PROM THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 FISKE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 THE BEQUEST OF 
 
 Librarian of the University 1868-1883 
 1905 . 
 
 gM.lk^o ilfejii 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
 PR3349.C8 1862 
 The works of Tim Bobbin [pseud] in prose 
 
 3 1924 013 171 131 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013171131 
 
J^u/y/c/icl M- tfieAcl dweclr, Ma->' 177c 
 
THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 TIM BOBBIN, ESQ 
 
 IN PROSE AND VEESE: 
 
 A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR, 
 BY JOHN CORRY. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED 
 
 A KBNDEEING INTO SIMPLE ENGLISH OF 
 THE DIALOGUE OF TUMMUS AND MEARY, 
 
 WITH THE IDIOMS AND SIMILES EETAINED, AKD 
 EXPLANATOEY NOTES, ETC. 
 
 BY ELIJAH RIDINGS. 
 
 MANCHESTER:- JOHN HBTWOOD, 143, DEANSGATE. 
 
 LONDON : — SIMPKIN, MAESHALL, AKD CO. 
 18 6 2 
 
loss HETWOOD, PEIHTEE, 143, DEAUSGATE, MAHCKESIEE. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Pa&e. 
 
 Memoir of the Author 1 
 
 View of the Lancashire Dialect 29 
 
 Glossary 74 
 
 Eemarka on Whitaker's History of Manchester 113 
 
 More Fruit from the same Pannier, or Additional Eemarks on Ditto . 167 
 
 Shude-Hill Fight 233 
 
 List of High Sheriffs, for the County of Lancaster 255 
 
 Codicil to the Last Will and Testament of James Clegg, Conjurer ... 269 
 
 Copy of an ancient Saxon MS ,, 273 
 
 Entry sent to the Excise Officers 275 
 
 LETTEES IN PEOSE. 
 
 To Miss B y S h, in Hu d 276 
 
 " Mr. Charles Eamsden, Worcester 277 
 
 A Narratire of the Case beween the Queen of the Booth and the 
 
 Author, to T. P. Esq 279 
 
 Hoantung's Letter to the Empress of Eussia i. 286 
 
 To Mr. Daniel Wright, Manchester 290 
 
 Prickshaw Witch blown up, or the Conjurer out Conjured 293 
 
 To Mr. T. Marriott, Eochdale 300 
 
 " Mr. Eobert Whitaker 302 
 
 " Mr. Eudd, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 304 
 
 " Mr. R. W r 305 
 
 " Mr. n. Whitaker, Manchester 306 
 
 " Mr. John Sephton, Erewer-Q-eneral, in Liverpool 308 
 
 •' T. P. Esq., with HoweU's Letters 311 
 
 " Mons. Delacour, Painter, Edinburgh 312 
 
 " Mr. E. W r 316 
 
 " — — 317 
 
 " Mr. E. Gorton, Salford, with Picture of the Devil on Horseback... 318 
 " Mr. Eobt.' Whitaker 320 
 
9 
 
 To Mr. H. Whitaker, Manchester 321 
 
 " Mr. Wm. Bowcook, Painter, Chester 322 
 
 " Mr. Hen. Whitaker, Manchester 325 
 
 " Mr. Geo. C r, "Wine Merchant, LiTerpool 326 
 
 " E. T. Esq 328 
 
 " Mr. Bob. Whitaker 329 
 
 " Mr. H. Whitaker, Manchester 329 
 
 " Mr. John Smalley, Painter and Colour-man, Preston 331 
 
 " Mr. Eob. Whitaker 332 
 
 " Mr. K. W 333 
 
 " Key. Mr. Barton, Curate of Heywood 334 
 
 " Eev. Mr. Heap, Dorking 336 
 
 " Mr. H 338 
 
 " Mr. Hen. Whitaker, Manchester 339 
 
 « — — — — 342 
 
 " Tim Bobbin 347 
 
 " Mr. K. W 351 
 
 " Mr. Eob. Whitaker 353 
 
 « — — 358 
 
 " — — 362 
 
 Extract from a Letter from the Bottom of Blackstone-edge 364 
 
 To Mr. H. Whitaker, Manchester 367 
 
 " Mr. Eothwell, Schoolmaster of Blackrod 369 
 
 " Mr. Nickson, Printer, York 371 
 
 " Eev. Mr. H H 372 
 
 " Mr. Tessejman, Bookseller, York 373 
 
 A Copy of Doctor Absolate's Letter to the Eey. Mr. Stopford 374 
 
 To the Eev. Mr. Stopford, Manchester 375 
 
 A Paraphrase on Dr. Absolute's Letter 375 
 
 To Mr. Oreudson, Q-rooer, Manchester 376 
 
 " Mr. Wordsworth, Eocbdale 377 
 
 " Mr. John Aspinall, Burnley 378 
 
 " Captain Tyldesley 380 
 
 " Mr. Tinus Hodgkinson, Officer of Excise, Tarporley ...,' 381 
 
 " Mr. Hitchin, Steward at Eoyle 382 
 
 " Mr. James Clegg, Cabinet-maker, Liverpool 384 
 
 " Mrs. Collier 385 
 
 " Mr. Bottomley 387 
 
 " Mrs. CoUier 389 
 
POETICAL PIECES. 
 
 Battle of the Flying Dragon and the Man of Heaton 393 
 
 The Blackbird- 405 
 
 The Cobbler's Politics 417 
 
 Pluralist and Old Soldier 426 
 
 The Fortune Teller 437 
 
 Cuckow and Owl; a Fable ., 436 
 
 Gardener and the Asa; a Fable 439 
 
 Three conceited Beauties ; a Fable 446 
 
 Lancashire Hob and the Quack Doctor 447 
 
 John of Gaunt's Leases imitated , 450 
 
 Another 450 
 
 The Ecclesiastical and Lay-Miser's Speculum 451 
 
 The Goose 453 
 
 The Mayor of 's Petition 458 
 
 School Boy and hungry Sow ; a Fable 460 
 
 Clerical Characters 461 
 
 LETTERS IN RHYME. 
 
 To Richard Townley, Esq 464 
 
 " Mr. Cowper, Wine Merchant, Liverpool 466 
 
 « Mr. T. M TT .....' 467 
 
 Collidon'a Complaint for the absence of Rosalinda 471 
 
 AnAnswer to a poetical Epistle 472 
 
 An Answer to another Letter^ 474 
 
 To Miss MoUy B r, of Manchester 475 
 
 On Miss 3 ds conoeaUng Dr. Sh— tt— 's Pestle 477 
 
 An Epistle to Jared Leigh, of Warrington 478 
 
 Epigram 481 
 
 To Dr. M 1 482 
 
 On the R e Attorneys 483 
 
 An Answer to an Anonymous rhyming Letter 484 
 
 To Mr. Budworth, Bull's Head, Manchester 485 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Tyldesley, at the Buck, Rochdale 487 
 
 Tim Bobbin to his Friends in Liverpool , 489 
 
 To Dr. Holden 491 
 
 Epigram in imitation of Mr. Walsh 491 
 
4 
 
 EPITAPHS. 
 
 On Joe Green, late Sexton at EooMale , 492 
 
 " Mr. John Hamer, Mathematician, late of Eoohdale 492 
 
 " Dr. ]?orster, late Vicar of Kochdale 493 
 
 The Author's 493 
 
 Another 494 
 
 The Dialogue of Tummus and Meary, rendered into simple English ; 
 
 with the Idioms and SimUea retained, and Explanatory Notes 495 
 
OF 
 
 MB. JOHN COLLIER. 
 
 "A man so various that he seem'd to be 
 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome ; 
 
 And in the course of one revolving moon 
 
 Was teacher, piper, patriot and buffoon ; 
 
 Then all for painting, quipping, rhyming, drinking, 
 
 Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking." 
 
 When a man emerges from obscurity to a degree of eminence, 
 the curiosity of the public is naturally excited, and every 
 circumstaijce respecting his progress, acquires an adventitious 
 importance from the celebrity of the individual. Wit and 
 genius are confined to no climate; like the productions of 
 nature they often arise, as it were, spontaneously ; and when 
 they thus appear in the rustic walks of life, they resemble 
 those aromatic plants and flowers which embellish and per- 
 fume the wild. Such in some measure may be said to have 
 been the talents of the subject of this biography ; but as the 
 most precious treasures and the richest cordials are frequently 
 misapplied and abused, so the eccentricities of genius mislead 
 the votaries of gaiety into the dangerous labyrinth of vanity 
 or vice. 
 
4 
 
 EPITAPHS. 
 
 On Joe Gfreen, late Sexton at ItooMale 492 
 
 " Mr. John Hamer, Mathematician, late of Rochdale 493 
 
 " Dr. Porster, late Vicar of Kochdale 493 
 
 The Author's 493 
 
 Another 494 
 
 The Dialogue of Tummua and Meary, rendered into simple English ; 
 
 with the Idioms and Similes retained, and Explanatory Notes 495 
 
jlem0trs 
 
 OF 
 
 MB. JOHN COLLIER. 
 
 "A man so various that he seem'd to be 
 
 Not one, but all mankind's epitome ; 
 
 And in the course of one revolving moon 
 
 Was teacher, piper, patriot and buffoon ; 
 
 Then all for painting, quipping, rhyming, drinking, 
 
 Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking." 
 
 When a man emerges from obscurity to a degree of eminence, 
 the curiosity of the public is naturally excited, and every 
 circumstajjee respecting his progress, acquires an adventitious 
 importance from the celebrity of the individual. Wit and 
 genius are confined to no climate ; like the productions of 
 nature they often arise, as it were, spontaneously ; and when 
 they thus appear in the rustic walks of life, they resemble 
 those aromatic plants and flowers which embellish and per- 
 fume the wild. Such in some measure may be said to have 
 been the talents of the subject of this biography ; but as the 
 most precious treasures and the richest cordials are frequently 
 misapplied and abused, so the eccentricities of genius mislead 
 the votaries of gaiety into the dangerous labyrinth of vanity 
 or vice. 
 
John Collier, as appears by a memorandum written by 
 himself in his family Bible, was born December 16th, 1708, 
 at a house called Richard o' Jones's, in Urmston, near Man- 
 chester. His father, John Collier, was a minister of the 
 established church, and in addition to the income derived 
 from a curacy, he kept a school, by which he was enabled 
 to maintain a wife and several children decently. He was 
 the instructor of his own children, among whom John appears 
 to have been considered by him as a boy of superior abilities, 
 and he accordingly educated him with a view of his being 
 brought up to the church. That young Collier profited by 
 the instructions of an affectionate and judicious father cannot 
 be doubted, and to this early initiation in the rudiments of 
 learning may be attributed that propensity to teaching others, 
 which he manifested even in his youth, and which was so 
 profitable to him during life. 
 
 His father's intention of educating him for the church was 
 unhappily frustrated by the deprivation of sight, an event 
 which happened to him in the forty-sixth year of his age, 
 and by which he and his family were exposed to subsequent 
 distress. John was then in the fourteenth year of his age ; 
 he had been distinguished from his infancy for superior 
 quickness of intellect ; but the idea of his advancement by 
 learning was now relinquished, and it was thought expedient 
 by his parents, that he should be instructed in some handi- 
 craft art. 
 
 Of his aversion to engaging in manual labour we have the 
 following memorial in his own hand writing; it is curious 
 
as a specimen of that peculiar humour for which he was 
 remarkable in every situation whether adverse or prosperous. 
 " Went 'prentice in May, 1799, to one Johnson, a dutch-loom 
 weaver, on Newton Moor, in the parish of Mottram : but 
 hating slavery in all shapes, I by Divine Providence (vailing 
 my old scull-hat to the Mitres) on November 19th, 1729, 
 commenced schoolmaster of Milnrow." In this comprehensive 
 sentence Mr. Collier includes a period of seven years and a 
 half, but the intermediate time between May, 1733, and 
 November, 1729, was not employed by him in weaving, for 
 according to authentic documents he lived as an apprentice 
 with Johnson little more than a year, when he persuaded his 
 master to cancel the indentures. It is probable that little 
 rhetoric was sufficient on this occasion, for his master was as 
 much dissatisfied with his whimsical, and idle apprentice, as 
 he could possibly be with that art which preserved the 
 chastity of Penelope. 
 
 It is a curious fact, that among the peculiarities of men 
 of genius in a low station they almost universally evince an 
 aversion to " learn one earthly thing of use.'' Whether this 
 idleness proceeds from the natural indolence of the human 
 mind, or the innate pride of an aspiring and self-conceited 
 individual must be left to the decision of some Caledonian 
 metaphysician : but the fact is incontrovertible ; and there are 
 numerous proofs on record, that several of our indigent poets, 
 painters, and players testified their determination not " to 
 earn their bread by the sweat of their brow.'' Even in the 
 present age, Thelwall, indignantly fled from the tailor's shop- 
 
board, and Holcroft from the shoemaker's seat, and towering 
 on the wings of self-exaltation soared like Icarus towards the 
 sun ; while Southey and Scott scorning the business of a 
 scrivener, produced their numerous volumes, to amuse their 
 admirers. 
 
 Young Collier being left free to choose an employment, in the 
 sixteenth year of his age, engaged in the unprofitable though 
 not unamusing avocation of an itinerant schoolmaster, a pur- 
 suit admirably adapted to his volatile disposition, and passion 
 for variety. Thus, he spent upwards of five years of his most 
 precious time, during which he instructed a number of pupils 
 in reading, writing, and arithmetic. His sphere of action 
 was extensive, for he occasionally taught in Bury, Middleton, 
 Oldham, Eochdale, and the adjacent villages ; and appears to 
 have been sufficiently assiduous in the improvement of him- 
 self and others. 
 
 When he had nearly attained the age of twenty-one, he was 
 engaged as usher at the time before-mentioned, by Mr. Pearson, 
 curate and schoolmaster at Milnrow, near Eochdale. The 
 salary given by Mr. Townley, of Belfield, to the master of 
 this free-school, was twenty pounds a year, which he shared 
 with Mr. John Collier ; and this moiety with the profits derived 
 from a night-school, was considered by our author as a com- 
 petency, which shews that he was not very desirous of gain. 
 Indeed the love of money was never among the vices of John 
 Collier, who at no time of his life was an oeconomist. His 
 vivacious disposition, and entertaining converse, soon gained 
 him the esteem of congenial minds in his neighbourhood. 
 
In a few years Mr. Pearson died, and Mr. Collier was nomi- 
 nated his successor as master of the free-school of Milnrow. 
 Being thus entitled to the full salary of twenty pounds a year, 
 which a century ago was thought a considerable sum, Mr. 
 Collier was considered a young man of some consequence in 
 the village. At leisure hours he amused himself by lessons 
 in the art of drawing, and in playing upon the hautboy and 
 English flute, and soon became such a proficient as to be 
 qualified to instruct others in these amusing and ornamental 
 arts. He understood the rules of perspective, and drew land- 
 scapes in good taste, but did not excel in portrait painting, 
 though his skill as a caricaturist is well known. 
 
 Hitherto he had written little poetry, except a few anony- 
 mous satires, in ridicule of some absurd or eccentric characters ; 
 and as no other person in Eochdale or its neighbourhood was 
 considered capable of producing such pieces, he was always 
 sure to be the reputed author. 
 
 Mr. Collier was now quite a country buck, and was looked 
 up to by many of the neighbouring farmer's sons as a model 
 for imitation in dress and manners. This the following 
 anecdote will illustrate. One fine Sunday morning in summer, 
 he went with several other young bucks to a chapel where a 
 great number of singers from other chapels were expected. 
 They arrived before the time of divine service, and several 
 young women also came to the place, who were treated by the 
 rustic beaux with such refreshments as could be procured in 
 an adjacent public-house. It was then fashionable for the 
 young women to wear large necklaces of white paste in imita- 
 
tion of pearl; and some of them happening accidentally to 
 come off, Mr. Collier gallantly put them round his neck. The 
 bell soon afterwards summoned the people to prayers, and the 
 company hastily entered the chapel, where the odd appearance 
 of our hero, with his feminine ornaments, excited some 
 risibility. He soon discovered why he was laughed at, but 
 resolving to put a good face on the matter, he wore his 
 necklaces during divine service, and afterwards strutted about 
 with them in the inn to the no small gratification of the 
 village youth. From the circumstance of Mr. Collier's wear- 
 ing the necklaces, several young fellows in the neighbourhood 
 supposed that it had become the fashion for men to wear 
 such ornaments ; and three or four of them actually appeared 
 at the same chapel a few weeks afterwards, with similar 
 decorations suspended from their necks. 
 
 In the year 1740, he published "The Blackbird," a satire; 
 which as Mr. Townley justly observed, " contained some 
 spirited ridicule upon a Lancashire justice, more renowned 
 for political zeal, and ill-timed loyalty, than good sense and 
 discretion." As a poetical composition, however, " The Black- 
 bird," is mere doggrel. There is indeed some humour in the 
 piece, but as for ryhme the following extracts wiU be quite 
 sufficient to prove the want of harmony. 
 
 " His beaver cock'd plain dealing-wise, he pM'd 
 
 So low, his forehead in it seem'd i/avoWd." 
 » * mm * Hi 
 
 "But know, my angry muse reflects not on 
 This tinkling cymbal for its jarring tone: 
 But for affecting those celestial airs 
 By which the organ charms the list'ning ears'' 
 
It is diverting to hear such poets talk of their Muse. 
 
 But with such a versatility of genius as Mr. Collier pos- 
 sessed, excellence in any particular art could not be expected. 
 His acquirements were both various, and valuable to himself 
 and others. As a penman he excelled, and being gifted with 
 more good sense than usually falls to the share of an humourist, 
 he was well qualified to instruct his pupils in those arts 
 which he professed. From the ease and humour of some of 
 his letters to his friends, it is evident that he must have been 
 a very entertaining and social companion. Yet however he 
 might enjoy the delights of the/estive hour, it does not appear 
 that at this period of his life he had fallen into that habit 
 of drinking, which was afterwards so injurious to himself and 
 his family. Indeed the ten years that he lived as a batchelor 
 at Milnrow, may be considered the happiest period of his life, 
 if the consciousness of that independence which he so highly 
 prized, and acquirements which he realized are taken into the 
 account. But his happiness, like that of his master Adam, 
 was imperfect without the society of woman. 
 
 <i # # # Tiig garden was a wild, 
 And man the hermit sighed till woman smil'd. 
 The felicitous being then, who was to give a new zest to 
 Mr. Collier's enjoyments at Milnrow, was to be sought ; she 
 was soon found, and on the first of April, 1744, he married at 
 Helmsley, Mary Clay, of Flockton, in the parish of Thornhill, 
 and West Eiding of Yorkshire. She was the daughter of Mr. 
 Clay, of Flockton, near Huddersfield, where she was born, 
 and brought up at Sedgham, the residence of Lady Betty 
 
Hastings. Miss Clay's aunt, Mrs. Pitt, was a woman of pro- 
 perty, and married to Mr. Pitt, an officer in the Tower. Miss 
 Clay resided in London some years, and then came down on 
 a visit to her aunt, Mrs. Butterworth, of Milnrow, where Mr. 
 Collier first saw her, and as she was young and handsome, 
 with all the additional graces of a polished London lady, he 
 soon became enamoured, and was a successful lover. That 
 there was some humour mingled with his courtship, the fol- 
 lowing anecdote frequently related by himself will evince. As 
 Mr. Collier was walking arm in arm with his mistress in the 
 neighbourhood of Milnrow, they met a pig-driver with two 
 pigs. The lady said they were very pretty clean pigs. "Well," 
 said he, " if you buy the one, I will buy the other, and 
 whoever draws back from our promise of marriage shall forfeit 
 the pig." This was agreed upon ; the pigs were fattened by 
 Mrs. Butterworth for the wedding dinner ; and Mr. Collier 
 often said he believed she would never have married him, 
 had she not valued her pig more highly than she did him. 
 The bride's aunt, Mrs. Pitt, with whom she had ever been a 
 favourite, gave her a fortune of three hundred pounds, with 
 several silk gowns, and other elegant articles of female dress. 
 But Mr. Collier seems to have been literally intoxicated with 
 his good fortune, for he devoted so much of his wife's fortune 
 to " large potations," that it was soon dissipated, and he then 
 became sober and led a more regular life; which made Mrs. 
 Collier aver, that she was glad when the money was all gone. 
 In August 1746, during an inundation of the river Beal, at 
 Milnrow, the water rose in Mr. Collier's parlour to the height 
 
of four feet, and spoiled all the silk gowns belonging to his 
 wife. 
 
 As Mrs. Collier proved a fruitful vine, her husband was 
 obliged to set his • ingenuity to work to provide for a rising 
 family. " The hautboy, flute, and amusing pencil were dis- 
 carded, and the brush and pallet taken up seriously." 
 
 His productions in oil colours were altar pieces for some 
 country churches and chapels of ease ; and as they were 
 seldom scrutinized by connoisseurs, they passed for fine 
 pictures with his employers. Whether he attempted the 
 grotesque style of delineation in these ornaments is now 
 unknown, as they have long since perished. He was also 
 occasionally employed by inn-keepers to paint signs, in which 
 he was allowed to excel; a pursuit more congenial to his taste 
 than the decoration of churches. 
 
 But such fortuitous or precarious means of raising his funds, 
 proved insufficient to supply the demand for house-expences ; 
 and Mr. Collier in a moment of whim, happily conceived the 
 idea of painting representations of human beings in caricatura, 
 an art then little known in England, and only successfully 
 practised by Hogarth. Yes, by Hogarth, ye cognoscenti! ye 
 pretenders to superior discrimination in pictorial science, what 
 are the most popular productions of that celebrated exhibitor 
 of folly and vice, on canvas, but strong caricatures ? 
 
 Mr. Collier's attempts to amuse the good people of Rochdale 
 and its populous vicinity, by ludicrous imagery, were successful 
 beyond his highest expectations. The genuine strokes of 
 humour with which he pourtrayed the sensualist, the drunkard, 
 
the bully, the coxcomb, and the clown, in all the varieties of 
 excess and extravagance compelled the beholders to laugh 
 wherever his paintings were exhibited ; and as he delighted to 
 depict the deformities of visage, or feature, which chance 
 presented to his observation, the majority of his admirers, in 
 many instances applied the resemblance to some of their 
 neighbours. Hence those ludicrous paintings soon became 
 popular ; their characteristic excellence became a general topic 
 of conversation; they charmed by their novelty, gratified 
 human malice by their satirical traits, and were eagerly pur- 
 chased by opulent individuals as decorations to the parlour, 
 nay, even the closet ! So universal is the aptitude to ridicule, 
 and such the self-complacency of the bulk of mankind, that 
 while wrapt up in the panoply of vanity, which they conceive 
 to be impenetrable by the shafts of satire, they are eager and 
 loud in their derision of the foibles, and even of the natural 
 imperfections of those around them. 
 
 " One fool derides another, 
 And shakes his empty noddle at his brother." 
 Success in a first attempt ever proves a powerful stimulus 
 to the man of genius, as well as the man of business; and 
 the profession of Mr. Collier united both these characters : 
 for while his paintings exercised his imagination, he was also 
 a picture-merchant. His dexterity increased by practice; he 
 frequently painted a single portrait in the leisure hours of 
 one day, and groups of three or four figures in a week. 
 When he finished a painting h& carried it to one of the 
 principal inns at Eochdale, with the lowest price affixed to 
 
it ; the innkeeper willingly became his agent, and Mr. Collier 
 no way deficient in grateful acknowledgments, commonly 
 expended a considerable part of the money thus obtained in 
 such exhilirating cordials as the inn contained. Thus fre- 
 quent visits to the tavern, soon brought on a habit of drinking ; 
 and as the convivial powers and humourous conversation of the 
 artist, were equal if not superior to those of any of his inmates, 
 he enjoyed that habitual superiority awarded to him, and 
 presided at the festive board as the Comus of Eochdale. 
 
 Meanwhile orders for his ludicrous painting were multiplied ; 
 travellers who passed through Eochdale and Littleborough 
 bought up his caricatures with eagerness ; and as his fame 
 soon spread to Liverpool, some of the mercantile speculators 
 of that town sent large orders for his goods, which they 
 exported to the West Indies and North America. In con- 
 sequence of this unexpected encouragement the painter worked 
 hard, and was often heard to declare, " that if ever providence 
 had intended him to become rich, that was the time : and he 
 only wished for two pair of hands instead of one, that he 
 might answer the demands of all his customers.'' But un- 
 fortunately, Mr. Collier had now the reputation of a wit, 
 humorist, and boon companion ; his invitations to festive 
 meetings were too frequent for domestic economy ; and as he 
 was of a free and generous disposition, the money which 
 came in so easily, was spent with equal facility. 
 
 But his attention to painting and even his habit of dissi- 
 pation, had not extinguished his desire to produce something 
 literary that should survive the author. This was his far- 
 
famed " View of the Lancashire Dialect ; containing the 
 Adventures and Misfortunes of a Lancashire Clown : by Tim 
 Bobbin." In this singular composition the author published 
 all these peculiar variations of phraseology, in general 
 use not only among the clowns in the neighbourhood of 
 Eochdale and Milnrow, but other parts of Lancashire, which 
 he had from time to time visited. The adventures are 
 narrated by Thomas and Mary. They consist of the disasters 
 of the clown, and the mischievous pranks of others at his 
 expense; the incidents are ludicrous, while the odd language 
 in which the tale is told, and the occasional interruptions, 
 and remarks of his auditor, render it a very amusing speci- 
 men of literary composition, equally valuable for characteristic 
 illustrations of vulgar manners, and its genuine originality. 
 
 The first edition was sent round to different booksellers in 
 the northern counties of England, and speedily purchased: 
 another impression was required to satisfy public curiosity; 
 and hence, the author had the satisfaction to acquire both 
 profit and popularity. But his success tempted some avaricious 
 booksellers to print and circulate two or three spurious im- 
 pressions of the Lancashire Dialect, which made Tim, declare 
 vfith great indignation, " that he did not believe there was 
 one honest printer in Lancashire." To counteract this fraud, 
 and preclude the possibility of future inroads on his literary 
 property, Tim decorated a third edition of his work with 
 ludicrous and characteristic engravings from original designs ; 
 and he also gave a glossary of Lancashire words and phrases, 
 to enable the general reader to relish this amusingly ridi- 
 
xin 
 
 Tim Bobbin, as our author was now called, had thus 
 attained the zenith of his reputation in the year 1750, while 
 he was yet in the prime of life, and in full possession of his 
 strong intellectual powers. He was now looked up to as a 
 luminary by his rustic neighbours and visited by persons of 
 much higher rank than himself. Several of his admirers 
 occasionally invited him to an inn, where they were gratified 
 by his humourous conversation, and that propensity to fun, 
 which poor Tim could never restrain ; nay, which was his 
 chief characteristic, and the pride of his life. 
 
 Mr. Eichard Hill, an. opulent cloth-merchant and -manu- 
 facturer of baizes and shalloons, at Kebroyd, near Halifax, 
 was among the number of his visitors, and became so much 
 delighted with his conversation, that he offered to employ him 
 as a clerk in his counting-house, to pay him a very high 
 salary, and to settle his family in a comfortable house. The 
 offer appeared so advantageous that it was irresistible ; Tim 
 entered into articles of service for ten years ; his master was 
 equally gratified with the expectation of the amusement 
 obtainable from the talents of his new servant, and even the 
 advantages which he should derive from the skill in arithmetic, 
 and the quickness with which he wrote a beautiful running 
 hand. 
 
 When the articles were signed and sealed, which were to 
 separate Tim Bobbin, not only from the scenes of his youth, 
 but the society of many warm friends, he waited on his kind 
 patron Eichard Townley, Esq., of Belfield, to give notice that 
 he must resign the school. "After taking leave," says Mr. 
 Townley, " he, like the honest Moor, 
 
XIV 
 
 "Albeit unused to the melting mood, 
 Dropp'd tears as fast as the Arabian trees 
 Their medicinal gum," 
 and in faltering accents entreated me not to be hasty in 
 filling up the vacancy in that school, where he had lived so 
 many years contented and happy, for he had already some 
 forebodings that he should never relish his new situation and 
 new occupation. I granted his request, but hoped he would 
 reconcile himself to his new situation, as it promised to be 
 so advantageous both to himself and his family. He replied, 
 it was for the sake of his wife and children that he was at 
 last induced to accept Mr. Hill's very tempting offers ; no 
 other consideration whatever could have made him give up 
 Milnrow school and independence." 
 
 Tim's presentiment was prophetic ; both he and Mr. Hill 
 discovered that superiority of station on the one side, and 
 servitude on the other, were incompatible with that equality 
 of sentiment and freedom of intercourse, which constitute the 
 very spirit of friendship ; and that a man might be a very 
 pleasant companion over a bottle, yet be neither so useful nor 
 expeditious at the ledger, as an individual of sober habits and 
 humbler but more commercial attainments. Gay says, 
 
 "Wits are game cooks to one another," 
 and indeed there are numerous instances upon record, of the 
 fragility of friendship between brother wits. The king of 
 Prussia and Voltaire were charmed with each other at a dis- 
 tance ; but when the satirical Frenchman became the inmate 
 of the Prussian monarch's palace, Frederic found his poetical 
 friend too sharp-sighted to overlook his foibles, and Voltaire 
 
XV 
 
 grew heartily tired of splendid dependence, and was eventually 
 dismissed in disgrace. 
 
 Indeed the transition from the absolute sovereignty exercised 
 by every pedagogue -within the boundaries of his school-room, 
 to the tacit acquiescence due to the orders of a merchant in 
 a counting-house, was too violent not to be severely felt by a 
 man of Mr. Collier's spirit. The close application requisite 
 for the regular posting of accounts in a ledger, must have 
 been peculiarly irksome to a man who had from his very 
 youth up, enjoyed what Paley terms " savage liberty ;" and in 
 a subsequent visit to Mr. Townley at Belfield, after the lapse 
 of only two months Tim owned that he did not like his new 
 situation; that he did not like the mode of transacting busi- 
 ness in Yorkshire, for that the manufacturers and merchants 
 there neither kept red letter days themselves, nor would allow 
 their servants to keep any. On his departure he repeated his 
 request that Mr. Townley would not give away the school, for 
 he never should be happy again till he was reseated in the 
 crazy old elbow chair within the old school at Milnrow. 
 
 It appears that Mr. Hill soon discovered the discontent of 
 his facetious clerk, whose dejection increased with every hour; 
 he therefore hinted to him that if he disliked his employment 
 he should be released from his articles at the end of the first 
 year. To this proposal Tim gave a glad assent, and wrote 
 to Mr. Townley on the occasion. Another letter to the same 
 gentleman informed him that in consequence of the dissatis- 
 faction expressed from time to time by Mr. Hill's father at the 
 extravagant salary which he had agreed to pay his humorous 
 
clerk, the agreement was cancelled to the mutual satisfaction 
 of all parties before the year expired, and on the evening of 
 the very day when Tim's emancipation took place, he hired 
 a cart into which he put his goods and chattels, which by six 
 o'clock the next morning were safely deposited in his own house 
 at Milnrow. 
 
 His joyous feelings on this memorable incident of his life 
 are well expressed in the following extract of a letter to a 
 friend. 
 
 "Kebroyd, Jany. 5, 1752. 
 "Dr. frd. Dan, 
 
 I felt several strong motions in the inward man, that prompted 
 me to write to you about the time that I commenced Torkshireman, but 
 one iU contrived thing or another, kept my pen and paper at a distance. 
 But now thank Jupiter, and my friends, I'm upon the eve of being John 
 Duke of Milnrow again; for my rib with my bag and baggage, are gone 
 over the hills into merry Lancashire again, and twelve team of devils shall 
 not bring me hither again, if it be in the power of TiMOTHr to stop them. 
 I intend to follow in a few days, and now having that sou of a whore 
 old Time by the forelock, I'U stick to the flying rascal till I finish this 
 epistle. * * * • • 
 
 According to the account given by Mr. Townley, "when 
 Tim arrived on the west side of Blackstonedge, he thought 
 himself once more a freeman, and his heart was as light as a 
 feather. The next morning he came up to Belfield to know 
 if he might take possession of his school again, which being 
 readily consented to, tears of gratitude instantly streamed down 
 his cheeks and such a suffusion of joy illumined his coun- 
 tenance, as plainly spoke the heart being in unison with his 
 
looks. He then declared his unalterable resolution never more 
 to quit the humble village of Milnrov? ; that it was not in the 
 power of emperors, kings, or their prime ministers, to make 
 him any offer, if so disposed, that would allure him from his 
 tottering elbow chair, from humble fare, with liberty and 
 contentment. A hint was thrown out that he must work hard 
 with his pencil, his brush, and his pen, to make up the defi- 
 ciency in income to his family ; that he promised to do, and 
 was as good as his promise, for he used double diligence, so 
 that the inns at Eoohdale and Littleborough were soon orna- 
 mented more than ever, with ugly grinning old fellows, and 
 mumbling old women on broomsticks, &c.'' 
 
 When Tim Bobbin returned to Milnrow, he had his wife, 
 three sons, and a daughter to maintain, and there can be no 
 doubt but he performed the social duties of a husband and 
 father with great fidelity and affection ; for with all his eccen- 
 tricity he had a good heart and a clear head. The rude and 
 almost savage state of several of the rustics in that part of 
 Lancashire where he resided must have disgusted Tim, but 
 by a happy vein of satirical good humour, he represented their 
 absurdities in ludicrous delineations for his own emolument. 
 That he frequently " o'er stepped the modesty of nature," is 
 evident from such of his paintings as remain, and from many 
 of the engravings, mostly executed by himself for illustrations 
 of what he called "The Human Passions," but many of which 
 have little to do with human nature. However laughable they 
 may be, and ludicrous they certainly are, they are touched 
 with such a prurience of volatile imagination, that they may 
 
rather be considered monstrous exhibitions than faithful copies 
 from nature ; yet the most grave and sensible mind cannot 
 contemplate them without risibility ; they are therefore a source 
 of inexhaustible amusement, though not of instruction ; but 
 when did any humourist with either the pencil or the pen 
 aim at the improvement of mankind? 
 
 But Tim's inventive genius was not confined to the pro- 
 ductions of the pencil, or the graver ; he occasionally produced 
 a short satirical poem, and in one instance a satire on the 
 partiality of his countrymen for French fashions. This piece 
 he entitled, " The Battle of the Flying Dragon and the Man 
 of Heaton,'' it consists of upwards of two hundred lines, no 
 small effort of Tim's wandering muse, much in the style, and 
 even the sentiments and manner of Swift, with great truth 
 and force of satire, expressed in easy verse, but with little 
 regard to decency. This censure is applicable indeed to almost 
 every effusion of humour from Chaucer down to Dr. Walcot ; 
 the humourist must excite the laugh against the subject of 
 his satire by broad, common, and even vulgar epithets, and 
 similies; and if he can but obtain his end, he is seldom 
 scrupulous about the means. Swift is notorious for the filthi- 
 ness of his ideas, yet his wit and humour are irresistible; 
 Walcot is frequently profane, but his pretensions to true 
 humour are undeniable ; and Collier after a fair investigation 
 of his claims will be found a genuine son of Thalia, an ener- 
 getic and humourous satirist. His poetical flights indeed never 
 rise higher than those of the moor cock on Blackstonedge ; 
 and he has with great modesty and some truth termed him- 
 self a poetaster, in his characteristic epitaph. 
 
For several years after his return to Milnrow, he seems to 
 have lived contentedly, much esteemed by his friends and 
 neighbours for his probity, ingenuity, wit, and good humour. 
 He judiciously varied his amusements, occasionally gratifying 
 himself and his companions by his exquisite performances on 
 the hautboy and flute. From music, the transition to poetry 
 was both natural and easy, while the sister art of painting, 
 the most profitable if not delightful of the three, was at once 
 productive of pleasure and gain. 
 
 Like some other wits, Tim Bobbin seems to pride himself in 
 treating the serious subjects of sickness and death with great 
 levity ; and his account of the progress and termination of a 
 dangerous disease is amusing. 
 
 "January 25th, 1760. 
 Dr. Sir, 
 
 Since I saw you I have had a hard job of it. As soon as you 
 left me I grew worse, and kenneled immediately, slept little or none, and 
 was BO hot that my crooked rib durst not touch me for fear of being "bhstered, 
 yet could not sweat, tho' I endeavoured it all I could : and had it continued 
 two or three days longer, it certainly would have reduced my outward man 
 to a lump of charcoal. On Monday night the violent pains of my back 
 and thighs abated, had a breathing sweat, and my fever diminished. But 
 yet not being punished enough for my sins these were followed by a stabbing 
 head ache (especially when I coughed) with continual twitchings all over 
 the scalp, and continual short stitches in the body. I did not eat (or drink 
 any thing but a little warm whey) from the time we parted till Tuesday 
 night, after I had received your small parcel. For as I thought living too 
 well was the cause of most of the pains I sufieredj I would try whether 
 clemming would drive a few of them away. Tuesday night had a good sweat, 
 but for all this I had no substantial symptom of being an inhabitant of 
 
XX 
 
 this world much longer, till Wedneaday afternoon, when I got my head 
 shaved, and rubbed well with rum, and a flannel clout put under my night 
 cap. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I looked into a glass this morning and was much surprised at my phyz, 
 because it confirmed what my neighbom-s whispered, which was that I was 
 grown sixteen or twenty years older than I was on Sunday last." 
 
 This is a strong and faithful description of the humiliating 
 consequences of excess. The sensualist while indulging his 
 appetites either forgets or disregards the admonitions of pru- 
 dence, till nature punishes his violation of her economy by 
 the infliction of pain, and the boastful, proud, and assuming 
 mortal, sinks into a heljDless patient. 
 
 That love of independence v^hich was a prominent trait in 
 the character of Mr. Collier, was an incessant incitement to 
 the industrious exertion of his talents with the pencil and 
 the pen ; and as he had no competitor in this part of England, 
 he found little difficulty in selling his paintings, which were 
 certainly originals of their kind. The recollection of what 
 his proud spirit had experienced during what he considered 
 worse than Egyptian bondage in Yorkshire, is mentioned with 
 great exultation at his eventual deliverance, in a letter of con- 
 gratulation to a friend in Chester, on a similar occasion. It 
 is dated February 34, 1761, and contains the following spirited 
 passage. 
 
 " I heartily congratulate you on finding that inestimable jewel liberty 
 again ; the value of which I defy the most intense thinker to conceive, except 
 he has first lost it. But dear friend, if the service of one Nabob who lived 
 in another house has been so grievously irksome to you, how could I bear 
 the yoke of two Yorkshire Nabobs, and an old covetous Nabobess? This 
 
indeed was quite impossible to be endured by me, who had reigned, myself, 
 a Nabob for above twenty years at Milnrow, and would ever stickle and 
 ever fight for Liberty like a Spartan or hot-brained CromweUist. However, 
 by these two specimens you have had, you are now certainly able to mea- 
 sure Hercules by hie foot ; and know, that Liberty in rags, is preferable to 
 dependance in gorgeous trappings, and crowds of cringing admirers, and 
 consequently your wonder must cease, at my out-runniag my Yorkshire 
 apprenticeship." 
 
 His reputation as a caricaturist was now fully established, 
 and the purchasers of his beauties as he humourously termed 
 them, in many instances became his friends. Indeed the 
 cheerful and companionable disposition of the artist, with the 
 originality, good sense, and shrewdness of his observations, 
 and the improvement which his ductile mind acquired by 
 occasional excursions to the populous towns of Lancashire 
 rendered him an interesting correspondent. He occasionally 
 gratified his friends with an epistle in ryhme; written with 
 great ease and familiarity, and not destitute of elegance. The 
 following extract from a letter to his friend Mr. Cowper, a 
 wine-merchant in Liverpool, dated December 24, 1781, is an 
 agreeable specimen of his skill in this Horatian mode of 
 correspondence. 
 
 "Perhaps your pictures you expect, 
 Before I feel the warm effect. 
 
 Of your care-kiUing liquor! 
 But hark you, sir, the days are dark. 
 And cold : On then I hete aw viarJc, 
 
 As iU as any vicar. 
 
But in a month, or two, at least, 
 Except the sun wheel back to th' east. 
 
 You may expect your beauties; 
 But in the meantime must I fast? 
 Or guzzle ale not to my taste? 
 
 Way, hang me on some yew-trees. 
 
 I from my cot, this Christmas-eve, 
 Write with a troubled mind, . . . believe, 
 
 And wife in doleful dumps 
 For who can merry be, that's wise. 
 While what he wants in Lerpo lies, 
 
 And vexed with jeers and frumps? 
 
 Pray send a line, that I may say, 
 To my CrooTc'd-nb, on such a day, 
 
 Tour gossip's nose shall job in 
 A tankard made of Mountain Wine, 
 Sweet water, nutmeg, sugar fine, 
 
 And set at rest 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 Some of our poets either from the whim of the moment, 
 or the tenderness of their hearts, have celebrated the good 
 qualities of a favourite quadruped. Burns's Farmer's Address 
 to his auld Mare Maggie; Pratt's old Horse's Address to his 
 Master, and his Hermit and Dog ; and Cowper's Ode on the 
 Fidelity of his Spaniel, are beautiful specimens of this kind 
 of composition. Collier has also distinguished himself by 
 humorously recording the death of his old mare both in prose 
 and verse, in that ludicrously sentimental style, which although 
 it reminds us of Sterne is original. 
 
" Milnrow, Feb. 14, 1764. 
 
 To Mr. E. W. 
 
 Dear Friend, 
 
 This is a sorrowful day to me — for my Tom is come home with 
 
 the sorrowful news, that he could not reach Middleton last night with poor 
 
 Jenny, and that she died this morning. Had she come hither and made 
 
 her exit, I would have buried her in her well beloved pasture the Wheat-field, 
 
 with a stone over her and this epitaph. 
 
 Here lies interred both flesh and bone "i OBIT 
 
 Tim Bobbin's Jenny Cameron, V Feb. 25, 
 
 I 
 
 The best mare ever rode upon. J 1764. 
 
 My son came home in a fright without her hide — but I have sent him back 
 again for it. Pray advise with Adam Holland — Haslam — and other vu-tuosos 
 in the skina of animals, whether I cannot have a buck-skiu pair of breeches 
 made of it. Perhaps you'll think I'm off at th'side, or that I'm shaken 
 irom top to toe, when I tell you I sign with tears, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your most &c. 
 
 « T.3. 
 
 P. S. I have thoughts of getting my old black coat tm'ned for mourning, 
 but I'm afraid hair shag wUl look very queerly inside outwards. Pray advise 
 with my friends on this weighty affair, and also whether I should not have 
 a brief?" 
 
 Mr. Collier, or as he delighted to he named Tim Bobbin, 
 had now to provide for the maintenance of a family of eleven 
 persons, but as he was active, ingenious, a dexterous artist, 
 and could also handle "the pen of a ready writer," his 
 income by his efforts with the pencil, and the grey goose 
 quill, and his salai'y as school-master, amply supplied him 
 and his family not only with the necessaries, but some of 
 the luxuries of life. Of this we have ah'eady seen a proof 
 
and laughed at thetn, he imbibed a tincture of the same 
 phraseology of which he eould never wholly divest himself. 
 Some of his short poetical pieces are written with ease, others 
 are incorrect, coarse, and vulgar. His prose is much supe- 
 rior to his poetry; and many of his letters, are not only 
 truly humorous, but the ideas are energetic, and expressed in 
 a perspicuous and masculine style. He has recorded some 
 characteristics of his compatriots which will ever be valuable 
 as illustrations of the manners of the age in which they were 
 written ; and a most curious and interesting collection of his 
 epistolary correspondence both in prose and verse, carefully 
 and correctly transcribed by himself, was lately purchased by 
 the publisher of this volume, from his son Mr. Thomas 
 Collier of Eochdale. These letters are written in a beautiful 
 hand, and are worthy of preservation, as a fine specimen of 
 the penmanship of Tim Bobbin. 
 
 An Eulogium on Tim Bobbin, by way of Epitaph, 
 
 BY HIS SOlSr THOMAS COLLIER. 
 
 By aU that's good, by all that's dear, 
 It matters not who moulders here, 
 Then come my muse my spirits cheer, 
 
 Away with mournful strains ; 
 'Twas worse than childhood's senseless whim, 
 One wick to light, one lamp to trim, 
 Or shed one single tear for Tim, 
 
 Whose life and soul remains. 
 
XXVll 
 
 No lark that warbles in the wind. 
 Or sons of mirth to wit inolin'd, 
 Could match thy sprightly turn of mind, 
 
 While nectar crown'd the board ; 
 Thou lov'd the flowing bowl to quaff, 
 To crack the joke, to raise the laugh, 
 Nor didst thou ever rest thy staff, 
 
 But there the table roar'd. 
 
 Tho' Hogarth could the soul express. 
 
 Thy forte O Tim, was little less, 
 
 As bright thou shiu'st I must confess, 
 
 When aided with thy pen ; 
 Nay when you read the works he wrote, 
 His humorous drolls surpassing thought, 
 I'll lay ft guinea to a groat, 
 
 You'll laugh in spite of men. 
 
 Nay more, for more may yet be said. 
 Thy name O Tim, thy works hath spread, 
 And thou like Homer shall be read, 
 
 As long as time remains ; 
 Tes long as glittering stars seem bright, 
 Thy dialect eccentric quite, 
 When well 'tis read must yield delight, 
 
 To natire nymphs and swains. 
 
A VIE W 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LANCASHIRE DIALECT; 
 
 BY WAY OF 
 
 DIALOGUE, 
 
 Between Tummus o'Williams's, o'Margit o'Boaph's, and Meary 
 
 o'Dick's, o'Tummy o'Peggy's. 
 
 Shewing in that Speech, the comical AdventureB and Misfortunes of 
 
 To which is prefix'd, (by Way of Preface,) 
 A Dialogue between the Author and his Pamphlet. 
 
 With a few Obserrations for the better Pronunciation of the Dialect. 
 
 WITH A GLOSSARY 
 Of all the Lancashire Words and Phrases therein used. 
 
 BY TIM BOBBIN, 
 
 Fellow of the Sisyphain Society of Dutch Loom Weavers, and an 
 old Adept in the Dialect. 
 
 Heaw Arse wood wur I, eh this Wark ! 
 
 Glooar ot monny o'Buk. 
 
(DQ^aa\!/(i\lf3(!)SJS^ 
 
 The following Observations may be useful to those who 
 are Strangers to the Lancashire Pronunciation. 
 
 -In some Places in Lancashire we sound a instead of o, and o 
 instead of a. For example we say far instead of for ; shart, 
 instead of short ; and again we say hort, instead of heart ; and 
 port, instead of part ; hont, instead of hand, &c. 
 
 Al and All are generally sounded broad, as aw (or o) for 
 all ; Haw (or Ho) for Hall ; Awmeety, for Almighty ; awlus, for 
 always, &o. 
 
 In some places we sound k, instead of g; as think, instead 
 of thing; wooink, for wooing; &c. 
 
 The letter d at the End of Words, and the Termination ed, 
 are often chang'd into t; as behint, for behind; wynt, for 
 wind ; awkert, for awkward ; awtert, for altered, &o. 
 
 In some Parts it is common to sound ou, and ow as a ; as 
 tha', for thou; Ka (or Ca) for Cow. In other places we sound 
 the ou and ow as «m ; as theaw, for i/jow ; Keaw, for Coto ; 
 Heawse, for House; Meawse, for Momss. 
 
 The Saxon Termination en is generally retained, but mute ; 
 as hat'n, lov'n, desir'n, think' n, bought'n, &c. 
 
In general we speak quick and short; and cut off a great 
 many Letters, and even Words by Apostrophes ; and sometimes 
 sound two, three, or more Words as one. For instance, we 
 say I'll got', (or Til gut',) for I'll go to ; runt', for run to ; hoost, 
 for she shall; intle (or int'll) for If thou will; I wou'didd'n, for 
 I wish you wou'd, &c. 
 
 But as Trade in a general Way has now flourish 'd for near 
 a Century, the Inhabitants not only Travel, but encourage all 
 Sorts of useful Learning ; so that among Hills, and Places 
 formerly unfrequented by Strangers, the People begin within 
 the few Years of the Author's Observations to speak much 
 better English. If it can be properly called so. 
 
 C-vD^ S Jtl- . '-B - 
 
Hear a Spon-new Cank between th' Eawther 
 and his Buh. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN enters by his sell, beawt Wig; Grinning, on 
 Scratting his Nob. 
 
 } 
 
 Tim. ^^ OOD lorjua dejs, whot wofo Times ar' theese! 
 
 \jr Pot-baws ar scant, an dear is Seawl an Clieese 
 Eawr Grotum Guides hus seely Sheep dun rob ; 
 Oytch Public Trust is cboyng'd into a Job ; 
 Leys, Taxes, Customs, meyn eawr Plucks to throb ! 
 Tet I'm war thrutcht, between two arrau Rogues, 
 For bigger SkeawndriUs never treed o'Brogues, 
 Than Mneh an Stuart, — Strawngers to aw reet. 
 They rob poor Timmy, e'en i'th opp'n leet 1 
 This meys me neaw, to cross theese Kascot's eends. 
 To send agen to my owd trusty Friends : 
 For Truth is Truth, tho't savors like a Pun, 
 Pm poor God-wot — 
 Suk. — Heaw so : 
 Tim. — My Crap' s aw done ! 
 Bilk. Whoo-who whoo-wlio whoo ! Whot pleagu't withth' 
 owd Company ? Eime an Poverty agen ! Neaw een Dule 
 Scrat o' — I thout idd'n go bank : for yoar Sib to thoose Gotuni- 
 tikes otteh complen'n on so, on ar nee'r satisfy'd. 
 
 Tim. Whooas tat tee owd Friend? I thowt teawd bin 
 jaunting it like hey-go-mad, weh thoose Foster Feathers 
 o'thine, Stuart, an Finch ! 
 
 Buk. Ne beleady naw I ; I'd scornt' touch sitoh Pows- 
 ments with Tungs. 
 
In general we speak quick and short; and cut off a great 
 many Letters, and even Words by Apostrophes ; and sometimes 
 sound two, three, or more Words as one. For instance, we 
 say ril got', (or Til gut') for Til go to ; runt', for run to ; hoost, 
 for she shall ; mile (or int'lt) for If thou will ; I wou'didd'n, for 
 I wish you wou'd, &c. 
 
 But as Trade in a general Way has now flourish'd for near 
 a Century, the Inhabitants not only Travel, but encourage all 
 Sorts of useful Learning; so that among Hills, and Places 
 formerly unfrequented by Strangers, the People begin within 
 the few Years of the Author's Observations to speak much 
 better English. If it can be properly called so. 
 
Hear a Spon-new Cank between th' Eawther 
 and his Buh. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN enters by his sell, beawt Wig; Orinning, on 
 Scratting his Nob. 
 
 Tim. /^ OOD lorjus deys, whot wofo Times ar' theese! 
 
 } 
 
 Eawr Gotum Guides lius seely Sheep dun rob ; 
 Ojtch Public Trust is choyng'd into a Job ; 
 Leys, Taxes, Customs, meyn eawr Plucks to throb! 
 Yet I'm war thrutcht, between two arran Bogues, 
 For bigger Skeawndrills never treed o'Drogues, 
 Thau Mnch an Stuart, — Strawngera to aw reet, 
 They rob poor Timmy, e'en i'th opp'n leet ! 
 This meys me neaw, to cross theese Kascot's eends. 
 To send ageu to my owd trusty Friends : 
 For Truth is Truth, tho't savors like a Pun, 
 I'm poor God-wot — 
 SuJc. — Heaw so : 
 Tim. — My Crap's aw done ! 
 Buk. Whoo-who whoo-who whoo ! Whot pleagu't withth' 
 owd Company? Eime an Poverty agen ! Neaw een Dule 
 Scrat o' — I thout idd'n go bank : for year Sib to thoose Gotum- 
 tikes otteh complen'n on so, on ar nee'r satisfy'd. 
 
 Tim. Whooas tat tee owd Friend? I thowt teawd bin 
 jaunting it like hey-go-mad, weh thoose Foster Feathers 
 o'thine, Stuart, an Finch ! 
 
 Buk. Ne beleady naw I ; I'd scornt' touch sitch Pows- 
 ments with Tungs. 
 
XXXIV 
 
 Tim. Whau, boh has ta naw heard ot tat Creawse tike 
 Stuart, an Clummerhead Finch, han donn'd oytch on um 
 a Bantling eh two o'the kest-off Jumps, an think'nt put 
 Yorshar o' fok? It's sitch wark os tis ot meys met' scrat 
 ■where eh dunnaw Itch, hears to me ? 
 
 Buk. Yigh yigh ; I've heard on't ; boh the Dule ride 
 humpstridd'n o begging, o' thoose ot connaw tell a Bitter- 
 bump fro a Gillhooter, sey I. 
 
 Tim. E, lack o' dcy ! Belike theaw does naw know ot 
 thoose ott'n Steyl win lye : an ot teyn may no hawks a 
 telling fok, ot teres ist reet breed o' Bandyhewits ; an to 
 clench it, they'n shew ther Whelps e' the owh Petchwark- 
 jump — an heaw then ? 
 
 Buk. Ney, this is a Cutter too-to ! a wofo BlefEn in- 
 deed ! Boh ister no wey o cumming meet with um ? 
 s'flesh I'd Eime on um, or summot — Yoar us't e cud'n a 
 Eim't. 
 
 Tim. Odds fish ! they're partly like Karron Crows, mon ; 
 they're naw worth me Shot. 
 
 Buk. But hark o', tell me one think; dunneh aim at 
 sending me eawt agen on another tramp ? 
 
 Tim. Wuns eigh; theawrt likt' strowll ogen, as shure 
 OS a Tup's a Sheep. 
 
 Buk. Oddzo then, whetherth' Hullets ar worth Shot or 
 naw, I'd hav' o pash at Piggin if e pede for Garthing ; 
 do yo clap some pleagy Eimes, oth' Neb o me Cap, eh 
 plene Print bond, ot oytch body mey see um, chez where 
 eh cum. 
 
 Tim. I did Berm up some Eimes o top on Sign pow, 
 before Stuart's Shop e Wiggin: boh they're sitch rackless, 
 dozening, Gawbies, ot I think o sharp Eed-whot Whotyel 
 would naw prick a Pirate's Conscience ; for theyn nother 
 Feeling, Shame, nor Grase? 
 
 Bilk. Doo as I bid o' for wonst ; left leet heaw't will. 
 
Tim. Whau, weh aw my Heart — boh howd, le meh see, 
 its none so good t' begin o Eiming, ot I see on — hum — 
 neaw for't. 
 
 Kobbing's a Trade that's practis'd by the Great, 
 
 Our ruUng Men are only Th ea of State. 
 
 Buh. Howd howd howd the Dickons tak o' ! — I see whot's 
 topmost ; yoan be hong'd or some Mischief — on then aw'll 
 be whooup with o' efeath ! 
 
 Tim. Not e Goddil beUke !— dust think so?— 'shd boh I 
 hete honging — do thee set ogete then. 
 Buk. Whau, I'll begin o thiss'n. 
 
 E Whiff-waff Stuart! — Sniftering Finch! yo tnown 
 Virtue has laft o' — Truth is fro o' flown ! 
 
 Pirate's a Neme 
 
 Tim. Whot te Dule art' woode ! — WhottFt doo weh this 
 Whiffo-whaffo Stuff? dust think Eimes mun awlus tawk 
 stump Loncasher ? 
 
 Buk. Eigh, why naw : let um speyk greadly os we 
 done e Godsnum. 
 
 Tim. Ne ne ; ittle naw doo ; to mitch of owt's good 
 for nowt : heawe'er in't wou'd hav' umt' meeon some heaw 
 o that'n, theyd'n bettert' be o thiss'n. 
 
 Ah, doughty Stuart! worthy Finch! you know 
 Virtue's a Bubble — Honesty a Shew! 
 Pirate's a Name, you're not asham'd to own, 
 Tho' this and Foot-pad unto Tim's all one. 
 Such Men as these for gaining of a Groat, 
 
 If soreen'd by Law — wou'd 
 
 Neaw byth' maskins if I be naw fast! 
 
 Buk. Then year fast with a little efeath ; for I con lose 
 o' 6 that point. 
 
 Tim. Le me see — ho, neaw I height, it's be, 
 
 Slash their Neighbour's Coat. 
 Buk. Ne byth' Lord Harry shall it naw ; if I mun 
 rule ; for it's be. 
 
 Cut their Neighbour's Throat. 
 
Tim. Whau whau, with aw my heart; boh let Stuart on 
 Finch, thoose Bell-weathers, an Hitch Haws ; on Williamson 
 o Lerpoo, ther sheepish Followers ley ther Sows together ; 
 an tey which the lik'n best. 
 
 Buk. Well well its cleverly Eim't o Tim heawe'er, let't 
 be whether it will : whot an awf wur I t'pretend Eime 
 weh yo ! 
 
 Tim. Well boh we'n had enough o this foisty matter ; 
 let's tawk o' summot elze ; on furst tell me heaw tha' went 
 on eh the last jaunt? 
 
 Bilk. Gooa on ! beleady I cou'd ha gon on wheantly, 
 on bin o whoam ogen with Crap e meh Slop in a snift ; 
 if id naw met at oytch nook, thoose bastertly Whelps sent 
 eawt be Stuart an Finch. 
 
 Tim. Pooh — I dunnaw meeon heaw fok harbort'n't or 
 cuttertn't o'er thee ; boh whot thoose fawse Lunnoners 
 sed'n abeawt te Jump ot's new Over-bodyt? 
 
 Buk. Ho ho — neaw I height; yo meon'n thoose lung- 
 seetit fok ot glooar'n second time at Buks ; an whoa I'r 
 feer'd woud rent me Jump. 
 
 Tim. Beet mon reet — that's hit — 
 
 Buk. Why then to tell o'true I'r breed with a Gorse 
 wagging ; for they took'n me ith' reet leet too a hure. 
 
 Tim.. Heaw's tat e Godsnum ? 
 
 Buk. Why ot yoad'n donn'd me a thiss'n like a Meawn- 
 tebank's foo, for th' wonst, to meyth' Babblement fun. 
 
 Tim. E, law ! an did'n the awvish shap, an the Pecklt 
 jump pan, sed'n the? 
 
 Buk. Eigh eigh primely efeath ! — for the glooar'nt sooar 
 at me; turn't me reawnt like a Tealier, when e measers 
 fok ; chuck't me under th' Chin ; ga me a honey-butter- 
 cake, on sed opp'nly, they ne'er saigh an awkert look, a 
 queer shap, an a peckl't jump, gee better eh ther live.* 
 
 * For understanding this Sentence, vid. Monthly Seview, for December, 
 1750, page 156. 
 
Tim. Neaw ee'n fair-faw um sey I — tlieese wur'n th' 
 boggarts ot flayd'n thee ! but I'd awlus a notion at tear'n 
 no Gonnorheeads. 
 
 Buk. Gonnorheeads ! now now not te marry : boh I 
 carrit me sell meety meeverly tooto, an did as o bidd'n 
 meh. 
 
 Tim. Then theaw towd um th' tele, and sed tli' Rimes, 
 an aw, did to? 
 
 Buk. Th' Tele an th' Eimes ! 'sflesh I believe e did, 
 boh I know no moor on um neaw, than a seawking-j)ig. 
 
 Tim. Od rottle the ; whot seys to ! has to foryeat'ii th' 
 Tealier finding th' Urchon ; an th' Eimes ? 
 
 Buk. Quite, quite ; as e hope to chieve ! 
 
 Tim. Neaw e'en the Dule steawnd te sey I ! whot a 
 fuss mun I hav' to teytch um the ogen ! 
 
 Buk. Come come, dunnaw fly up in a frap ; o body 
 connow carry oytch mander o think e ther Nob. 
 
 Tim. Whau, boh mind neaw, theaw gawmbling tyke, otto 
 con tell th' tele, and seyth' Eimes be rot, titely. 
 
 Buk. Fear me naw, sed Doton ; begin. 
 
 Tim. A Tealier e Crummil's time wur thrunk pooing 
 Turmits in his Pingot, on fund an Urchon ith' Hadloont- 
 reean ; he glendurt at't lung boh cou'd mey nowt on't. 
 He whoavt his Whisket oe'rt, runs Whoam, an tells his 
 Neighbours he thowt in his Guts ot he'd fund a think at 
 God newer mede eawt; for it, had nother heead nor tele; 
 Hont nor Hough ; midst nor eend ! Loath t' believe this, 
 hoave a Duzz'n on um wou'd geawt' see if they coud'n mey 
 shift t' gawm it, boh it capt um aw ; for they newer o 
 won on um ee'r saigh th' like afore. Then theyd'n a 
 Keawnsil, anth' eend ont wur, ot teyd'n fetch a lawm, 
 fawse, owd Felly ; het on Elder, ot cou'd tell oytch think ; 
 for they look'nt on im as th' Hammil-Scoance, an thowt 
 he'r fuller o Leet thin a Glow-worm's A— se. When theyd'n 
 
towd him th' kese, he stroakt his Beeart; Sowght; an 
 ordert' th' Wheel-barrow with Spon-new Trindle t' be fotcht. 
 'Twur dun, an the beawlt'nt him awey toth' Urchon in a 
 Crack. He glooart at't a good while ; droyd his Beeart 
 deawn, and wawtit it o'er weh his Crutch. Wheel meh 
 obeawt ogen, oth' tother Side sed he, for it sturs, an be 
 that it shou'd be whick. Then he dons his Spectacles, 
 steart at't agen, on Sowghing sed ; Breether, its summot : 
 Boh Feather Adam nother did nor cou'd Kersun it. — Wheel 
 me Whoam ogen. 
 
 Buk. I remember it neaw weel enough, bo if theese 
 Viewers cou'd gawm it, oytch Body cou'd naw ; for I find 
 neaw ot yo compare'n me too an Urchon, ot has noather 
 Heead nor Tele; 'Sflesh is not it like running me deawn, 
 an a bit to Bobbersome? 
 
 Tim. Now now naw it, for o meeny o fok wou'd gawm 
 th' Eimes, but very lite wou'd understond th' Tealier an 
 his Urchon. 
 
 Buk. Th' Eimes — hum — le me see — 'Sblid, I foryeat'n 
 thoose too, I deawt ! 
 
 Tim. Whoo-who who whoo ! whot a dozening Jobber- 
 know art teaw ! 
 
 Buk. Good lorjus o'me, a body connaw doo moor thin 
 the con ; con the ? Boh if in teytch um me agen, an I 
 foryeat um agen, een raddle meh Hoyd titely, sey I. 
 
 Tim. Mind te hits then. 
 
 Some write to shew their Wit and Parts, 
 Some shew you Whig, some Tory Hearts, 
 Some flatter Knaves, some Fopt, some Fools, 
 And some are M st 1 Tools. 
 
 Buk. Eigh marry, oytchbody seys so — an Gonnorheeads 
 they ar for tlier Labbor. 
 
 Tim. Some few in Virtue's Cause do write. 
 But these alas! get little by't. 
 
Buk. Indeed I con believe o' — Weel rim't heawe'er — 
 gooa on. 
 
 Tim. Some turn out Maggots from their Head. 
 Which die, before their Author's dead. 
 
 Buh. Zuns ! Aw Englandshirell think at yoar glenting at 
 loose Fratching, Byzen, Craddingly Tykes, as writ'n sitch 
 Papers ostth' Test; and sitch Cawfeteles as Cornish Peter, 
 ot fund a New Ward, Snying weh Glums an Gawries. 
 
 Tim. Some write such Sense in Prose and Ehime, 
 Their Works will wrestle Jtard, with Time. 
 
 BuJc. That will be prime wrostling efeath, — for I've heard 
 um sey, Time conquers aw Things. 
 
 Tim. Some few print Truth, but many Lies, 
 On Spirits, — down to Butterflies. 
 
 Buk. Eeet abeawt Boggarts — on th' tother "Ward — on Mon 
 
 ith' Moon, an sitch like Geer : Get Eendwey ; its prime 
 
 Eime efeath. 
 
 Tim. Some write to please, some do't for Spite, 
 But want of Money makes me write. 
 
 Buh. By th' Miss th'owd story ogen, boh I think e meh 
 Guts at it's true — ittle doo — yo need'n Eime no more, for 
 it's better in lickly — Whewt on Tummus on Meary. 
 
 -^ft&#tB&%@*^ — ■ 
 
Enter, TUMMUS and MEARY. 
 
 ^T^UM. Odds me Meary ! whooa the Dickons wou'd o 
 thowt o' leeting o' thee here so soyne this Morning ? 
 Where has to bin ? Theaw'rt aw on a Swat, I think ; for 
 theaw looks primely. 
 
 Meary. Beleemy, Tummus, I welly lost my wynt ; for 
 I've had sitch o'traunce this Morning as eh near had e'meh 
 live : For I went to Jone's o'Harry's olung Jone's, 
 for't borrow their Thible, to stur th' Furmetry weh, an his 
 Wife had lent it to Bet o'my Gronny's : So I skeawrt 
 eend-wey, an when eh coom there hood lent it to Kester 
 o'Dick's an the Dule steawnd 'im for a Brindl't Cur, he'd 
 mede it int' Shoon Pegs ! Neaw wou'd naw sitch o Moon- 
 shine traunce Potter any body's Plucks ? 
 
 T. Mark whot e tell the Meary ; for I think lunger 
 ot fok liv'n anth' moor mischoances they han. 
 
 M. Not awlus o Goddil. — But whot meys o't' sowgh on 
 seem so dane-kest? For I con tell o' I'm fene to see 
 o'whick an hearty. 
 
 T. Whick an hearty too ! Oddzo, but I con tell the 
 whot, its moor in bargin o't im oather whick or hearty, 
 for 'twur Seign Peawnd t'a tuppunny Jannook, I'd bin os 
 deeod os o Dur Nele be this awer ; for th' last oandurth 
 me Measter had lik't o killt meh : on just neaw, os sure 
 OS thee on me ar stonning here, I'm actilly running meh 
 Country. 
 
 M. Why, whot's bin th' matter, hanney fawn eawt withur 
 Measter ? 
 
T Bo3. inv.cf i/ct. 
 
41 
 
 7". Whot ! there's bin moort' do in a Gonnort muck, 
 
 I'll uphowd tey! — For whot dust think? bo'th' tother Day 
 
 boh Yusterday, hus Lads moot'n ha' o bit on o Hallidey, 
 
 (becose it wur th' Circumcision onner Ledey I believe) 
 
 yet we munt do some Odds-on-eends ; on I munt Gather 
 
 breeod Mowdywarp-holes or gut' Eatchdaw weh o Keaw on 
 
 o Why-kawve. — Neaw, loothy Meary, I'r lither; on had o 
 
 mind on o Jawnt: soh I donn'd meh Sunday Jump, o 
 
 top meh Singlet, on wou'd goa with Keaw on th' 
 
 Kawve ; an the Dule tey aw bad Luck far me, far eawer 
 
 Bitch Nip went wimmey, on that mede ill wurr. 
 
 M. I connaw gawm heaw that cou'd mey ill Luck 
 Tummus. 
 
 T. Now, nor no Mon elze till they known ; boh here's 
 
 o fine droy canking Pleck under this Thurn, let's keawer 
 
 us deawn o'th' Yeoarth o bit, on I'll tell the aw heaw't 
 
 wur. 
 
 M. Weh aw meh Heart, for meh Deme's gon fro' 
 
 Whoam, on hoo'U naw cum ogen till Bagging-time. 
 
 T. Whau, OS I'r telling the, I'd gut' Eatchdaw : So I 
 geet up be skrike o Dey, on seet eawt ; on went ogreath 
 tilly welly coom within a Mile oth' Teawn ; when os the 
 Dule wou'd height, o Tit wur stonning ot an Eleheawse 
 Dur ; on me Kawve (the Dule bore eawt it Een for meh) 
 took th' Tit for it Mother, on wou'd need seawk her : 
 On I believe th' foolish Tooad of a Tit took th' Kawve 
 far hur Cowt, hoo whinnit so when hoo saigh it ; boh wen 
 hoo feld it seawke, hoo up with'ur Hough on kilt meh 
 :Kawve os deeod os o Nit ! 
 
 M. E Lord ; — whot o Trick wur that ! 
 
 T. Trick ! Odds flesh, sitch o Trick wur newer plede 
 eh Englondshiar. 
 
 M. Why hark ye Tummus, whot cudney doo weet ? 
 Yoad'n be quite brok'n ! 
 
43 
 
 T. Doo ! whot cou'd eh doo ? 'flesh in't had bin kilt 
 greadly, twou'd ha bin os good Veeol os e'er deed on a 
 Thwittle ; for me Measter moot ha had seignteen Shil- 
 lings on susepence for't th' yeandurth ofore. 
 
 M. On didney leeof it ith' Lone? 
 
 T. Ne Meary ; I'r naw sitch o Gawby os tat coom too 
 noather: For as luck wou'd height, o Butcher wur ith' 
 Eleheawse, on eh coom eawt when he heard meh Kawve 
 bawh. Boh estid o being sooary, when he saigh it 
 sprawling oth Yeoarth, th' fly'ring Karron seet up o Gurd 
 o Leawghing, on cou'd for shawm tell meh he'd berry it 
 meh for a Pint of Ele. 
 
 Isl. Whau, that wur pratty chep ; for Dicky o Will's 
 
 Jone's o Sam's, towd meh, at he berrit o Chilt tother 
 Dey ot Ratchdaw, on he pede Jo. Green o Groat for a 
 Greave no bigger in o phippunny Trunk. 
 
 T. Whau, that moot be ; boh I'd naw geet him ; For 
 
 1 borrot a Shoo on wou'd berrit meh seln ; I'r thrunk 
 shoaving it in, when a Thowt coom int' meh Noddle ot 
 th' Hoyde cou'd be no War: so I'd flee it; but the Dule 
 o Thwittle wurt' be leet on bo'th' Butcher's, on th' 
 spoytfoo Tyke wou'd naw leeond it me : Neaw Meary, 
 whot cou'd onny Mon doo ? 
 
 M. Doo! I'st gon stark Woode. 
 
 T. I believe ot wou'd, or onny Mon elze ; boh that 
 wou'd doo nowt eh my Kese : So I bargint with th' Eascot ; 
 he'ur to teyth' Hoyde grooing toth' Carcuss, on geh meh 
 throtteen Pence: So I geet th' Brass, on went endway 
 with Keaw. 
 
 M. Neaw meh Mind misgives meh ot yoar'n gooing a 
 sleeveless Arnt; on at Felly wou'd naw tak'th Kah bate 
 th' Kawve. 
 
 T. Uddzo, Meary! theaw geawses within two tumbles 
 of a Leawse ; for it wur lung, on lunger, ofore eh wou'd : 
 Boh when I towd him heawt wur knockt oth' Sow, with 
 
43 
 
 a Tit Coak'n os eh coom, on that he moot order weh meh 
 Measter obeawt it, he took hur ot lung length : Then I 
 went on bowt two Peawnd o Sawt, on on Eawnce of black 
 Pepper for eawr Fok, on went toart Whoam ogen. 
 M. With o fearfoo heyvy Heart I'll uphowd'o. 
 T. Eigh, eigh ; that's true — boh whottle to sey when ot 
 eh tell the he ne'er berrit Kawve; boh sowd it et Owdum 
 that Oandurth, for twopence haw-penny o Peawnd ! 
 
 M. Sey ! why be meh Troth it wur fere cheeoting ; 
 but it's meet like their rascotly Tricks ; for there's not 
 an honest Booan ith' Hoyde o newer o greasy Tyke on 
 um aw. 
 
 T. Indeed Meary, I'm eh thy Mind; for it wur reet 
 Eank : Boh I think eh meh Guts ot Eascots ith' Ward, 
 ar OS thick, as Wasps in o Hummobee-neest. 
 
 M. It's nawt' tell, boh I'st marvil straungely an ye leet 
 on o wur Kneave in this. 
 
 T. Alack o dey theaw knows boh little oth' matter. 
 
 Boh theawst hear I'd naw gett'n forrud, back ogen, 
 
 oboon a Mile or so, ofore eh saigh o Parcel o Lads on 
 Hobbletyhoys, os thrunk as Thrap-Wife : When ot eh 
 geet too um, I cou'd naw gawm whot team obeawt ; for 
 two on um carrit o Steeigh o ther Shilders, onother had 
 a Eifldle in his Hont, on Hal o'Nab's ith' Midge-lone had 
 his KJnockus lapt in his Barmskin : Awth' rest on um 
 had Hoyts, or lung Kibboes, like swinging Sticks or 
 Eaddlings. 
 
 M. Ith' neme o Katty, whot v/ur'n the for? 
 T. Nowt ots owt theaw mey be sure, if that hawmpoing 
 tyke Hal wus weh um : Neaw theaw mun know, ot one 
 neet last Shearing-time, when Jone's oHarry's geete thear 
 Churn ; this seme Scap-gallows wur tean eh thear Pleawmtre ; 
 on wur eh sitch o flunter eh getting deawn o gen, ot he 
 feell, on broke th' CoUar-booan on his Leg. 
 
u 
 
 M. O wrang joynt hong im : I know him weel enough, 
 for th' last great Snow he'ur for honging o Hare e some 
 hure Gillers ; on throttlt eaw'r poor Teawzer in o Clew- 
 kingrin. 
 
 T. The varra seme — So I asht him whot team far? 
 Why sed he, ween meet neaw seen on Eawl fly thro' 
 yon Leawp hoyle into th' Leath, on we'er gooing tey hur; 
 Come Turn (sed he) Egad, iftle geaw with us, theawst 
 see sitch gam os tha newer saigh eh the live : Beside 
 theawst howd the Eiddle ; — sed I, I know naw whot to 
 meeons be howding th' Eiddle, boh I'll geaw weh aw meh 
 heart intle teytch meh ; I con show the in a crack sed 
 he : So owey we went, on begun o cromming oth Leawp- 
 hoyles, on th' Slifters ith' Leath Woughs full o Awts ; 
 then we reeart th' Steeigh sawfly ogen th' Wough under 
 th' Eawl-hoyle. Neaw Lads — (sed Hal) mind yer hits : 
 I'll lap meh bonds eh meh Barmskin ot boo cannaw 
 scrat meh when ot eh tak' hur ith' hoyle: Turn o' William's 
 mun clime th' Steeigh, thrutch th' Strey eawt oth' Leawp- 
 hoyle, on howd th' Eiddle cloyse on't. Awth' rest mun 
 be Powlerers, on flay hur into't — So owey they seete into 
 th' Leath, on toynt dur; on I — 
 
 M. Why neaw, I'll be far, if i'd naw rether ha seent 
 in o Puppy-Show. * 
 
 T. Good Lorjus, Meary ! theawrt so heasty ; so I clum 
 th' Steeigh in o snift, Shoavt th' Awts eawt, on smackt 
 me Eiddle oth' hoyle : I'd no soyner done sooa, but I 
 heard one on um sey; see o, see o, hoos teear ! — Shu sed 
 one ; Shu, sed another. Then they aw begun o hallow- 
 ing on whooping like hey-go-mad. I thowt it wer rears't 
 spooart ot ewer mortal Mon saigh: So I gran, on I 
 thrutcht, till meh Arms wartcht ogen; still they kept 
 Shuing, on Powlering ith' Leath; on then I thowt I felt 
 summot nudge th' Steeigh — I lookt deawn, on there were 
 
45 
 
 an owd Soo bizzy scratting hur A — se o one o'th' strines. 
 — "Sllesh, thinks It' meh seln hool ha me deawn eend 
 neaw: — Just then I thowt I heard th' Eawl come into 
 the hoyle ; on presently summot come with 'a greyt flusk 
 thro' th' Eiddle. 
 
 M. Odds mine on didney let hur gooa or yo took'n 
 hur? 
 
 T. Took'n hur ! Ney Meary ; on Eawl's naw so sooyne 
 tean — boh I con heardly tell the I'm — so — whaughish — for 
 I'm readyt cowk'n with th' thowts ont ; there wur non 
 tey Meary. 
 
 M. Whot no Eawl? 
 
 T. Now, now, — not teear — it wus nowt oth' Warld o 
 God boh arron owd Lant ot teyd'n made war weh leasing 
 ther Breeches in't : on that Hodge-Podge coom eh me 
 fease weh sitch o ber, ot o sumheaw it made meh meazy, 
 on I feel off th' Steeigh : Boh moor be choance thin 
 onny good luck, I leet disactly oth' Soo wey sitch a 
 Soltch ; ot I think eh me guts ot hoor booath wur flay'd 
 on hurt in I wur. 
 
 M. E Lord ! whot o wofoo faw had'n yo ! 
 
 T. Eigh, faw eigh ; for I thowt id brok'n th' Crupper-booan 
 o meh A — se, boh it wur better in lickly ; for I'd no hurt 
 boh th' tone Theawm stunnisht, on th' skin bruzz'd off th' 
 whirlbooan o meh knee, ot mede meh t'hawmpo a bit. 
 
 M. Awt upon um, whot unmannerly powsements ! I'st o 
 bin stark-giddy at um, on a raddlt ther booans. 
 
 T. I'r OS woode os teaw.cou'd be, or onny Mon elze, boh 
 theaw knows ev'ry Mon's not a Witch : Heaweer I hawmpo't 
 reawnd th' Leath fort' snap some oth' bullocking basturts ; 
 Boh none cou'd eh leet on, for they'rn aw cropp'n intoth'" 
 Leath ; on th' Durs os sefe os Beest'n Castle : Boh they 
 mead'n me't hear um efeath ; for thear'n aw Wherrying on 
 Leawghing, Whooping on Sheawting, like Maddlocks, ot ther 
 
46 
 
 new tean Eawl os teh cawd'n meh. Wuns, Meary ! in id had 
 foyar i'st o set th' how Leath on o HaUiblash in id deed 
 for't; boh then th' Soo kept sitch o skrikeing Eeeking din, 
 OS if hur back wur eteaw eh two spots, ot I durst stey no 
 lenger for fear o sumbody comming, on meying me neces- 
 sary too hur deeoth : so I scampoot owey as hard os eh 
 cou'd Pinn : On ran o Mile eh that Pickle ofore eh ga one 
 glent behund meh : Then I leep o'er o Eyz'n-hedge, on os 
 o Kindle o Wetur wur wheem, I washt aw meh clooas, till 
 it coom to meh hure : On aw little enough too ; for I think 
 eh me guts I'st stink like a Foomurt while me neme's Turn. 
 
 M. Neaw een be meh troath ! I thowt ye savort'n feearfoo 
 strung on a Yarb : Boh when aw's done Tummus, this Kill- 
 ing oth' Kawve, on Eawl-catching, wur non awlung o Nip. 
 
 T. Odds heart howd teh tung Meary, far I oather angurt 
 some He Witch, or the Dule threw his Club oe'r meh that 
 Morning when eh geete up : Far Misfartins coom on meh 
 os thick OS Leet. 
 
 M. Uddzlud, non thro' Nip o Goddil! 
 
 T. Thro' Nip, yigh thro' Nip: On I wud hur Neck had 
 bin brock'n eh neen Spots, when hoo'r Whelpt far mee 
 (God fargi' meh ; th' deawmp Cretur does no hurt, noather) 
 far I'd naw greadly washt, on fettl't meh! on lipp'n into th' 
 lone ogen, boh I met a fattish dowing Felley in o blackish 
 Wigg ; on he stoode on glooart ot Nip : Ko he onnest Mon 
 wilt sell the Dog? Sed I, meh Dog's o Bitch, on so's ne'er 
 o Dog ith' Teawn: for be meh troath Meary I'r os cross os 
 o f— t. 
 
 M. Odd, boh yoarn bobbersome, on awnsart him awvishly 
 too-to. 
 
 T. Well, boh Dog or Bitch sed t' Felley, if I'd known on 
 hur three Deys sin, I'd o gen the Twenty Shilling far hur, 
 for I see hoos o reet stawnch Bandyhewit ; on there's o Gen- 
 tlemon ot wooans abeawt three Mile off, ot wants one meet 
 
47 
 
 neaw. Neaw Meary, to tell the true, I'd o mind t' cheeot 
 
 (God forgi' meh) on sell him meh Sheep-Cur for o Bandy- 
 hewit; the' I no moor knew, in th' Mon ith Moon whot a 
 Bandyhewit wur. Whaw sed I, hoose primely bred ; for hur 
 Moother coom fro Lunnun, tho' hoor Whelpt ot meh Meas- 
 ter's ; on tho' hoos os good os onny eh Englandshiar, I'll sell 
 hur if meh Price come. 
 
 M. Well done Tummus ! Whot sed eh then ? 
 T. Wau, ko he, whot dust ax for hur? Hoos worth a 
 Ginny on o hawve o Gowd, sed I ; boh o Ginny I'll ha far hur : 
 Ko he, I gen o Ginny far mine on I'd rether ha thine be o 
 Creawn, boh iftle gooa to Justice — Justice hum — le me see. — 
 But I freat'n heaw he het (boh o greyte Matter on im, far I 
 think he's Piece on a Eascot, as well ost rest) he'll be fene 
 o'th' Bargin. 
 
 M. That wur clever, too-to ; wur it naw? 
 T. Yigh' meeterly. — Then I asht im whot Wey eh munt 
 gooa ? On he towd meh : On o wey I seete, weh meh Heart 
 as leet os o bit on o Flaight ; on carrit Nip under meh Arm ; 
 for neaw theaw mun understond I'r feear o loysing hur; 
 ne'er deawting I cou'd be roytch enough t' pay meh Measter 
 for th' Kawve, an ha summot t' spare. 
 
 M. Odds-fish ! boh that wur breve, yoarn eh no ill kele 
 neaw Tummus. 
 
 T. Whau, boh theawst hear; it wur o dree Wey too-to ; 
 heawe'er 1 geete there by three o'Clock; on ofore eh opp'nt 
 Dur, I covert Nip with th' Cleawt ot eh droy meh Nese 
 weh, t' let him see heaw I stoart hur. — Then I opp'nt Dur ; 
 on whot te Dule dust think, boh three little tyney Bandij- 
 hewits: os I thowt then coom Weawghing os if th' little 
 Eott'ns wou'd ha worrit meh, on after that swollut meh 
 whick. Then there coom o fine freshcullert Wummon ot 
 keckt OS stiff as if hood swallut a Poker, on I took hur far 
 hoo Justice, hoor so meety fine : — For I heard RotcJiot 
 
48 
 
 oVack's, o'Yem's tell meh Measter, that th' hoo Justices awlus 
 did mooast o'th' Wark. — Heawe'er, I axt hur if Mr. Justice 
 wur o Whoam ; hoo cou'd naw opp'n hur Meawth t' say 
 eigh, or now ; boh simpurt on sad iss, (the Dickons iss'ur 
 on him too) sad I, I wudidd'n tell him I'd fene speyk to 'im. 
 
 M. Odd, boh yoar'n bowd; i'st o bin timmersome : — But 
 let's know heaw ye went'n on. 
 
 T. Whau, weell enough, for thaaw mey Nip, on Cheeot os 
 ill OS one o thar Clarks on they'n naw meddle with the ; 
 boh theaw munnaw frump, nor taeos um, for they haten to 
 be vext. 
 
 M. Boh heaw went'n ye on ? — Wurth' Justice d Whoam ? 
 
 T. Eigh, on coom snap, on axt meh whot eh wantut? 
 Whau, sed I, i've o varra fine Bandyhewit t' sell ; on I hear 
 yo want'n one Sur :— Humph — sed he — a Bandyhewit — prethee 
 let's look at. — Yigh sad I ; on I pood th' Claawt fro off on hur, 
 stroakt hur deawn th' Back, on sed ; hoos os fine o Bandy- 
 hewit OS ewer run ofore o Tele. 
 
 M. Wall done Tummus ! yo cud'n naw mend tat, in eh 
 had'n it t' doo ogen : Boh yo'ra fit t' gooa eawt efeath. 
 
 T. Hoos o fine on indeed sed th' Justice ; on its o 
 theawson Pities boh I'd known on hur Yusterdey : For o 
 Felly coom, on I bowt one naw so good os this by hoave 
 o Ginny ; on i'll uphowd tey theaw '11 tey o Ginny for this. On 
 that i'll hav' in eh cou'd leet on a Chapmen, sed I. Hoos 
 roytchly worth it, sad he, on I think, I con tall thee 
 whear theaw mey part with hur, if ha be naw fittut awready. 
 
 M. Odds-like, boh that wur o good neatert Justice, wur 
 he naw ? 
 
 T. E, Maary ; thaaw tawks like o seely Ninnyhommer : 
 For tey mey wort fort, nowt ot's owt con cum on'nt, when 
 o Mon deeols weh rascotly fok : Boh as i'r telling thee, he 
 neamt a Fellay ot wooant obaawt three Mile ofi' on him (boh 
 the Dule forget him os I done) so I munt gooa back ogen 
 
49 
 
 thro' Ratchdaw, So I geet Nip under meh Arm ogen, mede 
 o scroap weh meh hough, on bid th' justice good neet, weh 
 o heyyy heart theaw meh be shure : On boh os eh, thowt 
 eh cou'd ashelt sell hur eh this tother Pleck, it would sar- 
 tinly ha brock'n. 
 
 M. Lord bless us ! it wur lik't trouble o meetily ! 
 
 T. Boh theawst hear. I'd naw gone o'er oboon a Feelt 
 or two, boh I coom to o greyt Bruck, weh o feaw narrow 
 Sappling Brig o'er it. As it had reint th' Neet ofore, os 
 th' Welkin wou'd ha opp'nt, th' Wetur wur Bonkful ; tho' 
 it wur feggur o deeol i'th Mourning ; on o sumheaw, when 
 I'r obeawt hoave o'er meh Sbough slipt, on deawn coom I, 
 Arsyversy, weh Nip eh me Arm i'th Wetur, Nip I leet fend 
 for hur seln, on flaskert int' eh geete howd on o Sawgh, on 
 so charr'd meh sell'n ; or elze nother theaw, nor no Mon elze 
 had newer seen Turn ogen : For be meh troth I'r welly 
 werk'nt. 
 
 M. Good Lorjus Deys ! th' like wur never ! this had 
 lik't o shad awth' tother ! on yet yo coom'n farrantly off 
 marry, for it wur a greyt Marcy ye wur'n naw Dreawnt. 
 
 T. I know naw whether 't wur or naw, noather : Boh 
 theaw meh be shure I'r primely boyrnt, on os Weet os ewer 
 eh could sye : Beside i'd no Com to keem meh Hure, so 
 ot I lookt licker o Dreawnt Meawse in o Mon. 
 
 M. Beside, yoad'n be os cowd os Iccles. 
 
 T. Eigh theaw mey geawse i'r non Mough'n : Boh 
 theawst hear. I'n naw gone oboon o Stone's thrut; efore 
 eh wundurt whot teh Pleague wur th' matter wimmey, for I 
 begun t' smart os if five hundurt Pissmotes wur eh me 
 Breechus : I loast um deawn, boh cou'd see nowt ot wur 
 whick : on yet I lookt as rey os o fleed Meawse ; (for were 
 seeln beawt th' scrat at my Measter's) 'Sflesh, i'r ready t' 
 gooa woode on knew neaw whot eh ealt; — On then I unbe- 
 thowt meh o me Sawt. 
 
 H 
 
so 
 
 M. E wea's me ! i'd freeat'n that too ! I deawt it wou'd 
 quite mar o" ? 
 
 T. Now, now, Meary, i'r naw quite marr'd : It's true, I 
 went Wigglety-Wagglety, for an Eawer or so, ofore i'r ogreath 
 ogen : On when eh geet reet, on coom t' groap eh meh 
 Singlet Pocket for meh sawt, the Dule o bit a sawt wurthur, 
 for it wur aw run owey — On neaw it jumpt into meh Mind 
 ot I saigh two rott'n Pynots (Hongum) ot tis seme Brig os 
 eh coom. 
 
 M. Did ever ! that wur o sign o bad Fartin : Far I 
 heard meh Gronny sey, hoode os leef o seen two owd Harries 
 OS two Pynots. 
 
 T. Eigh, so seys meh Noant Margit, on a meeny o Fok: 
 On I know Pynots ar os cunning Eawls os wawk'n oth' 
 Yeorth. Boh os I'r telling the Meary, whot with smart, 
 on one think on onother, i're so stract Woode, ot I cou'd ha 
 fund eh meh heart ta puncht th' Bitches Guts eawt : On 
 then I tliowt ogen Nip's eh no Fawt : For be meh troth I'r 
 welly off at side. 
 
 M. Indeed Tummus I believe o ; boh o lack o dey, pur- 
 ring th' Bitch wou'd ha bin reet rank. 
 
 T. That's true, boh theaw knows one cun boh doo whot 
 tey cun doo. 
 
 M. Eeet ; boh heaw didney doo with'r weet Clooas ; wur'- 
 ney naw whelly parisht? 
 
 T. Yigh be meh troth ; I dithert ot meh Teeth hackt eh 
 meh heeod ogen : Boh that wur naw aw ; it begun t' be 
 dark, an I'r beawt Scoance in a Strawnge Country, five or 
 suse Mile fro Whoam : So that I maundert ith' Fields oboon 
 two Bawers, on cou'd naw gawm where eh wur; for I moot 
 OS weel o bin in o Noon : On in id howd'n up meh Hont I 
 cou'd no moor ha seen't in eh con see o Fleigh o thee 
 neaw ; on here it wur I geet into a Gete : For I thowt I 
 heard summot coming, an if Truth mun be spok'n I'r so 
 
51 
 
 feerfuUy breed, at meh Hure stood on eend, for theaw knows 
 I noather knew whooa, nor whot it moot be. 
 
 M. True Tummus, no marvil ot o wur so flay'd ; it wur 
 so fearfoo dark ! 
 
 T. Heawe'er, I resolv't meyth' best on't an up speek I — 
 Whooas tat? A Lad's Voice answert in a crying Din, elaw, 
 dunnaw tey meh, dunnaw tey meh ; now, sed I, I'll naw tey 
 the, Beleady : Whooas Lad art to ? — Whau, sed he, i'm 
 Jone's o'Lall's o'Simmy's, o'Marriom's o'Dick's oNethons, 
 o'Lall's o'Simmy's ith' Hooms, an i'm gooink Whoam. Odd, 
 thinks i't meh sell, theaw's a dree-er Neme in me : An here 
 Meary I cou'd naw boh think whot lung Nemes sum on us 
 han ; for thine and mine ar meeterly ; boh this Lad's wur 
 so mitch dree-er, ot I thowt it dockt mine tone Hawve. 
 
 M. Preo na, tell meh ha theese lung Nemes leet'n'? 
 
 T. Um — m — mn, le meh see — I connaw tell the greadly, 
 boh I think its to tell fok by. 
 
 M. Well, an ha didneh gooa on with him. 
 
 T. Then (as I thowt he tawkt so awkertly) i'd ash him 
 for th' wonst whot Uncoth's he heard sturrink. I here none, 
 but ot Jack o'Ned's towd meh, ot Sam's o'Jacks o'Yeds 
 Marler, has wed Mall o'Nan's o'Sall's o'Pegs, ot gus obeawt 
 o beggink Churn-milk with Pitcher, with Lid on. Then I 
 asht him where Jack o'Ned's wooant? seys he, he's 'Prentice 
 weh Isaac o'Tim's o'Nick's oth' Hough-lone ; on he'd bin ot 
 Jammy's o'George's o'Peter's ith' Dingles for hooave o Peawnd 
 o Treacle t' seaws'n a Beest-puddink weh on his Feather an 
 Moother wooan at Rossendaiv, boh his Gronny's alive an 
 wooans weh his Noant Margery e Grinfilt, at Pleck where 
 his nown Mother coom fro. Good Lad, sed I, boh heaw 
 far's tis Littlebrough off; For I aimt' see it to Neet if eh con 
 hit. Seys t' Lad, it's obeawt a Mile, on yo mun keep 
 streight forrud o yer Lift Hont, on yoan happ'n do. So a 
 thiss'n we partit ; but I mawkint, an lost me Gete ogen snap. 
 
52 
 
 So I powlert o'er Yetes on Steeles, Hedges on Doytches, til 
 eh coom to this Littlebroiigh ; on there I'r ill breed ogen, for 
 I thowt i'd seen a Boggart; boh it prooft q Mon weh o 
 Piece-woo, resting im on o Stoop ith' Lone. As soon os eh 
 cou'd speyk for whackering, I asht him where ther wur on 
 Eleheawse ? On he shoad meh : I went in on fund ot two 
 fat troddy Fok wun'nt teer : On theyd'n some oth' warst 
 fratchingst Cumpany, ot e'er e saigh, for theyr'n warrying, 
 banning, on cawing one onother leawsy Eawls, os thick os 
 leet : Heawe'er I pood o Cricket, on keaw'rt meh deawn ith' 
 Nook, o side oth' Hob : i'd no soyner done so, boh a feaw 
 seawr lookt Pelley, with o Wythen Kibbo he had in his Hont, 
 slapt o Sort of o wither Meazzilt feast Mon, sitch o thwang 
 oth' Scawp, ot aw varra reetcht ogen with ; on deawn eh 
 coom oth' Harstone, on his Heeod ith' Esshole : His scrunt 
 Wig feel off, on o hontle o whot corks feel into't, on brunt, 
 on frizzlt it so, ot when he ost don it, on unlucky karron 
 gen it o poo, on it slipt o'er his Sow, on lee like o howm- 
 bark on his shilders. I ' glendurt like a stikt Tup, for fear 
 on o dust meh seln : On crope fur into th' Chimney. Oytch 
 body thowt ot Mezzil fease wou'd mey a Flittink on't, on 
 dee in a crack ; so sum on um cryd'n eawt a Doctor a 
 Doctor, while others mead'n th' Londlort go Saddle th' Tit 
 to fetch one. While this wur e dooink, some on um had 
 leet on a kin on a Doctor ot wooant o bit off, an shew'd 
 'im th' Mon oth' Harstone. He leyd how'd on his Arm to 
 feel his Pulse I geawse, an pood, os if he'd sin death pooink 
 at th' tother Arm ; an wur resolv't o'er-poo him : After look- 
 ing dawkinly-wise a bit, he geete fro his Whirly booans, and 
 sed to um aw, while his Heart beeots an his Blood sarclates 
 there's Hopes, boh when that stops its whooup with him 
 efeath. Mezzil fease hearink summot o' whooup, startit to 
 his Feet, flote none, boh gran like a Foomurt-Dog ; on seete 
 ot black swarffy Tyke, weh booath Neaves, on wawtit him 
 
63 
 
 o'er into th' Galkeer, full o new Drink wortching : He begun 
 o possing, on peyling him int' so, ot aw wur blendit t'gether 
 snap. 'Sflesh Meary ! theaw'd o bepiss't tela, 'ta' seen heaw'th 
 Gobbin wur awtert, when ot tey pood'n him eawt ; and whot 
 o Hobthurst he lookt weh aw that Berm obeawt im : He 
 kept droying his Een. Boh he moot os weel ha sowt um 
 in his A — e, tin th' Londledy had mede an Eaw'rs labbor 
 on 'im ot Pump : When he coom in ogen, he glooart aw- 
 vishly ot Mezzil fease ; on Mezzil fease glendurt os wrythenly 
 ot him ogen ; boh noather warrit, nor thrapt : So they seete 
 um deawn, on then th' Londledy coom in, on wou'd mey 
 um't pey far th' lumber ot teyd'n done ur. Meh Drink's 
 war be o Creawn, sed hoo ; beside, there's two Tumblers, 
 three Quitting Pots, on four Pipes masht, on o how Papper 
 o Bacca shed : This mede 'umt glendor ot tone tother ogen ; 
 but black Tyke's Passion wur coolt at't Pump, on th' Wythen 
 Kibbo had quiet'nt tother ; so ot teh camm'd little or none ; 
 boh agreed t'pey aw meeon, then seet'n um deawn, on wur 
 Friends ogen in o Sniff. 
 
