He roved hither and thi- 
 ther without object or aim, in the mere impulse 
 
 o5
 
 ^98 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 of a gratification that seemed to leave nothing 
 to wish for. All the dreamy visions of his 
 youth, all the poetical imaginings of past 
 years, which the matter-of-fact cares and as- 
 pirations of ripening manhood had subdued 
 and checked, returned upon him, and he was 
 again the " dreaming " youth, whose fancies 
 and imaginations had often excited the ridicule 
 of his " work-a-day " friends. He threw him- 
 self down beneath a bower of flaunting Spanish 
 jessamine, which flung its sweetness far and 
 wide, while his ready memory quickly sug- 
 gested to him numberless glowing descriptions 
 in his favourite poets, which now he had the 
 happiness — to him, for the time, it was perfect 
 happiness — to realise in the fairy scene around 
 him. And that no possible charm might be 
 wanting to the spell of beauty by which he 
 was entranced, he hears — he starts and listens 
 — yes, he hears tones on the balmy air soft 
 and spirit-like as those with which Ariel be- 
 guiled the shipwrecked prince. They float 
 like the breathings of a flute around him, and 
 then they cease. Shortly, however, they re- 
 turn ; and fully convinced, notwithstanding 
 their surpassing sweetness, that they are of the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 299 
 
 earth, he moves in the direction from whence 
 they proceed. The voice was accompanied 
 by a guitar, touched with exquisite skill, and 
 as the words were now distinctly audible, he 
 paused to listen to them. Thus they ran : — 
 
 With thee I '11 climb the mountain's peak, 
 With thee I '11 breast the ocean wave, 
 
 With thee the sultry desert seek, 
 Or welcome e'en a foreign grave. 
 
 For thee the fairest blooms I '11 cull, 
 To bind thy brow with myrtle wreath ; 
 
 For thee the luscious grape I '11 pull, 
 
 And spread thy couch with scented heath. 
 
 Unfearing time, or chance, or change, 
 Or grief, or scaith, with thee I '11 fly ; 
 
 At thy dear side for ever range, 
 
 For thee I '11 live, with thee I '11 die ! 
 
 When the song ceased, a voice as sweet in 
 its natural tones as in its cultivated ones, 
 said — 
 
 " What think ye, Caterina, will the Eng- 
 lish signor laugh at my pronunciation of his 
 harsh tongue ? " 
 
 Walmsley did not wait to hear the reply : 
 listening by stealth to a song, and listening 
 in the same manner to a conversation, are
 
 300 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 crimes of a very different dye and magnitude 
 in the code of courtesy and honour. He was 
 now separated from the songstress by a skreen 
 of tall Peruvian aloes, which seemed to line a 
 walk or enclosure of some length, and whose 
 magnificent clusters of white blossoms emitted 
 a rich odour like that of the magnolia. Pass- 
 ing along this lofty and magnificent skreen, 
 he turned at the end of it into that division 
 of the garden from which it had separated him, 
 and another sudden turn brought abruptly to 
 his view a very vision of Paradise. 
 
 Before him was a fountain — one of those 
 classical and elegant things so common in Italy 
 — an exquisitely sculptured nymph pouring 
 the water from her urn into the finely carved 
 basin below, both of spotless white marble. 
 So placed as to have this refreshing object 
 right in view, was a small temple of the same 
 pure material, raised a step from the ground, 
 and the roof supported by slender columns, 
 whose silvery shafts were almost hidden in 
 the roses, jessamines, and passion-flowers which 
 clustered round them. Open all round, it was 
 yet so situated as to receive considerable shade 
 from the citrons and myrtles which grew
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 301 
 
 thickly around it, and in front, where were the 
 fountains and borders of richly cultivated 
 flowers, there were silk blinds between the 
 pillars, which could be opened or closed at 
 pleasure. 
 
 But the inmate of the bower ! Half reclined 
 amongst the cushions of a large, low ottoman, 
 which was scarcely raised above the level of 
 the marble floor, was a young creature, beau- 
 tiful as a poet's dream in the hcippiest moment 
 of inspiration. She was as fair as a lily : her 
 complexion transparently pure ; her hair al- 
 most black ; her eyes large, dark, and lus- 
 trous ; her lip — from just such a one did Cupid 
 fashion his bow ! — rich as the flower of the 
 pomegranate in its roseate hue. A morning 
 robe of thin white muslin veiled her delicate 
 figure, and one hand lay carelessly on the lute 
 which she had thrown aside. Her hair was 
 plainly banded round her small head, and 
 gathered in a knot behind. She wore no orna- 
 ment of any sort ; but her attendant was 
 placing a sprig of orange blossom in her hair, 
 just over one ear. 
 
 This attendant was a respectable, withered- 
 looking little old woman, — very old she looked.
 
 S02 WILLIAM LANGSHAVVE, 
 
 She was attired in handsome black silk, and 
 round her head she wore the mazero, or scarf, 
 with a showy border of various hues : it was 
 fastened on the head with an enormous gold 
 pin, and the ends hung down on the shoulders. 
 There was no lack of ornament in the good 
 duenna's attire. She had a gold chain round 
 her neck of a dozen links at least, to one of 
 which was attached a medallion, with the en- 
 graven image of a favourite saint. From 
 another, a separate and larger chain, was sus- 
 pended a massive gold crucifix. She had 
 enormous ear-rings of the same material ; and 
 on her fore-finger a gold ring, shaped like a 
 shield, and so large as to prevent her from 
 bending the joint of the finger. To Frank this 
 attire looked marvellous ; but the Genoese 
 females are accustomed to load themselves 
 with trinkets. 
 
 It was not at this moment, however, that 
 he noticed the peculiarities of Caterina's cos- 
 tume, his attention was intently and exclusively 
 engrossed by her beautiful nursling. 
 
 She rose in some confusion at seeing the 
 English stranger so close to her, and appa- 
 rently within hearing of the conversation.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 303 
 
 which had had reference to him. Walmsley, 
 scarcely less confused, though from a different 
 motive, was advancing somewhat awkwardly 
 towards her, when both were relieved by the 
 sudden appearance of Mr. Luttrell. 
 
 " Ah, my young friend, I have been seeking 
 you for some time ; my little Bianca seems 
 to have been beforehand with me in doing the 
 honours of the morning." 
 
 "No, papa, not so; but I will now assist 
 you, if you and he please." 
 
 " Certainly, darling, we both please. I fully 
 intend that Mr. Walmsley shall swear, on his 
 return to England, that hospitality is not 
 understood there, but reigns on these shores 
 with us. Come, my love, let us to break- 
 fast." 
 
 Mr. Luttrell was a tall hale old English 
 gentleman, near seventy, though in appearance 
 he was very much younger. The only symp- 
 toms of age were his whitened hair and a slight 
 stoop ; and the latter, in one of his tall, spare 
 form, was rather ornamental than otherwise. 
 His manners were marked by a frank courtesy, 
 and a perfect ease, which could only be ac- 
 quired by constant intercourse with good so-
 
 304 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 ciety. This, his naturally engaging manners, 
 joined to his prominent position at Genoa as 
 an English merchant of the first class, had 
 easily procured for hira. 
 
 Bianca, who seemed to be the very apple 
 of his eye, was scarcely more than sixteen. 
 Though they addressed each other as father 
 and daughter, she was in fact his grand- 
 daughter, orphaned in infancy. 
 
 They took breakfast in an open balcony, 
 overhanging the sea. Numberless gay vessels, 
 with their glistening whitewinged sails were 
 glancing on its bright blue waters, and every- 
 thing looked radiant and joyous. Some two 
 or three hours later in the day, a feeling of 
 oppression and languor rather took place of 
 the animated enjoyment which now pervaded 
 everything, and the very water itself seemed 
 to reflect the heat of the sun instead of giving 
 forth its own cooling breezes. VYhen this 
 occurred, our party retreated from the bal- 
 cony ; for the delight which the stranger took 
 in the unwonted scene, and the deep interest 
 which Mr. Luttrell felt in conversing of his 
 native country with so intelligent a visitor as
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 305 
 
 Frank, had caused them to protract their 
 morning meal most unconsciously. 
 