 M. This wur mad gawmling wark ; on welly os ill os th' 
 teying th' Eawl. 
 
 T. Ney, naw quite, noather Meary ; for Berm's o howsome 
 Smell : Heawe'er, when aw wur sattl't, I crope nar th' Foyar 
 ogen ; for I wantot o whawm fearfully for I'r booath cowd 
 on weet, os weel as hongry on droy. 
 
 M. Beleemy Tummus yo mootn weeU; boh yoam in o 
 good Kele too to, ot idd'n Money eh yer Pocket. 
 
 T. Eigh, I thowt I'd Money enough ; but theowst hear 
 moor o that een na. So I cawd for summot feat, on o Pint 
 o Ele; on hoo browt me some Hog-mutton on special Tur- 
 mits ; on as prime Veeol on Pestil os ned be toucht : I 
 creemt Nip neaw on then o Lunshun, boh Turn took Care 
 oth' tother, steawp on reawp; for I eat like o Yorshar-Mon, 
 en cleeart th' Stoo. 
 
64 
 
 M. Well done Tummus ! yoad'n sure need no Eee supper ; 
 for yo shadd'n Wrynot, on slanst th' Charges frowt I hear. 
 
 T. True: So I seete on restut meh, on drank meh Pint 
 o Ele; boh as I'r naw greadly sleckt, I cawd for another, on 
 bezzilt tat too; for I'r os droy os Soot: On as't wur t' lete 
 t'gooa anny whither weh meH Bitch, I asked th' Londledey 
 in eh cou'd stay aw Neet; Hoo towd- meh I moot in eh 
 wou'd: Sed I, I'll geaw neaw, innin geaw wimmey? I 
 geaw with the ko hoo ? Whot ar to feeard o Boggarts, or 
 theaw'rt naw weynt yet on conn aw sleep beawt o Pap? 
 'Sflesh, sed I, whot ar ye tawking on? I want gut' Bed! 
 Ho, ho ; if that be aw sed hoo Margit s't shew the : So 
 Margit leet o Condle, on shewd meh o wistey Eeawm, on o 
 Bed weh Curtnurs forsuth : I thowt Margit pottert on fettlt 
 lung ith' Choamber ofore hoo laft it; on I mistrust it ot 
 boor 'meawlt for o bit o tussling on teawing ; boh o some- 
 heaw I'r so toyart and healo, ot I'r eh no fettle for Catter- 
 weawing : So I sed nowt too 'ur : Boh I forthowt Sin, for 
 hoor no Daggle-tele I'll uphowdtey, boh os snug o Loss os 
 Seroh o'Eutchots eary bit. 
 
 M. Marry kem eawt, like enough, why not: Is Seroh o 
 Eutchots so honsome? 
 
 T, Eigh, hoos meeterly. Heawe'er, when hoor gon, I doft 
 meh donk Shoon on Hoyse, on me doage Olooas, on geet in, 
 on eh Truth Meary I newer lee eh sitch Bed sin eh wur 
 Kersunt ! 
 
 M. E dear Tummus, I cou'd ha lik't o bin with o ; I 
 warrant yoad'n Sleep seawndly ? 
 
 T. Ney, I connaw sey ot eh did ; for I'r meetily troublt 
 abeawt meh Kawve. — Beside, I'r feeard o eawer Fok seeching 
 meh, on meh Measter beasting meh when eh geet Whooam ; 
 Its true meh Carkuss wur pratty yeasy, boh meh Mind 
 moot OS weel o line on o Pissmotehoyle, or in o Eook o 
 HoUins or Gorses ; for it wur one o'clock ofore he cou'd 
 toyn me Een. 
 
55 
 
 21. Well, on heaw -went'ii ye on ith' Mourning when eh 
 wack'nt ? 
 
 T. Whau, as I'c donning meh thwooanish Clooas, I thowt 
 I'll know heaw meh shot stons bfore I'll wear moor o meh 
 brass o meh brekfust : So I cawd, on th' londledey coom, 
 on kestit up to Throtteenpencfe : So; thowt It' meh seln, 
 o weawnded Deeol ! Whot strushon hav I mede here ! I 
 cou'd ha fund meh seln o how Wick wch hus for that 
 Money. 1st naw hav one Boadle t' spere o meh hoyde 
 Silver : On neaw I'r in os ill o Kele os meetshad ! Wur 
 ch naw ! 
 
 M. Now marry naw yo : In idd'n mede strushon, on 
 Bezzilt owey moor Brass inney hadd'n, yo met'n ha tawkt. 
 
 T. I find teaw con tell true to o Hure, into will Meary ; 
 for byth' Miss, when ot eh coom't grope eh meh Slop t' pey 
 'ur, I'r weawnedly glopp'nt, for the Dule o hawpunny had 
 eh ! On whether eh lost it ith' Bruck, or weh scrawming 
 o'er th' Doytch-backs ; I no moor know in th' Mon ith 
 Moon : But gon it wur ! I steart like o Wilcat, on wur 
 welly gawmless : On ot last I towd hur I'd lost meh 
 Money. Sed hoo, whot dunneh meeon Mon : Yoast naw 
 put Yorshar o me ; that Tele winnaw fit me ; for yoar like't 
 pey o sumheaw. Sed I, boh its true, on yo meh grope eh 
 meh Breeches in eh win. Theaw'rt some mismannert Jack- 
 onapes I'll uphowd tey sed hoo ; Ney, ney, I'st naw grope- 
 eh the Breeches not I. Whau, sed I yoar lik't ha nowt, 
 beawt yean tey meh Woollen Mittins, and meh Sawt Cleawt: 
 Thoos'n naw doo, sed hoo, they're naw booath worth oboon 
 two Groats. — I nowt eize, said I, beawt yean ha meh Sneeze 
 hurn, on I'm loath t' part weet ; becose Seroh o'Eutchots 
 gaight me th' last Kersmuss. Let's see urn, sed hoo, for 
 theaw'rt some arron Eascot I'll uphowd teh. So I gen um 
 hur; on still this broddling Fussock lookt feaw os Tunor 
 when id done. 
 
56 
 
 M. Good-Lorjus-o-me ! I think idd'n th warst Luck ot 
 ewer Kersun Soul had ! *" 
 
 T. Theaw'll sey so eend neaw : Well, I'r toyart o that 
 pleck ; on crope owey witheawt hit or sope, or Cup o Sneeze ; 
 for I gawmbl't on leet tat gooa too. I soyn sperr'd this 
 Gentlemon's Hoah eawt; on when eh geete tear, I gan o 
 glent into th' Shipp'n, on seed o Men stonning ith' Groop. 
 Sed I is yer Measter o Whoam prey o' ? Eigh, sed he ; I 
 wou'd idd'n tell him I'd fane speyk at him, sed I : Yigh, 
 sed he, that I'll doo. So he'r no soyner gooan, boh o fine, 
 fattish, throbby Gentlemon, coom in a Trice, on axt meh 
 whot eh wantut? Sed I, I understond yo want'n o good 
 Bandyhewit, Sur, on I've a pure on t' sell here : Let's see 
 th' shap on hur, sed. he: So I stroakt hur deawn th' Back, 
 on crobb'd hur oth' Greawnd. Hoos th' fin'st ot ew'ry saigh 
 sed he ; boh I deawt things 'n leet unluckily for title ; for I 
 geet two this last week, on they mey'dn up meh Keawnt. — 
 New Meary, i'r ready't cruttle deawn, for theaw moot o 
 knockt meh o'er with a pey. Boh whot's teh Price sed he ? 
 I connaw thwooal hur t' meh nown Broother under o Ginny, 
 sed I. Hoos cheeop o that sed he ; un no deawt boh theaw 
 mey sell hur. 
 
 M. Odds like ! Yoarn lung eh finding o Chapmon ; 
 oytchbody'r awlus fittut so. 
 
 T. Eigh, fittut Eigh; far they ned'n none no moor in I 
 need Wetur eh meh Shoon, not tey; But theaw'st hear. 
 Then sed he, there's on owd Cratchenly Gentlemon, ot 
 wooans ot yon Heawse, omung yon trees, meet anent us ; ot 
 I believe '11 gi thee the Price: If not Justice sitch o one's 
 o likely Chap, iftle gooa thither. Sed I, I'r there last 
 Oandurth, on he'd leet o one th' Yeandurth ofore. That leet 
 feawly for the, sed he: — Eigh, sed I, so it e'en did; for I 
 mede o peaw'r o Labber obeawt it I'm shure. Well boh 
 
57 
 
 this owd Gentlemon's lik'ly'st of onny I know. So I mede 
 'im meh Manners, on seete eawt for this tother Pleck. 
 
 M. I hope in ha better Luck, Egodsnum. 
 
 T. Whau, I thowt eh cou'd too : For neaw it popt int' 
 Mind, ot Nip did naw howd hur Tele heeigh enough, on ot 
 Fok wou'd naw buy her becose o' that. On int' has naw 
 freeat'n, I bowt two Eawnce o' Pepper when i'd meh Sawt; 
 on the' 'twur os thodd'n os o Thar-Cake, i'd rub her A — se 
 weet : For I'd seen Omnfreij o'Matho's pley that tutch be his 
 Creawparst-Mare ; that day ot Yem oth' Redbonk coom't buy 
 hur. So meet ofore eh geet teear, I took Nip, on rubb'd 
 hur primely efeath ; een till o' yeawlt ogen. I'r ot Heawse in 
 
 crack, on leet oth' owd Mon ith' Fowd, ossing t' get o Tit- 
 back. Sed I, too him, is yoar Neme Mr. Scar ? Sed he, 
 theaw'r oather greeof, or greeofby; but I gex I'm him ot to 
 meeons : Whot wants to wimmey ? I'm infarmed, Sed I, ot 
 yo want'n o Bandyhewit, on I've o tip-top on eh meh Arms 
 here os onny's eh Englandshiar. That's a greyt breeod, Sed 
 he ; but pre the let's hondle hur o bit, for in eh tutch hur, 
 
 1 con tell whether hoo's reet bred or naw. 
 
 M. Odd but that wur o meety fawse owd Felly, too-to. 
 
 T. 'Sflesh, Meary ! I think eh meh guts ot he'r th' 
 bigg'st Rasoot on um aw : Boh I leet im hondle'r, on he'r 
 so seely, on his Honds whackert so despratly, ot he cou'd 
 naw stick too hur, on hoo leep deawn. Neaw fort thowt I : 
 Nip ; cock the Tele on shew the sell : Boh estid o that, 
 hoo seet up o yeawll, clapt th' Tele between hur Legs, on 
 crope into o hoyle ith' Horse-stone ! 
 
 M. Fye onn'r, i'st ha bin os mad attur os o Pottert-Wasp. 
 
 T. Whau, i'r os mad os teaw cou'd bo, ot hoode shawmt 
 hur sell so wofully ; heawe'er I sed to th'owd Mon, munneh 
 tak' ur ogen for yoan find hoos no Foogoad on o Bitch ; 
 Now, now, sed he ; I feel hoos os fat os o Snig, on os smoot 
 os Mowdewarp : On I find os plene os o Pike-staif, be 
 
58 
 
 hur lennock Yeears, ot hoos reet bred; On I'd a liad'ur if 
 hoode cost meh o Moider, but ot o Friend has sent meh 
 one eawt o Yorshar, on I need no moor ; Boh i'll swop with 
 the into will. Now sed I, i'll swop none : for i'll oather 
 have a Ginny for hur, or boost newer gooa while meh 
 Heeod stons o meh Shilders. Then I con chaffer none with 
 the, said he ; boh hast' bin ot yon fine Bigging anent us ! 
 Eigh sed I, boh he's onoo on um. Well but they're os 
 scant neaw os ewer the wur eh this Ward, sed he ; on there's 
 one Muslin, eh Rachdaw, ot's o meety lover on 'um. Whau, sed 
 I, I'st go see, — On neaw Meary, I begun t' mistrust ot 
 tear'n meying o Foo on meh. 
 
 M. The firrups tak' um, boh tey ne'er wur be aw o like. 
 
 T. Whau, boh howd tey Tung o bit, on teawst hear: 
 for I thought i'd try this tother Felley, on if he'r gett'n 
 fittut too, I'd try no moor: For then it wou'd be os plena 
 OS Blackstonehedge ot team meying oh arron Gawby on meh. 
 So I went t' Rachdaw, on sperr'd 'tis Mon eawt. I found 
 im o back oth' Shopbooart, weh o little Dog ot side on 
 'im : Thowt I t' meh seln I would teaw'r choak't, this 
 Felley '11 be fittut too, I deawt. Well, sed he onnist Mon, 
 whot done yo pleoost' hav'? I want nowt ot ye ban, sed I, 
 for i'm come'n t' sell ye o Bandyhewit. Neaw, Meary, this 
 Eascot os weel ost' rest, roost meh Bitch to the varra 
 Welkin; but ot tat Time he did naw want one. 
 
 M. E wea's me Tummus ! I deawt team meying o parfit 
 Neatril on o ! 
 
 T. O Neatril ! Eigh, th' big'st ot ewer wur mede sin 
 kene kilt ebil; on neaw I'r so strackt woode, I'r arronly 
 moydert, on cou'd ha fund eh meh Heart t' a jowd aw 
 ther sows together. I'r no soyner areawt, boh o threave a 
 Eabblement wur watching on meh at t' Dur. One on um 
 sed, this is im ; onother, he's here ; on one Basturtly-gullion 
 asht mey if i'd sowd meh Bandyhewit? By th' Miss Meary, 
 
I'r so angurt ot tat, ot I up weh meh gripp'n Neave, on 
 hit im o good wherrit oth' Yeear, on then weh meh Hough, 
 puncht him into th' Eiggot; on ill grim'd, on deet th' Lad 
 wur for shure : Then they aw seete ogen meh, on ofore id 
 gon Eood, th' Lad's Moother coom, on crope sawfly behunt 
 meh, on geete meh by th' hewer, on deawn coom Nip on 
 me ith' Eindle, on th' Hoor ot top on meh : While th' 
 tuffle lastit, hur Lad, (on the basturts ot took his Part) kept 
 griming, on deeting meh weh Sink-durt, ot I thowt meh 
 Een would newer o done good ogen ; for I moot os weel ha 
 bin o'er th' Heeod in o Middingspuce, or ot teying o two 
 Eawls. 
 
 M. E walla-dey, whot obunnanze o Misfartins yo had'n. 
 
 T. Eigh, for if Owd-Nicic owt meh o Spite he pede me 
 Whoam weh Use : For while the Skirmidge lastut, awth' 
 Teawn wur cluttert obeawt us : I sheamt os if id stown 
 summut, on Skampurt owey weh o Eleigh eh meh Yeear, 
 on up th' Broo intoth' Church Yort ; There I'd o mind t' 
 see if onny body follut meh. I turn'd meh, on whot te Dule 
 dust think, boh I'd lost Nip. 
 
 M. Whot senneh ! 
 
 T. It's true Meary ; so I cawd, on I whewtit, boh no Nip 
 wur t' be fund, hee nor low; On far aw I knew meh 
 Measter seete sitch Stoar on hur, becose o fotchink th' 
 Beaoss on Sheep ; I durst os tite o tean o Bear byth' Tooth 
 ostta ost seech hur ith' Teawn. So I took eendwoy, for it 
 wur welley neet ; on I'd had noather Bit nor Sope ; nor Cup 
 o Sneeze of aw that Dey. 
 
 M. Why, yoad'n be os gaunt os o Grewnt, on welly 
 fammisht. 
 
 T. I tell the Meary I'r welly moydart : Then I thowt 
 meh Heart wou'd ha sunk int' meh Shoon; for it feld os 
 heavy os o Mustert-boah, an I stanck so, it mede meh os 
 waughish os owt, on I'd two or three Wetur-tawms : Beside 
 
aw this, meh Bally waroht ; on eh this fettle I munt daddle 
 Whoam, on fease meh Measter ! 
 
 M. E dear ! Whot o kin of o beawt had'n ye weh him ? 
 
 T. Whau, I'st tell the moor o that eend neaw: B'o furst 
 theaw mun know, that os I'r gooink toart Whom os deawn- 
 heartit on mallanoholly os a Methodist, ot thinks he's In-pig 
 of Owd-Harry, o mon o'ertook meh riding o Tit-back on 
 leeoding onother : thinks I t' meh sell ; this is some Yorshar 
 Horse-Jockey; I wou'd he'd le meh ride; for theaw mun 
 know I'r wofoo weak on Waughish. This thought had hard- 
 ly glentit thro' meh nob before ot Felly sed ; come honesty : 
 theaw looks os if to wur ill toyart; theawst ride o bit into 
 will. That's whot eh want sed I, in ye pleeas'n, for I'm 
 Avelly done. So loothe Meary I geet on ; on I thought eh 
 neer rid y easier sin eh cou'd get o humpstridd'n o Tit- back. 
 
 M. A good deed Tummus that wur no ill Felly ; yoad'n 
 ha no ill luck ot tis beawt e goddil. 
 
 T. E, Meary, theaws sen gext rank monny, on monny o 
 time, on neaw theaw p — sses by the Bow ogen ; for I wou'd 
 i'd ridden eawr Billy's Hobby-horse a howdey t'gether estid 
 o getting o this Tit : for hark the meh ; we'd naw ridd'n 
 oboon five Eood but Felly asht meh heaw far Ir' gooink 
 that wey ? Seys I, obeawt a mile on o hoave. That's reet, 
 seys he; there's on Eleheawse just there obeawt; I'll ride 
 ofore, on theaw mun come sawfly after on I'll stey for the there. 
 So he seet off like hey-go-mad; boh I kept o foot's pese : 
 for me Tit swat on seem'd os toyart os I wur. Neaw loothe 
 Meary, after this I'd naw ridden mitch o boon hawfe o mile 
 boh I heord some fock cummink after meh o gallop, o gal- 
 lop, OS if the Deel had bad halUdey. Theyd'n hardly o'er 
 ta'en meh, boh one on um sweer by th' Mass, this is my 
 Tit, on I'll heyt too, if owd Nick ston not ith' Gap. With 
 that lusty wither Tyke pood eawt o think like o piece on 
 Bassoon, on slapping meh oth' Shilders weet sed, friend 
 I'm Cunstable, an yore my Prisner. 
 
61 
 
 The Deel tey yer friendship, on Cunstableship too, sed I : 
 whot dunneh meeon mon ? Whot mun I be prisner for? 
 Yoan stown that Tit sed he, on yoast gooa back wimmey 
 before o Justice. I stown non ont' sed I, for I boh meet 
 neaw gett'n ont, on o Mon ots Gallopt ofore on whooa I 
 took for th' owner ga'mee leeof ; so whot bisness han oather 
 yo or th' Justice web meh! Stuff Stuff, meer balderdash 
 sed th' Cunstable. Wi' that I leep off th' Tit in a greyt 
 big, on sed, int be years tak't o, to the Deel o ; for I know 
 nowt ont, nor yo noather, not I. 
 
 M. Weel actit Tummus ; that wur monfully sed, on done 
 too ; thinlc I. 
 
 T. Boh husht Meary, on theawst hear fur : Cum cum, 
 sed th' Cunstable, that whiffo whaffo stuff winnow doo for 
 me: for gooa yo booath mun on shan, oather be hook or 
 crook. On wi' that he pood eawt some Ir'n trinkums, ot 
 rick t' like o parsil o Cheeons. Weawns thinks I t' me 
 sell, whot ar theese ? In the bin Shackils, I'm in o rere 
 scroap indeed ; I'm wur off neaw in eer eh wur : I'st be 
 hong'd, or some devilment ot tis very time. For be meh 
 troth, Meary, I heated th' jingling of his thingumbobs os 
 ill, OS if theaw, or ony mon elze bad bin ringing my pass- 
 ing Bell. 
 
 M. Good lorjus deys ! its not to tell heaw camm'd things 
 con happ'n ! 
 
 T. Heawe'er I mustert up my curridge on sed, hark o', 
 yo Cunstable, put up thoose things ot rick'n so ; on inneh 
 mun gooa, I will gooa; on quietly too: for theaw knows ot 
 force is meds'n for o Mad-Dog. 
 
 M. Whoo-who, whoo-who whoo ! Why Tummus ! Its 
 meet neaw buzz'd into meh heeod, ot tis seme Horse-Jockey 
 had stown th' Tit, on for fear o being o'ertene geet yo t' 
 ride t' seve his own Beak'n, on so put Yorshar on ye o 
 thiss'n. 
 
63 
 
 T. Why, I think theaw guexes too o hure ; for he slippt 
 th' Kope fro obeawt his own neck on don'd it o mine, that's 
 sartin. Heawe'er it mede pittifoo wark indeed; to be guardit 
 be two men on o Cunstable back ogen thro' Rachdaw where 
 Id so letely lost meh Bitch, on bin so very mawkinly rowlt 
 ith' Riggot ! Heawe'er theese Cunstable-fok wur meety 
 meeverly on modest too-to, on as mute os Mowdywarps, for 
 we geet thro' th' Teawn weh very little glooaring on less 
 pumping, on wur ot Justices in a crack. 
 
 M. E deer, Tummus, did naw a Hawter run strawngely 
 eh yer heeod ? for summot runs eh mine os int wur full o 
 Ropes on PuUy-beawls. 
 
 T. Why loothe Meary I thought so pleaguy hard, ot I 
 cou'd think o nothing at aw: for se the meh, I'r freetn't 
 aw macks o weys. Still, I'd one cumfort awlus popt up it 
 heeod ; for thinks I't meh sell I stown no Horse, not I : on 
 theaw knows ot Truth on Honesty gooink hont eh hont 
 howd'n one onother's backs primely, on ston os stiff os o 
 Gablock. 
 
 M. True Tummus, they're prime props at o pinch, that's 
 sartin. Boh I yammer t' hear heaw things turn'd eawt ot 
 eend of aw. 
 
 T. Theaws no peshunce Meary. Boh howd te tung on 
 theawst hear in o snift : for theaw mun know ot tis seme 
 Cunstable wur os preawd ot id tean poor Turn prisner, os if 
 theaw'd tean o Hare on had her eh the Appern meet neaw: 
 but th' Gobbin ne'er considert o' honging wou'd naw be 
 cawd good spooart be ony body eh ther senses, on wur 
 enough for't edge o finer mon's teeth in mine. Heawe'er he 
 knockt OS bowdly ot Justices Dur, os if id ha dung it deawn. 
 This fotcht o preaw'd gruff felly eawt, whooa put us int' a 
 pleck we as monney Books an Pappers os a Cart wou'd 
 howd. To this mon (whooa I soon perceiv't wur th' Clark) 
 th' Cunstable tow'd meh wofoo kese; an eh truth Meary I'r 
 
63 
 
 OS gawmless os o Goose, on began o whackering os if id 
 stown o how draight o Horses. Then this felly went eawt 
 o bit, on with im coom th' Justice ; whooa I glendurt at 
 sooar, and thowt he favort owd Jone o Dobs, whooa theaw 
 knows awlus wears a breawnish "White-wig, ot hangs on his 
 Shilders like Keaw-teals. Well Mr. Cunstable, sed Justice, 
 Whot an ye brought me neaw? Why, pleeos yer Worship, 
 ween meet neaw tean o Horse-steyler whooa wur meying off 
 with Tit OS hard os he cou'd. Od, thought I't meh seln, 
 neaw or never Turn, speyke for the sell ; or theaw 'rt throttlt 
 ot tis very beawt, so I speek up, an sed ; that's naw true, 
 Mr. Justice : for I'r boh gooink o foot's pese. Umph sed 
 th' Justice, there's naw mitch difference, as to that point. 
 Heawe'er howd teaw the tung yung mon ; an speyk when 
 ther't spokk'n too. Well theaw mon ith breawn Cooat, 
 theaw, sed th' Justice, whot has theaw to sey ogen this felly 
 here ? Is this Tit thy Tit, seys to ? It is Sur. Here Clark, 
 bring's that Book on let's swear him. Here th' Justice sed 
 
 nominy to 'im, on towd 'im he munt tey kere o whot he 
 sed, or he moot os belt be foresworn, or hong that yeawth 
 there. Well, on theaw seys ot tis Tit's thy Tit, is it? It 
 is, pleeos yer Worship. On where had teaw him, seys to '? 
 
 1 bred im Sur. E whot Country? Gown-Edge Sur. On 
 when wur he stown seys to ? Last dey boh yusterdey abeawt 
 three o'Clock ith' Oandurth : for eawr Yem saigh 'im 
 obeawt two, on we mist im obeawt four o'Clock. On fro 
 Cown-edge theaw seys ? Yus Sur. Then th' Justice turn'd 
 im to me, on sed. Is aw this true ot tis mon seys, heors to 
 meh ? It is sed I ; part on't : on part on't is naw : for I 
 did naw steyl this Tit : nor ist oboon two eawrs sin furst 
 time ot eh brad meh e'en on im. Heaw coom theaw't be- 
 riding owey wi' im then, if theaw did naw steyl im ? Why, 
 o good deed Sur, os I'r goink toart whom to dey, o felly 
 well little reawnd Hat, on o scrunt Wig, cullur o yoar's. 
 
ot 
 
 welly, boll shorter, oe'er took meh ; he wur riding o one Tit 
 on lad another. Neaw this men seeink I'r toyart, becose I 
 went wigglety-wagglety ith' lone, he offert meh his lad Tit 
 t' ride on. I'r fene oth proffer beleemy, on geet on : boh 
 he rid off. Whip un Spur, tho' he could hardly mey th' Tit 
 keawnter, on wou'd stey on meh ot on Ele-heawse ith' road. 
 Neaw Measter Justice, I'd naw gon three quarters on o Mile 
 boh theese fok o'ertean meh ; towd meh I'd stown th' Tit, 
 on neaw han brought meh hither, os in I'r o Yorshar 
 Horse-steyler. On this is aw true Measter Justice, or mey 
 I ne'er gut' on ill pleck when eh dee. 
 
 M. Primely spok'n efeath Tummus ! yo meet shad'n Wry- 
 not eh tellink this tele, think I ; boh whot sed th' Justice 
 then? 
 
 T. Whau, he sed; Heors to meh ogen, theaw Yungster; 
 tell meh where theaw wur t' tother dey boh yusterday, 
 especially ith' Oandurth, will to? Whau, sed I, I seet eawt 
 fro Whom soon ith' yoandurth wi' o Keaw on o Kawve for 
 Eatchdaw; meh Kawve wur kilt ith' lone, with o Tit Ooak'n 
 OS eh coom ; on ith' Oandurth I'r aw up on deawn eh this 
 Neighbourhood, dooink meh best t' sell meh Bitch ot fok 
 caw'dn o Bandyhewit, t' see if eh cou'd mey th' Kawve 
 money up for me Measter : but waes me e'ery-body wur 
 gett'n fittut with um. So I'r kest into th' dark, on force t' ' 
 stey ot Littleborough aw neet. On where wur to yusterday, 
 sed Justice? Whau, sed I, I maundert up on deawn here- 
 obeawt ogen, oth' seme sleeveless arnt, on wur forc't harbour 
 awth' last neet in o Barn where Boggarts swarm'n (Lord 
 bless us) on breed'n, I believe ; for oytch body seys its never 
 beawt um; on to dey os I'r gooink whom I leet o this felly 
 ot I took for a Horse-Jockey, on so wur tean up be theese 
 fok for a Tit-steyler. Boh hark the meh, theaw Prisner, sed 
 th' Justice, wur naw theaw here tother dey boh yusterdey 
 wi' the Dog, prethee? I wur Sur; boh yoad'n naw buy 
 
65 
 
 hur, for yoarn fittut too. Whot time oth' dey moot it bee, 
 thinks to? Between three an four o'Clock, sed 1. Beleemy 
 mon, I think theaw'rt oather greeave or greeave-by, sed he. 
 Here, yo, Mester Ounstable follow me. Neaw, Meary, whot 
 dust think? boh while theese two wur eawt o bit, this 
 Teastril ; this Tyke of o Clark caw'd me aside an proffert 
 bring meh clear off for hoave o Ginney. Seys I, mon, if 1 
 knew a Hawter munt mey meh Neck os lung os o Gonner 
 neck to morn, I cou'd naw rease hoave a Ginney: for 
 hong'd or naw hong'd I ha' naw one hawp'ney t' seve 
 meh neck wi'. Boh seys he, wilt gi' the Note for't ? Ill 
 gi' no Notes not I ; for I'd os good t' be hong'd for this 
 job, ost steyl on be hong'd for that ; on I no other wey t 
 rease it boh Steyling ot I know on. 
 
 M. Good Lord o marcy ! moor Eogues on moor ! neaw 
 awt upo' aw sitch teastrils for ever on o dey lunger, sey I. 
 
 T. Hust hust, Meary; for neaw th' Justice an th' Gun- 
 stable coom in. 
 
 M. E Law I'll be hong'd meh seln if eh dunnaw dither 
 for fear : boh go forrud Tummus. 
 
 T. Why, th' Justice after rubbing his broo on droying 
 his fease deawn, sed ; Here, yo Mester Cunstable, on yo, 
 fellow ot owns this Tit; I mun tell ye, that yore booath ith' 
 rang Box : an han gett'n th' rang Soo by th' Yeer. For 
 this yungster here cou'd naw steyl this Tit th' last Gandurth 
 boh one : for between three an four o'Clock that dey I seed 
 him here me sell : on yo sen this Tit wur stown fro' Cown- 
 edge obeawt that time. Neaw he cou'd naw bee eh two 
 plecks ot one time, yo known. So heors to meh yung mon. 
 I mun quit the as to this job ; so go the wey whom ; on be 
 honest. I will, sed I, on thonks Measter Justice : for yoan 
 pood Truth eawt on a durty pleck ot lunglength. So I 
 mede im o low bow, on a greyt Scroap weh meh Shoough 
 on coom meh wey. 
 
60 
 
 M. Brevely cumn off Turn! eigh, on merrily too, I'll up- 
 howd o'. Neaw een God bless aw honest Justices, say I. 
 
 T. Eigh eigh ; on so sey I too : for I'd good luck ot 
 heel of aw, or Turn had naw bin here t'a towd teh this 
 Tele. Boh yet Meary, I think eh meh guts ot teers Meawse- 
 neezes omung some on um, os weell os omung other fok ; 
 or why shou'd tis seme Clark o his, when he porceiv't I'r 
 innocent, proffert bring meh off for hawve o Ginney ? Had 
 naw this o strung savor of fere cheeoting ; ne deawn-reet 
 nipping o poor fok. On does teaw think ot tees Justices 
 do naw know, when these Tykes plene o hundurt wur tricks 
 thin this in o yeer? Beside, Meary, I hard that fawse felly 
 Dick o Yems o owd Harry's sey, ot he kneaw sum on um ot 
 went snips wi' theese Catterpillars their Clarks : on if so, 
 shou'd they naw be hugg'd oth' seme back, on scutcht with' 
 seme Eod wi'ther Clarks, heors to me? 
 
 M. Now now, not tey marry : for if sitch things munt 
 be done greadly on os teh aught to bee, th' bigger Eascot 
 shou'd ha' th' bigger smacks, on moor on um, yo known, 
 Tummus. Boh greyt fok oft dun whot te win wi' littleons 
 reet or rank ; whot kere'n they. So let's leeof sitch to mend 
 when the con hit on't ; on neaw tell meh heaw ye went'n 
 on wither Measter. 
 
 T. Eigh byth' Miss Meary I'd freeot'n that. Why then 
 theaw mun know, eh sitch o kese os tat I'd no skuse to 
 mey, for I towd im heawth' Kawve wur kilt ith' Lone ; on 
 ot I'd sowd the Hoyde for throtteen-pence. On then I cou'd 
 tell im no moor; for he nipt up the Deashon, ot stoode 
 oth' Harstone, on whirld it at meh : Boh estid o hitting 
 me, it hit th' Eeeam-Mug ot stoode oth' Hob ; on Keyvt awth 
 Eeeam into th' Eoyar ; Then th' Battril coom, on whether 
 it lawmt th' Barn ot wur ith' Keather I know naw, for I 
 laft it rooaring on belling ; so as I'r scamp'ring awey, eawr 
 Seroh asht meh where e wou'd gooa? I towd'r ot Nicko 
 oth' Farmer's greyt Leath wur next, an I'd go thither. 
 
67 
 
 M. Of awth' Spots ith' Ward, there wou'd not I ha com'n 
 for a Yepsintle a Ginneys. 
 
 T. I geawse theaw meeons becose fok sen Boggarts aw- 
 lus hawntit it : Boh theaw knows I'r wickitly knockt jip, 
 and force is Meds'n for a mad Dog, os I towd te afore. 
 
 M. It matters naw ; it wou'd never ha sunk'n into me 
 ta harbort there. 
 
 T. Well, but I went; an just as i'r gett'n to th' Leath 
 Dur, whooa shou'd e meet boh Yed o'Jeremy's their New 
 Mon. 
 
 M. That leet wecl ; for Yed's os greadly o Lad as needs 
 t' knep oth' Hem of a keke. 
 
 T. True : So I towd im meh Kese e short, an sooary he 
 lookt too-to : I wish e durst let te lye we me sed he ; but 
 as I boh coom to wun here this Dey Sennit, I dare naw 
 venter. But I'll shew thee a prime Mough o Hey, an theaw 
 mey do meeterly frowt I know. Thattle doo, sed I, shew it 
 me, for i'm stark an ill done. So while he'ur shewing it 
 meh with Scoance, he sed ; I sumraot tell the Turn, but I'm 
 loath. Theaw meeons obeawt boggarts, sed I, but I'm lik't 
 venter. Theaws meet hit it, sed he : An I con tell the, I 
 cou'd like meh pleck primely but for that : Heawe'cr as th' 
 Tits mun eawt very yarly, I mun Provon um o beawt one 
 o'clock, an I'll cawt' see heaw tha goes on : 'Sblid sed I, 
 if theaw mun eawt so yarly, I'll fodder an Provon the Tits 
 for the, an theaw mey sleep intle ley th' Proven ready. 
 Then he shew'd me heawth' Mough wur cut with a Hey 
 knife, hawve wey deawn like a great Step, on that I moot 
 come off yeasily o that Side : So we bid tone tother good 
 Neet. I'r boh meet sattlt when eh heard summot ith' Leath. 
 Good-Lorjus Meary ! meh Flesh crept o meh Booans, on 
 meh Yeears crackt ogen weh hark'ning. Presently I heard 
 somebody caw sawfly, Tummus, Tummus. I knew th' Yoice, 
 an sed, whooas tat tee Seroh? Eigh sed boo, an I stowii 
 
08 
 
 a lyte Wetur-podditch, an some Thrutchings, and a Treacle-, 
 butter-keke if eh con eyght urn. Fear me not, sed I, for 
 I'm as hongry as a Rott'n. Whau mitch-go-deet o with um 
 sed laoo ; an yo mey come on begin for they need'n no 
 keeling. Neaw I'r e sitch a flunter e getting to th' Wark, 
 ot I'd freeot'n Spot ot Yed towd me on, so I feell deawn 
 offth' heest Side oth' Mough, an sitch a Floose o Hey foUut 
 me, ot it driv meh shiar deawn, an Seroh, with meyt inner 
 hont o top me ; an quite hill'd us booath. 
 
 M. Cots fish, tlais wur a nice Trick oth' bookth on't, 
 wur it na\v ? 
 
 T. Eigh, sot' wur ; boh it leet weell atth' Podditch wur 
 naw Scawding : For when we'd'n mede Shift to heyve an 
 creep fro underth' Hey, some oth' Podditch I fund had 
 dawbt' up tone o meh neen. Thrutchings wur'n shed oth' 
 Weastbant o meh Breeches, an th' Treacle-butter-keke stickt 
 to Seroh's Brat. Heawe'er, weh scrawming obeawt ith' Dark, 
 we geet up whot we cou'd, an I eet it Snap, for beleemy 
 Meary I'r so keen bitt'n I mede no hawks at o Heyseed. 
 So while I'r busy cadging mey Wem, hoo tow'd me boo 
 lipp'nt hur feather wur turn'd Strackling, an if I went whom 
 agen, I'st be edawnger o being Breant: That meh deme 
 wou'd ha met'run, for I shou'd be lose ot Feersuns een, on 
 it matter't naw mitch. I thowt this wur good keawnsil, so 
 I geet Seroh t' fotch me meh tother Sark ; hoo did so, an I 
 thankt 'ur, bid Farewell, an so we partit. I soon sattlt meh 
 sell ith' mough under a Floose o Hey, an slept so weel, ot 
 when e wack'nt I'r feerd ot id o'er slept meh sell, on cou'd 
 naw Provon th' Tits e Time. 
 
 M. It wur weel far yo ot e cou'd'n Sleep at aw, for I'st 
 ne'er ha lede meh een t'gether I'm shure. 
 
 T. Whau, but I startit up to go to th' Tits, and slurr'd 
 deawn to th' lower Part oth' Mough ; and by the Maskins- 
 Lord whot dust to think, boh I leet hump stridd'n up o 
 
69 
 
 Bummot ot feld meety Hewry, an it startit up weh me on 
 its Back, deawn th' lower Part oth' Heymough it jumpt ; 
 Crost t'leath ; eawt oth' dur wimmy it took ; an intoth' 
 Watering-poo as if the Deel o Hell had driv'n it; and there 
 it threw me in, or I feel off, I connaw tell whether for th' 
 life on meh. 
 
 M. Whoo-who, whoo-who, whoo ! whot ith' Name o God 
 winneh sey ! 
 
 T. Sey, — why I sey true as t'Gospil ; an I'r so freetn't I 
 wur warr set to get eawt (if possible) in e wur when Nip an 
 me feel off th' Bridge. 
 
 M. I never heard sitch teles sin meh Neme wur Mall, 
 nor no mon elze, think I ! 
 
 T. Teles ! — Udds bud, tak um awt gether, an theyd'n 
 welly mey a Mont ston oth' wrang eend. 
 
 M. Well but wur it owd Nick, think'n eh, or it wur naw ! 
 
 T. I hete to tawk on't, wilt howd te tung, but if it wur 
 naw owd Nick, he wur th' orderer on't to be shure. 
 
 M. Why Tummus pre'o' whot wur it? 
 
 T. Bless meh Meary ! theawrt so yearnstful ot teaw'll 
 naw let meh tell meh tele. Why, I did naw know meh sell 
 whot it wur of an eawr. — If eh know yet. 
 
 M. Well, boh heaw went'n yo on then? 
 
 T. Whau, well mitch powlering I geet eawt oth' Poo; an 
 be meh troth, lieve meh as to list, 1 cou'd naw tell whether 
 I'r in a Sleawm or wak'n, till eh groapt at meh Neen : An 
 as I'r resolv'd to come no moor ith' Leath, I crope under a 
 Wough, and stoode like a Gawmbling, or a parfect Neatril 
 till welly Dey ; and just then Ned coom. 
 
 M. That wur passing weel considering th' kese ot yoar'n 
 in. 
 
 T. True, Lass ; for I think I'r never feaner t' see no- 
 body sin ir' kersunt. 
 ■17. Whot sed Yed ? 
 
70 
 
 T. Why he heeve up his Honds, an he blest, an he 
 prey'd, an mede sitch Marlocks, that if I'd naw bin eh that 
 wofo Pickle I'st a bross'n weh Leawghing. Then he asht 
 meh heaw I coom t' be so weet? And why e stoode teer ? 
 An sitch like, I towd him I cou'd gi ho okeawnt o meh sell ; 
 boh that I'r carrit eawt oth' Leath be owd Nick as I thowt. 
 
 M. I'd awlus a Notion whot it wou'd prove ith' heel of aw. 
 
 T. Pre 'the howd te Tung a bit, — theaw puts me eawt. 
 I towd im I thowt it wur owd nick ; for it wur vast strung ; 
 very hewry ; and meety swift. 
 
 M. E, what a greyt marcy it is yore where ye ar Tummns ! 
 
 T. Eigh Meary so't is ; for its moor in I expectit. Boh 
 theawst hear. Yed wur so flay'd weh that bit at I'd towd 
 im, ot he geete meh by th' Hont, an sed, come Tummus, 
 let's flit fro this Pleck ; for my part I'll naw stey one Min- 
 nit lenger. Sed I, iftle fotch meh Sark eawt oth' Leath I'll 
 geaw with the. Ney sed he, that I'll never do while my 
 Names Yed. Whau, sed I, then I'm lik't goa boawt it. 
 Dunnaw trouble the nob obeawt tat: I two o whoam, an 
 I'll gi theeth' tone, come let's get off sed he. So were'n 
 marching awey ; and before wed'n gon five Rood, I seed 
 summot, an seete up a greyt Reeak (for I thowt I'd seen 
 owd Nick agen, Lord bless us) : Seys Yed, whot ar to breed 
 we neaw Tummus? I pointit th' Finger, an sed, is naw tat 
 te Dule ? Which, sed he : That, under th' Hedge, sed I. 
 Now, now, naw hit ; that's eawer young Cowt ot lies reawt, 
 sed Yed. The Dickons it is sed I ! Boh I think eh meh 
 Guts ot that carrit me eawt oth' Leath. Then Yed axt 
 meh, if th' dur wur opp'n? I towd im I thowt it wur. But 
 I'm shure I toynt it sed Yed. That moot be sed I, for 
 after theaw laft me eawr Seroh browt me meh Supper ; an 
 boo moot leeave it opp'n. By th' Miss sed Yed, if so Turn 
 this very Cowt'll prove th' Boggart! lets into th' Leath, and 
 sep, for it's naw so Dark as't wur. With aw meh Heart 
 
11 
 
 sed I ; boll let's stick toth' tone tother's Hond then. A 
 thibs'n we went into tli' Leath, and by meh truth Meary I 
 know naw whot' think : There wur a Yepsintle a Cowt- 
 tooarts upoth' lower Part oth' Hey-mough, and th' Pleck 
 where it had lyen as plene as a Pike Staff. But still, ift 
 wur hit ot carrit meh, I marvil heaw I cou'd stick on so 
 lung, it wur eh sitch a hurry to get awey ! 
 
 M. "Whot te firrups ! it signifies nowt, for whether ye 
 stickt on, or feel off, I find that eawr owd Nick wur th 
 Cowt at lies reawt. 
 
 r. Whau, I connaw sey a deeol abeawt it, it looks likly, 
 as teaw seys : Boh if this wur not a Boggart, I think there 
 never wur none, if teyd'n bin reetly sifted into. 
 
 M. Marry, I'm mitch eh yore mind, — but hark ye, did 
 neh leet o' yer Sark ? 
 
 T. Eigh, eigh ; I height eh meh Pocket se the, for its 
 boh meet neaw at eh took meh leave o Yed, on neaw theaw 
 sees I'm running meh Country. 
 
 M. On whot dunneh think t' do? 
 
 T. I think t' be an Ostler ; for I con mex'n, keem, on 
 fettle Tits, os weel os onny one on um aw, tho' theaw mey 
 think its gawstring. 
 
 M. Ney, I con believe 'o E law, whot o cank ban we 
 
 had ! I mennaw eem t' stey onny lunger. God be with 'o ; 
 for I mun owey. 
 
 T. Howd : — Ney, Meary : le meh ha one Smeawtch ot 
 parting, for theaw'rt none sitch o feaw Whean nother. 
 
 M. Ney. Neaw, So Tummus ; go teaw, on Slaver 
 
 Seroh o Eutchot's in ye bin so kipper. 
 
 T. Why neaw, heaw spytfoo tlieaw art ! Whot in o Body 
 doo like Seroh ; there's no Body boh the lik'n somebody. 
 
 M. Eigh, true Tummus ; boh then sometimes some-body 
 likes some-body elze. 
 
73 
 
 T. I geawse whot to meeons; For theawr't glenting ot 
 tat flopper-meawth't gob-slotch Bill o' Owd-Katty's : Becose 
 ot Fok sen Seroh hankers after im : I marvel whot te Dule 
 hoo con see in him ; I'm mad at hur. 
 
 M. Like enough ; for its o feaw life t' Luff thoose ot 
 Luff'n other Fok: Boh yoar o Ninyhommer t' heed 'ur; for 
 there's none sitch farrantly tawk abeawt'r. 
 
 T. Why, whot done they say ? 
 
 M. I mennaw tell: Beside yoan happly tey't non so 
 
 weel in o Body shou'd. 
 
 T. Whaw, I connaw be angurt ot tee, chez whot to seys, 
 OS lung OS to boh harms after other fok. 
 
 M. Why then, they sen, ot hoos o Mawkinly, Dagg'd-a-st, 
 Wisk-tel't, Whean ; on— on — 
 
 T. On whot Meary? Speyk eawt. 
 
 M. Why to be plene with o ; tey sen ot hur Moother 
 took Bill owd Katty's on hur eh Bed t'gether, last Sun- 
 day Morning. 
 
 T. E — the Dev (good Lord bless us) is tat true ? 
 
 M. True ! Heaw shou'd t' be otherways for hur Moother 
 wur crying, on soughing to me Deme last Munday yeandurth 
 obeawt it. 
 
 T. 'Sflesh Meary ! I'm fit cruttle deawn intoth' Yeoarth : 
 I'd leefer o tean forty Eawls ! 
 
 M. Why luckit neaw; I'm een sooary for't: God help it, 
 will it topple o'er? Munneh howd it heeod while it Heart 
 brasts o bit? 
 
 T. E Meary ; theaw little gawms heaw it thrutches meh 
 Plucks ! for if t' did, theaw'd naw mey sitch o Hobbil on 
 meh. 
 
 M. Neaw eh meh good Troth, I con hardly howd meh 
 unlaight, f see heaw fast yore en Luff's Clutches ! Boh I 
 thowt I'd try 'o. 
 
 T. Meary, whot dus to meeon ? 
 
73 
 
 M. Why, I towd o Parcil o thumping lies o purpose 
 t' pump 'o. 
 
 T. The Dickons tey the Meary. Whot on awkert 
 
 Whean ar teaw! whot teh Pleague did t' flay meh o thiss'n 
 far ? theawrt o wheant Lass — I'd leefer o gon the Arnt forty 
 Mile. 
 
 M. Eigh o hundurt, rether thin o had it o bin true : 
 But I thowt I'd try 'o. 
 
 T. Well ; on if I dunnaw try thee, titter or latter, ittle 
 be marvel ! 
 
 M. I'ts o greyt marcy yo connaw doot neaw for cruttling 
 deawn. — Boh I mun owey : For if meh Deme be cumn 
 Whoam there'll be ricking. — Well, think on ot yoad'n rether 
 ha tene forty Eawls. 
 
 T. I'st think on ot teaw looks o bit whisky ches whot 
 Seroh o Eutchots is. 
 
 M. I heard um sey ot gexing's o kint' lying, on ot proof 
 oth' Puddinlg's ith' Eyghting. — So Fere weell Tummus. 
 
 T. Meary, fere the weell heartily ; on gi'meh Luff to 
 Seroh, left leet heawt will. 
 
 M. Winneh forgi' meh then ? 
 
 T. Byth' Miss will eh Meary, froth' bothum o me Crop. 
 
^ Q[L(!)s^a[a7 
 
 LANCASHIRE WORDS AND PHRASES. 
 
 In which many of the useless corruptions are omitted, and wherein 
 the Reader may observe, 
 
 A.S. 
 Bel. 
 Br. 
 Da 
 
 Anglo-Saxon. 
 Belgic. 
 British. 
 Danish. 
 
 That Words marlt'd ■{ j-. )-cmne from thei. -r) ^ -u 
 
 Fr. 
 
 Sw. 
 Teu. 
 
 ACTILLY, actually. 
 Ackersprit, a potatoe with roots at 
 
 both ends. 
 Addle, to get; also unfruitful. A.S. 
 Afterings, the last of a cow's milk. 
 Agate, on the way. 
 Agog, set on, begun. 
 Aighs, an ax. A. S. 
 
 '•and 
 Ancliff, ancle. A. S. 
 Anent, opposite. A. S. 
 Appern, apron. 
 Appo, an apple. 
 Ar, are. 
 
 ' \an hour, also our. 
 Eawer, J 
 
 Areawt, owJ of doors. 
 
 Ark, a large chest. A. S. 
 
 French. 
 
 Swedish. 
 
 Teutonic. 
 
 Arnt, errand. 
 an Arr, a mark or scarr. 
 Arren, arrant, downright. 
 Arsewood, backward, unwilling. 
 
 A. S. 
 Arsey-versey, heels over head. A.S. 
 Ashelt, likely, probable. 
 Ash, \ 
 Ax, 
 Axen, 
 Ash'n,, 
 Ashler, large free stone, or moor 
 
 stone. 
 
 Asht, ) 
 
 \ asked. 
 
 Ashes, ) 
 
 ■ask. A. 
 
 asks. 
 
 Axt, ) 
 Ash( 
 Axes, 
 Asker, a nute. 
 Astite, as soon. 
 At't, at it. 
 
 A. S. 
 
75 
 
 Awf, an elf, an earthly demon. Bel. 
 
 Awkert, untoward; also comical. 
 A. S. 
 
 Awlung, all owing to, because, dc. 
 
 Awlus, always. 
 
 Awmeety, Almighty. 
 
 Awnsert, answered. 
 
 Aw o'like, q. all I love, an inter- 
 jection. 
 
 Awto'pont, out upon it. 
 
 Awtert, altered. 
 
 Awvish, queer, comical. 
 
 B 
 
 Baooo, tobacco. 
 Baokurt, backward. 
 Bakstone, q. bakestone. A. S. 
 Bagging-time, baiting-time. 
 Balderdash, hodge-podge. A. S. 
 Ball, the body of a tree. ^ 
 
 Bally, belly. 
 Ban, cursing. Bel. 
 Bandyhewit, a name given to any 
 
 dog, when persons intend to make 
 
 sport with his master. 
 Bang, to beat. Bel. 
 Bankreawt, broken credited. 
 Barklt, dirt, dc. hardened on hair, 
 
 %c. 
 Bant, a string. 
 Bargin, bargain. 
 Barmskin, a leather apron. 
 Barn, a child. A. S. 
 Barst, burst. 
 Bastert, bastard. 
 
 Bastertly-gullion, a bastard's bas- 
 tard. 
 
 Bate, \ without, or except, also 
 
 Beawt,]" about, or trial. 
 
 Batter, of which pancakes are 
 made. 
 
 Battril, a batting-staff us'd by 
 laundresses. 
 
 Bautert, vide barklt. 
 
 Bawk, a piece of timber laid cross 
 a house ; also to deceive. Bel. 
 
 Bawks, discouragements ; also a 
 hay-loft. Bel. 
 
 Be, by. 
 
 Beasting, a beating. 
 
 Beawls, bowls. 
 
 Beawlt'nt, bowled. 
 
 Beck'n, to call by thejingers. A. S. 
 
 Becose, because. 
 
 Eeeart, a beard. 
 
 Been, nimble, clever. 
 
 Beeos, cows. 
 
 Beest, undigested milk, that next 
 after calving. A. S. 
 
 Beest'n-Castle, q. Beeston-Castle, 
 7 miles from Chester. 
 
 Beet-need, a help on particular 
 occasions. 
 
 Begant', ; 
 
 Begunt'jJ 
 
 Behint, behunt, behund ; cdl sig- 
 nifying behind. 
 
 Beleady, by our lady. 
 
 Beleakins, a diminutive of by our 
 lady, or an interjection. 
 
 \beqan to. 
 
re 
 
 Bell, q. helloivs, mala' a noise. 
 
 Beleeft, believed. 
 
 Beleemy, believe ine;from belamy, 
 
 my good friend. Old Fr. 
 
 Belive, by and by. 
 
 Bellart, a bidl or bears ward. 
 
 Bell'n, ) „ 
 
 „ ,,. tmamnq a noise. A. b. 
 Belling,) •' 
 
 Bench, a seat. 
 
 Ber, force. 
 
 Berm, yest. A. S. 
 
 Besliite, to foul, to dirty. A. S. 
 
 Beshote, dirtied. Ten. 
 
 Bezzle,//'o;« einbe-^de, to waste. 
 
 Bib, a breast doath. 
 
 Bin, been. 
 
 Bit, a small part. 
 
 Bitter-bump, the bittern. 
 
 Blackish, inclining to black. 
 
 Blackstone-edge, a hill between 
 
 Lancashire and Yorkshire. 
 
 Blain, a little boil. A. S. 
 
 Bleb, a bubble. Bel. 
 
 Bleffin, a block or icedge. 
 
 Bleffin-head, a blockhead. 
 
 Blend, mi.v. A. S. 
 
 Blendit, mixed. A. S. 
 
 Blid,/rom blood; an interjection. 
 
 Blinkert, blind of one eye. 
 
 Blur, a blot. Sp. 
 
 Boadle, half a farthing. 
 
 Bode, did abide, also foretell. A. S. 
 
 Boggart, a spirit, an apparition. 
 
 Boggle, to be afraid. Du. 
 
 Boh, but. N.B. — This and some 
 
 other La}ic((shire words ending with 
 a, are pronounced with a very 
 short aspiration, as meh,for me, dr. 
 
 Boke, to point the finger at. Bel. 
 
 Bonkful, bankful. 
 
 Booan, a bone. 
 
 Booart, a board. 
 
 Bookth, bulk, the largeness of a 
 thing. A. S. 
 
 Boose, a cow's stall. A. S. 
 
 Bote, did bite. 
 
 Bo'tli', but the. 
 
 Bought, U/ie bend, as the bought of 
 
 Boot, J the elbow, c(-c. 
 
 Bowd, bold. 
 
 Borrut, borrowed. 
 
 Boyrn, to rinse or wash. 
 
 Boyrnt, u-ash'd. A. S. 
 
 Brabble, \ 
 
 Brangle, 
 
 Brabblement, 
 
 Branglement, 
 
 Braggot, new ale spiced with sugar, 
 dc. Br. 
 
 Brad, spread, opened. 
 
 Brass, copper-money, also all sorts 
 of coin. 
 
 Brast, 
 
 Brastit, 
 
 Brat, a child ; cdso a coarse apron. 
 A.S. 
 
 Brawn, a boar. 
 
 Breans, brains. 
 
 Bree, broth u-ithoiit meal ; also to 
 fear a person. 
 
 A. S. 
 
 a squabble orfcdling 
 out. Bel. 
 
 burst. 
 
Breechus, breeches. 
 Breed, frightened. 
 Breether, btvthers. 
 Brekfust, breakfast. 
 Breve, brave. 
 Breyd, a board. 
 Brid, a bird. 
 Brigg, a bridge. 
 Briggs, irons to set over the fire. 
 Brimming, a sow is said to be so 
 when she wants to engender. A. S. 
 Brindlt, u mixture of colours in 
 
 cows, dogs, Sc. 
 Britchel, aj^t to break. 
 Brok'n, broken. 
 Brog, a sivampy place; also a 
 
 bushy place. 
 To Brog, there are two ways of 
 fishing for eels, calVd brogging, 
 one with a long pole, line, and 
 plummet, the other by putting the 
 hook and worm on a small stick, 
 and thrusting it into holes where 
 the eels lye. Du. 
 Broo, brow, forehead. 
 Bruarts, the rim or brim of a hat. 
 Bruart, the blades of corn just 
 
 sprung up. 
 Bruck, brook. 
 Brunt, burnt. Bel. 
 Bruit, a rumour, a report. 
 Bruited, reported. 
 Bruzz'd, broken or dulled; also to 
 bniz the slcin off, is to knock it 
 of. 
 
 Buck, a book. 
 
 Bullockt, bullied, cheated. 
 
 Bun-liedge, a hedge made of taisUd 
 
 sticks. 
 Bunhorns, briers bored for to irind 
 
 yam on, iis'd by unollen wearers. 
 Burley, thick, clumsy. Teu. 
 Bur, a very tenacious flowerbob, or 
 
 seed of the large water dock. 
 Buzz'd, whisper'd. 
 Byth' miss, q. by the mass, an 
 
 interjection. 
 Byzen, bliiul. 
 
 C 
 
 Cadgikg, to stuff the belly ; also to 
 
 bind or tie a thing. 
 Cam, awry. Br. 
 Canim'd, crooked, gone awry ; cdso 
 
 argued crossly, ill nataredly. 
 
 Camp,) „ ^ 
 
 \ to talk of any thing. 
 
 Camperknows, ale pottage, in 
 wliich are put sugar, spices, dc. 
 
 Campo, I 
 
 Cample,) 
 
 Cankard, rusty ; also ill natured. 
 
 Cant, healthful, chearful. Bel. 
 
 Capable, able to do. 
 
 Caper-cousins, great friends. 
 
 Capt, to be set fast, to overdo 
 a person. 
 
 To Cark, to be careful and diligent. 
 A.S. 
 
 Carl, a clown. A. S. 
 
 to prate saucily. 
 
Carliijgs, peas boiled on Care-Sun- 
 day are so called, i. e. the 
 Sunday before Palm Sunday. 
 
 Carrit, carried; also a carrot. 
 
 A Carry-pleck, is a boggy place 
 whose water leaves a red sedi- 
 ment. 
 
 Carron, q. carrion, a term of 
 reproach. 
 
 Catter, to heap up, to thrive in the 
 world. Fr. 
 
 , ' [ called. 
 Gawd n, I 
 
 Cawn, they call. 
 
 /wooing or ram- 
 bling in the night 
 after the manner 
 of cats, from 
 ^whence it comes. 
 
 Catterwawing, 
 Catterwalling, 
 
 Cawfe, a calf. 
 
 Cawfe-tail, a dunce. 
 
 Cliaffo, to chew. 
 
 A Char, a small job of work ; also 
 
 to stop. A. S. 
 Charger, platters, dishes. 
 Cliark, a crack. 
 Charn, a churn. 
 Charn-curdle, a churn-staff. 
 Chary, careful, or painful. 
 Chat, to talk; also a small twig. 
 
 Fr. 
 Cheeons, chains. 
 Cheeot, cheat. 
 Cheeop, cheap. 
 Chez, from chuse. 
 
 Chieve, to prosper. 
 Chill, cold. A. S. 
 Chill-blains, a swelling in the 
 
 fingers and toes. 
 Childer, children. 
 Chilt, a child. 
 Chimley, a chimney. 
 Chip, an egg is said to chip ivhen 
 
 the young cracks the shells. 
 Choamber, a chamber. 
 Choance, a chance. 
 Chomp, to chew ; also to ei'ush, or 
 
 cut things small. 
 Choynge, change. 
 Churn-getting, a nightly feast 
 
 after the com is cut. 
 Clammer, to climb ; also a great 
 
 noise. 
 Clammy, gluish, tough. A. S. 
 Clatch, a brood of chickens. 
 Clatter, a sudden noise. A. S. 
 Cleeart, cleared. 
 Cleawd, a cloud. 
 Cleawt, a clout. 
 Cleek, to catch at hastily. 
 Cleeon, clean. 
 
 Cleeoning, the after-birth of a cow. 
 Clemm'd, famish'd, starv'd. 
 Clever, I lusty, skilful ; also very 
 Cliver, ) well. 
 Clewkin, a sort of strong twine. 
 
 A. S. 
 A Clock, a beetle. 
 Clocking, the noise of broody 
 
 hens. A. S. 
 
70 
 
 Clooas, clothes. 
 
 Cloyse,-! very near; also a croft 
 
 Close, ) or field. 
 
 Clotted, sticking together. Bel. 
 
 Clough, a wood; also a valley. 
 A. S. 
 
 Clozzoms, tallons, vid. clutches. 
 
 Clum, did climb. 
 
 Clumst, 1 unhandy, unwieldy. 
 
 Clumsy, J Du. 
 
 Glussumt, swollen with cold. Du. 
 
 Clut, to strike, a blow. 
 
 Clutches, the hands, the talons of 
 birds ; also in possession of. 
 
 Clutters, all on heaps. Du. 
 
 Cluttert, gather' d on heaps. Du. 
 
 Coaken, the sharp part of a horse- 
 shoe ; also to strain in the act of 
 vomiting. 
 
 To Cob, to throw. 
 
 Cobstones, stones that may he 
 thrown; and also larger stones. 
 A. S. 
 
 Cob-coals, large pit-coals. A. S. 
 
 Cook, to stand up, as cock thy tail, 
 hold it high. 
 
 Cocker, to fondle ; also an old 
 hose without foot. Fr. 
 
 Cockers, and trashes, old stock- 
 ings without feet, and over-worn 
 shoes. 
 
 Cocket, pert. A. S. 
 Cods, the testicles. A. S. 
 Cod-piece, the fore part of bree- 
 ches. A. S. 
 
 a fence. 
 
 A. S. 
 Bel. 
 
 Coil, a great stir ; also a lump on 
 
 the head, by a blow. 
 
 CoUock, a large pale. 
 
 Com, 1 
 
 „ la comb. 
 
 Coomp.J 
 
 Coom, came. 
 
 Con, can ; also to con a thing over, 
 
 is to look it over. 
 
 Condle, a candle. 
 
 Conny, brave, fine. 
 
 Cooth, a cold. 
 
 Cops, balls or lumps of yarn. A. S. 
 
 Cop, 
 
 Copping, i 
 
 Copweb, spider's web. 
 
 Cokes, 1 . 
 
 _ , \ cinders. 
 
 Corks, J 
 
 Cosey, a causeway. 
 
 Cost'n, did cost. 
 
 Costril, a little barrel. 
 
 Cotsfish, q. God's flesh. 
 
 a pin to hold the wheel 
 on the axle tree, by 
 some called a lin-pin. 
 
 Covert, covered. 
 
 Cowd, cold. Du. 
 
 Cowken, a straining to vomit. 
 
 Cown, Colne in Lancashire. 
 
 Crackling, a thin wheaten cake. 
 
 Craddins, to lead craddins is to 
 pilay bold adventurous tricks. 
 
 Craddinly, cowardly. 
 
 Crags, rocky rough places. Br. 
 
 Cram'd, crooked. 
 Crap, money. 
 
 Cotter, 
 Cotterel, 1 
 
80 
 
 Crash, the noise of any thiwj u-hen 
 
 it breaks. 
 Cratch, a rack for hay, dc. A. S. 
 Cratchinly,/(S«6?('. weak. 
 Creawp-ars'd, hog-breech'd. 
 Creawn, a crown. 
 Creeas, the measles. 
 Creawse, very loving, lustful. 
 Crevis, a hole, or crack. 
 Creemt, to give a thing jjrivately. 
 Cretur, creature. 
 Crewet, a sort of glass vial to hold 
 
 vinegar. 
 Crib, a place to hold sucking calves ; 
 
 also a pinfold, a gaol. 
 Cricks an howds, pains d- strains. 
 Cricket, a small stool; also a house 
 
 insect. 
 Crimble, to go into small crumbs. 
 Crimble ith' poke, is to run back 
 
 of a bargain, to be coicardly. 
 Crinkle, to bend under a weight, 
 
 also to rumple a thing. Du. 
 Christins, christians. 
 Crom, to stuff; also to put a thing 
 
 in a place. 
 Cromm'd, stuff' d. 
 Cronk, the noise of a raven ; also 
 
 to prate. Bel. 
 Crony, a true companion. 
 Croo, a' crib for a calf. 
 Crope, crept. 
 Crop'n, crept into. 
 Crow, an iron gavelock. 
 Crummil, Cromwell. 
 
 Cnn, \ to cun thanks is to give 
 
 Con, J thanks. 
 
 Crump, cramp a disease; also to 
 
 be out of humour. A. S. 
 Crumple, to ruffle. 
 Cruttle, to stoop doim, to fall, vid. 
 
 crinkle. Du. 
 Gubbort, cupboard. 
 Cud'n, could. 
 Cudneh, cou''d you. 
 Cullert, coloured. 
 Cumbert, cumbered. Du. 
 Cumn, co7ne, or came. 
 Cumpunny, company. 
 Cumt', come to. 
 Cun, can. 
 
 Cup o' sneeze, a pinch of snuff'. 
 Curtnurs, cwtains. 
 Cutter, to make much of, as a hen 
 
 or goose of their young. 
 Cuzz'n, cousin ; also to cheat. 
 
 D 
 Dab, a blow ; aho being active at 
 
 any thing. 
 Dacker, tickle, or unsettled wea- 
 ther. Teu. 
 D addle, to reel, or waver on the 
 
 road, to go as ducks. 
 Daffock, a dirty slattern. 
 Dagg'd-arse, ) q. dswy arse. 
 Dagg'd-tele, •' q. dirty slut. 
 Dane, doivn. 
 
 Dangus, the same with daffock. 
 Darn, to draw up a hole with a 
 
 needle. A. S. 
 
81 
 
 Dawnger, danger. 
 
 Dawnt, to fear. 
 
 Dawntle, to fondle. 
 
 DeaTvk, to go over head in water. 
 
 Deawmp, dumb. 
 
 Deawt, 1 
 
 I doubt. 
 Date, ) 
 
 Deeave, to stun with a noise. Du. 
 
 Deeavely, lonely. 
 
 Deeing, dying. 
 
 Deeod, dead. 
 
 Deeol, a deal, much. 
 
 Deeds, deals, trades with. 
 
 Deeoth, death. 
 
 Deet, daivbed, besmear'd. 
 
 Deg, to wet, to sprinkle water on. 
 
 Fr. 
 
 Deme, dame, 
 
 Desunt, handsome. 
 
 Day, day. 
 
 Didney, ) 
 
 „. , ' i did you. 
 
 Didneh, ) "^ 
 
 Dick, a by name for Richard. 
 Dickons, an interjection. 
 Dicky, a diminutire of Richard. 
 Dicky o'Wills, vid. Tummu^ 
 
 o'Williams. 
 Din, a noise. A S. 
 Ding, to knock, to strike. Teu. 
 Dingle, a valley. A. S. 
 Disactly, exactly. 
 Dither, to tremble. A.S. 
 Dithert, quaked, treyribled. 
 Doage, wettish, a little. 
 Dock, to crU off. 
 
 Dofft, put of, undressed. 
 
 Donk, a little wettish. Bel. 
 
 Donn'd, put on, dress' d. 
 
 Dons, put on. 
 
 Doo, do. 
 
 Dooal, money, £c. given at a 
 
 funeral, or other times. A. S. 
 Dosome, liealthful. 
 Dowd, dead, flat, spiritless. 
 Doot nor do, lingering, a bad state 
 
 of health. 
 
 Doing, or) 
 
 _ . \ healthful. 
 
 Dowing, j 
 
 Dowter, daughter. 
 
 Doytches, ditches. 
 
 Doytch-backs, fences. 
 
 Dozening,] 
 
 Dozing, 
 
 Draff, grains. A. S. 
 
 Draight, a drought or team. 
 
 Drape, a barren cow, one that is 
 not with calf. A. S. 
 
 Dreawps, drops. 
 
 Dreawnt, drowned. 
 
 Dree, long, tedious. A. S. 
 
 Dreeomt, dreamed. 
 
 Drench, to draw or let in water._ 
 
 A. S. 
 Drift, did drive. 
 Drizzle, to raiti softly. Bel. 
 Droy, to wipe, also thirsty. 
 Droy ve, q. drive ; also to put off. 
 Dubbler, a large dish, Bel. 
 Dungn, Jmocked. 
 Dunnaw, do not. 
 
 ' I slumbering. A. S. 
 
82 
 
 the eaves of a house, 
 our, also an hour. 
 
 Dunneh, do you. 
 
 Dur, a door. 
 
 Dur-cheeks, the frame of wood to 
 
 which doors hang. 
 Durn, that piece of wood or stone 
 
 by which yates or gates hang. 
 Duzz'n, a dozen, 19. 
 
 E. 
 E, q. ah! an interjection, cdso I; 
 
 also in; also you. 
 Ealt, ailed. 
 Eary, every. 
 Easing, or 
 Yeasing, 
 Eawer, or 
 Are, 
 Eawls, oivls. 
 Eawnee, ounce. 
 Eawt, out. 
 Eawtcumbling, out-cumbling, a 
 
 stranger. 
 Eawther, author. 
 Ebil, Abel. 
 Eebreen, 
 Eebrees, 
 Edder, a/ii adder. A. S. 
 Eddish, grass after mowing. A. S, 
 Ee, an eye; also ee, ee, is yes, yes. 
 'Eem, Iconnaw eem, i.e. I have no 
 
 time. 
 
 {eyes ; also even ; also an in- 
 terjection ; and likewise ayi 
 eve, or vigil. 
 Eendless-annat, the straight gut. 
 Eendways, endways, foncard. 
 
 eyebrows. 
 
 [did eat. 
 
 1 ' 
 
 Eendneaw, by and by. 
 
 Eete, 
 
 Eiyght,J 
 
 Egad, a diminutive of the oath, by 
 
 God. 
 Egodsnum, q. in God's name. 
 Efeakins, a diminutive of in faith. 
 Eh, he ; in; I, and you. 
 Eigh, yes, the same with ee. 
 E-law, q. ah. Lord. 
 Elder, an udder; cdso a Cromwell's 
 
 justice of peace. Bel. 
 Ele, ale, also ail. 
 Ere ever, before. 
 Eshin, a pale. 
 Elsin, a sort of awl. Teu. 
 Elt, to stir dough sometime after 
 
 kneading. 
 
 Esshole, ]the hole mider the fire to 
 
 Asliole, ) Iwld ashes. 
 
 EstiJ, instead. 
 
 Eteaw, broken; in pieces. 
 
 Ettercrops, ] 
 
 , ,, rspidei-s. Br. 
 
 Attercrops, J 
 
 Ett'n, eaten. 
 
 Ewer, ever. 
 
 Ex'n, q. oxen. 
 
 F 
 
 Fadge, a burden, or part of a 
 horse's load. 
 
 Fag, to tire. 
 
 Fag-end, the tail-end of the rem- 
 nant. A.S. 
 
 Fair-faw, a term of wishing well. 
 
83 
 
 Fammish'd, starod by famine. 
 Fangs, the tusks of a dor/ or bear. 
 
 A. S. 
 Far, for. 
 Far-geh, forgive. 
 Farrantly, q. fair and likely, 
 
 handsome. 
 Farrow, a sow's bringing forth 
 
 young. A. S. 
 Farry, a Utter of pigs. A. S. 
 'Esxim, fortnne. 
 Fash, the tojjs of tnrnij'S, dr. 
 Fattle be ith Foyar ; all will be 
 
 urmig. 
 Fattish, inclining to be fat. 
 
 Fo, W"- 
 
 Fawn, 1 
 
 ■fallen. 
 
 Foan, 
 
 Fawse,/ffl?s«. 
 
 Fawse Lunnoners, the ingenious 
 
 authors of the monthly reriew. 
 Favit, fault. 
 Feear, afraid. 
 Feaberry, gooseberries. 
 To Feft, is to give an estate for 
 life, dr. 
 
 (the Jiiiishi)ig or top- 
 ping of an hedge, 
 also laying hay on a 
 ^cart. A. S. 
 Vea.\Y,foid, ugly. 
 Feawly, ugly, unfortunately. 
 Feaw whean, an ugly woman. 
 Fe&xio, fearful. 
 
 Feathering, 
 
 Fere, 
 
 Fee\,feU. 
 
 Feggur, fairer. A. S. 
 
 Fe\<i,felt, perceived. 
 
 Feelt, afield. 
 
 Feersuns-een, shrovetide. 
 
 Felly, I 
 
 \a man. 
 Fellow, J 
 
 Fellicks, U/!.« round of a wheel. 
 
 Fellies, J Da. 
 
 Felly'l, the man will. 
 
 Fend, to endeavour ; to provide for. 
 I fair, honest; a fair, also 
 { fare or cheer. 
 
 Fest, 1 q. to fasten ; to bind 
 
 Fest'n, J apprentice. A. S. 
 
 Fethur, father. 
 
 Fettle, rfj'ess; case; condition. 
 
 Fewtrils, little things. 
 
 Fey, the earth lying over stone, 
 slate, dr. 
 
 To Fey, is to remove swh earth. 
 
 Fib, a lye. 
 
 Fin'st, best, bravest. 
 
 Firrups, a kind of imprecation. 
 
 Fittut, fitted, supply'd. 
 
 Flaiglit, a liglit turf. 
 
 Flap, the lap of a coat, dr. A. S. 
 
 Flasker, to dash or play in water. 
 
 Flash, a lake. Bel. 
 
 Flasket, a shallow basket. 
 
 Flay, to fear, to frighten. 
 
 Flay'd, frightened. 
 
 Fleak, a hurdle made of twisted 
 hazles ; aba a thing to dry oat- 
 cakes on. 
 
84 
 
 a splinter or shiver. Da. 
 
 To Fleak, to bask in the tun. 
 Du. 
 
 Fleekt, spotted. 
 
 Flee, Flay, to skiti. 
 
 Fleed, skinn'd. 
 
 Fleigh, a flea. 
 
 Flet, skimm'd. Bel. 
 
 Flet-Milk, milk with the cream 
 
 taken off. 
 Fliek, a flitch of bacon. A. S. 
 Flit, to remove. Da. 
 Fliz, 
 Flizzing, 
 Floose, q. fleeze of wool, hay, £c. 
 Flopper-meawth, blubber-lipp'd. 
 Flunter, in a great hurry ; out of 
 
 flunter, not well, sickly. 
 Flusk, to fly at, as two cocks. 
 Flyer, to laugh scornfully. 
 Flyte, to scold. A. S. 
 'Edb, a pocket. A. S. 
 Fog, grass after mowing; also a 
 
 mist, A. S. 
 Foist, af—t. 
 Foisty, stinking. 
 Fok, folk. 
 Fok'll, folk ivill. 
 FoUut, followed. 
 Foo, a fool ; also full: 
 Foo-goad, a play-thing. 
 Foomurt, the pole cat, or wild cat. 
 
 Br. 
 For sartin, 
 For shure, 
 For't, /or it 
 
 for certain, certainly. 
 
 Forthowght, repented ; also fore- 
 sight. 
 
 Forsuth, for sooth. 
 
 Forrud, forward. 
 
 Foryeat'n , forgotten. 
 
 Fotch, fetch. 
 
 Fowd, a fold, or yard. 
 
 Fojar,flre. 
 
 Foyar-potter, an iron instrument 
 to stir up the fire. 
 
 Foyar-new, very new. 
 
 Framput, an iron ring that runs 
 on a stake to which cows are 
 fastened. 
 
 Frap, to crack ; also to fall in a 
 passiori. 
 
 A Fratch, a quarrel. 
 
 Fratching, quarelsome. 
 
 Freeot'n, forgotten. 
 
 Frem, not akin; also tender. A. S. 
 
 Fresh-cullert, rosy, well coloured. 
 
 Fridge, to rub, to scrat. 
 
 Frim, tender. A. S. 
 
 Frist, trust. A. S. 
 
 Fro, fro7n. 
 
 Fro off on her, off'her. 
 
 Frough, tender, rather brittle. 
 
 Frowt, for ought. 
 
 Frump, a mock or jeer. 
 
 Fun, found ; also sport. 
 
 Furst, ) 
 Furster, i " 
 Fuss, a great stir. 
 Fussock, a term of reproach, for 
 fat idle women. 
 
85 
 
 G 
 
 Ga, gave. 
 
 Gable-end, the xvall at the end of 
 
 a house, So. Bel. 
 Gablock, \a strong iron har us' d 
 Gavelock, > for a lever. A. S. 
 Gad, to run about, as cows in hot 
 
 weather. A. S. 
 Gaight, gave it. 
 Gainer, nearer. 
 
 Galkeer, a tub to work drink in. 
 Gam, fine sport, diversion, also 
 game. 
 
 Gan, give, did give. 
 
 Gar, .to force. 
 
 Garth, a hoop for tubs, dc. A. S. 
 
 Gash, a large cut or wound. 
 
 Gate, a tvay, gonefonvards. 
 
 Gaunt, lean, empty. A. S. 
 
 Gawby, a dunce. 
 
 Gawm, understand, comprehend ; 
 also to mind. 
 
 Gawmblt, jjZai/'ti the fool. 
 
 Gawmless, stupid, senseless. A. S. 
 
 Gawpe, to stare with open mouth. 
 
 Gawster, to boast. 
 
 Gawstring, hectoring, bragging. 
 
 Gawt, or -id passage for water, a 
 
 Gote, J flood-gate. A. S. 
 
 Geaw, go. 
 
 Geawm, the gummy matter issuing 
 from tender eyes. Br. 
 
 Gee, to gee is to agree, to suit. 
 
 Gear, stuf of all sorts ; also a 
 Jwrse harness . A. S. 
 
 Geh, or Gi', give. 
 
 Gerse, grass. 
 
 Geete, did get. t 
 
 Geet, give it. 
 
 Get'n, got. 
 
 Gex, s 
 
 Geaux, Wjacis. Du. 
 
 Geawse, > 
 
 Gezlings, q. goslings, or young 
 
 geese. A. S. 
 Gibberidge, stammering, broken, 
 
 or impierfect speech. A. S. 
 
 fa tnachine used in dressing 
 cloth; also a hole made in 
 the earth to dry fla.r. 
 To set oth' Gig, is to set on, to 
 
 stir up. 
 Giggle, to laugh wantonly. Bel. 
 Giglet, a wanton girl. Bel. 
 
 are lengths of hair 
 twisted, on which fishing 
 ■ lines are made. 
 Gilliver, a gill i flower ; also a wan- 
 ton woman. 
 Gill-hooter, an owl. 
 Gilt, u. female pig, tho' it be cut. 
 An opp'n Gilt, oneungelt or uncut. 
 Gimlet, a nail piercer to bore 
 
 holes. Ki-. 
 Ginnil, a strait street, a narrow 
 
 passage. 
 Girn, to grin. 
 
 Gizzevn, tJie stomach of a fowl. Fr. 
 Glead, a kile. A. S. 
 Glendurt, stared. A. S. 
 
 Gilders, 
 
 Gillers, 
 
85 
 
 Glent. a ijlance, or sly look. A. S. 
 
 Glenting, glancing. A. S. 
 
 Gley, to squint. A. S. 
 
 Glib, smooth, slippery. A. S. 
 
 Glimmer, to shine a little. Du. 
 
 Glimmering, shining a little, a 
 aparlc. Du. 
 
 Gliss'n, to s7im«. A. S. 
 
 Glister, to shine or sparkle. A. S. 
 
 Glitter, to shine. 
 
 Gloor, to stare. A. S. 
 
 Glooart, stared. A. S. 
 
 Glopp'nt, frightened. 
 
 Glossy, shining. A. S. 
 
 Glur, the softest of fat. 
 
 Goads, customs; also pilay-things. 
 
 Gosoct, pierced that blood appears. 
 A. S. 
 
 Gob, a large piece of meat. 
 
 G obbin, i a greedy clownish per- 
 
 Gobslotcb,J son, a dunce. 
 
 Godsnum, God-in, God's name. 
 
 Goddil, q. God will. 
 
 Gog, to set agog is to set on. Br. 
 
 Gonner, a gander. 
 
 Gonnerheead, a stupid person or 
 dunce. 
 
 Gooa, go. 
 
 Gooan, gone. , 
 
 Gooddit, Shrovetide. 
 
 Good lorjus deys, q. Good Lord 
 Jesus what days ! an interjec- 
 tion. 
 
 Gooink, gohig. 
 
 Gooms, gums. 
 
 Gore, blood; cdso a triangular piece 
 
 of cloth put in a shirt to widen it. 
 
 A. S. 
 Gorses, furze, a prickly shrub. 
 
 A.S. 
 Goshawk, a fowl ; also a duncely 
 
 person. A. S. 
 Gote, a loater passage. 
 Gowd, gold. 
 Gran, did grin. 
 Grash, to eat greedily, to break any 
 
 thing. 
 Graunch, vid. grash. 
 Greadly, well, right, handsomely. 
 Greave, a grave. 
 GTea.se, fat ; also grass. 
 Greawnd, ground, the earth. 
 Greawt, small wort. A. S. 
 Greece, a little brow ; also stairs. 
 
 Fr. 
 Greeof or greeof by, right, or very 
 
 near so. 
 Grim'd, besmear'd. Bel. 
 Grin, a snare ; also a sneering look. 
 
 A.S. 
 Gripp'n, clasped or clinched hand. 
 
 A.S. 
 
 'a seat of green clods 
 or turf, supported 
 with twisted boughs 
 (hurdle-wise) and gen- 
 erally made round 
 shady trees. A. S. 
 Grit, sandy. A. S. 
 Gritty, 
 Gritley, 
 Groats, oats huU'd, but unground. 
 
 Grip-yort, 
 Grip-yard, 
 
 A.S. 
 
87 
 
 Gronny, a grandmuiher. 
 
 Gronsur, a grandfather. 
 
 Groon, grown. 
 
 Grooing, growing. 
 
 Groop, the place where cattle piss 
 
 in a shippen. 
 Grope, to feel awkwardly] or in the 
 
 dark. A. S. 
 Groyn, a sioiits's snout. A. S. 
 To Gry, is an easy ague fit ; or 
 
 the ague hanging on a person. 
 Gurd o Leawghing, a fit of laugh- 
 ter. 
 Gutt', go to. 
 
 Guzzet, a 4 square piece of cloth to 
 ividen the arm-pit of a shirt. 
 
 H. 
 
 Ha, I 
 
 Hav, I have. 
 
 Han, •' 
 
 Hackt, knock'd together ; also to 
 
 cut hunglingly. 
 Had-loont-rean, the gutter or space 
 
 between the head lands and others. 
 Had'n, had. 
 
 Ithe helhj 
 
 HagguS 
 
 Haft, or] the handle of a knife ; 
 Heft, )also heft is a life. A. S. 
 Haigs, the \chite thorn-berry. A. S. 
 Hal o' Nabs, q. Henry of Abra- 
 ham's. 
 Halliblash, a great blaxe. 
 Hallidey, holyday. 
 
 hang them. 
 
 hearthstone. 
 
 Halloo, to shout. 
 
 Halloo'd, shouted. 
 
 Hammeh, have me. 
 
 Hammil, a village. A. S. 
 
 Hangum, ] 
 
 Hongum, ) 
 
 Hanker, to desire, to coret. 
 
 Hap, to cover ; cdso to jiat or en- 
 courage a dog, £c. A. S. 
 
 Haply, perhaps. 
 
 Harbor, to entertain. A. S. 
 
 Harr, to snarl like an angry dog. 
 
 Harms, after, to speak the same 
 thing like an echo. 
 
 Harry, q. hurry, to teane, tired. Fr. 
 
 Harry's, Henry's. 
 
 Harston, 
 
 Harstone, 
 
 Hask, dry, piarched. 
 
 Haver, oats. Du. 
 
 Haver-bread, oat-bread. 
 
 Haust, a cough, a cold. Du. 
 
 Hawmpo, to halt. 
 
 Hawmpow't, did halt. 
 
 Hawpunny, half-penny. 
 
 Hawms, two pieces of crooked uvod 
 placed on the collar of a horse 
 when he draivs. 
 
 Hawm-bark, the collar of a horse. 
 
 Hawps, a tall duncely person. 
 
 Hawve, half. 
 
 Healo, bashful. 
 
 Hearo, hear you. 
 
 Heasty, hasty. 
 
 Heck, a half door. A. S. 
 
 w 
 
Hee, a male; also high. 
 
 Hed, did heed, minded. 
 
 He'er, he was. 
 
 Here, hoar Jrost ; also a mist. 
 
 Hee-witch, a wiaxard. 
 
 Hear'n, hear. 
 
 Heaw, how. 
 
 Heawse, house. 
 
 Heawt, how it. 
 
 Heeve, did heave, or lift up. 
 
 Height, have it ; also high. 
 
 Helder, more likely. 
 
 Halt, nicely. 
 
 Hem, the edge. 
 
 Heps, the briers fruit. 
 
 Herple, to halt or limp. 
 
 Het, q. hight, or named. A. S. 
 
 Hetter, keen, eager, as a hull dog. 
 
 Hew'r, hair. 
 
 Hey-go-mad, like mad, shouting 
 
 mad; also to do any thing after 
 
 an exceeding manner. 
 Hey-mough, hay-mow. 
 Heyt, have it. 
 Hig, a passion. 
 Heyvy, heavy. 
 Hill, to cover. A. S. 
 A Bed-hilling, a coverlet, a rug. 
 Hight-nor-ree, nothing at all of. 
 Hippink, a linen clout to keep 
 
 infants clean. 
 Hit, it, the thing. 
 Hitting, a lighting on; also striking. 
 
 Da. 
 Ho, or Haw, a hall. 
 
 Hoave, half ; also did heave. 
 
 Hob-nob, rashly. 
 
 Hobs, are stones set up, or laid at 
 either end of the fire, a duncely 
 fellow is call'd a hob. 
 
 Hobbil, \a natural blockhead, 
 
 Hobgobbin,) or fool. 
 
 Hobble-te-hoy, a stripling at full 
 age of puberty. 
 
 Hobgoblin, an apparition, a spirit. 
 
 Hobthrust, the same ; this is sup- 
 posed to haunt only woods. 
 
 Hobbling, limping ; also stammer- 
 ing. 
 
 Hog-Mutt'n, mutton of a year-old 
 
 Hondle, handle. 
 
 Hong, hang. 
 
 Hontle, handful. 
 
 Hongry, hungry. 
 
 Hongim, ha^ig him. 
 
 Hoo, she. Br. 
 
 Hooant, sweWd, hard in the flesh. 
 
 Hook or crook, fm-ce. 
 
 Hoor, a whore ; also she was. 
 
 Hoose, she is. 
 
 Hoost, she shall. 
 
 Hopper, a sort of a basket. 
 
 I 
 
 Horty, hearty. 
 
 Hose, stocldngs. 
 
 notching, to limp, to go by jumps, 
 
 as toads. 
 Hotter, to stir up, to vex. 
 
 Horse-ston, ] steps to maunt 
 Horse-stone, > horses. 
 
Hottering-mad, very mad, or ill 
 
 vexed. 
 Hough, a foot, sometimes the 
 
 leg. 
 
 How, whole. 
 
 Howd, ^ 
 
 [ hold. 
 Howt, j 
 
 Howd-te-tung, hold thy prate. 
 
 Howd'n, holden. 
 
 Howse, to stir up, to potter. 
 
 Howsome, wholesome. 
 
 Hoyde, a hide or shin ; also to 
 
 hide. 
 
 Hoyse, hose. 
 
 Hoyts, long rods or sticks. 
 
 Hubbon, 1 , , 
 
 [the hip. 
 Huggon, ) 
 
 Huckster, a seller of herbs, roots, 
 
 do. Du. 
 
 Hud, hid, covered. 
 
 Hugger-mugger, conceals, 
 
 Hummobee, the large round bee. 
 
 Humpstridd'n, a stride. 
 
 Hur, her. 
 
 Hurly-burly, a great stir, a noise. 
 
 A. S. 
 
 Hure, hair. 
 
 Hurn, a horn. A. S. 
 
 Hurrying, drawing or dragging; 
 
 also being in haste. 
 
 Husht, silence. Du. 
 
 Hus, we. 
 
 Huzz, to hum, or make a noise like 
 
 bees. 
 
 Hye, to make haste. A. S. 
 
 IccLES, long pieces of ice at the 
 the eaves of houses, &c. 
 
 Id, he had ; also I had. 
 
 I'd, I had ; also I loou'd. 
 
 Idd'n, you had. 
 
 If idd'n, if you wou'd. 
 
 Ift, if thou. 
 
 Iftle, if thou will. 
 
 I'll, I will; also he will. 
 
 Ill-favort, ugly. 
 
 Im, him. 
 
 Imp, to rob, to deprive of. 
 
 In, that; also or if, also than. 
 
 Inkling, a hint. Teu. 
 
 Infarm, inform. 
 
 Inneh, if I ; also if you. 
 
 Inin, if you will. 
 
 Int, 
 
 Intle, 
 
 Into, if thou. 
 
 I'r, I was. 
 
 Ir, yoic are. 
 
 Irning, the making of cheese; also 
 
 the smoothing of linen. 
 1st, is it; also is the. 
 I'st, I shall; also I shou'd. 
 It', I to. 
 Ither, in their. 
 Ittle, it will. 
 
 Jackanapes, a term of derision. 
 Jannock, a loaf made of oatmeal 
 leavened. 
 
 if thou will. 
 
00 
 
 Jawms, the sides of a window ; and 
 also the bottom part of a chim- 
 ney. Fr. 
 
 Jawnt, a walking, or riding out, 
 a journey. 
 
 Jingum-bobs, play things. 
 
 Jim, or-i 
 
 Vspruce, very neat, 
 
 Jobberknow, a dunce, or dolt. Du. 
 
 Jone's, Johns. 
 
 Josty, come to. 
 
 Joyst, a summer's grass ; also a 
 
 piece of xoood laid cross a floor. 
 
 Fr. 
 Jump, a coat; also to leap. 
 
 K 
 
 Ka, or Keaw, a coxo. 
 
 Kazzarly, subject to casualties. 
 
 Katty, a diminutive of Catherine. 
 
 Keather, a cradle. 
 
 Keawer 
 
 Kare, 
 
 he Keawls, 
 
 Keawlt, 
 
 Keawnty, county. 
 
 Keawnsil, counsel, or council. 
 
 Keawerser, worse ; also a hunter 
 
 with greyhounds. 
 Keckle, unsteady; also the noise 
 
 of a frightened hen. Du. 
 Keck, to go pertly. Du. 
 Kee, or Kye, cows. A. S. 
 Keegh, to cough; also a cold. Du. 
 Keel, to cool. A, S. 
 
 \to sit or stoop down. 
 
 he's cowardly. 
 
 ■to comb. 
 
 Keem, or ) 
 
 [t 
 Kem, ) 
 
 Keen-bitt'n, eager, sharp-bit. 
 
 Keep, catch. A. S. 
 
 Keke, a cake. 
 
 Kele, time, place, circumstance. 
 
 Kene, a cane, or Cain. 
 
 Kere'n, care, 
 
 Kers'n, christian ; also to christen. 
 
 Kersunt, christened. 
 
 Kersmus, Christmas. 
 
 Kese, case. 
 
 Kestling, a calf calved before the 
 
 usual time. 
 Kest, east, 
 Kestit, rechon'd up ; also to vomit. 
 
 '] 
 
 to stand crooked. 
 
 Keyke, or 
 
 Kyke, 
 
 Keyvt, overturned. 
 
 Kibbo, a long stick. 
 
 Kibe, to draw the mouth awry. 
 
 A. S. 
 Kibe-heels, cracked or sore heels. 
 
 A. S. 
 Kilt, killed. 
 Kin, kind sm-t. 
 Kindly, a kindly cow, ^c, is a 
 
 handsome, healthy cow. 
 Kink, to lose their breath with 
 
 coughing, the chin-cough. Du. 
 Kink-haust, a violent cold. Du. 
 Kipper, amorous, lustful. 
 Kittle, tichleish, also unstable. 
 Kist, a chest. A. S. 
 Knaggy, knotty. A. S. 
 
91 
 
 Knep, to bite easily. 
 
 Knoad, knew. 
 
 Knockus, knuckles. 
 
 Knoblocks, n ,. , , 
 
 ^, , , . little lumps of coals 
 
 Knoblmgs, \ \ \ 
 
 \ about the size of eqqs. 
 Knaplings, -• "^ ^■^ 
 
 Knattert, gnawed. 
 
 Knattle, cross, ill-natured. 
 
 Knotchel, to cry awoman knotchel, 
 is when a man gives public no- 
 tice he will pay none of her new 
 contracted debts. 
 
 Know, q. knowl, a brow, a small 
 hill. 
 
 Knurs, knots, warts on trees. Teu. 
 
 Ko, quoth. 
 
 Kreawse, vid. creawse. 
 
 Kyb'n, to flout, by raising the un- 
 der lip. 
 
 L 
 
 Labbos, labour. 
 
 Lad, a boy; also did lead. 
 
 Laft, left. 
 
 Lag, to stay behind. Sw. 
 
 Laith, a barn ; also to invite ; also 
 ease, or rest. 
 
 Lamm, to beat. 
 
 Lant, urine. 
 
 Langot, a shoe-latchet. Fr. 
 
 Lap, wrap. 
 
 Largus, 
 
 •muco, a gift. Fr. 
 
 Largess 
 Lastut, lasted. 
 
 Lat, slow ; also very late ; also a 
 lathe, A. S. 
 
 Latching, infecting, catching. 
 
 Lawm, lame. 
 
 Lattent, hindered. 
 
 Lawmt, lamed. 
 
 Le, let. 
 
 Leack, a lake. 
 
 Lean, to keep, secret. A. S. 
 
 Learock, a lark. 
 
 Leawk, long, barren, or heathy 
 
 grass. 
 Leawky, full of leawk. 
 Leawpholes, q. loopholes. 
 Leawse, a louse. 
 
 Leek on, put on water ; also when 
 a vessel will not hold water, it is 
 said to leek. Fr. 
 Lee, lay. 
 Ledy, lady. 
 Leefer, rather. A. S. 
 I'd OS leef, I would as soon, or 
 
 rather. A. S. 
 Leeof, leave. 
 Leep, did leap. 
 
 Leeond, lend. 
 
 Leet, light of, on, or met with ; 
 also light and lightning. 
 
 Leett'n, to lighten. 
 
 Leetsom, lightsome. 
 
 Os thick OS Leet, as quick as one 
 flash of lightning follows another. 
 
 Leete, let go. 
 
 Lenger, longer. 
 
 Lennock, .slender, pliable. Fr. 
 
 Lether, to heat. 
 
 Lew-warm, blood-warm. 
 
92 
 
 Ley-land, rest, or untill'd land. 
 
 A.S. 
 Leyther, rather. 
 Lick, to beat. 
 Licker, more likely. 
 Lickly, very likely. 
 Licklyest, most likely. 
 Lieve, believe. 
 Like, to love. 
 
 Lik'n, to r/uess ; also to compare. 
 Lik't, likely to have ; also did love. 
 Lilt, ] to do a thing cleverly or 
 Lilting, i quickly. 
 Limp, to halt. 
 Linch, a small step. A. S. 
 Line, layn. 
 Lin-pin, a cotter, or pin that holds 
 
 the cart wheel on. A. S. 
 Ling, long heath. 
 Lipp'n, expect ; also leaped. 
 Lipp'nt, expected. 
 Lite, afeiv. 
 Lithe, calm ; also to put oatmeal 
 
 into broth. A. S. 
 Lither, idle. A. S. 
 Littlebrough, a country village 
 
 near Rochdale. 
 Livert, vid. thodd'n. 
 Loath, unwilling. A. S. 
 Loast, loosed ; also lowest. 
 Lob-cock, a great idle person. 
 Led, a lad. 
 Looad'n, loaden. 
 Loft, a chamber. 
 Lonleydey, a landlady. 
 
 look thee, behold. 
 
 Lone, a lane. 
 
 Loont, a land, a but, or division 
 of ploughed land. 
 
 Lopper'd Milk, crudled milk. Sw. 
 
 Loppei'ing, boiling. Sw. 
 
 Loppering Brewis, brewis is made 
 at the killing of a swine, with 
 broth- of the boiled entrails, do. 
 
 Lorjus o'me, (from Lord Jesus 
 have mercy on me) an interjec- 
 tion. 
 
 Loothe, 
 
 Loothy, 
 
 Lost'n, did lose. 
 
 Lotch, to halt; also to jump like a 
 frog. 
 
 Lother, a lather. A. S. 
 
 Lovers, the chimney. 
 
 Loyse, to lose. 
 
 Loyte, afeiv. 
 
 Luckit, a nurse's term; also used 
 hy ivay of scoffing. 
 
 Luck'o, look you, see you. 
 
 Luff, love. 
 
 Luff'n, do love. 
 
 Lug, to pull by the hair. A. S. 
 
 ^ 1 , 1 "I'^c^ie/', or hurt ; also 
 
 ■J . [useless household stuff. 
 ' A. S. 
 
 Lung, long. 
 