 The interior of the palazzo was gorgeous, 
 though to an English eye there seemed a 
 paucity of furniture, and a want of comfort 
 in the general arrangements. Tables of mar- 
 ble and jasper, gilded cornices, gorgeous mir- 
 rors, splendid paintings, and exquisite statuary 
 — charming as they be to look at — do yet but 
 inaptly fill that measure of " home-delight," 
 which we, who are accustomed to crowd round 
 a blazing sea-coal fire, do habitually look for. 
 However, Frank, thought not of all this, at 
 least not now. 
 
 The saloon to which they adjourned was 
 redolent with the perfume of the newly-ga- 
 thered flowers with which it was decorated : 
 one end opening on a lawn, was almost entirely 
 windows of the kind we call French, which 
 were now all wide open, but the silk blinds 
 were closely drawn, to exclude, as far as pos- 
 sible, the heat, without also excluding what 
 erratic zephyrs might wander there. Books 
 and fruit were arranged on a marble table, 
 evidently as the accustomed beguilement of
 
 306 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 the midday hours, and two or three low otto- 
 mans were placed near it. The books were 
 opened, and the fruit discussed, the flowers 
 admired ; and at length Mr. Luttrell, com- 
 posing himself for his siesta, asked his 
 " darling" if she would not sing him a song. 
 She instantly acquiesced, and placing her- 
 self on a low cushion at his feet, tuned her 
 guitar. 
 
 There are two ways of telling every tale. 
 We might say that Bianca was a well-dis- 
 posed, good girl, who humoured her old grand- 
 father in his whims, and sang him to sleep. 
 This would be strictly true ; and this would 
 be the way in which a matter-of-fact, un- 
 poetical person might describe the " domes- 
 tic scene;" but Mr. Walmsley was neither 
 very matter-of-fact nor absolutely unpoetical, 
 and on him the impression was very dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 It was to him the very realization of poetry 
 and romance, the impersonation of the wildest 
 dreams of his fancy. The magnificent scene 
 around him, the perfect quiet and repose, the 
 rich taste and classical elegance of all the 
 appointments, the eastern-like glory of the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 307 
 
 climate, the pure nature of the banquet, the 
 fruits and the flowers ; added to all this, and 
 what to one fresh from the cotton world, was 
 a most enchanting charm, the quiet simplicity, 
 the total absence of parade, not merely in his 
 gentlemanly host, but in the arrangements gene- 
 rally, gratified his fanciful but refined taste 
 to the utmost. 
 
 But all this, beautiful as it was, derived its 
 entrancing charm from the spirit of the foun- 
 tain, the fairy among the flowers, the nymph 
 of the marble temple, the young, the beau- 
 tiful, and passionate Italian. Yes, as she now 
 swept the strings of her guitar like one in- 
 spired, her large eye flashed, her cheek glow- 
 ed, her lip curled, her nostril was dilated, 
 and every highly-wrought impulse of her soul 
 seemed to inspire the gush of melody which 
 she poured forth from voice and instrument. 
 An engaging writer has said, that the faces 
 of the beautiful Italian women "remind one 
 of a beautiful lake, on whose bosom every 
 breeze produces a gentle ripple, and every 
 cloud its shadow ; but likewise suggests the 
 thought of what effect a storm might cause 
 on the same beautiful surface, the mobility
 
 308 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 of their countenances indicating a more than 
 ordinary predisposition to passionate emotions." 
 Such a countenance especially was Bianca's ; 
 and Walmsley was astonished to see the storm 
 of " passionate emotion'^ called forth on the 
 hitherto sweet, composed, and even child- 
 like countenance, from mere sympathy with 
 the sentiments of the scena she was singing. 
 " No," thought he, " the cavillers at ' Juliet' 
 are in the wrong : here is another Juliet ; 
 and without doubt this climate, which ripens 
 the beauty of its daughters so prematurely, 
 and, alas ! decays it so prematurely too — 
 without doubt it has an equally precocious 
 effect on the passions. See the proof." 
 