 Lunjus, subtle, very surly. 
 
 Lunnon, London. 
 
 Lunnon Boggarts, the authors of 
 
 the monthly review. 
 Lunshon, a large piece of meat. 
 
93 
 
 a large lake. Br. 
 
 Lurdin, q. Lord Dane, an idle 
 lubberly fellow. 
 
 M 
 
 Mack, sort. 
 
 Manchet, white bread. 
 
 Mander, manner, or sort. 
 
 Mar, to spoil. A. S. 
 
 Marlocks, awkward gestures; also 
 fools. 
 
 Marcy, mercy ; also the 7'iver nier- 
 sey. 
 
 Mare, 
 
 Mere, 
 
 Margit, Margaret. 
 
 Marr'd, quite spoiled. A. S. 
 
 Marry, a common interjection. 
 
 Marry-kem-eawt, a scornful inter- 
 jection. 
 
 Marvil, wonder, to wonder also 
 admirably. 
 
 Masht, broke in pieces. 
 
 Maskins, ) 
 
 - . , . \a sort of petty oath. 
 
 Mackms, J J J^ n 
 
 Matho, Martha. 
 Mattert, signify d. 
 Mattock, a tool in husbandry. 
 A. S. 
 
 a bunch of rags, dec, 
 tied to a pole to sweep 
 an oven; also a dirty 
 \woman. 
 
 Maunder, murmuring; also a wan- 
 dering, or walking stupidly. Fr. 
 Mawkinly, sluttish, dirtily. 
 
 Maukin, 
 
 or 
 Mawkin, 
 
 Mawkish, sickly; also duncely. 
 
 A. S. 
 Maw, the stomach. A. S. 
 May-guts, maggots. 
 Mead'n, a maid ; also made. 
 Meary, Mary. 
 Meary o'Dick's, vid. Tummus 
 
 o' Williams. 
 Measter, master. 
 Measy, giddy, vertiginous. 
 Meawlt, mouldy. 
 Meawntebank, a quack. 
 Meawse, a mouse. 
 Meawt, to moult. Du. 
 Meawth, a mouth. 
 Meawng'nt, did eat greedily. 
 Meazysow, giddy, or empty headed. 
 Meds'n, medicine. 
 Meeon, mean; also to go halves; 
 
 also a thing had in its kind. 
 Meawse-neezes, q. mouse nests, 
 
 knavish actions. 
 Meeny, a family ; also very many. 
 
 Fr. 
 Meeterly, indifferent, moderate. 
 Meet-neaw, this moment. 
 Meet-shad, exceeded. 
 Meety, mighty. 
 Meeverly, modestly, handsomely, 
 
 gently. 
 Meg-harry, a robust girl that plays 
 
 loith boys. 
 Meh, 7ne ; also my. 
 Mennaw, cannot, may not. A. S. 
 M.e:^'n, to cleanse a stable, £c. A.S. 
 
04 
 
 Mey, or] 
 
 rmay ; also make. 
 
 Meyt, meat. 
 
 Mezzil-feas'd, Jiery faced, full of 
 
 red pimples. Du. 
 Midge, a gnat. A. S. 
 Middingspuce, a sinJc, or sewer. 
 
 Br. 
 Min, to mill on, is to put in mind. 
 Misfartins, misfortunes. 
 Misgives, forebodes, tells. 
 Mismannert, clownish, unman- 
 nerly. 
 Mistrustit, doubted, suspected. 
 Mitoh-go-deet'o, much good may it 
 
 do you. 
 Byth'Miss, a common kind of an 
 
 oath from mass. 
 Miscaw, to call nick names. 
 MishmasEi,. a hodge-podge. Fr. 
 Mistene, mistaken. 
 Mistol, a cowhouse. 
 Mittens, gloves loitlwut fingers ; 
 
 also a very strong pair to liedge 
 
 in. Fr. 
 Mizzles, rains a little. A. S. 
 Mizzleth, a raining softly. 
 Mizzy, a quagmire. 
 Mob, a woman's close cap. 
 Moider, to puzzle ; also a moidore. 
 Molart, a mop to clean ovens, vid. 
 
 mawkin. 
 Mon, a man. 
 Monny, many. 
 Mooast, most. 
 
 ot'n] . , 
 
 fn r'^^' 
 
 have done. 
 
 Moods, earth. Sw. 
 
 Moor, a hill; also a common ; also 
 
 more. A. S. 
 Mooter, mill-toll. 
 Moother, mother. 
 Moot, might. A. S. 
 Moot point, eosaet, very near. 
 Moot'n ) 
 Met'i 
 
 Mough, a mow of hay, dc. A.S. 
 Mough'n, being very hot, to sweat 
 
 from molten. A. S. 
 
 Mourning, 7noming. 
 
 Mowdywarp, a mole. A. S. 
 
 Moydert, puzzled, nonplus'd. 
 
 Mullock, dirt, rubbish. 
 
 Mun, or Munt, must. 
 
 Munneh, must I. 
 
 Muse'n, to think, or wonder. 
 
 Murth, abundance. 
 
 Mustert-bo, q. mustard-ball. 
 
 Muyce, mice. 
 
 Muz, a nurse's term for mouth. 
 
 Muzzy, sleepy ; also a little drunk. 
 
 N 
 
 Nab,) 
 
 \aby name for Abraham. 
 
 Nang-nele, a sort of coirts. A. S. 
 Narse, fundament. A. S. 
 Naw, not. 
 
 Nawstler, an ostler. 
 Ne, or Ney, tiay. 
 Neeam, an aunt. A. S. 
 Neamt, named. 
 Neatril, a-natural, a fool. 
 
Ned, 
 and 
 
 Need'n, 
 
 Neaw, % 
 Nah. r°"- 
 
 Neb, a point ; the fore part of a 
 cap, dc. A. S. 
 
 'these are used promiscu- 
 ously, for need and did 
 not need ; and governed 
 fiy the word following . 
 Necessary, mistaken for accessary. 
 Neeom, an uncle. A. S. 
 Neen, eyes ; also nine. 
 Neest, a nest; also highest. A. S. 
 Neet, or Neeight, night. 
 Neeze, coughing by being ticJded in 
 
 the nose. A. S. 
 Nele, a nail. 
 Neme, a name. 
 Nese, the iwse. A. S. 
 Nesh, tender. A. S. 
 Nestlecock, the darling, a last 
 
 child. A. S. 
 Nettle, to vex. 
 Newer, never. 
 Ney, nay. 
 Neyve, a fist. 
 
 Nice, strange, comical, also neat. 
 Nifle, « nice bit of any thing ; also 
 
 trifling. 
 Ninnyhommer, a vile dunce. 
 Nip, the nmne of a dog; also to 
 
 pinch, bite, cheat, or %iirong. 
 Noant, an aunt. 
 Noger, an augar. A. S. 
 Noggin, a small pail holding a 
 mess. Bel. 
 
 Nominy, a speech. 
 
 Nook, a comer. Bel. 
 
 Noon,i 
 
 ^ [an oven. 
 
 Oon, J 
 
 Noonscawp, the labourers' resting 
 
 time after dinner. 
 Now, no. 
 Nown, nun. 
 
 Nowt, nothing ; also naught or bad. 
 Nudge, to jog, or hit. 
 Nuer, never. 
 
 Nuzz-e-boz, q. nose ith' bosom. 
 Nuzzle, to stick the nose in bosom. 
 
 A.S. 
 
 O 
 
 0', sometimes iis'd as a, on, you, 
 and of. 
 
 Oamfry, Humfrey. 
 
 Oandurth, afternoon. A. S. 
 
 Gather, either. 
 
 Obeawt, about. 
 
 Oboon, above. 
 
 Obunnunze, abundance. 
 
 Od, a diminutive of God, an inter- 
 jection ; also strange. 
 
 Odder, very strange. 
 
 Oddsfish, a diminutive of God's 
 flesh; an interjection. 
 
 Odds-on-eends, odd trifling things. 
 
 Oe'rley, a leathern surcingle. 
 
 O'erscutcht, done slightly. 
 
 Oe'r't, over it. 
 
 Off-at-side, mad, delirious. 
 
 Ofore, before. 
 
Ogen, again ; also against. 
 Ogoddil, if God will. 
 Ggreath, imll, right. 
 Ogreyt matter on im, no great 
 
 matter on him, he's not worth 
 
 pitying. 
 Oh, in, on, and, of, and upon. 
 Onner, of your. 
 Onny, any. 
 
 Onoo, a sufficient quantity. 
 Onough, enough. 
 On-o-wey, ahvays. 
 Oil's, ones. 
 On ye been o mon, q. if you be a 
 
 a man. 
 Oon, an oven. 
 Oss, to try. 
 
 Os lee'f, I woidd chuse. A. S. 
 Ossing, trying, offering. 
 Ost, as the ; also as it; also essay'd, 
 
 try'd. 
 Ot, at; also that. 
 Othergets, q. otherguise, othersort, 
 
 otherivise. 
 Otherweys, otherwise. 
 Ots, that is. 
 Ottey, that I. 
 Ottle, that thou will. 
 Over-bodit, is when a new upper 
 
 part is piut to the skirts of an old 
 
 garment. 
 Ousel, a black-bird. A. S. 
 Owd, old. 
 
 [names for the devil. 
 Owd Nick, I 
 
 Owdhum, a large village near 
 
 Rochdale. 
 Owey, away. 
 Owse, an ox. Du. 
 Owt, any thing ; also good. A.S. 
 Oytch,, each, every. 
 
 Paddock, a small enclosure. 
 
 To Pan, to join, to agree. 
 
 Papper, paper. 
 
 Parfit, perfect. 
 
 Parisht, starvd, or very cold. 
 
 Pars'n, parson ; also a person. 
 
 Peawnd, a pound. 
 
 Peawr, abundance ; also might. 
 
 ■\ the strong white 
 Peawseweawse, I . , . , 
 
 r tendon m a necic 
 Paxwax, j 
 
 of veal, etc. 
 
 Pede, jMid. 
 
 Pedidigree, for pedigree. 
 
 To Pee, is to squint queerly. 
 
 Peel, did strike, or beat. 
 
 To Peigh, to cough. 
 
 Penny-whip, very small beer. 
 
 Peshunce, patience. 
 
 Pestil, the shank of a ham of 
 
 bacon. 
 
 Pet, to pet, is to be surly. 
 
 Pettish, apt to be surly. 
 
 Petch, a patch. 
 
 Petch-wark, patch'-work. 
 
 Pews'nt, poiscnud. 
 
 Pey, a pea. 
 
 Peyls, does beat. 
 
97 
 
 Peyling, strikiny or knocMng 
 
 rudely. 
 Phippunny , fivepenny. 
 Pickle, case, condition. Du. 
 Piece-woo, as much wool as makes 
 
 a piece. 
 Pilpit, 2Mlpit. 
 Pingot, a small croft near the 
 
 house. 
 Pinn, to do a thing in haste, or 
 
 eagerly. 
 Pissmotes, ants. 
 Pleawmtree, plumhtree. 
 Pleck, a place. A. S. 
 Pleeos, pilease. 
 Plucks, the lungs. 
 Poo, a pool, or pond. 
 Poo'd, pull'd. 
 
 Poogh, a slighting interjection. 
 Poots, young hens, dc. Fr. 
 Pop, a short space; to pop in, to 
 
 go in. 
 Popt, dipt; also put in. 
 Possing, an action between thrust- 
 ing and knocking. 
 Pot-crate, « large open basket to 
 
 carry eartlienware in. 
 Pote, to thrust with the feet. Fr. 
 Pottert, disturb'd, n'.v'd. 
 Pow, to cut hair; also a 'pole. 
 Powse, lumber, offal. 
 Powsement, a term given to a bad 
 
 person. 
 Protty, pretty. 
 Preast, praised. 
 
 
 
 Pre o, \ 
 
 ^^^^^y ay you. 
 
 Prime, the best, or very good. 
 
 Primely, very well. 
 
 Prooft, proved. 
 
 Proven, provender. 
 
 Pumping, askifig of questions. 
 
 Punch'd, 
 
 Punst, [kicked. 
 
 Purr'd, j 
 
 Pule, to cry; also a pew. 
 
 Puppy, a fool; also a puppet. 
 
 Pynots, magpies. 
 
 Q 
 
 QuAGMiEE, a very boggy place. 
 
 Quandary, at a loss, in a brown 
 study. Fr. 
 
 Queyn,'|a whore, a term of re- 
 Quean, J proach. A. S. 
 
 Quiet 'nt, made still. 
 
 Quifting Pots, half giUs, from 
 quaffing. A. S. 
 E 
 
 Eabblement, the crowd or mob. 
 
 Eack, (of mutton) a neck of mut- 
 ton; also a frame to Iwld fodder 
 for cattle. 
 
 Eack and reend, to go to rack aiid 
 reend, is to go to ruin, 
 
 Eaddlings, long sticks. 
 
 Eaddle the booans, is to beat 
 soundly. 
 
 Eank, wrong. 
 
 Eap and reend,') tJo all they pos- 
 
 Eap and tear, I sibly can. A. S. 
 
08 
 
 Eapscallion, an ill person. 
 Eascatly, hnavishly. 
 Rash, a sort of itch with infants. 
 Bachdaw, Rochdale, a town in 
 
 Lancashire. 
 Eatcher, a rock, rocky. 
 Eattlt, scolded, from rattled. 
 Eakth' Fire, is to cover thejire. 
 Eeawk, to idle in neighbours houses. 
 Reawp, a hoarse cold. 
 Eeantj rained. 
 Eearest, _/?)iest, best. 
 Eeaying, mad ; also talking in 
 
 ones sleep. 
 
 Eeawnt, did ivhisper, 
 
 Eeawst, rust. 
 
 Eeeak, ]to squall, to make a 
 
 Eeeam, > shrieking noise. A. S. 
 
 Reeam, cream. 
 
 Eeeam Mug, tJie a-eam mug. 
 
 Eeean, a gutter. 
 
 Eeeast,-) 
 
 I the outside of bacon. 
 Jbleest, J 
 
 Eeech, ) 
 
 ^ , [smoke. A. S. 
 
 Eeek, J 
 
 Eeeok, a shriek. 
 Eeesupper, a second supper. 
 Eeet, 7-ight. 
 
 Eeeclit, smoaked. A. S. 
 lender, to stew, to separatethe skin- 
 ny from the fat part of suet, Sc. 
 Eestut, rested. 
 Esther, rather. 
 Ecy, 
 Eea, 
 
 Reytch, reach; also rich. 
 
 Rick, to gingle ; also to scold ; also 
 a stack of com, Sc. A. S. 
 
 Ricking, jingling ; also scolding. 
 
 Rid, to part two fighting. 
 
 Ridd'n, did ride, or being rid. 
 
 Riding, is the hanging upon pier- 
 sons for liquor. 
 
 Riddle, a coarse sieve. Br. 
 
 Eife, common, swarming. A. S. 
 
 Eiff-Raff, lumber. A. S. 
 
 Rift, to belch. A. S. 
 
 Riggot, a chamiel, or gutter; also 
 a half gelded horse, dc. 
 
 Rim, the border or outside of u 
 wheel, or pot. A. S. 
 
 Eindle, a gutter. 
 
 Rive, to split. A. S. 
 
 Riven, is split. A. S. 
 
 Romp, to leap, or run about. 
 
 Eonk, rank, strong. 
 
 Eooart, roared. 
 
 Eook, a heap. 
 
 Eooze, to p>raise. A. S. 
 
 Eoost, commended, praised ; also 
 a rest for poultry. A. S. 
 
 Eops, entrails, bowels. 
 
 Bottle, to rattle in the throat. 
 
 Eott'n, a rat ; also putrify'd. 
 A. S. 
 
 Eoytch, rich. 
 
 Bufo, rueful. 
 
 Bue Bargain, a repenting bargain. 
 
 Eunge, a long tub with two handles. 
 
 Bunt, a dwarf. Teu. 
 
99 
 
 Eushberring, q. rusKbearing, a 
 
 country wake. 
 Eutchot o'Jack's, vid. Tunimus 
 
 o'WilUam's. 
 Rut, the path of ivheels. 
 Eynty, stand off. 
 Eyz'n-hedge, a fence of stakes and 
 
 twisted boughs. 
 
 S 
 
 Sackless, innocent. A. S. 
 
 Saig, a saw. A. S. 
 
 Saigh, did see. 
 
 Sam, to gather together-, to put in 
 
 order. 
 Sappling, a young oak ; also oak 
 
 wood. 
 Sark, a shirt. A. S, 
 Sartinly, certainly. 
 Sattlt, quiet, from settled. 
 Savort'n, did savor. 
 Sawgh, a kind of ivillow. 
 Sawfly, softly, slowly. 
 Sawuter, to walk idly about. 
 Sawt, salt. 
 Scallion, an herb, in taste like 
 
 onion. 
 Scampo, to run fast, to be in a 
 
 hurry. Du. 
 
 Scampurt, run fast. Du. 
 
 Scant, ) _ 
 
 \very scarce, rare. Du. 
 Scanty, I 
 
 Scarr, a steep, bare, and rocky 
 
 place in the side of the hilh. A. S. 
 
 Scawd, to scaJd. 
 
 Scawd-head, a scurfy, or scabby- 
 head. 
 
 Scawp, the head. Du. 
 
 Soap, escape. 
 
 Scap-gallows, «. term of reproach, 
 as nrnch as to say he deserves the 
 gallows. 
 
 Schrieve, to run u-et matter, a cor- 
 rupting. 
 
 Scoance, a lantern; also the head. 
 Bel. 
 
 A Scope, a basin with a handle to 
 hold water. Bel. 
 
 To Scotch a Wheel, is to lay a 
 stay under it. 
 
 Scramble,, a striving to catch things 
 
 Scrabble, 
 Scrattle, 
 
 on theirhandsand knees 
 on the floor. A. S. 
 
 Scrannil, a meagre or lean person. 
 Scratting, la ^jwHJ((^/ with the 
 Scratching, J nails. Du. 
 Scrawn, to climb aiokicardly . 
 Scroof, (( dry sort of scales. A. S. 
 Scrub, to scratch or rub. A. S. 
 Scrumple, to ruffle. A. S. 
 Scrunt, an over worn wig, beesom, 
 
 d-c. 
 Scutcht, whipp'd ; also to do a 
 
 thing slightly, or quickly. 
 Seawke, suck; also to suck. 
 Seawl, icet stiff, dv. to eat with 
 
 bread. A. S. 
 Seawndly, soundly, heartily. 
 Seawr, sour; also ill-rmtur'd. 
 Secont, second. 
 
100 
 
 sat, did sit. 
 
 Seech, seek. 
 
 Seech'd, do seek. 
 
 Seed, saw. 
 
 Seel or Seeigh, a sieve. 
 
 Seel'n, seldom. 
 
 Seely, iceak in body ; also trifling; 
 
 also empty headed. 
 Seet, saw it; also see it; also a 
 
 sight. 
 
 Seete, 
 
 Seet'n, 
 
 Seete owey, set off, or out. 
 
 Seg, a gelded hull. A. S. 
 
 Safe, safe. 
 
 Seign, seven. 
 
 Seln, self. 
 
 Selvege, the edge of linen cloth. 
 
 Sen, say. 
 
 Senneli, ) 
 Senye,r"^2/o«. 
 
 Sennit, a loeek. 
 
 Setter, an issue for cows, dc. 
 
 Sey, say. 
 
 'Sflesh, a diminutive of God's 
 
 flesh, an interjection. 
 Shad, over did, excelVd ; also 
 
 divided. A. S. 
 Shan, shall. 
 
 Shaffle, to shuffle, to trifle. 
 Shaftman, the length of a fist with 
 
 the thumb standing up. A. S. 
 Sharn, dung. Teu. 
 Shart, short. 
 Shawm, shame. 
 Shed, spill'd. 
 
 Sheeod, to divide ; also to over do. 
 
 Sheamt, ashamed. 
 
 Sheawt, shout. 
 
 Sheawtit, shouted. 
 
 Sheed, to spill. 
 
 Shiar, or Shire, quite, entirely. 
 
 Shilders, } , ,, 
 _, ^ [shoulders. 
 Shooders, I 
 
 Shift, a contrivance, a device ; also 
 a smock. 
 
 Shipp'n, a cow house. A. S. 
 
 Shire, wholly, entirely. 
 
 Shoavt, or Sheawvt, thrust, or 
 pushed. 
 
 Shog, to jog, to go uneasily. Teu. 
 
 Shoo, a shovel. 
 
 Shoods, oat hidls. 
 
 Shoon, shoes. 
 
 Shop-booart, a countei; from shop- 
 board. 
 
 Shough, a shoe. 
 
 Shu, a te^-m to frighten poultry. 
 
 Shuing, a f Tightening fowls. 
 
 Shy, backwards, unwilling. Br. 
 
 Sib, related to, akin. A. S. 
 
 Side, very long. 
 
 Siftit, examined. 
 
 Sike, a gutter. 
 
 Simpert, minced words, affectedly. 
 A.S. 
 
 Sin, siruie. 
 
 Singlet, an undy'd woollen waist- 
 coat. 
 
 Sinkdurt, channel-mud. 
 
 Sitoh, such. 
 
101 
 
 Size, six ; also proportion ; also a 
 
 glue to strengthen woollen yarn. 
 Skam, did skim, or take off; also 
 
 to throw a thing low. 
 Skeawr, to make haste; also to 
 scour. Teu. 
 
 Skellit, a small pan with a handle. 
 Fr. 
 
 Skellut, crook'd. 
 
 Sken, to squint. A. S. 
 
 Skew-whift, awry. 
 
 Skime, to draw up the nose scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 Skire, loose, open, thin. 
 
 Skirmidge, a little battle. 
 
 Ski'ike o'dey, day-break. 
 
 Shrikeing, to squall, or cry out. 
 
 Skuse, ail excuse. 
 
 Slab, the first board of sawn timber. 
 
 Slabby, diHy. Du. 
 
 Slaigh, 1 the black thorn-ben-y. 
 
 Sleawgh,} A. S. 
 
 Slap, a blow. 
 
 Slapt, whipt, beaten. 
 
 Slash, a cut ; also to cut. 
 
 Slat, dirtied, or wet ; also did set 
 on dogs. 
 
 Slaver, the spittle. 
 
 Slay, the hand-board of lootns. 
 
 Sleawm, a slumber. 
 
 Sleawtch, any thing that hangs 
 down; also an ill-look' d person. 
 
 Sleawtcht-hat, i. e. uncock'd. 
 
 Sleek, small pit-coal. 
 
 Sleckt, quenched. 
 
 Sled, a carriage without loheels. 
 
 Du. 
 Sleeat, to set on dogs. 
 Sleek, smooth. A. S. 
 Sleet, snow and rain mix'd. A. S. 
 Sleeveless-arnt, a going to no pur- 
 pose. 
 Slice, a thin bit of wood to stir 
 
 meat in pots, dc. A. S. 
 Slid, did slide, or slip; also an 
 
 interjection. A. S. 
 Slich'n, smooth. Du. 
 Slifter, a crevice. 
 Slim, sly, cunning. Teu. 
 Sliven, an idle person, slovenly. 
 
 Du. 
 Slooar, to grasp. 
 Sloode, the piath of cart wheels. 
 Slob, bending, or bevil. 
 Sloppety, a dirty woman. 
 Slotch, a greedy clown. 
 Slough, the cast skin of an adder, 
 
 the slime of snails ; also a deep 
 
 dirty place. A. S. 
 Sloytch, to take up water, dc. 
 Slur', to slide. 
 Slutch, mud. 
 Slyvin, a dirty idle man. 
 Smack, a bloxo ; also the crack of a 
 
 whip. 
 Smeawtch, a kiss. 
 Smelt 'nt, smeU'd. 
 Smit, 
 Smut, J 
 Smooring, smothering. A. S. 
 
 a black spot. A. S. 
 
102 
 
 Smoot, smooth. 
 
 Snuffle, to speak through the nose. 
 
 Du. 
 Snap, quickly; also to bite at; 
 
 also to cheat or over-reach. Du. 
 Sneap, to check. Da. 
 Sneck, the latch of a door. Bel. 
 Sneeze, snuff. A. S. 
 Sneeze-hurn, a snuff-box made of 
 
 the tip of a horn. 
 Sniddle, long grass, or stubble. 
 Snidge, to hang on a person. 
 Snift, a moment ; also to snuffle at 
 
 the nose. A. S. 
 Snifter, to snuff at the nose. A. S. 
 Sniftering Fellow, a shuffling 
 
 sneaking person. A. S. 
 Snig, an eel. A. S. 
 Snips, to go snips is to go halves, 
 
 or parts with a person. 
 Snite the Nese, to bloiv the nose. 
 
 Br. 
 Snod, stnooth, sleek. 
 Snoode, a fillet to tie up women's 
 
 hair. 
 
 Snook, to smell. 
 
 Snoor, ) , _ - . . , 
 
 \ to make, a noise m sleep. 
 Snore, J ' ' 
 
 Snot, mucus of the brain. Du. 
 
 Snug, tite, handsome. Du. 
 
 Snye, to swarm ; also to pull up 
 
 the nose scornfully. A. S. 
 Soany o Sims, q. Alexander of 
 
 Simeons, 
 Sod, a clod, or turf. Du. 
 
 Soke, to lie in water to soften. 
 
 A. S. 
 Soltch, a heavy fall. 
 Snoblint, q. sand-blind, short 
 
 sighted. 
 Sops, toasts. A. S. 
 Soo, a sow. A. S. 
 Sooary, sorry. 
 Sope, a sup, a little. 
 So't, so it. 
 Sow, the head. 
 Sowgh, to sigh. 
 Sowght, sighed. 
 Sowd, sold. 
 Sowt, sought. 
 
 Spade-graft, about afoot deep. 
 Sparrow-bills, short nails used by 
 
 shoemakers. 
 Spavin'd, a strained horse. Fr. 
 Speeaks, U/ie rays or staves of a 
 Spokes, I xvheel. A. S. 
 Speek, did spake. 
 Speer, a shelter in a house, made 
 
 betiveen the door and fire, to keep 
 
 the wind off. Br. 
 Spelk, a J/im 6it o/ wood. A.S. 
 Sperr'd, enquired; also to besperr'd, 
 
 is to be published in the church. 
 
 A.S. 
 Speyk at him, speak to him. 
 Splinter, a small piece of wood. 
 
 Bel. 
 Spokes, the staves of a wheel. Bel. 
 Spoat, the spittle. 
 Spok'n, spoken. 
 
103 
 
 saucy. 
 
 Spon new, bran new, never ivore. 
 
 Spooart, sport. 
 
 Spoos, bobbins for weavers shuttles 
 
 Spots, places ; also stains. 
 
 Spytfo, spiteful. 
 
 Scymous, 
 
 Squemous, 
 
 Stadles, marks made by the small 
 
 pox. A. S. 
 Stangs, long, strong staves. A. S. 
 Stank, did stink. Du. 
 Stanniel, a hawk. 
 Stark, very stiff. A. S. 
 Stark-giddy, I'oy angry, mad. 
 Stark'en, to stiffen, as mutton fat 
 
 in the frost. A. S. 
 Staw, to he resty, will notgo. A. S. 
 Stawnch, stanch, firm; also to 
 
 satisfy. Fr. 
 Stawnshons, upright staves in a 
 
 window. Fr. 
 Stawp, to go clumsily. 
 Stawtert, reeled. 
 Steart, stared. 
 Steawk, a handle. 
 Steawp, to stoop down. 
 Steawp on reawp, all, every part. 
 Steawt, q. stout; alsoproud. A. S. 
 Steeigh, a ladder ; also a stile. 
 Steep, rennet. 
 Steepo, a steeple. 
 Steyl, a handle. 
 Stickle, to stand stiffly to a thing. 
 
 Teu. 
 Stickle-but stickt. 
 
 value; also treasure. 
 
 stand. 
 
 Stickt, pierced, gored. 
 
 Stiddy, an anvil. A. S. 
 
 Stingy, sneaking. A. S. 
 
 Stint, to set bounds to. A. S. 
 
 Stirk, a heifer of a year old. A. S. 
 
 Stoar, 1 
 
 Store, j 
 
 Stond,) 
 
 Son', 
 
 Stonning, standing. 
 
 'a stump in the roads to 
 Stoop, keep carts off; also pieces 
 Stud, ^qf wood or stone by which 
 
 gates are hang'd. 
 Stown, stolen. 
 
 Stracklings, rash, foolish persons. 
 Stract, off their senses. 
 Strawnge, strange, unknown. 
 Streek, did strike. 
 Strey, straw. 
 Strike, two pecks. A. S. 
 Strickle, an instrument to mete 
 
 corn ; also ariother to whet 
 
 scythes. A. S. 
 Strinkle, q. sprinkle. 
 Strines, the sides of a ladder. 
 Stroakt, stroaked. 
 Stroke, of corn two pecks. 
 Strung, strong. 
 Strunt, vid. scrunt. 
 Strushon, waste. 
 Strowlt, q. strolled. 
 Stub, an old stump. 
 Stuff, to cram ; also a general 
 
 name for many things. Du. 
 
104 
 
 Stunnish, to stun; also to sprain 
 
 the sinews. 
 Stur, stir. 
 
 Suds, a lather. A. S. 
 Sulky, subtle, iU-nal:ird. 
 Sumniot, somewhat. 
 Sumheaw, some way. 
 Sunk'd, su7ik. 
 Sur, sir. 
 Suse, six. 
 Swab, to swoon. 
 Swad, a pease or bean husk. 
 Swaith, \a single row of grass 
 Swathe, > cut by a mower. Du. 
 Swathe-bawkt, grass miss'd in cut- 
 ting between the swathes. 
 Swamp, a boggy place. Teu. 
 Swarffy, tawny, blackish. A. S. 
 Swarm'n, do swarm ; also a great 
 
 number. 
 Swat, sweat; also did sweat. 
 Swatch, a piece for a sample. 
 Swattle, to waste things by degrees, 
 
 to drink. 
 Sweamish, a bad stomach, saucy. 
 Sweltit, hot with sweating, q. 
 
 melted. A. S. 
 Sweal, to burn, to blaze. A. S. 
 Swilker, to dash over, to shake 
 
 liquor in a vessel. A. S. 
 Swill, to wash slightly:- - A. S. 
 Swinging Stick, a sticK for beat- 
 ing or opening wool. A. .S 
 Swingle-tree, a piece of wood to 
 keep the gears of a horse open. 
 
 Swither, Uo Mane, to burn very 
 Swithur, J fiercely. 
 S-^oon, to faint. A. S. 
 Swop, exchange. 
 
 Sye, to put milk, ^c. thro' a sieve; 
 also to rain very fast. 
 
 Ta', take. 
 
 T'a, to a. 
 
 Tak't, take it. 
 
 Talemed's Father, the author of 
 Telliamed, or the Indian Phil- 
 osopher. 
 
 Tarrit, tarried. 
 
 Tat, that. 
 
 Tawk'n, they talk. 
 
 Tawkn't, did talk. 
 
 Tawm, to swoon, to vomit. 
 
 Te ) 
 
 fthu; also the; also they. 
 Teh,) ^ ^ 
 
 '^^yhey 
 
 had. 
 
 Tead'n, 
 
 Theyd'] 
 
 Tealier, a tailor. 
 
 Tean, taken. 
 
 Team, they were. 
 
 T'eat, to eat. 
 
 Teastril, a cunning rogue. 
 
 Teathy, peevish, cross. A. S. 
 
 Teaw, to pull; also to work hard; 
 also to ruffle a person; also thou. 
 A. S. 
 
 Teawing, hauling, ruffling, work- 
 ing hard. A, S. 
 
 Teawn, a town. 
 
105 
 
 [thou tliall. 
 Theawst, J 
 
 Theawrt, thou art. 
 
 Teawse, to pull, or ruffie. 
 
 Teawzer, q. Towxer. 
 
 Ted, to sprread grass for hay. 
 A.S. 
 
 Tee, thee; also a hair rope to 
 shackle cows in milking. 
 
 Teear, they were; also to rent. 
 
 Teem, to pour out. A.S. 
 
 Teeny, fretful, vid. teathy ; also 
 very little. A. S. 
 
 Tele, a tail, or tale. 
 
 Tell, to know. 
 
 Tem'd, to pour out, A. S. 
 
 Terns, a sieve. A.S. 
 
 Ten, then. 
 
 Tent, to guard. 
 
 Tey, take; also thy. 
 
 Tey't, take it. 
 
 Teytch, teach. 
 
 'Tharcake, q. hearth-cake, from 
 being baked on the hearth. 'Tis 
 made of oatmeal unleavened, 
 mixed with butter and treacle. 
 
 The, thse ; aho thy ; aho they. 
 
 Tlieaw, tlwu. 
 
 Theawr't, thou art. 
 
 Thear'n, they were. 
 
 Theaw'U, thou will. 
 
 Theawm,\ , 
 
 I thumb. 
 Thame, ] 
 
 Theaws'n, 
 
 Theawson, 
 
 [thousand. 
 
 Theawst, thou shall. 
 
 Theeigh, a thigh. 
 
 Theese, these. 
 
 They'n, they will. 
 
 Thible, vid. slice. 
 
 Thick podditch, thick water 
 
 gruel. 
 
 Thin, than. 
 
 Things'n, things will. 
 
 Think, a thing. 
 
 Thiss'n, after this manner. 
 
 Thooan, ] 
 
 __,, \wettish. 
 
 Thoan, J 
 
 Those'n, those will. 
 
 Thowt, thought. 
 
 Thodden Bread, &o. is said to he 
 
 thodd'n when it is stiff and close 
 
 like the liver of hogs. 
 Thooal, to afford. A. S. 
 Thrang, throng. A. S. 
 Thrap-wife, vid. thrunk. A. S. 
 Thraw, ] to argue hot and loud. 
 Threeap, I A. S. 
 Thrift, a pain in the joints of 
 
 young persons. Teu. 
 Thrimmo, to finger a thing too 
 
 long, as a miser his money ; also 
 
 yarn ill spun. 
 
 Throddy, 1 
 
 ^, , „ r fat, broad, bulky. 
 
 Throddle,J'^ " 
 
 Tlaxoiieerif^irteen. 
 
 Throttlt', strangled. 
 
 Thrung, 
 
 Thrunk, 
 
 very busy. 
 
106 
 
 Thrunk os thrap-wife when hoo 
 
 hong'd 'er sell ith' dishcleawt, 
 
 this is sjjoken of persons triflhigly 
 
 busy. A. S. 
 Thrut, the throiv of a stone, Sc. 
 
 also the throw in wrestling. 
 Thrutches, thrusts. 
 Thrutcht, did thrust; also am 
 
 thrust, or squeez'd. 
 Thrutchings, the last press'd whey 
 
 in making of cheese. 
 Thump, a blow. 
 Thumping, a strikifig ; also a 
 
 thing very large or notorious. 
 Thunk, a lace of whit-leather. 
 
 A.S. 
 Thurn, a thorn. 
 
 I a great bloio ; also a 
 ' -j large piece of bread and 
 ^cheese. A. S. 
 
 , to allow. A. S. 
 
 Thwole, ] ^ , 
 
 , \to afford, 
 
 Thooal, ) •" ' 
 
 Thooanish, a little wet. 
 
 Thwite, to cut with a knife. 
 
 Thwittle, a wooden hafted knife. 
 
 Tick, a vermin on cows, £c. 
 
 Tift, to be in good tift is to be in 
 
 good order. 
 Tike, perhaps from tick, which see, 
 
 any out of the ivay person is 
 
 called a tike. 
 Tilly, till I. 
 
 Timmersome, q. timorous, fearful. 
 Tin, till ; also to shut a door. 
 Tinge, a small red insect. 
 
 Tinn'd, is shut. 
 
 Tit, a horse, or mare. 
 
 Titter, to laugh. Teu. 
 
 Titter or latter, sooner or later. 
 
 A.S. 
 Tite, neat, spruce ; also as well, as 
 
 soon. 
 Tizeday, Tuesday. 
 To, too; also thou. 
 Toart, toward. 
 Tone, the one. 
 Tooart, a t — d. A. S. 
 Tooad, a toad. 
 
 Tooat, a tuft of hair, grass, dx. 
 Toose, those. 
 To't, to it. 
 
 Too-to, us^d when any thing excels. 
 Topple, stagger ; also to fall. 
 Tory-rory, vid. hey-go-mad. 
 Tother, the other. 
 Towd, told. 
 Toyne, shut. 
 Toynt, is shut. 
 Toyart, wearied. 
 Track, a path, els sheep tracks, dc. 
 
 Pr. 
 Tramp, a journey, to tramp is to 
 
 travel. 
 Tx&sh., unripe fruit ; also an over- 
 
 ivorn shoe. Teu. 
 Trat, did treat. 
 Traunce, a tedious jounwy . 
 Treacle-Butter-Cake, h-ead spread 
 
 over with treacle. 
 Trest, a strong large stool, Fr. 
 
107 
 
 Trice, a moment, qukldtj. 
 
 Trig, to run softly. 
 
 Trindle, the trundle of a wheel- 
 barrow. A. S. 
 
 Trouble'o, trouble you. 
 
 Troubl't, troubled. 
 
 Turn, to turn wool, is to card it 
 slightly. 
 
 Turn, a by-name for Thomc(s. 
 
 Tummus o'Williams, o'Margit, 
 o'Eoaph's, q. Thomas of Wil- 
 liam's, of Margaret, of Ralph's. 
 These proper names are iis'd in 
 some parts of Lancashire to 
 distinyuish persons tvhere there 
 fire many of the same name in the 
 same neiyhbourhood. 
 
 Timor, Tuner, a dog's name. 
 
 Tung, tongue. 
 
 Tup, a ram. 
 
 Tupunny, tim-pemty. 
 
 Turmits, turnips. 
 
 Turmoil, to vex; also to work very 
 hard. 
 
 Tussle, to struggle, to ivrestle. 
 
 Tutoh, a comical trick. 
 
 Tuttle, an aukKard person in shape, 
 humour, £-c. 
 
 Twattle, to s — te ; also to go about 
 with tales. Bel. 
 
 Twinge, to nip, to squeeze. Bel. 
 
 Twindles, twins. A. S. 
 
 Twinter, a year old hefer. 
 
 Twirl, to whirl. A. S. 
 
 Twirlpoo, a whirl-jwol. A, S. 
 
 Twitch, to pinch, to nip. A. S. 
 Twitcli-ballock, the great black 
 
 beetle. A. S. 
 Twitter, is to laugh secretly, 
 
 within a twitter, is within a little; 
 
 twittert yam is unevenly spun. 
 
 Teu. 
 'Twou'd, it would. 
 'Twur, it was ; also it were. 
 Tyke, vid. tike. 
 Tyne, to shut. A. S. 
 Tyney, roy little. 
 
 U 
 
 diminutive oatlis from 
 God's-blood and God's- 
 wounds, now interjec- 
 tions not commonly un- 
 \clerstood. 
 
 Um, them. 
 
 Unbethowt, reflected, reimmber'd. 
 
 Unlaight, or^ 
 
 Unleawght, 
 
 Unkert, ) 
 
 [stranye; also news. A.a. 
 Uncoth, j ^ 
 
 Uphowd, maintain, uplwld, to 
 
 warrant a thing. 
 
 Uphowdteh, maintain it thee. 
 
 Uphowdo', maintain it to you. 
 
 Urchon, a hedge-hog. A. S. 
 
 Us't, used. 
 
 Yabimt, a vile person. Fr. 
 Varment, vermin. 
 
 Uddzlud, 
 Uddzo, 
 
 uidaugh'd. 
 
108 
 
 Varra, very. 
 Veeol, veal. 
 View-tree, yew-tree. 
 W 
 Wakkeb, easy to be awaked. Du. 
 Wack'nt, awaked. Du. 
 Waddle, to stagger, or go like 
 
 ducks. Du. 
 Waesme, woe is me. 
 Waggle, to go like ducks. Bel. 
 Wamble, vid. waddle. A. S. 
 Wag, to move to and fro ; also an 
 
 arch person. A. S. 
 Walk-mill, a fulling-mill. Bel. 
 Walladay, q. xeail the day! an 
 
 interjection for sorrow. 
 Wan tit, 
 Wantut, 
 Want'n, loant. 
 Wap, a peep ; wap't by, is . went 
 
 swiftly by. 
 War and war, worse and ivorse. 
 Wark, work; also ached. A. S. 
 Wark-brattle, lovitig to work. A.S. 
 Warkt, ached. A. S. 
 
 wanted. 
 
 Ward, I 
 
 loorld. 
 
 Warld, J 
 
 Warry, to curse. A. S. 
 
 Warst, worst. 
 
 Wartcht, ached. A, S. 
 
 Warritt'n, Warrington. 
 
 Warrit, did curse. 
 
 Wattles, the lowest part of a cock's 
 
 comb. Teu. 
 Waughish,/ai?ite/i, sickly. 
 
 Wauter, to stagger. A. S. 
 
 Wawk'n, icalk. 
 
 Wawt, overturn. A. S. 
 
 Wax, grow. A. S. 
 
 Waybroad, the herb plantain. A. S. 
 
 Weal, to chuse. 
 
 Wear, to lay out money ; also a 
 
 dam. Br. 
 Wea's-me, q. woe is tne, an inter- 
 jection of sorroiv. 
 Weaughing, barking. 
 Weaw, the cry of a cat. 
 Weeks of the Mouth, the sides of 
 
 it. 
 Weeky, moist, wettish. 
 Weel, loell. 
 
 Ween, we have ; also we will. 
 Weet, wet ; also with it. A. S. 
 Weete, to wet. A. S. 
 Weh, idth. 
 Weird, boiVd or scalded milk; also 
 
 to forge iron. 
 Welly, or Well-ney, q. well-nigh, 
 
 very near. 
 Welkin, the sky. A. S. 
 Welt, a doubling in the garment ; 
 
 also an hem. A. S. 
 Wem, the belly. A. S. 
 Went'n, went. 
 Wetur, water. 
 Wetur-tawms, sick fits, water 
 
 qualms. 
 Way, way. 
 Weynt, weaned. 
 Whackert, quaked, trembled. 
 
109 
 
 Whaff, 1 ^, , . , . „ 
 ,„, „ y a blast of wind. A. S. 
 Whaft, ' ■' 
 
 Whake, to tremble. 
 
 Wharle-knot, a hard knot. 
 
 Whaiiooh, a wizzard. 
 
 Whau, v:hy ; also well; an inter- 
 jection. 
 
 Whawm, to take a ichaxmn, is to 
 warm ones self. 
 
 Wheant, \q^. quaint, strange; also 
 
 Wlieint, ■' comical. 
 
 Whean, Iq. quean, a whore, a 
 
 Wheign, J slut. Du. 
 
 'Whea.&'n, the gullet. A.S. 
 
 Wheeze, to make a noise in breath- 
 ing. A. S. 
 
 Wheem, near ; also handy. A. S. 
 
 Whewtit, 
 
 Wheawtit; 
 
 Wherr, very sour. 
 
 Wherkn't, suffocated with water, 
 smoke, Sc. 
 
 Wherrit, a box on the ear; also 
 did laugh. 
 
 Wherrying, laughing. 
 
 Whelpt, whelped. A. S. 
 
 Whick, alive. 
 
 Whiffo Whaflfo, or whiff whaflf, 
 trifling words or deeds. 
 
 Whimpei-, offering to cry. Teu. 
 
 Whinney, to neigh. Br. 
 
 AVhirl-booan, the round bone of 
 the knee, the patella. 
 
 Whirlybooans, the knees. 
 
 'S^''hisht, hush, silence. 
 
 [whit 
 tit, J 
 
 ichistled. 
 
 Whisk-telt, light of carriage, 
 
 whorish. 
 Whisky, whorish. 
 Whinnit, neighed. Br. 
 Whithern, whither will. 
 Whiz, to hiss, as a flying bullet. 
 
 A.S. 
 Whoam, home. 
 Whoavt, covered. A. S. 
 Whooad, w/io iroitld ; also who 
 
 had. 
 Whoats, oats. 
 Whoo-up, shouting when all's 
 
 over. 
 Whoo-who, -vvhoo-who, whoo ! an 
 
 interjection of great surprise, 
 Whot, %1-hat. 
 What's, what is. 
 Whott'n, what will they ; also what 
 
 will you. 
 Whottle, ii'hat will. 
 Whotyel, q. hot awl, an iron to 
 
 bore holes. 
 Why-kawve, a female calf. 
 Wick, a week. 
 
 Wilcat, q. wild cat, the pole cat. 
 Wilcome, welcome. 
 Wimmy, with me. 
 Win, will. 
 Winnaw, will not. 
 Winrow, hay put together in rows 
 
 before housing it. 
 Wint, the wind. 
 Wisket, a basket. 
 Wistey, a large spacioics place. 
 
110 
 
 Witheawt, without. 
 
 Wither, verj/ strong, lusty. 
 
 Wither, with her ; also with your. 
 
 Wizz'n, to pine away, to dwindle. 
 
 Wofo, ivoeful. 
 
 Wonst, o?ice ; also on purpose. 
 
 Woo, wool. 
 
 Wooans, lives, or dwells. 
 
 Wooant, did live. A. S. 
 
 Woode, mad. A. S. 
 
 Wort, a word; also new liquor. 
 
 A. S. 
 
 Wortch, to worJc. 
 
 Wou'd, I loish. 
 
 Wou'ddidd'n, ] 
 
 „, , ,,, \ I wish you wou'd. 
 
 Woudyeddn, i " 
 
 Wough, a wall. A. S. 
 
 Wrang, \ 
 
 Wrank, J"™"^' 
 
 Wrostle, lorestle ; also to grow 
 
 ripe. 
 Wrostling, ivrestUng. Du. 
 Wrynot, sirname. He shad Wry- 
 
 not, and Wrynot shad the devil. 
 Wrythen, twisted ; also ill-natur'd. 
 
 A. S. 
 
 Wryth'nly, peevishly. A. S. 
 
 Wondert, wondered. 
 
 Wuns, lives ; also an interjection 
 
 from wounds. A. S. 
 
 Wunt, did live. A. S. 
 
 Wur, was. 
 
 Wurneh, ) 
 
 \ioere you. 
 Worney, > 
 
 Wurr, worse. 
 
 Wurr'n, was, were. 
 
 Wurrit, ■) 
 
 Wurt, r'"'- 
 
 Wurther, was there. 
 
 Wythin Kibbo, a strong wil- 
 
 loiv. 
 Wyzles, stalks of potatoes, turnips, 
 
 Yammer, to desire eagerly. 
 Yarb, a herb. 
 
 Yarley, early, soon in the morning. 
 Yean, you will ; also a sheep is said 
 
 to yean when she brings forth. 
 
 A. S. 
 Yeandurth, before noon. 
 Yeasing, the eaves of an house. 
 Yestmus, 
 Yepsintle, 
 Yeasy, easy. 
 Yeate, a gate. 
 Yearnstful, very earnest. 
 Years, ears. 
 
 Yeawl, q. howl like a dog. 
 Yed, a by-^iame for Edward. 
 Yem, a by-name for Edmund. 
 Yearth, earth. A. S. 
 Yepsintle, two hands full. 
 Yer, your. 
 Yigh, yes, yea. 
 Yo, you. 
 
 Yoan, you will, you have. 
 Yoar, you are. 
 Yood'n, you was. 
 
 a handful. 
 
Ill 
 
 Yorshar, Yorkshire, to put York- 
 shire of a man, is to trick, cheat, 
 or deceive him. 
 
 Yort, a fold, or yard. 
 
 Yuletide, Christmas times. A. S. 
 
 Yugmas, Christmas games. A. S. 
 
 Yugoads, Christmas playthings. 
 A. S. 
 
 Yusterday, yesterday. 
 
 Yusterneet, yesternight. 
 
 Yunk, \ 
 
 Yung, J^""'^^- 
 
 Yunger, younger ; also youngest. 
 
 Z 
 ZuNS, a petty oath from God's- 
 wounds ; an interjection. 
 
 •cv*-o-=a.-^ 
 
CUEIOUS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 HISTORY OF MANCHESTER. 
 
 With a judicious incredulity of spirit, let us enquire and think 
 for ourselves. 
 
 Preface to the History of Manchester, Page 7. 
 BY MUSCIPULA, Sen. 
 
To all whom it may concern. 
 
 Chance throwing into my hands a new newspaper, entitled 
 Prescotfs Manchester Journal, I observed particularly in it 
 some remarks on the History of MmicJiester, written by a gen- 
 tleman who signs himself Chretnes, which I thought a little 
 too sharp and ludicrous. 
 
 This rouz'd my curiosity to see the book, which I soon 
 procur'd, and sat down very coolly, intending only to com- 
 pare the work with the observations of Chremes, to satisfy my 
 own private judgment, as to the justness or impropriety of 
 the remarks. 
 
 I had not read above half the preface to this curious his- 
 tory, but the author appear'd so positive, so very dogmatical> 
 that Chremes's remarks not only appear'd just, but too short 
 and lenient. 
 
 On this, I could not well master the whim that started 
 up, but resolv'd to add some few strictures or remarks of my 
 own, besides those I met with in that number of Prescott's 
 Journal ; tho it proves since (for I did not expect the 
 remarker would continue his observations in more than one 
 paper) that we have now and then beaten the same bush. 
 
 I intended these remarks to bo more serious than those of 
 Chremes : but before I had perus'd a dozen pages, I found it 
 impossible for one of my temper to do it; having a natural 
 antipathy to tyranny in writing, as well as politics : for I 
 found his Eeverence so positive and self-sufficient, that it 
 threw all gravity out of my thoughts, and serious reasoning 
 out of the question ; so in spite of my first intentions, I 
 fell into the same strain, with the prior remarker. 
 
 What his Eeverence or his friends may think of these ob- 
 servations I know not, neither do I want to know : and if 
 any whimsical person should think it worth his while to 
 
116 
 
 ■Write remarks on the remarks, and on the remarker too, I 
 promise him it shall not move my spleen; but I will not 
 avouch so much for my laughter. 
 
 If these ludicrous remarks shou'd prove as a lancet, to cool 
 a little dogmatical blood; or a speculum, to shew in a true 
 light the ridiculousness of so affectedly-lofty, prolix, and im- 
 perious a style, I shall hit the mark I shoot at : for excepting 
 those glaring foibles, and the credulous whims, too common 
 with most antiquarians, he is certainly capable of writing in 
 a masterly and pleasing style, (of which I could produce some 
 instances) ; and I fancy he might prove a solid antiquarian, 
 and an honour to the town he lives in, if a sort of pride, 
 mix'd with self-sufficiency, do not, (as in a whirlwind) carry 
 him beyond the clouds. 
 
 I shall readily own he has advanc'd many new and inge- 
 nious probabilities, as well as wild extravagancies ; for which 
 last he justly blames his brother antiquarians: yet, self-love 
 is so blind, he cannot see that he has those very faults he 
 so sharply corrects in others. If a thing be in unison with 
 his fancy, that 7mi.st be right: if any thing clashes, that is 
 absolutely wrong, the author was too juvenile, he was ignorant 
 of the matter, he did not understand the language, &c. 
 
 I do not blame him, or defend any one he finds fault 
 with, so long as reason and probability are his guides : but 
 when he abandons these, and slips into the dark and towering 
 smoke of Ossian, and other dubious authorities ; why should 
 not I withdraw my assent, and leave him in the mazes of 
 his own fancy? He has treated many authors before him, 
 as well as some cotemporaries, in a mean and despicable 
 manner: let his Keverence then submit quietly to the Lex- 
 talionis, and not be angry with poor 
 
 MUSCIPULA. 
 
Eemarhs on the Preface. 
 
 This preface begins with telling the reader what he may- 
 expect. In pages 6 and 7. " He may expect whatever may 
 " illustrate the general antiquities of the kingdom ; whatever 
 " marks the general polity of towns ; whatever serves to lay 
 " open the causes and circumstances of any momentous events ; 
 " all these the author proposes to examine ; to ascertain the 
 " doubtful, to retrench the false, and clear up the obscure. 
 " He will fix the position of the British tribes ; accurately 
 " define the extent of the Roman provinces in the island, 
 " which has been hitherto The Philosopher's Stone of Antiqui- 
 " ties." He goes on, " By a new test that seems absolutely 
 " decisive ; by a new argument, that seems to carry every 
 " conviction with it," &c. 
 
 These and more wonderful things he will bring into day 
 from the rust of time, and darkness of ignorance; many of them 
 by such dark-lanterns as Macpherson's Ossian, and the Monk of 
 Westminster's Itinerary : Which last work he says, " is so 
 " genuine that it needs no proof; for all the embodied antiqua- 
 " arians of the four last centuries could not have forged so 
 '■ learned a detail of Eoman antiquities." Yet for all this assu- 
 rance, where this Monk had it from no one knows, except from 
 Ptolomy, cotemporary writers, druidical traditions, or the 
 records of a certain Eoman general : but who that general 
 was, or when, or where he liv'd, this antiquarian knows not ; 
 and the whole is more uncertain than the days, or even the 
 battles of. his favourite Pendragon Fingal.'^- 
 
 Yet these, and many such like, are the rotten and tottering 
 piles he builds his stupendous fabric on : by these his argu- 
 ments are ffl6so/«?rfy decisive ; they »iu^< ascertain the doubtful ; 
 
 * See more on this subject in page 8, of these remarks, where the 
 authenticity of Ossian'a Poems is disputed. 
 
118 
 
 they must carry every degree of conviction vyith them, for one 
 all-sufJScient reason, because he says so ! 
 
 Again in page 7. " The whole period of our national 
 " history before the conquest is the most important and 
 " momentous in our annals : it gives the body and form to 
 " all succeeding centuries of it. It contains the actual com- 
 " mencement of our public and private oeconomy : yet this 
 " important period has been more wretchedly delineated than 
 " any other ; has been hitherto delineated with all the hasty 
 " superficialness of ignorance ; but this work hopes to unfold 
 " many a dark entangled clue of history : the present work 
 " hopes to point out a large variety of incidents.'' 
 
 Great are thy hopes, O mighty work ! Vast are thy ardent 
 expections I And I hope too that thy sovereign's power will 
 enable him in the two next volumes to compleat thy hopes 
 and our wishes ! But the mountain in labour occurs to my 
 mind ; my fears suggest a ridiculous birth, and that there will 
 start up more Thomas Didymus's than faithful Stephen's, 
 or fond believing patriarchs. 
 
 By the foregoing mighty hopes, and positive assertions, we 
 find this antiquarian's telescopical sight can see many small 
 atoms before the conquest ; but he cannot see the importance 
 of the revolution in eighty-eight. He can settle upon decisive 
 principles the origin and history of the Picts, Scots, Danes, &c. 
 but he cannot see the ten times more plain and a hundred 
 times more momentous annals (both to the present and future 
 generations) of the late, and present blundering, corrupt, and 
 ruinous administrations of the present reign.* 
 
 * " I presume his Eeverence is not so much a courtier as to affirm, that 
 " the Constitution has been most grossly, and daringly violated under the 
 " present Eeign. He will not say, that the Laws hare not been shamefully 
 " broken or perverted ; — that the Eights of the Subject have not been invaded, 
 " or that Eedress has not been repeatedly solicited and refused." Junius to 
 Horn, Aug. 10, 1771, published since I wrote the above. 
 
119 
 
 However he concludes the preface with some glaring truths ; 
 for he breaks straight lines, and turns them crooked, as his 
 wonder-working fancy pleases : he lights up those dark ages 
 with the glow-worm-tail of Eichard the Monk, and the towering 
 smoke of Ossian. He heightens the little, witness his brook 
 Tib, which (on reading his description of it) I went to view, 
 but could not find one drop of water in it, except some dark 
 purple liquid issuing from a dye-house a little above : he 
 colours over the lifeless, for the truth of this, see his British- 
 battle-axes, pa. 16; his British Mancenion, pa. 36; Koman 
 Mancunium, pa. 38 ; the ground-plot of the Eoman summer- 
 station, pa. 186 ; and his new-invented map of the original 
 town of Manchester, delineated with as much minuteness and 
 particularity, as if he had himself measured the streets, built 
 the town, and plann'd the summer station ; all which curious 
 things (if ever they existed but in his own fancy) must be above 
 1400 years before this author was born. 
 
 — >ftS'^a»«<©<K — ■ 
 
ON THE 
 
 HISTORY OF MANCHESTER. 
 
 This reverend gentleman sets out in the most pompous abso- 
 lute style (from -which he scorns to deviate to the last page*) by 
 saying, that all the antiquarians before him have been mistaken 
 in the appellation by which Manchester has been known in the 
 Eoman Itinerary : Page S. " That it is ohviousbj not Eoman, it 
 " is obviously deduced from the British language." 
 
 Certainly his reverence begins this hopeful worli, with bantering 
 all common sense ; to affirm so dogmatically, that a thing so 
 very plain, so very easy to be seen, was never seen ; never 
 perceiv'd, or understood, by any one antiquarian before him. 
 Is not this ranting career begun with asserting a falsity ? for 
 the thing cou'd not be obvious, as he affirms it is, and yet never 
 possible to be seen, possible to be known, or ever thought on by 
 any mortal before himself ! 
 
 Here at the very starting, he has thrown his readers into a 
 dilemma. — ^We must either believe this author infallible, and 
 wiser than all who have gone before him ; or all prior anti- 
 quarians a set of blind fools! Smile reader — take which 
 
 side thou pleases — Gulliver's Travels — or the Gospel! 
 
 Hold — now I have hit on it : it proves an error of the press : 
 for obvious, read occult. 
 
 In the same page he says, " That the Eoman name Mancu- 
 " nium was not originally impos'd by the Eomans ; it was 
 
 * I hops the reader will excuse it, if he meets with some of his dogmatical 
 terms in the foUowing short remarks, which he will find in the Itahan type, 
 such as musi, alsoluiely, must certainly, must of necessity, t^-c. ^c. ^c. 
 
 E 
 
123 
 
 " actually impos'd by the Britons themselves, and the Britons 
 " only cou'd communicate a British name to a Eoman fortress." 
 
 Well said P •: did the Eomans never name any one of 
 
 their own fortresses, with a grain or two of British in it? 
 No — no — The Britons stood Godmothers to them all, from 
 the north-east parts of Parthia, to the Pillars of Hercules ! 
 
 Page 13. In this page he begins to describe his battle-axes, 
 and says, "Some have no handle, and are therefore hollow in 
 " the blade." Query, What's this hollow for, if not for a 
 handle, or can there be a battle-ax without a handle ? if so, a 
 man's a man when his head's gone. 
 
 Others have an handle and no hollow. Query, Where then 
 must the handle be put ? It must be put in an improper place, 
 or no where at all ! Does not all this clash with that old- 
 fashioned thing call'd common sense ? I think his reverence 
 shou'd have told us what the hollow in the blade was for, if 
 not for a handle : and where the handle shou'd be put, except 
 in a hole or a hollow : he might as well have told me, that the 
 hole in the head of a hammer was not for its handle ; and that 
 it might be fasten 'd best to the handle without a hole. 
 
 Yet here is description ! This is ascertaining the doubt- 
 ful ! — this is clearing up the obscure ! 
 
 These brass implements must not by any means be the heads 
 of spears, javelins, or the like, because the wisest antiquarians 
 have thought them so : they must be battle-ax heads ; altho' he 
 tells us, page 14, " That the socket (which by the bye is no 
 " socket but a groove) is plainly calculated for the reception of 
 " a wooden-handle in the same line with the blade.'' This 
 must certainly be a queer ax indeed, as its position resembles 
 that of a scythe laid straight in the pole. 
 
 Again, in his own brass celt, which was found in the hills of 
 Saddleworth, he tells us, " Part of a wooden handle was actually 
 "inserted in the cavity of the blade." Strange indeed! but 
 not so very strange neither, upon reflection : for he must also- 
 
123 
 
 lutely be more cunning than I, that can find a more proper 
 place for to put the handle in, than the hole or socket in the 
 head of an ax. But still another oddity occurs ; for the handle 
 of this celt stands in a contrary direction to that of the Mancu- 
 nian celt ; for he tells us, this stands in a right-angle, not in a 
 right line with the handle, as the other did : yet they both are' 
 " plainly the heads of battle-axes.'' Notwithstanding our au- 
 thor's assertion, I think it would puzzle his antiquarian 
 faculties, to fix the last-mentioned celt in a right-angle with 
 its handle : the difficulty of which any one may see by viewing 
 the plates, which are well expressed, and easily understood : the 
 sight of which demonstrates both of them were made to lie in 
 straight or parallel lines with the handles : and for this reason 
 they must absolutehj be of the philosopher's battle-axes, or battle- 
 axes of all antiquities. 
 
 As to the celt found in Saddleworth, with a socket at the 
 opposite end to the edge, and in which he says a handle was 
 actually inserted at a right-angle with its head ; this handle 
 might not be of equal antiquity with the head, but put in by 
 some person of late years ; who not knowing either its value, 
 or antiquity, might carelessly lose it ; and which may be the 
 case again, more than once, in the space of the next thousand 
 years. 
 
 In short, it appears incongruous to me, that as their form 
 shews, that their heads and handles must actually stand in the 
 same direction, they never were used as battle-axes, being so 
 very much too light for that purpose ; but rather the heads of 
 staves, spears, or javelins : but in my opinion, they were most 
 likely of all to be the bottom part of spears, and that the loops 
 (by which our author fancies they might be slung over the 
 shoulder, by a string, or hang'd by their side) were for the 
 hanging of small bells ; by the noise of which they might ap- 
 pear more terrible to their enemies in battle, and drown the 
 dying groans of their wounded. 
 
134 
 
 As to the two objections our author brings, that they were 
 too blunt, and too large in size for spear heads : I dare answer 
 the first (in his own way) that they were absolutely sharper 
 once than they are at present; and that the modern spear 
 heads will be blunter than they are, at half their age. And 
 supposing them made before the Britons knew the use of iron, 
 brass was the next proper material for such uses of any other. 
 As to the objection of being too heavy, that vanishes, and the 
 futility of it appears, by only reflecting on the weight of some 
 of our modern spear heads ; one of which, as I guess, may 
 weigh two or more of the brass celts.* 
 
 Page 14. He tells us, the head and handle of the battle-ax 
 was fasten 'd by a pin in the socket ; tho' there was no hole 
 through for the pin to go into. 
 
 Page 15. Here he says, there was an orifice on one side of 
 it. How did he know this, pray ? He tells you, by the large- 
 ness of the cavity within. 
 
 This is very curious — quite wonderful indeed ! Notwith- 
 standing this nice description, in the next line, he says, it was 
 secur'd (not by the before-mentioned pin) but by an infusion 
 of melted metal. Shou'd his reverence ask me, cannot there' 
 
 * Since I writ this remark, I have had ». peep into Borlace's Antiquities 
 of Cornwall, and was glad to find, that learned Antiquarian adopts much 
 the same notions that I have of these celts ; for after describing them, and 
 quoting the opinions of divers antiquarians, he says, " The use which will 
 "best agree with these properties, seems to me to be the head or arming 
 " of the spear, the javelin, or the arrow." pa. 286. Thus Dr. Borlace was 
 far from thinking them battle-ax heads, tho' his reverence would not tell 
 us so. 
 
 So our Sistuntian author may stirid, to the end of time, in that most 
 delightful place which he has chosen, and where Lot's wife was placed be- 
 fore him, i. e. by himself. 
 
 N.B. In Borlace's plate of these celts, there are some so small, yet of 
 their natural size, that they might very well be the tips of arrows ; but 
 his I'cverence would not tell us this, for one reason — They must be battle- 
 axes too! 
 
1S5 
 
 be a pin of metal? Granted. But then I ask, in my turn, 
 did you ever see a pin made of melted metal? Hum — per- 
 haps not. — Yet this must be accurate defining ! for the tailor 
 made no botch when he fix'd the sleeve on the pocket-hole. 
 
 But to clear up this obscure, and curious article of antiqua- 
 rianism, let our author try the experiment of fastening his 
 battle-ax head on, by pouring melted metal into the wooden 
 handle. I know not whether our author wou'd blush on the 
 trial : but I am sure the handle wou'd ; — bum ; and not be 
 fast neither. 
 
 Again in page 15. Here also he tells us, "he has a great 
 " curiosity m itself; which is a British,^ strong, heavy stone 
 " celt, moulded with great regularity, from a large stone, and 
 " ground neatly to an edge." 
 
 What admirable faculties has a true-bred antiquarian ! for 
 let twenty common mortals see this stone, and not one out of 
 them all can tell, that its parent block weighed two pounds 
 two ounces more than it does at present. 
 
 As to the edge of this celt, it is about twice as blunt as the 
 brass ones ; yet this is a neat edge ; but the brazen ones were 
 obtuse, and too blunt for the heads of spears. 
 
 Page 17. " The whole body of the Highland Scots (says our 
 " author) are living witnesses of the authenticity of Ossian's 
 " poems." 
 
 Now if the whole body of the Highlanders knew them so well 
 to be genuine at the time Macpherson collected them, which 
 was in 1760, how hajipens it, that the Highland and Scots 
 Historians and Antiquarians did not know, or so much as hear 
 of the Poems of Ossian before Macpherson was born? Is not 
 tradition better, more creditable, and clearer, near the fountain 
 head than further off ? 
 
 The few following cogent presumptions, are as strong, as 
 negative proofs can be, that all the Scots historians were igno- 
 rant of them ; nor did any one of them so much as dream, that 
 
126 
 
 so great a poet (who excell'd Homer if we believe Dr. Blair) 
 ever existed among them. 
 
 Sir David Lyndsay could not have heard of them, because 
 he speaks thus of the Bishop of Dunkell as a poet (and born 
 in the year 1474) without ever mentioning Ossian. 
 
 Alace for ane, whilk lamp was in this land 
 , Of eloquence the flowand balmy strand 
 
 And in our Inglis rhetoriok the rose 
 As of rubeis the carbunotle bin chose, 
 And as Phebus does Cynthia precel 
 So Gawan Douglas Bisohop of Dunkell 
 Had quhen he was into this land on lyue 
 Abufe vulgar poetis prerogatiue 
 Baith in practick, and speculation. 
 
 Prologue of the Complaint of the Papingo, 
 P. 40. 185. Ediu. 1592. 
 
 Another Scots author says, 
 
 Thooht G-awin Douglas Bischop of Dunkell 
 In ornate meter surmount did ererilk man. 
 
 William Drummond, of Hawthornden, in his history of 
 K. James V. says, 
 
 This Bishop of Dunkell was a man, noble, valiant, learned, 
 and an excellent poet. 
 
 Hume, of Godscroft, in his hist, of the Douglasses, pa. 
 990, says. 
 
 This Bishop shows such an ample vein of poesy, so pure, 
 pleasant, and judicious, that I believe, there is none that 
 hath written before, or since, but cometh short of him. 
 
 Dr. Patrick Anderson tells us, Oawin Douglas was the best 
 Scots poet that ever was born in that nation of any before him. 
 M. S. hist, of Scotland, from the death of K. Jam. I. vol. 1. 
 fol. 198. 
 
 Now I will leave it to the reader's judgment, whether all 
 these Scots authors (and many more I could mention) shou'd 
 speak of this Gawin Douglas as the best, and most noted poet 
 
127 
 
 that ever lived in that country before them ; and yet not hint 
 at, or quote Ossian, if they had ever heard of him ? 
 
 Or is it probable, that if he had ever existed, and had been 
 so famous and lofty a poet for historical, curious, antique songs, 
 but some one must have heard of, and mention'd him ? 
 
 I presume both these questions win be answered in the 
 negative : and here I'll rest the point. 
 
 As one of the great props of our author's high towering 
 novelties is thus shaken, let us examine a little into the founda- 
 tion of his main pillar : I mean Eichard, the Monk of Westmin- 
 ster's Itinerary. 
 
 It may be worth observing, that when any author of credit 
 will serve our antiquarian's turn, he makes use of him just as 
 far as he likes (to establish his notions) : but when some new 
 whim is to be prov'd, or lugg'd into day ; then Pdchard's 
 Itinerary is yoked up, or Ossian is quoted. 
 
 This Eicardus Corinensis was unknown to the learned world 
 till about twenty-four years ago, at which time (our author tells 
 us) one Bertram, an English gentleman had the great good-luck 
 to find it at Copenhagen ; a copy of which he transmitted to 
 Doctor Stukel}', who perswaded Bertram to publish it, which 
 he did. 
 
 In 17S7, Doctor Stukely printed another edition, with a 
 commentary from the transcript. 
 
 Now it happens, that either Dr. Stukely found something he 
 did not approve, and so alter'd the copy, or twisted it awry by 
 his comment : or else Bertram had altered the original : for 
 these two publications of the same work fall out by the ears, 
 and differ in many important articles ; but our author does 
 not tell us whether we should follow, or whether is more 
 authentic : and the whole weight and credit of this great 
 illumination of antiquities lies on the shoulders of the dis- 
 coverer, poor Mr. Bertram : who truly may be called the 
 Macpherson of Eichard's Itinerary.* 
 
 * For more on this subject, see remarks on the 7th page of the preface. 
 
138 
 
 If these two main pillars totter, what must become of 
 this hopeful work; this new-plann'd glorious fabric of our 
 antiquarian. 
 
 Pages 20 and 33. In these pages, he speaks of the 
 British suns, which gave our ancestors their whole undimin- 
 ished reflected warmth. This curious observation of two or 
 more suns, must absolutely have slipt the eyes of all former 
 historians and antiquarians : so that our author mmt cer- 
 tainhj have the honour of first bringing this curious, but 
 obscure article into day. For tho' one might almost swear 
 it impossible for all prior antiquarians to miss so glaring a 
 curiosity, yet there is no arguing against matter of fact ; they 
 7nost certainly did not see it; because our author quotes no 
 authority from whom, or where he had it. Nay, his oracles, 
 Ossian and Eichard, are absolutely silent in the affair. 
 
 happy Britons ! By the light of these suns we see the 
 reason of your empty wardrobes : you might well go naked 
 (notwithstanding our author dresses you in suits of plaid 
 from top to toe) who were bless'd with such warm ; — such 
 shining ; — such glorious days ! 
 
 Some of the next volumes must certainly tell us, what is 
 become of all the other suns, as none are left us but the 
 old one. Query, Sir, do not they clip new moons out of 
 them? 
 
 Page 33. " In the year 1765, or 1766, was found a Eoman 
 "Lachrymatory of black glass, deposited in a little hole upon 
 " the rock, and half filled with tears ; the cork-stopple being 
 "nearly consumed by time, and the liquor still retaining a 
 " considerable degree of saltness." 
 
 This historio-antiquarian must certainly be either inspir'd, or 
 have his taste and smell in an exquisite degree of perfection ! 
 Nay, he must absolutely have a better nose than his hunting 
 greyhound, (see page 326) when he can so easily distinguish a 
 Eoman Lachrymatory from an old Anglo-Saxon glass bottle : 
 
129 
 
 or the tears of a Eoman from the u--ne of an Enghsh-Saxon 
 Lady. Be this abtruse matter as the reader pleases, but (in 
 our author's style) it certainly must be the Philosophers Ukinal 
 of Antiquities : (see Pre. p. 6) and the next volumes -will, I as 
 steadfastly hojw as any book in the world can do, tell us what 
 cohort the tears belong'd to ; what the man's name was, who 
 cry'd them, and on what account. 
 
 This wou'd indeed be illustrating the antiquities of the 
 kingdom ; This would " lay open the causes and circumstances 
 " of this momentous event ! This would ascertain the doubt- 
 " ful ; retrench the false ; and clear up the obscure !" 
 
 When all this is done, there is still a small cloud to disperse : 
 i.e. to prove from the Greeks or the Bomans ; from Ossian, or 
 Richard ; that the Eomans could out-cry the ancient Britons, 
 or our Saxon ancestors ; because we never heard of either of 
 the last bottling up tears. 
 
 Pages SS and 82. Here the reader will meet with many 
 curious anecdotes which must never have seen day, had not 
 his reverence ferretted them out of the dark abodes of obli- 
 vion. In pa. 25 he tells us, how the British cabins made 
 streets, and to what quarter of the world they pointed. How 
 they skirted along the woody area with their cars, in bring- 
 ing stone from Collyhurst delf. How a square foundation 
 could not be a cabin for British warriors, because it was 
 square ; it must be the ground-work of a hovel for British 
 cattle, and for this further reason, it was on the slope of a 
 bank. How, and where the Mancenion Sistunti built their 
 shippons, or cow-houses. In page 32, he informs us, how 
 and when the Eomans began to construct this station. Who 
 measur'd and plann'd it: where the soldiers laid down their 
 shields and knapsacks, when they went to work in a morning, 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Here is describing momentous events ! This is clearing up 
 the obscure ! But how is it done pray ? Why, with his old- 
 
130 
 
 fashion'd weather-beaten proof, it must be so ; which like the 
 sword of his great Pendragon, Fingal, cuts all opposing argu- 
 ments in two at the middle ; and knocks staggering faith and 
 doubts on the head. 
 
 Page 97. " The solitude and silence of Mancenion was never 
 " interrupted but by the numerous resort of soldiers to the 
 "fortress in war; by the occasional visits of hunters in peace; 
 " and by the hollow hum of the dying murmurs of the garrison, 
 " conversing at a distance in the Castle-field. The boar and 
 " the wolf were the only proprietors of these ample confines." 
 
 What an affectation of round-about terms is here! What 
 talk at a distance in a field that had no being ! But, query, 
 Can solitude or silence, be at any time, or in any manner 
 interrupted, but either in peace or in war; by talking at a 
 distance, like echoes ; by occasional visits, or the dying mur- 
 murs of its own inhabitants ? 
 
 The boar and the wolf may be inhabiters ; but whether they 
 can be pi'oprietors of woods, forests, &c. of which men are 
 possess'd, I shall leave to the decision of lawyers ; but I doubt 
 the affirmative : because where there is property of any long 
 standing, there are quarrels, or law-suits ; and it would be 
 ascertaining the doubtful, and clearing up the obscure, to 
 prove a law-suit between a boar and a wolf on account of 
 their ample confines. 
 
 Page 43. He speaks here of a Roman urn, found in the 
 skirts of the Castle-field, in 17 6S, near the size of a quart, which 
 contained a quantity of ashes. Now here the sagacity of his 
 nose cou'd tell that these were the ashes of a child ; yes, and 
 the ashes of a considerable ofiicer's child too ; but all his 
 antiquarian faculties could not tell that a gill cup was capable 
 of containing the ashes of the bones of an ox, or those of 
 Goliath's of Gath ; so if his reverence had told us that they 
 had been ashes of the bones of one of his new-made Sistuntian 
 Empresses, or those of a favourite parrot, the account would 
 
131 
 
 have been as probable, and given as much satisfaction to his 
 readers. 
 
 Page 47. Mentioning the Eoman altar at Hulme-hall, he 
 says : " I apprehend it is more ancient than any other altar, 
 " or monument in all Eoman Britain. The characters are well 
 "cut, and well rounded; and better in both respects than the 
 " generality of letters in the inscriptions of Antoninus Pius." 
 
 What he means by well cut and well rounded (especially) I 
 am not able to guess : but I have been to see this altar, the 
 letters of which he is so much taken with : and I believe any 
 tolerable judge, on seeing it, will think with me, that most of 
 the letters are repaired in a cobbling manner, since it was 
 found in 1612, both in the main strokes, the oblique, and 
 horizontal ones ; and tipped, or ended like the present capi- 
 tal Eoman type. 
 
 Pages lis and 116. These pages contain very singular 
 instances of the wild infatuation of the human mind, when 
 buoyed up with self-sufficiency, and the floating vapours of 
 enthusiasm of any kind. 
 
 This great, this omniscient Pendragon of antiquarianism, 
 sharply reproves (notes p. 116.) the Eev. Mr. A^'atson, for 
 speaking no more than he thought or knew (or not distinctly 
 eno\igh) of the course of the Eoman road from Manchester to 
 Blackrod, which all will allow (his reverence excepted) who 
 knew any thing of the matter, to be dark and dubious, if ever 
 there went any at all; and because he does not clench his 
 guesses with that notable hammer, it must be so. 
 
 He finds fault with the same gentleman, for taking the ruins 
 of a castle at Blackrod for the remains of a Eoman station. 
 
 He supposes Mr. Watson was mistaken in this, because the 
 area of it was not large enough to erect shippons on it ; and 
 that it wanted room for soldiers to lay down their shields and 
 knap-sacks. 
 
 But how often does this Momus not only build fortresses, but 
 whole market-towns, with few or no I'uins at all to help him '? 
 
1S3 
 
 Witness his northern Bremetonac ; his fortress at Colne, at 
 Castle-shaw, in Saddleworth, at Windybank, near Littleborough, 
 his British Maneenion, Eoman Mancunion, and many more 
 airy and inchanted castles, which I'll leave to the reader's own 
 observations to find out. 
 
 Mr. Percival, he tells us, " has a wild way of asserting, 
 " without mentioning proofs ; has a wilder of supposing, with- 
 " out advancing reasons : he asserts without argument, and 
 " imagines without warrant ; by which means the multiplicity 
 " of Eoman stations is easy, and the fate obvious. And had he 
 "been left to the guidance of his own untutor'd genius, he 
 " would have stocked Lancashire with an infinite variety of 
 " stations." 
 
 Here we see a portrait well painted; — but at the same time, 
 behold also an oddity ! — The painter here knows not the per- 
 son of whom he has drawn a striking likeness ! He fancies he 
 sees another man's face in a glass : — stares attentively on it, 
 and takes himself to the life ! For the truth of this assertion, 
 I refer the reader to what is already said, and to what shall 
 come after, in the following remarks. 
 
 I had thoughts of producing particular proofs, that this 
 whole impeachment laid on the shoulders of Mr. Percival, and 
 the Eev. Eector (the first is no more, — and the latter, if worth 
 his while, is able to defend himself) ought to be totally saddled 
 on our author's back : but when I begun, the crowd of allega- 
 tions started up so thick, that the most laconic recital of 
 them, would swell these short remarks beyond the limits I at 
 first fixed them. 
 
 However I dare challenge any one to produce a book of the 
 same number of pages with our author's, that contains more 
 tautologies, more bombast sentences, and more prolix, ridicu- 
 lous phrases : that contains more assertions without proofs, 
 suppositions without advancing reasons ; castles, towns, and 
 fortresses, built on the airy foundations of fancy, or more mock- 
 
133 
 
 antiquities, proved by so futile an argument, as simply, it 
 must he so. 
 
 Page 120. This page is only remarkable for one short but 
 wonderful anecdote ; for he tells us gravely, the Roman road 
 from Manchester to his Eerigonium, descended one hill in 
 order to ascend another. 
 
 Was not this queerly done of this Eoman road ? For why 
 should it go down one hill on purpose to rise another, when 
 his reverence would have it to have gone the shortest way, 
 and flown in horizontal lines from one hill to another ? 
 
 Page 138. In this he mentions a Eoman road that went 
 from Mancunium into Yorkshire, and says, " Leaving Street- 
 " fold, and the parish, the road must have proceeded by Street- 
 " bridge and Street-yate ; and was lately dug up near Eochdale, 
 " about a quarter of a mile to the right, and near the road 
 " from Oldham to it ; the way was cut through in making a 
 " marl-pit, and appear 'd several yards in breadth, and deeply 
 "gravell'd." 
 
 Here's a fine particular story, and told without stumbling, 
 of a Eoman road being discovered by sinking a marl-pit near 
 Eochdale. 
 
 I have been in that neighbourhood to enquire after the fact, 
 both in Eochdale, and a mile in the road to Oldham ; and 
 of the most intelligent and likely persons to inform me, but in 
 vain. — Nothing could I hear of it : — no, not the least hint 
 in any manner whatsoever. 
 
 If the rest of this gentleman's positive assertions, of which 
 we are ignorant, and cannot disprove, be like this ; where is 
 the wonder that he should dare to perch upon the shoulders 
 of Eichard and Ossian, or to palm fictions, and the dreams of 
 his own fancy, on his credulous readers ? 
 
 This indeed may be call'd the antiquarian's dream 
 
 For like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 
 there's not a wreck behind ! 
 
134 
 
 After this, will not our mighty antiquarian blush, for blaming 
 Mr. Percival, Mr. Watson, and many more, for being too cred- 
 ulous ? 
 
 Pages 306 and 207. Our author tells us here, " That about 
 " forty years ago, the old town of Aldporton lost its name by 
 " means of one Hooper, who constructed some buildings there." 
 
 Here's another peremptory assertion I can contradict, as I 
 liv'd there above forty-three years ago : and it was then as 
 commonly and universally known by the name of Hooperton 
 (or Upperton) as the Hyde's-cross was then, and is now, known 
 by that appellation : nor did I ever hear it call'd otherwise, 
 before this great luminary arose in our firmament. 
 
 Page 207. " The chiefs of the Britons built seats that 
 "peeped over the tops of the surrounding trees.'' 
 
 But I say, most authors common sense, (and this author too) 
 agree, that the surrounding trees peep'd over the clod-made 
 cots of the Britons. 
 
 Pages 218 and 219. The names of rivers were generally 
 retain'd, and the same that was given them by the Britons 2000 
 years ago : and his favourite river Medlock, signifies Fair- 
 stream. 
 
 Now to humour this antiquarian, the brook Derwent ('tis but 
 a brook, tho' perhaps five times larger than this famous river 
 Medlock) has chang'd its name Matlock, which it had in times 
 of yore, from a gay mountain-village of that name (gay are thy 
 fancies, Ossian the second !) into its present name Derwent ; 
 and this purely to help him out in his Welsh derivations ; and 
 because Med and Mat have something of similar sounds : but 
 at the same time does not know, or take notice at least, that 
 there is a district, village, or chapel, called Derwent, near its 
 head ; which is much more likely to give name to it, than that 
 it should lose its old name, and find a new one. But I pre- 
 sume neither of these notions are so probable, as that the 
 village or chapel of Derwent took its name from the river, 
 it being seated on its banks. 
 
135 
 
 Page 997. This fifth section is very curious, and treats on 
 the dress and fashions of the primaeval Britons ; and so partic- 
 ular, it does not omit an iron ring, or a button, and is worthy 
 the attention of all future British antiquarians (tho' one spite- 
 ful critic or other may possibly entitle it, Laugh and be fat). I 
 shall only mention a few particulars. 
 
 " The hair of the Britons was generally yellow, turn'd back 
 •' on the crown ; was long and bushy, and fell down in a long 
 " wreath behind." 
 
 Long ; — -.bushy : — and a long wreath behind ! 
 
 Gentle reader ; how wilt thou squeeze an idea out of this 
 description? — I know thy thoughts are on the rack: so I will 
 help thee at a dead lift. 
 
 Fancy to thyself, that thou sees a huge, bushy, curl'd periwig, 
 such as was worn by that mighty grutf monarch, Charles the 
 Second : then compare it with a little smart toupee, tagg'd with 
 a large pigtail of the present mode. Now the medley is com- 
 pleat ; I feel thou hast it ; and thy ideas are as perfect as — can 
 be ! The mountain is swallowed ! 
 
 " The beards of the Britons were suffered to grow to a con- 
 " siderable length ; but were entirely confined to the upper lip.'' 
 
 fancy ! — Thou powerful director of antiquarianism ? What 
 grotesque figures dost thou make of these naked old Britons ! 
 Thou bestowest on them long beards ; but, alas ! thou blun- 
 derest as to the place of their residence. Thou makest them 
 to grow not on their chins, like the rest of mortal men ; but all 
 on the upper lip ! What pity that his reverence has not given 
 us a copper-plate of a few of our primaeval Britons, as well as 
 he has done plans of the old Mancenion, summer station, &c. 
 But there are more volumes behind : let us banish despair — 
 let us live in hope, to see bare chins with long beards ! 
 
 " The trunk of the chieftain's body was sheath 'd in a tunic, 
 " which was plaided and open before." 
 
 This must be a curious tunical-plaid sheath indeed ! And 
 
136 
 
 the trunk must be sheath'd in it with a witness ! Yet for all 
 this, the trunk was not sheath'd in the tunic open before, 
 for part of it, he tells us, was sheath'd in plaid trowsers. 
 
 He derives coat from cota British. But why not from cote 
 Saxon ; or eotte French ? He will answer, you are young and 
 ignorant : they must have it from the Britons. 
 
 Breeches he also derives from the British brages : but why 
 not from Irecce Saxon, or hroech Dutch ? Vid. the last answer. 
 
 " Brae or hrag, he says, signifies a chequered shoe, from 
 " whence the Irish word hrog : the Britons had shoes upon 
 " their feet, which must have been party-coloured as the rest 
 '• of their dress." 
 
 Thus our reverend author (in his fancy) indulges the poor, 
 old, naked Britons : dresses them in gorgeous plaids and 
 stuff-shoes ; which is a stretch beyond our Jemmy-smarts and 
 Beau-frihhles of the present times. 
 
 But for all this effiminancy here, in the next page he strips 
 them of all their finery : for he says, " they frequently made 
 " their shoes of hides like our half-boots." 
 
 In short, our author makes no difference between the 
 dress of the men and the women, and says, " The men had 
 "generally yellow hair; always long and bushy; turn 'd back 
 '' on the crown of the head, and fell down in a long wreatli 
 "behind. Beards of a considerable length, all confined to the 
 " upper lip. The trunk of the chieftain was sheath'd in a 
 "tunic or plaided waistcoat reaching to the middle, open 
 " before, and long sleeves reaching to their hands. They 
 "had plaided trowsers, on their thighs and legs. Over their 
 "waistcoat and trowsers, a loose plaided garment, called a 
 " sack, button'd on, and bound under the breasts with a gir- 
 " die, round the naked neck a large chain hanging on the 
 " naked breast ; a gold or iron ring on the scond finger on 
 "each hand; plaided shoes, and a round bonnet on their 
 "heads.'' 
 
137 
 
 Notwithstanding this minute description ; he says in p. 227, 
 that the common people in general must have been clothed in 
 skins. And p. 839, their shoes were frequently made of hides, 
 like our half-boots : and concludes (as customary) with his round- 
 about fustian : " thus the plaided drapery of the Britons must 
 " have still display'd its sober variety of colours, and its multi- 
 " plicity of little dyes in the streets of Mancunium ; and have 
 "form'd a pleasing contrast to the dress of the chief; the uni- 
 " formly darksome mantle of the Italian climes." 
 
 Stop, reader ; let you and I reflect a little. — Was not the 
 above garment one of the most miraculous garments that ever 
 was heard of? For it was a sheath, loose and open before ; 
 tlio' at the same time it was button 'd on, and bound fast under 
 tlie breast with a girdle. March on, mighty antiquarian, for 
 this is climbing the heights of description ! This must be 
 accurately defining : this must be illustrating antiquities : this 
 must be opening momentous events, and clearing up the 
 obscure ? 
 
 Now methinks I dimly see the ghosts of these ancient 
 Britons, dress'd in plaids of a sober variety of colours ; one 
 foot deck'd in a beautiful chequer'd plaid; the other in the 
 bristly skin of the prowling wolf; peeping at our author 
 through a varying deep misty cloud, striking the trembling 
 strings of their hollow sounding harps ; and in one of the 
 ravishing tunes of the old Caledonian Homer, softly — sweetly 
 — and gratefully uttering. 
 
 How beautifully upon the mountains dost thou make the feet of 
 thy favourite Britons, thou profoundest of antiquarians. 
 
 And in an opposite slow-moving mist, the spirits of the old 
 Irish, with Cathmor at their head ; adorn'd in a multiplicity of 
 little dyes, horrooing aloud this antiphone : 
 
 How easy upon our hogs dost thou make our plaid-hounden 
 toes, thou never-to-he-forgotten historian .' 
 
 Notwithstanding all this bustle ; this mighty farrago of dress ; 
 
 T 
 
138 
 
 the greater part of his readers will (I think) still retain the 
 more probable opinion, i. e. That the primseval Britons went 
 naked (some few chiefs excepted) : that they not only painted 
 (or rather stained) their hands and face, but their bodies too ; 
 which would have been to no manner of purpose under plaided 
 garments ; and these stained figures, Tertulian, the old African 
 doctor, had heard of, and calls them Britannorum stigmata. I 
 say, had they not gone naked, these various colour'd figures 
 had been of no use or significancy, either for ornament or 
 terror to their enemies in war. 
 
 It is most probable therefore, that they were ignorant of all 
 kinds of dress, before the Allobroges or Belgse invaded them, 
 a few of the south, and south-western chief Britons excepted ; 
 and those could have no plaids, or white flannel waistcoats with 
 a sober variety of colours, except the py'd, or spotted skins 
 of beasts, as taken from the carcase, carelessly thrown over or 
 about them : and even this was not done purely for warmth, 
 but to avoid the scorn, laughter, or offending those who came 
 to barter with them. Plin. hist. 1, 22, c. 1. Caesar Tacitus vit. 
 Agric. Hor. &c. &c. 
 
 But there is another little mole-hill to remove, which our 
 author has jump'd over in this volume, that may prove another 
 Philosopher s stone of antiquities, unless he illustrates, and proves 
 to satisfaction, the following points. 
 
 Whether there were among the old Britons, combers, carders, 
 weavers, dyers of wool, &c. 
 
 Or whether these curious variegated plaids and white flannel 
 waistcoats were brought them by the Belgse of the Continent, 
 Tyrians, Carthaginians, or others ? If the first, whence had 
 they their combs, cards, looms, and an hundred more curious 
 and necessarj' utensils, which require great ingenuity in making 
 of them ? But that they had not the making or manufacturing 
 of flannel, plaid, or other woollen-stuffs, is demonstrated by re- 
 flecting on their clod-buildings, and those clumsy rough-hewn 
 
139 
 
 tools, the British celts, and comparing them with the curious 
 instruments quite necessary in making the coarsest woollen 
 goods. 
 
 And if he asserts the latter, that they had them by way of 
 traffic, we must swallow that worn-out proof of his, it must be so : 
 for I presume, he will find it a Herculean labour to twist any 
 creditable author to the point, so as common sense can rely on 
 the proof. 
 
 This well consider'd, we must necessarily conclude, that the 
 primaeval Britons went generally naked : so our antiquarian may 
 dress up that new-found nation the Hottentots, in his shoes 
 and garments of plaid, as they sit, hang, or lye so awkwardly 
 on the painted bodies of the old Britons ; or lock them up in 
 the wardrobe of his fancy, which seems capacious enough for 
 many such like antique curiosities. 
 
 But again : so far was the art of weaving woollen from being 
 known in this island, in these ancient times, that I presume it 
 would be another Herculean job to prove a piece of woollen 
 cloth or stuffs made here before the fourteenth century : for our 
 wool was sold to the Flemings, and others, before the third year 
 of Edward the Third, or 1331 ; at which time one John Kempe 
 brought the art from Flanders, and to whom that King granted 
 his protection ; and invited over weavers, dyers, fullers, &c. 
 Vid. Kymer's Foed. torn. IV. pa. 496. 
 
 Page 230. Our author tells us here, " That the subuculse 
 "(or shirt) was not only productive of bodily elegance, but 
 "productive of bodily complacencies." 
 
 This expression of bodily complacencies, seems to me as affect- 
 edly obscure as most in this history : for surely he cannot 
 mean, that the Highlanders shirts (mentioned in the next 
 article) would make them complaisant to their enemies : if not, 
 'tis an fenigma to me, unless these two lines will unriddle it. 
 
 comely church, where females find clean linen. 
 As decent to repent in, as to — — . 
 
140 
 
 Page 332. " The custom of fighting naked among the 
 " Britons was so far retained by their decendants the High- 
 " landers of Scotland, that even as late as the battle of Killi- 
 " cranky (or 1689) the latter threw away their plaids and 
 " fought in their shirts." 
 
 I suppose his reverence will not allow these linen garments 
 to be real substances, but absolutely made of the spiritual yam, 
 and woven in the same asetherial looms with the robes of the 
 cloud-haunting ghosts of Ossian. 
 
 However that be, to mortals eyes it must be a strange sight, 
 to see an army of Highlanders fighting naked with their 
 shirts on. 
 
 Hold — ^for all this queer way of fighting naked, it proves 
 at last, that they pull'd them quite off, and threw them away. 
 
 Why surely, then our antiquarian was in the right to say 
 they fought naked. 
 
 No, no ; his reverence happens to be in the wrong still : 
 for Dalrymple in his memoirs of Great Britain and Ireland, 
 who is more accurate and particular in his account of this 
 action, and the manner of their fighting, than any historian 
 I have seen, affirms, " they threw away their plaids and under 
 "garments, and fought in their thick cloth jackets.'' Book 
 -3d, part 2d, page 54. 
 
 Page 234. Howel, he says, tells him, that the breeches 
 of the court-apparitor were of linen : if so, says our author ; 
 "his shirt must have been so too." 
 
 Must it so, Mr. Positive? The Jewish high-priest had 
 linen breeches, was his shirt so too ? No ; no ; — good sir : — 
 the right reverend priest in God, at that time of day, had 
 no shirt at all. 
 
 Page 294. He tells us the Britons were certainly proficients 
 in the art of making annulets, beads, and other utensils of 
 glass. Yet there is good reason to doubt this assertion, as I 
 could shew, would my intended brevity permit. As to those 
 
141 
 
 found in the barrows on Salisbury plain, th«y were more 
 likely brought hither by the Sidonians, Tyrians, Phenicians, 
 or others, than the manufacture of the Britons ; and that 
 those who brought them, might take back, by way of barter, 
 tin, lead, &c. But admit for once his reverence to be right, 
 and that the Britons were such artists in glass-making, his 
 reverence is most certainhj no adept : for the proof of this, 
 see his high-fancy'd process in this page ; and his composi- 
 tion of which he tells us glass is made ; where instead of 
 an absolute fixed salt, not to be evaporated by an intense 
 heat, he says, they mix with the sand three-fourths of nitre. 
 
 Page 311. Here he tells us, that he himself dug up fir 
 under the roots of a Eoman road, going over Failsworth-moss : 
 and that he had two pieces of fir, that were not oak, and 
 were bedded three yards below the crotv)i of the Eoman gravel. 
 
 Whether the reader's spleen or laughter will be more ex- 
 cited here, I cannot tell; but when I first read this lofty 
 fustian about fir-hunting; the roots of the Eoman road, and 
 the croim of their gravel, so tickled my fancy, that I laugh'd ; — 
 and alas — (pardon my weakness) — cry'd too! 
 
 But this gentleman seems determined not to express him- 
 self like any other writer ; and as a mighty monarch looks 
 down with scorn on the style of all English writers who 
 went before him, Macpherson excepted, whose loftiness he 
 thus ridiculously murders. I may perhaps select some few 
 specimens of his phraseology for the reader's diversion, but 
 there start up so many in almost every page, 'tis scarce pos- 
 sible but he must see them. 
 
 Page 312. Our author tells us here, that the Eomans 
 added several plants to the British gai-den, and says, "these 
 " must have been the cherry, the plumb, the pear-tree, &c." 
 
 Come up old Sternhold, — and sing us an old-fashion'd 
 stanza, in thy old-fashioned style, in a psalm-singing tune, on 
 these new-fashioned plants. 
 
149 
 
 If these be plants our tongue decrees, 
 
 Old men are infants young ; 
 And that small twigs are lofty trees 
 
 Which rooks do croak among. 
 
 Page 314. Here we meet with an article a little uncom- 
 mon, for 'tis all truth : he says, " corn 7mist have been originally 
 "the spontaneous produce of the new-created earth." 
 
 Pray sir, were not onions so too? Is this coming up to 
 the puffing hopes of this hopeful work hinted at in your 
 preface ? Is this your clearing up the obscure, or unfolding 
 a dark clue of history. 
 
 Again, " pounding of corn for bread did actually continue 
 "among the Eomans till below the era of the reign of 
 " Vespasian." 
 
 For this our author quotes Pliny, and he can believe him 
 too, when he pleases, let probability be ever so strong against 
 him ; and that it is so, we plainly see, by considering, that 
 the Jews had the (jrinding power oj the mill-stone very early, by 
 the precept Moses gave them, not to take the upper or lower 
 mill-stone to pledge. That the Jews paid tribute to the 
 Eomans long before Vespasian's time is certain, and the con- 
 querors must consequently be soon acquainted with the 
 manners and customs of the Jews, and immediately see the 
 great advantage the grinding power of the mill-stone had over 
 the pounding poiver of the pestle. 
 
 Page 313. " The Damascene (plumb) had been long taken 
 " from the vicinity of its native Damascus." 
 
 Is this not telling us, when English'd, that the noble and 
 ancient city of Damascus, which was born, bred, grew or 
 was brought forth in a plumb, had been long robbed of the 
 place of its birth? For the plumb had been long taken 
 from that city, which the said plumb had brought forth. 
 
 If this be not the sense and true meaning of it, it is desti- 
 tute of any in my judgment. Eeader, construe for thyself. 
 
143 
 
 He also tells us in this page, " that the Roman garden 
 ''lent its friendly assistance, and transmitted plants and 
 " flowers into Britain." 
 
 Who can deny but that this was a good garden in the 
 literal sense, for sending us these useful, pleasant, and neces- 
 sary things of life ? Nay, it was absolutely as good a garden 
 to Britain, as ever Britain was to the Roman Pontif: for we 
 taste the benefits of the Roman garden every day ; but Bri- 
 tain has robb'd poor Pontifex Maximus of all! 
 
 Again, in the same page, " These plants and flowers, be- 
 " neath the greater moisture of the British soil, and fainter 
 " liveliness of the British sun, took root." 
 
 In page 90 and 39, he tells us the Britons had two or 
 three suns at once, but here they are dwindled into one, and 
 that alas ! almost wore out with age ; for (ah ! what pity) a 
 faint liveliness was all that remained of it. 
 
 I wish his reverence had told us what difference there was 
 between a British, and an Irish sun ; whether had the greater 
 fainter liveliness ; and whether Ireland was ever favoured 
 with two or three suns at a time. 
 
 But here, as usual, he clears up the obscure, by leaving 
 his readers in the dark glare of a British sun. 
 
 Page 394. "The great household dog (he says) is blest 
 "with no powers of sagacity at all." But in the next lines, 
 he tells us, that " he is good-natured, honest, and faithful." 
 
 This appears, in my judgment, another self-contradiction: 
 for whether any creature can have these good qualities, or 
 dispositions, without any understanding at all, wou'd be 
 another Herculean labour for our author to prove. But this 
 point is so plain, I will refer it to that old-fashion 'd judge, 
 called common-sense, and speak to matter of fact. 
 
 I knew one of these sort of dogs who wou'd commonly 
 follow his master (a farmer) into the fields, woods, &c. where 
 the master had strip'd off and left his coat, a corn sack, or 
 
144 
 
 the like, which the dog wou'd never miss taking notice of, 
 and without bidding, or any other token, wou'd lay himself 
 down by, or on it, and has not left it for that day, or the 
 next night; neither wou'd he suffer a stranger, or another 
 dog to come near it ; but when one of the family has been 
 sent for it, he wou'd suffer it to be taken away, yet wou'd 
 not return back with them, but wou'd follow the same track 
 his master had gone ; and if not found before, wou'd hunt, 
 and follow him home. Neither wou'd this dog suffer a 
 stranger, or hardly a neighbour to come too near the house 
 in the night (when all were in bed) without awaking most 
 part of the family ; yet in the day was almost as quiet as a 
 lamb. 
 
 Was this creature void of all sagacity? Nay, rather, did 
 not he do more than our sagacious antiquarian cou'd have 
 done, or still can do himself? 
 
 In the same paragraph he says, " There is just such a dog 
 " represented on a coin of Cunobeline, and a person appears 
 " mounted sideways on its back, waving its tail, and turning up 
 " its face with a sensible satisfaction on its rider.'' 
 
 Here we see, when this gentleman is in a humour to think 
 so, the very figure of this dog appears sagacious : yet the living 
 animal is without sagacity ! 
 
 What strange mortals are those who are bit by an antiqua- 
 rian-tarantula ! How they blend and twist ideas ! affirm and 
 deny the same thing, in the same breath ! Just now the dog 
 had no sagacity at all when alive : but now again, upon an old 
 rusty coin of Cunobeline's, he can see a sensible satisfaction in 
 its very looks, and almost see it laugh with pleasure in its very 
 rider's face ! Nay more, he saw the very tail of the dog to 
 wave on the coin ! 
 
 Spectatum admissi risum teneatis? 
 
 ye clumsy statuaries — and you fumbling painters: what 
 have you been doing these fourteen hundred years, that none 
 of you all cou'd make one of your dog tails to wag ! 
 
143 
 
 Page 325. " In the desert plains of Patagonia, where the 
 "European horses have lapsed into absolute barbarism, the 
 " European dogs have lapsed with them." 
 
 Has not his reverence coupled these barbarians bravely and 
 lovingly together? If these quadrupeds were not as absolute 
 barbarians, as the lion who slew the poor old prophet, and 
 spar'd the dull ass, they must be under the greatest obligations 
 to our author, for coupling them so cordially in the same 
 yoke. — Let us pause a little. — But studying signifies nothing: 
 for 'tis not possible for me to find out, from what degree 
 of learning, gentility, and politeness, these horses and dogs 
 fell into this absolute barbarism. Had they been either learned 
 or polite, they must absolutely have heard of Adam's fall, and 
 wou'd not (surely) have been so barbarous to themselves, as to 
 have split on the same rock. — Eeader, I must absolutely leave 
 thee to thy own sagacity ; — the blind cannot lead the blind. — 
 I cannot grope the way myself. 
 
 Pages 830 and 343. " The hare oou'd never have been 
 " hunted by the primteval Britons." 
 
 But why cou'd they not hunt the hare, and with their own 
 original dogs too? for I have seen the hare hunted by this 
 sort of dogs. 
 
 You tell us, p. 327, that the British chieftains had hare- 
 parks : did they keep these creatures pent up, as we do throstles, 
 purely to sing ? For admit the Druids had prohibited them 
 for being eaten, they might hunt them as we do foxes, for 
 their skins, or for diversion. But the reason why they never 
 hunted the hare before the Eomans time, might be, lest they 
 shou'd hurt the character of his new-made Tuscan dogs, who, 
 he says, cou'd only hunt the hare : but here his reverence has 
 lost the scent again, for I have seen these his Tuscan hunters 
 not only hunt that creature, but also the fox, the badger, the 
 otter, the buck, and his foulmart too, which is the same crea- 
 ture with his pole-cat, tho' he is pleas'd to split them in two. 
 Yid. p. 327. 
 
146 
 
 I had no thoughts of touching his poetry, tho' it is uncom- 
 monly notable : no, not even those four blustering lines, p. 311. 
 So adapted to our author's taste and style, that at the first sight, 
 I really took them for his own, because he quotes no author for 
 them : but he had them from Pope's Homer ; and they are 
 perhaps four of the worst lines in the Iliad, both for poetry and 
 sentiment ; and with the help of them, our author plays a 
 drawcansir with a witness, in his forest of Arden, and makes it 
 hurl its own oaks headlong down — down — nobody knows 
 whither ! And where the brown thickets groan, — then rustle, 
 — then crackle, — then crash, — then come thundering down, 
 like a, — like a muff, that has a terrible fall from off her lady- 
 ship's lap. But ridiculousness and nonsense are the same, 
 whether they be the productions of a Homer, a Pope, or an 
 antiquarian. 
 
 I say, I had no thoughts of making the least observation on 
 the poetical part, till I came to p. 326, where I met with this 
 line, translated from Martial. 
 
 For thee alone, the greyhound hunts the prey. 
 
 This of a hunting greyhound I thought a mistake either in 
 the Latin, or the English poet, in which I was confirm'd, when 
 he translates these two lines from Gratius in the next page. 
 But shou'd the game elude his watchful eyes, 
 Wo nose sagacious tells him where it lies. 
 
 Here's an absolute contradiction in the sense ; for the first 
 metamorphoses the greyhound into a Tuscan hunter, and the 
 latter turns him statu quo. 
 
 Page 338. The terrier is here spoken of in three lines from 
 Oppian : 
 
 " Croot-limb'd and black-eyed aU their frame appears, 
 "Flanked with no flesh, and bristled rough with hairs. 
 
 "But fenced each jaw with closest teeth is found." 
 Speaking of the Tuscan hound. 
 
 " What tho' their form be shagged with roughening hairs." 
 
147 
 
 Of the spaniel thus, 
 
 "Praised are the father's of Panuonia's brood, 
 " And praised the ChUdren of Hispania's blood." 
 
 Bravo ! — Here are poetical feet ! — soft and smooth, as the 
 jogging of mill-stones ! Besides the easy sweetness of the 
 numbers, here are the brood of a spaniel, and the children of a 
 spaniel ! But where is the wonder of this, when in p. 837, he 
 calls a litter of pigs, the infant brood of the wild-boar : this is 
 a note above Ela ! For the spaniel might possibly be of the 
 feminine gender ; but there it looks as if he was determined to 
 make the wild-boar lay eggs, and be a hatcher of chickens. Yet 
 this must not be confounding the animal species, it must be 
 refining our language ; it mmt be defining a subject accurately, 
 and a clearing up of the obscure ! Ah poor old English ! How 
 he racks thy veins and sinews. 
 
 There is no doubt, but in one of his next volumes he will 
 huddle up in his high-carded fustian, the spawn of an owl ; 
 and the whelps of a cuckow. 
 
 O Apollo ! — do thou, in thy wisdom and care for the muses, 
 send that daughter of Jupiter Calliope, to suckle and nourish 
 this bard, and safely saddle the old nag of Bellerophon, that he 
 throw him not, — break his neck, — and crumble him into 
 atoms. 
 
 Page 234. It may be observ'd, that whenever our author 
 comes on the stage in the character of a hunter, he murders his 
 part. In this paragraph he tells us, " the way of hunting the 
 " fox in the eight century, was only by unearthing him." 
 
 This is a shred of that thread-bare linsey-woolsey garment, 
 one half improbability, and the other contradiction : for who 
 can swallow this assertion that ever saw a fox hunted ? Does 
 his reverence think that creature was never hunted by the old 
 Britons, or first Saxons, before or after he was unearth'd ? If 
 so, he must think they never had any chase after him on the 
 face of the ground ; and then, where was their hunting him ? 
 
148 
 
 Where ? — Why ignoramus, the thing's plain enough ; the recre- 
 ation lay in unearthing him, as our author asserts, or which is 
 all one, in hunting him under ground at the roots of Roman 
 roads, and three yards below the crown of their gravel. For this 
 article of fir-hunting, see p. 811. 
 
 Page 833. " The Gauls produc'd the largest and best liog's- 
 " meat that was brought into Italy." 
 
 This assertion at first glance puzzled me, as not perceiving 
 what sort of stuff this large hog-meat cou'd consist of: but 
 reflection soon light up the candle, by which I perceiv'd what 
 it might, and what it cou'd not be. It was plain it cou'd not 
 be beans, pease, or any sort of corn, no not even acorns, these 
 being too diminutive in their size. Then as to potatoes, or 
 cocoa-nuts, it never appears the Gauls had any knowledge of 
 them. So I conclude, this large and good hog-meat, must of 
 necessity be either parsnips, carrots, cabbages, or pompions : for 
 we can hardly suppose his reverence wou'd call the hogs them- 
 selves, the best and largest hog-meat. 
 
 As to the Gauls being such adepts in rnaking sausages and 
 black-puddings, that wou'd keep sweet and sound from North- 
 ern-Gaul to Calabria, which Gauls, he says, supply'd the whole 
 compass of Rome (not the citizens) and great part of Italy with 
 them, and which for all their age and mustiness, pleas'd the 
 nice palates of the Romans in the time of Augustus. This is 
 certainly a curious anecdote ; and it is to be lamented that 
 neither Varro, Strabo, or our author, has hinted at the secret of 
 pickling puddings for long voyages, as they must certainly have 
 that art, as well as the Britons had the art of pickling birds and 
 beasts ; for the Britons, he tells us, p. 334, jnust have added 
 birds and beasts to the good hog-meat sent them from the 
 Northern Gauls ; (i. e. the Scots or Irish) and they must have 
 been pickled, unless we can suppose the Britons sent them 
 alive into Italy, and that they were fed there : I confess this 
 might be easily done, if they cou'd feed beasts and other fowls, 
 
149 
 
 as easily and quickly as our author tells us they fatten 'd their 
 cocks, — merely by the act of castration. 
 
 Page 334. Here he says, " After the coming of the Eomans, 
 " geese were no longer prohibited to be eaten :" and the next 
 page he confirms it, that the Druids had prohibited the eating 
 of them to the Britons. Yet for all this, a few lines before, in 
 this page, he says, " The British cheneros, or wild-goose, was 
 " actually esteem'd a great dainty, and preferr'd by the Britons 
 " for the table to most other animals in the island." 
 
 Eeader, — behold this great antiquarian's judgment, his 
 consistency, and infallibility ! Mark at the same time my 
 ignorance and stupidity ! for till the moment I read this page, 
 I always took a wild-goose to be a goose. 
 
 Page 334. " Plens and cochrels were first fatten 'd by the 
 " Eomans in the manner we do now." 
 
 Pray, how is that, do you think, gentle reader ? — must I tell 
 you? No, no, I need not; he tells you himself; — it was with 
 meat ! 
 
 " The method of fattening a cock, by the act of castration, 
 " was a Eoman invention." 
 
 I deny the affirmative : the act of castration never fatten'd a 
 cock, nor a eunuch neither ; for that manner of fattening never 
 was invented. 
 
 Page 335. " The Britons were not only prohibited hares, 
 " geese, and poultry, (a goose we see here is not a goose still, 
 " neither is it of the species of poultry) but also all sorts of 
 " fish." Again, " beneath tlie shelter of this prohibition, the 
 "fishes had hitherto continued for ages in peace, (i. e. without 
 " any war) neglected and unknown, and had multiply'd into 
 " infinite numbers." 
 
 Eouse up thy faith, reader: its assistance here will be 
 wanted : for wlio can believe, without its mighty aid, that a 
 nation ignorant of agriculture, surrounded by the sea, inclos'd 
 with rivers full of fish on all sides, who had nothing to support 
 
ISO 
 
 life but hunting, fishing, and the wild fruit of the woods, did 
 not partake of the finny race with all other people, or so much 
 as know a fish when they saw one ! 
 
 Here is on this side common sense, the reason of things, and 
 the strongest probability : there stands our author perching 
 on the shoulders of Dio, who commonly wrote by report, oftner 
 by guess, and who we see is still copied by some of our modern 
 historians. 
 
 Still again, " The fishes (query Sir, are not fish and sheep 
 " plural ?) were now first pursu'd into their watry element, 
 " and now first received their particular appellations." 
 
 Here is another curiosity lugg'd out of rusty ruins of time, 
 enough to make Camden, Selden, Verstigan, and other old 
 antiquarians snuff in their graves ; and all that living tribe to 
 blush, that a new member of the antiquarian society, a meer 
 Tyro in the study of antiquity, should first discover, that before 
 the times of the Eomans, the finny tribe inhabited the moun- 
 tains and plains, woods and forests ! For in, or on some of 
 them, they must absolutely inhabit, otherwise it was impossible 
 to pursue them into the sea ! 
 
 But here is another rub in the way, not easy to slip over ; 
 and enough to damp all exultation on finding out this momen- 
 tous event : for methinks I hear some ignoramus ask, how 
 comes all sorts of fishes to be neglected and unknown for ages to 
 the ancient Britons, if they liv'd on hills and plains, woods and 
 forests, promiscuously with the Britons ? This is a choak-pear 
 of a question, which I think no mortal sagacity can answer, 
 except our oracular pendragon of antiquarianism will please to 
 do it in the next volume : and in expectation of this, here I'll 
 leave it, and only observe, 
 
 That as to the fishes running into the sea to be christen'd, it 
 absolutely proves they must have lived somewhere with our pro- 
 genitors for ages ; because they absolutely could not have thought 
 at it, had they not been a little humaniz'd. 
 
151 
 
 Page 336. " There were no plovers, turtles, partridges, phea- 
 " sants, or cuckows in Britain before the Eomans time ; they 
 " were all imported hither by those people." 
 
 What a misfortune it is to all lovers of antiquarianism, that 
 this gentleman does not tell us who did us this peculiar favour 
 by importing these birds ! For certainly his name ought to 
 stand in the list of fame, equal at least with his, who built the 
 Picts Wall ; for to build such a rampart as that, wou'd be as 
 practicable now, as transporting a hundred cuckows from hence 
 back again into Italy, to say nothing of their sister companions. 
 — Hold ! I recant opposing our antiquarian in his point ; I had 
 forgot the Eomans in the time of Vespasian, esteem'd a new- 
 fledg'd cuckow a most delicate dish ; and that at Eome they 
 kept all their cuckows as tame as we do now hens and chickens. 
 
 Page 337. " The general face of the island was every where 
 " tufted with large woods : one of these lin'd all the central 
 " hills of the Highlands of Scotland." 
 
 I have lately been informed by an intelligent native of that 
 place, that there are hundreds of hills in those parts on which 
 neither tree or brown thicket ever grew since Noah's flood, 
 neither did he think that either of them would grow there till 
 that flood came again. But a negative cannot easily be prov'd, 
 and my informant ought not to stand on his tip-toes before an 
 infallible antiquarian. 
 
 Page 349. " The bear was even transported to Italy from 
 " hence, and publicly hunted in the Eoman shews, and fur- 
 " nish'd great diversion to the Eoman people." 
 
 This is another curious anecdote which is pluck'd out of the 
 ruins of time by his reverence, and all sensible men micst abso- 
 lutehj acquiesce with him, that it must certainly furnish great 
 diversion to the spectators : nay it was impossible but it must 
 give more pleasure than any spectacle that was ever before 
 exhibited in Eome. 
 
 Shut thy eyes reader ; that thy ideas may be expanded ! — 
 Think that thou sees an English bear, hunted in a Eoman 
 
133 
 
 amphitheatre ! What scouring over the Downs ! — What quest- 
 ing, what hunting through the woods ! What hallooing ovei? 
 the forests there must be in this ravishing chase ! All in thy 
 sight ! — All in thy hearing ! — Without danger of breaking thy 
 neck in the pursuit, or being torn or devoured by a sudden 
 double of the wild beast. 
 
 Hold, hold — not so fast — now I'm running a bear hunting 
 indeed ; and am lost (antiquarian like) already ! Why, when I 
 stare about me, I perceive I'm within doors ! There cannot be a 
 bear hunted in a place a little more than half a Lancashire acre.* 
 
 But is there no hole to creep out of this bear- trap ? Yes, yes, 
 and a large one too : for the Eomans when they transported our 
 bears, took along with them (on purpose to hunt them in) two 
 spacious plains which lay S. W. of Cornwall, and were part of 
 the great tin-island mentioned by our author p. 385, and 441, 
 and at that time join'd the county to the Scilly Islands : Three 
 large woods and one forest, which made the east side of Kent ; 
 and which some foolish historians and antiquarians think were 
 once the lands of Earl Goodwin, and that the shoals there, from 
 him, are still called Goodwin's Sands : but alas ! they were 
 gone to Italy long before he was born ; all of which some wise- 
 acres think were swallowed up by the sea. 
 
 But as these antique curious anecdotes may possibly be dis- 
 puted by some ignoramus's, I'll leave this ravell'd skein to be 
 untwisted by infallible antiquarians ; and from my bear-hunt- 
 ing, slip to my 
 
 Page 343. " Hawking, among the Thracians (our author tells 
 " us) was a recreation that was only pursu'd by a particular 
 " district." 
 
 * Nero'a amphitheatre was 525 feet long, and 135 feet broad. Danet's 
 Die. under Amphitheatrum. 
 
 The area of the Colisieum, or Vespasian's amphitheatre, oontain'd about 
 4132 square yards ; that of Verona was not so large. Marquis Scipio Maffei's 
 hist, of amphi. A Lancashire acre is 7840, a statute 4840 square yards. 
 
153 
 
 And a particular greedy district it was indeed, thus to en- 
 gross the whole recreation of hawking all to itself! But this, 
 like the last article, passes my understanding, if it must be 
 taken in a literal sense : and how to find a spiritual, or any 
 other construction for it, I cannot conceive : So I'm forc'd to 
 leave this Thracian district to follow its diversion of hawking, 
 and go to the derivation of the word; 
 
 Page 348. Bleak, which our author says " imports the deep 
 " gloom of a considerable wood." 
 
 By this he allows it does not mean the deep gloom of any 
 wood : and if it was possible for his reverence to be mistaken, 
 I shou'd think that never was the' meaning of it : for bleak 
 comes from the Dutch hleeclc; which signifies cold, plain, windy, 
 or chilly ; and is always taken in that sense, and no other in 
 Lancashire, Yorkshire, &c. and I presume through his majesty's 
 English dominions. 
 
 Page 356. " Manchester must iiave been a market-town, 
 " from the first actual moment of its commencement." 
 
 We must here suppose it below this reverend divine to play 
 with words, and that he does not mean it begun to be a market- 
 town when it did begin to be one. And if he does not, then it 
 is a most singular instance of a town starting up a market, on 
 building the first cottage ! 
 
 All other market-towns have a kind of natural growth : their 
 beginning, or infancy; their youth, their prime, and decay: but 
 we find Manchester was not subject to these dilatory modes of 
 coming to perfection ; it started up a market-town as soon as a 
 boy (with his lead ready melted) can cast a lead farthing. 
 
 O Manchester !— how happy art thou in thy almighty anti- 
 quarian! who elucidates such profound secrets of art and 
 nature ! " who lays open the causes and circumstances of such 
 " momentous events," and says ; Let there be a market-town ; 
 — and lo ! — one starts up ! 
 
 Ah! that our blind, blundering governors knew but one 
 
154 
 
 half pf his -wisdom and power ! They must of neeesslty dub 
 him a bishop, and send him to our south-western colonies 
 (who now desire one so ardently) to raise them market-towns ; 
 as he can do it without cost (a main article this) in so little 
 time, and without materials : nay sooner than a statue can 
 be set on a pedestal. 
 
 As to his diocese, they need not take a single thought 
 about it, he will soon construct one for himself, and a cathe- 
 dral too ; the windows whereof he will make absolutely more 
 admirable than those of St. John's in Manchester ; for he is 
 such an adept in a glass-house, he will make them of metal, 
 the which shall be as diaphanous as the best crown glass.* 
 
 Page 386. " The Eomans spread pavements over the face 
 " of their roads, and they must spread them in the streets of 
 " the British towns." 
 
 Come — Sternhold : — Here thou art wanted again — coming, 
 coming ; — hum ! 
 
 Sternhold, loquitur. 
 
 I did not know till this I read. 
 
 But pavements had been pav'd ; 
 And not like butter, with thumb spread 
 
 On erust, which Bob had sav'd. 
 
 Page 377. To prove the early making of woollen cloth, 
 our author quotes Gen. 14, 23. where Abraham tells the 
 King of Sodom, he will not take so much as a thread or a 
 shoe-latchet of him. 
 
 By which he concludes and says, that " Wool appears 
 " actually to have been combind (not woven) into vests within 
 " a few years after the dispersion." As this conclusion, which 
 he draws from the word thread, is a genuine chip of the old 
 block, or his style and method of reasoning, from first to last, 
 let us sift it a little. 
 
 * See pages 294, 295, and 359, where our philosophical antiquarian calls 
 glass a metal. 
 
155 
 
 I presume it will be granted, that it is impossible but 
 thread, or yarn, must be twisted or spun, before it can be 
 combin'd (or woven) into cloth or vests. If so, then thread 
 might be twisted or spun two thousand years before it was 
 combin'd either into cloth or vests (read waistcoats). What 
 is become of his positive word actually, if there may be, and 
 is uncombin'd thread ? Besides, were it possible to add one 
 mite to his present stock of knowledge, I cou'd tell him, that 
 there might be threads of silk, of flax, of goat's hair ; the bark, 
 or even leaves of trees, before the twisting or spinning of 
 sheep's wool was thought of. Thus, this thread, by which 
 he literally hung, proves the thread of a spider's web. 
 
 But let us not boast on putting on our armour ; for to make 
 the argument indubitable, he brings 38 and 13 of Genesis to 
 corroberate it ; where Judah is said to go up to his sheep- 
 shearers to Timnah. 
 
 But let us try to dissolve this mountain in his Eoman 
 Lachrymatory (p. 32.) without breaking the bottle : for tho' a 
 wild-goose shou'd not prove a goose, we can prove that sheep- 
 shearing is not woollen-weaving ; and that sheep are some- 
 times shorn before the usual time, purely to ease them of 
 their fleece, when it is too hot and fatiguing, which is done by 
 some Mancunian dogs at present, without combining the hair 
 into vests. But when his reverence turns hunter or woollen- 
 weaver, he seems to be as much out of his element as a fish 
 out of water. — Ne sutor ultra Crepidam. 
 
 Page 378. " On the coming of the Eomans into Lancashire, 
 " the Sistimtian monarch must have invited artists and imported 
 " (read brought) implements from the south. Each Sistuntian 
 " baron probably had a loom in the offices of his house, work'd 
 " by his own servants, &c." 
 
 Who that reads this, and considers the times he speaks of, 
 can forbear smiling at this Sistuntian-cotton ? 'Tis below notice ! 
 However, if the reader thinks it worth his time, he may find 
 
1S6 
 
 this point of woollen-weaving discuss'd in the 25th and 26th 
 pages of these remarks. 
 
 As our author knocks down, and then treads on the necks 
 of all antiquarians that went before him, so, like a mighty 
 monarch he looks down with scorn on the style of all former 
 writers, Ossian excepted : after whom he skims in the clouds 
 of whim and fancy, till common-sense leaves him ; which 
 falling down, dashes itself to pieces on the rocks below. 
 
 I know these remarks will appear dry, and unentertaining 
 to the generallity of readers who may never see the work re- 
 mark 'd on (because of the price) ; for which reason, I think 
 it may be diverting to some of them, to give a specimen of 
 this author's round-about dogmatical style ; where he describes 
 Mancunium and its skirts ; and where, in the space of eigh- 
 teen lines, he parades it with his well-beloved, and never-to- 
 be-tired positive word must, no less than eight times, and 
 each assertion the chimerical spume of his own fancy. For 
 this see p. 238, where he tells the reader how the country 
 round Manchester appeared fifteen hundred years ago, as par- 
 ticularly as if he had been there at that time, and taken 
 minutes, and draughts with his own hands and eyes. His 
 words swim thus, 
 
 " At a greater distance must have been the spreading circuit 
 " of the meadows, cornfields, and pastures. The pastures en- 
 " liven'd with the sweepings of the town, and the marl of the 
 " daub-holes, must have put on a better covering of their own 
 " native grasses, and have been more gayly painted with their 
 " own native flowers. And the meadows must have been con- 
 " siderably enrich 'd with the foreign trefoil, the one only 
 " artificial grass of the Romans at this period. The former 
 " must have been filled with flocks of sheep, and herds of cat- 
 " tie. Here and there must have appear'd little hovels among 
 " them, in which some Amhacton must have regularly watch 'd 
 "with their attendant mastifi's, for the nightly protection of 
 
157 
 
 "both against the inroad o'f the wolf and the boar from the 
 " neighbouring woods. And the flocks and herds must have 
 " rang'd at this period all over the site of the present town, 
 " have nibbl'd upon the slope of the Market-street-lane, and have 
 " grazed along the course of the Smithy-door ; and the bleat- 
 " ings of the one, and the lowings of the other, must have 
 " been loudly returned by the eddying ecchoes (his own ortho- 
 " graphy) of the surrounding woods." 
 
 Here I'll leave the reader to measure Hercules by his foot; 
 for if the reader be not sick, — I am. 
 
 I say the readers (and perhaps his reverence too) may think 
 many of these notes mere whifBing observations ; I allow it ; 
 but then what are the words, phrases, &c. remark'd on ; I 
 think them below serious criticism myself, and treat them 
 accordingly ; and that they want a Doctor Busby more than a 
 judicious remarker. But where is our humanity, if we see 
 the blind man out of his way, and refuse going through a 
 little dirt to put him in the right road again? 
 
 Page 883. " The salt-spring at Northwich (he says) rises 
 "into light." His reverence in this may speak the truth once 
 again ; but then its in a quibbling sense ; i. e. when the 
 engine and buckets bring the brine into day ; for when I 
 was there about eight years ago, the brine-pit was about 
 twenty yards deep. 
 
 "The spring at Condate (his now Eomaniz'd Kinderton) 
 "flbw'd actually within the area of it." What a treacherous 
 memory has this writer ! It was but four or five lines before, 
 that he told us it was sixteen or seventeen yards deep. This 
 flowing under ground, seems to be half-cousin to his fox- 
 hunting (in page 333.) Let them squeeze truth and sense 
 out of the above premises that can : I shall leave it to them. 
 
 Page 385. This antiquarian says, "Lancashire was first 
 " inhabited some years before the time of Herodotus, and 
 "about 500 years before the sera of Christ.'' 
 
158 
 
 ' But in the fourth page of the conclusion, he says, (in his 
 round-about new-found-style of Ossian) "We have seen the 
 " shades of this Arden selected by the Monarch of Lancashire 
 " for the seat of a station in the woods ; and a station actually 
 "planted in the center of it." (Pray Sir, how do you know 
 it was just in the middle ?) " This was the first early period 
 "of the population of the parish. This was the first early 
 " commencement of a town within it. The rude out-lines of 
 " a town began, (I thought it abstarted up all at once) the 
 " faint principle of population commenc'd, about fifty years 
 " before the christian eera." 
 
 Here are contradictions saddled with contradictions : How- 
 ever, let us throw out the fustian, and try to translate it into 
 English. 
 
 Lancashire was first inhabited five hitndred years before 
 Christ's birth : but the parish of Manchester was not inhabited 
 till fifty years before Christ : therefore, this same parish was 
 not inhabited till 450 years after the rest of the county. 
 Yet in the 6th page he tells us, " The parishes of Ashton, 
 " Manchester, Flixton, &c. must have been the first inhabited 
 parts of the county." 
 
 Now reader, who must we believe? The parson, the anti- 
 quarian, or the chronologist? In truth there is no believing 
 any one of them. There's no consistency; — little truth; — and 
 less shame ! 
 
 Page 387. " The Britons carried their loaded carts of tin, 
 " directly across the isthmus that joined Hampshire to the Isle 
 " of Wight." 
 
 Can our author possibly believe, that his general mode of 
 expression through this history, can be refining our language ? 
 Is it in the power of infatuation to think it is sublimity of 
 style, to throw out proper words which the most polite writers 
 have, and still do use, and thrust in ridiculous words, by 
 which it is made nonsense ? 
 
I know I have beaten this bush before more than once ; yet 
 cannot but here observe, 
 
 That in his description above, the Britons did not draw 
 these loaded carts of tin themselves, or caused them to be 
 drawn by any sort of beasts : but actually carried them loaded 
 as they were. 
 
 That these British carts were not made of wood and iron, as 
 ours are at present ; but the wheels and all other parts were 
 absolutely made of tin. Yet what they were loaded with he does 
 not tell us, but leaves it to be guessed at by the reader. 
 
 That though the road might be a little crooked, yet they did 
 not turn with it, but kept straight forwards without loss of 
 time. This is accurate description ! 
 
 Yet this is but a mole-hill of a specimen ! — The whole history 
 is the mountain ! 
 
 Page 388. Here he describes the meales in Lancashire, and 
 says " They were made loose by nature." Again, in the same 
 breath, " They were made quaggy by the overflowing of the 
 " tide." Yet it happens so, that neither of these assertions are 
 true ; for he proves they are neither loose nor quaggy, but 
 sound ground at the last : for, says he, a parochial church, and 
 a village too, are built on them. 
 
 Good and patient reader, which of these assertions wilt thou 
 adopt ? Must all of them be absolutely true ? Suffer me now to 
 borrow one single thought from Hudibras, for I feel the potent 
 spirit of rhyming strong upon me. 
 
 What priest lite this, was ever found, 
 To bufld a church on quaggy ground : 
 Or did a village ever stand 
 So very fast, on such loose land? 
 But this our priest's omnipotence 
 Is not enslav'd by common-sense : 
 He can buUd greater towns than this, 
 With, — let it be : — and straight, it is ! 
 
 Sea page 202, 203, 356. 
 
160 
 
 Page 396. " Under the government of the Druids, the learn- 
 " ing of the island consisted in the knowledge of astronomy, 
 " geometry, geography, metaphysics, hotany, and mechanics. 
 " And with these the Britons seem to have acquired a compe- 
 " tent degree of acquaintance. In mechanics they were particu- 
 " larly learned, as the great temples of Anbury, and Stonehenge, 
 "and the various cromlechs* and logansj of the kingdom 
 " sufficiently testify. With the mere tackle of leathern thongs 
 " they raised such enormous loads, (not weights) as would 
 " strain the stoutest (not strongest) tackle of the present times." 
 
 That the Druids were so well skill'd in all the before-men- 
 tion'd liberal sciences there is great reason to doubt : but that 
 they understood the nature of herbs and plants, and mechanics 
 especially, is very probable. As to mechanics, his reverence 
 twice mentions them, and says, they were particularly learned 
 in that branch. 
 
 But mark his inconsistency or self-contradiction : for in the 
 two next lines, he says, " With the mere tackle of leathern 
 "thongs they raised. such enormous loads, as would strain the 
 " stoutest tackle of the present times.'' 
 
 Now I ask, has not his reverence played a mere hocus pocus' 
 trick with all their mechanical knowledge ? For metinks I saw 
 him this moment standing behind a table (juggler-like) flirting 
 his fingers, and saying : Behold, gentlemen, here you see all 
 the implements of the old Druids, by which they wrought all 
 their incomprehensible miracles. Imprimis gentlemen, behold 
 I shew you their balance : handle this their old lever, and won- 
 derful pully ! Look on their screw, and examine their wheel, 
 and feel the weight of their wedge ! But then in the twinkling 
 of an eye (clean-birch-like) with another flirt of his finger, vade — 
 begone ! When lo ! — to the amazement of all ! He draws slowly 
 out of the palm of his hand, a white, — slender, — tough thong 
 
 * Heaps of stones, earth, and rubbish, thrown over graves, as monuments. 
 J Kecking stones. See Borlace. 
 
161 
 
 of whit-leather ! and to compleat his legerdemain, he knits his 
 leathern thong about a stone twenty-four feet in length, seven 
 broad, and three and a half thick,* and standing on a cricket, 
 lifts it up, and sets it perpendicular on its base, and the feat is 
 compleated, to the great surprise of all the spectators ! 
 
 Here I'll leave the plain application to the reader's own judg- 
 ment, with this short observation, that this mmt absolutely be 
 the philosopher's leather thong, or leather thong of all antiquities. 
 
 * This is the dimensions of one of the greatest in StoneTienge, and it was 
 16 feet in compass, and about 12 tons in weight. 
 
 These four circles of rude stones is the most surprising monument of 
 antiquity in Britain. It is situated on the plain about six miles north- 
 wards of New-Salisbury. Inigo Jones says it is 110 feet diameter, double- 
 winged, with a trench round 30 feet broad. It is a glaring instance of the 
 infatuation of antiquarians, that this great architect and antiquarian, should 
 take Sione-Tienge to be a Roman Work and temple of the Tuscan order, and 
 dedicated to CcbIus or Calmm. 
 
 This Inigo Jones was employed by King Charles the Second, to examine 
 into its form and manner of construction, which he did very accurately ; 
 and laid bare the foundations of most of the stones, by which he dis- 
 coTered their true dimensions belter than Cambden had done, or any other 
 before him. 
 
 • Soon after this he published a treatise, entitled Stone-Tienge restor'ds in 
 which he endeavours to prove it a Roman work as aforesaid. 
 
 Doctor Charleton not chiming with Jones's opinion, wrote his Chorea 
 Giganiwm, in which he endeavours to invalidate the reason Jones brings for 
 its being a Roman work ; and endeavours to establish his own more puerile 
 whims : for the Doctor would needs have it a work of the Danes, and a 
 place erected for the election of kings. But this notion needs no confuta- 
 tion; more especially, as Nennius in his Bist. Sritonum, mentions Stone- 
 Tienge; and he flourish'd 200 years before the Danes had footmg in England. 
 
 One Webb wi-it a vindication of Stone-lienge restor'd : and shewed the 
 futility of Dr. COiarleton's notions j which was much easier done than to 
 make Jones's and his own iucontestible. 
 
 The premises oonsider'd; I think it would be as difficult a task to find 
 out what could induce his reverence to say, that these giant-Kfce pillars, those 
 of Abury, and others, were brought to, and set up in their respective places 
 merely with tlie help of leathern thongs, as it would be to iind out who, 
 when, and for what purpose those monuments were erected. 
 
 X 
 
162 
 
 After all this leather thong-conjuration, it is very probable, 
 that the Britons, or their rulers, the Druids, had more variety 
 of mechanical tools, and ways of using them, than we know of 
 at present : and it is as consonant to reason, that they had im- 
 ported many of those arts and implements from Egypt, by 
 which that people rais'd the enormous pyramids, obelisks, and 
 other stupendous stones. It must be own'd, that the Egyptians 
 had much greater advantages of moving heavy bodies than the 
 Britons : they cut their obelisks and other massy stones out of 
 the marble-rocks, on, or very near the banks of the Nile, and 
 transported them on rafts as near as possible to the destin'd 
 places : and as the lower Egypt was a flat level country, when 
 the Nile could not bring them any nearer, they cut canals in 
 divers directions for the rafts to go up as near as they could to 
 the site where they design'd to place them. See Norden's 
 Travels, Pocock, dc. 
 
 Page 398. " Christianity was introduced into Britain as 
 " early as the times of the apostles ; and a little before the 
 "insurrection of Boadicia, in the year 61." For which he 
 quotes Eusebius. 
 
 Now (in my opinion) there is not the least probability of its 
 being introduced into this island so early, since most other 
 authors agree, that it was Gregory surnamed the great, (who 
 was the first pope of that name) who sent Austin, with other 
 monks hither, to convert Ethelbert the fifth King of the Saxons 
 race : which Austin, with the assistance of Bertha, Ethelbert's 
 Queen (daughter to the French King) did first introduce the 
 christian religion, and convert the said king and many of his 
 subjects. Ethelbert died at the age of 66, A.D. 616. And 
 pope Gregory 12 years before him. Bede, and many others. 
 
 But as his reverence seems determined to establish his 
 infallibility, and have things his own way ; it is but fair, that 
 I, and the reader too, shou'd think and judge for ourselves in 
 this, as well as other disputable points. 
 
163 
 
 Page 419. Here our author says, " Severus had the whole 
 " collected power of the empire under him, when he attempted 
 " the conquest of the Caledonians." 
 
 Is it not surprizing that a scholar, a reader, and a studier of 
 antiquities, shou'd so roundly assert this, and many other 
 things he has done ; when not only facts, but the very nature 
 of things contradict him. The above affirmation needs no 
 confuting. 
 
 O self-sufficiency ! — What a height of stilts dost thou, in thy 
 fancy strut on ! How despicable art thou in the eyes of others ! 
 — And into what dilemmas dost thou pull thy votaries ! 
 
 In the same page he tells us, " The Caledonians were then 
 " subject to Fingal, the vind-gall, or head of the Gauls ; the 
 " son of Comhal, the grandson of Trathal, and the great 
 " grandson of Trenmor : a pendragon worthy to be the antago- 
 "nist of Severus ! A chief worthy to be the hero of Ossian !" 
 Further, 
 
 " Severus had pass'd the two walls, and entered the country. 
 " The Caledonians perpetually hung unseen upon his army 
 " during their march ; attack'd him vigorously at every ad- 
 "vantageous turn, and frequently drew his parties into artful 
 " ambuscades." 
 
 Here is another string of dubious affirmations, built chiefly 
 upon that solid foundation, that favourite, and model of his 
 style, Ossian. 
 
 The Caledonians at that time were subject to the great 
 Pendragon, Fingal ; so there was no probability that Severus, or 
 any other mortal, could stand against such a Pendragon as 
 he was ; who with one stroke of his sword (that son of Luno) 
 cut in two at the navel, the ghost or spirit of Loda, the god 
 of the Scandinavians, who wrangled with him from a cloud. 
 But, query, 
 
 What occasion had the Caledonians, with their demi god 
 Fingal at their head, to take advantages ? What reason to draw 
 
164 
 
 the Eomans into artful ambuscades ? Surely this antiquarian 
 had forgot (as usual) that one line before, he had turn'd all 
 bis Pendragon's men into an army of fighting spirits, which 
 hung unseen perpetually upon the Eomans ! They could not 
 possibly want any other advantages, or need any other ambus- 
 cade than invisibility! Where then is the wonder that this 
 new-found Pendragon should be victorious ! 
 
 Indeed if this gentleman had been what he pretended, an 
 honest, and impartial historian, he would have metamorphos'd 
 the Eoman army into ghosts; set phalanx against phalanx; 
 and then he had done justice to both sides, and pitted his 
 cocks fairly. 
 
 Considering the premises, the wonders vanish, that the 
 Eomans should be so greatly distress'd ; or that the Emperor 
 should lose fifty thousand men in the expedition. But this 
 again he has made very impropable a few lines below ; for he 
 says, " that the Britons (his new-made conquering spirits) were 
 " forced to cede a considerable tract of ground to the Eomans 
 " for the sake of peace." Thus according to custom, he builds 
 up with one hand and pulls down with the other. 
 
 Page 4:38. "Upon the western side of the isle of Mull, and 
 " at the head of Loch-Levin, is still a place denominated 
 " Bingael, or Fingal." 
 
 Here is another, and the last proof I shall mention of our 
 author's omnipotency ! For if he was not able to do just 
 what he pleases, how could he twist, or bend the head of 
 Loch-Levin to the west side of the Isle of Mull, when they 
 are above thirty -five miles asunder? 
 
 Now I have finish'd these cursory remarks on the history 
 of Manchester ; not doubting at all, but in a little time some 
 one will start up, more equal to the task; who will sift its 
 inconsistencies, its self-contradictions, and fabulous fancies, in 
 a more serious, judicious, and perhaps a more gentleman-like 
 manner : for I own myself of such a stubborn, rough-hewn 
 
165 
 
 temper, that I cannot help throwing all ceremony out of the 
 doors : and I have just so much sense, as not to expect any 
 (on account of these observations) from any person or persons 
 whatsoever. 
 
 I doubt not but the author thinks he has merited much of 
 the public ; that he has been so happy as to bring into light out 
 of the ruins of time, more curious and wonderful things, than 
 ever mortal did before him ; and has been so profoundly saga- 
 cious in rubbing off the rust, that every thing he has touch 'd 
 shines like a new gilded ball ; and believes he has prov'd him- 
 self the Phoenix of historio-antiquarians. Let the public judge 
 of these things : and I, who scorn to lift my foot on one step 
 of that ladder to preferment flattery, will tell him once more 
 my opinion of his style or mode of expression. 
 
 It appears to me to be affected ! of a mongrel py'd kind ; 
 produc'd by the dregs of Ossian, and the lofty fustian of a 
 proud Oxonian. 
 
 Humph ! — I'm afraid I've catch'd this fustian-yuke too, either 
 of his Manchester Pendragon, or his tutor Ossian : I feel my 
 elbow itch already ! so I'll march off, — Reader, go thou thy 
 way, and be happy. 
 
 "^^^^ o>^iC*X3^ 
 
FKOM THE 
 
 SAME PANNIER; 
 
 OE, ADDITIONAL BBMAEKS 
 
 ON THE 
 
 HISTORY OF MANCHESTER. 
 
 To point out mistakes is a justice due to History and myself. 
 
 HiSTOEY OP Mait. Pa. di6i. 
 
 Lot the Public examine freely, compare candidly, and judge impartially, 
 that Truth may triumph, t, e. 
 
To he read, or skipped over by the 
 
 Observing that none of my friends or acquaintance have given 
 me the least hint that I had heen too rude and blunt in my 
 first remarks on the Mancunion Antiquary (except a shake of 
 the head from the bookseller, and a squib thrown at me by 
 a pensioner and placeman) and the sale exceeding my expec- 
 tations it determined me to add a few more remarks which 
 some friends whispered me, I had too carelessly omitted ; 
 though they deserve a fillup on the nose full as well as any 
 I had remarked on, merited a rap on the knuckles. 
 
 I hinted in my former remarks, that it plainly appeared 
 our author thought he had laid the world, and especially 
 the antiquarian part of it, under great obligations ; and I 
 think no one should deny him a small pension of praise for 
 endeavouring to please them ; more especially as some parts 
 are commendable, notwithstanding his arrows may not always 
 hit the mark : for he has given such a loose to his fiery 
 genius, as seems inconsistent with the gravity and exactness 
 of an historian, and taken a resolution to ride a gallop over 
 every obscurity and leave all doubts and hesitations be- 
 hind him, without the least difiSdence of his capacity or the 
 fountains of his information. He relates and decides with a 
 dogmatical assurance, and appears certain that every reader 
 will admit his ipse dixit with implicit confidence of their 
 truth, and without the least remark or examination. But the 
 world has more eyes than he seems to think it has; and to 
 please this squinting Centoculi, an author who pretends to 
 write books of value and consequence, should not write at 
 
170 
 
 random, but be careful what he writes. If he advance any 
 thing new, his reasons should be forcible and adequate to 
 the thing advanced. He ought not to depreciate and com- 
 mend the same author with the same breath ; or set him up 
 for an oracle in one page, and shew him ridiculously false 
 and absurd in the next. He ought to be consistent with him- 
 self, so that what he aifirms in this line should not contra- 
 dict what he has asserted before in others. He ought not to 
 broach new doctrines and such as run counter to all former 
 writers, and pretend to support them with weak and dubious 
 authorities, or the slender tottering reeds of his own fancy ; 
 and make these his private opinions the sole rule and stand- 
 ard for the rest of mankind ; but allow the same liberty he 
 takes; a power to think for themselves. 
 
 This author seems to be of a quite different disposition to 
 that ancient philosopher who read his works to the old 
 woman who swept his house and made his pottage : or 
 Longinus, who insisted that his friend Terentianus should 
 revise his work on the sublime : for he thinks his genius so 
 all-sufficient, that, as I hear, he thrust this hopeful child on 
 the public without so much as one -of his friends perusing 
 it ; turned it into the world without a godfather to take care 
 it should not turn heretic either in history or antiquarianism. 
 Its very backside was so beautiful, he scorned to make use 
 of a tailor for its breeches : perhaps the bookseller will be 
 the first to tell him the contrary — with-— I have them all 
 still. 
 
 When I began these remarks, I could not but think such 
 a dogmatical writer deserved little or no candour, but jumped 
 directly into his own notion in page 464, where speaking of 
 the mistakes of the heavy Mr. Carte, and the sdpebficial 
 Mr. Hume (as he calls them) he says, " to point out mistakes 
 is a justice due to history and myself." From this I con- 
 eluded, that to come at truth I must be obliged to use 
 
in 
 
 contradiction in many articles ; and buffet many more with 
 irony and ridicule. I find no pleasure in these : but if an 
 JEsop sets up for a beau, 'squire Morgan for a wit, or N— h 
 and G — n for patriots, do they not set themselves as marks 
 to be shot at ? If there be no pleasure in irony or contra- 
 diction, yet there is a pleasing satisfaction in vindicating 
 some, and undeceiving others : and 'tis possible these remarks 
 will serve as a guide post to keep some from imposition, and 
 others from following will-with-a-wisp into pits and quagmires. 
 
 I know my expressions are rugged ; but what have smooth 
 and polished periods to do in this case ? 'Tis better to be severe 
 and a little useful by pointing out truth from error, than to be 
 politely engaging and of no use at all. And I think rustic 
 honesty with this author, is preferable to any flattery or formal 
 complaisance I could have shewn him. If these short observa- 
 tions will but stand, as a scarecrow in a corn-field, and keep 
 rooks and daws from plundering, and imposition, I have 
 my end. 
 
 Faeewell. 
 
 — '-^=ssiSfe5s<ja!f="-~ — 
 
ADDITIONAL 
 M JE Jit JL M XL SI , 
 
 I shall refer the reader to my prior remarks for a few obser- 
 vations on the ostentatious preface, and only observe some 
 particulars in this hopeful work which my then intended brevity 
 caused me to omit : still leaving a good and ample foundation 
 for a structure of any size to be raised by some more judicious 
 remarker who may think it worth his while to follow me ; which 
 I still hope to see, and go to page 90th, where, speaking of the 
 site of the old British Mancenion, he says, " A gentle declivity 
 " to the south would give the Britons the whole undiminished 
 
 "BEFLECTED WABMTH OF OUE BKITISH SuNS." 
 
 Whole and undiminished too? High flown English indeed ! 
 — Here my infantile knowledge of our mother tongue stares me 
 in the face. that I had Johnson's or some other wit-dispens- 
 ing dictionary ! — ^Vain wish : — for nothing less than an Oedipus, 
 or an oracle can answer the following question ; 
 
 Is a whole apple an apple before any part is taken from it ? 
 
 " Eeflected warmth of our British suns !"■ This is also 
 
 above my capacity for alas, my sight is so weak and dazzled 
 
 with the glare of these suns, that I cannot see from what body 
 or medium their hot rays were reflected upon the primaval 
 
 Britons humph , now I have it ; as I think : for these 
 
 SUNS shot their rays reciprocally in one another's faces, till at 
 last by reflection, they darted on the heads of the old Britons : 
 for we do not find that the moon and all the other planets to 
 help her (though assisted by the best burning glasses) are able 
 to melt butter. 
 
173 
 
 In the same page he goes on, " and the extraordinary aspect 
 " of its western termination, so much more formidable than 
 " that of the Eoman ditches does of itself bespeak the whole 
 " to be British." 
 
 It is something extraordinary, that the Eomans should con- 
 quer the Lancashire Sistuntians so very easily, when these last 
 so far excelled the former in the art of fortification, that there 
 was no comparison of a Eoman fortress with his British Mance- 
 nion. Yet this formidable fortress, which he tells us " had so 
 " steep and scarped a mound on the medlock ; he could also see 
 " by the marks of the pick-axes, that the scarping was British, 
 " page 23, a rising eminence for its bank ; and a broad extent 
 " of a ditch," could not so much as give a stop to the Eomans. 
 For he makes his bold Lancashire Sistuntians such dastardly 
 cowards, that they gave up all their fortresses in the woods ; 
 their impregnable Mancenion ; and some of their chiefs for 
 hostages, without a battle, a skirmish, or sally from the fortress ; 
 whilst on other occasions he is so particular and prolix in mere 
 trifles. But a reader with half an eye, cannot miss observing, 
 by what slender threads of consistency and probability this 
 whole account of his Mancenion hangs together ; and that his 
 ostentatious description of this fortress and its site, springs 
 chiefly from the overflowings of his own fancy. 
 
 Page 81. " The southern bank all at once falls away in a 
 " long slope towards the north." 
 
 This is a chip of the same block with that in page 237, where 
 he tells us " the hair of the Britons was long, bushy, and fell 
 " down in a long wreath behind : " and here the bank falls away 
 all at once, in a long slope ! 
 
 Has not our author given us here a specimen that his fancy 
 can stretch a little beyond possibility; and can infallibly make- 
 an oblique, or slope line the same with a perpendicular ? 
 
 Page 38. " And the human constitution as such, must have 
 " naturally affected a southerly position in the cold bleak, and 
 " wooded state of our island at that period." 
 
174 
 
 This is another instance of this author's inconsistency 1 for 
 here the word bleak means cold, plain, windy or chilly : but in 
 page 343 he tells us " it means the deep gloom of a considerable 
 ■wood." Does not this with many more such instances demon- 
 strate the infatuated idea he has of his own abilities ! Nay he 
 seems to think his readers are obliged to believe him both ways, 
 when he first affirms a crow to be a magpye, but before we can 
 say— humph— -at the assertion, the magpye is a crow again !— 
 Thus a glowing heater and a lump of ice are synonymous terms 
 of our antiquary. 
 
 Page 51. " About fifty years ago was thrown up by the plough, 
 " a large sword of iron in good conservation. This curiosity is 
 " undoubtedly Roman.'' 
 
 I allow this sword a large two-handed one ; but not a Roman 
 sword : and I presume whoever thinks it worth his while to 
 examine it, will be of my opinion, for the following reasons. 
 Tho' it might be found in a dry and gravelly soil ; yet as the 
 blade and the handle were so little rusted when I saw it (1771) 
 that it could not, by the nature of things, have lain' one third 
 of the time since the Romans left this island. Then again, the 
 soft wood of the handle appeared sound, and very little discol- 
 oured ; nay, the leathern-thongs which are plaited round and 
 bind on the wood at the extremities of the handle, appeared to 
 be little decayed or corroded by time : so that considering the 
 iron, the wood and the leather, it is every whit as probable that 
 it was Guy of Warwick's sword, with which he killed the dun 
 cow, as that it was ever seen, or came in the hands of a Roman. 
 In short it is very probable, that it is no older than the middle 
 of the seventeenth century, and was a two-handed weapon in that 
 fanatical war (for they were true fanatics on both sides) where 
 arbitrary power, prerogative, and priestcraft on one side ; and 
 liberty and property on the other> lugged one another by the 
 ears: and the ambition of Church and State, pulled an old 
 steeple on their own heads ; and many think to this day, not 
 undeservedly. 
 
Page 54. " The Itinera which Eichard has presented to us 
 " ALL OBVIOUSLY UNITE to form One entire Itinerary. No single 
 " part stands forth of a different texture from the rest. One 
 " uniform colour plainly tinctures over the whole." 
 
 What reader that sees this character of Kichard's Itinerary, 
 hut must believe that his Eeverence thought it the most perfect 
 work that man could produce? Yet for all this absolute perfec- 
 tion, in the notes of this section, page 58, his Eeverence tells 
 us, " that in the first, the third, the fourth, and the eleventh 
 " Itinera, there is plainly seen the interloping hand of the 
 " monk." And mentions the dissonant parts with an &c. after 
 them ; which may include 400 more cobbling blunders of this 
 his most infallible author. 
 
 Now supposing, for argument's sake, that this work of Eich- 
 ard's was genuine ; it is no easy matter to give reasons how Mr. 
 Bbbtkam's and Dr. Stukelt's editions of this work should so 
 materially, and so often vary ; as the Doctor's was printed from 
 a transcript sent him by Bertram : but this last seems to have 
 the best plea for the truth, as Bertram's modesty left blanks 
 where he could not, or would not fill them up : but the positive 
 Doctor made no baulks at a blank ; his pregnant fancy filled 
 them up without hesitation. Witness the following examples, 
 given by our author in his appendix. 
 
 Page 18. Icianos has only a vacancy in Bertram but inserted 
 by Stukely. 
 
 2S. Doctor Stukely gives the numerals m. p. 70 which 
 Mr. Bertram omitted. 
 
 24. Dr. Stukely by a strange mistake, reads ad tines instead 
 of AD FINES, and therefore idly fixes the station upon the North 
 Tyne, instead of the Tweed. 
 
 84. Stukely fills up with these numerals m. p. 27, the blank 
 in Bertram's edition. 
 
 38. The names of these two stations Bremenium, and Bean- 
 NOGENiust are taken from Stukely. Only hlanlts appear in 
 Bertram. 
 
176 
 
 46. The name Preesidium and the number 7 opposite Croeo 
 Colana, are taken from Stukely's copy. 
 
 48. These numerals m. p. 10, are taken from T>. S. a large 
 blank left by Bertram. 
 
 56. The numerals m. p. 30, answering ad fines, do not ap- 
 appear in Bertram.* 
 
 But let us proceed a little further, to shew what method his 
 Eeverence takes to prove this famous Monk's infallibility. In 
 p. 59. he says, " Eichard the learned scholar and deep antiqua- 
 " rian I found sunk into an ignorant novice. Deprived of his 
 " Eomans aids, Eichard shewed himself to be as ignorant and 
 " injudicious as any of bis illitei'ate cotemporaries about him." 
 
 Had his Eeverence forgot what he had affirmed in the 54th 
 p. ? for there he says " All the embodied Antiquarians of the 
 " fourteen and three succeeding centuries, could not have forged 
 " so learned a detail of Eoman Antiquities." 
 
 But still he contradicts this again, for in his 256 p. he says 
 " that both Dio and Eichard are inconsistent and mistaken." 
 
 Again in p. 58. Eichard's map of Eoman Britain is of little 
 value ; it is frequently inaccurate : it contradicts his own 
 Itinerary. 
 
 In p. 100. he tells us, " That the distance from Mancenion 
 " to Condate is fixed by the 6th Iter of Eichard, at 36 miles, 
 " but in the 10th at S3, and makes a remarkable insertion of 
 " a station betwixt the one and the other at 18 miles from both, 
 " and at the boundaries of the two provinces Flavia and Maxima. 
 " But certain as we are concerning the course of the road, the 
 " very mention of these bounds shews the number of miles to 
 " be greatly erroneous." 
 
 * And in our author's 430 page, where he is busy peopling Ireland with no 
 less than eighteen tribes, chiefly from Eichard's account and map, and the 
 poems of Ossian ; one of which tribes were the northern Scots (a nation as he 
 Bays, that had engaged for 150 years, two whole nations oI' antiqtjaeiahs 
 in war) he tells us, Stukely had copied seven mistakes from Kichard, and added 
 many more which he there mentions. 
 
177 
 
 Also in 1^. 135 he says, " Kicliard was quite mistaken in think- 
 " ing the river Mersey to be the sestuary Seteia of Ptolomy, and 
 " his map is also wrong in this point.'' 
 
 Again in p. 393, sx^eaking of the Cassiteris Silures, or Scilly 
 Islands, he says, " What Solinus has said concerning the Silura 
 " or chief of them, Eichard has strangely applied to the Silures 
 " of Wales, he being deceived by the likeness of names." 
 
 And in p. 463, he tells us, " Eichard in his S8 p. places the 
 " Mceate in Valentia, whom I have shewn to have inhabited Ves- 
 " pasiana." 
 
 In the 50 p. his Reverence says, " Eichard calls Diviatieu^ 
 " the king of the iEdui, when he was king of Suessones." 
 
 In p. 52, he finds fault with Eichard for calling London a 
 colony in the days of Boadicea, when Tacitus expressly declares 
 it not to have been a colony ; and also for his saying that 
 Agricola subdued the Orcades ; when as Solinus tells us (c. '?.'2) 
 they were not then inhabited. 
 
 And lastly, in his 448 p. he tells the reader that Richard's 
 map of Ireland has some inaccuracies in it. And Dr. Stukely s 
 copy has more. 
 
 Now, good and patient reader, judge thou if this Westminster 
 monk was not almost as infallibly fallible, as our JNIanchester 
 historian? And tell me if all the embodied antiquarians of the 
 fourteen and three succeeding centuries, could not have forged 
 or matched this miraculous work?— Do all things obviously 
 UNITE in this one entire Itinerary? Does no single part stand 
 forth of a different texture from the rest? Or does one uniform 
 colour PLAINLY tiucturo over the whole ? 
 
 Thus I have produced some of the many contradictions that 
 stare in the face of the most common readers on this prime 
 subject of Richard's Itinerary. Can we call our Mancunion 
 historian's way of writing by any other name than either stu- 
 pidity or infatuation? And docs not this author when we think 
 wc have fast hold of him glide away like an eel, and leave us 
 
 z 
 
178 
 
 defiled with the mud and sUme of self-contradiction, and the 
 stench of conceited infallibility. 
 
 Page 56. " Inverness as the utmost bounds of the Roman 
 " Empire, is the most northerly point of accessible ground in 
 " Scotland, and -where Ptolomy or some of the Roman officers 
 " made their astronomical observations." 
 
 To this affirmation I shall only ask a question, where were 
 those parts that now constitute the counties of Sutherland, 
 Strathnaver, and Caithness, in the time of the Romans ? For 
 part of these counties lie north of Inverness ; and it seems 
 very probable that they were accessible to the Romans, as they 
 are at present to the modern Caledonians : and that they are 
 accessible at this time, is probable for one particular reason — 
 there were cities, towns, and villages in them about a fortnight 
 ago. 
 
 Page 93. " To settle the particular position of Condate hath 
 " long embarrassed the antiquarian critics. Settled originally at 
 " Congleton because of some remaining sameness in the name ; 
 " that only guide in the infancy of antiquarian learning." 
 
 Here we see with what a despicable eye he looks upon this 
 old-fashioned rule of similarity of names, practiced by all former 
 iKFANT ANTIQUARIANS : — what a futilo argument it was and how 
 wide they shot from the mark in thinking Congleton was the 
 old Condate, because there was some sameness in the name. 
 
 This brings to view another piece of our author's inconsis- 
 tency, and the treacherousness of his memory. Four pages 
 further, (99) he tells us, " The name of Condate is pretty 
 "loudly echoed in the name of Kinderton." 
 
 Hush good reader be as still as a mouse . 
 
 So ; now help me a little reader, do thou shout Condate 
 
 READEK. 
 
 CON DA TE 
 
 ECHO. 
 K I N D E R TON 
 
179 
 
 Is not this similarity, and harmony in perfection, and sweetly 
 
 answered by madam echo ?— Now for't again Bawl aloud the 
 
 same word 
 
 EEADEE. 
 
 CON DA -TE 
 
 ECHO. 
 C O N G L E T O N— 
 
 Humph Lady echo's pipe is out of tune ; she's 
 
 certainly tir'd, or in a cross temper, and too surly to speak 
 here's some little sameness ; but nothing to the pur- 
 pose ; but in Condate and Ktndebton there is as much unison, 
 harmony, and sameness of sounds echoed forth as Tachy and 
 Eachel, Grammae and Grammatioa, Etchabd and Dick (see 
 p. 106) and these are as similar to the ear as two beans are to 
 the eye ; i. e. to one who can think as he will, and cares not 
 what he says : who can make echo answer Spaeeow-bills after 
 a hoarse voice that has croaked Plum-pddding. 
 
 Here we see that tho' this author despises those who judge of 
 British towns and Eoman stations from the similarity of names 
 and calls it, " the only guide in the infancy of antiquarian learn- 
 ing ; " yet we see that when he wants it he eagerly mounts, and 
 rides this old-fashioned guide ; this paltry hobby-horse, himself, 
 without the least scruple or hesitation whatsoever. 
 
 Again, in p. ISB, he has these words, " The certainty of a 
 " station at Warrington, and the great similarity of the name of 
 " Veratinum to it, form together a sufficient evidence that the 
 " former is meant by the latter." Thus he mounts and gallops 
 this despicable hobby-horse again, but cannot endure that 
 another should ride a foot's pace. But inconsistency, and self- 
 contradiction are no blots in his reverence's 'scutcheon, and the 
 reason is obvious ; a true bred antiquary cannot err. 
 
 Page 98. In this page he tells the reader, " That the Eoman 
 " road from Mancunium to Condate leaves the sandy waste of 
 " Eudheath a little distance on the left, and Newton, near Mid- 
 
180 
 
 " dlewich less distant on the right the Kind-street passes 
 " through Eavenscroft into Kindertoh." 
 
 The' I have two maps of Cheshire, yet I have not seen a 
 good one : this point then cannot be elucidated as I could wish. 
 However, let us take old Speed (as coming nearest the truth) 
 for want of a better ; by which it will be very diverting to the 
 inquisitive reader, to see how this author makes this Roman 
 road to leave Eavenscroft (about half a mile from Kinderton) on 
 the left hand ; carries it to Newton above a mile and a half fur- 
 ther ; then brings it close by Kinderton back again to Eavens- 
 croft ; and then drops it into Kinderton at last. 
 
 Query, did not this Eoman road, and its guide too, lose their 
 way ? 
 
 Page 110. In this page he ends the Eoman road, which ho 
 has traced from Mancunium to Coecium, but as all former anti- 
 quaries blundered as to the particular site of it, he tells us, 
 " the town, as it seems, having been very early destroyed, the 
 " traces of its ancient dignity are almost eniieelt erased, and 
 " exist only at present in the faint retrospect of traditionary his- 
 " tory, and in the vague generalities of a winter's tale. The 
 " town, as it seems, having been entirely demolished, and after- 
 " wards built upon a different site, almost all the vestiges of its 
 " Eoman masters have been long obliterated by the hand of 
 " time, and even the very existence of them forgotten in the 
 " chronicles of tradition." 
 
 Let us try to squeeze this prolix description into a little 
 compass. 
 
 The town was early destroyed ; the traces of it almost 
 ENTIRELY crased ; the tradition of it vague like a winter's tale ; 
 the site removed and its Eoman masters forgotten even by 
 tradition. 
 
 In the very next page, he says (when abbreviated) " going on 
 " we come to the river Douglas, at the bottom of a brow going 
 " to Preston, near the extremities of which, tea.dition has 
 " erected the original Blackrod." 
 
181 
 
 Again, in the 110 p. he says, " the distance, the site, the tra- 
 " DiTioN, and the remains, all agree to cari'y it to the banks of 
 " the Douglas." 
 
 Here again ;■ in the first place it may he observed, that his 
 
 reverence finds madam Tradition asleep " for the very exist- 
 
 " ence of the vestiges of the town vpere forgotten even in the 
 " chronicles of tradition." She was here snoring in an easy 
 chair, and consequently dumb, that his sagacity may appear 
 more conspicuous, and his exquisite scent extolled for its hunting 
 out a Eoman station where there was none. 
 
 In the next place, when he wants his foster-nurse tradition, 
 he gives her drowsy ladyship a jog or two on the elbow, and 
 makes her start up, to make affidavit to whatever he is pleased 
 to advance, " For the distance, the site, tradition, and the 
 " KEMAiNs, all agree that the town stood on the banks of the 
 " Douglas.'' 
 
 Does not his reverence, here again, play at Jack-o'-lext with 
 his readers ? Does he not metamorphose us into children, and 
 make us to grasp at the reflection of the sun, which, with a 
 mirror, he makes to dance around us ; and when we think to 
 catch the bright appearance, whip its on the ceiling ! 
 
 Page 113. The Setantian Port of Ptolomy (in the river 
 Eibble) he says, " is placed in S7. 45. North Latitude: Eerigo- 
 "nium in 57. 30. and the mouth of the Mersey 57. 20." 
 
 Now as these three latitudes coincide one with another these 
 cannot be a mistake of the printer, or in the author in using 
 one figure instead of another : so that it is a matter of wonder 
 to me that his reverence can say they necessarily confine us to 
 the southern parts of Lancashire ! How can he make or even 
 overlook such egregious blunders without noticing and correct- 
 ing them ? Or believe Ptolomy, or infallible Eichard to help 
 him, when he says the before-mentioned places were in their 
 respective latitudes here assigned them ; when they would throw 
 the mouth of the Mersey 80 miles, Eerigonium 90, and the 
 
183 
 
 Eibble above 100 miles north of Edinburgh ; or about 14 north 
 of Inverness, or into that country vyhich our author tells us was 
 inaccessible to the Eomans. Yet for all this, his reverence can 
 boldly affirm these latitudes necessarily confine us to the south- 
 ern parts of Lancashire, when the least skill in geography will 
 demonstrate that Hawkshead the most northern town of this 
 county, doth not exceed 54. 30. 
 
 By this it appears, his reverence is no better a geographer 
 than a chronologist ; and is another proof what true-bred anti- 
 quaries can say when they have banished truth, and sent shame 
 a begging. 
 
 Page 133. " From the ^stuaet of Sabriana (or Severn) the 
 " coast goes directly to the west for 180 miles &c." 
 
 It is very diverting to examine his reverence's geographical 
 descriptions. Let us suppose here that he reckons this iBstuary 
 to begin at the most south-easterly point of Glamorganshire in 
 the Bristol channel ; it is not 100 miles from thence to St. 
 David's Head ; so that that the other 80 westward would carry 
 him over St. George's channel, and beyond Wexford in Ireland : 
 by this it appears, that antiquaries, like beggars, can never be 
 out of their way. 
 
 " From Brachypult-point, in 80 miles more to the north, the 
 " geographer goes 150 to the east." 
 
 Bravely done geographer ! — By this Ptolomy with his rever- 
 , ence behind him, must ride the ship thro' the air, like witches, 
 on a greased broom stick ; otherwise they must carry the ship 
 on their shoulders, over the Welch hills, and 'thro' the counties 
 of Carnarvonshire, Merioneth, and Denbyshire ; over Shrop- 
 shire, Staiford, Derby, and into Nottinghamshire : which feat, 
 Ptolomy, or his reverence either, never performed : tho' I con- 
 fess the bounds of infallibility are very large. 
 
 Page 137 and 128. " The great difference which now appears 
 " in the flow of the tide (up the Eibble) could never have been 
 " occasioned by the pressure of the interior Ocean (St. George's 
 
183 
 
 " channel) and by tlie gradual settlement of the sands at the 
 " mouth of the river. Had the difference been thus occasioned, 
 " the Mersey upon one side, and the Lune upon the other, must 
 " have partaken of the same fate, and have been blocked up with 
 " the same sands. It must have been produced by a cause as 
 " partial as the effects appear to be. And tradition which his- 
 " tory has overlooked or forgotten speaks confidently of such a 
 " cause : ascribing the final ruin of Eibchester to an earthquake ; 
 " confined like its cause to the stream of the Eibble." 
 
 This quotation the reader may perceive is still round about, 
 tho' I have lopped off some of its most luxuriant branches : he 
 may also see plainly that our author is not in a humour to relish 
 and adopt the most probable and rational causes why the mouth 
 of the Eibble is choaked up ; and he gives this reason, " because 
 " the Mersey on the one side, and the Lune on the other most 
 " have partaken the same fate." 
 
 But, reverend sir, were there the same reasons for the mouths 
 of the Mersey and the Lune to be blocked up with that of the 
 Eibble ? Were there one hundredth part of the crumblings 
 and devastations on their banks, as there were on the high and 
 loose banks of the Eibble? But an antiquary can never be at 
 a loss to prove any whims, whilst he can command tradition to 
 raise an earthquake to help him out at a dead lift ; and such 
 earthquakes too as are confined to the particular stream of one 
 brook, and by such tradition as history itself had overlooked 
 and forgotten. This must be a queer earthquake indeed ! For 
 tho' it made such violent havock and devastations in the channel 
 of the Eibble, it was so quiet and harmless every where else 
 that it could not, or would not roll an egg off a table at a rood's 
 distance from the banks of it ; so that the old nurse Tradition 
 having hop-shackled it so close, that tho Mersey and the Lune 
 were safe enough from being disturbed by its tremulous and 
 violent motions. 
 
 Thus wc see what strange feats our antiquary can perform. 
 
184 
 
 with the assistance of a traditional earthquake just ferreted out 
 of its sleeping ahodes ! But let us sift this argument through 
 a little finer sieve. 
 
 " The difference of the flow of the tide into this iEstuary 
 " (says he) could not have been occasioned by the pressure of the 
 " interior Ocean." 
 
 This is profoundly deep ; and must be granted him by all 
 philosophers ! But if not the pressure of the interior Ocean, 
 the non-pressure of it might be one cause of beds of gravel and 
 sand lodging in its channel : for it is rational to suppose that 
 the pressure of more water, one wave urging on another, or a 
 few feet of higher tides would have opened this watercourse, and 
 carried both sand and gravel into the sea. 
 
 In his 388 page, he has these words, "In Kent the sea 
 " has retreated from the shore of Sandwich ; has sunk the 
 " iEstuary of Solinus (this was barbarously done of the sea, 
 " thus to sink one of its own arms) into an insignificant cur- 
 " rent, and has converted the fine harbour of Ehutupoe where 
 " the Eoman fleet was regularly laid up, into an expanse of rich 
 " pastures, and a valley watered with a rivulet." Was not this 
 port of Ehutupoe barred up for want of the pressure of the sea ? 
 
 Again, " In Lincolnshire the sea has added ground and shrunk 
 " from its original boundaries, and left many thousands of acres 
 " betwixt the old bank of its waters and the present margin of 
 " its shore ; and in Lancashire the sands which originally 
 " formed the beach of the sea, and were originally covered every 
 " tide with its waters, are now regularly inhabited." 
 
 Does not his reverence prove here, that this port of Ehutupoe 
 and this land in Lancashire, was gained for want of the pressure of 
 the sea ? And were not these things as incomprehensible as the 
 sand-banks lodged in the mouth of the Eibble ? Yet all was 
 done without the help of a channel-earthquake, which history 
 had overlooked and forgotten, which our author rouzed up here 
 on purpose to throw up a few sand banks. 
 
183 
 
 Tho' it is granted that the pressure of the interior Ocean 
 could not stop the mouth of the Eibble, yet we will endeavour 
 to prove that the gradual settlement of gravel and sand was the 
 principal cause of this obstruction, tho' his reverence will not 
 have it so : and this we will attempt to do, by making our author's 
 arguments to buffet and undermine one another, and then (as 
 usual) blow themselves into the air. 
 
 In page 130, he says, " The Neb of the Nese has been long 
 " washed away : the western horn has certainly no Neb existing 
 " at present : and this equally appears from the ravages the 
 " water has here made upon the banks. That conspicuous 
 " point which is still denominated the Neb of the Nese, for it is 
 " still here tho' it went down the river hundreds of years 
 " ago, has lost nearly two acres of ground within 40 years ; 
 " and from the broken and mouldering condition of the bank 
 " both on the east and south appears to be losing every day. As 
 "the Eoman station therefore must have been upon the extrem- 
 " ity of this promontory, the site of it and its remains must have 
 "long melted into the channel below.'' And in page 131, 
 " Great, says he, have been the encroachments which the Ribble 
 " has made upon the bank of the town within these 60 years 
 " only : and one whole street of houses, and a range of orchards 
 " and gardens have been carried away by the stream. The earth 
 " daily crumbles and falls away into the channel : and the 
 " Church itself, raised as it is upon a lofty bank, and placed at a 
 "little distance from the margin of it, is likely to be swept 
 "away in 60 years more." 
 
 Again, in p. 133. " This Eerigonium ; this Caer of the Bri- 
 " tons, and the Castrum of the Eomans, must have been totally 
 " carried away and the visible and invisible remains of both have 
 "been equally buried." 
 
 This is strange? ^very hard indeed ! That those parts of 
 
 this Caer, and this Castrum that remain and are visible, are 
 absolutely buried and gone, equally with those swept away by 
 
186 
 
 time and invisible ! time ! antiquarianism ! What 
 
 dreadful havock do you make among poor, old, innocent ruins ! 
 
 The last quotation I shall produce from our author on this 
 subject, is in page 134 ; his words are, " About this part of the 
 " river in general (i. e. below Eibchester) whole pillars, broken 
 " capitals and vases, and Roman coins, and Eoman inscriptions 
 " have frequently been discovered within the channel." 
 
 Now it is all these washings and meltings, these ravages, 
 devastations, and encroachments, upon the broad, high and loose 
 banks of this river here mentioned from our historian, I take to 
 be a great and sufficient cause of the shoals and present sand- 
 banks which lie in the mouth of this sestuai-y ; and that the sea 
 in high spring tides brought up the loose sand, which abounds 
 on the coast for near 30 miles north and south of this river 
 completely finished, and left them in their present state. 
 
 Thus I have finished this gravelly point, but will leave the 
 reader to judge for himself, and either take the reasons here spe- 
 cified, as the most natural causes of these gravelly and sandy 
 beds, or the closely fettered earthquake of the antiquary. 
 
 As to the seeming retreat of the sea from some coasts, I pre- 
 sume that was never a matter of fact, in the sense it is generally 
 taken ; but that the coasts of Lincolnshire, Kent, Lancashire, 
 &c. are raised by the weeds, sands, &c. which the sea in high 
 tides throws upon such low beaches ; and by the vegetables, 
 sand, gravel, and loam, brought down by floods and rivers in 
 length of time from the mountainous parts, and high grounds 
 in their respective countries. 
 
 Now were it possible for me to have the vanity to think that 
 these my skimming remarks would ever attain the honour (tho' 
 as a livery servant) of attending this noble Manounion history, 
 then would I never grudge the pains I have taken in giving it 
 
 so many monitorial jogs on the elbow, with this whisper, 
 
 Have a care . 
 
 However as despair is the characteristic of a cowardly dispo- 
 sition, I will banish that, cherish hope, and proceed to a new- 
 
187 
 
 found Eoman road, -which his reverence tells us, page 134, 
 " Goes from Cambodunum, stretches visibly over Stainland- 
 " moor, passes thro' the townships of Barkisland and Eishworth, 
 " crosses the Devil's Causeway (on Bleakstone-edge), and the 
 " Eoman road from Manchester to Ilkley, and must therefore 
 " have ASSUREDLY terminated at Coin." 
 
 This account is positive, and plain as a pike-staff, and the 
 places here mentioned I have seen : but must confess my anti- 
 quarian faculties were too weak, to perceive the least vestige of a 
 Eoman road that went over any of the places here mentioned. 
 That it did not come over the hills in Eishworth and cross the 
 old high-way over Bleakstone-edge, (which it must do if it had 
 existed) at the Devil's causeway is certain : this, I think, no one 
 would dispute on viewing the hill on the side of Rishworth, and 
 the great hill of Bleakstone-edge, whose summit divides the 
 two counties of York and Lancaster, with the great and deep 
 glen that divides it from Eishworth. Then again, the tops of 
 many of these hills over which this road must necessarily pass 
 had it pointed this way, are in many places so very mossy, 
 boggy, or quaggy, that the black spungy surface will shake a 
 rood or more round a man, and is entirely impassable for a 
 horse. So there is not the least probability that ever any Bri- 
 tish, Eoman or English road ever went that way. 
 
 But to make this point incontestible : had a Eoman road 
 taken this course, it was impossible but it must have been inter, 
 sected or cut thro' in 1766, on making that excellent and 
 beautiful way, now called the new road, and which the Eomans 
 never excelled for the length of it. I say this Eoman road must 
 have been cut thro' and discovered, as on performing it, the soft 
 turf or black earth was cut to the very bottom all the way over, 
 which was sometimes rock, gravel, or hard blue clay mixed with 
 stone : and the mossy turf was in some places twelve feet deep ; 
 being all or the most of it washed away by means of artificial 
 reservoirs of water, which when opened swept it into the rivers 
 
188 
 
 of Yorkshire and Lancashire, which fall into the east and west 
 seas. Yet for all this, neither gravelly road, stone pavement, or 
 any other vestige of any road appeared. 
 
 Besides, what corroborates the notion that no Roman road ever 
 went this way, is, that their roads generally passed in straight 
 lines to their destined endings ; but this supposed road from 
 this new-found Cambodunum (or the old one either) must strike 
 directly west to come at Bleakstone edge ; but Colne lies north- 
 west ; so that this course would not only be the worst way, but 
 near one mile at three about. 
 
 The old Eomans never understood, or at least practiced so 
 good and perfect a method of making or constructing roads as 
 those Lancashire gentlemen, the late overseers of the new road 
 over this hill of Bleakstone-edge : for the truth of this, I appeal 
 to any that have travelled that way, and read the 5th satire of 
 the first book of Horace, where he speaks of the ruggedness of 
 the Flaminian and the Appian ways. 
 
 Svippose we make a little further digression. — 
 
 On reflecting on the first forming of our English high-ways, 
 several reasons occured for their present curvity, or the round- 
 abovit lines they proceed in ; the which, as mere conjectures I 
 will lay before the reader. 
 
 Before the time of the Eomans and during tTieir stay in this 
 Island, it had in general the appearance of one extensive waste 
 or forest. In the first constructing roads, there were few or no 
 large enclosed manors, fields, orchards or gardens ; and conse- 
 quently no lawyers to argue on, or decide private property; 
 which was then in its infancy and entirely overpowered, and 
 almost annihilated by the Eoman power. So that in general, 
 their roads were laid out in direct or straight lines, (see our 
 author p. 105.) They turned not aside for a bank, a hollow, a 
 small lake, or a miry place. Nothing stopped them, but high 
 and steep mountains, deep rivers (for we hear of few ruins of 
 Roman bridges) boggy mosses, marshy quagmires, or steep 
 
189 
 
 rocky glens between hills. Now all these obstructions occur 
 here (rivers excejpted) in the course of our author's pretended 
 Roman road, which should have gone over Bleakstone-edge, 
 and crossed the Devil's causeway there : all which, makes the 
 very notion of a Eoman road to vanish into air. 
 
 On the withdrawing of the Eomans, and the stealing in of 
 the Saxons ; property and agriculture began to be a little better 
 understood : for the old Britons had very mean notions of 
 property prior to the arrival of the Eomans and the Saxons ; 
 notwithstanding all the bustle Macpherson makes about the 
 poems of Ossian and their sumptuous hospitality. I do not 
 mean but their petty kings -and chiefs knew tolerably well their 
 own boundaries ; but that the common people had not, or knew 
 little of any lands they could properly call their own ; for this 
 reason the Saxons on their first settling here, found it no diffi- 
 cult matter to cause the most fertile parts ; and even to encroach 
 on the best open lands of their neighbouring Britons : which 
 lands they began to enclose with banks and ditches, which not 
 being claimed in a century or two, became Saxon property, and 
 thus were settled, or vested in them and their heilfe. 
 
 On the increase of population and trade, the roads became of 
 more general use, were now better made, and more care taken 
 of them. But the first enclosures above-mentioned, intersect- 
 ing, or rather hindering the roads from proceeding in straight 
 lines, they were obliged to turn them first round one, then 
 another enclosure, till they became as crooked as we now see 
 them. 
 
 Then again, on the coming of the arbitrary Normans, the 
 nobility (especially the Norman) became possessed of enormous 
 estates ; so that these and the lesser Barons turned the roads 
 round their parks and manors, and brought them to their 
 towns, castles, and manors, in what direction they pleased ; not 
 consulting the general utility, but their own fancies and arbi- 
 trary humours. 
 
190 
 
 Some natural causes also intervened ; the roads could not 
 always proceed in straight lines, because of the intervension of 
 mosses, marshes, woods, lakes, hills, &c. these, and other reasons, 
 obliged many roads to proceed in crooked or indirect lines. 
 
 Many of the same reasons may be assigned for the irregu- 
 larity and straitness of the streets of some towns and ancient 
 cities : for being at first generally built without plan, or con- 
 sideration (except our author's most regular Mancenion) for the 
 first comer built a lot here, another house or two there, and 
 perhaps end to side ; so that in a little time they stood so 
 confused, no regular streets were or could be built; but were 
 hemmed in by back-yards, narrow streets, &c. These things 
 with the loss of trade, and the diverting of roads for convenience 
 of travellers, I look on as the chief reasons why some towns 
 have changed their old situations. 
 
 If the reader disapprove these flying conjectures of the cause 
 of our winding and crooked roads, he is at liberty to guess for 
 himself; for I will not steal our antiquary's rivetting hammer, 
 and clench it by saying these things were absolutely so. 
 
 Page 134. •Speaking of Coin his style flows thus, " This the 
 " British appellation of the town, this the concurrence of a road 
 "from Oambodunum at it, this the voice of tradition, and the 
 " appellation of Caster, evince to have been the site of a station." 
 
 Again, " There appears the evident skeleton of a Roman 
 " station at present ; a regular Vallum encircled by a regular 
 " Fosse. And standing on the summit of a lofty cliff, it com- 
 " mands a very extensive view of the country around it." 
 
 Positive plain and mighty laconic! But hear him 
 
 what he says only two pages further. Page 136. " The late 
 " Bishop of Carlisle and myself, were both at Coin very nearly 
 " at the same time, and both failed of success in our seai'ches 
 " tho' the name, the remains, and the tradition are so striking." 
 
 This way of writing must absolutely lire the most patient of 
 readers the affectedly fustian flights of his style the 
 
191 
 
 incoherence of the matter the inconsistency of his periods 
 
 his frequent self-contradictions both vex and puzzle me. 
 
 Could the remains of this Eoman station be so striking, its 
 
 skeleton be so evident at present ; could a regular Vallum encir- 
 cled by a regular Fosse appear, and yet for all these evident 
 tokens and remains of a station, none be seen or felt by this 
 reverend or right reverend father ? Surely his reverence 
 dreamed of all these evident indications of a station, or he, and 
 
 the right reverend father too, dreamed in their searching. 
 
 Blind we cannot reasonably suppose them to be : and they 
 
 would hardly have been at the cost, and taken the pains to ride 
 so far, and instead of peeping eagerly about for the Vallum, the 
 
 Posse, and the plain skeleton of a station, fall to winking! 
 
 Is not this then a most puzzling article ! ■ 
 
 But so it is : thus he makes us to stand like statues 
 
 gaping for information ; for truth and consistency : when lo ! 
 there starts up a phantom : a mere vapour : — the ignis-fatuus 
 of his own creative brain ! 
 
 But let us see what Camden says in contradiction to our 
 author's positive account of the evident skeleton of this station 
 at Coin, who surveyed this town, and its vicinity 168 years ago. 
 He tells us, (vol. 2, p. 972) " That except some Eoman coins, 
 there is no great appearance of a Eoman town or station here, 
 such as fortifications, altars, boundaries and the like : which 
 made Dr. Leigh in his history of Lancashire, &c. to conclude, 
 and very rationally too, that the coins might be hid there- 
 abouts by the Eoman soldiers : or lost, or laid there on some 
 other accidental occasions." 
 
 The above article, appears to me, another specimen of infal- 
 lability: for we see here, our reverend antiquary can build 
 evident ruins of a Eoman station a hundred times easier and 
 cheaper, than some of our whimsical Noblemen can huddle up 
 the new ruins of old castles in their parks and chases : unless 
 we must conclude against reason and common experience ; that 
 
192 
 
 the older Eoman stations grow, the younger they are ; and not 
 only so, but the more they are diminished, the more of them 
 remain and are plainer to be seen. 
 
 Page 139. " The Wherf flows briskly in the front of Ilkley, 
 " and washes the gentle eminence on which that town is erect- 
 " ed." Further, "And this river remarkably beautiful in its 
 " appearance, was particularly formed into a Divinity ly the 
 "Britons, and a large handsome altar has been found near 
 " the bank of it, consecrated by a Roman Officer to Verb-eia, the 
 " Goddess Nymph of the current." 
 
 Here we see another instance of the power of this author's 
 creative fancy ; or at least his peculiar art in magnifying ob- 
 jects, and twisting them into whatever form he pleases. To 
 prove which, I will give the reader Camden's own words, in 
 vol. 3, p. 896. ' I have seen this altar now under a pair of 
 ' stairs, and inscribed by the Captain (or Prefect) of the second 
 ' Cohort of the Lingones, to Verbeia, perhaps she was the 
 'Nymph or Goddess of the Wherf, and called Verbeia I suppose 
 ' from the likeness of the two words.' 
 
 Thus is Camden's very modest opinion metamorphosed into 
 what he neither said, or thought positively : is this buckram 
 puppet as here dressed up by his reverence, any thing like 
 Camden's genuine offspring? For first he makes the river 
 remarkably beautiful; then creates it a Goddess : the altar then 
 thrives into a large one (and handsome too) when Camden has no 
 such expressions. Neither does he say it was found near the 
 bank of a river but that he saw it there under a pair of stairs ; 
 and out of his modest guesses, his perhaps, and I suppose his 
 reverence has built this notable superstructure. 
 
 Here it may not be improper to confess my ignorance : for 
 before I read this paragraph, I did not know the art of making 
 Gods and Goddesses out of rivers, had been a trick of the old 
 sagacious Britons, but of those wiseacres the Greeks and 
 Romans; who made laughter into a god under the name of 
 
193 
 
 Eidiculous ; and Oloacina the sweet-smelliug goddess of sinks 
 and common sewers. Now admitting that the primaeval Bri- 
 tons might worship the flourisliing oak and adore the massy 
 column, (which I much question) I never heard of their idol- 
 izing their currents before. For though Gildas might say the 
 ignorant Britons paid divine honours to some rivers or head- 
 springs ; he did not say, or mean they did so before the 
 Eoman invasion ; for this was a ridiculous extravagance intro- 
 duced by the Komans and adopted by the Britons. 
 
 But let us return and peep at the proof of tliis deification 
 of tliis Yorkshire river Wherf. He tells us, " That an altar 
 " both large and handsome was found near the bank of it, 
 " and consecrated by a Roman Officer to Verb-eia." 
 
 Had Heraclitus been alive and heard such a clenching proof 
 as this, must he not have laughed? For because a Eoman 
 officer dedicated an altar to Verbeia, the Britons must absolutely 
 have worshipped the Wherf as a Goddess ! Does not the 
 spirit of antiquarianism here jump over the bounds of reason 
 and all probability, and fly like the down off thistles, as the 
 wind of fancy pleases ? But let us observe a little further. 
 
 Camden to prove that the second Cohort of Lingones were 
 quartered at Ilkley (the old Olicana) mentions this altar in 
 the words before quoted. The Inscription Camden gives of 
 it is 
 
 VEEBIAE SACEUIM 
 
 CLODIUS FEONTO 
 
 PE.EF. COH. II. LINGON. 
 
 But his learned Editor (the Bp. of Lond.) points out an 
 inaccuracy of Camden here, whose words are, ' It seems rather 
 ' to have been the first Cohort ; as the last line of that inscrip- 
 'tion being not II. LINGON, but P. LINGON, in the original 
 ' as appears from Mr. John Thoresby's papers late of Leeds ; an 
 ' eminent antiquary who accurately transcribed it, being very 
 
 B B 
 
194 
 
 ' critical in his observations upon inscriptions and original 
 'coins, of which he had a valuable collection.' 
 
 Camden also tells us, this original altar is removed to Stub- 
 ham, but by Dr. Leister's letter to the Eoyal Society, mentioned 
 by his editor afterwards (p. 959) it appears to be at Middleton 
 Grange near Ilkley. But the stone which Camden says sup- 
 ports a pair of stairs there (as at this day it does in the very 
 road) is but an ill copy of it and not the original ; is it not 
 more likely the latter to be the original altar, and the other two 
 to be copies ? Its awkward workmanship, and the place of 
 standing, are both in its favour, for who would counterfeit an 
 altar to support a pair of stairs. 
 
 Page 170. " The Castrum at Littlebrough must have given 
 "denomination to the village, and seems to have been fixed 
 " upon the ground which is about half a mile to the east of it; 
 " which is immediately to the left of the new road, and which 
 " is popularly denominated Castle. This is directly under the 
 " steep of Blackstone-edge, nearly adjoining to the course of 
 " the Koman road and upon the margin of a brisk stream. 
 " And the fortification which gave name to the ground is of so 
 " ancient a date, that both the remains of it have vanished from 
 " the eye and tradition has forgotten its existence." 
 
 The second, and the third sections of the sixth chapter are 
 worth a curious reader's observation. Let the admirers of this 
 pompous history, if any such there be, seriously peruse them ; 
 and if they do not see a bombast, prolix, and futile description 
 of trifles, without bringing any argument to prove such trifles 
 ever existed : suppositions without any foundation, and things 
 started and affirmed without probability, they must actually shut 
 the ej'es of their understanding. At the same time they cannot 
 but observe this author's fancy so flamingly keen, that because 
 he believes them probable himself, he thinks all his readers are 
 obliged to swallow them, as some folks do subscriptions, and 
 bi-'liuve them as the articles of our faith. 
 
19S 
 
 Page 333. In this page his reverence tells us, " The Gauls 
 " produced the largest and best Hog-meat that was brought 
 " into Italy." 
 
 This article put my brain on the rack in my former remarks, 
 to find out what this largest and best Hog-meat could be ; for 
 I did not perceive then, that the antiquary's torch had lighted 
 up the mystery ; and by which I now perceive the dulness of 
 my penetration and ignorance in the science of fattening hogs. 
 As this curious anecdote may be of general utility to all future 
 hog-drivers, and teach them to feed their hogs as they travel 
 from one town to another, with little or no cost, I will here 
 repeat the secret in the author's own words: more especially as 
 it may serve as another specimen of his flowingly-sublime, 
 and inimitable style. 
 
 " The one whole township of Broughton and Eersal must in the 
 " time of the Eomans have been all covered with one extensive 
 " wood, as covered it remained even to the period of the Nor- 
 "man conquest. And the cattle which the Romans mwst have 
 " kept within it, were their hogs. For such cattle the yearly 
 " falling acorns of the oaks would afford a luxurious food. For 
 " such cattle the wood appears thro' many ages to have shed 
 " the annual produce of its trees, and two or three fields that 
 " are near to Kersal-moor, and close to the present bowling- 
 " green are still denominated the Hog-heys. And for such 
 " cattle a right of pasnage even along the unwooded extent of 
 " the present moor was recently contested in a court of Justice, 
 " the township of Salford asserting a claim, and the Lords of 
 " Kersal repelling it. The soil being still friendly to the 
 " growth of oaks, the many acorns the provident crows reposite 
 " in tufts of grass along every extended waste, and which being 
 "in winter forgotten and lost, shoot up in little plants, are 
 " skilfully rooted up, and eagerly devoured by the observant 
 "hogs. Thus was Lowcaster designed to protect the cattle of 
 " the Eomans that fed in the wood of Broughton." 
 
196 
 
 What a pompous rhapsody is here? What a ridiculous 
 harangue on something below trifles ! Is it not a pity that 
 tradition so very good natured to our antiquary, had not placed 
 a few horns on the head of some of these Eoman cattle ? But 
 alas, we find it left them, as nature left some Caledonian cattle, 
 
 alias Scotch-cushes, quite without any at all 1 Not one horn 
 
 adorned the ' head of any one of these hog-cattle that fed in 
 the wood of Broughton ! 
 
 I confess it puzzles me more than a little to find out how 
 this antiquary can tell that the one whole township of Broughton 
 and Kersal must all have been covered with one extensive wood 
 in the time of the Eomans, and remained so till the conquest. 
 I have consulted what authors I can meet with, on this subject; 
 I have purposely viewed several parts of this one whole 
 township ; but cannot see any more reason to think it all once 
 covered with wood, than I can see the castle-field was a wood 
 at the same time. 
 
 But how his reverence could smell the hog-cattle out, or knew 
 that the Eomans never kept any other cattle than hogs in these 
 
 woods, is no less wonderful. now I ask this antiquary's 
 
 pardon. These wonders and doubts arise from my not looking 
 far enough— — : for in the following lines this point is demon- 
 strated ; for he says, two or three fields near Kersal-moor are 
 
 called the Hog-heys to this day ! So here I knock under, 
 
 for who but a true Pendragon in antiquarianism must not fall 
 down under such a forcible argument as this is ? 
 
 Yet the greatest wonder is behind, i. e. how these trees of oak 
 should know that these hog-cattle were under their branches ! 
 Pie tells us, " for such cattle the wood appears thro' many ages 
 " to have shed its annual produce.'' By which expression we 
 may fairly conclude, that the trees would not have shed their 
 acorns but purely for the sake of the hog-cattle under them. 
 
 Further, he informs us, " that the provident crows reposite the 
 " many acorns in tufts of grass in the winter, and then forget 
 
197 
 
 " and lose them." Surely these provident crows were the most 
 improvident animals that ever existed ; thus to lay up stores to 
 no manner of purpose, and "without the least henefit to them- 
 selves ; and came much short in good sense of the Broughton 
 oaks that fed the observant hogs under their branches, whilst 
 these provident crows had not wit to feed themselves. 
 
 " But the acorns are reposited in tufts of grass, thro' every ex- 
 " tended waste which shoot up in little plants, which are skilfully 
 " rooted up and eagerly devoured by the observant hogs." 
 