 And these reflections made him look on the 
 beautiful and gifted girl with still deeper in- 
 terest, as she poured forth tones 
 
 " Which might create a soul 
 Under the ribs of death/' 
 
 so sweet and yet so energetic they were. 
 And the guitar, far from being the insigni- 
 ficant instrument which here we do, not 
 without cause, consider it, seemed in her
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 309 
 
 hands the very slave of her impulses, as 
 now she called forth its abrupt and stirring 
 tones, and anon melted into notes of plaintive 
 melancholy which made tears start to the eyes 
 of the listeners. No cultivation, no " prac- 
 tice" could have produced such effects : Bianca 
 was born a musician.
 
 3i0 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A DOMESTIC COLLOQUY, 
 
 " Before tliou reade, prepare thine eyes to weepe, 
 If that thine eyes containe one liquid teare : 
 Or if thou canst not mourne, fall dead in sleepe." 
 
 Infelice Academico Ignoto. 
 
 " To you, my purse, and to none other wight, 
 Appeale I, for you be my lady dere," 
 
 CHArCER. 
 
 " Well, Jack, how dost speed wi' thy 
 wooin,* mon." 
 
 *' As well, sir, as my poor person and indif- 
 ferent abilities can be supposed to speed." 
 
 " Thy poor ! — be hanged as loike. I tell 
 thee what, Jack, thee art a confounded puppy, 
 and a great hypocrite — thy poor person, in- 
 deed — be shot to thee." 
 
 " Much obliged, sir, for the high compli- 
 ments you pay me," said Mr. John, as he
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 311 
 
 scientifically prepared another cigar for his 
 delectation, and deliberately reposed his nether 
 limbs in an elevated position, near the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 " I tell thee, I wish thee 'd bring thy long 
 limbs down, and attend to me for awhile." 
 
 " My dear sir, I was only placing my un- 
 lucky person in the way which would best 
 enable its owner to pay the most profound 
 attention to your paternal remarks ; but there, 
 then f and he placed a foot on each hob, 
 " will that accord with your notions of filial 
 humility?'' 
 
 '' Thou 'rt a d — d impudent dog,'' said his 
 father, laughing, " but tell me i' plain English, 
 what does Miss Langshawe say to thee?" 
 
 «« Nothing." 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "And what dost say to her, mon?" 
 
 " Less." 
 
 " Less — less than nothing ? What dost 
 mean ? has she refused thee ?" 
 
 ''No." 
 
 "Hast ever offered?" 
 
 " No."
 
 312 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 " Hast given her up ?'* 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Confound thee, Jack, if doesn't speak 
 out, I '11 break every bone i' th"* skin. What 
 dost mean, sir ? By heaven ! grand as thee 
 thinks thysel', I '11 shew thee I 'm thy father, 
 yet." 
 
 " My dear and honoured father, do not 
 suffer your gentle spirit to be unduly excited. 
 I 'm meek and tractable as a lamb, I do assure 
 you. With regard to Miss Langshawe, sir, the 
 young lady — such is the perversity of human 
 nature — seems to prefer my room to my com- 
 pany, therefore, I do not often visit her ; and 
 when I am in her company she seems to prefer 
 my silence to my conversation ; therefore, as 
 I am in duty bound to consult her wishes, I do 
 not often address her." 
 
 The father looked, as he well might, puz- 
 zled. 
 
 " I hardly know what to make o' thee. Jack ; 
 but if thou 'rt foolin' me now, it '11 be worse 
 for thyself i' th' end. Dost really wish to have 
 Miss Langshawe .P" 
 
 " Trust me, do I : the finest girl and the
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 313 
 
 finest estate in Lancashire, are not to be 
 sneezed at." 
 