 Now who laid these acorns in these tufts of grass before the 
 hogs found them out, and before the crows had hid them, (for 
 he says the crows reposited them) or who or what took them 
 away the first time, his reverence says not : but after being thus 
 reposited by the crows, they sprung up into little plants. This 
 smells of the miraculous order again ; that these acorns should 
 spring up without being planted in the ground, or the least 
 earth or soil about them, is another anecdote skilfully rooted 
 up out of the ruins of time by our antiquary : for who ever be- 
 fore this dreamed that our English acorns so far excelled the 
 West India Semper vivum, thus to flourish without the least 
 assistance from our common mother the earth. 
 
 But behold the cunning observant hogs! Who peeping from 
 behind the brown thickets, marked where the crows reposited 
 them ; or else they were found out by the hogs hunting for 
 them, and then most skilfully rooted up and devoured. 
 
 Now were not these hogs the most wonderful hogs that ever 
 were recorded in history, thus to root up acorns that never were 
 
 planted in the ground ! Is it not a pity that all these 
 
 saplings should be thus annually devoured by these cunning 
 swine ? There well may be a scarcity of oak timber about Man- 
 chester ; but let not this melancholy thought affect the reader 
 too much ; for to his comfort I dare affirm that his reverence, 
 or any other ^orfe?- in Britain, never saw a young oak thus grub- 
 bed up and devoured, sinc& an oak grew in the one whole town- 
 ship of Broughton and Kersal. 
 
198 
 
 But again, to ehear up your drooping spirits O ye Mancu- 
 nians ; remember, the crows are annually planting you acorns 
 in tufts of grass along every extended waste; so that instead 
 of wanting timber, you are much more likely to be all woods 
 again, as in the time of the Romans. But when you perceive 
 
 this likely to happen, the remedy is at hand ; turn in your 
 
 skilful hogs, gentlemen, to root up and devour the plants before 
 they are planted ; and then your ground is safe from being over- 
 run with oak timber again as in the time of yore. 
 
 Speaking of the river Irwell, he says, page 178, " The waters 
 " pursue the direction of the ground, and escape round Salford 
 " to the Town of Manchester." 
 
 How complaisant can this author make any of the four 
 
 elements ; they tremble at his nod, and come or go at 
 
 his pleasure ! Other rivers, to be sure run up hill ; but the 
 waters of the Irwell are so submissive that they pursue the 
 direction of the ground, run down brow and escajie ! Whi- 
 ther? Why from a higher ground to a lower; and round 
 Salford to Manchester. No, no ; not quite so, neither, for when 
 I came from Warrington in December, 1771, I got into Salford 
 without the assistance of bridge, boat, or wings, and did not 
 wet a shoe latchet neither. So that the Irwell is a little short of 
 running round Salford to Manchester, tho' it is nearer doing so 
 now, than ever it was since it was a river ; and I suppose its 
 antiquity is not a whit behind that ancient river, the river 
 Kishon. 
 
 Treating on what he calls the Castra ^Estiva, or the summer 
 camps, he says, page 181, " The Eomans therefore, naturally 
 " constructed an additional camp for their station in summer, 
 " for this they necessarily selected some advantageous site, such 
 " was apparently the general reason for which the Eomans con- 
 " structed the summer camps, such was consequently the 
 " general principle upon which they selected the proper positions 
 " for them. And every station in the kingdom that has a south- 
 
199 
 
 " erly aspect in itself, and any advantageous ground near it with 
 " a northerly one, must have regularly claimed the pleasing ap- 
 " pendage of a summer camp." Further, 
 
 " The station at Manounium having both the former, must 
 "certainly have had the latter. A summer station loas absolutely 
 " necessary at Manounium, as the warm beams of tlie summer 
 " are uncommonly fervid and scorching upon the slope of the 
 " Castle-field." 
 
 If the curious reader has not time to peruse the whole of this 
 prolix history, the second and third sections of his sixth chapter 
 may serve as an epitome of the whole. He may have a peep at 
 the all powerful fancy of a thorough-bred antiquary. — A method 
 of representing trifles as articles of moment, and the mere-off- 
 spring of imagination . A pompous round-about way of 
 
 describing puerile whims ; and a dogmatical mode of expression. 
 For these summer camps must not only necessarily e.rat; but 
 they must absolutely have existed on the place where this gentle- 
 man's FANCY is pleased to place them. 
 
 As the station at Manounium had a southerly aspect in itself, 
 and a piece of ground with a northerly aspect that pleased the 
 antiquary, just there must certainly have been the summer camp. 
 And to make this camp more necessary, he tells us without 
 hesitation, that the warm beams of the sun (which have now 
 more than a greater fainter liveliness) are uncommonly fervid and 
 scorching upon the slope of the Castle-field. But alas, I found, 
 on trial, that the fervid fancy of an antiquary, adds but little 
 heat to the beams of the sun. For I was on the slope of this 
 Castle-field, in one of the hottest days of the summer this his- 
 tory was published (1771) but either my coat threw back the 
 rays of the sun, or my crooodilean-hyde would not suffer these 
 scorching beams to enter it : for I could not perceive this slope 
 any hotter than it was in the next field to it. 
 
 Page 336. " The Britons must in all probability have pre- 
 " viously planted bee-hives near the abodes of the chiefs The 
 
200 
 
 "Britons must assuredly have planted them near their plan- 
 " tations, fields, and own houses as at present.'' 
 
 This most certainly is most elegantly expressed ! But 
 
 still it falls vastly short of the notable action it celebrates. 
 For though it must be allowed that willows are as apt to take 
 root, and sprout up as any plant or tree in Britain ; yet that 
 they should take root, and sprout up after they have been 
 twisted or combined into baskets and bee-hives, is something 
 of the miraculous order again ; especially as they did not grow 
 up in twigs as at the first time of sprouting, but in complete 
 bee-hives ! For we must not suppose the old Britons such 
 natural fools as to have set or planted these admirable bee- 
 hive-plants, if they had not expected a good crop from them. 
 
 Page 287. " The Turnip was particularly used in Gaul 
 " and was even dispensed as food to the Gallic cattle in the 
 " winter ; an application of roots which has been vainly esteem- 
 " ed the result of modern genius, and which is really one of 
 " the greatest improvements of modern agriculture." 
 
 Here his reverence tells us, if I take him by the right handle 
 that giving turnips to cattle was vainly or falsely esteemed 
 the result of modern genius, i. e. it is not of a modern inven- 
 tion, but was practiced anciently by the Gauls : then again in 
 the identic period he says " it is one of the greatest improve- 
 " ments of modern agriculture." 
 
 If this is not a saying and unsaying it again, I must acknow- 
 ledge it is too mysteriously expressed for my capacity ; and 
 must refer to the reader's judgment. 
 
 " The taxes imposed upon the provincial Britons consisted 
 " of four or five different articles. One was an imposition 
 " upon burials, which is particularly urged as a grievance by 
 " the spirited Boadicea. Another was a capitation tax, which 
 "was likewise insisted upon by that British heroine. A third 
 " was a land-tax which amounted to two shillings in the pound 
 " or a tenth of the annual produce of every thing that was 
 
201 
 
 " raised from seed ; and to four shillings in the pound, or a fifth 
 " of the produce in every thing that was raised from plants. 
 "And all the commercial imports and exports were subject to 
 " particular charges.'' 
 
 What these impositions upon burials, the capitation tax, or 
 that upon cattle were, our author does not mention : but that 
 they lay very heavy upon the poor Britons is certain, by the two 
 first-mentioned being particularly complained of by the British 
 Queen before her revolt ; and very probably were greater than 
 two shillings in the pound land-tax, and the four shillings in the 
 pound on herbs and plants put together. 
 
 To pass by this reckoning of the Eoman taxations by our 
 pounds and shillings, which is curious enough ; because there 
 were no coins adequate to our money then existing. But sup- 
 posing the Britons were taxed as is here stipulated (which 
 appears to me incredible) it is easily seen, that they must have 
 been so excessively oppressive (those times considered) that they 
 could not bear up under the weight of them : and yet our author 
 
 tells us roundly a few lines below " Tliey were by no means 
 
 "oppressive in themselves: and the weight of them was 
 
 " certainly light, and but equivalent to the duties they had for- 
 " merly paid to their own Sovereigns." 
 
 Here it seems our author took it into his head to palliate and 
 diminish the oppression and slavery of the Britons purely to 
 shew the great lenity and generous souls of the Eomans, tho' 
 his own account falls out (as usual) with itself : which noble cha- 
 racter how well they merited will be seen a little further. 
 
 I have often hinted at the mean opinion his reverence seems 
 to have of other men's faculties, that he thinks them so purblind 
 as not to see one clashing, or contradictory account in this his 
 infallible history : had it not been so, he most certainly is short- 
 sighted himself: otherwise could he think his readers must 
 absolutely credit both these assertions ; " That the Britons were 
 
903 
 
 " thus heavily taxed, and 'yet these taxes be by no means 
 " oppressive." 
 
 Wliether these taxes were oppressive to the old Britons or not, 
 it is my opinion that had this nation been saddled with the like, 
 either before, or in the reigns of the three first Stuarts, a revo- 
 lution would have reared its hydra-crest before the year eighty- 
 eight: and as more numerous and more oppressive taxes now 
 gall this nation, if no relief or change for the better intervene, I 
 shall not be surprized if another wheel-about ^ould raise a dust 
 and stifle a few caterpillars before eighty-eight come again : and 
 bring others to an account who now loll and bask under the 
 shadow of a crown, and nestle in the down of the regal-wing. 
 
 But waving politics which always raise irksome thoughts of 
 weak and corrupt reigns, let us admit the above account of the 
 heavy taxes of the Eomans laid on the shoulders of the poor 
 Britons to be true, nay, suppose one half to be so, the wonder 
 vanishes that the Britons were so weary of the Roman yoke, or 
 that they should combine together to regain lost liberty by 
 revolting. But still they had greater grievances, more piercing 
 oppressions to complain of, which raised their fury to the high- 
 est pitch. For, Prasutagus King of the Icene dying, leaves 
 Nero the Emperor, and his own two daughters coheirs of all his 
 treasure; purely to procure that tyrant's favour to his family and 
 subjects. This pi'oved of no advantage ; for the Eoman officers 
 seize all the great treasure for the Emperor's use. 
 
 Boadicea, the widow of the deceased King, a woman of a high 
 spirit and heroic courage, opposes these unjust proceedings of 
 the Eoman officers; but meets with no relief; but instead of 
 that, fresh contempt and more galling vexations : for they cause 
 her to be whipped publicly, and then suffer her daughters to be 
 ravished by the common soldiers ! 
 
 Besides all these inhuman acts of tyranny, the Britons were 
 thrust out of their possessions by the Eoman veterans and 
 colonists. The procurator, Catus Decianus, confiscated what 
 
203 
 
 estates he pleased to his own and the Emperor's use. The 
 flower of their youth were taken for soldiers and dispersed in 
 distant provinces of the empire ; and no relief to be had, for all 
 petitions from what quarter soever were rejected. Nay, Seneca, 
 that right reverend philosophic doctor, whose tenets and maxims 
 and his practice, give one another the lie, helped to promote the 
 insurrection. For tho' this great priest of his time preached 
 against worldly mindedness, praised moderation and content- 
 ment, had, at this time, (if we can believe Dio Cass.) to the value 
 of 300,000 pounds out on usury in Britain. And as usurers 
 always keep a sharp look out for their own interest, he perceived 
 that the cruelty and oppression of his countrymen, on the point 
 of raising a storm ; so hastily recalled and rigorously exacted 
 his money out of the hands of the Britons, which helped to 
 push them into mere desperation. 
 
 Now what people under the sun could bear the taxes before- 
 mentioned, and suffer such insults and tyrannical oppressions 
 without endeavouring an adequate revenge ? 
 
 Accordingly the Iceni as chiefly concerned began the revolt ; 
 the Trinobants joined them, and immediately after Ycnutius, 
 king of the Brigantes (our author says Jugantes) and all the 
 rest of the oppressed Britons (the Londoners excepted) who 
 groaned under the iron yoke of the Komans. The whole com- 
 bined army under the British heroine Boadicea, as Dion says, 
 amounted to 930,000 : but Dion's spectacles generally magnified 
 too much ; however, most authors agree it consisted of 100,000 
 men. 
 
 When this insurrection began, Suetonius Paulinus was gov- 
 ernor of Britain, and was just then finishing the conquest of the 
 Isle of Mona (now Anglesea in Wales) where he cut down all the 
 consecrated oaken-groves of the Druids. When hearing of the 
 revolt, he hastens from Mona, and with quick marches soon 
 arrives in the south-east parts of Britain. But before his arrival 
 the exasperated Britons under Boadicea had slain groat numbers 
 
304 
 
 of Eomans who were dispersed in their colonies and stations. 
 They massacred all of whatever age or sex ; not one Eoman they 
 could lay hold on was spared. They had likewise taken, sacked, 
 and destroyed the two strong and populous towns of Camulo- 
 dunum and Verulamium ; defeated the ninth legion under the 
 lieutenant Petilius Crealis, forced the procurator Catus to fly 
 beyond the sea ; and slain says Dion, 80,000 Eomans ; but 
 Tacitus allows that 70,000 of his countrymen at this time lost 
 their lives. 
 
 Here it is worth observing, with what surprizing expedition 
 the politic Eomans colonized and peopled their new-conquered 
 provinces. It was but about eighteen years before this revolt 
 that Claudius had conquered Britain : and we see what numbers 
 they had sent hither! For allowing a reasonable increase by 
 their intermarrying with the Britons, they grew in so short a 
 tirfte far more than 80,000 : for, besides the army under Pauli- 
 nus, thai-e was some part of the defeated legion under Petilius 
 another detachment under Phoenius Posthumus who refused to 
 assist Paulinus ; with many other garrisons in the north, and 
 other parts where they had fortresses ; which the Britons had 
 neither time to reach or power to conquer. 
 
 Another proof that the Eomans were very numerous in this 
 Island at the time of this insurrection is, the quantity of their 
 coins, which are still, and always have been found in many parts 
 of this country ever since Honorius renounced all Sovereignty 
 over it ; which was in the year 410 ; and the last legion that 
 ever was here, left Britain about sixteen or seventeen years 
 afterwards. 
 
 The issue of all was, the Eomans who had but 10,000, and 
 the unfortunate Britons ten times that number, the latter were 
 defeated with the loss of 80,000 ; and the Eomans triumphed 
 with the lose of only 4 or 500 men ! Thus the Britons sunk 
 
 into their former slavery : Boadicea for grief took poison : 
 
 and Ptenius Posthumus who denied his assistance to Paul- 
 
905 
 
 inus stabbed himself ! Ah, what a pity that this mighty 
 
 struggle for native liberty had no better success ! 
 
 Page 255. In this page our author speaking of the crowns 
 worn by the ancient kings of this isle, says, " We have a very 
 " curious and ancient delineation of it upon the tomb-stone of a 
 " British monarch that reigned in the 5th century. The stone 
 " was discovered in the Isle of Anglesea about the reign of 
 " Charles the second, lying no less than six feet under ground. 
 " And as the edge of it bears a remarkable inscription to the 
 " memory of Pabo, so the plain of it exhibits the figure of a 
 " king, dressed in his armour, grasping a sceptre and wearing a 
 " crown ; the sceptre was a strong weapon of iron and pointed in 
 " the form of a lily, and the crown being a circlet studded with 
 " stars, and fringed with three flowers above." 
 
 This is another instance of the strength of antiquarian fancy ; 
 for admitting that the figure on the stone represented a AVelch 
 king of the fifth century ; yet that the sceptre he grasped in his 
 hand, did not represent a sceptre that was originally made of 
 wood, ivory, or some other curious metal is something above 
 common ken : but his reverence, to shew his penetrating facul- 
 ties, soon smelt it was iron ; and that being so awkward and 
 cold a substance for a royal hand it makes the relation more 
 curious : especially in these our more effeminate times, it would 
 be next to a miracle for one of our kings to handle a weapon 
 made of iron. 
 
 However, let that be as it will, I always thought till now, that 
 a sceptre had been an emblem of royalty, and not an instrument 
 of war : but what puzzles me most is, how this author or any 
 other antiquary, should know that the original sceptre was made 
 of iron; unless the figure was so exquisitely carved, that the 
 strokes of the smith's hammer was to be seen on it : and he who 
 could find out this criterion at this distance of time must abso- 
 lutely be a most penetrating genius, and ought to entitle him to 
 the honour of F. S. A. 
 
206 
 
 Page 271. "Lancashire must have been parcelled out into 
 " districts coevally with the first plantation of it." 
 
 Is not this heroically done of a parson ? Thus to parcel 
 
 out a county into districts above 1300 years before that county 
 
 had a being ! But this is much short of going through 
 
 stitch ; for in the next page he says, " Thus did our little dis- 
 " tricts of our townships in Lancashire commence vi'ith the first 
 "colony that settled in it." Again in page 373, there starts up 
 another clencher, for he informs us, " That the counties of 
 " Durham, York, Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Lancaster 
 " are expresshj declared to have been uncommonly populous, even 
 "before the settlement of the Eomans." 
 
 But this clencher not doing the job perfectly, he rivets the 
 point a little faster ; for treating of the wild face of the country 
 in the time of the Fiomans, he expresses himself thus, " The 
 " great forest of the Coritani which contained several towns and 
 " the seats of a whole nation within it, and which straggled over 
 " the whole/iye lolwle counties of Lincoln, Nottingham, Leices- 
 " ter, and Rutland and even such parts of Northamptonshire as 
 "lie on the north of the Nen." 
 
 He who reads this, and many other sections of the same man- 
 ufacture without risibility, must absolutely be a perfect stoic. 
 
 'Tis like the baseless fabric of a visien ! For to pass by this 
 
 vagabond rambling forest that straggled over five ivliole counties 
 that were but four and a bit ; yet that his reverence should re- 
 present England, Wales and Scotland, as divided into counties 
 and lesser districts in the time of the Eomans, is more than a little 
 
 surprising ! Yet this ridiculous notion he adopts and fosters 
 
 from first to last of this hopeful work. This is seen in too 
 many places for me to enumerate : and where he thinks he can 
 elevate even bombast, tells us of the Sistuntian monarch of Lan- 
 cashire. Towns and fortresses built on the crown-lands of 
 
 Lancashire. Lands consigned by the king of Lancashire (p. 
 
 273) &c. &c. when at the same time he must know on the least 
 reflexion there absolutely was no such a division in being. 
 
207 
 
 This may be a proper place to give the reader a specimen of 
 this historian's exact chronology: in p. 385 he has these words, 
 " Lancashire was inhabited some years before the time of Her- 
 " odotus, and about 800 years before the sera of Christ." Now 
 by his own account, and by knowing that England was not 
 divided into counties till Alfred's time, or about the year 885 ; 
 the reader will perceive his reverence was crooked in his compu- 
 tation above 1380 years. 
 
 But to be a little more particular : Alfred the great about the 
 time above-mentioned, finding that the numerous descents of 
 the Danes and other civil wars, had produced such a number of 
 vagabonds and strolling thieves that all manner of crimes were 
 committed with impunity, by Englishmen under the name of 
 Danes ; it being so easy for the criminals to shift their quarters 
 and lurk in other places. Alfred seeing his honest subjects thus 
 preyed upon by such vagrants, put him upon parcelling England 
 into shires, or counties, which were subdivided into hundreds 
 and these again into tythings, and made each tything answerable 
 for its own respective inhabitants : and consequently each per- 
 son was made to belong to a certain district: and he that could 
 not, or would not tell to which he belonged, must give security 
 for his good behaviour : or the tything in which he was found, 
 threw him into prison, to prevent paying the penalty it was sub- 
 ject to, if he committed any crime. By this it is plain that 
 England was not divided into counties till more than 400 years 
 after the Eomans deserted Britain*': and to talk of shires and 
 counties before or in the Eoman time, is glaringly ridiculous. 
 But the castle-field (which in those ages was no field at all) the 
 Eoman svimmer camps, Eibchester-street, &c. &c. are chips of 
 the same block ; or sj^arks struck from the fervid fancy of a fan- 
 ciful antiquary. 
 
 But to make this point more evident, that this was the time, 
 and not before, that England was divided into shires it may be 
 
 * Eapin. Ingulp. Malms. 1. 2. 
 
208 
 
 observed, that Spelman who wrote the life of Alfred allows him 
 to be the first who fixed the number and limits of shires ; and 
 Dr. Howell allows the same. 
 
 Camden also in his division of Britain, p. ccxxv, says, ' That 
 ' while the Heptarchy continued, England was not divided into 
 ' what we call counties ; but into several small partitions with 
 ' their number of hydes : ' and also confirms my first account 
 hereof. 
 
 Also, in vol. I. p. 434, he tells us, ' All we can safely conclude, 
 is, that there is scarce a jsossibility that the British divisions 
 should include exactly so many counties, since the bounds of 
 the counties were set long after the British times by king Alfred ; 
 who no doubt had rather an eye to the convenience of the king- 
 dom, than the exact limits ©f the Britons.' 
 
 Again, in p. 617, ' The inhabitants of this part (Worcester- 
 shire) with their neighbours in the time of Bede, before England 
 was divided into counties, were called WicciL' 
 
 The reason of stretching this point so far, is, because our an- 
 tiquary is so constantly harping on this jarring string, of shir;es 
 and counties existing in the British and Koman times : but the 
 proofs here advanced, I presume may be sufficient to shew, that 
 whenever he mentions shires or counties, or applies them to 
 times, or things, before the reign of Alfred the great, he is lead- 
 ing the reader into the region of error and non-entities. And 
 that it is both natural and rational to conclude with Camden, 
 that it is almost impossible that the British divisions should in- 
 clude just so many counties. If so, what must become of all the 
 antiquarian dust his reverence raises about shires and counties 
 existing before the invasion of Julius Csesar. The foundation 
 of which is chiefly built upon the infallible Itinerary of Eichard 
 the Monk ; which, if it be erroneous, (as I have proved it is) 
 this fanciful-dust evaporates into the air, and flies beyond the 
 clouds. 
 
 Now to the next article, in which it may possibly be diverting 
 
209 
 
 to the reader, to point out to his observation, in what venerable 
 esteem our author holds the poems of the Caledonian poet, 
 Ossian. 
 
 In the 290 page, he treats of the chariots of the ancient Bri- 
 tons, and has these words, " We have the picture of one of them 
 "sketched out by a British hand, and engraven upon a coin. 
 " There we see the charioteer mounted on his carriage before 
 " us, a quiver of arrows peeping over his left shoulder, and a 
 " spear portended from his left hand, his feet resting upon the 
 " pole, or on a foot-board annexed to it, and his body leaning 
 " over the horses in the act of accelerating their motion." 
 
 Now as this description is taken from the coins of Camden 
 and Borlace, we must allow it to be as authentic as the nature 
 of such things will admit. 
 
 Nevertheless I think few readers can peruse this paragraph 
 without taking notice in what a queer manner the fricassee is 
 
 tossed up. In the first place, this picture of a chariot was 
 
 engraven hy a British hand. "What olfactory nerves but those of 
 a F. S. A. could possibly have smelt out, that a Briton engraved 
 this coin ; and not a Eoman, a Gaul, &o. But dark and remote 
 as the whole of this was, 'tis demonstrated after this author's 
 manner here, before a man can say — Jack-o-leiU. 
 
 But this British hand engraved it too ! If this were so,, it 
 
 was absolutely the most curious uuic that ever rust v:as rubbed off: 
 for then it could not be stamped, embossed, or protuberant from 
 the plane, or surface, as all other coins are ; but it was engraved, 
 sunk, or cut in; somewhat after the manner of seals. — Next the 
 charioteer was mounted on his carriage before us: i. e. the coin 
 when viewed, was not behind the person who looked on it : by 
 which this fair conclusion may be drawn, the eyes of an anti- 
 quary does not stand in the back part of his head. And lastly, 
 " A quiver of arrows peeped over his left shoulder." This must 
 absolutely have been a great curiosity m itself! and pity it is the 
 antiquary did not tell us whether the peeping eyes of this quiver 
 stood before, or behind. 
 
910 
 
 In the next page he says, " And we have the description of 
 " another chariot which is equally authentic mi itself, very similar 
 "in one or two particulars, and more circumstantial. There we 
 " have the car of a British Eegulus, bending behind, and drawn 
 " by a pair of horses ; its sides being embossed with sparkling 
 " stones its beams of the polished yew, and its seat of the 
 " smoothest bone, its sides being replenished with spears, the 
 " bottom being the foot-stool of the chief, and his red hair flying 
 " from his head behind, as bending forward he wields the 
 " spear." Osaian vol. I. p. ii. 
 
 These two quotations are produced as I said before, to shew 
 how authentically true his reverence holds the poems of Ossian 
 and mimicks that style. 
 
 This strong]}' paints to my fancy, his reverence eagerly busy 
 putting two or more British coins, with sense and reason into 
 one end of a pair of scales ; and the poems of Ossian, wrapt up 
 in his own fancy, into the other ; the balance is in equilibrio 
 for a moment, but at last the chariot of Ossian with its spark- 
 ling stones, mixed with spears, subsides ! Is it not a pity 
 
 that either English or Caledonian fustian, mixed with these 
 brilliants and spears, should ponderate in our author's scales 
 against these coins ; all probability ; and that solid thing called 
 common sense ! 
 
 Page 990. In this page also, he laments the indelible dis- 
 grace put on his dear brother and fellow-labourer. Doctor 
 Stukely. " I am sorry," says he, " to observe that Mr. Pegge 
 "has sullied his useful treatise on the coins of Cunobeline, 
 " with a rude stricture on the late Doctor Stukely. Let the ex- 
 " travagances of Dr. Stukely be all corrected. They ought to 
 " be. But let not his character be held up to the public, as the 
 "mere fantastical enthusiast of antiquities. This, justice, gra- 
 " titude, and politeness, equally concur to forbid." 
 
 Now if Mr. Pegge has committed any fault, or treated Doctor 
 Stukely vidth more severity, or indecency than he ought to do ; 
 
211 
 
 I shall be obliged (and will too) to ask pardon of our author, 
 for remarking on this most hopeful Mancunion history ; in 
 which, perhaps, I have thrown out more rustic and blunt stric- 
 tures than ever iMr. Pegge shot against Doctor Stukely. But if 
 the candid reader do not see the reasons adequate to my ironical 
 rusticity, I have no apology more, than that I am sorry we differ 
 in our sentiments. 
 
 As to the first part of this quotation of our author, I agree 
 to it; that the extravagances of Doctor Stukely ought to be 
 corrected. — That this gentleman was a fantastical enthusiast in 
 antiquities, our author, I presume, will not deny. — That he 
 has advanced mere whims, conjectures, nay things improbable, 
 and taken much pains to palm them on the public, and estab" 
 lish thom as truths few will deny. I allow whatever disputes 
 start up amongst antiquaries, do not affect our morals, our reli- 
 gion, or society in general : nevertheless, as truth is always the 
 antagonist of falshood and error ; and finds a secret pleasure in 
 detecting and exposing them whenever they meet : who but an 
 enemy to truth can possibly take it amiss in seeing Doctor 
 Stukely held up to the public, as a fantastical enthusiast of 
 antiquarianism. 
 
 That Doctor Stukely was a bigoted antiquary our author him- 
 self allows, and proves by two particular instances in page 109 ; 
 where his reverence very justly observing the defects of the 
 Pioman roads, (which the Doctor's dotage admired, purely be- 
 cause they were Roman) for want of bridges, when they came to 
 cross rivers has these words- — • — " Doctor Stukely in the genuine 
 " spirit of an antiquarian, commends the wisdom of the Romans 
 " for preferring durable fords, to perishing bridges ; " and quotes 
 the Doctor's Itin. Cur p. 79. Again, " See also a similar awk- 
 " ward expedient for crossing the rills of valleys, mentioned 
 "p. 82." 
 
 Now, must we not allow, that Doctor Stukely first shut the 
 eyes of his understanding ; and having thrown reason and 
 
S13 
 
 common-sense out of doors, falls down and worships that 
 rusty god antiquity ? Had it been otherwise, the Doctor's judg- 
 ment could never have preferred fords to bridges, considering 
 their unavoidable inconvenience in winter, by floods, &c. but to 
 proceed. 
 
 I am so far from thinking Mr. Pegge has sullied his treatise 
 on Cunobeline's coins with any ill-natured, or severe remarks 
 on Doctor Stukely; that in my opinion he had made himself 
 accessary, and an abettor of his falshood and extravagances, if 
 he had not detected and exposed them to the world. And who 
 but one that was conscious of being a chip of the same block 
 with the Doctor, could think and affirm, that justice, gratitude 
 and politeness equally concurred, to forbid exposing him ! 
 
 What an idea of truth and justice has his reverence, if he 
 think error and enthusiastical falshood should not be detected 
 and exposed to the public, but ought to be indulged and pam- 
 pered ? Does not this smell strongly of the musty rags of 
 Eomish priest-craft. 
 
 Then again 1 ask ; which way is the law of gratitude broken, 
 or affected by telling truth and exposing error? 
 
 Is it ungrateful to set a traveller right who is going wrong ; 
 or to lend him a lantern in the dark? Does not this whisper 
 
 an antiquary with a strong intellect, an enterprising spirit, 
 
 a flaming desire to rise in reputation and to establish his own 
 vague conceits, cannot do wrong but is infallible ? 
 
 As to politeness, I know little of it : but my notion of it is, that 
 it cannot be polite to conceal extravagances, falshood and knav- 
 ery, except at court ; there indeed our author's notions of justice, 
 gratitude, and politeness, are adopted, believed, and practiced ; — 
 thither, perhaps his reverence aims to travel : — there lies the 
 fountain of preferment: thither let him march as he may possi- 
 bly prove as useful in the hierarchy, as Sir Bull -face Double-fee 
 is in the state. 
 
 Page 992. Here he speaks of earthen vessels, and says, 
 
213 
 
 " Under the direction of a Eoman, or Eoman ^Frisian-master, 
 " the Mancunians learnt to model their vessels with a lathe, to 
 " give them the soft polish of a glazing, and to flourish them with 
 " carvings, and emboss them with figures." 
 
 Omitting the extraordinary phrases of a Eoman Frisian pot- 
 maker at Mancunium, and the carving of flourishes in pot-metal, I 
 cannot but think the soft polish of a glazing still more curious : 
 but perhaps it is an error of the press, and the printer instead 
 of hard polish, inserted soft polish : but supposing it so, yet I 
 presume the smooth polish of a glazing* would have been most 
 proper, and the best English : but because other judicious wri- 
 ters would have so expressed themselves his reverence thought 
 it too low and grovelling for an antiquary. But after all, a 
 graver carving wooden vessels into elegance (as in the next page) 
 
 is not a whit behind it is elegant sublime indeed ! 
 
 Yet is but a herring of the same tub with that of the picture 
 of a chariot sketched out by a British hand, and engraven on a 
 British coin : or that droll pun of the chimney-sweeper, who 
 coming to draw his wages of a certain right reverend and who 
 thought the money too much, because earned in so short a time. 
 
 ' Please your grace, says sweep, we Black-coats always get 
 
 our money easily. 
 
 Page 302 and 303. " The primteval Britons must have cer- 
 
 " tainly used Coal. The Britons could not have remained 
 
 " unaprised of the agreeable combustible around them. The 
 
 " number of pieces of coal found under the road to Eibchester 
 " were no less than 30 or 40 : these must all have been derived 
 "from the same quarry by the same hands who lodged them on the 
 "spot." 
 
 This getting of coals out of a stone quarry must absolutely have 
 puzzled all the coal-miners that ever worked at Newcastle ; and 
 
 * They vfere very seldom glazed at all, but worked like our red teapots, 
 
 but rather brighter coloured and better polished 1 speak of the urns and 
 
 beverage vessels possibly they might glaze like as the coarser sort and the 
 
 mosaic pavement. 
 
314 
 
 is another curious structure struck out of the gloomy caverns of 
 antiquity, by the pure fire of our author's genius : and which to 
 his honour be it spoken, was never so much as dreamed of be- 
 fore : neither was it possible for any future antiquary to have 
 discovered it! But what secret is there so deep ; what mys- 
 tery so profound, but the rays of his bright intellects can throw 
 a light upon it ! Had there been any things in nature that 
 could have put him to a nonplus, this getting coals in a quarry, 
 and knowing that the very man who derived all of them from the 
 quarry, went without losing a minute of time, and laid them 
 just on the spot where they were found, 7nust absolutely have 
 puzzled him. 
 
 If any antiquarian genius in Europe can go a step further, I 
 will blow out my candle, slash my pen, and never dip another 
 in ink again. 
 
 A few lines further he gives another stroke of his profound 
 intellects, saying, " This ground where these 80 or 40 bits of 
 " coal were found, being in the immediate neighbourhood of 
 " Mancenion, the Britons had there reposited a quantity of coals 
 " for the use of the garrison : and many of the smaller pieces 
 " and some of the slack (read sleek) were naturally buried in the 
 "soft sand upon which they were laid'." 
 
 Now I wonder how his reverence could tell but that the Ro- 
 mans had rejMsited these 30 or 40 bits of coal there, (two or three 
 of which he says were as large as hen eggs) and not the Britons ! 
 But his sagacity knew at the first peep that the Britons had 
 reposited them there : and not only so, but that they were in- 
 tended for the use, not of a Eoman, but of a British garrison ! 
 
 Ah how happy should I think myself, if I had such an 
 
 antiquarian nose as this ! that can hunt such minute parti- 
 culars, on such a cold scent ; and after the hare had slipped by 
 above 1400 years. 
 
 He goes on in the same page, " Coal is certainly not Saxon ; 
 " and is as certainly British ; which must have been transmitted 
 " from the Britons to the Saxons and us.'' 
 
915 
 
 If I durst argue against such learning, penetration, and such 
 clenching assertions as these ; I would flatly tell him that we 
 
 had it absolutely from the Saxon col: and for this reason 
 
 because the Dutch have kol in the same sense to this day. ■ 
 
 Hold, gentle reader. 1 have thought better of it now : for 
 
 the Welch transmitted it to the Dutch, as well as to the Saxons 
 
 and us. Thus I knock under : but alas, every man cannot 
 
 be infallible ! 
 
 Page 309. "As early as the year 859, a grant was made of 
 some lands by the Abbey of Peterborough, under the reversion 
 of certain boons and payments in kind to the Monastery ; one 
 night's entertainment ; thirty shillings and one horse ; ten ves- 
 sels of Welch ale ; six hundred loaves ; two oxen ready killed ; 
 and two casks of common ale ; sixty cart-loads of wood ; and 
 twelve graefan fossil or pit-coal." 
 
 For this our author quotes Dr. Eichardson's letter in Leland 
 and Sax. Chro. but it is possible this may be taken in a wrong 
 sense ; and that graefan fossil may not mean pit-coal, but the 
 black heavy turves, such as are dug out of the bottom of the 
 turf-pits in the Chat-moss and other mosses in England. In 
 Lancashire, Yorkshire, and other counties, graefe or grave is still 
 retained, and means to dig or delve with spades or shovels : and 
 I presume that coal, tho' a fossil, is not to be come at by delv- 
 ing with spades. So that graefant fossil means delved turf, as 
 
 I think: and the geard (or the earth) mentioned in page 305, I 
 take to mean what in some parts of Yorkshire and Lancashire 
 are denominated flaights, being the parings, the sward, or thin 
 clods of heathy, or moorish ground ; or a mixture of soil and 
 moss. And the Saxons had stheard in this sense, meaning the 
 outside, parings, or rind of any thing ; and from which many in 
 the north have the word green-swarth to the pi-esent time. 
 These are my conjectures, which I dare not clench with that 
 antiquarian hammer, it must absolutely be so. 
 
 Page 314 and 315. " The pounding of corn for bread con- 
 
216 
 
 "tinued in use among the Eomans till below the reign of 
 " Vespasian." 
 
 I have beaten this bush a little in my former remarks but give 
 
 me leave to ask :- Where is the man that would not think by 
 
 this quotation his reverence thought the Eomans were ignorant 
 of grinding their corn with mill-stones after the reign of Vespa- 
 sian ? Yet nothing is less so : for a few lines below he tells us, 
 " Water-mills were pretty common in Italy before the conquest 
 " of Lancashire." 
 
 Now I presume that one of these two affirmations rmtst abso- 
 lutely be false : for Titus Vespasian died about the year 83, and 
 the Eomans pounded their corn after his time : but the Eomans 
 had water-mills pretty common in Italy before the conquest of 
 Lancashire, and that was conquered by Agricola in the year 79, 
 so the conclusion is, the Eomans pounded their bread corn I 
 know not how many years after water-mills were common 
 amongst them. 
 
 Whether there be any probability or consistency in this, I'll 
 leave to the reader's reflection. 
 
 But to make the inconsistency more glaring his reverence tells 
 
 us, " Both the Gauls and the Britons appear to have been 
 
 "faviUiarhj acquainted with the use of hand-mills before the 
 "period of their submission to the Eomans." And most school- 
 boys know that Gaul was under the Eoman yoke long before they 
 
 conquered Britain. Yet these politic Eomans pounded their 
 
 corn below the reign of Vespasian ! Nay, a little further, he 
 makes his own assertions fly like puffs of wind ; for says hei 
 " The use of mill-stones was probably the invention of the ante- 
 " diluvian world, and ivas certainly used in some of the earliest 
 "ages after it." 
 
 Does not our historian here metamorphose this mighty people, 
 these truly politic conquerors of the world into a nation of mere 
 idiots ; thus to make them prefer a mortar and pestle, before the 
 grinding ■power of the mill-stones ? Further, 
 
817 
 
 " For the discovery of the useful invention of water-mills, the 
 "world is pretty certainly indebted to the improving power of 
 " the Eoman genius." 
 
 If any reader whatever without the gift of inspiration can find 
 either truth or consistency in such a labyrinth of words and 
 confusion of sense, I must absolutely submit to his superior in- 
 tellects ; for to me it appears a tool without a handle : a 
 
 mere gallimaufry of inconsistencies. Nay, does not self con- 
 tradiction stare in the face of the reader? For it was impossible 
 that the world could be indebted to the Eoman genius for the 
 use of water-mills and mill-stones before any Eoman existed ; 
 which was not till after the year of the world 3300 when their 
 city was founded : and if th^ Eomans invented them as his rever- 
 ence says they pretty certainly did ; then how can he say that 
 they were probably the invention of the antediluvian world : 
 and very certainly used in the earliest ages after the flood ; when 
 1644 years past after it, before one Eoman had a being ! Thus 
 he rolls his mill-stones about and tells us, that they were not 
 invented by the antediluvians, nor by those of the earliest ages 
 after the flood ; nor yet by the Eomans, for they pounded their 
 corn after the reign of Vespasian : and yet they were first 
 invented and first used by all three ! 
 
 Page 823. " The consort of Nero kept a train of 600 milch 
 " asses in constant attendance upon her, and had her bath oon- 
 " stantly replenished with their milk." 
 
 Was not this Eoman lady most pompously attended ? What 
 an equipage was here ! What a gay, what a grand appearance 
 she would make at the head of such a lai-ge number of long- 
 eared drowsy chambermaids, or ladies of honour ! What a 
 beggarly belle did the Greek and Latin poets make of the beau- 
 tiful goddess of soft desires, who allowed her but three waiting 
 maids, whilst our author, with Pliny's assistance, is so generous 
 as to allow Madam Octavia 500 graces to attend her? Not in 
 their turns as in these our scrubby times, but constantly and at 
 
 E E 
 
218 
 
 all hours ! What a notion must this give the considerate reader 
 of the grandeur of the ancients, and the magnificence of the 
 Eoman court, when this single lady not only took 500 asses with 
 her, but her baths also wherever she went; and had more 
 attendants than all the empresses and queens in Europe put 
 together ! 
 
 Here a sort of merry thought has started up, and I will try to 
 make it visible to the reader ! 
 
 For let us suppose that out of these 500 she-asses, only 40 or 
 60, should have taken it into their heads to have burst out into 
 
 one of their natural chorusses- What a unison of sounds ; 
 
 What a melodious harmony must these Eoman choristers make ! 
 — And such chorusses must absolutely^hresLk forth now and then : 
 either from pure whim (for I have seen a whimsical ass) or from 
 the thought of their foals. For tho' old Pliny should affirm and 
 our author should start up and make affidavit in his cause, that 
 these grave attendants, these rough-haired ladies of honor, durst 
 sing without the empress's permission, there is no person of 
 common sense could or would believe them ; but must be of 
 Mr. Pope's mind, whom I take to be a more competent judge of 
 asses than either Pliny or his reverence; who says in the 82 d 
 page of the Dunciad, that the milky-mothers will bray for their 
 foals, and set the rest within hearing, on braying too. But take 
 his own beautiful lines. 
 
 'As when the long-ear'd milky-mothers wait 
 ' At some sick miser's triple-bolted gate, 
 ' For their defrauded absent foals they make 
 ' A moan so loud that all the gild awake : 
 
 ' In Tot'nam Fields, the brethren in amaze 
 ' Prick all their ears up, and forget to graze. 
 
 When I said that few or none could or would believe but that 
 asses would every now and then bray for their absent foals, per- 
 haps I should have excepted some antiquaries, who seem capable 
 of swallowing the pills of any quack ; and that they believe these 
 
219 
 
 long-eared choristers durst not warble one of their natural notes 
 without leave ; that our author believed this, is probable, from 
 the serious and Important manner in which he produces the 
 quotation, and from an author too, whose guess-work writings 
 are so well known that I need not point out their character here. 
 However, had this our historian been forced to have parted with 
 one of these three, Eichard the Monk, Ossian, or Pliny, I think 
 it would have puzzled him to have known which to discai'd : and 
 the dilemma would have set him on scratching where he did not 
 
 itch. Methinks the very thought would make him cry out 
 
 Ah — my poor history ! 
 
 Page 324. " The bull-dog enjoys equally a sagacity of nose 
 " and a bravery of spirit." „ In the next lines he thus proceeds : 
 " This dog has a larger share of true genuine courage than any 
 " other animal in the world." 
 
 Supposing that true genuine is not tautology, what will be the 
 consequence of these two assertions ? For the bull-dog has a 
 larger share of courage than any other animal, and his nose is 
 equal to it : the answer is very plain : — for the bull-dog has ab- 
 solutely a better nose than any other dog in the universe, and 
 can hunt the stag, the hare, the otter, &o. &c. much better than 
 than any other hound or beagle in Europe ! 
 
 What an idea must a sensible reader have of any historian 
 who can assert such things as these, which are universally 
 known to clash with truth, experience, reason, and common 
 sense. 
 
 Yet for all this, our historian could not be content with the 
 above self-evident inconsistencies, but dashes on at the same 
 rate, and quotes, and believes Strabo ; who commends bull-dogs 
 in general as incomparable dogs for the field. 
 
 Another auxiliary is Gratius ; he wrote in the days of Augus- 
 tus, and helps our author to metamorphose the bull-dog into a 
 Tuscan hunter, by saying 
 
 ' what great gains will certainly redound 
 ' From a free trafilc with the British hound ! ' 
 
230 
 
 But Claudian is to spring the grand mine: which must 
 
 absolutely blow all opposition to this argument (of hounds being 
 bull-dogs) beyond the clouds, for he says 
 
 the British hound 
 
 'Which wrings the bull's big foreAead to the ground.' 
 
 In this point our author's infallible judgment is so pliable that 
 it is warped or converted to a belief, that a bull-dog is the best 
 hunter in the world : for his courage exceeds any other animal, 
 and his nose is equal to it ; and the hound is the best of bull- 
 dogs, as his strength and courage can wring the hulVs hig forehead 
 to the ground. This doctrine is so new and singularly curious, 
 that it was never thought on, or mentioned by any English his- 
 torian or antiquary before, must certainly entitle him to the 
 honour of a statue in the grand saloon of the antiquarian 
 society. . 
 
 But after all, perhaps the reader may ask ; — how comes it that 
 all these authors should concur to turn a British bull-dog into 
 the best of hunters ? I answer, that it is not so strange or diffi- 
 cult a point for all these poets with an historian or two, as 
 journey -men, to make one single dog into another of the same 
 genus : as it was for a brother poet of their own, to metamorphose 
 Cygnus into a swan, and all the sisters of Phseton into poplar- 
 trees ! 
 
 But grant there are no truth, reason, or philosophy in our 
 author's quotations (the main ingredients in this hopeful history) 
 the fault must absolutely lie on the backs of these Roman writers ; 
 for our historian is hum sackless Sam : i. e. with- 
 out fault always in the right. 
 
 But should his reverence say, he was not speaking of the Tus- 
 can hunter, or hunting hound that thus pulled the bull's big 
 forehead to the earth ; but of the bull-dog mentioned the page 
 before : then I say his case would be much like a fly in a cobweb, 
 which the more it struggles the faster it is. For there he says, 
 
231 
 
 "The Eomans exported the bull-dog from Gaul for the uses of 
 " hunting, and Strabo commends them in general as incompara- 
 " ble dogs for the field." 
 
 By what is gone we may fairly conclude, that neither 
 Claudian, Strabo, Pliny, or his reverence knew much of the 
 genus or species of dogs : or else our author's mode of expression 
 confounds my ideas ; for the whole of what is here advanced, 
 appears to be nonsense ; and confirms my former assertion, 
 that whenever his reverence mentions dogs, or hunting, incon- 
 sistency, with crooked and muddled phrases, are always coupled 
 with them. So that here, let him turn which way soever he 
 will, he is fast in his own bird-lime; and it would prove an 
 herculean labour to extricate himself out of it : for in the 325th 
 page he metamorphoses bull-dogs into hunters ; and the next 
 page hunting-hounds into bull-dogs. 
 
 Is 'this such a decisive way of writing that the argument 
 
 carries every degree of conviction with it? Does this hopeful 
 
 work, here, open any dark entangled clue of history? Is this 
 
 illustrating antiquities? doth this ascertain the doubtful? 
 
 retrench the false? or clear up the obscure — ■ — ? 
 
 Page 348. " The name of Blackley is derived from the great 
 " woods which, at the period of the Saxon establishment among 
 " us, lined the sloping sides of the hills, and ranged along 
 " the narrow levels of vallies thro' the whole compass of the 
 " township. The Saxon bleak, black, or blake, imports the 
 "deep gloom of a considerable wood." 
 
 Tho' this is an article which I have touched on before in my 
 former remarks, I cannot omit here pointing out another 
 instance, what slender regard this author pays to consistency — ; 
 his own assertions — ; or even to truth itself — ; and the mean 
 opinion he entertains of other men's capacities. For the proof 
 of this, let the reader see his own notes in the 38th page, where 
 he has the word hleak in quite a different sense than he here 
 explains it; and in the very sense and derivation too which I 
 
232 
 
 pleaded for. There lie says, " And the human constitution as 
 " such ftiust have naturally affected a southerly position in the 
 "cold bleak and wooded state of our island at that period." 
 
 Is not this another demonstrative proof, that his reverence is 
 so buoyed up with the notion of his own infallibility, that he 
 thinks he cannot err ? And that whatever his pen puts down it 
 is quite below him to revise, correct, or alter ; tho' a contradiction 
 stares him in the face? He thinks himself blest with the eyes 
 of a lynx — others with those of bats and moles. — But alas he 
 hewed out this prop to support his notion, that Bleakley was 
 absolutely covered with wood at the arrival of the Saxons : so 
 bleak must here mean, contrary to his own meaning (which was 
 cold, tvindy, or chilly) the deep gloom of a considerable wood. 
 
 He drives on like Jehu, thus, "Hence we have so many places 
 " distinguished by this epithet in England, where no circum- 
 " stance of soil, and no particularities of water gave occsision 
 " to it. Hence we have the villages of Blackburn, Blackrod, 
 " Blakely, &c." 
 
 But for all these hences, if no circumstance of soil, or peculi- 
 arities of water, gave reason for the former part of their names, 
 their situation might, and in all probability did give occasion 
 for them. I know all the villages here mentioned, and they 
 have all elevated situations ; which of consequence, from the 
 nature of the elements makes them bleak or cold. Our noted 
 hill Bleakstone-edge, I have found out lately to be so called 
 from a great quantity of large rough stones which lie on the 
 summit, or ridge ; and are not called Blackstones ; but the heap 
 is popularly called the Bleak-stones, and from which, this moun- 
 tain seems plainly to derive its name. This hill therefore, and 
 all the towns above-mentioned, ought to be written and pro- 
 nounced Bleakley, Bleak-rod (or rather road) Bleakstone-edge, dc* 
 
 * Possibly from the colour of the turf Blacldey, a black or heathy 
 
 posture. Blakoburn, a brook whose water may be black, or tinctured with 
 moss. 
 
293 
 
 Page 393. " Beneath the Eoman government did the sun of 
 " righteousness arise upon the beniglited inhabitants of Lanca- 
 " shire. The religion of an atoning Jesus was now proclaimed 
 " in the streets of Manchester. The religion of an accepting 
 " Jehovah was now proposed to the inhabitants of Mancunium. 
 " And they were called upon to turn away from that deep night 
 " of ignorance, and to shake off those heavy chains of depravity 
 " in which they had unhappily continued from their first settle- 
 " ment among the woods, and mosses of this district." 
 
 What a multiplicity of words — ! What round about phrases 
 for the same thing, which might have been expressed in one 
 single line- — ! This is absolutely prose run mad. — For first the 
 sun of righteousness arose in Lancashire (and before the name 
 or thing existed, too) then it was proclaimed in Manche.ster 
 streets (before the houses were built.) Tlien it was proposed 
 to the inhabitants of Mancunium (I wonder by whom, at this 
 early period). And last of all called to shake off their heavy 
 chains of depravity. O Milton, how thou grovelest, like the 
 serpent thou celebratest! 
 
 O Longinus — ! How art thou over-shot in thy own bow ! 
 Hadst thou but seen these new-fashioned towering phrases, 
 wouldest thou not have burned thy mutilated tract on the 
 
 sublime ? Who that ever perused thee could imagine that 
 
 this polite author should take this frothy tautology — ; this 
 pathetic fustian, for a rill drawn from thy pure fountain ! 
 
 Yet so it is . This is the favourite — the delightful string 
 
 which is harped on thro' every part of this historical perform- 
 ance. Header, I must leave it to thee — : make of it what 
 
 thou pleases, for it is above my ken, that any man of sense 
 should mistake this stuff for sublime writing. 
 
 Page 395. In this page we have another specimen of this 
 author's divinity : his words are, " If the Deity had not known 
 " man to have fallen from his original perfection, if heathenism 
 " had not believed a taint of corruption to have stained his 
 
S34 
 
 " original purity, the former could not possibly have enjoined, 
 " a.nd the latter could not possibly have retained these particular 
 " observances at all." 
 
 I have omitted hitherto, and shall not much animadvert on 
 his reverence's flighty divinity : but this sketch if I understand 
 him, is the quintessence of metaphysical whims, and absolutely 
 wants a little sifting. — For here are two conclusions drawn from 
 two suppositions ; the first of which is a downright impossi- 
 bility ; — and the other, false in fact. 
 
 As to the first, it is impossible hut that if man fell, God must 
 know it ; and consequently requires no sort of supposition 
 whatsoever. Nay it is a sort of stupid blasphemy to say if God 
 had not known man to have fallen ! — But to draw this conclusion 
 from it, that God could not possibly have enjoined priests and 
 sacrifices had he not known of man's fall ; is an assertion, if it 
 contain any sense, that would defile the mouth and blacken the 
 character of an atheist, if ever such a creature existed ! It is 
 setting bounds to his power by the futile dreams of a fanciful 
 bigot ; it annihilates his omnipotency ; and lays the Deity 
 grovelling at the feet of his own creatures — it is an expression, 
 in my judgment, more atrocious than saying — There is no God. 
 
 As to the second affirmation, That man could, not possibly have 
 retained these particular observances (i. e. priests and sacrifices) if 
 they had not been sensible of the guilt of original sin : if this 
 be the meaning, as it must be if it have any ; what a piece of 
 incongruous delusion would this divine palm upon his readers, 
 by making them believe that the heathen world had knowledge 
 of the mosaical dispensation and fall ; — that they believed 
 themselves tainted with original sin. To this knowledge alone, 
 he ascribes the retention of priests and sacrifices among the 
 heathen ; at the same time it is well enough known, that none 
 but two or three itinerant heathen philosophers had so much 
 as in a whisper, heard that a serpent had out-witted our first 
 parents. Now what are these two or three philosophers to all 
 
925 
 
 the millions of men who lived and died as ignorant of the 
 Jewish tenet as the wild ass on the mountains. Yet for all this 
 their ignorance of the fall, a mode of sacrificing was practiced, 
 and immolations offered to different deities after divers modes 
 and customs. They retained deluding priests and priest- 
 esses — : had their oracles : and offered execrable, as well as 
 ridiculous sacrifices to their respective gods in most parts of the 
 then inhabited world ; from the Mexican deity Vitzliputzli to the 
 Chinese god Fohe. Nay the Holy-land cannot be excepted ; for 
 some of these chosen people passed their children thro' fire to 
 Molock : and there are good reasons to believe that not one 
 tenth part of mankind believe themselves to be the least tainted, 
 by Adam's tasting forbidden fruit, at this day. 
 
 Further, I presume it would puzzle this sagacious divine to 
 prove, that the ancient Jews believed, or the modern Jews still 
 believe our doctrine of original sin : or ever expected any 
 spiritual 25urification, satisfaction to be made, or their depraved 
 nature restored by the coming of their long-expected Messiah. 
 
 Nay, so far wide from the truth is this divinity of our 
 
 author, about the universal knowledge of original sin, that 
 God's favourite people (if he had any) knew nothing of sin in 
 general, any more than the Peruvians, till their priest and law- 
 giver pointed it out to them : For St. Paul himself tells us, ' I 
 knew not sin but by the law.' Eom. 5, 13, and 7, 7, 8, 9. 
 
 What now must become of tliis strange doctrine, and these 
 positive affirmations. That God could not possibly have enjoined, 
 nor the heathen retained and practiced sacrijices had they not known 
 and believed that a serpent was too cunning for, and cheated the 
 first woman into perdition, by persuading her to taste of an 
 apple ; and that this woman by means of the same fruit, drew 
 her husband and all their posterity into the same eternal dam- 
 nation ; tho' Adam at the same time was absolutely the most 
 wise and perfect of men ! 
 
 In the same page his reverence goes on thus, " The ap- 
 "pointment of interceding ministers, and the institution of 
 
 FF 
 
9S6 
 
 " conciliating sacrifices must certainly have been made on account 
 " of and must as certainly have pointed out in their observance 
 " some fixed hut erasable principle of impurity in man, and some 
 "permanent hut appeasable principle of anger in God." 
 
 The meaning of the appointment of interceding ministers is 
 very plain ; so that he who runs may read, and understand it 
 too; as it smells of the jure divine power and right of the 
 hierarchy ; and has a smack also of the Pope's tub of absolu- 
 tions, indulgencies, and infallibility. But the words, fixed but 
 erasable principle of impurity in man ; and some permanent but 
 appeasable principle of anger in God, if there be any sense at 
 all in them, soar far beyond my understanding. 
 
 Fixed and erasable too ! a permanent but appeasable princi- 
 ple of anger in God .' How differently constructed are the 
 
 brains of one man from another ! How various our 
 
 opinions in some points ! Yet for all this, I presume they 
 
 who read this quotation will agree that the writer of it thought 
 it sensible, sound, and sublime doctrine ; but alas, my intellects 
 
 are too blunt and grovelling to see these perfections : or 
 
 indeed any sense or consistency in it at all : for I ever thought 
 till now that fixed and erasable had been heterogeneous princi- 
 ples or qualities : and that permanent had been synonymous 
 with durable; and fixed as the hills. But alas my mistake is 
 glaring; for I find ib.a,t fixed means loose; and thsd permanent is 
 any thing moveable and fleeting as the wind! 
 
 But thus it is ; and his reverence is not the only divine 
 
 who tears, as it were, the being and natural liberty of his own 
 species to pieces ; and robs the Deity of his attributes ! Measu- 
 ring his infinite perfections by their own line and plummet : 
 making him as weak as themselves and subject to all our pas- 
 sions : for hear them, and he is partial, hateful, changeable, 
 angry, &c. These I know are scriptural expressions, tho' vastly 
 improper ; but were adopted to the most ignorant and perverse 
 of all nations. But whatever vents such ridiculous epithets ; 
 
92'/ 
 
 such puerile doctrines cither in his writings or pulpit, should 
 be cashiered from the sacred function ; as this mode of expres- 
 sion is mean and ridiculous : it sows the seeds of ignorance in 
 weak minds ; destroys those sublime notions we ought to 
 entertain of the Deity ; makes himself despicable by exposing 
 the meanness of his own ideas ; hurts religion ; and levels 
 himself with those ignorant enthusiasts the Methodists ; or 
 those seven-fold blinded members of the Unitas Fratrum of the 
 Germans. 
 
 Page 410. In this page the historian makes a small geogra- 
 phical blunder; for he confounds Buchanness with Kinnard's- 
 head as if they were one place ; when they are two small 
 promontories in Scotland, and above ten miles asunder. 
 
 Page 430. In this section of eighteen pages it is very 
 diverting to see how seriously busy his reverence is in peopling 
 Ireland with the Belgip, the Lancashire Sistuntians, and others ; 
 how and what parts the different tribes possessed ; and with 
 much particularity too, as if he had been planting cabbages in 
 squares. What battles were fought between the Belgte, and the 
 North-british Scots : till at last Cairbar king of the Belgse, with 
 his brother Oathmore, proved victorious, and took possession 
 of the -whole country. 
 
 The smiles of fortune glanced not long on the Belgae ; for 
 
 that mighty monarch ! That sovereign of Selma ! That 
 
 heroic Caledonian pendragon, Fingal, who possessed those wide 
 extended regions that spread along the coasts of Argyle, Lorn, 
 and Lochaber, -went with his brown son of Luno (alias a sword) 
 a second time to the assistance of the Irish-Scots " those 
 descendants of the race of his fathers." Two terrible battles 
 were fought ! In the first the Caledonian Pendragon slew 
 Cairbar the Belgic monarch : and in the second the same hero 
 not only killed Cathmore their general, but every soldier under 
 
 his command I Not one of the heroic Belgae left ! None 
 
 to run away- ! None to hear ! Not one to strike the 
 
 bossy shield ! 
 
228 
 
 I say, it is not only diverting but surprising to tae that a 
 gentleman who professes to he an instructive and solid historian, 
 can write such wild trumpery ; such a number of more than 
 dubious particulars, that happened above 1500 years ago ; and 
 build the facts chiefly upon such a bubbling quicksand, so 
 quaggy a foundation as the Caledonian poet, Ossian, and 
 Eichard the Monk ! 
 
 But as the greatest part of this new-sprung hopeful work, is 
 not above the capacity of common readers to judge of its authen- 
 ticity in general ; so common-sense loudly tells them, that 
 history ought not to stand on vague, dubious and tottering 
 props. And they cannot but see that this historical structure 
 rears its pompous crest chiefly on the confessedly erroneous 
 account of the Westminster monk, and the fagg-end of traditi- 
 onary fictions of an old Caledonian poet, that in all probability 
 never existed. 
 
 But supposing there had been such persons as Ossian and 
 Eichard ; yet to lay the main weight of historical facts on the 
 flighty fabulous expressions of a doting enthusiastical poet, and 
 the fanciful writings of an ignorant monk, is levelling such 
 historian's judgment with those old women and children who 
 believe the fire-side tales of witches suckling dsEmons — : creep- 
 ing thro' key-holes : and riding thro' the air on broom-sticks. 
 
 Here then starts up a dilemma — ; yet his readers must 
 necessarily adopt one of these two opinions — : either his 
 reverence believed, as real facts what he wrote from these poeti- 
 cal dark hints of Ossian and Eichard's Itinerary; or, that he 
 thought them the tail-ends of old romances. 
 
 If he thought them the first — ; then I ask, what cannot an 
 antiquary swallow ? 
 
 But if he took them for poetical fictions ; what must we think 
 of those virtues that should adorn a preacher of righteousness, 
 his honesty, and veracity in particular, for palming such musty 
 stuff for antique truths on liis countrymen in general, and his 
 Mancunian friends in particular ? 
 
S20 
 
 Page 437. In this page his reverence struts in these words, 
 " — " This appellation of Gaelic, or Gallic, which extended over 
 " all our islands, and over a considerable portion of the conti- 
 " nent has been frequently explained by the critics both at home 
 " and abroad, but still lies hidden in its own original obscurity." 
 
 This is either a palpable contradiction, or a surprisingly 
 new-fashioned way of expression ! For the word Gaelic has 
 been often made plain and intelligible both by English and 
 foreign authors : yet still it lies hid and unknown in its first 
 original obscurity ! 
 
 If there be either sense or truth in this, my brain or our 
 author's intellects are strangely muddled ! 
 
 Page 460. " The period was now hastily approaching in 
 " which the Divinity, who had already converted to Christianity 
 " all the nations that lay within the pale of the Eoman empire, 
 " designed to bring the uncivilized nations of Europe into the 
 "one, in order to convert them to the other." 
 
 The period he here means, I take to be about the year 449 ; 
 and near 40 years after the Eomans had deserted our Island. 
 Let us now see how this quotation coincides with what he says 
 in the fifth page of his conclusion : his words run, or rather 
 fly, thus 
 
 " But a new scene of sorrow arises. A new invasion is 
 " meditated from the continent. A tribe of idolatrous savages 
 " is hastening from the shores of Germany. Ruin marks their 
 " advfkQce. Ignorance, incivility and barbarity attend upon 
 " them. And the fall of Manchester approaches." 
 
 By the specimens in my preceding remarks, and this my last 
 quotation, the reader may plainly see this reverend historian 
 takes pathetic tautological fustian for sublimity of style ; with- 
 out ever surmising that these lofty school-boy expressions are 
 so cold, that the reader starves with looking on them. 
 
 If this author ever read Longinus, he utterly despises him : 
 for this fine writer (who flourished at Athens in the latter end 
 
S30 
 
 of the second century) tells us 'Bombast or tumour is as 
 ' vicious in writing as in the body. The outside is nothing 
 ' but appearance and deceit, the inside all vacancy and empti- 
 ' ness, and has a quite different effect from the sublime ;' and 
 then quotes this proverb, ' What is more dry than a dropsical 
 ' person ? ' 
 
 This doubling and trebling of sentences this pathetic strain- 
 ing (tho' the crown wheel of our author's style) is not sublimity : 
 it is rather a raging madness thus to be transported into these 
 vapoury regions ; especially when the subject requires no more 
 than a little warmth. 
 
 But to pursue our remarks on the two last mentioned quota- 
 tions. Let us admit that Eussia, Poland, and the countries 
 east of the Oder were not conquered by the Eomans : yet I 
 hope his Eeverence will not deny but that the more western 
 parts of Germany from the meridian of Frankfort on the Oder 
 were conquered by them ; and so within their pale ; and 
 consequently, must absolutely, according lo his own affirmation 
 be christians. And Dion Cass, tells us, page 837, that Severus 
 on his going to Eome to claim the empire, had brought under 
 his subjection all the strong places in Europe, except Byzan- 
 tium. And before, in page 164, that the emperor Marcus 
 Antoninus had conquered, or subjected the Jazygians and 
 Marcomans. 
 
 Now here it happens so unluckily, or his Eeverence is so ill 
 natured, that he will not suffer those barbarians, our Saxon 
 ancestors, to be either in or out of the Eoman pale. Out they 
 could not be, because the dutchies of Sleswick, Holstein, with 
 the neighbouring districts were conquered by the Eomans long 
 before this period, and so within their pale; and, he tells us, 
 were converted to Christianity by the Divinity. And in, they 
 could not be ; for the Divinity had not converted them, as all 
 were within the Eoman pale : for our author tells us, they were 
 a tribe of idolatrous, ignorant, and barbarous savages. 
 
231 
 
 Good and patient reader — ; in such a dilemma as this when 
 the scales of common-sense are fast in the centre, and cannot 
 turn either way, what must thou and I believe ? But give me 
 leave to turn priest, according to the order of Athanasius for 
 once, and tell thee to believe what I cannot possibly believe 
 
 myself; believe both ways : i. e. believe they were neither 
 
 in, nor out of the Eoman pale : that they were converted 
 
 into good and sober christians : but were wicked, idolatrous 
 barbarians at the same time ; and then thou art sure to be in 
 the right. But if thy queasy stomach will not digest, or suffer 
 these contradictions to slip down, I will not say, thou shalt 
 PERISH BVEELASTiNGLT : but, GO THY WAY, LAUGH AND 
 BE FAT. 
 
 Milnrow, Jan. 1773. 
 
 N.B. — In p. 173, 1. 10, the sentence "he could also see by the marks 
 of the pick-axes that the scarping was British, p. 22.'' by mistake is 
 inserted as a quotation from the history of Manchester ; whereas it is 
 intended as an explanatory note. 
 
TRUTH IN A MASK: 
 
 OB 
 
 BEING 
 
 A SHORT MANCHESTERIAN CHRONICLE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PRESENT TIMES. 
 
 1757. 
 
 6 a 
 
TO TEE READEB. 
 
 On my return the other day from hunting out the names of the 
 persons in the county of York, who by trading in corn, meal, 
 &c. oppress the poor ; I called at the sign of the Falcon, in 
 Littlebrough, where I knew was a glass of good ale, and the 
 landlord a friend to travelling quadrupeds. At this place, 
 necessity calling me forth, I blundered into a little room, where 
 my business being soon done, and not caring to defile any thing 
 that was not set apart for that use, I cast my eyes round, and 
 saw in a hole or niche in the wall, a large old folio MS. The 
 back had fallen a prey to the worms, and a great part of it torn 
 off; most of the leaves had lost their quadrangular form and 
 (like our modern heroes) ready to desert their stations. How- 
 over, not caring to leave it where I found it, I budged it up 
 under my arm and brought it into the house. On asking the 
 landlord where he had it, he answered, " A neighbour of ours 
 dying the other dny, forgot to take his goods with him ; so that 
 a sale ensuing and I buying a few utensils, happened to have it 
 thrown in at the bargain." I being a dealer in paper, told him, 
 if he'd please to bestow it on me, I'd send him a double quan- 
 tity of superlative b — m f — r for it ; To which he agreed, and 
 I, packing it up, marched away with my new-found treasure. 
 
 I was no sooner at home, but curiosity pricked me to examine 
 its contents, which I found was tlie work of several jjersons. 
 
and something particular in some of the hands. In short, it 
 ■was a collection of memoirs by several virtuosos, and was car- 
 ried down from father to son from the days of good Queen Bess, 
 to these our most miraculous times. In a few leaves at the latter 
 end was the following short chronicle, which seemed wrote 
 lately and in a legible hand; and it appearing to suit the j)re- 
 sent times, I resolved to thrust it into the world without altering 
 its garb. If it meet with a kind reception, the public may 
 expect more out of the same collection, from the publisher, who 
 is sensible of the madness and ill consequences of a mob ; but 
 is still a friend to the poor. 
 
 T. B. 
 
TRUTH IN A MASK, dc. 
 
 Now it came to jiass in the reign of George the son of George, 
 who reigned over Britain, that there were four years of dearth 
 in the land ; and there was in that country, a city, and the 
 inhabitants thereof were merchants, and workers of fine linen, 
 and workers of silk, and workers of wool : And there were also 
 in that city, men, cunning to work in gold, and in silver; in 
 brass, and in iron ; in purple, and in crimson, and blue, and 
 fine twined linen, and endued with understanding in all man- 
 ner of work ; and that city grew and flourished exceedingly. 
 
 2 And the inhabitants of that city waxed rich, and mighty ; 
 as the merchants of Tyre and Sidon ; as the mei'chants, the 
 princes of Tyre : And they builded unto themselves houses and 
 palaces ; and made for themselves great palaces to be a name 
 unto them : And they gathered vessels of gold, and vessels of 
 silver, and garments, and horses, and mules, and men-servants, 
 and maid-servants, and much riches : and they waxed so vain 
 in their prosperity that they despised the inhabitants round 
 about, and their cities ; and gloried in their own city, and 
 called it the City of IMen. 
 
 3 And in the fourth year of the dearth, when George the son 
 of George, had ruled the land thirty and one years ; when the 
 famine was sore in the land ; there arose certain men the sons 
 of Belial; and they took counsel together, and said, There is 
 corn in the land of Chester ; go to, let us buy all the corn in 
 the land of Chester ; for it will come to pass that the Lord will 
 continue the famine yet three years. 
 
338 
 
 4 And when there is no bread in all the land, and that the 
 people faint for lack of bread: we will sell unto the people, 
 bread for their money at our own price : and when their money 
 doth fail, we will sell unto them for their cattle ; and we will 
 give them bread in exchange for their horses, for their flocks, 
 and for their herds, both of great and small cattle. 
 
 5 And it shall be, when we have bought with our corn, and 
 our bread, all their cattle, small and great, that they will sell 
 unto us their houses, their orchards, and gardens ; their corn- 
 fields, their meadows, and pastures; their woods, yea, all their 
 land, and themselves also ; and we will buy them and their 
 land, and they, and their seed after them, shall be servants 
 unto us for ever. 
 
 6 And the sons of Belial did as they had counselled, and 
 they bought all the corn in the land of Chester, and the famine 
 was exceeding great: but the cry of the people, for want of 
 bread, did reach the ears of the king, and the king's counsel- 
 lors ; who took counsel together how they might preserve the 
 lives of the people : for they wist not of the deeds of the sons 
 of Belial, and that the sons of Belial had added by their coun- 
 sels unto the sufferings of the people. So the king and his 
 councils did order, that corn should be brought from foreign 
 lands to nourish the people. 
 
 7 And when the sons of Belial saw, that by the wisdom of 
 the law the king and his counsellors had made, that corn was 
 plentiful in the land; and that their counsels were brought to 
 nought, like the counsels of Ahilhophel, they went unto the 
 merchants of the city, even unto several rulers of the city, and 
 said unto them : "Ye know how that the time of plenty maketh 
 the peoi^le to be idle, and that ye can have no more work done 
 for twopence in times of plenty, than ye can have done for one 
 penny in times of dearth and famine. 
 
 8 Now therefore as it is not good for you, nor for us, that 
 bread be plentiful in the land ; lend unto us upon usury, so 
 
230 
 
 many talents of gold, and so many talents of silver as may be 
 necessary ; and we will buy also all tbe corn that is brougbt 
 into the land, and will sell unto the people for two talents, what 
 we buy for one talent : and when we have sold unto them till 
 their money fail, we will sell unto them for their cattle, yea, we 
 will buy their cattle, and their land, and themselves also, to be 
 our servants, and we will divide the people, and their land, and 
 their cattle, between you and us ; and the people, and their sons 
 and daughters, yea, even the great men and the rulers of the 
 neighbouring cities shall serve us and you ; as men-servants, 
 and maid-servants, as hewers of wood, and drawers of water, 
 for ever. 
 
 9 Now the chief men of the city did hearken unto the words 
 of the sons of Belial, and did make a covenant between them- 
 selves and the sons of Belial ; and delivered unto the sons of 
 Belial sixteen hundred talents of gold, and twelve thousand 
 talents of silver ; and the sons of Belial did therewith buy all 
 the corn which the merchants of the cities of the sea had 
 brought into the land : and they did cause that the famine did 
 increase. Yet was there found amongst the chief men of the 
 city, some that did not worship Baal, or go astray after the 
 mammon of unrighteousness, or hearken unto the words of the 
 sons of Belial. 
 
 10 And the famine did exceedingly increase even unto the 
 time of harvest; for there was not until the harvest found any 
 corn in the hands of any man ; but in the hands of the sons of 
 Belial was there corn found. 
 
 11 And it pleased the Lord, even the Lord God, that the 
 harvest was plentiful ; and the hearts of the people were greatly 
 rejoiced; and were glad in the mercy of the Lord, even the 
 mercy of the Lord God. 
 
 12 And the sons of Belial, and some of the chief men of the 
 city, were exceedingly vexed in their hearts, that the plentiful 
 harvest had saved the people, and the land, out of their hands : 
 
■S40 
 
 for they saiJ, the people are as wild asses, and strong as mules ; 
 fit only to bear burdens, to be our servants, they, and their 
 children; and they gathered themselves together, and consulted 
 ■what they should do. 
 
 13 Then arose Bramaliel, one of the chief of the sons of 
 Belial, and said ; Why are you disheartened my brethren ? or 
 fearful, O my friends ? or why do your spirits faint within you ? 
 hearken unto the words of my mouth, and give ear unto my 
 sayings : follow the counsels I shall give unto you, and it shall 
 not be in the power of any one to deliver them out of our 
 hands. 
 
 14 Know ye not that there is no money in the hands of any 
 man, except in our hands ; and in the hands of a few of our 
 brethren in this city, who would not hearken to our words, and 
 join us in this thing : now go ye and borrow of your brethren 
 talents of gold, and talents of silver, and it will be that ye will 
 find favour in the sight of your brethren ; and they will lend 
 unto you all their talents of gold and talents of silver; yea, all 
 that they have will they lend unto you. 
 
 15 And it shall come to pass when you have got into your 
 hands all the gold, and the silver, ye shall go unto the growers 
 of wheat, of barley, and of oats, and shall say unto them, what 
 shall I give thee for all thy corn ? and peradventure one may 
 say nineteen talents : then shall you say, I will give unto thee 
 twenty talents : another thirty pieces of silver, then shall you 
 say, I will give thirty-five pieces of silver for all that thou hast : 
 And thus shall you get into your own barns, and into your 
 store-houses, all the corn in the land, and sell it to the poor at 
 your own price. 
 
 16 And when you have for your money bought all the corn 
 in the land, then shall you for every talent receive five talents : 
 and shall for your corn receive back, not only the money ye 
 have paid, but the cattle of the people of the land ; j'ea, and the 
 people also, and they shall serve you for ever : and their chil- 
 
341 
 
 dren shall serve your children even as the children of Israel did 
 serve Pharoah the king : and ye shall then honour me, and the 
 vsrords of my mouth, as Pharoah honoured Joseph, and his 
 words. 
 
 17 Then answered the sons of Belial, and the chief rulers of 
 the city who joined with them, and said : thou sayest well ; yea, 
 we will follow the words of thy mouth in every thing that thou 
 hast counselled, and will do as Pharoah and Joseph did ; only in 
 this thing we will depart from the example of Pharoah and 
 Joseph; that we will not leave the patrimony of the priests 
 untouched : but they also shall be our servants, them and their 
 children ; and this because they have been enemies unto us, and 
 said, Woe unto you, ye bloodsuckers; Woe unto you, ye destroyers 
 of men. 
 
 18 Then arose Abishai, whose mother was the daughter of 
 Jonadab the priest, and said : Let alone, I pray you, the priests 
 and their land, for the king and his counsellors also, will not 
 suffer that you do so unto them. Then Finsliai Avas wroth, and 
 arose and said ; Tush, thou fool, knowest thou not that they are 
 a lazy generation, reaping where they have not sown, and gather- 
 ing where they have not strewed? Then Othonias, a Pharisee, 
 arose, and said ; Hear me, my brethren ; the king, even the 
 great king will not that the priesthood shall suffer ; and should 
 you but touch even the hem of their garments, they will carry 
 their complaints to the foot of the throne. 
 
 19 Heak then my brethren, the words of experience, and 
 mark the counsels of the wise : Send ye unto the priests, and 
 say thus unto them, We are sorry for your distress, and our 
 hearts are grieved within us at the anguish of your hearts, and 
 the sufferings of the poor : we will put into your hands, or the 
 hands of a man whom you shall chuse, two hundred talents of 
 silver to buy corn for the poor ; and the com bought at two 
 shekels of silver shall be sold unto the poor for two shekels of 
 silver ; and ye shall deliver it unto them. And the priests will 
 
 H H 
 
949 
 
 rejoice and be glad : and perhaps appoint me to be the mall 
 whom they will entrust ; and I will buy the corn of our brother 
 Bramaliel ; and so shall the priests be deceived, and instead of 
 cursing, shall bless our coming in, and our going out, yea, 
 they shall even bless our basket and our store. 
 
 30 And they all cried out with one voice, great is thy wisdom, 
 O Othonias ! wise art thou above the children of men ! yea, 
 Solomon himself was not wiser than thou. The words of thy 
 mouth are sweeter far than honey, and the honey-comb : let it 
 even be as thou hast said. 
 
 21 Then sent they deputies unto the priests, even Garshuhah 
 and Artani : and they told unto the priests the words of the 
 assembly ; and the priests were exceedingly rejoiced, and 
 said, now praised be the Lord, who hath at length touched their 
 hearts : and may their charity be returned unto them ten-fold : 
 and the deputies said — Amen. 
 
 23 Then said the deputies unto the priests. Name ye a man 
 from amongst you, that he may receive the money, to buy the 
 corn, and distribute it : but the priests answered and said, Nay ; 
 we may not buy or sell ; so name ye a man to buy and sell, and 
 we will take care and see it be distributed as it ought : then 
 answered the deputies what think ye of Othonias ? Then said 
 the priests, we approve him ; and the priests calling Dantziali 
 the scribe, caused him to write in a parchment roll the terms of 
 the gift, the names of the givers, and the numbers of the talents 
 each man gave ; and did lay it up amongst the records of the 
 temple. 
 
 23 And the priests went forth and told these things in the 
 city ; and the chief men of the city, who were not confederate 
 with the sons of Belial, gave likewise two hundred talents ; 
 and the priests caused their names, also, to be entered in the 
 roll: and the priests rejoiced; and the people rejoiced with 
 exceeding great joy ; and Othonias, the Pharisee, rejoiced also. 
 
 24 And Othonias went home to his own house, and called on 
 Elibamah his wife, and said, come hither and rejoice with me ; 
 
243 
 
 for the elders, the priests, and chief men of the city, have 
 extolled my wisdom, and have appointed me ruler over the 
 treasure of the poor ; and my name shall be great amongst 
 the chief of the city, and I shall be no longer numbered 
 amongst the oppressors, and dregs of the people : but amongst 
 the elders and princes of the city. But Elihamah replied not ; 
 she being no enemy to the poor. 
 
 25 And the sons of Belial, and the chief men of the city who 
 were confederate with them went forth and borrowed all the 
 talents of gold, and all the talents of silver that were to be found 
 in the city, and they were delivered unto them : and the sons of 
 Belial went forth into all the country round about, and did buy 
 all the corn of the growers of wheat, of barley, and of oats, who 
 would sell unto them ; and few there were who did not sell unto 
 them for their money ; and their store-houses and garners were 
 full. 
 
 26 And the growers of wheat, of barley, and of oats, who did 
 not sell unto the sons of Belial said ; why should not we also, 
 for every omer of wheat have two shekels ? Now wheat in plen- 
 tiful years, was bought at an omer for a shekel : So that the 
 famine increased in the land, for the grinding of the millstone 
 was low, and the poor waxed faint for want of bread : for as 
 the price of bread grew great, the wages of the poor decreased : 
 for the merchants who confederated with the sons of Belial, 
 refused to pay the workmen their accustomed wages for their 
 work : and the cry of the poor reached up to the heavens ; but 
 the sons of Belial and their associates regarded not ; so that the 
 priests were exceeding sorrowful, and their countenances fell : 
 yea, even the judges of the land, and the Tetrarch himself; but 
 it availed not. 
 
 27 And the people said, would to God we had died by the 
 hand of the Lord in the years of plenty, when we sat by the 
 flesh-pots, and did eat bread to the full : for now we shall die, 
 we and our wives, and our little ones. So they went unto the 
 
844 
 
 Tetrarch, and said ; Give us bread, for why should we die in 
 thy presence ? give us bread at an omer the shekel, or we shall 
 all die. 
 
 28 And the Tetrarch was extremely sorrowful, and he lifted 
 up his voice and wept; and reasoned with them, saying, "Why 
 do you thus unlawfully assemble together ? or. Why so trouble 
 the city ? Is not this the Lord's doing ? why will you tempt 
 the Lord ? " (for the Tetrarch wist not that it was the sons of 
 Belial had caused the famine.) And the people cried yet more 
 and said. Give us bread. — Then the Tetrarch spake unto them, 
 saying; "I will call an assembly of the elders of the city, and 
 the chief men, and the priests, and the scribes and the phari- 
 sees, and we will hold counsel together, and see what may be 
 done in this thing." 
 
 89 So the Tetrarch called an assembly of the chief men of 
 the city, and told unto them the complaints of the people ; and 
 did say unto them. That unless the people might have bread, 
 they would all die ; they and their wives and their little ones. 
 But the children of Belial, and the pharisees replied, they were 
 grieved for the sufferings of the people ; but the growers of 
 wheat, of barley, and of oats, would not sell them more than an 
 omer of wheat for two shekels ; and as they bought, so did they 
 sell unto the people. And the Tetrarch, and the priests, and 
 the judges, and many of the chiefs of the city (who had not 
 sold themselves to work iniquity) reasoned with the sons of 
 Belial, and their confederates the pharisees : but it availed not. 
 
 30 Akd the sons of Belial went on their way notwithstanding 
 all that was said unto them, and followed the counsels of Bra- 
 inaliel, Othonias, Finshai, and Hothornah, their chiefs : so the 
 people murmured, saying, We shall die ; but no man of the sons 
 of Belial, or those of the chiefs of the city who were joined with 
 them, cared for these things ; but sold an omer of wheat for 
 four shekels of silver ; so the peoples money failed, and their 
 hearts fainted within them. 
 
245 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Then the men of the valley of Saddleworth arose, and gathered 
 themselves together. Now the men of this valley are the rem- 
 nant of the sons of the giant, even the sons of Anak ; for they 
 are strong, and mighty men of valour. But they had neither 
 sword, spear, or gun : neither was there any man amongst them 
 that was skilled in making of swords, of spears, or of guns : but 
 every man of the valley of Saddle-worth went down to the city of 
 men, to buy every man his share, his coulter, his ax, and his 
 mattock : neither was there any instrument of war found in 
 their hands. 
 
 2 And the spirit of Kenuriel was vexed within him, and he 
 said unto the men of Saddleworth, hear me, my brethren, give 
 ear unto my words ye men of the forest ; will ye bow down your 
 necks to the yoke of the oppressor ? will you lay down your- 
 selves at the feet of those who would make you, and your wives, 
 and your children their bondmen ; yea, their slaves as long as 
 any of them endure ! You see the harvest is past, and the 
 summer is ended ; yet we arc not saved from the famine : and 
 this because the men of the city of men have bought (with the 
 money they have gained by the labour of you and your brethren) 
 and heaped in their store-houses all the corn of the land, and 
 will not suffer you to have thereof for the support of your lives, 
 and the lives of your little ones. But will you submit to 
 this — ? Or can you consent to become their bond-slaves for 
 ever ? 
 
 3 Then the men of the valley of Saddleworth cried aloud and 
 spoke with one voice, What ! shall we bow down our necks to 
 the proud ? to those who have risen to riches by the sweat of 
 our brows ? No, we will go down and open their store-houses, 
 and sell unto the people the corn they have stored therein, at 
 an omer a shekel ; that we and the people of the land may live. 
 
246 
 
 And we will send to the Ashtonites, and to the men who work 
 under the earth, in the hills of Oldham, that they may come and 
 assist us therein. 
 
 4 Now it came to pass, that on the twelfth day of the ninth 
 month, in the thirtieth and one year of the reign of George, the 
 son of George, that sixty of the men of Saddleworth, went down 
 to the City of Men, and went to the place where the buyers of 
 corn, and sellers of corn assembled together ; and did there 
 reason with the sellers of corn, and say unto them : How comes 
 it that ye are unwilling to sell unto us for our money as ye were 
 wont ? Was not the harvest as great, and did not the corn 
 stand as full, on the land as in time past ? Yea, has not the 
 Lord God blessed you with the most plentiful harvest, and 
 made the valleys to laugh and sing? Why, then, do ye deny to 
 sell unto us as of old, an omer of wheat for a shekel ? 
 
 6 And the sons of Belial, with the Pharisees their associates, 
 were in great dread of the men of Saddleworth, and did send 
 unto the Tetrarch, and did say unto him ; Come thou and save 
 us, or we and the city shall be destroyed. So the Tetrarch went 
 unto the place where the people were assembled ; and when the 
 men of the valley of Saddleworth saw him, they said ; O 
 Tetrarch ! we know that thou art an upright man, one that 
 doeth good and escheweth evil ; we mean not to hurt thee, nor 
 thy people, nor the people of this city ; no, not even these sons 
 of Belial ; but we cannot die for want of bread : we, nor our 
 wives, nor our little ones, whilst there is such plenty of corn in 
 the land : now therefore see, that we have it an omer a shekel, 
 and we will depart every man to his tent. 
 
 6 And the Tetrarch did reason with the sons of Belial, and 
 they did seemingly hearken unto his words : for the fear of the 
 men of the valley of Saddleworth was upon them. 
 
 7 And when the men of the valley of Saddleworth saw that 
 the sons of Belial did sell their corn at an omer a shekel, they 
 seperated themselves ; and some went to one place, and some to 
 
247 
 
 another, believing in the words of the sons of Belial ; for the 
 men of the valley of Saddleworth were men without guile. And 
 when the most part of them were departed, the spirits of 
 Othonias, Bramaliel, and the rest of the sons of Belial revived : 
 and they caught each man his sword, and his staff, and fell on 
 those men of the valley of Saddleworth who remained, and did 
 beat them, and wound them, and despitefully use them ; and 
 some they did imprison, but others escaped out of the hands of 
 the sons of Belial, and got them to their own homes. 
 
 8 Now when these things were spread abroad and known in 
 the valley of Saddleworth, how that the sons of Belial had thus 
 despitefully used their brethren ; behold on the fifteenth day of 
 the ninth month, they assembled themselves together, and sent 
 unto the Oldhamites, the Ashtonians, and others, to meet them on 
 the plain of Newton; and they met together about the third 
 hour of the day ; and the Newtonians told them, how that a son 
 of Belial had possession of a mill in the country of Clarjton, 
 and did there grind things hurtful, and sold it to the poor 
 for bread-corn. 
 
 9 When they heard this they chose unto themselves a captain 
 of the host, whose name was Adamah, an Oldhamite ; and 
 Adamah led them on to Clayton mill : and finding therein wheat, 
 mixed with acorns, with pease, and with beans, with chopped 
 straw, and French-whiting, together with dried bones of beasts ;* 
 some thereof ground for bread, some grinding on the mill, and 
 some to grind ; he shewed the mixture to the people ; and when 
 they saw it, they were wroth, and burnt the bolsters, and sieves, 
 broke the wheels, and stones, and destroyed the mill ; so that 
 the ruins thereof remain even unto this day. 
 
 10 Now it came to pass that whilst this was in doing, there 
 was one Whitadiah, (lie was of the number of those who licked 
 up the spittle from under the feet of the sons of Belial) who ran 
 
 * The MS. added, men's bones, and horse dung dried : which appeared 
 BO incredible to the publishers, that they erased it out of the copy. 
 
248 
 
 into the city, and told the sons of Belial, and the Pharisees, 
 their confederates, that the people of the land were risen as one 
 man ; and were coming to destroy their mills, search their 
 store-houses for corn, and would .sell the same an omer for a 
 shekel. 
 
 11 And the sons of Belial assembled, and were in great fear, 
 (for their hearts became as melting wax) and said, what shall we 
 do ? O speak ye, that have wisdom ! ye, that have the gift of 
 counsel, speak ! Speak thou O Otlionias ! Then Othonias arose, 
 and essayed to speak, but his spirits failed him, and he trembled 
 exceedingly. And they said, O thou, whom we believed a 
 Solomon, art thou void of counsel at this perilous time ? And 
 Othonias answered, and said, Verily, my brethren, the occasion 
 is sudden, and the peril is great, and I cannot advise ye : but if 
 ye will send unto Elibamah, my wife, peradventure she will 
 advise ye ; for she is a wise woman, even as a prophetess ; and 
 
 her wisdom and have set my feet upon a rock. But the 
 
 assembly answered not, but held down their heads and wept. 
 
 19 Then arose Bramaliel, and said, know ye not that the 
 Tetrarch, the judges, and the priests, the lawyers and scribes 
 may now help us ; and since they know not of our craft, let us, 
 my brethren, act wisely : should we beg their counsel, they 
 would advise us to sell an omer of wheat for a shekel, and that 
 would destroy our gain, which is the goddess we worship : Let 
 us then give them no time for counsel, but some of ye run, and 
 say unto the Tetrarch, the judges, the priests, the lawyers, and 
 the scribes, that the people are coming to burn the city. Others 
 of ye send out your servants to the people, and say, come into 
 the city, and we will join with you ; and it shall be that the 
 Tetrarch, and the judges, the priests, the lawyers and the scribes 
 shall be affrighted ; and shall call to their aid the men of the 
 host of the great king who dwell in the city ; and they will kill 
 some, wound others, and the rest will return every man to his 
 own tent ; and there will not be any more resistance to us, or 
 
249 
 
 our friends. And the spirits of the assembly came again ; 
 
 yea, they ■were much enlivened and did so. 
 
 13 Then some of them ran one way, and some another ; 
 crying, Arm ! Arm ! the sons of Anale, with the Oldhamites, and 
 the Ashtonians are coming, and the city will bo destroyed ; and 
 the Tetrarch, the judges, the lawyers, and the scribes, were 
 affrighted, and did cry unto the King's host for help : but the 
 priests, trusting not in the arm of flesh, feared not what man 
 could do unto them. 
 
 14 And there was in the city of the host of the King, some 
 who had fought valiantly under the banners of the King in 
 Germania, and under the banners of William, the king's son, in 
 Flandria, and they laughed at their fears, and said. Why does 
 this folly possess you? are they not subjects to the king? how, 
 then, can this thing be, that they will burn the city? or, how 
 can they do so, and we see it? — Others they were of the host, 
 who, with Mordaunt, had seen giants on the coasts of Gallia ; 
 and fear dwelt upon their countenances ; for they thought, per- 
 adventure some of those giant-like men, the French, may be 
 here also. 
 
 13 And the Tetrarch commanded, and there assembled toge- 
 ther the host of the king, and also many of the sons of Belial, 
 and the Pharisees, and chiefs of the city who joined with them, 
 in distressing the people, and their sons ; and also some of 
 those who had not sold themselves to work iniquity, nor bowed 
 the knee to filthy lucre ; and they drew up in battle array, and 
 went out to meet the people. 
 
 16 Now there was one Nicodemus, a man skilful in the laws 
 of the land, (but whose fears mightily prevailed at this time) said, 
 Tetrarch, if thou meet not the people out of the city, the 
 battle will happen therein, and the city will be laid in ashes ; 
 and how wilt thou answer it to the king, should the city be 
 destroyed ? And the Tetrarch answered, and said, Nicodemus, 
 profound is thy skill in the laws, and sound is thy judgment; 
 
2S0 
 
 I will do so : and lie ordered the centurion who commanded the 
 Flandrians, to go out, but he refused, unless the Tetrarch gave 
 him the order in a tablet. Then the Tetrarch said to Nicode- 
 mits, What shall I do ? And now the sons of Belial cried out, 
 the people had already burned part of the city. And Nicodemus 
 was sore afraid, and said, Tetrarch, do not thou, but let 
 Bradari, the judge, give the centurion the tablet: and he 
 did so. 
 
 17 Akd the Tetrarch went forward, attended by some of the 
 chiefs of the city, to meet the people ; and did say unto them. 
 Why do you thus, my brethren ? nay, verily, ye do wrong in 
 disturbing the city. And the people answered him, and said, O 
 Tetrarch, we mean neither thee nor this city any harm. But 
 one of the men sent out of the city by the sons of Belial said, 
 we will murder thee, O Tetrarch : and the sons of Belial, who 
 were with the Tetrarch, cried. Fly, Tetrarch, or thou diest : so 
 he fled and met the host, and said, centurion, I have done all 
 that I am able to prevent the shedding of blood, and appeasing 
 this tumult; but now do thou quell the tumult; and still the 
 madness of the people. 
 
 18 Now the servants of the sons of Belial said unto the peo- 
 ple, ye may go safely into the city : the Tetrarch is fled, and 
 the men of war cannot by the laws of the great king, fire upon 
 you, until the proclamation of the king is read unto you, and ye 
 have disobeyed it for the space of one hour. So the people went 
 on towards the city ; and in the entrance thereof the host of the 
 king, who were in the fore-front, and the host of the city, who 
 brought the rear-ward met them : and when the people were 
 now come within 40 cubits of the king's host, the sons of Belial 
 cried out fire : but the host of the king refused to fire ; but the 
 sons of Belial did so, and killed a decurion of the king's host, 
 and two of the people. 
 
 10 Again the sons of Belial cried to the centurion to order 
 the king's host to fire, and he did so : but the Flandrians 
 
S51 
 
 fired their shot over the heads of the people, knowing them to 
 be the subjects and servants of their king : for though inured 
 to spill the blood of their enemies, yet deigned they not that 
 an hair of the heads of their fellow -subjects should perish : 
 so it is said there was no blood spilt that day, but what was 
 shed by the host of the city ; for though the men of the king's 
 host, who had learned to war under Morclaunt, were exceeding 
 wroth with the people, yet they loved not blood ; nor was it 
 known that they ever killed men in their wrath, or hurt any in 
 their displeasure. 
 
 90 And the men of the city, and the Mordauntians, ran out 
 of the battle, and the people ran also. And the centurion and 
 the Flandrian host lifted up their eyes, and, behold ! neither 
 friend, or enemy was within sight! so they went back into the 
 city without controul. 
 
 91 As for the rest of the acts of the sons of Belial, and all 
 they did, are they not written in the chronicles of the king at 
 Lancaster ? And the acts of the Mordauntians, are they not 
 written in the records of all the assemblies of the land ? And 
 what they did, and did not, are not the reasons thereof to be 
 found in books of the court-martial at Whitehall? 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Now it came to pass that the sons of Belial, and their confeder- 
 ates, met together in counsel, to consider what account they 
 might render unto the king. And, behold, there entered into 
 the assembly, Clatonijah, the priest, and Byromah, the psalmist, 
 whose pen is the pen of a ready writer. And when the assem- 
 bly saw them, the young men were abashed, the aged arose, and 
 stood up, they refrained talking, and laid their hands on their 
 mouths; yea, the chief men of the city held their peace, and 
 their tongues cleaved to the roof of their mouths : so awful was 
 the ajiproach of these men, to these sons of Belial. 
 
253 
 
 3 And Glatonijah being full of the spirit, lifted up his voice, 
 and cried aloud, saying, O ye men of the city, hearken unto the 
 -words of my lips, and give ear to the sayings of my mouth, for 
 the words that I shall speak, are they not the words of the Lord 
 your God ? The avenger of the poor, and the fatherless, the 
 injured and oppressed. — Oh, that my words were now written : 
 Oh, that they were printed in a book ; that they were graven 
 with an iron pen in the rock for ever. And Clatonijah said to 
 Byromah, write the words I shall speak, that they may be a 
 record against these men ; and that the city may know when 
 these judgments shall come iipon them, and that I have truly 
 spoken the words of the Lord, that he will avenge his people ; 
 and that the inhabitants of this city may take warning by these 
 men, and no more ofi'end against the Law of their God, by fol- 
 lowing the ways of these men. And Byromah wrote in a book 
 the following words that Glatonijah spake : 
 
 3 " ye men of the city, thus saith the Lord, have ye not 
 broken your covenant with me, and caused the people to rebel ? 
 Have ye not set at nought my commandments, notwithstanding 
 that your city was by me blest with increase ? Notwithstanding 
 I blessed you with riches, and prosperity ? Gave I not gold 
 unto you as dust? and the gold of Ophir as the stones of the 
 brook ? Yea, silver as the dust of the earth ; raiment as clay ; 
 clothing of silk and of purple, of fine linen and of needle-work, 
 for yourselves, your wives, and your children, as the grass of the 
 field ? Vessels of gold and vessels of silver ; coaches and char- 
 iots ; horses and mules ; yea, every thing your hearts could 
 desire, gave I not to you in abundance, and made them as plen- 
 tiful as poplars in the valley of Ordshall ? Yet have ye disobeyed 
 my commandments, despised my priests, and oppressed my 
 people, the inhabitants of the land. The poor have cried unto 
 you for the wrong you have done them ; but you were like the 
 deaf adder : they cried aloud, but ye regarded them not. Ye 
 have defrauded the poor and the needy of their due ; have ye 
 
253 
 
 not walked deceitfully ? have ye not removed your neighbour's 
 land mark ? driven away the ass of the fatherless, and taken 
 the ox of the widow for a pledge ? Have ye not taken pledges 
 of the poor, and caused them to go naked, and taken away the 
 sheaf of the hungry ? Yea, have not ye caused that they perished 
 for want of bread and of clothing ? and, when they complained, 
 did not ye cause them to he beat, to be wounded, and to be 
 killed? The cry of the injured has pierced my ears, the tor- 
 ments of the wounded I have felt and seen, and the souls of the 
 killed are before me. 
 
 4 " Have ye done this to increase your store already too full ? 
 Have ye not made gold your hope ? and said unto fine gold, 
 Thou art my confidence? Have ye not rejoiced in your oppres- 
 sive gains? though your wealth was great, and your hands full? 
 How do ye say we are wise, and the law of the Lord is with us ? 
 Lo ! the law was made unto you as vain ; and the scribes wrote 
 without effect: for ye have despised my law, and set at naught 
 my statutes, and are gone astray after filthy lucre ; yea, almost 
 every man, from the greatest unto the least among you, are given 
 to luxury ut home, and covetousness and usury abroad. Know 
 ye not that the triumphing of the wicked is short, and tlie joy of 
 the hypocrite hut for a moment ; though his head reach up to 
 the clouds, and his excellency mount up to the heavens ; though 
 his possessions cover the face of the earth, yet shall he perish 
 for ever like his own dung : they who have seen him, shall see 
 him no more ; and, with lifted hands shall say, where is he ! 
 He shall fly away as a dream, and shall not be found ; yea, he 
 shall be chased away like a vision of the night; neither shall 
 his place any more behold him : He hath swallowed down 
 riches, and he shall vomit them up again : the gains of oppres- 
 sion he shall not enjoy sweetly, neither shall feel quietness in 
 his belly : in the fulness of his sufficiency shall he be in straits, 
 every hand of the injured shall come upon him: yea, the hea- 
 ven reveal his iniquity, and the earth shall rise up against him. 
 
234 
 
 5 "And as ye have left my laws, and my statutes, and become 
 of the number of those who deal wickedly with me and my 
 people, ye shall travel with pain all your days ; yet shall not 
 your riches nor your possessions continue to your sons' sons. 
 For I have vowed, saith the Lord, that the congregation of hypo- 
 crites shall be destroyed ; and fire shall consume the tabernacles 
 of bribery and oppression. They conceive mischief, and bring 
 forth vanity : yea, the light of the wicked shall be put out, and 
 the spark of his fire shall not shine : it shall be dark in his 
 tabernacle, and his candle shall be put out within him. The 
 snare is laid for you, O ye oppressors ! the snare is laid for you 
 in the ground, and traps are in your way. Terrors shall make 
 you afraid on every side, and destruction wait on all your steps. 
 Brimstone shall be scattered on your habitations ; your habita- 
 tions which you have made unto yourselves, like the palaces of 
 princes. Your roots shall be dried up beneath, and above shall 
 your branches be cut off; the remembrance of you shall perish 
 from the earth, and ye shall have no name in the streets ; neither 
 shall ye have son, or nephew, among my people; but your 
 daughters shall be hand-maidens, and the servants of slaves; 
 neither shall any of your seed remain in your dwellings. They 
 that come after you shall be surprized at your fall, as they that 
 went before were astonished at your greatness. Yea, I will visit 
 you in my wrath, and ye shall be for an example to my people 
 for ever. This shall be the portion of the oppressor ; the wages 
 of him who grinds the face of the poor : yea, this is the portion 
 God has allotted for him." 
 
 6 And the sons of Belial were affrighted, and fled from the 
 presence of Clatonijah, the priest, and of Byromah, the scribe : 
 yet did they not repent, for their hearts continue as adamant, 
 yea, as the flinty rock, even unto this day, notwithstanding the 
 words of Clatonijah, the priest, which he spake unto them. 
 
A^ LIST 
 
 OF 
 
 THE GENTLEMEN 
 
 Who have served the respectable Office of 
 
 THE COUNTY PALATINE 
 
 OF 
 
 %mtmUx, 
 
 From the first year of Hekby the Second, 1154, to this present year, 1819. 
 
 N. B. One GodefriJ was Sheriff from the seventh year of 
 William Eufus, to the first of Henry the First. 
 
 HENRY II. 
 
 Began his Reign in the Year 1154. 
 S Eadulphus Pigot 
 7 Eobert de Monthall 
 11 Geofrey de Villiers 
 
 13 Guls. Vesey 
 
 14 Idem 
 
 15 Roger le Herlebeck 
 SI Geofrey fitz Bernard 
 23 Eobert fitz Bernard 
 95 Ealph fitz Bernard 
 
 31 Gilbert Pipard and Hugh his Brother pro eo 
 33 Gilbert Pipard and Peter his Brother pro eo 
 
256 
 
 RICHARD I. 1189. 
 
 1 Gilbert Pipard 
 
 Theobald Walter and Wm. Eadclyffe pro eo 
 7 T. Walter and Benedict Garnet pro eo 
 T. Walter and Eobert Vavasor pro eo 
 10 T. Walter and Nicholas Pincerna pro eo 
 
 JOHN. 1199. 
 1 
 
 3 Eobert de Tateshall 
 3 Eichard Vernon 
 
 7 Eoger de Lacy, Eichard Vernon, Wm. Vernon, and Gilbert 
 fitz Eenford pro eo 
 
 HENRY III. 1316. 
 
 2 Eanulphus Comes Cestrise, and Jordan fitz Eogeri pro eo 
 9 William Comes de Ferrers, and Eobert Montjoy pro eo 
 
 11 Idem Comes, Gerrard Etwell, pro eo 
 
 12 Idem Comes, Adam Eland pro eo 
 
 18 Idem Comes, Sir John Byron, Wm. de Lancaster, and 
 
 Gilbert West pro eo 
 
 19 Simon de Thornton pro William de Lancaster 
 
 21 Eobert de Latham, William de Lancaster, and Simon 
 
 Thornton pro eo 
 28 William Lancaster, Eichard de Butler pro eo 
 SO William Lancaster and Matthew Eedmain 
 
 33 Matthew Eedmain and Eobert Latham 
 
 34 Eobert Latham 
 
 41 Patrick do Ulvesbey 
 
 43 Idem Patrick and Wm. de Pincenna de Bewsey 
 
 44 Galfridus de Chatham ut firmarius 
 
 48 Adam de Mounhalta and Eob. de Latham 
 
 49 Eoger de Lancaster 
 66 Ealph do Daeres 
 
EDWARD I. 1273. 
 
 3 Henry de Lea 
 
 9 Gilbert de Clifton and Henry de Lea 
 11 Henry de Lea 
 
 13 Eobert de Latham and Gilbert de Clifton pro eo 
 
 14 Idem Gilbert 
 
 15 Eobert de Leyburne 
 18 Gilbert de Clifton 
 
 91 Eichard de Hougbton and Eaphe de Montjoy 
 
 25 Idem Eaphe 
 
 S7 Edmundus Comes Lancastriee, Eichard Houghton pro eo 
 
 28 Idem Eichard 
 
 29 Idem Eichard 
 
 30 Idem Eichard and Thomas Traverse 
 
 EDWARD II. 1307. 
 
 2 William de Gentils 
 ■4 Eichard de Bickerstaffe 
 7 Edm. Nevil, John de Broughton 
 14 Gilbert de Soutworth 
 
 EDWARD III. 1327. 
 
 7 Eobert Toucher 
 
 9 William Clapham 
 13 Eobert Eadolyffe de Ordsall 
 18 Stephen Ireton 
 22 John Cockaine 
 29 Eichard Eadclyffe 
 
 32 William Eadclyffe 
 
 33 John Iprea 
 
 34 William Eadclyffe 
 37 John Iprea 
 
 49 Eichard de Townley 
 
968 
 
 RICHARD II. 137T. 
 
 1 Idem Townley 
 
 2 Nicholas Harrington 
 8 Eaphe Eadclyffe 
 
 12 Robert Standisli 
 
 15 Eaphe Stanley Miles 
 
 16 John Butler de Eawclyffe 
 20 Richard Molineux 
 
 HENRY IV. 1399. 
 
 1 Thomas Gerrard 
 
 2 John Butler 
 
 6 Eaphe Eadclyffe 
 
 7 Idem Eaphe Eadclyffe Miles 
 
 8 John Bold 
 
 11 Idem Bold Miles 
 
 12 Eaphe Stanley Miles 
 
 HENRY V. 1413. 
 
 1 Idem Eaphe and Nicholas Langford 
 
 2 William Bradshaw and Robert Langford 
 
 3 Robert Urswick 
 
 7 Robert Lawrence 
 
 8 Richard Eadclyffe 
 
 HENRY VI. 1423. 
 
 1 Idem Eadclyffe 
 5 Eobert- Lawrence 
 19 John Byron Miles 
 
 EDWARD IV. 1461. 
 
 3 John Broughton 
 
 3 Tho. Pilkington 
 
 6 Eobert Urswick Miles 
 13 Tho. Pilkington 
 10 Tho. Molineux 
 22 Tho. Pilkington MTles 
 
259 
 
 HENRY VII. 1458. 
 
 16 Ed. Stanley postea Doms. Monteagle 
 
 HENRY VIII. 1509. 
 
 Idem Stanley postea Doms. Monteagle 
 19 Alexander Osbaldeston Miles 
 23 John Townley Miles 
 33 Thomas Soutwortb Miles 
 37 Alexander Radclyffe Miles 
 
 Idem 
 
 -This first and most curioua part of this list was taken from a MS. in tho 
 possession of Joseph Piciford, of Eojton, Esq. (for wliich the Editor, Tim 
 Bobbin, returns him thanks.) The following part was transcribed from one 
 in Castleton Hall, belonging to Clement Winstanley, Esq., which being very 
 inaccurate, it has been carefully collated with one in Manchester, and that of 
 Eojton, aforesaid. The variations of these MSS. are placed as notes at the 
 bottom of the page where M. means the MS. at Manchester, and E. stands for 
 that at Eoyton. 
 
 EDWARD VI. 
 
 
 Alexander Eadclyffe, Kt 
 
 1547 
 
 Thomas Gerrard, Kt 
 
 1518 
 
 Peter Leigh, Kt 
 
 15-19 
 
 Peter Worsely, Kt 
 
 1550 
 
 John Atherton, Kt 
 
 1S51 
 
 Thomas Talbot, Kt 
 
 1S52 
 
 Thomas Gerrard, Kt 
 
 1553 
 
 MARY. 
 
 Marmaduke Tunstall, Kt. 
 John Atherton, Kt. 
 Thomas Langhorn, Kt. 
 Edward Trafford, Kt.* 
 John Talbot, Esq.|| 
 
 1534 
 1555 
 1556 
 1567 
 1558 
 
 *Edmund Trafford, M. ||Tlio. aerrard, M. 
 
i360 
 
 ELIZABETH. 
 
 John Talbot, Esq. 
 Eobert Worseley, Kt. 
 John Atherton, Kt. 
 John Shuttleworth, Kt. 
 Tho. Hesketh, Kt. 
 Tho. Houghton, Kt. 
 Edw. Trafford, Esq. ... 
 Eich. MoHneux, Esq. 
 Tho. Houghton, Kt.* ... 
 Edward Holland, Esq.... 
 John Preston, Esq. 
 Tho. Butler, Esq. 
 Edward Trafford, Esq. 
 John Byron, Esq. 
 Richard Holland, Esq. 
 William Booth, Esq. 
 Francis Holt, Esq. 
 Eichard Bold, Esq. 
 Eobert Dalton, Esq. ... 
 John Fleetwood, Esq. 
 Ealph Ashton, Esq. 
 Edward Trafford, Esq.|| 
 
 John Byron, Kt 
 
 Eichard Holland, Esq. 
 John Atherton, Esq. ... 
 Edward Trafford, Esq.f 
 Tho. Preston, Esq. 
 Eichard Ashton, Esq. 
 John Fleetwood, Esq. ... 
 Tho. Talbot, Esq. 
 Eichard Molineux, Esq. 
 
 . 1S59 
 ,. 1S60 
 ,. 1561 
 ,. 15G3 
 ,. 1S63 
 . 1584 
 . 1563 
 ,. 1566 
 ,. 1567 
 . 1568 
 . 1569 
 . 1570 
 .. 1571 
 . 1573 
 . 1573 
 . 1574 
 . 1575 
 . 1576 
 . 1577 
 . 1578 
 . 1579 
 . 1580 
 . 1581 
 . 1582 
 . 1583 
 . 1584 
 . 1585 
 ,. 1586 
 ,. 1587 
 ,. 1588 
 . 1589 
 
 * Tho. Langton, M. t| Kt. M. t Edm. Trafford, Et. M. 
 
Sfil 
 
 Rich. Bold, Esq 
 
 .. 1590 
 
 James Ashton, Esq. 
 
 .. 1591 
 
 Edward Fitton, Esq 
 
 .. 1592 
 
 Eiohard Ashton, Esq. - 
 
 .. 1593 
 
 Ralph Ashton, Esq ,. 
 
 .. 1594 
 
 Tho. Talbot, Esq. 
 
 .. 1595 
 
 Eioh. Holland, Esq 
 
 .. 1596 
 
 Richard Molineaux, Esq. 
 
 .. 1597 
 
 Richard Ashton, Esq 
 
 .. 1598 
 
 Eiohard Houghton, Esq. 
 
 . 1599 
 
 Robert Hesketh, Esq. 
 
 .. 1000 
 
 Cuthbert Halsall, Esq. 
 
 .. 1001 
 
 Robert Trafford, Esq.* 
 
 .. 1G02 
 
 John Ireland, Esq. 
 
 .. 1603 
 
 JAMES. 
 
 
 Idem Ireland, Esq 
 
 ... 1603 
 
 Nicholas Mosely, Esq.|| 
 
 .. 1604 
 
 Ralph Barton, Esq 
 
 .. 1605 
 
 Edward Fleetwood, Esq. 
 
 .. 1000 
 
 Richard Ashton, Esq 
 
 .. 1007 
 
 Robert Hesketh, Esq. 
 
 .. 1608 
 
 Edward Trafford, Esq 
 
 .. 1609 
 
 Roger Newell, Esq. 
 
 .. 1010 
 
 John Fleming, Esq 
 
 .. 1611 
 
 Cuthbert Halsall, Kt. 
 
 .. 1619 
 
 Robert Bindloss, of Berwick, Esq 
 
 .. 1618 
 
 Rich. Sherburn, of Stonyhurst, Esq 
 
 .. 1614 
 
 Edward Stanley, Esq 
 
 .. 1615 
 
 Rowland Moseley, Esq. 
 
 .. 1616 
 
 Edward Trafford, Esq 
 
 .. 1617 
 
 Richard Shuttleworth, Esq. 
 
 .. 1618 
 
 * Edward, Kt. M. || Kt. M. 
 
 
263 
 
 John Holt. Esq 1619 
 
 Leonard Ashaw, Esq. 1620 
 
 Edward Moor, Esq 1621 
 
 Gilbert Ireland, Esq.* 1633 
 
 Geo. Booth, Esq 1633 
 
 Ealph Ashton, Kt. 1634 
 
 Edward Holland, Esq.ll 1633 
 
 CHARLES. 
 
 Idem Holland, Esq 1635 
 
 Eoger Kirby, Esq. 1636 
 
 Edward Stanley, Bart 1637 
 
 Edw. Ashton,§ of Chaderton, Esq 1628 
 
 Edward Eawstern, Esq 1629 
 
 Tho. Hesketh, Esq. 1630 
 
 Eich. Bold, Esq. 1631 
 
 Eichard Townley, Esq.-t- 1633 
 
 Ealph Ashton, of Middleton, Esq 1633 
 
 Ealph Standish, of Standish, Esq. ^. 1634 
 
 Humphrey Chetham, Esq. 1635 
 
 William Farrington, Esq. 1636 
 
 Eichard Shuttleworth, Esq 1637 
 
 Eoger Kirby, Esq. 1638 
 
 Edw. Stanley, Bart. 1639 
 
 Eobert Holt, Esq. 1640 
 
 Peter Egerton, Esq 1641 
 
 John Girlington, Esq.: 1643 
 
 Gibert Houghton, Bart 1643 
 
 In the years 1644 and 1645, hypocritical whining saints and fooKah jure 
 divino oavalier-sinnera, were so very busy pulling one another by the noses 
 and ears that neither side had time to elect sheriffs. 
 
 John Bradshaw, Esq 1646 
 
 Idem 1647 
 
 * Kt. M. II Eichard HoUand, M. §;Edm. M. f Nicholas M. and E. 
 t Et. M. 
 
963 
 
 Gilbert Ireland, Esq.* 16^8 
 
 Idem Ireland, till May 1649 
 
 John Hartley, of Strangeways, till December 1649 
 
 Edw. Hop wood, of Hop wood, Esq. the remainder with^ 1650 
 
 Hen. Wrigley, of Chamber-hall, Esq J 1651 
 
 Alexander Barlow, of Barlow, Esq. 1652 
 
 John Parker, of Extwisle, Esq 1653 
 
 Peter Bold, of Bold, Esq. 1654 
 
 John Atherton, of Chowbent, Esq 1655 
 
 John Starlde, of Huntroid, Esq. 1656 
 
 E[ugh Cooper, of Chorley, Esq 1657 
 
 Eobert Bindloss, of Berwiok-hall, Esq.|| 1658 
 
 Eich. Houghton, Bart. 1659 
 
 Geo. Chetham, of Turton, Esq.§ 1660 
 
 CHARLES II. 
 
 Idem Chetham, Esq 1660 
 
 George Middleton, Bart. 1661 
 
 Idem Middleton, Bart 1662 
 
 John Girlington, Esq. 1663 
 
 Tho. Preston, Esq 1664 
 
 William Spencer, Esq. 1665 
 
 Idem Spencer, 1666 
 
 John Arden, Esq. 1667 
 
 Tho. Greenhalgh, of Brandlesome, Esq. 1668 
 
 Idem Greenhalgh, 1669 
 
 Christopher Banister, Esq 1670 
 
 I-Ienry Sclater, Kt. 1671 
 
 Piob. Bindloss, of Berwiok-hall, Bai-t 1672 
 
 Idem Bindloss, 1673 
 
 Peter Brooks, Kt 1674 
 
 Alex. Butterworth, of Belfield, Esq 1675 
 
 Idem Butterworth, 1676 
 
 * Kt. M. II Kt. M. and E. § Humphrey, M. 
 
264 
 
 Alex. Eigby, Esq 1677 
 
 Idem Eigby, 1678 
 
 Eoger Bradshaw, of Haigh-hall, Bart,* 1679 
 
 William Johnson, Esq.|| 1680 
 
 Laurence Eawstern, of Whitehall, Esq 1681 
 
 Idem Eawstern, 1682 
 
 Tho. Leigh, Esq 1683 
 
 Idem Leigh, 1684 
 
 JAMES II. 
 
 Peter Shakerly, Esq 1685 
 
 Idem Shakerly, 1686 
 
 William Spencer, Esq 1687 
 
 Idem, 1688 
 
 Thomas Eichardson, (not swore) 1689 
 
 WILLIAM AND MARY. 
 
 James Birch, of Birch-hall, Esq 1689 
 
 Peter Bold, of Bold, Esq. 1690 
 
 Alex. Eigby, of Layton, Esq. 1691 
 
 Francis Lindley, Esq. 1692 
 
 Tho. Eigby, Esq. 1693 
 
 Tho. Ashurst, of Ashurst, Esq. 1694 
 
 Eich. Spencer, Esq. 1695 
 
 Tho. Norris, of Speke, Esq. 1696 
 
 Eoger Manwaring, Esq 1697 
 
 William West, Esq. 1698 
 
 Eobert Duckenfield, of Duckenfield, Bart 1699 
 
 Tho. Eigby, of Middleton, Esq. 1700 
 
 William Hulme, Esq. 1701 
 
 ANNE. 
 
 Eoger No well, of Eead, Esq. 1702 
 
 Peter Egerton, of Shaw, Esq. 1703 
 
 * Ordsall, M. || Johnston, M. 
 
S65 
 
 Geo. Birch, of Birch-hall, Esq. ■ 
 
 He died whilst in office, and was succeeded by 
 Thos. Birch, his brother. 
 
 Richard Spencer, Esq. 
 
 Christ. Dauntsey, of Edgecroft, Esq. 
 Edm. Cole, of Lancaster, Esq. 
 Miles Sandys, of Graithwait, Esq. 
 
 Eoger Kirby, Esq. 
 
 He dying in office was succeeded by Alex. 
 Eoger Parlier, of Extwisle, Esq.* 
 Tho. Standish, of Duxbury, Esq. 
 Will. Eawson, of Preston, Esq.|| 
 Eich. Valentine, of Bentley, Esq.§ 
 Willm. Earrington, of Werden, Esq.j 
 
 1704 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 Jonat. Blackburn, of Orford, Esq.]: ... 
 
 Tho. Crisp, Esq. 
 
 Samuel Crook, Esq 
 
 Eich. Norris, of Liverpool, Merchant,** 
 Tho. Stanley, of Clitheroe, Esq. 
 Eob. Maudsley, of Maudsley, Esq. ... 
 
 Benjamin Houghton, Esq. 
 
 Benjamin Gregge, of Chamber-hall, Esq 
 Edw. Stanley, of Preston, Bart. 
 
 William Tatham, Esq. 
 
 Miles Sandys, of Graithwait, Esq. ... 
 Edm. Hopwood, of Hopwood, Esq. ... 
 Daniel Wilson, of Dalham Tower, Esq. 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 .. 1705 
 
 1706 
 
 1707 
 
 1708 
 
 1709 
 
 X. Hesketh, Esq. 
 
 1710 
 
 1711 
 
 1712 
 
 1713 
 
 1714 
 
 1715 
 
 . 
 
 
 .. 1716 
 
 
 
 .. 1717 
 
 
 
 .. 1718 
 
 . 
 
 
 .. 1719 
 
 . 
 
 
 .. 1720 
 
 . 
 
 
 .. 1721 
 
 
 
 .. 1722 
 
 
 
 .. 1723 
 
 
 
 .. 1724 
 
 
 
 .. 1725 
 
 
 
 .. 1726 
 
 , 
 
 
 .. 1727 
 
 GEORGE II. 
 
 Idem Wilson, of Dalham Tower 
 
 ... 1727 
 
 * Robert, B. 
 
 y Eawstern, M. 
 t John, E. 
 
 § BentcUffe, E. 
 »* of Speak, E. 
 
 t ShawhaU, E. 
 
260 
 
 Joseph Yates, of Peel, Esq. 
 
 Wm. Greenhalgh, of Brandlesome, Esq. 
 James Chetham, of Smedley, Esq. ... 
 Wm. Leigh, of Westhoughton, Esq. 
 John Parker, of Breightmet, Esq. ... 
 John Greaves, of Culcheth, Esq. 
 
 Wm. Bushel, of Preston, Esq 
 
 Arthur Hamilton, of Liverpool, Esq. 
 Darcy Lever, of Alkrington, Kt. 
 Tho. Horton, of Chadderton, Esq. ... 
 Samuel Chetham, of Castleton, Esq. 
 Eaphe Asheton, of Middleton, Bt. 
 
 Eoger Hesketh, of Meals, Esq 
 
 Eoh. Duckenfield, of Manchester, Esq. 
 Eob. Banks, of Winstanley, Esq. 
 John Blackburn, of Orford, Esq. 
 Eob. Eadclyffe, of Foxdenton, Esq. ... 
 Daniel Wilhs, of Eedhall, Esq. 
 
 William Shaw, Esq 
 
 Sam. Birch, of Ardwick, Esq. 
 
 George Clark, of Hyde, Esq 
 
 Eigby Molineux, of Preston, Esq. 
 Cha. Stanley, of Cross-hall, Esq. 
 James Eenton, of Lancaster, Esq. 
 Eich. Townley, of Belfield, Esq. 
 John Bradshaw, of Manchester, Esq. 
 Eoger Hesketh, of Eufford, Esq. 
 Tho. Johnson, of Manchester, Esq. ... 
 James Barton, of Penwortham, Esq. 
 James Bailey Withington, Esq. 
 Eob. Gibson, of Marscough, Esq. 
 Eich. Whitehead, of Clighton, Esq. ... 
 Samuel Hilton, of Pennington, Esq. 
 
 1728 
 1729 
 1730 
 1731 
 1732 
 1733 
 1734 
 1735 
 1736 
 1737 
 1738 
 1739 
 1740 
 1741 
 1742 
 1743 
 1744 
 1745 
 1746 
 1747 
 1748 
 1749 
 1750 
 1751 
 1752 
 1753 
 1754 
 1755 
 1756 
 1757 
 1758 
 1759 
 1760 
 
367 
 
 GEORGE III. 
 
 Sir Wm. Farrington, of Shawhall 1761 
 
 Tho. Braddyll, of Conniside, Esq 1762 
 
 Tho. Blackburn, of Childoo, Esq 1763 
 
 Sir Wm. Horton, of Chaderton, Bart 1764 
 
 John Walmsley, of Wigan, Esq 1765 
 
 Edw. Gregge, of Chamberhall, Esq 1766 
 
 Alex. Butler, of Kirkland, Esq 1767 
 
 Tho. Butterworth Bailey, of Hope, Esq 1768 
 
 Doming Easbottom, of Birch-house, Esq 1769 
 
 Nicholas Ashton, of Liverpool, Esq 1770 
 
 Ashton Lever, of Alkrington, Esq 1771 
 
 Wm. Cunliffe Shaw, of Preston, Esq 1772 
 
 Tho. Patten, of Warrington, Esq 1773 
 
 Geofrey Hornby, of Preston, Esq 1774 
 
 Hero ends Tim Bobbin's MS. 
 
 Sir Watt's Horton, of Chaderton, Bart 1775 
 
 Law. Eawstern, of Whitehall, Esq 1776 
 
 Samuel Clowes, of Broughton, Esq. 1777 
 
 Wilson Braddyll, of Conniside Priory, Esq 1778 
 
 John Clayton, of Oarrhall, Esq. 1779 
 
 John Atherton, Prescot, Esq 1780 
 
 John Blackburne, of Hale, Esq 1781 
 
 Sir Frank Standish, of Duxbury-hall, Bart 1782 
 
 James Whalley, of Clark-hill, Esq 1783 
 
 William Bankes, of Winstanley, Esq 1784 
 
 John Sparling, of Liverpool, Esq. 1785 
 
 Sir John Parker Mosley, of Ancoats, Bart 1786 
 
 William Bamford, of Bamford, Esq. 1787 
 
 Edward Falkner, of Fairfield, Esq 1788 
 
 AVilliam Hulton, of Hulton, Esq 1789 
 
 Charles Gibson, of Lancaster, Esq. 1790 
 
 James Starkey, of Heywood, Esq 179I 
 
 William Asheton, of Cuerdale, Esq. 1792 
 
268 
 
 Thomas Townley Parker, of Cuerden, Esq 1793 
 
 Henry Philip Houghton, of Walton, Esq 1794 
 
 Eobinson Shuttleworth, of Cawthorpe, Esq 1795 
 
 Eichard Gwillym, of Bewsey 1796 
 
 Bold Fleetwood Hesketh, of Eossal, Esq 1797 
 
 John Entwisle, of Foxholes, Esq 1798 
 
 Joseph Starkie, of Eoyton, Esq. 1799 
 
 James Ackers, of Manchester, Esq. 1800 
 
 Sir Thomas Dalijmple Hesketh, of Eufford, Bart. ... 1801 
 
 Eobert Gregge Hopwood, of Hopwood, Esq ,, 1802 
 
 Isaac Blackburne, of Warrington, Esq 1803 
 
 Thomas Lister Parker, of Browsholme, Esq 1804 
 
 Meyrick Bankes, of Winstanley, Esq. , 1805 
 
 Le Gendre Pierce Starkie, of Huntroid, Esq. 1806 
 
 Eichard Leigh, of Shaw-hill, Esq 1807 
 
 Thomas Clayton, of Carrhall, Esq 1808 
 
 Samuel Clowes, of Broughton-hall, Esq 1809 
 
 William Hulton, of Hulton, Esq 1810 
 
 Samuel Chetham Hilton, of Smedley, Esq 1811 
 
 Edward Greaves, of Culcheth, Esq. 1812 
 
 William Farrington, of Shawhall, Esq 1813 
 
 Lawrence Eawstorne, of Penwortham-hall, Esq 1814 
 
 Le Gendre Starkie, of Huntroid, Esq. ., 1815 
 
 William Townley, of Townhead, Esq 1816 
 
 Eobert Townley Parker, of Cuerden, Esq 1817 
 
 Joseph Fielden, of Whitton House, Esq 1818 
 
 John Walmsley, of Castlemeer, Esq 1819 
 
n CoHtil 
 
 TO THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 James Glegg, Conjurer . 
 
 Be it known unto all men by these presents, That I, James 
 Clegg, of Broad-lane, within Castleton, in the parish of Rochdale, 
 and county of Lancaster, conjurer; having made my last will 
 and testament bearing date the 18th of February, 1749, do 
 hereby codicil, confirm, and ratify my said will : and if I die a 
 natural death, i. e. elude the gallows, and within two miles of 
 Shaw-Chapcl, then I will that my executors John Collier, and 
 Paul Greenwood, come to my house the day following, and with 
 the advice and assistance of James Worral, order my funeral as 
 follows : 
 
 I. I will that they invite to my funeral sixty of my friends, 
 or best acquaintance, and also five fiddlers to be there exactly at 
 two o'clock. 
 
 II. That no women be invited ; no man that wears a white 
 cap or apron ; that no tobacco or snuff be there, to prevent 
 my sneezing. 
 
 III. That they provide sixty-two spiced cakes, value ten 
 shillings ; and twenty shillings worth of the best ale that is 
 within two miles ; allowing the best ruby-noses present, Roger 
 Taylor, and John Booth, to be judges. 
 
970 
 
 IV. That if my next relations think a wooden jump too 
 chargeable, then I will, that my executors cause me to be drest 
 in my roast-meat clothes, lay me on a bier, stangs, or the like ; 
 give all present a sprig of rosemary, hollies, or gorses, and a 
 cake : That no tears be shed, but be merry for two hours. 
 
 V. Then all shall drink a gill-bumper, and the fiddlers play 
 Briton's Strike Home, whilst they are bringing me out, and cover- 
 ing me. This shall be about five minutes before the cavalcade 
 begins ; which shall move in the high-road to Shaw-Chapel, in 
 the following order, viz. The best fiddler of the five shall lead 
 the van, the other four following after, two and two, playing 
 The Conjurer goes Home, in the aforesaid tune. Then the bier 
 and attendants, none riding on horseback, but as Hudibras did 
 to the stocks, i. e. face to tail, except Mr. George Stansfield, of 
 Sowerby, (which privilege I allow him for reasons best known to 
 
 myself) Then the C of S — C 1 shall bring up the rear, 
 
 dressed in his pontificalibus, and riding on an ass ; the which, 
 if he duly and honestly perform, and also read the usual office, 
 then my executors shall, nem. con. pay him twenty-one shillings. 
 
 VI. If the singers at Shaiv meet me fifty yards from the 
 chapel, and sing the anthem, beginning, clap your hands, £c. 
 pay them five shillings. 
 
 VII. Next, I will that I be laid near the huge ruins of 
 James Woolfenden, late landlord of Shaw-Chapel, which done, 
 pay the sexton half a crown. 
 
 VIII. Then let all go to the alehouse I most frequented, 
 and eat, drink, and be merry, till the shot amounts to thirty 
 shillings ; the fiddler's playing. The Conjurer's gone home, with 
 other tunes at discretion ; to which I leave them : and then pay 
 the fiddler's two shillings and sixpence each. 
 
 IX. If my next relations think it worth their cost and pains 
 to lay a stone over me, then I will that John Collier of Milnrow, 
 cut the following epitaph on it : 
 
■S71 
 
 Hebe Conjurer Cieg& beneath this stone, 
 By hia best Friends was laid ; 
 Weep, O ye Kddlers, now he's gone, 
 Who lov'd the tweedling trade! 
 Mourn all ye Brewers of good ale, 
 Sellers of Books and News ; 
 But smile ye jolly Priests, he's pale. 
 Who grudg'd your poVr and dues. 
 
 FUETHEE, As I have some good qualities and worldly goods 
 not disposed of by my said last will, I do give and devise, as 
 follows : That is to say, I give unto the Eochdale parish Method- 
 ists all my religion, and books of free-thinking, as believing 
 they'll be useful and very necessary emollients. 
 
 Item. I give unto any one of that whimsical sect, who is 
 sure the devil is in him, my slice of Tobit's fish, which my 
 ancestors have kept pickled up above two thousand years ; being 
 certain that a small slice fried, will drive Behehuh himself, 
 either upwards or downwards, out of the closest made Methodist 
 in his majesty's dominions. 
 
 Item. I give unto any three of the aforesaid Methodists, who 
 are positive that they have a church in their bellies, my small set 
 of squirrel-bells to hang in the steeple ; being apprehensive that a 
 set of the size of Great Tom of Lincoln, would prove detrimental 
 to a fabric of such an airy and tottering foundation. 
 
 Item. I give my forty-five-minute sand-glass, (on which is 
 painted, old Time sleeping) unto that clergyman living within 
 three miles of my house, who is most noted for preaching lopg- 
 winded tautologizing sermons, provided he never turn it twice 
 at one heat. 
 
 Item. I leave all my spring-traps, flying-nets, and all my 
 other valuable utensils whatsoever, belonging to that new- 
 invented and ingenious art of cuckow-catching, unto my 
 generous, honest, and open hearted friend, Mr. Benjamin 
 Bunghole, late of Rochdale, being thoroughly satisfied of his good 
 inclination, and great capacity of the proper use of them. 
 
273 
 
 Item. I give unto one Timothy Bobbin,, wlieresoever lie may 
 be found, a pamphlet, entitled; A View of the Lancashire Dialect; 
 being fully persuaded few others are capable of reading, or 
 making any sense of it. 
 
 Item. I give all my humility, good-nature, benevolence, and 
 hospitality, with all my other good qualities whatsoever, not 
 before disposed of, unto that person in the parish of Rochdale, 
 ■who can eat the most Baw Onions without crying. 
 
 Lastly, I will that this codicil be, and be adjudged to be, part 
 of my said last will and testament, as fully as if the same had 
 been inserted. 
 
 In Witness whereof, I have hereunto fixed my hand and seal, 
 this 24th day of May, in the year 1751. 
 
 Witness; JAMES CLEGG. 
 
 Robert Lees, 
 Joshua Warren. 
 
A COPY 
 
 01? WHAT WAS CALLED 
 
 AN ANCIENT SAXON MS. 
 
 Tho' I think it has a Snip of the Welsh in it. 
 
 In the 6tli year of the reign of Conan (ab Ehse ab Aranawd) 
 king of (Gicinneth) North Wales (which was about A. D. 946) 
 there was in the christian temple, at a place called Harden, in 
 the kingdom of North Wales, a rood loft ; in which was placed 
 an image of the Virgin Mary, with a very large cross, which was 
 in the hands of the image, called holy-rood. About this time 
 there happened a very hot summer, so dry that there was no 
 grass for the cattle. Upon which most of the inhabitants went 
 and prayed to the image or holy rood, that it would cause it to 
 rain ; but to no purpose. 
 
 Amongst the rest, the Lady Trawst (whose husband's name 
 was Sitijht, a nobleman, and governor of Harden Castle) went 
 to pray to the said holy rood ; and she praying earnestly and 
 long ; the image or holy rood fell down upon her head and 
 killed her. 
 
 Upon which a great uproar was raised, and it was concluded 
 and resolved upon, to try the said image for the murder of the 
 said Lady Trawst; and a jury was summoned for that purpose ; 
 whose names were as follow, 
 
 Hinoot of Hanoot, Span of Manoot ; 
 Leach and Leach, and Combeaoh;* 
 Peet and Pate, with Corbin of the Gate ; 
 Milling and Hughet, with Grill and Pugbet. 
 
 * Error in the MS. for Comberbeach. 
 M M 
 
274 
 
 Who upon examination of evidences declare the said Lady 
 Trawst to be wilfully murdered by the said holy rood ; and 
 guilty of the murder. Also guilty in not answering the prayers 
 of the many petitioners : but whereas the said holy rood being 
 very old and done, she was ordered to be hanged. But Span 
 opposed that, saying, that as they wanted rain, it would be best 
 to drown her. This was fiercely opposed by Corbin ; who said, 
 that as she was holy rood they had no right to kill her, and 
 advised to lay her on the sands of the river, below Harden 
 Castle, from whence they might see what became of her, which - 
 was accordingly done. Soon after which the tide from the sea 
 came and carried the said image to some low land (being an 
 islandj near the walls of a city called Caerleon (supposed 
 Chester) where it was found the next day, drowned and dead ! 
 Upon which the inhabitants of Caerleon buried it in the place 
 where it was found ; and erected a monument of stone with 
 this inscription ; — 
 
 The Jews their God did crucify : The Hardeners theirs did drown, 
 
 'Cause with their wants she'd not supply : And lies under this cold stone. 
 
 It is supposed the above inscription caused the low lands to 
 have the appellation of Eood die, or Eood dee ; being the name 
 given to that river on this occasion : for before it was called 
 the Eiver Usk. 
 
THE FOLLOWING ENTRY 
 
 Was seyit to the Supervisor and other Officers of Excise, 
 Met at the Union Flag, in Eoohdale. 
 
 Co all hjfiom it tioes, or map fonrent. 
 
 WHEEEAS the Vicar of this Parish hath prohibited the 
 Eev. Mr. Haigh and his wife from selhng tea (1 suppose as it 
 showed too much worldly-mindedness, and for fear of riches 
 choaking the word) and as my ragged and tattered neighbour- 
 ing gentry are resolved to have it ; though some of them are 
 not able to buy a quarter of an ounce, and a five-farthing oat- 
 cake at the same time. 
 
 Now Knoiv all Men by these prese)ds that for tlie aforesaid 
 reasons, and to keep his Majesty's peace at home, I, John 
 Collier of Milnrow, in the parish of Eochdale and county of 
 Lancaster ; formerly a weaver, now schoolmaster and painter, 
 do hereby make entry of my house and parlour for my crooked 
 rib to sell coffee, tea, and chocolate in. Though at the same 
 time I wish the East India Company were bankrupts. — That 
 the excisemen were all methamorphosed into tailors ; their 
 books into pressing-irons ; their sticks into cloth-yards ; and 
 their pens into needles: — ^and that there was not a single 
 ounce of coffee, tea or chocolate in his Majesty's dominions. 
 
 Witness my hand this 9th day of March in the 
 year 1765. 
 
IN PROSE. 
 
 To Miss B—y S h, in Hu d. 
 
 July 35th, 1740. 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 'Tis now about a month since I begun to 
 strive, with prepense malice, to commit murder — dont start 
 at the expression, tho' 'tis really true — I dont mean, madam, 
 what the lawyers call Felo de se; — no, no — Tho' you are 
 handsome to a miracle ; and as much out of my reach as the 
 moon is from the grasp of a pigmy ; yet I'm not for hanging 
 myself, or if you please, taking Hobbes' leap in the dark, and 
 leaving the world in a hurry, because I'm in love : but I'm for 
 assassinating that restless brat, because he disturbs me in my 
 business — makes me dream of you ; and disturbs my repose. 
 Give me leave to tell you, madam, that, on consideration, I find 
 the little vexatious urchin is a relation of yours, and begot 
 between your charms and my whimsical fancy : and I'm for 
 ejecting my eyes for turning pander, and bringing them toge- 
 ther ; except you'll condescend to prevent both the ejection and 
 murder by sending him victuals to live on. This you may 
 easily do, because he can live upon less than a camelion ; who, 
 the old philosophers say, lives upon air ; for his little Godship 
 will live upon words, nay upon words too, that never were 
 spoken. Should you think this impossible, give me leave to 
 dictate, and do you send me the following words, — Do not 
 murder,- — hut cherish the Idaliari ivanton, and you shall never have 
 
377 
 
 cause to repent, on the account of, Dear Sir, your most £c. I say 
 send, and sign this short billet, and the strange assertion will 
 be proved to a demonstration : for the little God of soft desires 
 will begin a fluttering, and shall nestle in my breast till time 
 with the help of a parson shew the world that common, but old 
 fashioned miracle of making two, into one identic person. 
 
 Here I had thoughts of concluding this, my first epistle to 
 you, but I am still so irritated at that old splay-foot, fulsome 
 person, who parted us the last time I had the pleasure of your 
 company ; that were I a pagan, I would curse him by a hundred 
 and fifty thousand Gods, and send him to hell astride of a thun- 
 derbolt, for putting a period to the few blissful moments I then 
 enjoyed. Had the separation been only for a day, or a month, 
 this might possibly have been forgiven : — but for a year ; and 
 
 perhaps for ever ! this is more than I am able to forgive. 
 
 And were it in my power, I would release Prometheus, and fix 
 him in his place, till he had removed Blackstone-edge, which he 
 has thrown between us, and brought you to the place from 
 whence he chased you, i. e. to the arms of 
 
 Dear Madam, 
 
 Your most obsequious &c. <S:c. 
 
 TO Mr. CHA«. RAMSDEN, 
 
 IN WORCESTER. 
 
 Kebroyd in Soj'land, Sept. 29th, 1751. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I had yours of the 19th of May last, at which time 
 I had under consideration a proposal from Mr. E. Hill of this 
 place ; which was to serve him as an assistant, and book-keeper, 
 for no less a term than ten years, on what I then thought very 
 advantageous terms. Accordingly on the 12th of June we 
 
978 
 
 concluded, and executed the deed ; and on the 16th of the same 
 month, I bunch'd up my tools and my tackle, (i. e. my wife, 
 bairns, goods &c.) and commenced Yorkshire-man. 
 
 The settling my affairs in Lancashire, and the continual hurry 
 of a new employment (which I fear will' be irksome to me) are 
 all the excuses I shall make for my not writing sooner. 
 
 As to the Letter you mention, that contained intelligence of 
 the safe arrival of my bandy-hewits at Worcester, it never came 
 to hand ; but am glad to hear by your last that they are safe. 
 
 I wish I could tell you with the truth of a Lancashire-man 
 that I like my new business, as well as I liked swaying the 
 birchen sceptre at Milnrow. 'Tis true I have more than 
 double the salary, and a grand house rent-free : ah, my friend! 
 — what are these to pleasing liberty? to sweet to calm con- 
 tentment ; — In short I find myself metamorphosed from a 
 petty monarch, to a species of a slave ; and though I was never 
 guilty of being religious over much; yet you can scare© conceive 
 how it edges my teeth, when I must ask leave before I must go 
 to church or chapel : or drink a pot of ale with a Lancashire 
 friend who comes to see me. These, and many more things 
 like them, are east and west to my constitution. — -I must now 
 take my farewell of all that made life worth preserving ; I must 
 give up painting; my rhyming; my bowling ; my tippling, and 
 every inviting nonsense. — These were all time beguiling diver- 
 sions, which pleased my whimsical humour at different times ; 
 all which I relinquished for the good of my family; but I 
 much doubt shall be mistaken. In short, I'm pleased, I'm 
 vexed, I'm fain, I'm sorry, I'm easy, I'm tormented, I'm richer, 
 I'm poorer, I'm better, I'm worse : but let me be how, or what 
 I will, I hope I shall ever remain Dear Sir, 
 
 Your obliged humble servt. 
 
 John Collier. 
 
979 
 
 A NAKEATIVE OF THE CASE BETWEEN THE QUEEN AT THE 
 BOOTH, AND THE AUTHOE. 
 
 To T. P. Esq. 
 
 Jan. 30th, 1752. 
 By your favour of the SOth current, I perceive you have heard 
 of the furious rupture that has lately hroke out betwixt me, 
 and a certain lady, who is sometimes called the Queen at the 
 Booth, and at others, the Yorkshire Lawyeress; and seem fearful 
 that it will he detrimental to my family and interest. I thank 
 you for your tender "care ; but, cheer up, sir, I'm not afraid of 
 the law ; for I have a particular friend that will screen me from 
 long and costly suits : I mean — Poverty. 
 
 You desire me to send you a full account of what has passed 
 between us, I shall oblige you in this, though it will be both 
 intricate and prolix ; and as truth has always something of the 
 agreeable attending it, I must own that I was the first aggres- 
 sor : for it arose from that strong tincture of quixotism that 
 you know reigns so predominant in me ; though if I was 
 inclined to fanaticism, I should give it another name, and call 
 it the spirit of reformation. 
 
 The first time I saw her was at Dean-Ghapel, in the parish of 
 Huthersfield, where she immediately took my eye, and raised my 
 curiosity to know who, and what she was : Being (if I may so 
 speak) the very gallimaufry of a woman. She was dressed as 
 gay, and airy as a girl of sixteen, though old age stared full at 
 me through every wrinkle. In short, her out of the way figure 
 and behaviour, spoiled my devotion and raised my choler to 
 that pitch that I could not be at rest, till I had given her a 
 reprimand. 
 
 Service being over, I stepped into a little alehouse near the 
 chapel, and enquired of the landlord who the bedlamite was, 
 who was so old, and so very airy? He answered with a sigh, 
 
280 
 
 she's my own aunt, but you know I cannot help her dressing 
 so awkwardly. Very true, says I, but will she come in here, 
 think you? I'm not certain, he replied, but very likely she 
 may. So I sat down a few minutes, but madam not appearing, 
 I went back into the chapel-yard amongst the crowd, but she 
 had given me the slip, and so escaped my resentment at that 
 time. However, I left strict orders with her nephew (who pro- 
 mised me to tell her) to dress and behave more agreeable to her 
 age ; or otherwise, if she persisted, she should hear from me in 
 a more disagreeable manner. 
 
 This past on about a month, when I chanced to see her again 
 at Eipponden : And perceiving her ladyship was in no humour 
 for reforming, but rather more jaunty than ever; I took a reso- 
 lution (Quixotte-like) to write a letter to her under a feigned 
 name ; and which, though I kept to matter of fact, she pleases 
 to call a libel : and by one means or other she is become posi- 
 tive that I am the author : But this opinion might chiefly 
 arise from my leaving the pragmatical order with her nephew. 
 
 B'e this as it will, it is certain, that the Tuesday following she 
 
 saddled her nag, and rode to Justice E for a warrant, to 
 
 bring me to an account for that, to which I determined to 
 plead Not Guilty. 
 
 On her arrival there, and laying her complaint before the 
 justice, he demanded whether she would swear the letter on 
 me ? N — 0, but it is nobody else. Have you any evidence that 
 will swear to this man's writing it ? N — o, but he was at the 
 Black Lion in Bipponden, where the letter was first found, and 
 the very night before I received it. In short, she could not 
 swear positively, and consequently no warrant was granted. 
 
 Things past on about a fortnight, when she received intelli- 
 gence that I was going immediately to leave YorksJiire. So she 
 resolved to pay me a visit at Mr. Hill's before my departure. I 
 happened to have the first glent of her ladyship as she came 
 up the court, with the bridle of her strong Roziiiante on her 
 arm, and a young woman (Phcehe Dawson) attending her. 
 
881 
 
 On rapping at the door, the old gentleman went out, and 
 after the usual salutations, she begun, — " I am come to see, sir, 
 if you will suffer any of your servants to abuse me ?" " No, 
 mistress, that I would not do : Pray, have I any that does do 
 so ? " "Why, have you not a servant they call Collier? " " No, 
 that I have not," replied the old gentleman. "But have you not 
 some such a man about your house ?" " Yes ; he is in the house ; 
 and I believe there is some little connection between my son 
 E. and him: but I have nothing to do with him." "Very 
 well, sir, then I've been wrong informed ; and I will take it 
 kindly if you'll tell him I'd fain speak with him." Yes, mis- 
 tress, that I will do." On his telling me that a lady desired 
 to speak with me, I appeared surprised, though I guessed what 
 she was about well enough : however I went to the door and 
 made her a complaisant bow, which her irritated stomach 
 scorned to return. 
 
 As to her dress, &c. I shall refer you to the notes on Ploan- 
 tung's letter : only observe that a blue riding-habit hoop'd with 
 silver lace, a jockey's cap, and a pretty large black silk patch on 
 each side of her mouth, made her cut a most grotesque figure. 
 
 After a full stare at each other, she asked me if my name was 
 Collier ? " Yes, madam," said I, " what's your pleasure with 
 me '?" " Why, I want to know if you'll stand to what you've 
 done?" "O yes, to be sure, madam," said I "what is't?" 
 "Why about this libel:" "Libel!" said I, "I dont know 
 what a libel is." "I suppose you do; and I want to know if 
 you'll stand to it, or not, for you writ it to be sure." " Indeed 
 madam, your speech is all riddle to me. But as I'm very busy 
 at present, if you'll go down to Bipponden, I'll follow as soon 
 as I can, and there get an explanation." " That's what I 
 want," she replied, " but pray tell me what house I must go 
 to ?" " To Campenot's to he sure," said I, " And you'll follow 
 me," snys she. "0 do not doubt it, madam." So away she 
 
283 
 
 goes, and her witness along with her : but I kept my distance, 
 as wanting both time and inclination to follow her. 
 
 Messrs. Hills laughed at me for being honoured with this 
 unexpected visit from the Queen of the Booth, and thought I 
 had met with more than my match : all the gentry round being 
 afraid to provoke or contradict her : and wondered that I 
 should have any thing to do with her, as she would undoubt- 
 edly ruin me though I was worth thousands. I told them, 
 innocence did not know what fear was, and that I was not 
 apprehensive of any danger. 
 
 This affair happened on Friday; and the Sunday following 
 I left Kehroyd pretty early for my journey into Lancashire : and 
 on going up to Soyland, to bid adieu to my friends there, 1 
 found in the road, behind an ash-tree, six papers, written all 
 alike, in a large print hand, a copy of which follows : — 
 
 ADVEETISEMENT. 
 
 On Friday last, from Rishworth strayed. 
 
 Or was by Satan's Imps conveyed, 
 
 A chesnut mare, with prick up ears, 
 
 Bad eyes, teeth lost, advanced in years 
 
 Had two light coloured feet before, 
 
 Her mouth was patched and very sore ; 
 
 A right whisk tail and grissle mane, 
 
 A heavy head, and body plain ; 
 
 A filly trotting by her side. 
 
 And both good blood as e'er was tried. 
 Whoe'er can them to Pluto bring, 
 
 Their owner, tliat grim, sooty King, 
 
 Shall for their pains in this good job, 
 
 Keceiye ten pounds of 
 
 TIMMY BOB. 
 
 You cannot imagine, sir, but that I must see the purport of 
 
 these papers, and what they were intended for ; so I took care 
 
 to have them put up at Ripponden, Elland, Halifax, dc. on that 
 
 day before noon : and they caused much staring, and various 
 
S83 
 
 surmisings in the country, some pick-thank or other conveyed 
 a copy of one of them to her ladyship, who on perusing it, 
 readily fathered the brat upon me, and said to the messenger, 
 " You have done me very great service ; for now I never doubt 
 but I can catch the fox in his craftiness, and then I'll make 
 him clear all accounts, and pay you handsomely for your 
 trouble.'' 
 
 What follows is chiefly from information, and I was told for 
 fact that that evening she killed the fatted calf, as it were, and 
 feasted some of her privy council : rejoicing that she had so fine 
 a prospect of gratifying her spleen, and attaining the summit 
 of her wishes ; and the next morning she mounted her gelding, 
 and, with the young filly, set off for the justice. 
 
 On her arrival, she found his worship had company : how- 
 ever, being well acquainted with her, he came into the room 
 where she was, (which had a table standing in the middle,) and 
 several gentlemen followed him. She then drew out the copy 
 of the advertisement, and threw it on the table : on which his 
 worship said : " Well madam what's to do now ? " " Why sir," 
 said she, " you would not grant me a warrant before for this 
 rascal, and now I have suffered a fresh abuse from him, as this 
 will prove if you'll please to read it." He takes the paper up 
 (the gentlemen all staring at the queer dress and behaviour of 
 her ladyship) and reads : 
 
 ^tihertisftment. 
 
 On Friday last from Jiishworth strayed, 
 
 Or was by Satan's Imps convey'd, 
 
 A chesnut mare, 
 
 " Why madam, have you lost a mare ?" " N — o n — o, please 
 to read on : — It means me, sir.'' 
 
 A chesnufc mare, with prick up ears, 
 Bad eyes, teeth lost, advanced in years : 
 Had two light coloured feet before, 
 
284 
 
 " This cannot have any reference to you, — sure you have not 
 four feet ! " 
 
 " I ask your pardon for that, sir, and beg you'll go on, for 
 you'll find it means me and no body else." Here the gentlemen 
 broke out into a laugh ; which being over the justice went on. 
 
 Had two light coloured feet before. 
 Her mouth was patoh'd, and rery sore. 
 
 Here she hastily interrupting him, said : " That's trae ; and 
 is a very good proof that he means me ; for at that very time I 
 had a tetter-worm on each side my mouth, covered with black 
 silk, and he names the day too, sir ; which was Friday : what 
 stronger evidence can either be given or desired ? " Here the 
 justice joined the gentlemen in another merry fit; and then his 
 Avorship asked her : " And who writ, and posted these adver- 
 tisements up, do you say ?" 
 
 " Why this rascal — this Collier, to be sure ! " 
 
 " To be sure will not do, madam. — But did you or any other 
 person see him write or put them up ; or will you swear this is 
 his hand ?" 
 
 " N — 0, n — 0, that is not his hand : for I have evidence here, 
 that they were either printed, or writ like print : and I can also 
 prove that he writes that hand better than any in the country ; 
 and that's another proof that he writ, and put them up, or 
 ordered others to do it ; which is all one you know, sir, in law.'' 
 
 " But will you make oath that he writ, or put them up ?" 
 
 " I durst swear he did ; but, alas ! I did not see him." 
 
 " Well, madam, I perceive this man will slip us again ; for 
 without a positive oath I cannot grant a warrant." 
 
 Here her ladyship (with a heavy sigh) said : " If justice law 
 will not do, I must see council : (which I am told she actually 
 did) but I'm so very uneasy, that I cannot sleep, and I think 
 this grand villain will be the end of me." 
 
 "When that happens," said one of the gentlemen, "if you'll 
 
285 
 
 come liither again, we'll try him for his life for committing 
 murder ; and make him pay the piper with a witness." 
 
 " Ah ! sir, but this is no jesting matter, — for all's gone when 
 I'm gone, and that I fear will not be long^ — for I hear this same 
 ruiner of my good name has actually got that same letter printed 
 which I brought to you — and if so, it is so scandalous, that 
 taking all together, it will break my heart ; and you know, sir, 
 the dark side of a good character is not quite spotless.'' 
 
 " Very true," said his worship, " but I can see no remedy for 
 you in this case without good proof." 
 
 " That is what I fear I must never have," said the old lad}', 
 who turned her backside without any compliment, left the 
 rhymes on the table, and budged off; the whole being a pretty 
 scene of diversion for those she left behind. 
 
 Thus, sir, I have endeavoured to satisfy your curiosity, 
 hoping you'll excuse the length of the narrative : and now I 
 have only to tell you that the letter she mentioned to the justice, 
 is actually printed, (a copy of which I here enclose you,) and 
 which I sell for a friend. Her ladyship has sent for several, 
 and always by persons she thinks most capable of pumping me : 
 I always oblige her by sending them, but still keep innocent, 
 and quite ignorant of its production, otherwise you might say — 
 good Lord have mercy upon, Sir, 
 
 Your most obliged humble Servant, 
 
 T. B. 
 
286 
 
 HOANTUNG'S LETTER (a) 
 
 TO THE 
 
 EMPRESS OF RUSSIA. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE CHINESE (wiTH EXPLANATORY NOTES) 
 
 33p Egcljang, tin iHanlrariit» 
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 To scourge a public pest, the wise of old 
 Thought meritorious, tho' a bawd or scold : 
 I own this muugrel Owl-and-Crow is not, 
 Half worth my powder, or one grain of shot ; 
 Yet as no person e'er could probe her heart, 
 Ko admonitions make her conscience start, 
 Let this true mirror shew her putrid mind. 
 And how her frame's to every sin inclin'd ; 
 If she reforms, 'tis well, — if not, I'm right ; 
 To plague the plaguy, is refin'd delight! 
 
 We, Hoantung the Gh-eat, Eiuxieror of all the Emperors of the 
 East, to our most dazzling and serene Sister, the Pri7icess Eleexa, 
 Empress of all Russia, send greeting. 
 
 WHEREAS our -wisdom, like the beams of the great luminary 
 of the day, pierces into the remotest regions ; and as all things 
 transacted between the poles are under our immediate cog- 
 nizance, by which our empire is become universal, and 
 consequently checks the actions of sovereign princes, we do 
 now, by our aforesaid power, require that you, on receipt 
 hereof, forthwith retire from your sofa ; and there contemplate 
 how, and by what means, you attained the palace of your 
 residence (b) and the empire (o) which you so haughtily govern ? 
 
 (a) The original was left about Michaelmas 1751, at a publie-house in 
 Eipponden, by a tall swarthy person, in a long surtout, turban, and whiskers ; 
 a broad scimetar hanging on a button, and his whole air and countenance so 
 fierce, that none durst say. From whence comes thou 1 So he walked off 
 undiscovered. 
 
 (b) The estate on which she resides. 
 
 (c) This by the soundest critics is always taken for the township of Rish- 
 worth, in the parish of Halifax. 
 
287 
 
 Why the czar, (d) your first husband, was so suddenly sent over 
 the Acherontic lake, and by whom ? How the present czar, your 
 lawful spouse, came to be banished? (e) What fury could induce 
 you to trouble your neighbouring kingdoms and states, (f) 
 with one continued scene of war, rapine, and disorder? 
 
 We say, reflect on these things ; and consider with what 
 indulgence we have suffered you to rule with a high hand, ever 
 since you seized the imperial throne ; (g) which usurpation we 
 have winked at with impunity for the space of three hundred 
 moons ; not doubting but Time the offspring of Eternity, and 
 father of Wisdom, would have mitigated the severity of your 
 reign : that the czar would have been recalled, and restored to 
 the sovereignty : that all your subjects, from the boyer to the 
 jjlebian, might have reposed under their citron and pomegran- 
 ate trees ; eaten their autumnal fruits, and enjoyed the rights 
 and privileges with which the God FORE, and his handmaid 
 Nature hath endowed them. But seeing that time works not 
 the expected effects, but that j-ou still drive the car of govern- 
 ment with an outstretched arm ; we are (as it Mere) constrained 
 to send this our awful and impartial injunction ; requiring and 
 commanding, and we do hereby enjoin and command you, with- 
 out the least hesitation, to recall the cxar from banishment, and 
 restore him to the seat of empire ; to the boyars and waywoods, 
 (h) their respective powers, and jurisdictions ; and all your other 
 subjects and vassals, to their liberties and privileges : that you 
 
 (d) In a letter from the dusky regions, it was hinted, she pushed him into 
 old Chaeon's boat, to whom she paid double fare to waft him over. 
 
 (e) Her present husband, whom she banished by mere dint of dagger, for 
 one morning after a very hot dispute about that mushroom sect the methodists, 
 he found that weapon on a chair by her bedside ; and after several expostula- 
 tions (she not being able to satisfy him as to the use of it) he very pru- 
 dently fled. 
 
 (f) Some distant, as well as neighbouring township', which she continually 
 vexes with litigious suits, about filiations, settlements, &o. 
 
 (g) The government of the township, she being a kind of perpetual con- 
 stable, overseer of the poor, highways, &o. 
 
 (h) The officers of the township aforesaid. 
 
988 
 
 consider the unconstrained freedoms and well known pleasures 
 of your youth, (i) nay even since time fixed his plough-share 
 in your forehead ; and be not too curious with your piercing- 
 optics, and officious hands, in prying into the sprightly pastimes, 
 and rustic amours, of the softer sex within your dominions, (k) 
 
 Further, we will that when you approach the mosques of the 
 Gods, particularly that of Worotin; (1) that your posture be 
 decent, that you observe the religious ceremonies, and in all 
 respects demean yourself as a true worshipper of the God FOHE, 
 and his prophet Confucius; that your deportment be grave as 
 becomes the evening of life : that your dress (especially the attire 
 of your head and neck, (m) be modest, and free from those 
 youthful airs you seem to delight in, which are always the 
 unerring index of a contaminated mind ; that you appear no 
 more in public with your locket, ear-rings, and other juvenile 
 trinkets : as you and all the world know them to be the wages 
 of carnal and youthful pleasures, and can never make you more 
 agreeable than a spruce baboon. 
 
 Lastly, it is our royal will and pleasure, that you make a full 
 
 (i) Here is a large field for reflection ! but I hope the reader will excuse it, 
 if the curtain be drawn over this part of her character, which may be unfolded 
 on some other occasion, if after seeing herself in this glass she prove incorri- 
 gible. 
 
 (k) This alludes to her well-known practice of groping the bubbles, bellies, 
 &c. of youDg girls within her territories, when it is whispered, A Maidenhead 
 IS lOST. After close examination, if she finds the unfortunate pregnant, she 
 forces her to discover her paramour ; on whom her highness seizes (under the 
 sanction of a warrant) with as much fierceness as the eagle her prey. 
 
 (1) The chapel of Bipponden ; where when she comes to shew her hunting 
 dress, baubles, and bedlamilish attire, she stands winking in the aisle, scorning 
 to come in a pew, because she was not suffered to have her lang-settle, or old 
 form in its place, when, on rebuilding the chapel, it was seated after a beautiful 
 and uniform manner : And even attempted to force an audience of the right 
 reverend the bishop of Gloeester, to give this as a sufEcieut reason why the 
 chapel ought not to be consecrated, 
 
 (m) In this she afiects the most girlish airs ; Though her mouse-coloured 
 grizzel hair scorns to bend, or lie in ringlets, but keeps its most ancient pos- 
 ture, which is that of a sow's tail. 
 
289 
 
 and general restitution ; allow your vassals and slaves all due 
 and accustomed measures ; (n) encourage honesty, and not study 
 to pervert truth and justice; (o) heal all intestine divisions, 
 extirpate perjury, banish false witnesses ; (p) eradicate strife ; 
 cultivate peace; and let the dead sleep in their graves, (l) Thus 
 we take our leave ; expecting all due obedience to this our royal 
 and sacred mandate, at the direful peril of our tremendous 
 
 indignation ; For such our will and pleasure. 
 
 Given at our Seraglio, in our Imperial City of Ticang Chew, 
 this 14th day of the 999th moon of our happy exaltation. 
 
 Signed, HOANTUNG. 
 
 HER EPITAPH. 
 
 Eeader, stop here behold, what death can do, 
 
 He's torn the gew-gaws from queen Bess's brow ; 
 And made one Stone her majesty suffice, 
 Who living did from many Pairs arise. 
 
 (n) This our learned Mandarin confesses to be very obscure, and may have 
 several constructions ; but inclines to believe, it hints at a certain antique pot, 
 or cup, with a piece two inches deep out of its top ; having been long, and too 
 well known to poor tailors, and other labouring persons. 
 
 (o) Being ever ready and studying to torment her husband (as well as 
 others) she this year sent her emissary to the labour of her own niece, to per- 
 suade her to father her bastard child on him ; following immediately herself, 
 and finding her persuasions ineffectual, she herself first used smooth and flatter- 
 ing terms, then belched out deep imprecations to gain the point ; but finding 
 the girl resolved to father it right, she sent for the constable to force, or inti- 
 midate her to do it ; but mother midnight being a woman of sense and spirit ; 
 told him, he was out of his elements, and if he entered within her jurisdictions, 
 she would try whether his skull or the tongs were harder metal ; so he wisely 
 desisted. 
 
 (p) As an old lioness is attended by her jactaU, so her shrivelled grimness 
 has always in her train one Phoebe Dawson, or some other, who can swear the 
 truth, the whole truth, and more. 
 
 (q) She charged her husband with being false to her bed before marriage ; 
 and would needs have a young woman taken out of her grave, who had been 
 buried upwards of three months ; pretending a suspicion she was with child 
 by him ; and actually got the coroner and jury to the place for this purpose : 
 But m this she was prudently over-ruled. 
 00 
 
S90 
 
 TO Mr. DANIEL WRIGHT, 
 
 MERCHANT, MANCHESTER. 
 
 Kebroyd, Jan. 5, 1753. 
 Dear friend Dan. 
 
 I felt several strong motions in the inner 
 man, that prompted me to write to you about the time I com- 
 menced Yorkshire-man ; but one ill-contrived thing, or another, 
 kept my pen and paper at a distance : but now thank Jupiter 
 and my friends, I'm upon the eve of being John, Duke of 
 Milnrow again ; for my rib with my bag and baggage, are gone 
 over the hills into merry Lancashire again, and twelve team of 
 
 d Is shall not bring them hither again, if it be in the power 
 
 of Timothy to stop them. I intend to follow in a few days ; 
 and now having that son of a wh — e old Time by the forelock, 
 I'll stick to the flying rascal till I finish this epistle. 
 
 I make no doubt, but you, and many more of my well-wishers, 
 would wonder what evil genius prompted me to change my 
 way of life : and from being a little monarch, transform myself 
 
 into a kind of a slave Indeed, I did not expect to find the 
 
 merchants, and tradesmen in this country to be so generally 
 addicted to tyranny ; or they could hold all the noses of the 
 under workmen so devilish close to the grindlestone as I find 
 they do ; and which would be an impossibility to do by the 
 Lancashire men. Neither did I expect to find so close con- 
 finement : but so it has happened. 
 
 However I do not repent in the least of my Yorkshire expe- 
 dition : for though I believe I lost 30 pounds of beef in seven 
 months time, yet I never liv'd better in my life. Besides, I 
 have seen a fresh scene of life which has brought me to my 
 senses : and I verily believe (must I have done every thing my 
 own way) I should have left my bones in this country of slavery, 
 had I not conceived a strong suspicion that the family where I 
 live had formed a conspiracy against me, to make me rich : 
 
991 
 
 which you know will no more agree with my constitutional 
 notions, than a snow-ball in a hot oven. For by the by, had 
 you taken the pains to have paid me a visit here 'twas ten 
 pounds to a groat jannock I had not had time to have spent one 
 
 penny with you Pray is not this saving of money, 
 
 the high-road to riches ? Nay, to Plutus, the sooty God of 
 
 Hell ? Curse on the very term, (riches) I am almost sick when I 
 hear two sixpences jingle together ; and ready to swoon at the 
 
 sight of a guinea . Believe me dear Dan, my late 
 
 masters should not make me sole heir of all their wealth, if they 
 entailed on them (only for 7 years) the various incumbrances ; 
 restless fears, suspicious doubts, and watchful anxieties which I 
 see attend them. For if a foot but stirs, one or other starts up, 
 and cries out. What's that ? Who's there ? What do you want ? 
 or such like. One windy night in particular my two masters 
 and old mistress were frightened in a strange manner, by a 
 great, but unequal knocking ; and all the servants were rouz'd 
 in a crack. I who never dream of thieves appeared amongst the 
 rest. They star'd, and trembled as if each one had got into the 
 middle of an ague-fit : and thought that the muckle devil at the 
 head of two or three of his cloven-footed squadrons was coming 
 to fetch them. A sword, and a pistol or two were taken down 
 by which I perceived my error, and found that the idea of thieves 
 had raised this hubbub. So taking a candle from one of the 
 servants I went towards the chamber from whence the noise 
 seem'd to proceed, and soon found the murdering thieves, or 
 infernal spirits to be nothing else but a fire-board that was loose 
 and blown too and fro by the wind. 
 
 By what I have seen here, I have seen enough to satisfy me 
 that he who has a bare competency, and can sleep soundly all 
 night with his door open, and never fear thieves is the only 
 happy man ; and goes through life with the easiest burden. 
 Such happy days and nights have I seen at my old habitation 
 in Lancashire, and hope to see again ; where, if you'll come see 
 
393 
 
 me, your old favourite repast, mull'd ale, and toast shall be at 
 your service. 
 
 I have not had time to write to Bro. Hulm in all my captivity ; 
 but pray, recommend me to him, and family ; and tell the true 
 church of England-man that I've found out the philosopher's 
 stone in Yorkshire ; which was all I went for : and that job 
 being over sooner than I expected, I'm on the point of returning 
 to my sovereignty at Milnrow again; and ask him, if I am not 
 well off, that Providence and my good friends Messrs. Townleys, 
 have not dispos'd of, or demolished the old harbour whilst the 
 ship has been blown into the offing ; but suffer 'd my toss'd and 
 almost foundered vessel to moor safely in it again ? 
 
 Tell the old hatter also, that I've spoil'd my best hat with 
 taking it oif so often, sticking it under my arm, and making 
 bows and cringes to a parcel of potent piece-makers. That my 
 neck is grown crook'd, my chin being turn'd on my left shoul- 
 der, with practising the same obsequious humility. That my 
 nose has grown an inch in height and length since I saw him ; 
 and is so thin and transparent that my wife the other day 
 wanted it to repair an old lantern. That I can carry a couple 
 of large quartos in the breast of that coat, which I could scarce 
 button seven months ago : and that this morning I blew three 
 times at a candle, but could not blow it out, which vexed me 
 to that degree that I fetched the bellows, with which the blaze 
 was sent packing at the second puff. 
 
 I have no news from this busy turmoiling country, except 
 that a few days ago, all sorts of men, women, and children for 
 three miles round us found themselves purblind on their getting 
 up in the morning, though not one of them ail'd any thing the 
 evening before; which short-sightedness continued for four 
 days : so that at noontide no person could see an object at three 
 roods distance, though it was as large as a pack of wool. 
 
 I was talking of this phenomenon with one Whitworth the 
 only philosopher in this country, who assured me it was very 
 
293 
 
 common about this time of the year ; and that he has known 
 
 the same epidemical blindness continue for five weeks together. 
 
 Pray send me word how my friends the booksellers in 
 
 Manchester do, especially Messrs. Higginson, Newton, and 
 
 Whitworth ; and tell them I hope to see them in a few weeks. 
 
 Seasonable compliments to you and friends, and though I turn 'd 
 
 Yorkshireman a few months, I hope you'll not think me altered 
 
 from being 
 
 Dear Dan, 
 
 Your affectionate friend, &c. 
 
 T. BOB. 
 
 PRICKS HA W- WITCH 
 
 BLOWN UP, 
 
 0v t\)t Conjurer outtonjureU. 
 
 TO T. P. Esq. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 It was a little before the last Easter that a mixture of 
 malice and envy between a brace of booksellers, produced two 
 auctions at the same time in Rochdale ; where one of the even- 
 ings, I, with other bookish fellows of my acquaintance, resolved 
 to stay for a little refreshment after the sale was over. 
 
 It happened that among others, there drew in his chair, an 
 ancient man with one eye, a slouched hat, and very meagre 
 countenance. Some of the company (as usual) on coming out 
 of the auction room, complained of the coldness of the weather. 
 Single-peeper answered, Cowd it is, an ittle naw awter theese six 
 days. I asked him how he could tell that ? Ho, weel enough 
 (said he) bccose ot moon's oth' cusp oth' third heawse to neet at ten 
 o'clock. Humph, said I, you understand astrology, I perceive. 
 Eigh, (replied blinkard) I've studit it e'er sin ir fifteen yer owd. 
 
S04 
 
 Why then you can calculate nativities, tell fortunes, and find 
 lost or stolen goods ? Eigh, eigh, (said he) I've i^fO'Ctis'd thoose 
 things oboon forty yer, an winiiaw turn mey hack o nobody. 
 
 I seeing his self-sufficiency, and that he was a kind of 
 mungrel between fool and knave, stared at him with open 
 mouth, as in great surprise and admiration. Ah Lord ! (said I) 
 I've often heard of such folk, but never saw any before : 
 Why, then you're a sort of conjurer ? Here he smiled, and 
 answered, Eigh, I'm oft caw'd so ; and sometimes PricJcshaw-witch. 
 
 Prickshaw-witch ! Good Lord bless us ! said I, trembling 
 
 I've a little girl of about six months old, whose fortune I would 
 gladly know, but for the sin of applying to such persons about 
 it. Sin ! now, now, its no sin at aw ; its naw like logic, or th' black 
 art, but as harmless as any art ith ward. Very well, (quoth I) if 
 it be so, what must I give you to calculate my girl's nativity ? 
 Ho — I con doot at ony price, between one shilling and twenty. Nay, 
 if that be the case, I'll have the best, though it cost me five 
 pounds. 
 
 Thus the bargain was made, and I was to meet him the 
 Tuesday following, and the party that did not appear was to forfeit 
 a dozen of ale. Then after a short fit of studying and staring 
 on the ground, he requested that what I would have known, 
 concerning my daughter, might be given him in writing; and 
 in particular, the exact time of her birth ; and being a little 
 on the slack-rope, I resolved to humour him, and immediately 
 trumped up the following rhymes : 
 
 OoiOBEB th' tenth my girl was bom, 
 
 Ten minutes after four i'th' mom ; 
 
 Brown hair, and eyea of fair complexion 
 
 And all her limbs of good connexion. 
 
 I want to know her term of life ? 
 
 If competency, without strife ? 
 
 Her husband, whether good or bad? 
 
 Her first child, whether lass or lad? 
 
 These things are wanted to be known, 
 
 And you'll be paid whene'er they're shown. 
 
996 
 
 I gave him the paper, and, after perusing it, he said, I con mey 
 rhymes, bo naw thus fast. So after a while the shot was paid, 
 and we parted. 
 
 When the day of our meeting was come, I had forgot my 
 engagement, and consequently neglected to meet the Conjurer. 
 So the Friday following he came to my house, (when I happen- 
 ed to be in Yorkshire) and without knocking, or speaking one 
 word, bursts open the door, runs to my wife, takes the child out 
 of her arms, and at the window examines its eyes, hair, &c. the 
 better to peep into futurity. So that my wife, who knew 
 nothing of the matter, took him for a madman. Then he 
 asked her for pen, ink, and paper, and left me some worse than 
 namby-pamby rhymes of the little child, and a strict order to 
 meet him on the Tuesday following, otherwise it would be to 
 my cost, i.e. he would all-to-be-conjure me. This so raised my 
 spirits, that it put me on contriving a way to be revenged on 
 him, and fired me with a resolution to meet him, whoever paid 
 the piper. 
 
 Accordingly, I went to Rochdale a day before the time ap- 
 pointed, to find a proper room, and a partner or two, to assist 
 me in the plot, which I had laid to countermine this modern 
 Faustus. 
 
 Having met with a ground room, and a couple of comrades 
 to my mind, I bought a pound of gunpowder, and tried how 
 much would blow up a chair, the better to guess what quantity 
 would lift a conjurer. Then we took up a piece of board from 
 the chamber floor, and under the hole placed a shelf, where a 
 large quantity of well mixed t — d and p — ss might stand, to 
 be poured on his head, just when the gunpowder took fire, to 
 prevent his burning: and spent the evening merrily enough, 
 in hopes of paying old Merlin well for his study and pains the 
 day following. 
 
 The time being come, my worship was the first that appeared 
 at the place of rendezvous. I found the landlord had discov- 
 
396 
 
 ered the whole plot to his wife, and that she would not allow 
 of the stinking compound, (because the tragi-eomedy was to be 
 acted in her bed-room) but as much water as we pleased. So 
 I was forced to be content with a double quantity of water, 
 which was placed on the shelf over the Conjurer's chair, 
 and the powder under it ; with a train running from thence to 
 the fire end where I placed a man as if drunk and asleep, with 
 a stick in his hand, ready to put fire to the train ; and the 
 landlord above, as ready to empty the pail on his head when 
 he saw the gunpowder take fire ; the word of command being 
 the wonderful Art of Astrology ! 
 
 All things being ready I sat about an hour very impatiently 
 and began to suspect the Conjurer had smelt a rat; when to 
 my great satisfaction, old Faustus appeared. I rose up with joy 
 in my face, asked his pardon for not meeting him as before 
 appointed, and led him into the room. 
 
 As I had ordered all the chairs out of the room but two, I, 
 sans ceremonie, sat down in one, and the other of consequence 
 fell to the Conjurer's share, with a table betwixt us. Then I 
 enquired if he had fulfilled my desire about my daughter's 
 nativity? He answered in the affirmative, and immediately 
 produced a paper-book of sixteen pages, closely written, con- 
 taining the passages of my girl's future life, a table of the 
 twelve houses, and a speculum tolerably drawn. I took hold 
 of it with as much seeming veneration as if it had been a 
 Sibyllian oracle, and began to peruse it ; sometimes stopping, 
 as though I was overwhelmed with thought, and deep admira- 
 tion ; and sometimes groaning in the spirit, like a full-blown 
 quaker, which I saw tickled the Conjurer's vanity, and made 
 him expect to be doubly paid for his profound ingenuity. 
 
 After I had perused about one half of it, I rose up, and with 
 the book in my hand, walked soberly towards the door (having 
 a particular antipathy to gunpowder) and cried out, the 
 wonderful, dc. at which the sleepy man tickled the train, and run 
 
out, which immediately fired the grand magazine ; this was met 
 in the nick of time by the water which I heard, but neither 
 could see that nor the Conjurer; all the rooms in the house 
 being full of smoke in a moment. 
 
 When old Sydrophel came out of the compound cloud of fire, 
 smoke, and water, he found me in the passage with my wig and 
 hat on the floor, as if frightened out of my wits, and in a violent 
 passion ; I pretended to strike him with my hazel stick, but hit 
 the wall ; gave him a curse or two for putting his conjura- 
 tion tricks upon me, and then made off with the old Itnave's 
 notes, and left him the shot to pay. We all met in an appointed 
 room, where I'll leave you to guess, sir, at our mirth, that the 
 plot had met with the desired success. 
 
 After a while I enquired of the landlady what was become of 
 the fortune-teller ? She answered. He walked half a dozen times 
 across the floor, brushing his coat, and then asked for me ? She 
 answered, that I went off in a great passion, but had not seen 
 me since : Well, (said he) bo if he kneio aw, he'd be nieety woade ot 
 teyn abus'd me o thiss'n : and then was for marching off. Hold, 
 hold, says the landlady, as you have frightened all my guests 
 away, I'm resolved you shall pay the shot. Od, but that's hard 
 too-too ; bo I neer deawt Mr. Collier — 'II pay tW shot. I'll neither 
 trust Collier, tinker, nor cobbler ; pay me for my ale. So he 
 was obliged to satisfy her, and after a few hums and haughs he 
 budg'd his way. 
 
 Since that time I neither saw nor heard from him, before the 
 last Friday, when I received the following letter : 
 
 Sir; 
 
 This comes to acquaint you, that if you do not pay me for the 
 calculating your daughters nativity, I will make use of the law to get it, and 
 then you may expect to pay dear for your pastime ; for I do not find that ever 
 you iutend to pay me, for you have had time sufficient to pay me already the 
 small sum of five shillings. 
 
 Note — If you neglect to pay me, I wUl send the catchpoles ia a few days : 
 all from 
 
 Smalhhaw, die Your abused servant, 
 
 Nov. 15, 1752. GEO. OLEGG. 
 
 r p 
 
298 
 
 The day folio-wing the receipt of the above, a whim came into 
 my head to answer it in rhyme, directed. 
 
 To Mr. George Clegg, Conjurer-General-would-be, of the County 
 Palatine of Lancaster, at his nocturnal study at Smallshaw. 
 
 Prom you, George Clegg, or FricJcsJiam-viitoh, 
 
 Or Doctor Faustm, choose you which; 
 
 It matters not : but IVe a note 
 
 By one of you three lately wrote, 
 
 Which intimates that 'tis a crime 
 
 With conjurers to pass the time. 
 Besides, it makes this queer demand. 
 
 That I must pay into your hand 
 
 A crown of English money straight, 
 
 Or catchpoles soon must on me wait. 
 But hold friend George, not quite so fiist, 
 
 Xou'll go as far with lesser haste j 
 
 I promis'd payment, that is certain, 
 
 If you would tell my daughter's fortune ; 
 But that 'tis done, I flat deny. 
 
 Since one half gives the rest the lie 
 Nor was it sterling coin I meant. 
 
 That being far from my intent. 
 But such as you received have. 
 And should be paid to every knave. 
 Who roguishly would thus dispense 
 With reason, and all common sense. 
 
 And whilst their own they do not know 
 
 Pretend another's fate to shew; 
 Which was the case, or I'm deceiv'd. 
 When you 'twist fire and water Uv'd. 
 
 Again, consider, is't not hard. 
 After my wig and clothes were marr'd 
 With fire and smoke, then as you conjur'd, 
 That I must pay for being injur'd. 
 Nay, rather, you desei-ve a drub. 
 For raising up old BeUehui, 
 Who every one did almost choke 
 With stinking brimstone, fire, and smoke ; 
 Which threw us into such a fright. 
 Two p — ss'd, and three or four did sh — e. 
 
299 
 
 But now, good Faustus, tell me true, 
 How comes five shillings thus your due ? 
 Was it for coming to my dwelling, 
 To cheat me with your fortune-telling ? 
 As you've done many honest spouses, 
 By selling them your starry-houses, 
 Tour oppositions, quartiles, trines. 
 Your fiery and aquatic signs ; 
 Your speculums, and nodes i'th' skies, 
 Cusps, aspects, and ten thousand Ues. 
 And dont you in your conscience think. 
 Instead of fingering my chink, 
 That you deserve in high degree. 
 To mount on Bochdale's pillory? 
 Which is the only place that cools 
 The heat of astrologic fools ; 
 And turns sometimes a cheat like you, 
 Into a liege-man, good and true ; 
 But now, because I've shewn you mercy, 
 You fall upon me arsy-versy! 
 
 No, no, good Faustus, 'twill not do. 
 My teeth as soon as coin for you : 
 And hope that this my flat denial, 
 Will quickly bring it to a trial ; 
 When I don't doubt to make you pay 
 For all your rogu'ries in this way ; 
 A cat with nine-tails, wooden stocks, 
 And pillories, are for such folks ; 
 And sure there are some laws i'th' nation 
 In force against your conjuration; 
 Or, what deserves more ample scourging. 
 Your cheating folks, with lies and forging. 
 
 So if you squeak but in the gizzard. 
 
 You're try'd by th' name of PnchsTiavj-Wizzard. 
 
 From your affl-outed Master, 
 
 Pilgarlic the Great. 
 
 This, sir, is the truth of the story, to the date hereof; and 
 should he play the madman to that degree as to make a quarter- 
 sessions job of it, I hope you will take it in a favourable light, 
 and stand my friend : But I rather think he intends the common 
 
300 
 
 law, as I hear of a certainty that he has been at an attorney of 
 my acquaintance, who had sense enough to laugh at his simpli- 
 city, and honesty enough to decline being employed against me 
 in this case. What the issue will be I know not ; but if the 
 Bedlamite be as determined to sue as I am to defend, there will 
 be smoking between the Conjurer and 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most, &c. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 TO Mb. T. MARRIOTT, 
 
 EOOHDALE. 
 
 Chester, April 13, 1755. 
 Deae Sie, 
 
 I had yours of the 6th inst. with one enclosed 
 for my wife, and duly observe their contents. I am sorry the 
 box of heads is not arrived at Newcastle, and the bill is 
 returned ; but such disappointments will happen, and the best 
 remedy I know of, is patience. 
 
 I have a little material news from this city, only I cannot 
 recommend it as a good hanging-place to my Lancashire friends ; 
 nor do I wish any of them tried by a Cheshire jury. For 
 this assize they have actually condemned, and executed a young 
 woman for murdering her bastard child, who all think innocent ; 
 and spared the rogue who was father, and believed to be its 
 murderer. He had the cunning to hinder her from confessing 
 any thing to his prejudice till after her condemnation (when it 
 was too late) by assuring her he both could, and would, take 
 care of her acquittal : but he deceived her in this ; and mere 
 curiosity led me to see her executed on Friday last. This work 
 they appear vile blockheads at; for they punished the poor 
 creature above an hour before they could dispatch her ; the rope 
 being so thick and burley it would not bend to the work : so 
 
301 
 
 the sheriff was obliged to send into the city for another. This 
 was a piece of blockish cruelty, and heartily vexed thousands of 
 spectators. Her name was Sarah Dean, aged about twenty ; 
 born at Middlewich ; went servant to a baker in Congleton ; who 
 (though married) got her with child, and acted the midwife's 
 part in the bog-house, and took it from her, but she never knew 
 what he did with it, till after a great rain it was found in a small 
 brook below the said bog-house, where all suppose he buried it. 
 This she confessed after she was condemned but persever'd in 
 her innocency (as to the murder) to the last. 
 
 I paint sometimes at Mr. Brown's, a coach-maker, here ; who 
 employs several workmen in that business. These shreds of 
 the old Britons, I look on, as the oddest set of mortals living. 
 It happened the other day I fell into discourse with a couple of 
 them, and we happened to jump on the subject of old and won- 
 derful things. 
 
 One of them turned quick on his heel and swore by Cots-plut 
 that there were more wonderful things in hur country than in 
 any country in the world : and as a proof asserted, it was a 
 known truth that in a certain place in Wales there is at this 
 time a whole army under ground, all fast asleep ; and that they 
 had slept there above a thousand years ; without any decay of 
 their persons, arms, or clothes ; or so much as a mouldy shoe. 
 I asked him the name of the place and county where this 
 drowsy army slept ? When they would end their nap ? What 
 was the name of their commander ? In what year or King's 
 name did they begin to sleep ? and why they slept under rather 
 than above ground ? But shoney could not answer any of these 
 things. However they both affirmed it to be true, as sure as 
 they were above ground, and in Chester. 
 
 The second taffee asserted there was another army driven into 
 the sea a great many hundred years ago (this mentioned the 
 place, but I cannot spell it) and as far as I could gather from 
 him by the Eomans : yet not one of this second army was 
 
303 
 
 drowned, though they are all there still ; and are frequently seen 
 
 quivering their swords ahove water (as who should say, come if 
 
 you dare) and shouting as the old Britons were used to do, at 
 
 the beginning of a battle. I shook my head, and told him, that 
 
 this running into the water looked more like cowardice than 
 
 courage : and that their only old author Gildas confirms their 
 
 faint-heartedness. For their ancestors could not, after the 
 
 Eomans had left them, defend themselves against the Picts and 
 
 Scots, who drove them into the sea, and the sea forced them 
 
 back again on their enemies swords : but that I had never 
 
 heard that they actually run into the sea, and stayed there 
 
 till now. Pe Cots-plut, put tis true do — , for hur has seen dem vid 
 
 her nown een, an heeard dem vid hur nown ear den ; put twas valiant, 
 
 and no coward at all — ; Finding this welch blood on a ferment 
 
 I thought proper to drop the dispute, purely to prevent the 
 
 effusion of christian blood, or if you please to prevent a battle 
 
 between two faithful Britons, and an unbelieving Saxon. 
 
 These may serve as a specimen of the wonders in Wales and 
 
 of the strong faith they retain for their old traditions ; which 
 
 are so extravagantly distant from common sense, that nothing 
 
 but the monstrous faith of a bigotted Welchman could swallow 
 
 them. However think as you please so as you believe me, 
 
 dear sir, 
 
 Your's &c. 
 
 J. C. 
 
 TO MR. ROBERT WHITTAKER. 
 
 Eochdale, Nov. 1755. 
 Sth, 
 
 Pebceiving that a Dutch spirit of gain, and the modern 
 court-notion that places were made for men, and not men for 
 places, has slipped down from the great metropolis into this 
 parish ; and believing that I have as much reason to be rich 
 without deserving it, and to get money without working for it. 
 
303 
 
 as any other in the neighbourhood : Revolving these things in 
 my mind, and considering the utility of them, I have deter- 
 mined to offer myself as a third candidate for the place of organist 
 at our church ; and as you live at the court-end of the parish, 
 where your interest and acquaintance are pretty extensive, I 
 desire you will acquaint your, and my friends, without loss of 
 time, with this my intention. In the mean time I will improve 
 myself in the art of music ; for you know I have a pair of rusty 
 old virginals in a corner of the school, which have about eight 
 strings left out of forty-five, on which I will begin to learn those 
 godly tunes of Hackney, Coleshill, and the Babes in the Wood, 
 &c. with all possible assiduity. 
 
 This place in my opinion was certainly made for me, and 
 nobody else ; though I must own nature never intended me for 
 a musician, yet that is little to the purpose for you know our 
 Msopian sexton has his deputy, and why may not I ? Besides, 
 Sundays and other holidays will never interfere with A, B, C ; 
 or, if you please, with my haberdashing of vowels and consonants ! 
 and five pounds a quarter would not hurt me. 
 
 As soon as you have felt the pulse of our friends, either separ- 
 ately, or in a full meeting, let me know the result: If the 
 conclusion be that I should stand, I will immediately write a few 
 advertisements in print hand, importing : 
 
 " That as I am undoubtedly the worst player of the three (for 
 which reason I stand the best chance) I desire all justices of the 
 peace, gentlemen, tradesmen, weavers, hatters, tailors, cobblers, 
 tinkers, and colliers, to give me their votes and interest, in pro- 
 curing me the snug convenience of twenty pounds a year: 
 That I will not only keep and indemnify the parish from all 
 charges of repairing the organ, but free it from all hoarseness, 
 disagreeable whizzings, colds, phthisics, and consumptions what- 
 ever. And as our late organists have pretended to be organ- 
 builders, and as it is strongly surmised, that whenever their 
 wooden skill failed them in making any pipe, that then pure 
 
304 
 
 necessity forced them to filch, oi- cull out of its belly, such as 
 they -wanted ; by which means it has often been troubled with 
 the hiatus, or windy cholic, and twice nearly gutted : 
 
 " Now, Be it known unto all men, by this advertisement, that I 
 can bring indubitable evidence, that I am no organ-builder ; 
 notwithstanding I will oblige myself not only to preserve its 
 present state of body, but add yearly and every year, (during the 
 receipt of the salary) seven pipes [Chester make) till its constitu- 
 tion be as sound as a hunting-horn, and its guts as full as any 
 fat landlady's in the parish. And as to the bellows, I have just 
 now contrived a way to make them puff and blow of themselves 
 as easily and naturally as a phthisical pair of lungs in going up 
 the church steps in a frosty morning." So much for my adver- 
 tisement. 
 
 These proposals of mine, I presume, you will think very • 
 advantageous to our parish, and I hope others will think so too ; 
 for which reason I do not in the least doubt but they will be 
 most eagerly embraced, especially by our little monarchs, who 
 rule all with a high hand, nay even with a stroke down the face, 
 a nod, or a look ; and always are thrifty, in proportion to the 
 smallness of their families, and largeness of their bags and 
 estates. However, I propose no more than shall be duly and 
 honestly performed, by 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most, &c. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 TO Mr. EUDD, 
 
 NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE. 
 
 Nov. 15, 17S5. 
 
 SiH, 
 
 I send you enclosed for your approbation the draughts, 
 or designs of seven heads — . No. 7 is a squaddie chub-faced 
 mortal, which Mr. Thomas Scholes and I propose for the 
 
305 
 
 drawer, to be placed on the first landing of the stairs ; he has a 
 towel under his arm, and the index-finger shewing the guests to 
 the rooms above. This piece ought to be painted on half inch 
 plane-tree boards and cut out agreeable to the out-lines, as deal 
 will be too tender for such work. It ought to be at full length, 
 with shoes, buckles, &c. It would make an excellent figure, but 
 I could not afford it under two guineas, if as large as life. I 
 could pack such a piece without its breaking in the carriage, 
 with proper directions to the carrier. 
 
 No. 3 and 6 should be placed so, as if they were making game 
 on such as are going up stairs : the other 4 place as fancy 
 directs, or as will be most agreeable with the light. 
 
 If the 6 be painted only as far as the red line goes in No. 1 , 
 they will only be 8s per head : if as far as I have drawn them 5 
 shillings. 
 
 If they happen to please you, send them back in a frank ; if 
 you would have them altered send word how, and which of them. 
 
 They are all originals never yet painted, but purely designed 
 for you : pray be careful of them, I value them at 7 shillings, 
 let me hear from you as soon as possible. Mr. Scholes and I, 
 desire our compliments to you and Mrs. Eudd. 
 
 I am Sir, &c. 
 
 TO Me. R. W R. 
 
 November 28, 1757. 
 Deak Sir, 
 
 I am obliged to you for a peep at your friend Mr. 
 Heape's ingenious letter. When you write, please to return 
 him my compliments, and thanks for his kind remembrance of 
 me ; and hint it to him, that I do not think our country exposed 
 at all by my view of the Lancashire Dialect : but think it com- 
 mendable, rather than a defect, that Lancashire in general and 
 Eossendale in particular retain so much of the speech of their 
 ancestors. For why should tlie people of Saxony, and the 
 Silesians be commended for speaking the Teutonic, or old 
 QQ 
 
300 
 
 German ; and the Welch be so proud (and by many authors 
 commended too) for retaining so much of their old British; 
 and we in these parts laughed at for adhering to the speech of 
 our ancestors ? for my part I do not see any reason for it, but 
 think it praise- worthy : and am always well pleased when I think 
 at the Eossendale man's answer, who being asked where he 
 wunned, said I wmi at th' Biggin oth' Woard, at th' Uiggin oth' 
 Woard, for th' Wetur oth' tone Yeeosing faws into th' Yeeost, on th' 
 tother into th' West Seeo. 
 
 I am with due respect, 
 
 Your most, &c. 
 
 J. C. 
 
 TO MR. H. WHITTAKER. 
 
 Nov. 16, 1759. 
 Deae Sib, 
 
 YouB brother has communicated to me your letter of 
 
 the 13th current, by which I see you have been with Mr. 
 
 Ridings. Pray my compliments to that gentleman, and tell 
 
 him I am sorry I have not the heads ready which he wants. 
 
 Neither can I paint them so soon as he may possibly expect. 
 
 For, dear sir, I hate frosty weather, and short days, as ill as a 
 
 miser hates building alms-houses, or repairing churches : for 
 
 they often run poor painters on those terrible quicksands, 
 
 pennyless pockets, and empty tankards : so that it will be 
 
 some weeks before I can complete the order you mention. 
 
 The tooth-drawer, and the two fumigators the gentleman 
 
 wants, I retain some idea of — but Mr. Syers, the carver, and 
 
 another gentleman, with the help of punch, washed all notions 
 
 of the rest away nay, the man with the blue cap, which you 
 
 mention for one, went down the stream with the rest before I 
 
 left Manchester — However I'll endeavour to please Mr. Ridings 
 
 if he will allow me time to paint a score, out of which he may 
 
 chuse : but they will require treble time, to what they would do 
 
 in the summer season. 
 
307 
 
 I have finished Mr. Barton's piece, and will send it him when 
 it will bear carrying. 
 
 If you think it worth your while you may add some of the 
 enclosed epitaphs to your former collection. They are all on 
 
 that ridiculous subject, Avarice a hobby-horse, upon which 
 
 many an old fool rides a full gallop to his grave, and from thence 
 
 to the d — 1 These rich old misers I hate as ill as a red-robbin 
 
 does a cat ; or a cat, mustard 'Tis a vice so distant from 
 
 reason and common-sense, that I make no doubt but that many 
 a covetous nunks, when he finds himself in death's clutches, his 
 sight dim ; his jaws locked ; and speech gone ; and that he must 
 part for ever, with his darling riches ; but he ardently wishes 
 within himself, that ho had lived the life of a rake ; rather than 
 
 that of a miser Yet no experience can root out this vice 
 
 nothing quench this thirst ! it attends the hungry 
 
 soul to the grave Then it gives joy to heirs and relations 
 
 but not one single tear from a friend ! I can be no 
 
 miser Nature shudders. 
 