 " Humph ! Dost think thou 'rt likely to 
 get her ? " 
 
 " To be sure I do ; at least, her father tells 
 me so. But the young lady 's rather uppish, 
 and seems to require more attention than I like 
 to pay : it 's a pity to spoil her, and trouble 
 doesn't suit my constitution. Besides, her 
 father 's enamoured of me, and he tells me to 
 be quiet, and he '11 manage her in time.*" 
 
 '« She don't like thee, then .?" 
 
 " Why, I won't go so far as to say she dis- 
 likes me; that would be too severe a censure 
 on her taste and judgment." 
 
 " Confound thee, for a puppy P 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; but the fact is, there 's 
 been some sort of a flirtation with that senti- 
 mental pale-faced youth, Frank Walmsley, 
 Ainsley's nephew. Old Langshawe dismissed 
 him with a flea in his ear, and so the young 
 lady, for consistency's sake, must wear the wil- 
 low a little." 
 
 " Who told thee all this ? " 
 
 " I had it from my man, who had it from 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 WILLIAM LANGSHAWE, 
 
 his sweetheart, who was working in a field near 
 the scene of the cat-as-tro-phe. So I give the 
 lady time, for 
 
 " It 's as well to be off with the old love, 
 Before she is on with the new ! " 
 
 " Well, win her and wear her, if it pleases 
 thee. Thee might do worse — thee might, may- 
 hap, do better. And, now, as thou 'rt reason- 
 able, I '11 tell thee summat. Old Langshawe's 
 welly done up." 
 
 '' Done up ! how do you mean ? what does 
 he want ? " 
 
 " He wants the rhino, man, the ready." 
 
 '« The devil ! '' 
 
 " True. And he wants it from me, too." 
 
 " I wish he may get it. What did you 
 say?" 
 
 *' I told him I mun consult wi"* thee." 
 
 "My dear father, let me shake hands with 
 you : I honour you." 
 
 " Ha' done with thy foolery : I were born 
 a day or two afore thee. Now, the matter 's 
 this. Bill Langshawe and me's old cronies, 
 and if we were na, I wouldn't let an honest 
 man sink for the matter of a few hundreds.
 
 THE COTTON LORD. 315 
 
 He 's had a good deal o' money from me in the 
 last few months — " 
 
 " The deuce he has ! " 
 
 ''But what he wants now is a hard sum, 
 and what indeed I couldn't raise without a ley 
 on what I have considered to be thi/ share 
 o' th' mill. So, thou sees, Jack, though I 
 were willing to risk what I could to help 
 him, I couldn't do th' whole without con- 
 sulting thee." 
 
 " That 's lucky : for really, sir, I 'm at a 
 loss to know why you should have such a 
 feeling for Mr. Langshawe, as to sink your 
 own property, let alone your son's — for 
 him." 
 
 " Why, mon, dost not understand that 
 there '11 be a fine return for it. Langshawe 
 says this sum will pull him through ; and I 'm 
 pretty much of the same opinion myseP — and 
 then, mon, I '11 bet a cool hundred there '11 be 
 cent, per cent, profit." 
 
 " Which we shall share ?" 
 
 " Of course, to the amount of our loans." 
 
 " That alters the case. And the risk ? "" 
 
 «* I 'd venture it." 
 
 " Well, if the old man would promise his
 
 316 WILLIAM LANGSHAVVE. 
 
 daughter's hand — we should be sure in the end 
 of all that was to be had." 
 
 " That *s thy own share o' th"* bargain — I 'se 
 mak' no odds about it. Thou 'It think on 't, 
 mayhap — and thou 'It see to th' securities ? " 
 
 " I '11 see they *re right and tight, I promise 
 you." 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by S. & J. Bentley, Wilson, and Fley, 
 Bangor House, Shoe Lane.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 'LLINOIS-UBBANA 
 
 3 0112 037926513