 The hints of the short epitaphs, I met with in Camden's 
 
 Remains and turned them into rhyme The long one is of a 
 
 person just slipped into the other world ; but went thither like 
 his brethren, i. e. like a bear to a stake — Should you see this 
 epitaph in any public paper, I beg you'll not so much as hint at 
 the author, but keep it to yourself till I see you. 
 
 When I asked your brother the other day how he did ? he 
 
 answer'd I'm ill — my bottom's naught . This I thought was 
 
 an odd reply : for you know with us Lancashire folk, the bottom 
 of a man, and the principle of a man are synonymous terms. 
 
 Your broflier and I, send our compliments, and also mine to 
 all friends— ^as to my enemies, I'm greater than Frederic the 
 
 great in this point 1 fear 'em not ; neither have I so many 
 
 of 'em : be you happy and never fear, 
 
 Deae Sie, &c. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
308 
 
 TO Me. JOHN SEPHTON, 
 
 BEEWER-GENEBAL, IN LIVERPOOL. 
 
 Milnrow, Jan. 11, 1760. 
 Sir, 
 
 As most of the roast-beef, goose, and mineed-pies, 
 
 tarts and custards are devoured in my neighbourhood ; I have 
 now time to reflect on, and perform the promise I made you, of 
 sending you some Lancashire Dialects, and a few of Hoantun^'s 
 letters to the Empress of Russia. All of which (could I have 
 had my wish) should not be thrown by for two or three years on 
 some useless shelf, a corner, or hole in a garret, hid from the 
 sight of mortals, by curtains of cobwebs, but turned into cash 
 in a few months, to be ready against the next time I come to 
 Liverpool. In short, vouchsafe to think on these two lines. 
 Some write for pleasure, some for spite, 
 But want of money makes me write. 
 Which, though they are but heathen rhymes, are as true as the 
 gospel. But now I think on it, I ought to ask pardon for this 
 useless hint to one whose good-nature has been so conspicuous 
 in this way ; for in the few days I was with you in Liverpool, I 
 sold fifty-two Bandyhewits, for which I thank you, Mr. Eyes, 
 and a few more of my friends. 
 
 When I reflect on, and compare the humours I observed in 
 your populous town, with a few others I have lately been in ; I 
 cannot but think, that all cities and towns are subject to youth 
 and old age, have their constitutions, dispositions, beauties, 
 failings, whims, and fancies, like us two-legged mortals; for 
 instance ; 
 
 The city of Yoek seems to think as well of itself as a true- 
 born Welchman ; or, if you please, the House of Austria ; (who 
 each of them can deduce their origins from the time of Nunia 
 PompiliusJ and at present walks like a plain drest nobleman of 
 a royal house, and very extensive revenues ; who lives splen- 
 didly, and in affluence, without desiring to increase, or so 
 imprudent as to diminish his paternal estate. 
 
309 
 
 Leeds is a cunning, but wealthy, thriving farmer. — Its mer- 
 chants hunt worldly wealth, as eagerly as dogs pursue the hare ; 
 they have, in general, the pride and haughtiness of Spanish 
 dons, mixed with the meanness of Dutch spirits ; the strong 
 desire they have of yellow dirt, transforms them into galley- 
 slaves, and their servants are doubly so : the first being fastened 
 with golden, but the latter with iron chains. 
 
 Halifax is a mongrel, begot by a Leeds merchant and a Lan- 
 cashire woman, and nursed by a Butch frow. They are eager in 
 pursuing gain, but not so assiduous as to forget pleasure : And 
 every day at noon think it no scandal to lay aside business to 
 eat beef and pudding. 
 
 EocHDALB is like a growing haberdasher, or master hatter, 
 black and greasy with getting a little pelf : Whose inhabitants 
 (like Leeds and Halifax) are great lovers of wool and butter; 
 not immediately to eat, but to fatten them in prospect. They 
 do not study to oppress their dependents, as knowing it to be 
 impossible ; for their servants sometimes work hard, drink hard, 
 and (being resolved to be independent) play when they please. 
 
 Makchestee is like a — a — I do not know what : hold ; 
 
 why, it is like a lucky London merchant, who by the 
 
 assiduous care and pains of himself, and his servants round 
 him, has made his fortune, purchased a large estate in the 
 country, keeps his coach and six, enjoys more affluence, ease and 
 pleasure, than ever his forefathers dreamed of; .which is demon- 
 strated by his healthful constitution, his prominent belly, his 
 rosy cheeks, and blooming countenance ; and has ambition 
 enough to aim at being the monarch (and perhaps deservedly) 
 of the whole county. But as your town and Manchester appear 
 to me to be as like one another as two King George halfpennies, 
 or a Wa — Ip — e and a Pii — It — y ; and as one cap will fit both 
 their heads, I will refer its further character till I come to your 
 favourite town Liverpool. 
 
 Wakeington, within these thirty years, is grown a busy 
 tradesman : who by a lucky hit or two, in tow and copper, has 
 
310 
 
 got new life and vigour, and with an equal quantity of hope and 
 resolution, dreams of being a great man. 
 
 Chestee seems to resemble an ancient lord, of an old, but 
 mongrel descent ; got between a naked Briton and an encroach- 
 ing Sasson (or Saxon) ; has so much of the antique blood in his 
 veins, that he is resolved his servants shall still be one third 
 Welch, and two thirds English. He is proud of, and boasts his 
 pedigree from the old Aborogines. Lives in great magnificence ; 
 scorns to make any alterations, or additions, to his great-grand- 
 father's leather breeches, his trusty armour, or his old mansion- 
 house ; but is quite content with the old fashions, and his large 
 and ancient patrimony. 
 
 As for LivEEPooL, I am at a loss for an hieroglyphic, or a 
 
 comparison for it : Hold, let me consider ho, it is like a 
 
 healthful bee-hive, in a hot summer's day, where all the commu- 
 nity (except a few humming drones) mind each their proper 
 
 business. No this will not do ; for bees fly from bitter 
 
 ale, and the fumes of tobacco. Then it is like a broad-arsed 
 mynheer, who by bartering, buying, and selling, is resolved to 
 get money in this world, though he goes plump to the bottom of 
 
 the sea, or even to the devil for it when he dies. No this last 
 
 part does not tally neither. Well, then, it is like a gamester, 
 
 who is resolved to be a knight or a knitter of caps : This is the 
 best draught of the three, but a little unlike the original still. 
 But now, I own, I am quite gravelled, and am forced to be a 
 little serious ; for Liverpool, and its twin-brother, Manchester, are 
 certainly agreeable, merry, and brisk towns. The people in 
 general, appear to be actuated by sensible, generous, and good- 
 natured spirits : Yet for all this, I could as well live in mount 
 Stromhulo, when in a fit of the ague, or in a passion, as in such 
 slow-movings of clouds of tobacco-smoke, as are puffed out in 
 the public rooms in Liverpool and Manchester. 
 
 Two day's ago I put on my old black coat, which I lately 
 wore with you eight or ten days, but I soon whipt it off again. 
 
311 
 
 for it is more strongly fumigated, and stinks worse than an over- 
 smoked red herring; and I believe I must either send it to the 
 fulling-mill (as our country folks do p — ssed and sh — n blankets) 
 or pickle it a few months in mint and lavender water, before it 
 will be in any tolerable season. But though it is so disagree- 
 able to me, yet smoke to a true Liverpolian seems a fifth element, 
 and that he could no more live out of it, than a frog out of 
 ditch-water in a warm April. 
 
 By the time you have got thus far, it is very probable you will 
 think two things ; first, That this epistle is too prolix ; and that 
 I write like nobody else. I plead guilty to both indictments : 
 and to prevent you thinking me incorrigible, I conclude, with 
 
 assuring you, 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 TO T. P. Esq. 
 
 WITH Howell's lettebs. 
 Sib, 
 
 I here send you Howell's Letters, which I intended to 
 have sent the last week; but being in the middle of their 
 perusal, and otherwise busy, I could not get through them 
 before to day. 
 
 You will find in this author some useful anecdotes, a great 
 number of obsolete words, and many mistakes in the ortho- 
 graphy, which I think may be fairly divided between the author 
 and the printer. 
 
 Were there no date to any of his letters, or any other hint 
 touching the times in which he lived ; his style, his whims, and 
 notions, would tell you he lived in that most wise and learned 
 reign of our Scotch Solomon, that famous and puissant witch- 
 monger. 
 
 Hoa-elVs Philosophy seems to be in its infancy ; his flattery at 
 full growth. His faith was Herculean, like most of his contem- 
 poraries. He thought those old boys, the primitive fathers. 
 
312 
 
 saints. Their writings he took (as the lay-pagans did oracles) 
 for infallible : Though at the same time he knew that they con- 
 tradicted, anathematized and sent one another to the devil, 
 almost as commonly as we country folks do penance for getting 
 bastards. He never disputed the cure of wounds by sympathy, 
 or weapon salve, though the patient and salve were a hundred 
 miles distant. 
 
 Witches and desmons, he thought, were as common as old 
 women and crows (especially in Scotland.) He made no baulks 
 at believing the stories and prophecies of the ten sibyls ; though 
 a genius of small penetration might see they were the off-spring 
 of over-zealous christians ; written on purpose to knock down 
 heathenism, and prop Christianity, that stood in no need of such 
 ridiculous crutches. Nay, the throat of his Welch faith was 
 wide enough to swallow the eleven thousand virgins. 
 
 All these, and many more such boyish trumpery, were the 
 dreams of our primitive fathers, and the monks, their heirs and 
 successors : and vanished, in a great measure, v?ith that most 
 high, and mightily-conceited James the First. But let me 
 quote this Welch-man Howell for once ; for he often tells his 
 friends, to whom he writes, " That talking of these things to 
 you, is like Phormio's talking of the art of war to Alexander." 
 
 There is nothing you want, that I know of, but health ; this 
 I wish you sincerely, being 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most, &c. 
 
 J. C. 
 
 TO MONS^. DELACOUR, 
 
 PAINTEE, EDINBUEGH. 
 
 Milnrow, Jan. 13, 1760. 
 Dbab Sir, 
 
 'Tis now above four years since I had the pleasure 
 
 of seeing you at Chester : and though my friend Mr. Bowcock 
 
 has hinted to me several times that a line from me would be 
 
313 
 
 very agreeable to you ; yet I have delayed it till this day, vrhen 
 the keen frost stiffens both my paint and pencils, but by the 
 help of a good fire leaves the pen at liberty. 
 
 What sort of weather you have at Edinburgh I know not ; 
 but it certainly must be very keen, being near two hundred 
 miles, north from the place where I sit ; and 'tis so cold and 
 freezes so hard that I have not touched a pencil for this month 
 past. 
 
 We have had one Pickering a portrait painter (I thinlc a 
 pupil of Vandermijn) at Halifax, Eochdale, and Manchester, 
 who paints tolerably well. Mr. Astley (to whom Mr. Bowcock 
 shotild have been a pupil) from London, has been some time at 
 Chester and the adjacent towns. Eeport says he is a very 
 handsome and polite gentleman, of about £200 a year — he 
 dresses gay, keeps his chariot and livery-man : and will not 
 touch the canvass under eight guineas a head. I saw a head 
 of his painting in Manchester, which is a good picture, but 
 you must turn the original out of the room, for my dull facul- 
 ties could scarce see a feature that belonged to the young lady 
 who was standing before, and almost adoring her own picture. 
 
 I saw the same day a head done by Vandermijn (being Saxon, 
 the writing master's mother) this I think much superior, and 
 as I thought a very good picture. 
 
 About five or six weeks ago, the said Mr. Astley was painting 
 the portrait of Lady Daniel Duckenfield, (widow of Sir William 
 Duckenfield) of Tabley in Cheshire, about which time a bargain 
 was driving on between her Ladyship and Mr. John Barry, of 
 Belmount in the same county. The painter — Astley being in 
 conversation with her, her ladyship, told him the proposals she 
 had made Mr. Barry (who did not entirely approve of them) 
 and asked him if the conditions were not fair ? Mr. Astley 
 answered, he thought them very reasonable and worthy the 
 acceptance of any gentleman in England. If you think so, 
 says madam I suppose you would accept them yourself. Mr. 
 
 BB 
 
314 
 
 Painter (believing she had about £20,000 in cash besides a large 
 estate in land) did not hesitate about an answer ; but with a 
 low congee took the proffer with both hands ; and (as boggarts 
 generally haunt empty houses ; so parsons do full and plentiful 
 ones) a parson being on the premises, the noose was tied 
 immediately. 
 
 Some say, she gave him directly the deeds of £500 a year in 
 land : others, that it was £30,000 in ready rhino ; however all 
 agree that the painter is now rich enough. Yet for all this 
 were it in my choice ; I would rather live with Mrs. Delacour, 
 or my o\vn crooked rib, with a bare competency than with that 
 lady in all her affluence. She being, as they tell me, neither 
 half wise nor quarter handsome : but with an awkward coun- 
 tenance has a wild stare that is cousin german to idiotism. 
 
 So that after all the painter may be bit by something worse 
 than a tarantula ; but the play says " 'tis fine repenting in a 
 coach and six " and 'tis probable Mr. Astley knows 'tis possible 
 for a man and his wife to live one hundred miles asunder, 
 though they had been tied neck and heels but a week before 
 by a whole bench of bishops. 
 
 I had a letter this ohristmas from Mr. Bowcock, who tells 
 me he is going a second time to bind himself as an apprentice, 
 with the haughty Mr. Orme : they are to be equal and thorough 
 partners in all coach-work, 'scutcheons, city-work &c. in the 
 heraldry way — to be at an equal expence in journeymen's 
 wages, colours &c. and soma wages are stipulated in favour of 
 Billy on my son's account as he improves in age, and workman- 
 ship. Yesterday I wrote to him and asked him if his shoulders 
 did not ache, with carrying the proud fiddling Orme for near 
 five years before ? I desired him also to tell me what work the 
 said Orme would, or could do himself, that he must run away 
 with one half of the profits ? and whether he could not have 
 most part of the work, if he stood on his own shanks, or other 
 work in lieu thereof? In short I advised him not to be too 
 
315 
 
 hasty : for I could not think of letting any person have one 
 half of what I got, without an adequate consideration ; and 
 the prouder the man, the sooner I would throw off his yoke, 
 and trample him under foot. How this affair will end I know 
 not; but he desired I would write to you, and present his 
 humble service to you and Mrs. Delacour : for, says he, I have 
 been so dilatory myself, that I dare not write to him. 
 
 I follow my old trade of boggart-painting, and find fools 
 enow to buy them, as fast as I can paint them : and often 
 thank God he did not create mankind without a large number 
 of fools in the species ; and that so very few of them under- 
 stand painting. These things I know, and think it no crime 
 to take them by their proper handles. Had things been dis- 
 posed of in another manner I had certainly been a poorer 
 painter than I am. As it is I live very well : I keep a horse 
 of my own, and neither borrow saddle or bridle ;. and in summer- 
 time ride three, or four times a week to the Bowling-green, at 
 Eochdale. I have a cow also ; a pig, two ducks, and a cat : What 
 in the name of St. Luke would a painter have more? Besides 
 all, my duchess is now pregnant of her eighth child, having 
 seven alive, and the boy Jack (who you was so kind to, by 
 giving him lectures, copies, &c. at Chester, for which I now 
 thank you) is my eldest : he sends his thanks also, and both 
 desire our compliments to you and Mrs. Delacour. I wish you 
 health and prosperity, being very sincerely. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 Your much obliged humble servt. 
 
 J. COLLIER. 
 
 P. S. A line from you would be very aecej)table to me, if not, 
 pray write to Billy in full of all your transactions in Scotland, 
 and be so good as to acknowledge the receipt of this. — I have 
 the cane 3'ou was pleased to give me : but was fool enough to 
 let Orme have the head of Flora. This is, and will be a gan- 
 grene in the mind of T. B. till time swallows his latest hour. 
 
316 
 
 TO Mr. R. W R. 
 
 Jan. 35th, 1760. 
 Dear Sib, 
 
 Since I saw you I have had a hard job of it : when 
 
 j'ou left me, I grew worse, and kennelled immediately; slept 
 little or none, and was so hot that my crooked rib durst not 
 touch me for fear of being blistered, yet could not sweat, though 
 I endeavoured it all I could : and had it continued two or three 
 days longer it certainly would have reduced my outward man to 
 a lump of charcoal. On Monday night the violent pains of my 
 back and thighs abated, had a breathing sweat, and my fever 
 diminished But yet, not being punished enough for my sins, 
 these were followed by a stabbing head-ache, (especially when I 
 coughed) with continual twitchings all over the scalp, and con- 
 tinual short stitches in the body. I did not eat (or drink any 
 thing but a little wine whey) from the time we parted till Tues- 
 day night, after I had received your small parcel. For as I 
 thought living too well was the cause of most of the pains I 
 suffered, I would try whether clemming would drive a few of 
 them away. Tuesday night had a good sweat : but for all this 
 I had no substantial symptom of being an inhabitant of this 
 world much longer, till Wednesday afternoon, when I got my 
 head shaved, and rubbed well with rum, and a flannel clout put 
 under my black cap : after this in a few hours the pain and 
 twitchings dwindled ; but my cough encreased. This I valued 
 not a hep, as it did not much affect my head, though it caused 
 a little pain under my left pap. Wednesday night was the first 
 time I slept soundly ; and yesterday I rose as I thought quite 
 well (tliank God and the crooked rib he gave me) except a dizzi- 
 ness and trembling, just as if I had been on the slack-rope for 
 two or three days together, which being a little accustomed to, 
 I valued not a farthing. 
 
 I looked in a glass this morning and was surprized at my 
 phyz ; because it confirmed what my neighbours whispered, 
 which was that I am grown sixteen or twenty years older than I 
 
81? 
 
 was on Sunday last. But "what vexed me the worst of all was, 
 some one of them said I looked very much like old John Taylor, 
 of Cronkeyshaw. Be this as it will I am pretty well this morn- 
 ing, being the worst plagued with my nose which requires more 
 attendance than usual, and frets round the bottom like an old 
 weather-beaten tenter-post. 
 
 Excuse this long valetudinarian letter, which only proves that 
 my carcase was never made for high living. So I'll e'en fall 
 to my Newton-moor diet again ; which was thick-pobs, potatoes, 
 buttermilk, treacle, and tough cheese. 
 
 If you chance to go up to the Church-stile, pray desire Mary 
 Shore, (or the other honest woman) to bespeak me a very large 
 pair of breeches that will fit my duchess: and to come along 
 with those of Madam Tunstall's our good Vicar's lady, and the 
 rest of the pairs bespoke for the crowing-hens in that neigh- 
 bourhood ; for as I am conscious it will be for the best, and that 
 the weakest must go to the wall, why should I any longer contest 
 superiority with my crooked-rib ? 
 
 This being the case, I beg my humble service to my old friend 
 Mr. Townley, and tell him I beg he'll not expect me on Satur- 
 day next ; for my master will not suffer me to stir out, and that 
 I must now begin to knock under. 
 
 Pray let me hear how he goes on in his continual afflictions ; 
 
 though I know he can bear them more like a philosopher, then 
 
 a pettish pedagogue can a rap on his knuckles. Take care of 
 
 your health, keep good hours, live soberly, and excuse preaching 
 
 from 
 
 Sir. Ax. 
 
 TO ilR. R. W R. 
 
 Milnrow, Jan. 28, 1760. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I thank you for your favour of yesterday and rejoice 
 to hear Jlr. Townley continues pretty well ; and am obliged to 
 
318 
 
 him and the rest of the company for the honour you did John 
 
 Taylor the second, by drinking his health. 
 
 I heard by Mrs. Suteliffe of the acts and deeds of the young 
 
 bucks and the ass ; but did not know that the canonical robe 
 
 was strayed so far down the water as the Town mill. This 
 
 might well make them think, that its owner would certainly be 
 
 cooked up, as a breakfast in the morning for trouts and eels. I 
 
 suppose you know it was I. T. that was in the river ; who, as I 
 
 hear, had a much nearer peep into the other world than I have 
 
 had. I am much better ; but my garret seems very empty and 
 
 dizzy : and I walk over the floor just like a goose when she goes 
 
 into a dark hole. I have just breakfasted on water pottage and 
 
 buttermilk ; and intend to keep to this, and such like primitive 
 
 diet. I think nothing would agree with you better than your 
 
 antique Eossendale fare which would not subject us to those 
 
 wheezing coughs we are both of us so troubled with. Consider 
 
 of it and let's reform : for the proverb says Better late than 
 
 never. 
 
 I am Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 EEFORMING JOHN. 
 
 TO Me. ROBERT GORTON, 
 
 IN SALFOED, 
 
 With the Picture of the Devil on Horseback.^ 
 
 SiH, 
 
 Milnrow, April 8th, 1760. 
 
 When I began to form the design of old Belze on 
 horseback, which you and your Newcastle friend ordered, I 
 repented I had not enquired particularly what sort of a devil 
 you would have, i. e. whether you would have a black, or a red 
 devil ; as white, green, yellow or blue, according to all authors, 
 are out of the question : and also, what colour of a horse ; and 
 whether if he rid on a mare, it would not do as well : but these 
 uecessarj' queries being unfortunately neglected, I have been 
 
319 
 
 obliged to guess at the whole, and have now finished the piece, 
 presuming you will not be so ungenerous as to turn it on my 
 hands, because I believe it will suit no other person alive but 
 your whimsical friend. 
 
 If we can believe most authors, ancient and modern, clergy 
 and laity ; there are many legions of these aukward spirits, 
 some of which go about, and roar like lions : yet though there 
 are such incredible numbers, and yell so loud, you cannot 
 imagine how I stood staring with the chalk in my hand, being 
 quite non-plussed when I began to hunt for an idea, as having 
 never seen the least glimpse of any one of them. But reflecting 
 that old Lucifer might possibly be a child of some man's fancy 
 in times of yore, I did not long hesitate, but tliought I had as 
 good authority as any other mortal to make a devil of my own : 
 so I fell to it and drew out my design, which pleased me tolerably 
 well. 
 
 But alas ! when I came to the colouring part, I was entirely 
 gravelled, not knowing what colour to make his gallopper. Here 
 I had thoughts of annihilating my whole design, and giving up 
 all thoughts of proceeding : but suddenly recollecting that I 
 had heard old folks talk of the devil upon dun, I gave a jump, 
 as thinking I had cleared the most knotty point. But alas ! 
 
 two circumstances soon quashed this sudden joy. One was, 
 
 whether this dun must be a horse, a mare, or a gelding? and 
 the other, whether it must be a fat, or a lean nag? But not 
 remembering any author that had written on these abstruse 
 points, I resolved to guess at them : and accordingly have not 
 only made him a dun, but a sprightly, able, dun horse : because 
 it is agreed on all hands that he goes with surprising expedi- 
 tion : especially when employed by court-ladies in their gallan- 
 tries, their husbands in amours, or ministers of state in all 
 treaties, which tend to faith-breaking, leaving their allies in a 
 quagmire, or robbing, ruining, or seizing their neighbours' 
 territories : and so much for the horse. 
 
320 
 
 As for the devil liis jockey, of whom I hinted before, that 
 I could not tell whether to make him ride in red or black, 
 I have taken a method to avoid all objections, and made him 
 ride in both. In short he has the horns of a scotch bullock on 
 his head ; a dragon's tail ; a negro's hands and face ; a lady's 
 scarlet capuchin on his head and shoulders ; a rake's ruffles ; a 
 parson's coat ; a beau's breeches ; a tailor's gamash^s ; a jockey's 
 whip ; and a lawyer's saddle : So if this horse, and this jockey, 
 will not please your fantastical friend, you may tell him when 
 you write to him, that I will never pretend to paint a spirit 
 again, whilst I remain, (as I hope I ever shall) 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your most, &c. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 TO Mr. ROB't. WHITAKER. 
 
 December 3rd, 1760. 
 
 SlE, 
 
 I here return you the Life of Pope with thanks ; 
 which I find is chiefly an abstract from Ayre's Life of that 
 excellent poet, printed in 1745 : which said Ayre got a patent 
 to print it for fourteen years following, and dated Dec. 18th, 
 1741. Two vols, octavo. So that our brother school-master 
 Dilworth, you see, had his piilfered work ready to be printed 
 against the time the said patent expired. I like it well enough 
 but would have given sixpence more for it, had he mentioned 
 the epithet which Pope gave the Countess of Eivers, (Mr. 
 Savage's mother) which he hints at page 133.* As Mr. Dil- 
 worth has given us the engllsh of the Duke of Buckingham- 
 shire's epitaph,]- wrote by himself, which Mr. Ayre kept in the 
 
 * This epithet is mentioned in Ayre'a Life of Pope, pa. 309. vol. 2. 
 He says, the monstrous terms forbids decency to repeat it. 
 
 t This (as I take it) was John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, not 
 Geo. Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. 
 
331 
 
 latin, and it having something of an uncommon east through 
 it, I have turned the same into verse, a copy of which you'll 
 see below, and just in the same number of lines with the latin. 
 I am with much respect 
 
 Your's &e. 
 
 Oft for the king — always my country's friend : 
 
 My life not ill j but thought free to the end. 
 
 I die uncertain ; but confounded not, 
 
 For ignorance and error is our lot. 
 
 Christ almost worship' — ne'er did God forsake : 
 
 So great JEHOVAH! pity on me take. 
 
 TO Me. H. WHITAKER, 
 
 MANCHESTER. 
 
 Milnrow, Dec. 9, 1760. 
 Deab Sib, 
 
 Your brother has received a vol. of Monthly Eeviews 
 
 from Rochdale, which you, or your secretary, will please to note. 
 He desires you will send by the bearer, a book entitled the 
 
 Confessional. 
 
 He has just now received your letter. 
 
 I'm half seas over yet dry as dust 
 
 I want money How the devil must I come at it ? 
 
 This would be a choke-pear to a whole bench of bishops. 
 
 I believe it would puzzle the whole House of Lords 
 
 Yes and Commons too 
 
 Ho now I have it nay no more than a 
 
 gander can sing cue — kou- But I'll break up school 
 
 to-morrow and what then Then — then I'll go to 
 
 Blackburn the next week for what i'th' name of Katty ? 
 
 I'll take about 60 droll heads with me — for the 
 
 devil's in't if it be a country without fools But should 
 
 it prove so ? Why then I'm ruined for none else 
 
 will be purchasers But suppose I should not meet with 
 
 one dunce ? Doubly ruined ! — ^ But have 
 
32S 
 
 they no Mayor and Aldermen ? — no — no 
 
 Why then I'm worse off quite gravelled stubbed 
 
 efeath Ho now I have it again for I'll write four 
 
 books of the chronicles of Lancashire, and I'll put Blackburn 
 in as the most wonderful place in the whole world of wonders, 
 as having not one fool in it ; and this wonder would be so 
 wonderfully great, that it would knock all the wonders in 
 
 Derbyshire on the head This I presume would 
 
 entitle me to a county-brief and I cannot doubt of a 
 
 handsome collection from my Lancashire friends and then 
 
 ■ when my pockets full. I shall take up more room 
 
 for who but me ? Stand off Keep 
 
 your distance I say make room for 
 
 Timothy Crazypate. 
 
 TO Mr. Wm. BOWCOCK, 
 
 PAINTER, CHESTER. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Feb. 24, 1761. 
 
 I have your's of the 17th current, and heartily 
 congratulate you, on finding that inestimable jewel liberty 
 again : the value of which I defy the most intense thinker 
 to conceive, except he has first lost it. 
 
 But dear friend, if the servitude of one Nabob, who lived in 
 another house has been so grievously irksome to you, how 
 could I bear the yokes of two Yorkshire Nabobs, and an old 
 covetous Nahobbess ? This indeed was quite impossible to be 
 endured by me, who had reigned myself, a Nabob for above 
 twenty years at Milnrow ; and would ever stickle, and even 
 fight for liberty like a Spartan, or hot brained Cromwellist. 
 However by these two specimens you have had you are now 
 certainly able to measure Hercules by his foot ; and know, that 
 liberty in rags, is preferable to dependanee in gorgeous trap- 
 pings, and crowds of cringing admirers and consequently your 
 
823 
 
 wonder must cease at my out running my Yorkshire appren- 
 ticeship. 
 
 I am not a little pleased that you have divorced the wax 
 from the paper, and hope you'll never enter into the like precip- 
 itate obligations again : on the other hand, I apprehend the 
 Nabob Orme will repent the cancelling as much as you rejoice ; 
 and, dear Billy, excuse my freedom, if I tell you, that I think 
 you are both fools : but I feel my fancy in rhyming labour, 
 therefore take the puny bantling in the following awkward 
 
 dress 
 
 The fool and the fiddler are parted, I hear; 
 But whether's the greater fool, does not appear ; 
 The fool that turn'd slave, or the fool that set free : 
 This knot of two fools, is two knotty for me. 
 
 As for the sanctified Methodist, who we are used to call 
 honest John, methinks I see the Nabob riding on his shoulders, 
 and fiddling a Moravian hymn to please the fool, with two or 
 three grinders of paint, in feather caps, running before them : 
 and if this be not a punishment adequate to his under-hand- 
 dealing, I know not what would be. 
 
 I am very glad you do not leave Chester for my poor Jack's 
 sake ; — I do not like London, or any thing that is in it : for 
 it's a place where neither me, or mine shall ever come, if I can 
 hinder it. The very thoughts of it makes me turn infidel, and 
 forces me to disbelieve the Scriptures account of the burning 
 Sodom and Gomorrah : for if that had been true, certainly 
 London had been consumed long before I could have written 
 my own name. Besides the expence of removing family, 
 goods, &c. had been more than enough to have broke two or 
 three painters. But suppose it had been possible for you to 
 have weathered that point ; the expence of housekeeping, 
 rent, &c. besides the time that must have elapsed before you 
 had got a character, and come into business, would have thrust 
 you into the very lowest, and worst room in the house of 
 penury. 
 
82i 
 
 The' gloriously great, but poor Vandermijn, is an instance of 
 the blindness of that fickle bitch Fortune : he came into Man- 
 chester with-the hope of a painter, i. e. that he could accumu- 
 late thousands, or get an estate there : but the purblindness of 
 the Manchestertonians could not see his merit : for though, to,' 
 my knowledge, they had encouraged several blockheads, yet 
 Vandermijn, (the best painter that ever honoured Manchester 
 with his presence, as I think) could but procure a head or two, 
 that would not bear travelling expences ! One of these heads 
 I saw, it was Mr. Saxon, the writing-master's mother a strong 
 likeness, and well painted. ', ■-'.,■,;, 
 
 Thus you see, how artists are huddled up, and blended, with 
 dunces — for fame, business, and riches, are scattered by.-Prdvi- 
 dence, not for the ingenious, the wise, or the virtuous ; buf the 
 blockhead, the worthless, and the vicious, have equal, if not 
 better chances in the scramble. But chear up, my friend, you 
 know felicity does not consist in the smiles of princes, in fuU 
 bags, or un-numbered acres. God does not bestow worldly- 
 wealth, purely for the pleasure or benefit of the receivers : if so, 
 the possessors would most certainly be, as God intended them ; 
 
 that is, happy : but they are not. Therefore the value of 
 
 riches in God's esteem is nothing : this is proved by looking 
 about us, and considering the persons on whom he bestows 
 them ; which are generally of the worst, and unhappiest of 
 mortals. 
 
 Then let you and me thank Providence that it doth not 
 plague us with the wealth of this world ; for_my part, I want it 
 not; and I speak my true sentiments when I say, that I should 
 think myself both greater and happier in being Vandermijn (I 
 mean the eldest) with a corner of my shirt dangling out of a 
 pair of tattered breeches, than the Duke of Newcastle with all 
 his french cooks, his multiplicity, of dishes, and his cringing 
 attendants. 
 
 The last line of your letter, which tells me my son behaves 
 very well gives me more pleasure, than if you had sent me a 
 
335 
 
 hundred Queen Anne guineas in a silken purse. I beg you and 
 Mr. Vandermijn will accept my compliments, and repeated 
 thanks for the favours and instructions which you give him. If 
 he behave well to you, especially in these your troubles, and 
 vexations, let him take his own course when he is master of 
 himself: for -he will soon find irksome thoughts, and sharp 
 thorns attend idleness and vicious actions. Tell him his mother 
 has much bettei;. health than she had ; and we both send him 
 our blessings, and .that we are vastly pleased with the character 
 you give 'himi- My wife also joins me in compliments to you, 
 and Mrs. Bowcock, and we shall always rejoice to hear of your 
 health- and prosperity ; and now hope the morning of content is 
 just dawning upon. you. This is the hearty wish of 
 
 Dear Billy 
 
 Your most, &c. 
 
 P. S. I should be glad to hear from, or meet you at Man- 
 chester, or any neighbouring Town ; for I have thoughts of 
 putting my second son out, an apprentice directly, to one 
 business or another and want your advice. 
 
 TO Me. hen. WHITAKER, 
 
 MANOHESTEB. 
 
 Milnrow, March loth, 1761. 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Having just received a visit from three gentlemen 
 
 painters, viz. Mr. Vandermijn the younger, Mr. Jones, and one 
 Mr. Gallino, and perceiving that my treating them here, and at 
 the Buck in Rochdale, to be relief insulEcient for their wants ; 
 and perceiving by your last that a little cash lies in your hands 
 ready for my demand : now, though this may not amount to a 
 guinea ; yet I desire you'll favour said Vandermijn and company 
 with that sum, and I'll pay you out when I am able ; this will 
 be esteemed a fresh favour done to 
 
 Your obliged Bro. 
 
 T. B. 
 
326 
 
 TO Mr. GEO. C R, 
 
 Wine Merchant, Liverpool. 
 
 Milnrow, Nov. 4th, 1762. 
 Sir, 
 
 As a sohool-boy who has played truant a day and 
 dares not face his surly bumbrusher, but plays another day, &c. 
 till he is forced like a bear to the stake to make his appearance : 
 just so it is with me for neglecting to write, or to send you the 
 promised pictures. But hold, sir, there's scarce a boy, (or woman) 
 that commits a fault, but can find one excuse or another. Then 
 
 why the dickens must Tim be without one ? Hold, 
 
 hum let me unhethink me (excuse Lancashire). That pious hermit 
 St. Anthony who was once so barbarously drubbed by his 
 devilship, that he had a peep into the other world, and could 
 ever afterwards find out the fiend by the scent. I say this smell- 
 devil, St. AntJwny had nothing to do the last Good Friday 
 morning about one o'clock, but to set my right arm on fire : 
 whether the son of a whore did it with a lighted match, or with a 
 red hot poker I cannot say, being asleep when the pain seized 
 me ; but it soon irritated the whole limb to that degree, that 
 after near a month's intense pain I thought it would have mor- 
 tified, and that I must have lost the better wing. But having 
 a good heart and a better surgeon (Dr. Ingham) after twice 
 laying it open he made a perfect cure of it. However I was 
 above three months before I could paint, or write a scrawl. 
 Very well — you'll say, a super-substantial reason, for one quarter 
 of a yeaj — but Timothy above three quarters are gone — : Pray 
 what have you been doing the other two ? Why sir, to tell you 
 the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (hang it — 
 I hate this borrowing of phrases too) Providence sent me a gen- 
 tleman * that wanted a score of beauties, that must go to the 
 
 * This was Mr. Nelson, of Broughton Hall near Manchester, who to my 
 great loss died soon after, and I was thrown upon the World again. 
 
387 
 
 West Indies, and the ship was to sail in three weeks from 
 Liverpool. This I looked on as a good order, and not to be 
 neglected; and thus put myself upon your good nature and 
 forbearance. Well sir, the heads I brought home in due time, 
 which pleased him so well, that he ordered another score : and 
 after that bargained with me to bring him all I painted 
 monthly: and this whim continued till the end of the last 
 month : and this is my second and last plea. So that when all 
 this is well considered I fancy you will say to yourself — humph 
 — Tim's in the right on't — . And indeed my good friend, I 
 think no person in trade and his senses, but would oblige such 
 a customer as this, who was the best I ever had, or ever perhaps 
 may meet with. This is what I hope you will think, and that 
 you'll now give me leave to tell you I have now finished your 
 two particular pictures, i. e. Simon, Mopsus and Phillida on 
 one cloth ; and Captain Plume, Kose, and Bullock her brother 
 on another. These two pictures are well worth three guineas, 
 but I shall only charge them £2:6:0. So that I suppose 
 you will want four or five beauties, to balance for the wine. If 
 you can dispense with more droll-heads, you may send me 
 14 or 16 gallons more of the same wine, and some gallons of 
 pure Nantz : however, I beg the wine may come immediately, 
 though you force me to conjure up money for it ; because my rib 
 is near the note, and is for increasing my stock this Christmas. 
 I shall defer sending your pictures till about the 91st ; by which 
 time I shall have finished twenty-five beauties for Mr. Sibbald ; 
 and then I can send all in one box and direct it for you : this 
 will save a little expence. You may take what heads will balance 
 our account, and the remainder (I suppose twenty-five) pray see 
 delivered to Mr. Sibbald with all speed ; for I would not by any 
 means have them to miss the ship they are to go in. I wish you 
 would take the first opportunity to see said Sibbald : for if the 
 Slst will not be soon enough to save the ship, if he'll give me a 
 
898 
 
 line I will endeavour to send them a few days sooner. Query — 
 will you be at home all Christmas ? If so, I have thoughts of 
 seeing Liverpool at that time. Till then I rest, 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
 J. COLLIEB. 
 
 TO R. T., Esq. 
 
 March, 1763. 
 Hon. Sie, 
 
 I presume you remember the story of your 
 
 quondam carpenter, generally known by the iiame of the Yate- 
 makerr; who going down the Church-lane with a bull in a band, 
 (old Benny's expression) the curled headed beast rushes into 
 Eichard Hill's, whose old grunting wife had kept the chimney 
 corner for some years, being so lame she could hardly move 
 with, the help of her crutches. But at the first peep "at the 
 rough and stern face of her impudent visitor, she starts up, 
 leaves her crutches, runs into the parlour and shuts the door. 
 This sudden motion of her limbs and spirits had a very happy 
 consequence, for the old woman was quite cured, and never 
 used her crutches more from that time to this. 
 
 I doubt not sir, but you'll wonder what induces. me to begin 
 my epistle with this odd story. — Why, if the truth must out, I 
 
 want money and ^rs. Hill proves the truth of the old 
 
 proverb. Need makes- the old wife trot : and also of another. 
 Necessity has no law. These I hope you'll think sufficient 
 reasons for publishing some few fragments that lie useless by 
 me ; and also for troubling you with a subscription paper 
 (which I call an out-rider) neither should I have had the assu- 
 rance to have done this, but for two other obvious reasons ; 
 the first is, the great success of a subscription set on foot by 
 my brother poet, Ogden of Manchester, for his British Lion 
 roused, and the other, your well known propensity to do your 
 old acquaintance all the good you can. 
 
329 
 
 I will make none of my subscribers blush by making a parade 
 of printing their names before my stuff, as my brother poet has 
 done. Indeed the truth of the matter is, one duke, two earls, 
 and so many knights, esquires and gentlemen make a grand 
 appearance, and lead up the Manchester Lion with mighty 
 pomp : but for my part I do not expect to see a single knight 
 in my whole list. However, I have got 300 in two weeks 
 (Ogden's were about 700 in all) and a shilling from a cobbler is 
 the same to me as one from his grace. I wish you health, and 
 beg leave to subscribe myself 
 
 Hon. Sir, 
 Your much obliged and most hum. st. 
 
 J. 0. 
 
 TO Mr. rob. WHITAKER. 
 
 Deak Sje, 
 
 The following is a legacy left Mons. Gruff by Con- 
 jurer Olegg in a codicil to his last will ; which with other things 
 is now going to be printed, 
 
 ITEM I leave to Monsieur Gruff my cousin german four 
 large volumes in folio : the first containing three treatises on 
 Humility, the second Gratitude explained and enforced; the 
 third, the Art or Mystery of Auctioneering dissected : and the 
 fourth Kules for Polite Behaviour : together with the Art of 
 Inditing Letters ; and a new Method of. Drawing Bills, in par- 
 ticular such as do not exceed the value of two farthings. All 
 four volumes being finely gilt, run, and rolled — filletted on the 
 back and bound in genuine Calf. 
 
 TO Mk. H. WHITAKER, 
 
 MAKCHESTEE. 
 
 March S5th, 1763. 
 Dear Sie, 
 
 I cannot but think my constitution, humour, or dis- 
 position is like the weather at this season of the year; and 
 
 TT 
 
330 
 
 every whit as variable. Besides, I find that my pocket is a kind 
 of barometer to my fluctuating disposition : for as that rises and 
 falls so are my whims elevated or depressed. For instance, 
 when 'tis well lined with Crap, I am ready to fly through the 
 air on a broomstick, as old women are said to do in times of 
 yore, when witchcraft was much in fashion. But when empty 
 
 — Good Lord 1 am as sluggish as Balaam's ass, 
 
 and as melancholy, and mopish, as a methodist who thinks he 
 has just swallowed a legion of devils . 
 
 At present my fob's in a good state of health ; and I am as 
 alert as a canary-bird in fine weather; or a Macarony-fop in 
 presence of his mistress : and I've been in this humour ever 
 since Sunday last, when I had the pleasure of seeing you and 
 my other two friends at Middleton : where, and when we con- 
 cluded that my most wonderful works should be printed : so I 
 have been digesting, and indigesting my stuff ever since ; and 
 shall be all in a blue blaze, as it were, till I have it in some 
 man's printing office. 
 
 Yesterday I took the resolution to publish it by subscription 
 
 • 1 shame with the trade, as I have printed before in the 
 
 same manner. But, necessity thou spurrest me on ! 
 
 impudence do thou protect me ! But when 
 
 did an author blush ? 
 
 Be this as it will, while it is printing off I will employ all my 
 friends, who are able and willing to help me in this job (amongst 
 whom I doubt neither your will, or abilities) in procuring sub- 
 scriptions. I had not taken this resolution six hours before 
 providence sent me three subscribers : two of them will put 
 their hands to the plough, and collect subscriptions. Should 
 
 this scheme answer, and bring Riches Alas poor Timothy 
 
 ! what will beome of thee ? 
 
 I am the worst puzzled to know how the Brat must be chris- 
 tened ; and am much in the same case with the old Oliverian 
 dotard, who could find no other title to his book but Crumbs of 
 
331 
 
 comfort for chickens of Grace. And to be even with the fanatical 
 rascal, I feel a strong propensity in me to call mine, Bits and 
 Snacks Tim Bobbin's Satchel. Then again, I am for calling it 
 Tim Bobbin's Bauble for Idlers — . This not pleasing me 
 neither, I next put down Tim Bobbin's Toy-shop opened ; or, 
 his Whimsical Amusements. 
 
 After all, I wish you would stand Godfather to the bantling 
 and christen it yourself, as I do not approve of any one of them, 
 and cannot but compare myself to a wood-cock, flying in a fine 
 open avenue, and at last hangs himself in a spider's web. 
 
 When the title is fixed on, I will print an ambidexter paper 
 that shall serve for two uses : in the upper part shall be printed 
 a kind of hand-bill, giving notice of the publication and the 
 conditions : the other shall be blank so as to hold thirty or 
 forty names : this hint I had from Hudibras's sword, 
 
 WI1086 Basket-hilt could hold him Broth, 
 And serve for Fight and Dinner both. 
 
 Should you chance to fix on the title, Tim Bobbin's Bauble 
 for Idler's, I hereby promise that I will not publish in Gath, or 
 tell in the streets of Askelon, the idle folks' names who sub- 
 scribe to my bauble of baubles. 
 
 Witness my hand the day and year first above written. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 TO Mb. JOHN SMALLEY, 
 
 Painter and Colour-man, Preston. 
 
 July 36, 1763. 
 
 My friend Mr. Geo. Grundy, of Bolton, has just 
 called on me, and tells me you are both able and willing to 
 serve me, by endeavouring to procure subscribers to my Whim- 
 sical Amusements ; and also by vending the pamphlet when 
 printed. I thank you and kind Providence for this, as I wanted 
 
333 
 
 such a friend in Preston : and though I wish I had had your 
 correspondence sooner yet 'tis better late than never. I also 
 thank you for your handsome subscription. If I mention other 
 in the news advertisements, or hand bills, who take in subscrip- 
 tions or sell the pamphlets, I will take care you shall be 
 mentioned. I here send you ten subscription papers (alias Out- 
 Riders) not doubting but you'll put them into such hands, as 
 are most likely to pursue my interest by collecting subscriptions. 
 I will give you a line when the work comes out of the press 
 (which may be in two months) that you may send the number 
 wanted in your town and its environs. 
 
 I have no acquaintance in Preston, except Mr. Briggs wine- 
 merchant, to whom present my compliments, and an out-rider 
 or two, not in the least doubting but he will interest himself a 
 little in favour of 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
 J. COLLIER. 
 
 TO Me. rob. WHITAKER. 
 
 Jan. 1764. 
 
 Dear Sih, 
 
 I had the news with your note of advice, for which I 
 
 thank you. I wonder that the fat carrier Hargraves, said 
 
 nothing of the box, which you know he promised to call for at 
 
 Jo. Popplewell's, that night we had Fringe Jenny and the other 
 
 lady at the Bull. I then paid his fatness sixpence to bring it 
 
 the first journey; and I have reason to believe the cask has 
 
 been several weeks on the road : this vexes me not a little: for 
 
 I presume you remember that to induce him to bring it, I told 
 
 him there was a shirt in the box, that I had but two in the 
 
 whole : and that I was forced to lie in bed whilst that I had on 
 
 was washed and dried, which was very troublesome at this season 
 
 of the year. But most carriers are strangers to Truth, and know 
 
 nothing of Honesty when they meet her on the road. 
 
333 
 
 I now send you the Manchestertonian poet's Eoused Lion, 
 which you and the stationer may peruse at leisure. I want to 
 see Smollett's last vol. as I mistrust my brother rhymer has 
 paraphrased some parts of it. However he might do it from the 
 Chronicles, &c. published weekly. 
 
 I do not approve of his angels and geniuses at all — they are 
 too much like Pope's sylphs, Gnomes, &c. in his Eape of the 
 Lock ; which that great poet took from the Eosicrucians ; the 
 maddest sect of philosophers (though christians) that ever the 
 world produced. They would have all the four elements to 
 swarm with four different species of spirits : for instance, the 
 fire with what they called salamanders ; the water with nymphs ; 
 the earth with gnomes ; and the air with sylphs. The gnomes 
 they pretended delighted in nothing more than mischief; but 
 the sylphs of the air the best natured spirits that ever were 
 created : for the right bred Eosicrucians could have concubines 
 of the most beautiful amongst them at any time. Were not 
 these opinions of the brethren of the rosy-cross quite madness ? 
 For my part I think they were madness-be-devil'd. 
 
 I am an utter enemy to the very notion of ghosts and hob- 
 goblins of every kind — . I could never read Shakespeare's 
 Works but once, and then with vexation ; because of his ghosts 
 and fairies. For I hate such ridiculous opinions, from the 
 Witch of Endor to the last Clegg-hall boggart ; which left this 
 neighbourhood soon after I came into it : by which it should 
 seem, these airy phantoms hate me as I hate them. Compli- 
 ments to friends and believe me 
 
 Your's 
 
 J. C. 
 
 TO Mr. E. W. 
 
 Deae Friend, 
 
 Feb. 14th, 1764. 
 
 This is a sorrowful day to me for my 
 
 Tom is come home with the sorrowful news, that he could but 
 
334 
 
 reach Middleton the last night with poor Jenny ! and that she 
 
 died there this morning. Had she come hither and 
 
 made her exit, I would have buried her in her well-beloved 
 pasture, the Wheat-field with a stone over her and this epitaph. 
 
 Hers lies interred botli flesh and bone "| OBIT 
 
 Tim Bobbin's Jenny Cameron, > Feb. 25. 
 
 The best mare ever rodo upon. j 1765. 
 
 My son came home in a fright without her hyde but I 
 
 have sent him back again for it. Pray advise with Adam Hol- 
 land — Haslam — and other virtuosos in the skins of animals, 
 whether I cannot have a buck-skin pair of breeches made of it. 
 Perhaps you will think I'm off at th' side, or that I'm shaken 
 from top to toe, when I tell you I sign with tears 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your most &c. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 P. S. I have thoughts of getting my old back coat turned 
 
 for mourning but am afraid hair shag will look queerly inside 
 
 outwards. Pray advise with my friends in this weighty affair 
 
 (though the I's might do, if it could be snugly obtained) 
 
 and also whether I should not have a brief? 
 
 TO THE REV. Me. BARTON, 
 
 OUEATE OF HETWOOD. 
 
 March SI, 1764. 
 Rev. Sie, 
 
 Widow Butterworth, my neighbour, having 
 
 received a letter from you with orders to pay the rent to Mr. 
 John Hamer, sen. She desires me to write to you in answer ; 
 that she paid it to the said attorney the day before your order 
 came to hand. She also begs me to lay before you a few hints 
 of the treatment she has received of late from this your steward, 
 which is of so tender a nature that I have refused several times 
 to be concerned in it. However, as some facts are glaring, and 
 not at all disputed in the neighbourhood, and for the sake of 
 my quondam friend and the distressed family he left behind 
 
335 
 
 him I now comply with her request, relying on your good 
 nature and sense for my excuse. 
 
 She, and her husband (when here) had always a notion that 
 you promised him more than once, that you would not raise 
 the rent while you were landlord : but as I have no certainty of 
 this I shall drop it. But then she says positively that her 
 husband laid out money in building, and improving the land, 
 that neither her husband or herself have ever received any 
 recompense for, tho' this was promised. As to the building in 
 particular, the widow says she can produce the accounts what it 
 cost, and that she had a i^romise that such money should be 
 allowed her. It seems to me that such promise was made 
 because I know the persons who met to settle that matter, and 
 that what ever was then judged reasonable by the parties, your 
 potent steward, has positively denyed allowing her. Nay he 
 interrupted the referrees, and would prompt, and dictate to 
 them ; and was so far from complying with this pioint of justice 
 that he has demanded three pounds of her more than was any 
 ways due ; when asked what this sum was demanded for ; he 
 either could not, or would not tell. But the neighbours think 
 it was done to frighten her, and screw the money out of her, 
 that was allowed by the referrees for the building, &c. though 
 that sum so allowed, was ijiuch short of what was laid out. 
 
 Now sir, I presume you are not acquainted with some of 
 these things though matters of fact ; and that if you had had 
 the good fortune to have transacted these affairs yourself, the 
 widows tears had been fewer ; and reason, and justice taken 
 place ; for certainly your attorney steward has pulled the curse 
 of the widow and fatherless on his own head ; and which I 
 shall not be afraid to tell him when opportunity serves. I hope 
 sir you'll consider with candour, and excuse the warmth, in 
 which I write in favour of the widow and children of my late 
 deceased friend. 
 
 I am, 
 
 Eev. Sir, 
 
 ^Yith much respect, 
 
 J. a. 
 
336 
 
 TO THE REV. Mr. HEAP, 
 
 DOMKINO. 
 
 April ISth, 1764. 
 Eev. Sib, 
 
 My friend Mr. Whitaker has been so obliging 
 
 (according to custom) as to shew me your letter of the 10th 
 inst. in which I see such ingenuous, friendly, nay brotherly 
 spirit, that I should demonstrate myself a mere insensible, if 
 I hesitated a moment to return you my hearty thanks. 
 
 I think myself particularly obliged to you for your favoura- 
 ble opinion of the Dialect. As to the new part, I do not like it 
 myself; for though the stories in it are matter of fact; yet as 
 you justly observe, they are mere local pieces, and not worth 
 perusing, except in the neighbourhood where they were acted. 
 Those parts you mention are certainly the best of a bad sort : 
 and let my friend and countryman believe it, they should never 
 have stared the world in the face (though a cat may look on a 
 king) had not necessity shoavt mehforrud .- and I had no military 
 force under my command to lay the country under contribution 
 any other way. For betwixt you and me, I know not what else 
 to call jiublishing such stuff by subscription. 
 
 Indeed when I had considered the general turn of men's 
 heads, and that dunces are always friends to dunces, but natural 
 enemies to fine geniuses, I thought the^scheme feasible enough ; 
 because the first being a great majority, might by parity of rea- 
 son prove my friends ; especially if I kept sense at a distance. 
 This you know, sir, was very easy for me to do : for ah, lament- 
 able case ! 1 could not do otherwise. 
 
 In short the scheme has answer'd my end, and even past 
 expectation for I had near three thousand subscribers ; which I 
 think are more than anj' fat priest in lawn sleeves within the 
 dioceses could procure for a good volume, of Shake-bags. 
 
 The last period brings to my mind the request you make, that 
 I would, in future spare the levitical-order. I grant this, in 
 part, with pleasure : for I really love, and reverence the lower 
 
337 
 
 clergy, in general. But shall in my turn be ingenuous ; and 
 beg you'll give me leave to except the Pluralist; the superstitious 
 Bigot ; the Non-resident ; and the rich sordid Priests of all denom- 
 inations ; who carry such weak heads, and grovelling souls, as 
 not to know how, or dare not use, what providence has blest 
 (rather cursed) them with ; and are always studying to live here- 
 after, I mean not above ; but in grandeur, and affluence below ; 
 for heaven comes no oftener in their thoughts, than charity out 
 of their pockets. 
 
 These men I can neither love nor reverence ; I have an anti- 
 pathy against them which I cannot conquer, at present because 
 I think them the pests of society ; and disgraceful blots to all 
 religion : and were it in my power by scribbling, painting them, 
 or otherwise ; I would send every mothers son of them packing 
 after their brethren the Jesuits, to their original, and most infal- 
 libly fallible Father the Pope. 
 
 'Tis not the fault of the laity if these men are not reverenc'd 
 and esteemed ; 'tis their earthly-minded schemes ; their idolizing 
 riches and grandeur ; their thirst after power ; their neglecting 
 and despising the poor, the widow, and the fatherless ; their for- 
 saking their flocks, religion, virtue, their country's good, and all 
 to fawn on the abandon'd great, to gain high, and multiplicity 
 of benefices. These are the things that put on their heads 
 scorn, and disrespect from the thinking part of the laity. And 
 it is generally believed that every bishop who voted for the Jews- 
 act, and supported those matchless ministerial measures would 
 have turned Jew to have been made High-Priest ; or embraced 
 Mahometism to have commenced Grand-Mufti. 
 
 In short, they have almost ruined the religion they profess : 
 for the commonality can soon smell out a hypocrite ; the eyes of 
 their reason are not now to be hoodwinked : nor are thej' to be 
 led by their noses with those old-fashioned rings of infallibility, 
 miracles, worshipping of saints and martyrs or swallowing God 
 in a crust, as in times of yore. 
 
 uu 
 
338 
 
 Excuse this warm freedom, which points at no particular 
 order, but at individuals of every class of priests; and be- 
 lieve me to be with equal warmth (but of another kind) and 
 
 much respect. 
 
 Eev. Sir, &c. 
 
 P. S. I am glad to hear you have some thoughts of coming 
 into our old neighbourhood, and should be glad to meet you at 
 Eochdale. '^^: 
 
 -.^-■^v 
 
 TO Me. H. 
 
 March 38, 1765. 
 Sir, 
 
 I thank you for yours of yesterday wherein you men- 
 tion the curacy of Unsworth being void. I beg my compliments 
 and thanks also, to your relation, for mentioning me (tho' 
 perhaps by way of fun) for that place. 
 
 I have since thought seriously of it : but was wofuUy 
 
 gravelled about the method of getting into the sheepfold ; or if 
 you please into holy orders. However I find myself the true 
 son of a jparson, and that what's bred in the bone will never be 
 
 out of the flesh For I verily believe I should find it possible 
 
 for me to leave a small benifice, for a greater, and to think two, 
 or three good fat livings better than one. 
 
 However providence has lately pointed out to me a sinall hole 
 or wicket gate, thro' which I could possibly creep in : in spight 
 of the great shepherd of our parish ; or a testimonial from any 
 three of them. For the last night looking over some of St. 
 James's Chronicles, I found in that of Jan. last (10 to 13) men- 
 tion made of a Greek Bishop, who this last winter, followed the 
 steps of the Jewish High Priests ; for he made Priests of the 
 lowest of the people, such as bakers, cheesemongers, taylors&c. 
 Now sir, I suppose this same Bishop would make no bawks of 
 metamorphosing a mongrel between a painter and a school-mas- 
 
339 
 
 ter into a parson, by lending me his shoulders whilst I got in, 
 at the little door. 
 
 Pray put this scheme to your friend and favour me with his 
 opinion of it ; for I utterly despair of creeping into the sheep- 
 fold any other way : and tho' I should be a thief and a robber 
 for doing it, there are others in the parish might shake hands, 
 and call me brother parson. 
 
 The main obstacle for me getting in fairly is, I cannot help 
 rubbing down the sore shins of a pluralist, both in writing and 
 painting, when opportunity offers : and perhaps your friend, and 
 my should be patron, may not approve of my droll pieces in this 
 way. But I here give it under my hand, that if the curacy will 
 allow it, I'll never work again, for I always hated it from child- 
 little. So that I think myself exactly cut out by nature to be a 
 true shred of the linen vestment of -Aaron. 
 
 Let your relation know both my faults, and good qualifica- 
 tions, that there be no mistakes, disputes, or bickerings 
 hereafter. 
 
 Should my intended patron think me made for this curacy, 
 and the curacy for me, tell him I shall ever remain his, and your 
 most obedient humble servant as long and longer than 
 
 I am 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 TO Mr. hen. WHITAKER, 
 
 MANOHESIEE. 
 
 Nov. 91, 1765. 
 Deae Sir, 
 
 I had your letter the last evening which was very 
 
 welcome to me ; tho' at the same time it not only surprized, but 
 
 vexed me too. Indeed I think I shall fall out with the world, 
 
 as I find it grow worse and worse, and endeavour to shake it off 
 
 like a man who has got too much wife : for by your letter I find 
 
 it has the lawyer-like face to say I am dead, when I have never 
 
340 
 
 had better health in my life ; and when my head seldom aches 
 with drinking, or my bones sore with falling off my horse ! 
 
 If the old dotterels were right, who lived in times of yore, 
 when they said the world degenerated : what would they have 
 said : had they lived in these our days, when truth is forced to 
 hide herself, and falsehood struts abroad like a flaunting duchess? 
 Is it not so when this wicked world says Timothy is dead ? 
 
 'Sflesh, sir, if Partridge could not make Bickerstaffe believe 
 he was alive, though Partridge in his almanack affirmed it; 
 nay that he lived before Bickerstaffe affirmed he was dead ; and 
 was also alive when he wrote that Tatler which affirmed him dead 
 as a door nail; yet surely sir, you'll not help the world to play 
 Bickerstaffe upon me ? Nay if you chance to hear any one affirm 
 
 it again, tell such person he's a d d liar : and give me their 
 
 name and place of abode, and I will produce such an argument 
 of my vitality as Partridge never dreamed of; i. e. a good husk 
 on the ear. 
 
 Suppose 7000 wheelbarrow full of lying devils had been jolted 
 into the world, could it have been worse than it is, when it 
 affirms Tim Bobbin is dead ? Or do you think the court art of 
 lying is got so far northward and that because the Ins and Outs 
 help one another, we Lancashire folk myst do so too ? If his 
 
 M and his G n rib jolt it between London and Eich- 
 
 mond, and Eichmond and London, must you and I get 
 hobby horses, and our wives dolls and jaunt it between Man- 
 chester and Milnrow without considering what we owe, and 
 whether our servants and children have bread sufficient, and 
 deaths to keep them warm ? 
 
 I say if the court play the devil on two sticks, we are not 
 obliged to turn monkies, and mimic lieir follies, and knavery. 
 For my part I am so sick of our court politics ; their bribing ; 
 masquerading, &c. and of the weekly papers stuffed with frolicks ; 
 that if they continue to be thus Frencldfied and wear long pig- 
 tails, I'll clip my hair like an Oliverian round head : If their 
 
341 
 
 hats have three corners, mine shall have two, or else four. It 
 they live on coffee, tea, turtle and claret, I will Ive on beef and 
 ale. Nay if they are determined to strut like paper ruffled 
 Frenchmen ; I'll e'en turn merry-andrew and learn to walk on 
 my hands with my heels upwards : for I am satisfyed that if I 
 can go on contrary to these caterpillars of the nation I shall stand 
 a good chance to be right. 
 
 But I find I am got unwittingly into the dominions of Cloa- 
 ciua, and am irritated with the smell of these stinking regions : 
 but dear friend, think me a welchman if you please, and that I 
 hate to be vexed ; so as you'll think me too great a dainty for 
 the worms at present. For assure yourself, I will neither run, 
 ride or battle it with death ; who, as I hear, is but a scrubby 
 rascal, and an utter stranger to me : so I'll have nothing to do 
 with the scoundrel so long as I can blow. 
 
 As to the devil and meChodist priest, I own I have been pretty 
 much with them of late, and that you have reason to believe I 
 keep bad company : but let me tell you, I prefer them to the 
 grim tyke before mentioned. For hark you sir, why should I be 
 behind any parson whatsoever ? for they have made a stalking 
 horse of the devil, and got money by him for thousands of years : 
 and why cannot I get a little rhino by painting this agreeable 
 couple on the same cloth ? Indeed these punch-like puppets 
 the Methodists, have improved on the old scheme : for they 
 have not only made a stalking horse of him, but a dancing bear : 
 for they can put a ring into his nose, lead him about, and bait 
 him at pleasure. Nay, I think tliey abuse his devilship ; for 
 
 they make a cur-dog of him : and can set him upon (or even 
 
 into) you with whoop, and bring him off with a whistle. Wit- 
 ness, Wesley's Journals. 
 
 Now sir if all parsons can squeeze money out of him, why 
 may not I ? For, in my opinion, our trade requires as many 
 brains as theirs ; especially these last ujjstart devil whippers. 
 
 By the time you have got thus far, I hope you are convinced 
 
843 
 
 that Tim is still in the land of the living. Pray my compli- 
 ments to all friends, and tell them so : and that I can truly say 
 of myself what show-men say of their wooden puppets ; all alive, 
 all alive, gentlemen ! and whilst so shall certainly remain 
 
 Deae Sir, &c. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 TO Me. H. WHITAKER, 
 
 MANCHESTER. 
 
 Dec. 1766. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I am now returned from my journey to York which 
 
 has been so expensive to me, and so very irksome in those super- 
 abundant charges of chambermaids, ostlers, boot-jacks, &c. that 
 I will never travel so far again in the shape of a quarter gentle- 
 man whilst my name's Tim. 
 
 The Devil scratch both the bitch Fortune, and the chamber- 
 maids too, say I, who are all blind alike ; Fortune, for not giving 
 me an estate, and these voracious cannibals, for expecting as 
 much from me as if I had two thousand a year. 
 
 If ever necessity drives me with a cat-of-nine-tails a ,score 
 of miles from home again, I'll fit these Antropophagi all alike. 
 I'll go in an old painting-coat ; my waistcoat shining with, and 
 stinking of linseed oil; a lime-lad's hat, hooped round the 
 crown with whip-cord ; in which I will stick a lock of wool, or a 
 hare's scut, my shoes dirty, my knees appearing through my 
 stockings as though I was a methodist, and got my living with 
 praying. I will sit by the kitchen fire ; an ashen plant shall 
 support my hands, which shall make a cushion for cheek; 
 my eyes shall move like those in a clock, or as punch moves his 
 when he first views his audience. 
 
 By this method I can have diversion ; cheat the whores and 
 rogues, and save money ; not that I ever valued, or worshipped 
 
34:3 
 
 this god of fools ; but the -world is so extravagantly ■whimsical, 
 that one or another is continually demanding it of me ; as though 
 I had the mines of Potosi at command, or that my pockets were 
 like the widow's cruse. Nay, forsooth, they'll have it too ; or 
 they will make a scullion of me at the great house of John of 
 Gaunt. This you know, though I have no aversion to whims, 
 might possihly raise a sour humour in my stomach and give me 
 the heart-burning, or edge my teeth to that degree, that I should 
 not be able to eat roast-beef, goose-pies, or custards, at a Christ- 
 mas ; or drink punch and ale, as now, when I sway the birchen 
 sceptre at Milnrow. 
 
 York is surprisingly altered within these few years. When I 
 and the young squire my son, entered at Micklegate-bar (built 
 by the Eomans) we were vastly pleased with the unexpected 
 grand appearance of the lamps ; fixed in regular order, and at 
 every door one ; which looked as beautiful as when you look at 
 a branch of candles through a multiplying-glass. 
 
 The streets are very clean, and the pavements excellent. 
 Handsome new buildings raise their heads, and seem to look 
 down with scorn on their old neighbours ; just as your Man- 
 chestertonian great fortunes look on a ruddy milkmaid under 
 her pail. In short, the whole city is reviving ; and may be 
 compared to an old man whose quondam baldpate begins to be 
 filled with beautiful curled hair, and his hollow jaws filled with 
 a set of ivory grinders. 
 
 Notwithstanding this half resurrection of the town, the taste 
 of the Yorkists seems quite antique, and very whimsical in some 
 things. In Liverpool they are fond of parrots ; but these peo- 
 ple for want of them, have taken a liking to their own country 
 fowls, and keep magpies. They have what I may call chicken 
 pens for them in their kitchens ; and teach them or cause them 
 to be taught the art of speaking. The airs of these birds in 
 their cages, are mighty brisk, and resemble your Jemmy Frib- 
 bles : but their tones are as gross as an Alderman's, or any poll 
 
844 
 
 from Hindostan. They can whistle also! But whether with 
 the mouth, nose, or backwards, I really cannot tell. Neither 
 could I see how they screwed up the mouth, nose, or arse in the 
 act of whistling, though I waited on one a good while to be 
 satisfied ; but whistle they did, and loud too : though I confess not 
 with that melody of the ouzel, which so surprised one of your 
 neighbouring Justices in times of yore ; who would needs com- 
 mit him to the house of correction for whistling of a Sunday, 
 and breaking the sabbath. 
 
 They have twenty-two churches in York, besides their noble 
 Minster : how they are filled on a Sunday I cannot tell, but I 
 suppose like a country chapel in a forenoon. The churches, 
 in general, appear venerable with age ; in particular one which 
 they call the Mother-Church : not I suppose that the Minster 
 and all the rest were brought out of its belly, but that it is the 
 oldest. Indeed it is of so odd a construction, that it might well 
 be the unlioked embrio of some gothic architect. 
 
 Euins of old walls appear all round the city ; and cast up 
 banks and little hills : some of which retain the name of 
 Severus's hills to this day. But alas the different scenes threw 
 me into a melancholy I scarce knew why. One reason was, I 
 did not know what the different ruins had been, having never 
 seen Dr. Drake's History of York, which should be read before 
 a pierson views the ruins of this ancient city. 
 
 It seems to have been either a very holy, or a very hypocri- 
 tical place once — : for there are vestiges of abbies, monastries, 
 priories, and nunneries without end. But most of their subter- 
 ranean vaults, or cellars that remain are turned into receptacles 
 for more refined and spiritual things than fat monks, and bare- 
 footed friars were ever deemed to be, being generally filled with 
 wine, brandy, rum, &c. 
 
 There are abundance of ladies in this town, as Lady Lawson, 
 Lady Thompson, &c. for you must know they make a span new 
 lady every year, not of a lump of clay, or of a rib as in old time ; 
 
345 
 
 but of fine, soft, warm, delicate flesh and blood ; -who retain the 
 title durante vitce. They ate created thus, by lying between 
 the identic sheets with the Lord Mayor, though he poor man is 
 forced to return to his primitive function at the year's end, and 
 sell tobacco, raisins, or treacle-; or linen cloth and ribbands at 
 so much a yard, and is plain Mr. Grocer again. 
 
 They have also their Alderm^en as in London ; and I perceive 
 cast pretty much in the same mould. One of them hight 
 Thompson, turned away his husbandman because the hedge he 
 had made would not turn water, but went through and took part 
 of the bank away. 
 
 The same magistrate having a ladder stolen, the note he drew 
 up for the bell-man began. Stolen or strayed, a Ladder, from Alder- 
 man Thompsoii's Stable, or Backside, of 13 Staves and a piece, dx. 
 
 There is also an Alderman at this time in York (I think they 
 call him Bowes) who about a fortnight ago, walking in the street, 
 was.'applied to by a lady of pleasure for leave to stay a few 
 weeks in the town. The good Alderman gave her leave for a 
 fortnight only. She not thinking this long enough told his 
 
 worship flatly, she 'would not go so soon. No ! says he, 
 
 then you shall not stay at all. I will do just what I please for 
 that. You .shall not you impudent bitch, says he. I will, you 
 
 pockified rogue said madam. On which he claps his hand on 
 
 her breast and pushes her from him . Now she being a 
 
 lusty jade, clasps her arms round the Alderman's middle, laid 
 her down on her back in the street, and pulled him fairly upon 
 her, then lifting up her heels gets them across the Alderman's 
 hams, and so held him till the crowd had gathered about them : 
 but with more laughing and shouting than ever was seen or 
 heard in a Roman theatre over a couple of gladiators. 
 
 There was also the last week in the city a German Jew, parti- 
 cularly famous for his dexterity in the art of legerdemain : it 
 happened that the same Alderman with others, was standing at 
 the door of a bookseller's shop, when it happened the Juggler 
 
346 
 
 went by. Ho — you fellow, says the Alderman, they say you are 
 a Conjurer — No, no — me no conjure — : me be de gret quick Leger- 
 demain man. But they tell me you are ; and that you can tell 
 all things, and do every thing — . No, no; me, 'do de vine sleet 
 hond — me deceive de eye ; me no conjure, no, no-^-me do deceive wid 
 doing de ting, quick, quick, quick, hut me no conjure. Well, well, 
 but you fellow, I'll try you in your cheating way for once — ; 
 Can you tell me how much money I have in my pockets ? Yes 
 yes, me do dat ver vel — : but den you count it first, if you pie ; ant 
 you no cheat me. That I'll do, says his worship. Then turning 
 to a pillar in the street he counts the money into his hat, and 
 clasping it close with both hands, now says he, tell me what 
 money I have in my pocket ? Me vil do dat, but den you be honest 
 an tell me de tru — . Yes, yes, that I'll do ; and do you speak out 
 without quibbling"-. Yes me speak out ant tell you de tru too ; 
 vor you hav no money in your pocket. This raised a loud laugh ; 
 and whilst the Alderman stared about him to see what they 
 laughed at, the Juggler slipped away. 
 
 The same Juggler standing in a shop door with several others, 
 there chanced to go by a woman, crying hot pies ; here, you 
 iDoman, vid de hot pie, said the Juggler, give me von pie. Yes, sir, 
 and gave him one. Vat me give you vor dis ? Twopence, says 
 she, dore den ; dere be your twopence vor it. Whilst she was cover- 
 ing her pies, and staring at him, he broke into his own, and 
 pulls out a guinea. Hey ! says the Juggler, dis be good pie ; de 
 cheap pie indeed! me buy de noder pie of you. The woman hesi- 
 tated a little at selling another ; but however did it, but still 
 kept her eyes on him, whilst he breaks into the second pie, and 
 pulls out a thirty-six shillings piece. Hey day ! says he, dis be de 
 gooder cheap pie indeed I dis be de vonderful pie in all de vorld ! me 
 buy more your pie: me buy all depie you hav sell. But the woman 
 turned herself hastily from him, and would sell him no more ; 
 but slipping into a corner, she took off all the pye-lids and sought 
 them thoroughly : but alas, no guineas ! no thirty-six shilling 
 
347 
 
 pieces could be found : so the poor woman cried — ; the mob 
 
 laughed, and the scene ended. 
 
 Methinks I hear you say, and it is time to end your long 
 
 letter, friend Tim. True, sir, but it is customary to tag letters 
 
 with compliments, &g. so to be a cuckoo, amongst cuckows, I 
 
 wish you good beef and pudding, fine ale, or friend Budworth's 
 
 punch, a warm room, a good fire, a clean pipe, and agreeable 
 
 company. If all these fall short of your desires, wish things 
 
 for yourself, and give them to 
 
 Dear sir, 
 
 Your most &c. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 TO Me. TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 Manchester, Jan. 30, 1767. 
 
 SlB, 
 
 Coming into Eochdale the Slst current, and finding 
 it very imprudent to pass the hills into Yorkshire that evening, 
 because of the deep snow, I determined to light at the Union 
 Flagg. Standing in the door, (it being duskish) I saw a man 
 putting a paper on the cross, when he was gone I had the curi- 
 osity to borrow a lantern of the jolly landlord to view the 
 contents : which having done, I concluded it to be a satirical 
 joke on some rich miser in your neighbourhood. 
 
 This reflection induced me to pull it off the stone pillar, and 
 put it into my pocket-book, a copy of which I now enclose you. 
 There are two things in it I do not understand ; one is in the 
 
 first charity, tlius, F s, the other are the figures at the last, 
 
 which though enigmatical may perhaps stand for his name. 
 These I shall beg your opinion of when I see you here. You 
 
 shall know me by this sign ; I will lay my right hand on 
 
 your left shoulder, and in a hoarse voice tell you 
 
 I am, 
 
 Xicliolas Noodlepate. 
 
348 
 
 To the Poor of this Town, and Parish of "4 
 Rochdale, in the Hundred of Salfprd. y 
 
 That is to say — to those, likemwho hav§ Ji6t at present, or ever 
 had, any Eehef from their respective Townships. 
 
 WHEEEAS to relieve the Poor is an obligation, like as i* 
 were, which lies on the rich ; and more especially at this time, 
 like, when the high price of •oat-cakes, seawl, and other geer, or 
 eating-stuff, as it were, lies so heavy upon 'em : and this weight 
 being still made heavier by the low wages given by a parcel 9f 
 varlets : that is to say, by the full-fed proud master piece-makers : 
 and the snow which now lies in such huge drifts that many 
 honest poor people are d^imned, that is to say, made up, like as 
 it were, in old rotten cotes, without bread to eat, or fire to keep 
 them warm. Besides many are sick, at the same time like.*;-:. 
 
 And likewise as it is a duty, as it were, to follow the laudable 
 practice of some well-under-put neighbouring gentlemen" an,d.» 
 others ; that is to say, those mentioned in the newspapers', and- 
 likewise pricked on, as it were, by one who signs, tbai is to say, 
 writes his name Chremes, in Harrop's last paper. -" ' ^ 
 
 Now, I say, considering the aforesaid premises, and' of evgry 
 part and portion thereof, both jointly and separately I dojmeby 
 give notice, =. . 
 
 That I will (out of my- well known charity, and 
 tender affection for the poor ; that is like such as 
 are above-mentioned) GIVE to each honest house- 
 keeper, within this parish, as mi^ch money,' as he, 
 or they might get in the looms, or otherwise in the" 
 same time they may spend in coming to my house at 
 F — s : which at an average, I guess will be^ about 
 threepence worse than ...'... 
 
349 
 
 Itetn. I will bestow on him, her, or them so 
 qualified, and to each person in such family one good 
 wheaten loaf weighing eight ounces. Provided he, 
 or they do not knock at my door or othef ways dis- 
 turb me. One who never went over any of my 
 fences, hedges, or ditches, by hunting or otherwise ; 
 one who never was drunk, or ' eat of a goose, or 
 minced pie : which may amount to, or near it, like. . 
 
 Item. I will give to every poor person so quali- 
 fied, 17 pounds of good beef, when I feed an ox to 
 fill the bellies of the poor : that is to say, or kill one 
 for that purpose 
 
 Ite77i. As it will be dangerous like to their health, 
 
 as- it, were, by reason of the great cold, for the over- 
 
 'c^eers of the highways, with other able and willing 
 
 inhabitants, to open the roads at the towns cost, (the 
 
 which I have forbid) so as the poor may procure 
 
 eoals for firing. I will send gratis to each such poor 
 
 yfamily five loads of coal of two baskets each (provided 
 
 the roadg are not opened at the turnpike's cost) as 
 
 soon,- as my shoulder is better ; my cart-wheels 
 
 i, greased, my horse geer^ repaired like, and my horse 
 
 heels cured o'th scratches 
 
 Item. I will also give free leave for any of the 
 aforesaid poor families who has a cow, to put her 
 into my summer pasture (and eke .inl;o my eddish at 
 the season) for the next seven years to come. Pro- 
 vided such cow be not too .large, or does not pull up 
 too much grass with her rough tongue ; and also 
 that they pay me before they take them away forty 
 shillings for the summer gate, and four shillings a 
 week for the eddish ; any thing before-mentioned 
 to the contrary notwithstanding - 
 
S50 
 
 Item. I will give unto the poorest bald-headed 
 tailor in this parish, qualified as above said (he 
 shewing me such his bald pate) my old brownish, 
 whitish, yellowish wig : in which I have done such 
 upright jvistice for above thirty years now last past; 
 and in which I ran away, in that terrible, and never- 
 to-be-forgotten year 1743 
 
 Item. I will give unto such guardless, and grace- 
 less poor women who have had three children each, 
 but never a husband, two old rusty padlocks, bought 
 by one of my venerable ancestors about the time of 
 the battle of Flodden field : and such as I put on 
 my strong oak chests ; the one to lock up her mouth, 
 and. the other to secure her tail, to prevent them from 
 being any more chargeable to the parish 
 
 Item. And to such women as have but had two 
 such children, but no husband, one lock each ; as 
 supposing like when it is duly, and properly placed, 
 and as it were kept on the upper orifice the other 
 would need none 
 
 These two last charities I bestow, as thinking 
 them of the greatest utility and as the cheapest, and 
 wheemest way to a reformation as it were, and worth 
 about 
 
 Item. I will give during all this sharp unseason- 
 able weather, all the offal of beef, mutton and veal ; 
 and likewise all the good ale left in my blue and 
 white stone jugs, or pitchers as it were, after my 
 man-servants and maid-servant have dined, like unto 
 such poor person as first shall enter my house, with- 
 out knocking, speaking, or making any noise, least it 
 should disturb my dosing. This, on an average may 
 be worth, like 
 
 
 
351 
 
 Lastly I recommend these my cliarities, as copies, 
 or patterns as it were, to the rest of the gentlemen in 
 the hundred of Salford, hoping, and thinking, lilse, 
 that they will not come much behind me in so char- 
 itable a work ; and then they may follow me also in 
 committing the rest of their wealth in safety to their 
 oaken chests, and iron boxes, without fearing a mob. 
 Or which may be as good like, or better as it were, 
 in laying it out in good and sufficient Land security 
 
 Total 
 
 
 
 To all which I do hereby agree, and will fulfil ; and to testify 
 it, I do hereto put my hand and seal, this 21st day of January, 
 1767. 
 
 TO Me. E. W. 
 
 Leeds, Dec. 20, 1767. 
 Deab Sin, 
 
 It seems pretty much of late, to be my fortune to be 
 
 haunted by wild creatures (excuse one pun) for I am now at the 
 
 Bed Bear in Leeds ; and I lay the last night at the White Lion 
 
 in Halifax. I was sadly plagued in this last town with great, 
 
 thumping, gaping and staring Yorkshire-men who were often 
 
 treading on my great shoe in which you know I always put my 
 
 sore toe. I was on the point of quarreling with one of them for 
 
 setting his great strong boot on my slender pump. Indeed I 
 
 find it very inconvenient for my sore toe, when my great shoo 
 
 takes up near one half of the street , but so it is ; tho' at the 
 
 same time I think the sick, and lame should stay at home. 
 
352 
 
 Pray my obsequious duty to my Sovereign Lord, and Master 
 at home-; and tell her I sold to a gentleman (who I met with 
 in Halifax) the following pictures : — 
 
 Hob and the Quact-dootor 1 10 
 
 „ The Pluralist....;.". ; 15 
 
 The Staymaker .;^ IS 
 
 Doctor Stem and Doctor Squintum J.0 
 
 £3. 10 
 
 I hate this money in my pocket, and wish my master had it, 
 instead of me ; as I think I have enough besides. Pray take 
 some method to let Mr. Mills know what pictures I have sold ; 
 that he may not sell them again, and desire him to pack the 
 above mentioned safely, and send them to Mr. Bolton in Armin. 
 
 I am tired, and poor Jenny almost blind, with the epidemical 
 disease among horses. I'll stay all night where I am. Tomor- 
 row I intenil lying, in York : after that time I know not what 
 will become of me. 
 
 I think I could coop up all the souls I have met with in York- 
 shire, in a nut-shell as the artist did Homer's Illiads not 
 
 one subscriber ; except that great soul who bought the pictures. 
 
 I expected a letter from the engraver Bottomley before I left 
 home, if my Duchess receives any, let me know its contents 
 
 . Direct for me at Newcastle upon Tyne. My little 
 
 great toe is easy at present, tho' I have not doctored it yet. 
 Tell my Duchess to send Mr. Mills a Shude-hill fight to go- 
 along with the pictures the very first opportunity. 
 
 I beg my humble service to Messrs. Townley, sen. and jun. 
 compliments to all friends, and believe it if I say 
 
 I am. 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
3S3 
 
 TO Me. rob. WHITAKER. 
 
 Newcastle, Dec. 25, 1767. 
 
 Old Fbiend, 
 
 I writ to you from Leeds on Sunday last, hoping ta 
 find your answer here, but have not met with that satisfaction. 
 I left Leeds about nine on Monday morning (Bro. Thomas Clay 
 coming luckily half an hour before I set off) and got to York 
 before dark ; though I alighted at the gallows (Lord bless us) 
 to draw an old statue which stands up a lane just opposite 
 them ; and about six roods distant from those terrible wooden 
 posts. This statue has the common appellation of old Hob, 
 and my friends in York, and their historian old Gent, all con- 
 clude he was a Knight Templer of the Eoss family. But on 
 shewing my son the draught and arms hanging on his left arm 
 (which are Gules, three Water Bougets Argent) he said he took it 
 to represent a Knight Hospitaller, and that the arms belonged 
 to the family of Eoos or Eouse. However the carving was in 
 a good taste, considering when it was done ; but time who 
 mangles every thing had knocked off poor Hob's nose, and 
 lamed both his feet, at which I shook my head, but kept 
 silence ; for nobody was by but Hob to hear my complaint, and 
 he, poor fellow through age was grown as deaf as a door nail. 
 
 These Knight Templers, were instituted by Baldwin, the 
 fourth king of Jerusalern, 1118 ; and their office was to defend 
 the Temple, the Sepulchre, and entertain, and conduct the 
 foolish pilgrims who visited those parts. By the folly of those 
 times, and the cunning knavery of priests, they grew so rich, 
 that the order possessed in Europe 16000 lordships besides 
 liiany other lands. These large possessions made them in 
 general very dissolute ; which gave Philip the fair, king of 
 France, our Edward the second, his son in law, and the Pope, 
 a handle to seize all their estates, and dissolve the order. Nay 
 Philip not content with that, burnt 57 knights, their Grand 
 
364 
 
 Master being one of them. Some of their lands were given 
 afterwards to the Knights Hospitallers, from whom sprung the 
 Knights of Ehodes, who held that Island about 200 years. 
 But Solyman sent them packing ; and the Emperor Charles 
 fifth gave them Malta, where the rogues continue to this day. 
 
 I repeat it like a hubbling parson that I got into York in 
 good time. The person I would first speak to, was my friend 
 Mr. Atkinson ; who (excuse vanity) jumped for joy on seeing 
 me. He conducted me to a good inn ; sent billets, or cards, 
 immediately to such as would be agreeable company to us, and 
 ordered a supper at my inn. There were present his Grace 
 the Duke of Milnrow ; my friend Atkinson, carver and projec- 
 tor ; Mon. Boutatts, a good portrait and history painter, a 
 Fleming ; Mon. Vanderhagen, a Dutchman, an excellent carver 
 and modeller ; Mr. Eussel, writing-master ; Mr. Hindley, a 
 noted mechanic and clock-maker, and a merry captain. 
 
 These were a set of the best natured mortals I ever passed an 
 hour with since my name was Tim. I need not tell you how 
 we spent the evening ; but happening to shew them my Battle 
 of the Flying Dragon, they made me read it twice that night, 
 and once the next morning. We parted about twelve, all 
 merry, but sober, (tell this to my crooked rib as a wonder.) 
 
 The next morning (Tuesday) I went to see all their different 
 performances which pleased me extremely ; more especially 
 with the ingenuous good nature with which they shewed them 
 to me. 
 
 I left York at half-past eleven, and passed through some of 
 the best roads and pleasantest country I ever saw; got to 
 Easingwold about one o'clock. The houses here are all post- 
 and-petrel ; and thatched both on the sides and ends, thus 
 
 Here I began to find I should want an inter- 
 preter, as I could not understand what they said, under twice 
 or thrice asking. The man and his mare wanted feeding : so 
 
335 
 
 I began at the first sign — Have you any bran for my horse ? 
 Indeed sir, we ken no what ye say. Says I, I want the remains 
 of wheat when it is sifted into flour. O ho, says one, he means 
 
 Chissel Yes, yes, gude sir, quoth slie, we have indeed. So I 
 
 lighted thinliing to have some scalded bran immediately put 
 
 Jenny up and went into the house : but alas — ! when there 
 
 I could have stolen all the fire, put it in my bags and rode to 
 the next toon, without singing them. After an hour and half's 
 waiting, with the help of some sticks, nine coals about the size 
 of walnuts, a good pair of bellows, and much huffing I got the 
 water hot, but not- boiling. Now sir, what do you think ? But 
 Jenny eat up the Chissel as though it had been good Lancashire 
 bran ; and her master bread, the colour of black turf, and a 
 little butter, as if it had been a London roll, or a penny pie of 
 Fringe- Jenny's. 
 
 I left Easingwold without tears at parting, and got to Thirsk 
 at seven. After Jenny and I were fed, I found my landlady a 
 handsome widow ; so I would by all means be shaved, and my 
 caxton tossed up : so stepping to the next barber's, I found he 
 stammered worse than James Stock of the Ashes : besides he 
 looked two ways, both upwards and downwards, as if he knew 
 not whether to go to heaven, or stay where he was. After much 
 stammering, which you must fancy ; quoth he, I cannot shave 
 kind sir ; but my wife can : for Ise ganging oan the street the 
 last Saturday neeight, when ye ken sir is was very froasty : 
 So Ise fell wa ma shooder agean some steean stepps, an Ise 
 brack ma shooder-beean yeall to tatters. I then looked at 
 the female shaver, and thought her of the handsome order ; 
 but alas sir, this might be a mistake ; as I begun to think 
 every woman handsome. However I suffered her to shave and 
 toss up my wig : guess sir, how my modesty was shocked whilst 
 she was lathering, and shaving ; and what odd emotions run 
 
 through my frame In short, I thought she had done 
 
 too soon -. 
 
356 
 
 1 left Thirsk an hour before the sun got out of bed, witbout 
 breakfast ; it was so very keen and frosty, that I was afraid of 
 being transformed into a young Hob ; or if you like the simile 
 better, into another King Charles on horseback ; which dread- 
 ful catastrophe had certainly happened, had not my crooked rib, 
 and Miss Kitty hindered it. Perhaps you will say. How the 
 d — 1 could that be, and they at seventy miles distance — ? Why 
 sir, they had very luckily stuffed my riding-coat pocket with 
 some gingerbread^nuts, kneaden with brandy ; which I never 
 thought on till this critical moment. My arms and hands were 
 so frozen I had much ado to get at them ; but by pulling a hole 
 in the paper I fell on as greedily as a dying lawyer takes doses 
 of physic ; or as a Eomish priest on a sirloin of beef after Lent. 
 These warmed my stomach as if a flannel had been wrapped 
 round it, or indeed, as if I had swallowed all the fire I found 
 in the Easingwold inn. 
 
 Next I got to a town they call Smeaton, about eleven ; here I 
 thought to breakfast like a Duke, i. e. on mulled ale and brandy, 
 and buttered roll ; I had a very handsome ostler, who was also 
 my cook, and both of them proved my landlord's daughter. 
 Several thoughts flew through my head in the stable, but no 
 words vented ; only I asked her if she could make me some 
 mulled ale ? She seemed vexed at the question, and answered 
 short, Ise try. But alas, when she got into the house, and 
 enquired of an old woman, her mother, for eggs, she answered. 
 Indeed coind sir, ther be na eggs in a the toon, nnr a rooal neeigher 
 thin ThirsJc : but Ise can mak ya a peent o hoat yeeall ; an ye me 
 ha some a oor broon bread an butter — . Necessity has no law. 
 I breakfasted and was content. 
 
 I passed on to Darlington, a pretty town, and pleasantly 
 situated : but I drove on, in spite of Jenny, who told me many 
 times she would call whether I would or not ; that she was not 
 well, and wanted to rest her ; and was sure I had no business 
 any further. I told her to the contrary, by giving her whip 
 
357 
 
 and spur ; this vexed her ladyship so, that she sprung out of 
 the road ; and she would needs go into a house full gallop : • 
 this frightened me so, that I used all my strength and art to 
 prevent it; which if I had not done, Parson Haigh's job at 
 the Loweryates, had been a flea-bite to mine : for, on this very 
 
 day I must have been buried at Darlington Tell my 
 
 sovereign Lady this and take good notice whether she 
 
 crys, or not . 
 
 This peep into another world both frightened and vexed me 
 so, that I made Jane go two miles an hour faster than before ; 
 so got to Ferryhill soon enough to see a black lion from a red 
 one : but so shaken, I was near losing an arm, or a leg on the 
 road, my sinews stretched, and joints so loose that I could not 
 stand, or cut up a pullet I had ordered for supper, but the 
 Landlord took pity and helped me plentifully. The Lord 
 reward him accordingly. 
 
 Thursday morning I left Ferryhill, half-past eight, sans 
 breakfast; fine road as the Vicar's Moss ; and got to Durham, 
 would not light there in spite of Jenny's teeth although hungry 
 enough : I bought a pair of buck-skin riding-gloves, a penny- 
 worth of lean cheese, and a halfpenny roll ; resolving to have 
 breakfast on Jenny's back (for I had not forgot my fright at 
 Darlington) and thought it the best breakfast I had met in 
 my journey. 
 
 I arrived at Chester-le-street before twelve. This is an old 
 Eoman station ; and where a number of foolish monks hid St. 
 Cuthbert's carcase, for fear of the rapacious Danes stealing it : 
 here I fed Jenny, and washed my roll and cheese down with 
 two pints of gude yeeall. I left this station : and about two 
 o'clock got to one of the oddest situated toons I ever saw ; the 
 Tyne runs nearly through the middle of it ; and the inhabitants 
 say, it is the most like London of any toon in the three king- 
 doms : I could not help swearing. By th' mass, then London's 
 an ugly toon indeed : for which I run great hazard of having my 
 head broke. 
 
858 
 
 This toon of Toons they call Newcastle ; where I found my 
 two sons in good health, and so tossed up, that I hardly knew 
 my own, especially Charles. I was much better pleased to find, 
 on enquiry, that their reputations were better than their cloaths. 
 
 Charles laughed when I enquired after the coat, waist- 
 coat, &c. he took from Milnrow : which I found he had sold to 
 a tailor for less than half value ; instead of which he has got a 
 pink-bloom suit dyed in grain, of twenty shillings a yard. 
 John has several suits of fine black cloth of the same price ; 
 and both laugh at my church-going coat of three and sixpence 
 per yard. Let them go on and prosper, say I . 
 
 They both send their duty to their mother — Compliments to 
 all friends — Thanks to you for old Leigh's Heraldry. I my 
 humble service at Belfield, and to you ; and dear respects to 
 her Excellency the Duchess of Milnrow, being with much 
 esteem, 
 
 Dear Sir, &c. 
 
 P. S. Hold 1 had forgot my great-little-toe — which, 
 
 and the foot too, was much inflamed at York ; but pretty easy 
 till the last night, when my foot was red, and swelled, with a 
 hollow black spot on the top. This made me curse the Halifax 
 great boot. However I poulticed the whole, and it has been 
 easy ever since ; and now fancy my toe the best part. You 
 wanted to know all circumstances; query, have you enough? 
 
 TO Me. rob. WHITAKER. 
 
 Newcastle Jan. 6th, 1768. 
 Old Fkiend, 
 
 I had your favour of the 97th in course, 
 but having writ my second from hence, a day or two before 
 
369 
 
 I received this last, I have waited till now for your answer to 
 my said second, but can hear nothing of it. 
 
 I thank you for your pain and care, especially for sending 
 my groom Harry to Mr. Mills's, and your kind intentions on 
 my wife's account. 
 
 I want to know what news from Manchester ; both on your 
 brother's and cousin Bottomley's account. I think I did not 
 relinquish the Manchester affair, but on condition that I was 
 paid by one of the parties. However as the Col : seems to take 
 notice of the frolic, I am glad things are as they are. If you 
 think proper you may shew him the copy of my letter to your 
 brother on this subject, which you will find in my old bureau 
 in the school, and let him know I am much at his service. 
 
 I have acted, in general, the part of a dumb man since I 
 came to this Loudon the second, having kept little company ; 
 and even then, I am obliged to be mum ; which you know is 
 no easy task for me to perform ; for I cannot understand one 
 half what they say : happening to say thus in company, a New- 
 castle Oit took it in dudgeon, and disputed my veracity. This 
 stirr'd my Lancashire blood ; and seeing him the less man, and 
 I forgetting my lame foot, was for carrying him out of the 
 room into the street : but my son John having more sense than 
 us both put an end to this momentous dispute ; I having forgot 
 that my dialect might be as unintelligible to them as theirs was 
 to me. 
 
 I take them to be all Scotch or Scotch-lowland-bastards, 
 having their twang at the end of a sentence to a tittle : but 
 even this dialect is murdered by making it run Gantlope thro' 
 their noses, and throat : so that Gihan's braid Scoatch is as plain 
 as our Father, when compared to the Northumberland Brogue. 
 
 My respects to my crooked-rib, blessing to my children, and 
 compliments to all friends ; and tell my doxy, that her son 
 John is tired with living free as a Hawk, and wants to be pent 
 up in the cage of matrimony like an Ouzel. I have laid before 
 
860 
 
 him what he may reasonably expect by putting his neck into 
 that noose ; and told him the age I was, before I acted my part 
 
 in that droll scene. But all will not do the lad's smitten 
 
 with no beauty ; and with no great fortune, I believe it will be 
 £400 : and I perceive the principal reason of his sending for 
 me, was to consult together on this affair. He's dancing with 
 her whilst I write this ; tell his mother what danger he's in ; 
 and that I think Charles will be a good, and ingenious lad. 
 John has not been his journey to Carlisle, Scotland, &c. by 
 reason of the deep snow, his business lying chiefly in the 
 cross-roads which they say are unpassable. So that my coming 
 to old England is as uncertain as a Wood-cock's. For which 
 reason I would have my duchess make some bargain with my 
 old curate Thomas Belfield to attend to the school. Indeed 
 whilst the snow lies so deep, and the frost continues, there will 
 be but few scholars : and as they will but come at nine, and go 
 at twelve; come at two, and leave off between four and five, 
 I think he may do it for a little : but she'll do her best ; and 
 I'll come as soon as I can. 
 
 There are Hares here in plenty ; I have supped on one and 
 another hangs in the room where I am writing : I wish she was 
 hanging by the hams in the little dining-room at Milnrow. 
 
 My toe has gathered once ; is now pretty easy ; and I think 
 it will be quite sound before the Eochdale Bailiffs grow honest : 
 the Col. pleased me highly with giving the rogues their desert. 
 
 Query, has my Duchess any letters come to hand? From 
 Thomas, at London, especially ? Has my Duchess got my rhino 
 from my doctress, if not, what prospect ? be sly . 
 
 The last week three highway robberies were committed 
 
 within two miles of this town Little of this work happens 
 
 in honest Lancashire. Pray, how does the Col. ? Is he at 
 home ? if so, how long will he stay ? and when goes he to 
 Preston, Lancaster, &c. enough at present from &c. 
 
381 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Tuesday 9 o'clock at night. 
 
 Sib, 
 
 Since I wrote the above I sent Charles to tha post 
 
 office, who brought me your's from Belfield of the 3rd instant, 
 
 and observe the agreeable contents. I am glad cousin Bot- 
 
 tomley thinks my proposal equitable. That if I get a greater 
 
 number of subscribers than he does two shillings shall be 
 
 allowed me for each supernumerary, and the same allowed 
 
 him in the like case. There must be further alterations in the 
 
 conditions : but I will write to him. 
 
 Monsieur Boutatts the Flemish Painter approved my scheme 
 of publishing a booli of heads in my own way, it being a new 
 whim : but advised me to draw the heads larger than those I 
 shewed him ; so that four may fill half a sheet. I approve the 
 hint, and so must draw them all over again. But if we raise 
 860 subscribers at fifteen shillings as proposed, I can and must 
 afford to take more than common pains with them. 
 
 I thank the Col. and other friends for their care about my 
 
 toe. He knows as well as me the truth of those two lines in 
 
 Hudibras 
 
 A wound to him who is all heart, 
 
 Is dangerous in any part. 
 
 But as tis so far from the pulmonary-vein I apprehend no 
 
 danger ; and hope that my now sober living will make me as 
 
 sound as an acorn, before I see your new mill again. Pray 
 
 how goes it on ? 
 
 John sends his compliments, and thanks for old Gerard 
 
 Leigh — Charles does the same, and to James Clegg &c. I 
 
 thank you for the hint about my school ; but refer to the other 
 
 side, and to what you and my duchess think proper : only let 
 
 not the scholars be neglected ; and tell my curate that the 
 
 fewer scholars he has, to make their lessons longer, or more 
 
 of them : I do so very often. 
 
 z z 
 
363 
 
 I am sorry for the loss of my little butcher . But 
 
 princes must die, and so must every butcher's son. Alas, 
 poor fellow ! 
 
 I am obliged to my friends and neighbours for drinking my 
 health. — We are even with you all, for we drink your health's 
 often, especially the Col. Charles has just brought me word, 
 that people out of the country tell him the snow is half a yard 
 deep, but it lies very even. Compliments to your Brother and 
 all who think it worth while to ask after me. John, and 
 Charles send their duty to madam. You talk of me not 
 reading your scrawl, pray, can you read this ? Tell my 
 
 duchess I feed Query, do you think its with being at my 
 
 Uncle's ith' North? I have only painted six heads since I 
 came hither : but done nothing at the London order : I shall 
 begin of that to-morrow. 
 
 About twelve years ago I painted some heads for one Eudd 
 of this town and what blunder do you think I made ? Why 
 sir, I only painted five fingers* and a thumb on one hand. 
 Eudd died, and a gentleman bought them. I offered to alter 
 it gratis, and make a christian-like-hand of it ; but I thank 
 you ; be would part with one of his thumbs, as soon as the odd 
 
 finger What's a gentleman without his humour ? ■ I once 
 
 painted a bare scalp, but the d 1 an ear had it — so that I 
 
 have no room to laugh at the taylor who stitched the sleeve on 
 the pocket-hole. I am. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your most obedient, 
 
 BLUNDERING JOHN. 
 
 TO Mr. EOB. WHITAKEK. 
 
 Newcastle Jan. 17, 1768. 
 Dear Sin, 
 
 I think it was the last Wednesday but one that 
 
 I writ my last ; and have now waited several days without the 
 * James Smith, of Lowerplace, has five fingers ou each hand. 
 
363 
 
 pleasure of receiving your answer. I want to know how tliey 
 go on at Milnrow, especially about the school : what letters are 
 come to hand that are material ? How they all do at Belfield ? 
 Whether the Col. be at home ? or any thing that has happened 
 that will be news to us here. 
 
 I told you I thought my son John was smitten ; and he has 
 proved it with a witness ; and also that his chief reason in 
 sending for me was to advise about changing his state of life. 
 The match was made up the last week between Robert Bankin, 
 his wife, and eldest son on the one part, and two John Colliers, 
 painters on the other. When after a little canvassing the 
 matter and talk of security for paying her fortune at stated 
 times, we thought it proper not to insist on security, but to 
 trust them, as I believe them very honest: and as they have 
 already given two of their sons £500. a piece, it was not proba- 
 ble they would cheat their youngest, and favorite daughter. 
 
 In short the bargain was ; my son to receive £300, in six 
 months after marriage ; and other £300 at the year's end ; and 
 instead of interest till the last £300, is paid, he is to enter on 
 a house of theirs of £14. per annum, rent at May day next, and 
 keep possession till it was paid. 
 
 Here I have shewn (I think its the first time) my worldly- 
 mindedness and made, in a love affair an arrant bargain : which 
 I have so often ridiculed. Do you think I shall grow covetous 
 as I grow old ? Or that I shall act like a great many other old 
 fools, whp as they come nearer their journey's end, want more 
 money to bear travelling expenses than when they set out ? 
 Notwithstanding the above, I thank God I feel not the least 
 spark of this vile absurdity yet. 
 
 I shall stay no longer here but just to see the old fashioned 
 ceremony over ; which is fixed for next Saturday, her birth 
 day ; she being then eighteen years old. 
 
 John has taken a strong likeness of the Duke of Milnrow's 
 face, or all are mistaken who see it. If I cannot spare myself 
 
364 
 
 the next week, tell the Duchess I ■will send her his grace's 
 picture — . Ask her if that will do — . 
 
 John has been at Carlisle, and many other places in three 
 days and a half; I think he has not spared Jenny Cameron ; I 
 know not how she is after this journey. I had forgot, my 
 worse toe is the better — . 
 
 I wish my curate would peep into the stable to see how Harry 
 behaves to the cow, and goes on with the hay. I have seen 
 Tinmouth, the ruined abbey, the castle, and Shields, I'll see 
 more if time permits. How goes your mill on ? 
 
 Charles is in bed a quarter of a mile off me — John with his 
 doxy — 'tis near one o'clock, Monday morning; dear respects to 
 
 wife, children, compliments to friends adieu till I see you 
 
 being sincerely sir, &c. 
 
 P. S. Jan. 13th one o'clock. I have just been with a man 
 who lives about eighteen miles from Durham, who wants his 
 son, a fine youth of eighteen, to be an apprentice with John, he 
 asks £60 and seven years service. I am afraid they'll agree, 
 because I want my son to reserve places for Tom, Charles, and 
 even cousin Charles Clay of Swillington : so I shall not en- 
 courage this affair, tho' it would bring grist to Jack's mill. 
 
 I have broke this open to tell you I've received yours of the 
 
 14th current and will observe, and thank you for the contents. 
 
 We are surprized to hear your weather is worse than here : I 
 
 think the posts have but missed a few hours. Poor Marriott. 
 
 Pray write soon, or I shall not receive it while I am here, 
 
 and believe me, 
 
 Dear Sir, &c. 
 
 EXTRACT OF A LETTER 
 
 From the Bottom of Blackstone-edge, Lancashire. 
 
 Aug. 6, 1770. 
 Mk. Pbinteb, 
 
 The following is part of a tragi-comedy that 
 happened here, on the death of John Halliwell, of Pikehouse, 
 
365 
 
 Esq. the news of which had the following strange effects 
 amongst his tenants in this neighbourhood. I shall begin 
 this account with what happened to 
 
 Moll o' Doll's, who wed Charles o' Bobby's, this woman is deaf 
 of the right ear ; but when the news entered her left, she set 
 up a heavy groan, and cried E ival a dea — .' neaiv aw's o'er — .' 
 aw's whoo up — I mun be reast o meh rent — .' I ha pede ten shil- 
 lings a year for meh new heawse aw-ready : on neaw I mun pey 
 
 fifteen, I'll iiphowd meh — ■ This was all she could utter : 
 
 then turning up the white of her eyes fell backwards, and 
 light with the back of her head on a drink-pot, broke it in 
 pieces, and after a few sobs and groans, expired ! 
 
 Abraham o Stock of Tunshill, another tenant, was standing 
 near the midst of his house-floor, with a mess of milk-pottage 
 in his hand. Abraham had just brewed a strike of malt for 
 the mowers, and the liquor was working in a tub just by him. 
 On hearing the news of his landlord's death, only cried out, 
 
 Whoo-who, whoo-who, whoo Then shutting his eyes dropt 
 
 his pottage on the floor, fetched a sigh, clapped his hands three 
 times together, and fell sideways upon the working-tub ; broke 
 a lagging out of the side, and consequently spilled the liquor : 
 then rolled himself to and fro a good while for grief and vexation 
 in the wort and barm, and was at last taken and laid in the 
 nook with his head on a birch-besom — . AYhether this poor 
 man will recover, and come to his senses again is very un- 
 certain — . 
 
 P. S. It is whispered in the neighbourhood that his wife has 
 laid speech ; and is in as dangerous a way as her husband. 
 
 Owd Meary at Tunshill, their neighbour, on hearing the sad 
 news of her landlord's death, begun her part in the tragedy 
 with wringing her hands, and crying Oh, ho, ho — hum, hum, 
 hum m m m m n n n — Then tears gave vent to the following 
 exclamation: E Jone, had roe known this — Had we bo known 
 heaw lung eawr good Lonlort would ha liv'd had we bo knotvn 
 
366 
 
 heaw soon he would ha deed, we would newr ha limt this feelt — . 
 Jone, con to scrope it off ogen ? I wou'd to would scrope it 
 
 off we mun never ha no profit ont Now, now, not a hit a 
 
 lime shou'd ha cumn on ive mun be reast in or rent, or flit, 
 
 Thus she went on repeating her grievances, and the last ac- 
 count there was of her, she was crying still. 
 
 Mrs. G — h — n happened to be standing with a gentleman 
 traveller, with a sixpenny bowl of punch in her hand, and pretty 
 near a couch-chair. On hearing the words, Mr. Halliwell is 
 dead — turned pale, and staring on the man said, «of a Godsnum ! 
 says the man, ho its as true as I meh cloggs on — now the punch- 
 bowl dropped, and madam fell on the couch-chair ; broke the 
 fore-rail and the cord, then sliding gently on the cushion there 
 lay speechless. After some time, with the help of four men and 
 two women she was carried to bed, and the last hint we heard of 
 her was, there was little hope of her recovery. 
 
 On the disagreeable news reaching the Hills to the Eough- 
 bank, James Ashworth, the elder, who is lame in the crupper, 
 though no swelling appears in his shanks, was taking a pack- 
 saddle off his horse ; who on hearing the words, our Landlord is 
 dead, lets fall the o'erlay, but takes the saddle on his head, wad- 
 dles through the porch with it, up stairs he goes, and throws 
 
 the pack saddle on the bed with the hollow side upwards 
 
 then lays himself fairly and quietly down in it, seemingly 
 resolved never to rise again : and began of rocking and groan- 
 ing, groaning and rocking, with his eyes shut, but without 
 uttering a word, or taking the least notice of what was said 
 to him. 
 
 In this fit of despair they left him for about an hour ; and 
 then one of the family stealing up softly to see how he went on, 
 found he had rocked himself asleep : and in this gentle doze he 
 continued when the post came away. 
 
 Another tenant, Owd Ah o'th Beet ith' Broad-lane, had been a 
 cripple, and lame on one knee for some years. However with 
 the help of time and a stick he made shift to carry his piece to 
 
367 
 
 Eochdale the Monday before his landlord died. Old Ab and his 
 son were spreading dung ; on hearing the bad news he lifted up 
 his head and cried out We're aw undone — / loe're aw undone — .' 
 quite undone — / aw's whoo-up with us efeath — / we can never live — 
 
 never peyth' rent — never get rags too ar a e — ■forivemun aw he 
 
 reast — No moor muck will I breeod. I'll give o'er this trede — had — 
 give o'er hreooding that muck : theawst no breeod another shoo-fo — . 
 I se, if tha do not give o'er I'll clut te oth' sow we meh muck-scroyth. 
 We mun noather keej) horse nor keaw, cat nor dog, for we mun sell 
 up, an go toth' Poor-heawse, or the Deel knows whither — / 
 
 After sobbing and sighing for about half an hour, old Ab's 
 sound knee fell ill, the lame knee much worse, and he could not 
 or would not stir a foot : however in two or three days it seems 
 he grew a little better for he was met on a Welch-dob, with two 
 crutches tied to his side, by which it appears he has got a little 
 use of his limbs again. Whether this be a strain of policy 
 in the old carl to prevent his being raised of his rent, is not 
 fully agreed on by his neighbours ; as he has been suspected of 
 dealing in cant and hypocrisy for many years. 
 
 TO Mr. H. WHITAKEK, 
 
 MANOHESTEH. 
 
 Nov. 26th, 1770. 
 Dear Sik, 
 
 The Col. and I send back the 2 vols, of Biogra. Bri- 
 tannica for which I return you more thanks by ten times than 
 there are cuckolds in Manchester. Indeed I have had more 
 pleasure in conning over these two folios than I ever had in 
 perusing two books since I ever knew a P. from a Q. The 
 laboriousness of the authors, or compilers, their impartiality, 
 and method they take in the text, notes, and margin, please me 
 to a tittle. The only fault is (if it be one) that they speak well 
 of all men. 
 
368 
 
 The most fulsome, and worst written Life, I take to be that 
 of Bishop Burnet : collected chiefly from his son Tom's Gospel 
 Truths. And as it came so near the life of good Doctor Bui- 
 leyn, the contrast was nearly throwing me into swooning fits. 
 
 There are numberless of curious anecdotes which I must 
 never have seen but for these two books : and the more I read, 
 or know of Courts, and Ministers ; Bishops and Pluralists, the 
 more they sour my humour, and set my teeth on edge. 
 
 To my fancy, the life of Caxton, the first printer in Britain, is 
 one of the most curious amongst them, and well deserves print- 
 ing in a pamphlet by itself: in which I have found out the true 
 worth of a book I purchased the last year. I knew it to be a 
 valuable curiosity but now I find it much more so. It is Chau- 
 cer's Canterhury Tales ; and I take it to be the 4th, or 5th book, 
 that ever was printed in England. I have described it in a 
 paper which you'll find in the book, stuck in Caxton's life (which 
 I hope you, and the gentlemen concerned will not take amiss.) I 
 shall take it as a favour of any gentleman concerned in your cir- 
 culating library that has, or knows of any book of the same 
 edition, if he will let us compare and if possible make one 
 complete book of this chief work of Chaucer's. 
 
 There are but two copies, besides mine, known to be in Eng- 
 land : one in the Harleian Library in Oxford ; the other in 
 Magdalen College, Cambridge, and both imperfect ; and sorry 
 am I to say it, so is this of mine, for I think it wants two leaves 
 at the beginning. I think your turn of fancy is not so whimsi- 
 cal as mine in this way if it be ; you may have it a month or 
 two : and any gentleman that has another imperfect copy, I 
 would lend it to him to make his complete, if possible, and only 
 wish the same favour from him. If I could meet with one I 
 could copy the type so exactly as not to be perceived. For the 
 description of this curious book I refer you to the paper in 
 Caxton's Life, as above. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
369 
 
 TO Mr. ROTHWELL, 
 
 SCHOOLMASTER, OF BLACKBOD. 
 
 Milnrow, Aug. 30, 1771. 
 
 Sib, 
 
 Since I had the pleasure of seeing you here, there 
 has fallen into my hands the History of Manchester which work 
 I doubt not but you have seen, or at least heard of ; more espe- 
 cially as there were some Remarks on it in Prescott's Manchester 
 Journal in April and May last. 
 
 The author, Mr. Whitaker, thinks it the most singular and 
 admirable production that ever antiquarianism produced : be 
 that as it will, I am not a little pleased that Chremes, who 
 writ the Eemarks above-mentioned, has much the same opinion 
 of this book, that I have : and presume that many more will 
 view it in the same light, though few will think it worth their 
 while to criticise on it. But as you had a knock at one odd 
 parson, I was resolved to have a rap at the shadow of another ; 
 and have written some censory Eemarks on this wonderful com- 
 position, which are now in the press and will make a twelve- 
 penny pamphlet in octavo. 
 
 I intended on setting out to be more serious than Chremes ; 
 but the author's dogmatical style soon banished gravity, and 
 turned my observations into whipped cream or ludicrous droll 
 reflections- 
 It is worthy of observation that all three of our Lancashire 
 antiquarians, Percival, Watson, and this pendragon of antiqua- 
 rianism, agree in fixing the British Coccium at your village of 
 Blackrod : and yet when they come there disagree about the 
 particular site of it. The two first fix it at the end of your vil- 
 lage towards Manchester, and on the area of the Castle-croft. 
 But the Manchester pendragon will have it on the banks of 
 the Douglas. 
 
 3 a 
 
370 
 
 Now I am doubtful whether any of them be right in taking 
 Blackrod for Coccium, as Ptolomy says it is 18, and Antoninus 
 17 miles from Mancunium (Speed makes it a little more) and I 
 take Blackrod not to be above 14 miles from that town. Secondly 
 because all former antiquarians agree that Eibchester was the 
 Roman Coccium. 
 
 Now sir, as you live in the place, pray give me leave to ask 
 the following questions — . How far is it from Blackrod to 
 Manchester ? Whitaker says it is just 18 from your Chapel to 
 Manchester Cross. 
 
 What is your opinion of the ruins which are to be seen in 
 Castle-croft ? What dimensions they are of? Whether in your 
 opinion they are very ancient, or more modern ? Whether you 
 think this Croft was once larger than at present ? 
 
 Whether you have universal tradition in your neighbourhood, 
 that Blackrod was once a considerable town ? That it once 
 stood on the slope of a hill to the N. W. in two fields, one called 
 the Eie-Hay, the other the Smithy-field, in the course of the 
 road to Preston ; and what ruins are there ? Whether tradition 
 asserts a battle to be fought near it, a great officer slain, and so 
 many men that your river Douglas ran crimsoned with blood to 
 Wigan ? Whether the banks of the Douglas are lofty where a 
 brook falls into it ? And what ruins are there, and in the two 
 fields aforesaid. 
 
 To these queries I beg your speedy and particular answer ; as 
 far as your own knowledge, and proper enquiries will enable you 
 to be satisfactory both to yourself and me : for as I have proved 
 this wonderful pendragon of antiquity to affirm falsehoods in 
 many places of his work, I am very suspicious that most of these 
 so positively asserted may be of the same manufacture, and con- 
 sequently, ought not to be imposed on the public without a 
 proper detection. 
 
 This doing will greatly oblige 
 
 Sir, &c, 
 
371 
 
 TO Me. NICKSON, 
 
 PRINTEB, TORE. 
 
 June 97th, 1774. 
 
 SlE, 
 
 The reason for my not returning this M.S. of the 
 list of high Sheriffs sooner, was because I did not approve of the 
 type, especially of the capitals ; nor of the form of the pages or 
 leaves, vfhich resemble too much those of Jack the Giant-killer, 
 Tom Thumb, or Newberry's Namby-Pamby's playthings : In- 
 deed the paper seems too rough and burley, for folding so small 
 a thing up neatly. If it be not neat it will never answer my 
 end. It is my opinion, if the paper had been longer and nar- 
 rower, it would have had a more elegant appearance. I would 
 propose a few things if consistent with your art (without much 
 expence) which I should be glad if you approve of. Suppose 
 you could with little trouble lengthen the pages (say one half) 
 and make this type and strong paper print off those for frames, 
 with the title running over the top : leaving one column, or a 
 little more, at the end, in blank for the insertion of some future 
 Sheriffs. Then for those which are to be folded and stitched in 
 gilt paper, and printed on both sides ; I propose a smaller type, 
 say that with which you printed the Explanations for my Book 
 
 of Heads ; and in long narrow pages, thus I have tried 
 
 foolscap, and I find it will be near this shape and may do very well. 
 
 I will have the title-page engraved, which you must consider, 
 and write me by the first post what you think of the above 
 premises. 
 
 I guess there will be 30 lines in a page ; if so, it will come in 
 15 pages : so there will be 9 remaining out of the sheet for the 
 Sheriff's' names in future. If you have no foolscap, let me 
 know directly, and I will send you 17 quires, which will produce 
 about 400. You may print all the other on strong paper, on 
 one side. Almanack-wise for framing. I may perhaps have for- 
 
got some necessary circumstances ; but the above are all that 
 occur at present. I suppose my Human Passions will not sell 
 at the price I fixed — You may let them go at half a guinea each : 
 though what are printed off are nearly sold. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 TO THE REV. Me. H H. 
 
 Nov. 13, 1775. 
 Eev. Sib, 
 
 This morning I have received intelligence from my 
 friend Mr. Whitaker, that there is likely to be a great struggle 
 in this county, and especially in the neighbouring parishes, 
 between the stupid flattering addressers, for coercive measures, 
 and those who are for an honest, and humane reconciliation 
 with our abused Colonies : the old short-sighted Major at the 
 head of the first and the Col. at the latter. There are two 
 printed papers on foot, i. e. a fawning lying Address, and an 
 honest Petition : which last I fear is not dictated in terms plain 
 enough for our country Yeomanry ; such as our Moor-end folks 
 in Butterworth, who look ten times at the head and horns of a 
 twinter, and in the face of a tup, for once in a newspaper for 
 politics. For my part I would have told them plainly. That this 
 weak and scandalous Address to the throne in favour of coercive 
 and bloody measures, is stuffed with lies, fraud, and the most 
 shameful adulation, tending to the misleading and flattering a 
 weak k g — : a stupid, tyrannical, and corrupt administra- 
 tion : to the blinding and keeping his majesty in ignorance of 
 his own and the Nation's true interest, or the real state and 
 grievances of the Colonies. To the enhancing the present 
 grievous taxes, encreasing the national debt, the destruction of 
 trade, the introduction of foreign troops into our strongest for- 
 tresses ; and the great encouragement of our national enemies. 
 
373 
 
 That it tends to all these, and many more pernicious conse- 
 quences, is plain to me, and I wonder that any Englishman with 
 
 his eyes open can possibly think to the contrary . However, 
 
 I rejoice at our mutual friend, the Colonel's spirited and patri- 
 otic honesty ; and that there are yet 50 left in this county who 
 have not, and I hope never will bow the knee to Baal, or wor- 
 ship the clumsy and tattered image which a corrupt ministry 
 have set up. 
 
 As for my part I will sign John Collier with my right, and 
 Tim Bobbin with my left hand, to any petition for reasonable 
 and conciliatory measures ; and hope you will do the same, 
 whatever application may be made to you to the contrary. For 
 though your crape and band brethren sign to the ruin of their 
 country, and go plump to the Devil for interest, I see not the 
 least glimpse of reason that you should follow them. 
 
 I am, 
 
 Eev. Sir, &c. 
 
 TO Mr. TESSEYMAN, 
 
 BOOKSELLEB, TOBK. 
 
 Feb. 24, 1776. 
 Sib, 
 
 You'll see by the above advertisement that time which 
 produces many strange events, has brought my bandyhewit to 
 bed again of a litter of 6000 whelps. The bookseller therein 
 mentioned, who is my partner in this edition, and his brethren 
 in London, have fixed the price of the puppies at Ss. 6d. each, 
 which is dd. more than I intended, and I doubt will hinder the 
 
 sale . But so it is . So it must be — : and I cannot 
 
 help it. 
 
 However, as there are 12 pages more in the Dialect — : the 
 Battle of the Flying Dragon (never before printed) many words 
 
374 
 
 added in the Glossary, and 5 plates more than in the last edi- 
 tion ; I hope they will in some measure compensate for the high 
 price of the whelps. The booksellers must give 3s. each ; and 
 if they take 85 a quarter book will be allowed them. If you 
 think you can dispose of 100 or two, write immediately to 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
 J. C. 
 
 A COPY OF 
 
 Doctor Absolutes Letter to the Rev. Mr. Stopford. 
 
 Dated Salford, June Ist, 1776. 
 
 Eev. Sih, 
 
 Upon full conviction of the unjustness of the suit you 
 commenced against Mr. Millward, I have decisively resolved to 
 defend him in it. Your action therefore will now be nominally 
 against him, but really against me : and I mention this to you 
 for a particular reason. Overtures have been repeatedly made 
 to you of accommodating the difference by referring the object 
 of it. These you have regularly slighted, by going on with your 
 prosecution meaning plainly to intimidate by that, and taking it 
 for granted that you could have recourse to a reference at last : 
 but as you will have no hopes of success in the former design, 
 when you hear that I have placed myself in the room of 
 Mr. Millward ; so I now preclude your views of the other by 
 recalling every overture of reference that' has been made. You 
 have chosen to appeal to the law, to the law will I go with you. 
 This alone shall adjust the dispute between you and 
 
 Sir, 
 
 Your humble Servt. 
 
 JOHN WHITAKER. 
 
37S 
 
 TO THE REV. Me. STOPFORD, 
 
 MANOHESTEB. 
 
 July 8th, 1776. 
 Eev. Sir, 
 
 I here return you Dr. Absolute's letter with a para- 
 prase in Hudibrastic verse hoping it will meet your approbation. 
 This I the rather expect, because you will find it concise, and 
 treads close on the heels of its original. 
 
 The job deserves more than half a guinea; which I hope 
 you'll duly consider ; for tho' poets delight in riding that bonny 
 hobby-horse, Pegasus, and love skimming in the clouds, they 
 cannot always live upon air. 
 
 I also send the dozen of the Cobbler's Politics which you 
 ordered, with which I hope you'll make a quick dispatch and 
 write for more to 
 
 Eev. Sir, 
 
 Your most &c. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 A Paraphrase on Dr. Absolute's Letter. 
 
 TO THE BEV. MB. STOPFOBD. 
 
 July 8th, 1776. 
 
 Bev. Sib, 
 
 Conviction strong stares in my face 
 Your cause is bad -in every case 
 Which you've commenced 'gainst brother Millward, 
 And will prove light in Justice Still-yard 
 I have decisively resolv'd 
 He shall not herein be involv'd 
 But will defend him Tooth-and-Nail 
 Let who the Deel will Stave and Tail 
 Your action therefore now must be 
 
376 
 
 'Gainst him in name — ; in fact, 'gainst ma 
 
 And this I mention unto you 
 
 For reasons plain, both good and true. 
 
 Some overtures have been repeated 
 That matters might be friendly treated 
 Between you two — : but these you slighted 
 And Flames of Prosecution lighted 
 Spurr'd on the Law, to make a brother 
 Bow down, and give his rights t'another 
 Taking for granted that you could 
 Refer the case whene'er you would 
 But hope must vanish and decline 
 To gain success i'th' first design 
 When e'er you hear that — I am come — 
 
 The mighty I in Millward's room 
 
 So I preclude all views oth' latter 
 
 By here recalling ev'ry matter 
 
 And Overture of Reference 
 
 That has been made in any sense 
 
 And since you've chosen to appeal 
 
 To th' Law with so much furious zeal 
 
 To th' Law I'll go most absolutely 
 
 With you and drive on resolutely 
 
 For this alone shall end th' dispute 
 Betwixt you and 
 
 JOHN ABSOLUTE. 
 
 TO Me. CREUDSON, 
 
 GBOCEE, MANCHESTER. 
 
 Sept. 19, 1776. 
 Feiend Cbeudson, 
 
 The woman who I sometimes call wife, sometimes 
 duchess, and at others my crooked-rib, having dwelt some weeks 
 at that busy tabernacle of worldly-entertainment, vulgarly called 
 
377 
 
 the Buck, observed several properties in thy sugars not to be 
 found in those of others; thy price considered. 
 
 If it be agreeable to thee, this woman, my crooked-rib, 
 esteems herself capable of dispensing with two loaves of white, 
 and 100 of brown ; of the same sort thou sentest her friend and 
 crony Mrs. Wordsworth : that is to say, white at d^d. and brown 
 at lid. the pound. 
 
 If thou thinks it will suit thy worldly interest to have it ready 
 against Saturday next, I will endeavour to get a neighbour of 
 mine to call for it at thy dwelling at that time : to whom do 
 thou deliver a bill of parcels, on which do thou write down 
 these or the like words — Tim, thou must pay for these thy sweet 
 sauces in months from this day. And if my crap is not aw 
 
 done, thou mayest expect about that time, to see or hear from 
 thy friend and well-wisher, both to thee and Peter the carnal 
 philosopher. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 TO Me. WORDSWORTH, 
 
 ROCHDALE. 
 
 Oct. 4th, 1776. 
 Dear Sib, 
 
 I think you will excuse, and not wonder at my 
 absence to day, when you consider that all men are subject to 
 misfortunes. For yesterday when we were loading your post 
 chaise lilce an American transport, George, the driver, stepping 
 suddenly back, struck his spur into my shin : both of which 
 are as tender as the conscience of a Methodist : but Providence 
 in the shape of rust, hair, and clotted blood in the rowel, 
 favoured me so, that I verily think the points never entered the 
 
 bone above a quarter of an inch. Besides, in stowing of the 
 
 passengers, some of them would have a stool in the chaise, for one 
 3b 
 
378 
 
 of the younger sort to sit on : but my duchess, who you know 
 is Dutch-built, and requires room, would not allow of any such 
 thing; so the stool was immediately turned out of its ofBce : 
 
 Now this stool, by some unlucky hand or another, was carried, 
 and set in the midst of our house-floor, and there it stood till it 
 was dark : for though it had three feet, yet it wanted brains to 
 run into its own corner, though it absolutely should have done 
 so, and that without bidding. 
 
 After Dom. Whitaker and I had pretty well moistened our 
 whistles I marched home, when hastily crossing the floor, in 
 the dark, to gain my easy-chair, spiteful fortune set the three- 
 legged blockhead a running against my shins, or my shins 
 against it, I know not whether ; let the learned decide the point : 
 however this I am certain of, that my unfortunate tender shanks 
 lost the battle, and my wooden enemy triumphed with very little 
 loss in the skirmish. In revenge of this, I am now sitting in 
 my great chair, and make the jolt headed stool carry both my 
 shins it has so inhumanly battered : which after so desperate a 
 battle refuse to carry me to your christening : for having no 
 mind to be laughed at, I cannot think of coming on crutches ; 
 or even as s — tt — n Buckley on one crutch and a stick 
 
 Compliments to the company who I wish merry 
 
 and do you believe 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 LIMPING TIM. 
 
 TO Me. JOHN ASPINALL, 
 
 BUBNLEY. 
 
 Milnrow, Nov. 21, 1776. 
 Sib, 
 
 On Tuesday the 13th current I received your last 
 
 favour : but cannot guess when it was written, it being sans date. 
 
 I know not what sort of a mortal your Laurence is ; but I fear 
 
 he is a Tummy : for suppose Mr. Wordsworth was not in, when 
 
379 
 
 he called at the Eoebuck, his master in petticoats was-; and 
 surely a receipt from that hand would have answered his pur- 
 pose as well, as one from an inferior pen — . I say again, fillip 
 this Laurence, (or this Tummy) on the nose, and tell him to use 
 a little more judgment in business, especially when it should 
 replenish Tim Bobbins finances. 
 
 I have not seen, or heard of the burlesque of the Duenna, you 
 speak of. As to the affairs on the great Western Continent, 
 those poor people may make a glorious struggle for liberty — : 
 but whilst a b — dd — r-headed — and his debauched ministry, 
 have both Houses of Parliament at their beck, and consequently 
 the purses of Great Britain and Ireland at command, the 
 Americans may whistle Eoger o'Calveley if they please : or if 
 you think it will suit better play the old tune of Martyrs in 
 Flames on a Scotch pair of Bog-peeps. 
 
 You tell me, bonfires like meteors blaze in your quarters : let 
 them blaze on, that all sensible men may more conspicuously 
 see their madness and folly : and for my part if they do not 
 burn me, my crook'd rib, or my scrubby library, I care not a hip. 
 
 I am glad that our opinions jump as to Father West's History 
 and Antiquities of the Abbey of Furness. 
 
 In answer to your P. S. I am confident that the master drone 
 of the hive believes, that whatever he and his bear-leaders do, is 
 right — . Jammy the 9nd, thought so ; but he, and the rest of 
 the bigotted-puppies were mistaken except one or two, who ex- 
 tricated themselves by mere dint of cunning, and knavery. 
 
 I see few, or no publications, except now and then a news- 
 paper of Col. Townley's my purse forbids the bans — . So 
 
 that if the Eeviewers, and the Eeviewers Eeviewed, fall short of 
 satisfying your curiosity in this point, I must despair of doing it. 
 
 I have not published the Devil's Speech to both Houses of 
 Parliament as yet: for though I think the majorities so bad, 
 that they are not worth his Devilship's talking to ; yet I believe 
 things are not quite at their crisis though they seem to be within 
 
380 
 
 the jump of a flea ; or if you like it better, two tumbles of a 
 
 louse. 
 
 A line from you (the sooner the better) would be very agreea- 
 
 able to 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 TO CAPTAIN TYLDESLEY. 
 
 Milnrow, Feb. 8th, 1777. 
 Dear Sib, 
 
 When you was last here, and I on the merry pin, 
 you all seemed to laugh at me, when I told you I was just then 
 in a fit of sickness ; and that my crooked rib's opinion was, I 
 was very feverish. Though this passed for a joke, yet it seems 
 I was not much wide of the mark, and demonstrates that your 
 company only, banished all disorders from me whilst you stayed 
 with me — : but Cyril, the chaise driver, had no sooner cracked 
 his whip and cryed gee — ho — but these enemies to mankind 
 begun to creep on me again, one after another. My hurt with 
 my horse now plagues me again — The gravel is crept into my 
 back and reins ; and my ancle is as much swelled as if my 
 father had committed a most egregious blunder in making his 
 last will, and left me the rheumatism, scurvy, and gout, instead 
 of three estates — . Be this as it will I cannot get a shoe on 
 that will go into a stirrup. So I beg you will not give yourself 
 the trouble of sending a horse for me to day ; for as my leg must 
 want the support of a stirrup, I'm afraid I shall lose it on the 
 road, and I must then be obliged to get a wooden one ; which 
 will give a handle to this spiteful world to call me by another, 
 and more disagreeable name than those I have already, and 
 which I fear would be Timher-toe. 
 
 I send compliments to you all — and do you believe I am 
 
 Your bro. in affliction, 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
mi 
 
 Mr. VINUS HODGKINSON, 
 
 Officer of Excise Tarporley. 
 
 June 24, 1778. 
 Dear Cousin, 
 
 I was more than a little pleased to hear by Mr. 
 Shaw, of Lees (who desires his compliments) that you was not 
 only in the land of the living, hut in the business of the Excise, 
 and continued with your inchifyed stick to rap at the ends of 
 barrels, and take the dimensions of bungs and diameters as 
 usual. 
 
 However I was not a little chagrined when I found him unable 
 to answer my queries about your spouse — What number of 
 children you had — How long you had been a Cheshire man, 
 &c. But he told me you looked well and was merry — These I 
 took for good signs and that all was right with you ; and this 
 made all things right with me. 
 
 He also told me you wanted to know whether I yet hugged 
 my old earthy tabernacle about with me ? This I a little 
 wondered at ; as believing you in the Excise, and know you 
 could write a good legible hand : for if you had sent a letter 
 directed to John Collier, or to Tim Bobbin, in this world or 
 another, you had most certainly had an answer : though it had 
 been stuffed as full of queries as K. George's ministry are full 
 of blunders, or my crazy head of maggots — For admitting I had 
 been slipped into the regions below, one friend of mine, or 
 another, left behind me, would most certainly have answered 
 them all. 
 
 To prevent troublesome questions on your part, I now tell 
 you, I am in my 70th year — . That almost all my teeth have 
 deserted their stations though my greater bones remain in statu 
 quo : which is a strong hint that I made more use of the little 
 than the great ones — . That my hand trembles, I need not tell 
 you, as every word in this epistle crys aloud — See, how it 
 shakes — ! But whether this happens by drinking punch, or old 
 
383 
 
 Time's nibbling at me, authors are not agreed — But I think the 
 case may fairly be divided between them both. 
 
 My wife, my duchess, or crook'd -rib, choose you which, is 
 about 14 years younger than me — but fatter, and heavier — ^We 
 have had 4 sons and 5 daughters : 3 of each are alive and well, 
 except my eldest son — I have one grandson and 3 granddaugh- 
 ters, and expect more — My yomngest son Charles is married at 
 Kendal — He has bought the house I live in, and given it me, and 
 his mother durante vitse, which I think is something wonderful, 
 as the kitling seldom brings the old cat a mouse — But you see 
 Providence takes care of him, who never took care of himself ; 
 and who never valued the world, or any thing in it, as knowing 
 the vanity and instability of all mundane things — though adored 
 by fools of every class — I wish you and my unknown cousin 
 health and happiness, i. e. contentment : and write to 
 
 Dear Cousin, 
 
 Your affectionate Kinsman, 
 
 JOHN COLLIER. 
 
 TO Me. HITCHIN, 
 
 Steward, srt Eoyle. 
 
 July 9th, 1780. 
 SiE, 
 
 On receiving the agreeable news from Mr. Words- 
 worth of Eochdale that you are to pay the odd trifle that was 
 due to me from the late Robt. Parker, Esq. of Cuerden and 
 having an agreeable character of you from Dr. Taylor of Eoch- 
 dale, determined me to write freely to you, and draw on you for 
 that sum which is £3 : 15 : 0, which I hope you will pay, or 
 cause to be paid on receipt of this. 
 
 It was for 5 books of Human Passions delineated, and left 
 with Mrs. Parker, by Jacob Wilde, Picture-frame maker, in 
 Manchester, in or about the year 1773. 
 
883 
 
 I sent for it by a friend about 9 years ago : but Mr. Parker 
 being in the gout, and consequently very cross, would not part 
 with any cash, or so much as give the messenger a horn of ale, 
 but curses in plenty ; which were not very relishing, and too airy 
 a diet for the man to live on. I also called at Cuerden, soon 
 after Mr. Parker's decease : but Mr. Wileock wanted either the 
 power or will to pay me ; so my labour and expences proved as 
 chaff before the wind. 
 
 AVhen I published this Book of Droll Heads by subscription 
 in the year 1773, it was a scheme I laid to pay my debts ; which 
 I thought was an honester way than turning foot-pad, and as 
 honourable a one as Mr. Wilkes took to rub off his old scores : 
 and though my scheme is not quite completed, yet I presume 
 my debts will be discharged before K. Geo. can get receipts for 
 
 the fag-end of his : so if I can come even with so great a 
 
 as his Majesty I will not complain of the world : and the world 
 should not complain of me. 
 
 Besides, I had no other way of laying the country under con- 
 tribution, as not having the military at command, as our wise- 
 acres above had, at the late riots at Westminster. Indeed I had 
 always good hopes given me of being paid, by my good friend 
 Col. Townley; but generally with a hint that I must have 
 patience : however I am glad I had it not before ; for if so, it had 
 probably been after some more, which I have put out to use for 
 which I must never receive either stock or interest : and my 
 earthy tabernacle is made up of such a dry sandy mould, that it 
 often requires watering. Then again I have but one barrel in 
 my cellar, and my crooked rib (alias my duchess) will not suffer it 
 to be broached till our pagan popish ceremony called a Eush- 
 bearing arrive : at which time, if you be in this neighbourhood, 
 you shall partake with the rest of the friends of 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
384 
 
 TO Me. JAMES GLEGG, 
 
 Cabinet-maier, Liverpool. 
 
 July 19, 1780. 
 Sib, 
 
 As my crap's aw done, and many of my neigh- 
 bours in the same circumstances, I would gladly contrive a way 
 to replenish my pockets. I cannot think of a better at present, 
 than by sending you a small box of my droll heads by way of ven- 
 ture, which I intend to pack off by Hargreaves on Monday next, 
 the which I hope you will meet with in a few days afterwards. 
 Upon the opening of which, I desire you to roll them, two or 
 three at a time, backwards, like a roll of paper, and it will make 
 them lie straight, and proper to hang up by the loops which 
 you will find at the back of each picture. There will be about 
 30 of them, and hope you will find a proper room, with a good 
 light to place them in : you will find a bill of parcels in the 
 box. All which I beg you will communicate to my friend Mr. 
 Chadwick schoolmaster of Whitworth, who intends to be with 
 you in about a week after you'll receive the box ; and doubt not 
 but you will contrive matters for my interest. 
 
 Should you enquire why we are all so poor in this country, I 
 cannot ascribe it to any thing but the harum-scarum manage- 
 ment of our wise-acres above ; who took it into their gotham- 
 heads to plunder the American Colonies but these understood 
 their interest too well, and loved money better, than to be 
 robbed standing still, like passengers in a stage coach. Our 
 Scotch obstinacy here and their tenaciousness of liberty forced 
 them to lean upon what may possibly prove a broken reed, 
 I mean the French ; tho' the Spaniards have clapped them a 
 crutch under the other arm. These impolitic measures have 
 enabled the Irish to run away with too much of our Lancashire 
 Trade and what will be the consequences of these mad freaks 
 of administration, and Scotch-counsels I am not conjurer 
 enough to foretell ; but I like not the lowering clouds from 
 
385 
 
 so many different quarters God send prosperity to old 
 
 England the K a good pair of spectacles and the 
 
 Scotch into their nane Kintry. 
 
 I beg compliments to all friends, particularly Messrs. La- 
 tham & Broster, wine merchants; Mr. Knowls schoolmaster; 
 Mr. Dickenson (who is a kind of pheenomenon, being a quaker 
 fuller of projects and mathematics, than many of his brethren 
 are of inward light) Mr. Parr of the Neptune's Ooffee-house ; 
 Mr. Eediough the merry barber and my beard cutter : who all 
 of them jointly or separately may possible help you to a cus- 
 tomer or two : which that it may happen is the hearty wish of 
 
 Sir, &c. 
 
 P. S. May a golden Angel fly away with me, if I had not 
 forgot Mr. Wilson who keeps that sign. 
 
 TO Mrs. GOLLIEK. 
 
 Sep. 10th, 1780. 
 Old Friend and Acquaintance, 
 
 This letter may possibly surprise you more, than 
 any you ever received from me before : but having neither 
 will, or leisure for circumlocutions I'll come to the point, and 
 
 tell you that on Thursday last, I found myself much 
 
 disordered by a cold, as I thought. The day following I was 
 worse ; and yesterday the worst of all — my distemper increased 
 
 all night, and all this forenoon (being Sunday) The 
 
 symptoms were so bad, that my neighbours who came to 
 see me all looked on me as a dead man — . Their fortune- 
 telling-guesses proved true for once — for I departed out of 
 your comical world betwixt two and three o'clock this day 
 Sunday the 10th day of Sep. 1780. 
 
 I made no will for I drove it, like many other indolent per- 
 sons, till I had neither will, time, or power to do it : only I 
 ordered tliem to bury me in my lower garden near the arbour 
 3o 
 
386 
 
 and there is room for two more if you care not for my company 
 in this place, when you come from the world where you are, I 
 would have Mr. Whitaker on one side of me : but if he prefers 
 a bustling Church-yard before my calm retreat, then let Ned o' 
 Christians rest his crooked back and dry bones at the side of 
 me who I well know will like it better than any double- 
 consecrated ground in England. Let the great Stone in the 
 School-yard be laid over me and if Ned rest him here I shall 
 not have much objection against that epitaph to be cut on it 
 which was thought to be sent Mr. Whitaker by Some good 
 natured, but short sighted parson. 
 
 I would have you have all my worldly-wealth (after paying 
 my debts,) which I think is no little, and more than I ever 
 desired or deserved — provided you marry in three months after 
 
 the date of this letter If you stay six months then you 
 
 shall have but one half If you do not marry before 
 
 twelve months are expired, then be contented with one quarter 
 of my wealth : and what then remains I would have you give 
 it to your daughters in what proportion you may think best. 
 
 As far as my little experience teaches me, I shall like very 
 
 well in this world : and I plainly perceive that not one 
 
 of your parsons have the least distant idea of this country, 
 notwithstanding all their descriptions and harangues about 
 it — That the doctrines they preach up to the commonality are 
 wild and extravagant, and so very wide of truth that they even 
 are bad guessers. Whilst I was with you I looked upon them, 
 in general, as blind guides — hypocritical — proud — covetous — in 
 short, tell all of them you meet with to stay where they are — 
 as quite unfit for this country where I now am — who was once, 
 Dear duchess your whimsical husband, 
 
 J. C. 
 
 P. S. I know not what strange things I may meet with as 
 yet : but if it be not contrary to the laws and customs of this 
 
38T 
 
 country, I may perhaps send you an account how all sorts of 
 persons are received here ; and what offices and employments 
 they are put to, from the king to a chimney sweeper, and from 
 an archbishop to a methodist preacher. In the mean time be 
 happy, and think of a new husband in the room of 
 Dear duchess 
 
 Your once whimsical husband. 
 
 TO Me. BOTTOMLEY. 
 
 Dec. 11th, 1780. 
 Cousin Bottomley, 
 
 I have yours of the 8th current enclosing the 
 receipt and thank you for all your trouble. I did not under- 
 stand that my Eev. friend Mr. Watson's work had been that 
 of the arms of the English Nobility ; but that of the arms and 
 pedigree of the Warren's Family. You say the work is very 
 curious ; and that it would be a day of fine amusement for 
 me. Now here seems a very material Hiatus; which I wish 
 had been filled up with telling me how, where, and when I 
 may attain this day's fine amusement : i. e. whether it be in 
 yours, or some other person's power : or how I may come at it' 
 if it be come-atable. I would take great care of it, and return it 
 when required. I also wish you had mentioned particularly the 
 size — number of plates — who engraved them, and what letter- 
 press, if any. These with other particulars would be very agreea- 
 ble to me : and you know, as well as I that I am in the evening 
 of life : and that it is not at all probable that I can spin out my 
 days above three or fourscore years reckoning from the date of 
 this letter. Had truth always reigned triumphant in this world 
 I should have gone through more perils than ever fell to St. 
 Paul's lot ; for Fame's trumpet sounded aloud twice that I died 
 a natural death — twice was I killed off my horse — once I was 
 drowned — once I was near having my skull divided to my jaws 
 
388 
 
 by one of the light horsemen who came the last month into 
 Manchester, only for breaking my walking stick on his head, 
 tho' he found fault with me for pissing on his horses legs — 
 And the last week it was current in Eochdale that I was dead 
 of an apoplexy. 
 
 Besides these I have gone thro' many other perils ; for once 
 I was within half the length of a Taylor's clothyard of being 
 thrown over the battlements of Sowerby-bridge into the water, 
 having had the misfortune of giving my nag too much corn. — 
 Twice was I lost in the snow — once was I in danger of having 
 
 my brains knocked out by a drunken parson (Mr. H m of 
 
 Saddleworth) who threw a chair at me across a table, but 
 fortune assisted me in stretching out my arm, which put it by 
 and it broke to pieces : may not this be truly called a peril 
 amongst my tipling brethren ? 
 
 Indeed I believe I have lived more genteelly (i. e. more 
 rakeishly) than ever St. Paul did: for I never heard that he 
 was drunk three times a week for forty years together ( as my 
 crooked rib says I have been) or that he had three easy 
 chairs : that he ever wore a banian, or morning-gown and rode 
 his own mare : or that his credit was so good as to enable him 
 to run into debt as I have done. 
 
 I say considering these things, and that life is so precarious ; 
 help me to this one day's fine amusement before I die, if in 
 your power : for I ever thought God too good, and wise to 
 create man on purpose to live in sorrow, want, and trouble : or 
 that we should go whining and crying hypocritically thro' 
 life : or not enjoy those things he made purely for our use. 
 
 For my part, I hate a popish lent, and a hermits diet. I'll 
 take all in my reach, which he gives me and thank him : and 
 let all wrong headed lent keepers, and methodistical misers 
 pine on barley cakes, parched beans, and pease husks, the very 
 refuse of hogs : for I want not to be number'd amongst 
 
389 
 
 Pharaoh s lean kine, but let me always be reckoned your 
 most affectionate kinsman 
 
 JOHN COLLIER. 
 P. S. Compliments to all friends between Bleakstone-edge 
 and Beeston-castle. 
 
 TO Mrs. COLLIEK. 
 
 Aug. 8, 1781. 
 Dear Duchess, 
 
 One reason of my writing to you now is a strong 
 one ; for I begin to want you — You ai'e very sensible I never 
 desired a multiplicity of places like many of our pluralistical 
 Eight Eeverends ; and many of King George's court caterpil- 
 lars : for though you know I am (now in your absence) High 
 Steward of the Household, Lord Chamberlain, Chief Butler, 
 Master Cook, and prime Gardener, any one of which ofSces is 
 enough for one of my indolent temper ; yet I chuse to live like 
 a pauper rather than be genteel and live in affluence, and make 
 a bustle in a world, which I look on as not worth my notice. 
 
 I suppose you remember that Sam o George's, my under gar- 
 dener, was to dress up our two little gardens for a pair of my 
 old blue breeches. He began with the lower garden on Satur- 
 day last, which done, he was at the other on Sunday morning 
 by peep of day ; whilst many an idle parson was lolling and 
 snoring on two feather beds, wearing out the fumes of the over 
 night's debauch, or pulling wry-faces with wringing stabs of the 
 gout. — Whether poor George, by getting a pair of old breeches 
 on a rushbearing Sunday morning, or such parsons tortured 
 with luxurious living will be deemed the wickeder mortals in 
 another world, I will leave to our most reverend and critical 
 divines to determine. 
 
 My Bro. Clay, with an exciseman from Bury made their ap- 
 pearance here on Sunday about eleven o'clock — . It may be 
 
300 
 
 proper to tell you, that I refused the beef you bespoke at Sut- 
 cliffe's it not pleasing me : so I had neither beef, mutton, veal, 
 roast or boil'd, pies, tarts, or custards in the house ; so was finely 
 prepared for a country rushbearing : and tho' I believe there 
 was materials in the house to make a pudding of, yet neither the 
 housekeeper you left me, or I, knew how to mix them up. How- 
 ever I had the brains to take them to James Clegg's where we 
 dined on good plum-pudding, roast-beef, and potatoes, and made 
 up our mouths with cheese and cranberry tarts, and washed all 
 down with my march beer. He that kibes, or throws up his 
 nose at such a dinner as this, should board with me, or live with 
 our neighbour Joseph o'Leache's, a year or two till he comes to 
 his senses. 
 
 After dinner they determined to go over to Tim Bobbin's 
 Head, and I must needs go with them : but a son Eichard had 
 brought me a horse that stood waiting, I soon mounted and 
 took to Littleborough. 
 
 My old friend Mr. Mills being dead and gone, I thought all 
 things had a queer aspect: so after one pint I set off for Roch- 
 dale ; where a Jimmy Bag-man on tasting my punch would 
 throw in his sixpence, but would not stay till it was out : and I 
 thinking I had enough reserved the other in petto till another 
 opportunity, and went home almost as sober as you could 
 wish me. 
 
 At Milnrow I found old, young, middle aged, and many within 
 4 or 5 miles all in a bustle, some drunk, some sober, and most 
 of them merry — but all of them wise, handsome, and clever. 
 Many hobbletehoys with silk bands about their hats, fastened 
 with fine shining bright buckles. New leather breeches, and 
 large square buckles glittering at their shoes : all as proud 
 as Major Generals. The lasses standing in the market in 
 white aprons, silk, or washing gowns, small hats placed over the 
 nose ; so that all was incog, but the screw 'd mouth and the 
 chin, with as many doubled ribbands as you generally see at a 
 country marling. 
 
391 
 
 I not liking tawdry gewgaws, and monkeyish tricks, left them 
 and took to bed as sober as a judge. 
 
 Monday I dined at Belfield, and found all well there — Mrs. 
 Townley enquired after you — I told her you had over-run me ; 
 and that I was then going to seek another — She smiled and 
 hinted, I was tumbled too far down hill — This not quite pleasing 
 me, shortened our conversation, and we soon parted. 
 
 Mr. Whitaker and I then took to Eochdale, and knowing 
 his Eeverence Mr. Shaw was very badly, we called to see him. 
 He had a small order for me of a few heads : but he being in no 
 tune for conversation we left him and took to Mr. Fildes's. 
 There we had two excellent sneakers of punch, which were as 
 good to me as oil to a clock. We went from thence to the Buck, 
 where we found Mr. and Mrs. Haslingden, from Manchester, in 
 company with one I took for a parson, of one order, or sect or 
 another. We had mighty struggles by way of argumentation 
 together, and as my tongue was pretty well loosened, was told 
 the day after, that none knew who was first, or who last. 
 However I got to bed pretty soon, according to custom, but not 
 drunk. Madam, as I fancy I hear you think. 
 
 I breakfasted with several sorts of gentlemen, or bagmen, I 
 know not which ; all as proud as our country gobbins at a Kush- 
 bearing — About 11 Mrs. Wordsworth would fetch her children 
 home from Milnrow — She ordered a chaise harnessed, and 
 kindly invited me to take a seat with her ; I had no more sense, 
 or grace than to accept it — and so rode home like a gentleman. 
 
 I had not touched any liquors before Mrs. Wordsworth's 
 return, neither did I intend to do it — But lo — ! Mr. Whitaker, 
 with an attorney or two called on me about 5 or o'clock, and 
 I must needs go over with them to Tim's Head : I being you 
 know in these cases of a very pliable temper condescended. 
 They, and neighbour Stock of Ashes, treated me with 5 or 6, 
 13 penny bowls ; and my finances running low I made no scru- 
 ple of conscience to accept them. All weighty matters conclu- 
 
393 
 
 ded I went — or if you please, Madam, staggered to bed. 'Tis 
 now Wednesday 5 o'clock, and nothing has defiled my mouth 
 but one gill of beer. 
 
 My grandson John Clegg is just now in the height of his 
 glory. The boys have dressed up a wheelbarrow filled with 
 rushes : John rides on the summit, carries a garland, and is 
 as full of pride and ostentation as a Eoman General in the 
 midst of a Triumph. 
 
 I was with Mr. Gore on Monday evening, who told me you 
 had been at Liverpool ; and that you would only be at AUerton 
 about that time : but let not this hinder you from giving me 
 a full account of every days transactions since you left me ; and 
 what benefit you have had or expect to receive from bathing. 
 
 I beg my humble service to Mrs. Hardman, and all friends 
 who think it worth their while to enquire after me — My bless- 
 ing to Bet and think me (if possible) Madam, 
 
 Your good and obedient husband, 
 
 J. C. 
 
 P. S. Send me word when you intend to come, that I may 
 know whether to pursue or drop my present courtship. 
 
■aa Eeprefents afilkenJhring that goes from the Lodes i-ouni 
 (hefprepart of Ae Head wnder die Hat. 
 
 b b The ends of the Ribband platted witK tkehair of the 
 tail , and faftens it to ibe hair of the HeaA . 
 o c A thread that gioes to y back of tLe Head to fix the Locks 
 d Tlie endof tbeTaiL^hicliistyd totl3£Tiaircfth.eHeaA 
 by the Hibb anl b b . e a Tb e Escr-lo cLs . 
 
 Twi.Bolximi. rLilrti 
 
i?sia Qa^^iLS 
 
 01 
 
 THE FLYING DRAGON 
 
 AND 
 
 THE MAN OF HEAT ON 
 
 Spectatum admissi risum veiiealis ? Hor. Ars. Poet. ver. 5. 
 
 TO THE EEADER. 
 
 I have very little to say to thee, O my friend ; only, I 
 hope by the following short Poem thou wilt see that 
 I wish Englishmen would be content to be English- 
 men, both in dress and politics. 
 
 Farewell. 
 3d 
 
THE ARGUMENT 
 
 A Lancashieb beau being at London, fell in love with the large pig- 
 tails and ear-locks, and consequently brought the French toys with him to 
 Lancaster; business calling him to Simderland, on that coast, and the day 
 being uncommonly boisterous, he mounts his courser, dressed in the pig- 
 tail, car-locks, &c. a-la-mode francois. The toy rolled on his shoulders till 
 the blasts blew away both that and the ear-locks, they being fastened to 
 the tail wiih black ribbons. 
 
 A countryman coming that way, and seeing them blown about in the 
 lane, takes the French medley for a PiYiifa deaoon, and after mature de- 
 liberation, resolved to kill it. This produced three battles ; at the latter 
 end of which, (the wind ceasing, and the pig-tail lying stiU) he thought 
 he had manfully performed. Elated with the exploit, he twists his stick 
 in the ear-locks, and carries aU before him aloft in the air, as boys com- 
 monly do adders ; tUl meeting the Rector of Heysham, he was with much 
 ado convinced ; and then in great confusion sneaked away, leaving his 
 reverence in possession of the monster, who stiU keeps it at Heysham, and 
 often shews it with much diversion to his friends. 
 
THE 
 
 FLYING DRAGON 
 AND THE MAN OF HEATON 
 
 Part I. 
 
 What man alive tho' e'er so wise, 
 
 Witli spaniel nose, and eagle's eyes. 
 
 Can tell this hour what th' next will fling m^ 
 
 Or whether joy, or sorrow bring us ; 
 
 That no dispute there needs of this, 
 
 Tho man of Heaton witness is ; 
 
 A man he was, and very stout, 
 
 But whether quite so wise, some doubt : 
 
 And as my muse dare not decide. 
 
 The foU'wing facts must be our guide ; 
 
 So leaving him in doubtful mood. 
 
 Let's hint at one more understood. 
 
 Our other hero, for we've two. 
 Eight Mijnheer Skyppo Vanderloo, 
 Was late arriv'd from that fam'd city, 
 Half French, half English — ah, what pity ! 
 Where courtiers, pensioners, and placemen, 
 By frequent ins and outs, disgrace men : 
 Where doughty squires to knights are vamp'd, 
 Where half-thick lords to earls are stamp'd ; 
 Where all the arts of jockey-ship 
 Are us'd, as at the turf and whip : 
 
Where one throws out his dearest brother, 
 And statesmen jostle one another ; 
 Who lay then- meagrim brains together, 
 To make our feet find their own leather. 
 
 Our eyes must see, sans sun or candle, 
 And in the day mope — dingle dangle ; 
 Where bribery's the chiefest trade, 
 And laws against our interest made ; 
 Where Britain's fate is — hum — decided, 
 
 And all 'mongst W s and E s divided ! 
 
 But stay — should I their actions paint, 
 Our heads would ache, our hearts would faint ; 
 So leaving them, and their grand squabble. 
 My muse of better things shall babble. 
 
 This man I say was just come down. 
 From that French pig-tail foppish town 
 As gay as daw in borrow'd plumes. 
 And all the airs of fop assumes. 
 
 This ramille secundum artem, 
 Was toss'd up— bless me, — ah ad fa — t — m ! 
 His ear-locks too ! — near eye brows plac'd, 
 His countenance genteelly grac'd ; 
 A pig-tail dangling to his a — e, 
 (0 truth 'tis thou that shames my vei'se) 
 Being tagg'd with curious shining hair, 
 In various colours did appear ; 
 With powder dusted, smooth 'd by tonsure. 
 He look'd as grand as monkey monsure ! 
 
 His nag high mettled shin'd like raven, 
 Both sire and dam, of blood in Craven : 
 He mounted, hem'd — fiU'd cheeks with wind, 
 Spur'd nag — (who answer'd from behind) 
 Away he flew — now boisterous Boreas 
 Vex'd to see man so vainly glorious, 
 
397 
 
 Eesolv'd this champion's pride to humble, 
 
 And make his furious courser stumble ; 
 
 But finding soon this scheme to fail, 
 
 He aim'd his force at the pig-tail, 
 
 And whisk'd it round both back and shoulder, 
 
 Still he rode on — and still look'd bolder ! 
 
 Boreas chagrin'd and gall'd with pain. 
 
 At ear-locks blew with might and main, 
 
 Not dreaming of their being ally'd. 
 
 And to the tail so closely ty'd. 
 
 All Skyppo's head attire so gay. 
 
 The blast had nearly blown away. 
 
 When fortune raising rufli'd hand, 
 
 Kept wig and beaver on their stand ; 
 
 But pig-tail with the ear-locks new, 
 
 Away with Boreas waving flew, 
 
 Our hero spruce ne'er miss'd the toy. 
 
 But rode for Sunderland with joy; 
 
 Thinking to shew the fashion new. 
 
 Which sight would make one laugh — or spew. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 But who comes next ! the man of Heaton, 
 
 Whose very name old time hath eaten ; 
 
 For authors in this point do vary. 
 
 Some call him Roaf, some Will, some Harry. 
 
 But I incline, for private reason. 
 
 To call him Oamfrey at this season ; 
 
 And sometimes Noamp, perhaps may fit. 
 
 As suits my rhyme, or helps my wit. 
 
 But on he comes ; — and fame rehearses. 
 
 His nose, two feet before his a — e is ; 
 
 A trusty knob-stick fill'd his hand, 
 
 And thought no power could him withstand : 
 
308 
 
 When lo ! — his lifted eyes assail 
 
 A long, hlack thing, with wings and tail ! 
 
 The wings quick moving with the wind ; 
 
 The tail in curls, turn'd up behind ; 
 
 So Oamfrmj stops his sauntering course, 
 
 And unto musing had recourse. 
 
 Then stamp'd his knob-stick on the ground. 
 
 And crying in amaze profound, 
 
 " I'th name o'Jesus say — whot art ; 
 
 " That two black tungs fro meawth con dart ? 
 
 " Whooas twisted body's like the burn 
 
 " O'that fem'd beeost the unicorn ! 
 
 " I say, whot art ? I'th neme o'God ! — 
 
 " My stick shall — howd — I've heard a rod 
 
 " Of willow will demolish soon 
 
 " The direst snake below the moon." 
 
 With that, stout Noamp his thwittle drew, 
 And on the edge three times he blew ; 
 Then from the hedge he in a crack 
 Brings a tough willow with him back ; 
 But whilst the leaves he from it strips. 
 Across the lane the dragon skips ! 
 Quoth he — " I see theaw'rt marching off, 
 " Boh howd o bit ; — this willow tough 
 " Shall, if strength fail not, stop thy flight." 
 So strikes the pig-tail with his might, 
 And cries out " Boh !" — then quick returns, 
 Then gives a stroke — then backward runs. 
 
 The monstrous animal up flew. 
 And Oamfrey starting, quick withdrew. 
 His eyes oth' stare, his face grew pale. 
 With open mouth he view'd the tail, 
 Which briskly wanton'd in the wind ; 
 Then swore — "It's of the dragon kind!' 
 
399 
 
 On deep reflection he grew tardy, 
 And thought it sin to be fool-hardy. 
 " If I con seve meh sell," quoth he, 
 " Whot's flying dragons unto me ? 
 " There con no wisdom be I trow, 
 " In feighting things we dunnaw know ; 
 " For should it chonce fly e meh face, 
 " I'm deeo'd os tripe — witheawt God's grase," 
 So Oamfrey he the wand threw down. 
 Took up his stick, and march'd for town. 
 
 PABT III. 
 
 Two roods he had not gone, before 
 A blast of wind the monster bore 
 Within two yards of Oamphrey's stick, 
 Which vex'd our hero to the quick. 
 Quoth Noamp, " Be this I plenely see 
 " It mun be oather thee ur me, 
 " And sin 'tis so, I'll never run, 
 " Boh kill ur dee before eh done." 
 
 Then in a passion from his hand. 
 He threw his stick and fetch'd the wand ; 
 And poor pig-tail with courage fresh. 
 And all his might began to thresh; 
 But still the dragon kept the field, 
 Cock'd up his tail and scorn'd to yield. 
 
 This furious combat by report, 
 Did last while Oamfrey s stick grew short. 
 And a cessation, as fame reckons. 
 Continued till he got fresh weapons. 
 But Oamfrey having luck to find 
 A weapon to his murdering mind. 
 Says softly thus unto himself; 
 " Thcaw feights for honor, not for pelf; 
 
400 
 
 " And if theaw gets this direfoo beawt, 
 " Thy feme will blaze, un ne'er goo eawt,'' 
 
 Then hemming twice — spits on his hand, 
 And snatches up the magic wand, 
 Resolv'd to do a feat to brag on. 
 So strikes with all his might the dragon; 
 And thus the battle was renew'd, 
 And both sides to their tackle stood. 
 
 Again fierce Oarnfrey's stick did dwindle 
 Into the length of common spindle ; 
 But thinking now the battle gain'd, 
 Because he with no blood was stain'd ; 
 Eesolv'd to fetch another switch, 
 To kill outright this dragon- witch. 
 
 Now while this third great duel lasted. 
 Fierce Oarnfrey's strength was almost wasted. 
 The dragon too, now wanting breath, 
 Had symptoms of approaching death ; 
 And ev'ry member seem'd to fail, 
 He hardly stirring wing or tail, 
 For Boreas likewise, tir'd at length. 
 Had quite exhausted all his strength. 
 And all was hush ; so fortune gave 
 The field and battle to the brave ! 
 And pig-tail lies as still as stone. 
 As tho' to live it ne'er had known. 
 And thus the Dragon here was slain. 
 Whilst Oamfrcy lives to fight again. 
 
 Part IV. 
 
 Ode hero's courage none can doubt ; 
 Nor love of fame was he without : 
 For when this glorious feat was done, 
 And such a vict'i'y fairly won, 
 
401 
 
 Ambitious Oamfrey in a crack, 
 Put kersey coat on sweating back ; 
 And then with cautious stare he view'd 
 The dragon which he'd hack'd and hew'd ; 
 But still it prov'd above his ken, 
 As it might do to wiser men. 
 
 Here Oamfrey musters up his senses, 
 And pride threw down all meek pretences ; 
 So he resolv'd he'd boldly bear 
 In triumph, all the spoils of war. 
 With this intent his ample foot 
 Held down the pig-tail, whilst he put 
 His stick within the frizzl'd hair, 
 And thus before him did it bear. 
 
 Ten furlongs he'd triumphing past. 
 But met no mortal man or beast : 
 When, lo ! — he met with heart full gleesome, 
 The rev'rend rector styl'd of Heysham. 
 The parson star'd, whilst Oamfrey held 
 The dragon, which he'd lately kill'd : 
 And after clearing up his weasand. 
 He query'd thus, to know the reason ! 
 
 " Why Oamfrey, man ! what have you got 
 "Upon your stick?" "That I know not." 
 "Where did you find the tawdry thing?" 
 "Tawdry!" quoth Noamp, "why 't has a sting." 
 " A sting man ! — nay no more than you." 
 "By th' mass, good parson, that's naw true; 
 " Look at its tungs ; — it's stings ith' tele, 
 " Or else^I'm sure my senses fail." 
 " True," quoth his rev'rence, " that may be ; 
 " And in that point we both agree : 
 "But if my eyes, like thine, don't fail, 
 " It is, tho' large, a French pig-tail." 
 3e 
 
402 
 
 " A pig-tele, pars'n ! that's good fun '. 
 " No moor thin bacco-pipe's a gun. 
 " Why 'twas alive ten minutes since, 
 " An that I'll swear be king or prince ; 
 " Nay, moor thin that, it flew abeawt, 
 " An that no swine-tele, or his sneawt, 
 " Cou'd ever do sin Noah's flood, 
 " An this I will maintene for good." 
 
 The rector laugh 'd, and Noamp look'd sour. 
 For to convince he wanted pow'r : 
 Nor could Noamp to his thoughts give vent, 
 As anger cork'd up argument. 
 
 His rev'rence then began again 
 To reason thus : " Why look ye man, 
 " This is black silk, and this is hair : 
 " Feel and believe, — you need not stare." 
 " Not stare ? why, pars'n, did naw you 
 " Affirm just neaw, a thing naw true : 
 " Did naw yo sey it wur a pig-tele, 
 " Which 'tis no moor thin 'tis a snig-tele." 
 " Why man : but so they call the thing ; 
 " You see 't has neither head nor sting ; 
 " These ribbands are to tie it on, 
 " As you shall see I'll do anon." 
 
 His rev'rence then his wig took off, 
 And Noamp began to hem and cough ; 
 His doubts he found to disappear, 
 And that he'd got wrong sow by th' ear ; 
 For as the parson was adjusting. 
 Things grew the more and more disgusting, 
 But when he put o'er all his wig : 
 " The d — 1 ta' yer tele o' pig ! 
 " What sense is there e tele so black, 
 " That's teed toth' heeod, an rows o'th' back ? 
 
"^iitf. 'B ol;i'rf. ■:'<.-.'. -' ^ ; 
 
40S 
 
 " If they'd ha things weh netur jump, 
 " The tele should awlus ston o'th' rump ; 
 " That fok moot know oytch foolish brat 
 "For munkey greyt, or meawntin cat; 
 " Boh gawbies neaw gin kersun names 
 " To things naw hardly fit for flames." 
 So Oamfrey, grumbling, budg'd away, 
 But neither bade good night, or day. 
 
 The rector laugh'd, and laugh'd again 
 At Oamfrey's notions thro' the scene ; 
 And took the pig-tail with him home, 
 For sport to friends in time to come ; 
 And keeps it to this very day 
 At Heysham, as my authors say. 
 
1?Sia Q[L(;V(BCI-Q[l^a 
 
 A POEM. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE MOST 
 HiaH AND MIGHTT STEEW-TISA&'D 
 
 PEINOB OP STTaiAN DAEKNES3, CHIEF 
 
 ENGHNBBE OE NOGTITBNAI THUHDEE, AND aENEEAliaSIMO 
 
 OE ALI; THE DEPABTED OHOSIS IN 
 
 THE INEEENAIi EEOIONS, 
 
 &C. &0. 
 
 SULPSURHOUS AND BMEAD FMINCE ! 
 
 I am very sensible 'tis the highest presumption in me imaginable to ad- 
 dress the following Poem to your grisly majesty : but I humbly conceivo 
 I hare not done it without strong inducements ; for where could the 
 Whistling Ouzel have found an asylum, to screen her from the British 
 Minos (her austere and implacable enemy) but in your swarthy dominions ? 
 Though at the same time she ilies to you for protection, she's possessed 
 with an ominous fear, that when her adversary makes his exit out of these 
 terrestrial regions, you'll immediately degrade JSacus, advance him to the 
 bench, and assign to his profound and equitable care aU the European 
 provinces ; or at least constitute him itinerant judge in your shady juris- 
 dictions. 
 
 But to leave this to your profound wisdom, I must presume to tell you, 
 most awful monarch ! that 'tis my humble opinion, that every carping 
 Momus, and snarling critic, wiU acquiesce with me in my second motive 
 for electing you my advocate, since 'tis the d — 1 of a Poem, on a black 
 subject, written by a CoUier, in an obscure style, and therefore none so 
 proper for its patron paramount as your gloomy majesty. 
 
408 
 
 Another reason is, because I don't remember that any of the ancient or 
 modem higlers in rhime, ever dedicated any of their productions to your 
 dusky godship: tho' they have not failed to celebrate your tremendous 
 name, extol your supreme power, and (if I may so speai) have given ua 
 the cosmography of your ample dominions. 
 
 WhUe you are thus slighted, there are not wanting those who are busy 
 making puny gods, and goddesses, of mere terrestrial lump; and the press 
 has given us a modem proof of a thresher, who has thrown down his un- 
 wieldy flail, and taken up the pliant nimble pen, to make one who has 
 lately passed thro' your sooty territories, as powerful, and more indulgent 
 to us, than the goddess Oybele was to the ancients. 
 
 Since the clumsy flail has presumed to address a terrene queen, accept, 
 great prince of darkness I of the flrst fruits of the swift-paced shuttle ; 
 which was a scion that blossomed, and whose fruit came to maturity this 
 keen benumbing storm, when looms were more terrible to cringing, thin- 
 bellied weavers, than ever the piUory was to those obsequious and loyal 
 subjects of your's, Prj/n and Basticlc. 
 
 And now, methinks, I have almost beaten that modish and much fre- 
 quented path of dedication enough ; tho' I neither have nor can condescend 
 to that nauseous and servile flattery which is so redundant in addresses of 
 this bind ; and I hope you'U not reject the patronage, if I teU your stygian 
 gloominess that if I could have found a more powerful protector than 
 your great self, you had never heard of the Whistling Ouzel: neither 
 would I have you think, that I have played the timid Indian, and oflfered 
 the Slaok-iird to your ghasthness as a propitiation for some enormous 
 crime, committed against your majesty ; no, 'twas not this, but your ability 
 to defend, that prompted me, and entirely banished that modesty, which 
 otherwise would never have permitted me to have sent the JBlacJc-bird, on 
 her well balanced sable pinions, to your sootiness for protection ; the which I 
 hope you'll grant her: and that you'll permit her to flutter at your feet, 
 and perch and nestle about your awful throne. If your dreadful majesty 
 will do this, Sir Minos may do that which he would not suffer her to do, 
 i. B. go whistle, 
 
 I am, 
 Tremendous Sir, 
 
 Now and ever wiU be, 
 
 TIMOTHY BOBBIN. 
 
 From the Chimney-corner, 
 Jan. 15th, 1739. 
 
THE BLACK-BIRD. 
 a f oem. 
 
 THE INVOCATION. 
 
 Thou loho with Ale or vile Liquors, 
 
 Didst inspire Whithers, Pryii, and Vicars, 
 
 And force them, though it was in spite, 
 
 Of Nature and their Stars to write ; 
 
 Assist me but this once rmplore. 
 
 And I shall trouble thee no more. Hud. 
 
 When bright Apollo's flaming car had run 
 
 The southern course, and in our chmes begun 
 
 To perfect blossoms and the budding flow'rs 
 
 To paint the fields, and form the shady bow'rs, 
 
 The distant prospects all around were seen. 
 
 To wear a curious eye-delighting green ; 
 
 And school-boys stood, while sloth put on the reins. 
 
 And with cramm'd satchels sauntered in the lanes ; 
 
 The younger sort would stroll about to get 
 
 The daisy, primrose, and the violet; 
 
 While Tom and Will with eager eyes would view 
 
 Each bush and tree, from whence a linnet flew. 
 
 And every hedge did pry into, to find 
 
 The downy structure of the feather'd kind. 
 
 Such were the days when Minos would be drest, 
 To look more awful on a day of rest; 
 His sapient head he deckt in perriwig 
 Of three-tails dangling to look Quorum big; 
 3f 
 
410 
 
 His beaver cock'd plain dealing-wise, he pull'd 
 
 So low his forehead in it seem'd involv'd. 
 
 But this was done, his visage more to grace, 
 
 And coup'd a third part from his pouting face ; 
 
 Being cloak'd and booted, they who knew him not 
 
 Thought HuDiBEAS o'er gloomy Styx had got : 
 
 And as that knight, so he'd a squire to wait, 
 
 Whene'er he sally'd forth thro' creaking gate. 
 
 This for his outward man ; but I must strain 
 
 For to dissect his wonder-working brain ; 
 
 Unless I can get Cibber's fawning muse. 
 
 To bathe my skull in crowning laurel-juice ; 
 
 But since I've ventur'd the outside to scan, 
 
 I'll slightly touch upon his inward man. 
 
 (But know, my angry muse reflects not on 
 
 This tinkling cymbal for its jarring tone ; 
 
 But for affecting those celestial airs, 
 
 By which the organ charms the list'ning ears.) 
 
 If speech be the true index of the mind. 
 And doth denote with what the head is lin'd. 
 We may conclude, that since his speech is clipp'd. 
 His moving garret is but half-equipp'd ; 
 But lest a pun won't please the would-be-wise, 
 His wit wants ballast, and his judgment eyes ; 
 For nature made him without care, or art. 
 And left unfinish'd much the better part; 
 Or else, in forming, tir'd with too much pain, 
 She nodded o'er him, and so spoil'd his brain. 
 
 If any wonder why as judge he's plac'd. 
 Or how the bench comes with his worship grac'd, 
 That thought's submerg'd in this, to think that we 
 Are sway'd by fools, much greater knaves than he : 
 We grant, he seems a genuine chip of those 
 Convention-wits, who lead us by the nose ; 
 
411 
 
 Tis true we go like Bruin to the stake, 
 
 Who knows his task, and fain his bonds would break 
 
 But forced on he shakes his shaggy fur, 
 
 And looks with fury on each brindl'd cur ; 
 
 * Craftsman, the bearward, doth promulgate law, 
 
 And threatens wounds from deep Panonian-jaw ; 
 
 Asserting ne'er a coUar'd-whelp doth play 
 
 The game that's fair, but runs a thievish way ; 
 
 And thinks with Justice, in this dire contest. 
 
 Each cur should run with fawning tail the first. 
 
 Or, if you please, smooth-chins should rule the roast 
 
 And hairy rufSans kick'd from ev'ry post. 
 
 Which scheme before all others I prefer. 
 
 If my old grannum may be treasurer, 
 
 For I'm her only fav'rite and must taste with her. 
 
 But lest some critic thinks my Ouzel's flown, 
 And from a Black-bird 'tis a Bear-bait grown, 
 I'll to his worship once again repair, 
 That's going now to snuff the country air. 
 After a turn or two within the room, 
 A hem breaks forth — and then he calls his groom ; 
 Here Jack ? ivhere's Jack ? I'm here his man replies 
 Bring out my horse, and straightway John complies. 
 He being gone, the knight must see the glass. 
 To fix some upright airs in oblong face ; 
 His hand adorn'd with rufli'd shirt he drew 
 Unto his head, and set his wig askew ; 
 Then gently stroak'd his manly beard, and then. 
 Adjusted three-tail'd peruke once again; 
 The bob before he'd often toss behind. 
 As pleas'd his curious self-admiring mind ; 
 He lower'd his eye-brows, made a furrow'd brow, 
 Pull'd in his chin, more majesty to show : 
 
 * Vide G-entlemau's Magazine for Jan. 1740, page 20. 
 
412 
 
 Pleas'd with the sight, and first aside the man 
 Bow'd low, and this soHloquy began, 
 " I'll say't thou'rt graceful : — very graceful — and 
 Thy very look will reverence command ! 
 Thy dress is handsome — very genteel ! — still 
 Not the least foppish, if I've any skill ; 
 Besides 'tis known this head can penetrate 
 Into dark things, and solve each hard debate, 
 Or as the proverb says, can see as far 
 Into a millstone" — here the gate did jar; 
 For John had done according to command. 
 And waiting stood, with nag and cap in hand. 
 The steed was sleek, and bore a lofty crest. 
 And worth a troop of Hudibras's beast; 
 Nor ever was don Quixotte's dapple fit, 
 For speed and beauty, to be nam'd with it ; 
 So this, you'll say, was fit to bear a pack 
 Of precious ware, as they, upon his back ! 
 And all agree his worship's teeming full 
 Of just such wit as they bore in the skull. 
 This bonny nag Sir Minos did bestride. 
 And thro' the town with solemn pace did ride ; 
 About ten furlongs they had pass'd, before 
 The knight and 'squire, of silence broke the door : 
 And then it was the Justice came t'himself. 
 From contemplating on his wit and pelf: 
 With lisping accent and emphatic voice 
 (While pate and bum, on thigh kept equal poise) 
 He put these queries to his cunning 'squire. 
 And then sly John to knight rode something nigher. 
 Jack, thou must tell me true what now I ask. 
 Since 'tis no wicked, or ungodly task : 
 Sir, there's no doubt, (says John.) — Then tell me pray 
 "What says the world that now I bear such sway ? 
 
413 
 
 Why sir! they speak exceeding well of you, 
 As wise and good, to king and country true. 
 Thou answer'st well, and glad I am to know, 
 The world such thoughts so justly do bestow. 
 Here Jack, with wry mouth, turns his eyes askew, 
 As he came on ; but hark thee, Jack : — tell true ! 
 "When I appear, don't wicked rascals quake ? 
 Yes, that they do, and like an aspen shake. 
 What do they think, when I'm upon the bench ? 
 You knock down siii, and burning lust do quench. 
 Whose judgment is't a knotty matter clears? 
 Sir, your's alone sinks twice as deep as theirs ; 
 Jack bites his lip, that while the knight goes on 
 Thy words are good — I'll mend thy wages, John. 
 I thank you, sir ; — I'm much oblig'd to you. 
 Now th' Ouzel whistles wheet-wit, wheet-wit, whee'u. 
 And so went on like a shrill flute to play 
 That gleesom tune, the twenty-ninth of May, 
 Hold, Jack, stand still, I hear a whistling noise 
 Within that house : 'tis sure some atheist's voice : 
 Tho' catholics, I've heard my father say. 
 Would whistle, dance, and sing o'th' Sabbath-day, 
 But who can this be? says John, I can't tell, 
 But man, or maid, it whistles very well. 
 Some papist ! Jack : in that I'gree to you ; 
 Then comes the prelude, wheet-wit, wheet-wit, whee'u. 
 Both listen 'd, while the tune was whistling o'er, 
 The knight more vex'd than e'er he was before, 
 Turn'd short his horse, and in a furious mood, 
 Said, I'll commit him, — he's the serpent's brood. 
 He sees me stand, and yet he whistles on 
 This sabbath-day ; was such a thing e'er known ? 
 'Tis papist-like to whistle against me. 
 Or, what's the same, against his Majesty : 
 
No doubt he knows I represent the king, 
 And that we both are but the self-same thing. 
 Sir, says the squire, this thing I know t'be true, 
 Now comes the flourish, wheet-wit, wheet-wit, whee'u, 
 And so proceeds with the old tune again : 
 The knight cries out, O monstrous and prophane ! 
 Was ever antichristian impudence 
 So base, to give both God and man offence ; 
 'Tis most seditious ! — Jack, light off thy horse. 
 And bring the rascal, else use all thy force ; 
 For I this moment will commit him safe. 
 Where he'll not whistle, dance, or sing, or laugh. 
 Scarce sooner spoke than John was in, but made 
 Such queer demands, they knew not what he said. 
 --But he repeats, the whistling man must go 
 Before a Justice, for he'd have it so. 
 The man replies, " the whistler's goo4 and true, 
 " And serves me well ; but what's all this to you ? 
 " He takes no bribes, he asks for nought but meat, 
 " Fawns on no king, nor doth his country cheat ; 
 " He's not encumber'd with perplexing cares, 
 " Nor meddles with mysterious state-affairs ; 
 " He'll whistle on, altho' a justice stand 
 " Within the room, and slight his stern command." 
 
 Jack hearing this, began to smell a rat ; 
 Howe'er he goes and tells the justice flat. 
 The whistler would not come; he fear'd no law, 
 Or king, or justice, valu'd not a straw, — 
 But when the knight heard this, be rav'd and tore. 
 And sev'ral times thus by Astbea swore, 
 " I'll make him like a beacon on a hill. 
 An everlasting monument of ill ; 
 A sad example of seditious tools, 
 To pagan knaves and antichristian fools." 
 
415 
 
 And with these words he nimbly quits his horse, 
 
 Eaging with passion ; never fury worse ; 
 
 And in he flies, with "Where's this profane wretch 
 
 That slights the law ; whom I myself must fetch ; 
 
 Where is this whistling Turk ; this stinking he Jew ? " 
 
 And now the bird sings, wheet-wit, wheet-wit whee'u. 
 
 And then the twenty-ninth of May begun : 
 
 " What,'' quoth the knight, " was such a thing e'er known !" 
 
 And, puppet-like, he whisks himself about. 
 
 To see if he could find the whistler out. 
 
 The tune went bravely on, whilst he, amaz'd. 
 Sought every corner, and about him gaz'd ; 
 But still this whistler was not to be seen. 
 Which fill'd the justice with tempestuous spleen : 
 He stamp'd with foot, and lift his eyes above. 
 As tho' he call'd on thunder-ruling Jove ; 
 And then burst out in this emphatic strain : 
 " Ungodly ! wicked ! heath 'nish, and "prophane. 
 To break the sabbath ? whistle against heav'n ! 
 The king and me ! 'twill never be forgiv'n ! 
 A disaffected tune, too ! shameless man ! 
 Notorious rogue ! he's of the Jesuit's clan ; " 
 And then once more tow'rds heav'n his eyes he sent 
 And saw the Black-bird in a wire cage pent. 
 Most sweetly whistling the concluding strain. 
 Which stunn'd the knight, as tho' with light'ning slain. 
 He motionless as old Lot's wife did stand. 
 And still stretch'd out his sense-directing hand; 
 But at the last, he wheels himself about, 
 His mouth he open'd, and his thoughts flew out; 
 
 Is this the whistler ? nay, I scarce believe, 
 But both my eyes, and ears do me deceive : 
 I'll say 'tis strange ! surpassing strange ! a bird 
 To whistle tunes ! — the like was never heard ; 
 
416 
 
 I thought it was not possible for art 
 
 To teach birds music ! — not the easiest part ; 
 
 Sure this is some Italian ouzle brought 
 
 O'er seas, and was by wicked Jesuits taught ; 
 
 Why poz,-)- I ne'er was so deceiv'd in all 
 
 My life before, and with a thing so small ! 
 
 I'll say't, I took it for some Jacobite 
 
 That whistled thus, but who is always right ? 
 
 A Solomon may play some foolish tricks, 
 
 And British Cato I err in politics. 
 
 Then beck'ning finger makes the man draw near, 
 
 And in soft tone thus whispers in his ear. 
 
 Here, honest man, I'll give thee half a crown. 
 
 To promise me this thing must not be known, 
 
 For should the wicked ever hear this thing, 
 
 'Twould shame both me and our most gracious kin^ 
 
 The fellow took the piece, and made a bow ; 
 
 But, Wiseman like, in promising was slow ; 
 
 And knight perceiving that the bird was put 
 
 In close confinement, and in limbo shut : 
 
 Old Oliverian and fanatic zeal 
 
 Grew cold, and did to crusted ice congeal ; 
 
 And, calm as midnight, took his leave, but said, 
 
 Be sure this thing be never public made. 
 
 Thus Minos left the Black-bird closely pent. 
 
 And, mounting steed, on new adventures went. 
 
 t A favourite word of the Enight'a for positively. 
 J Walpole. 
 
THE COBBLER'S POLITICS; 
 ^ Cuuntrp ©laloffiie, 
 
 ON THE PEESENT TIMES. 
 
 Dat veniam Oorvis, vexat censura Columbas. — Jrv. Sat 2. 1. 63. 
 
 3g 
 
To T. B 11. 
 
 Poetical SiEj 
 
 blTTlNfl in a comer of a country alehouse the other day, I overheard the 
 following dialogue. — One of them whom they called Geobge, I took for a 
 blacksmith, because of his swarthy complexion : the other (being much the 
 greater politician) I soon found was a cobbler. 
 
 Their discourse and manner of reasoning I thought so much above their 
 appearance, and so apropos to the present times, that I soon resolv'd to 
 put them down in paraphrastic doggrel, and send them to you as a pre- 
 sent, either to publish, or suppress, just as your whimmy fancy pleased. 
 
 If the cobbler thought proper now and then to use a little Billingsgate 
 language, I hope your critical eyes will overlook it, because the subjects 
 appear so naturally to demand it ; and as to others, whose tender peepers 
 cannot bear the refulgent blaze of truth, I advise them to wink like owls, in 
 the sun, or put the cobbler's politics under the tea-kettle ; for should they 
 be offered up as a sacrifice to Cloaoina, they may perhaps give them the 
 P— es. 
 
 I am, Sir, 
 
 Tour unknown hble. Servt. 
 
 NAZ. 
 
THE 
 
 COBBLER'S POLITICS: 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 GEOHaE. 
 
 JT EAY tell me, friend Eobin, what means all this Tustle 
 Of signing sheep-skins o'th' American bustle ? 
 
 EOBIN. 
 As I apprehend it, some sign for a war, 
 And want the poor slaughter'd, both soldier and tar. 
 
 GEO. 
 To me this is strange ! and the dule of a temper ; 
 In war and in bloodshed, our friends thus to hamper. 
 
 BOB. 
 That's true, as the gospel, but view the world wide, 
 'Tis int'rest makes villains to warp o'th' wrong side. 
 
 GEO. 
 But pri'thee now, Eobin, what says t'other party ? 
 
 ROB. 
 
 For peace, and for quietness, they're all very hearty. 
 
 GEO. 
 Now God's peace be with 'em — quo' George, in this glass, 
 Here's a hearty good health to them all by the mass : 
 But teastrils that study their brethren to murther 
 The dule skin them all but go on, tell me further. 
 
420 
 
 BOB. 
 
 These tykes stuff their parchments with flattery and fraud ; 
 
 Glue up the K — 's eyes, and make truth int' a bawd : 
 
 The ruinous measures pursu'd of late years 
 
 Approve, nay applaud ! — -they should mourn for with tears : 
 
 Call ev'iy hard grievance a rebel's pretence, 
 
 Which will ruin our trade, and drive liberty hence : 
 
 And bring Hanoverians (here rhime wants a halter) 
 
 To keep Port Mahon and preserve Gibralter ! 
 
 And hunger-bit Germans, with pay more than double 
 
 Are hired to cut throats, to save Englishmen trouble. 
 
 GEO. 
 Hold Eobin, said George, thou drives on so fast 
 I cannot keep with thee ; and join first to th' last : 
 But what is all this to th' Americans pray thee ? 
 
 BOB. 
 
 I'll tell thee so truly, there's none can gain-say me. 
 
 They've alter'd their charters ; depriv'd them of fishing ; 
 
 DebaiT'd 'em their rights, and left nought worth their wishing. 
 
 Deny'd habeas corpus, and trials by juries. 
 
 Made Admiral-courts, which will rule them like furies : 
 
 Establish'd a popedom, nurst papists like mothers, 
 
 But persecute cousins, and ruin their brothers. 
 
 Made the bill of Quebec a strong crutch for the pope : 
 
 (For which let majority each find a rope) 
 
 By parliament-acts seize their money and goods, 
 
 And drive them to live, like the Indians, in woods. 
 
 GEO. 
 Why, surely, the like to't was ne'er heard before ! 
 No Jews, Turks, or Papists could ever do more. 
 
 BOB. 
 
 No more, George ! then hear me, and thou raay'st believe, 
 I scorn to belie them, or thee to deceive — 
 
431 
 
 They've made all the judges dependant o'th' crown ; 
 A thing so unheard of, was never yet known ! 
 'Gainst natural right, against law and good sense 
 Th' accused when here, had no legal defence. 
 No agent or counsel for them must be heard, 
 But from law and from justice, entirely debarr'd. 
 They hir'd a Scotch lawyer, t'abuse Doctor Franklin, 
 For which a Scotch ministry paid him, and thank'd him. 
 They've burnt some good towns, and ruin'd poor Boston, 
 And murder'd some brave men we all mourn the loss on. 
 Our m — n — y value nor right, law, or charter. 
 But for pow'r and int'rest, they all three would barter. 
 But Bbitons will pay them, or sore I'm mistaken. 
 For villains, by nature, should ne'er save their bacon. 
 
 GEO. 
 Besides, if report tell us true, I hear, Eobin, 
 The Scots int' all places, their noses do job in. 
 
 EOB. 
 That starv'd northern swarm like the vandals of yore, 
 Than locusts more keen, rob from shore unto shore ! 
 Commissions i'th' army — commands in the fleet — 
 Large pensions and places are laid at their feet; 
 As if not a briton, born south of the Tweed, 
 Was able, or worthy to serve us in need ; 
 But a rebel to England lies lurking behind, 
 And dances each puppet, just to his own mind ; 
 And strives to make breaches, 'twixt subject and king, 
 That Stuarts may enter, and high masses sing. 
 
 GEO. 
 Thou'st e'en said enough, and more than I ever 
 Could think or believe were the whole put together ! 
 But hark thee, old neighbour, I hear whining Wesley 
 Has written a conjuring paper — (Lord bless me !) 
 
423 
 
 BOB. 
 
 His Calm Address, Georgy, thou means, as I guess ; 
 That canting mix'd hodge-podge ; no more, nor no less ; 
 In which inconsistency stares folk i'th face, 
 Yet impudence for it expects — a good place. 
 
 GEO. 
 
 Then he writ it to serve as a ladder of rope 
 To p-ss on the clergy, and mount English pope, 
 
 BOB. 
 Yes ; I know the old fox kens when th' iron's hot, 
 When knavery triumphs, and truth goes to pot : 
 He peeps round to see what old time will bring forth, 
 Lifts one hand to God, and the other to Noeth ! 
 He wheedles his lambkins to heighten his gains. 
 And pilfers his writings from other men's brains : 
 He says and then unsays it, just as times go ; 
 A goddess makes liberty — then a Dutch frow ! 
 His claim unto prophecy, miracles, wit. 
 Who reads but his journals his sides he must split; 
 He stares up to heav'n with heart that's all mammon, 
 Holds forth against bacon, then dines upon gammon. 
 But speech is defil'd with off'ring to paint 
 This motly odd creature — this pious sweet saint ! 
 
 GEO. 
 If he be a true saint, I'm sadly mista'en. 
 That writes, prays, and preaches, and all for pure gain. 
 
 BOB. 
 
 But let's leave this canter, and speak of another. 
 
 Whose doubly-bronz'd bacon face speaks him his brother ; 
 
 A parson wrapt up in his cassock and band, 
 
 A shame to the clergy throughout the whole land. 
 
493 
 
 GEO. 
 If that be the ease, why dont they cashier him ? 
 
 ROB. 
 That's done already — for no one will hear him ! 
 His sermons quite suffocate folk with their smell, 
 They're larded so strongly with sulphur and hell : 
 On vanity's pinions he soareth so high, 
 Truth skims out of sight, and sense cannot come nigh, 
 His name Doctor Absolute — writes in a cause 
 Destructive of liberty, commerce, and laws ; 
 A right mongrel black-coat, of F. S. A. blood. 
 Lies basking in falshood, and rolls in its mud ; 
 A giant in scandal — a hero in lies — - 
 Would fain, like the basilisk, kill with his eyes ; 
 Whose notions fly winged, where'er the whim leads. 
 Or like th'Amphisboena, crawls on with two heads ; 
 When vex'd, would defame both his king, and his G — 
 And send you to hell with a look, or a nod. 
 Ah, Doctor, thy letters to S-n-y, and H-n-by 
 Were read — then abhorr'd ; and thy own party scorn'd thee. 
 Thy true brimstone genius did glaringly shine. 
 And murder and blood-shed blaz'd forth in each line ! 
 To day all for tyranny in the worst sense, 
 Next Mancunian patriot is thy pretence : 
 Thy pride still intoxicates ev'ry just thought. 
 And right and wrong, pat, to tby balance is brought. 
 In haughty bold impudence, none can surpass thee. 
 As witness thy scurrilous letters to M — ss — y. 
 A Billingsgate muse with a hundred foul tongues 
 Cann't vent so much ordure as to thee belongs. 
 In Styx may old Charon thy fiery soul quench, 
 For sland'ring such virtues, as honor the bench : 
 Whose names will endure, whilst thine with a puff 
 Will pass like a vapour, and stink like a snuff. 
 
424 
 
 GEO. 
 Enough of such vermin — or rather too much, 
 And on the great clergy pray give me a touch : 
 I mean how the lawn-sleeves and mitres hehave ; 
 Sure they're all for peace, and this blood fain would save. 
 
 EOB. 
 
 Ah ! George ! — that I could but confirm that good thought, 
 
 But quite different news in each paper is brought : 
 
 Nine-tenths of the bishops — deplorable case — 
 
 Did vote to establish the popish grimace ! 
 
 They hold with Scotch politics ; foolish and weak ; 
 
 Are silent, but when they for tyranny speak : 
 
 They bow down and worship great Bel and the Dragon, 
 
 Which some call preferment, and simony brag on : 
 
 But when wanton pow'r and sweet interest join. 
 
 They'll part none, till drown 'd like the Gergesene swine. 
 
 And sure as my hammer doth pelt hard on leather. 
 
 Eighteen of their heads should be knoek'd hard together. 
 
 GEO. 
 
 Quo' George, by the miss, and had I the knocking 
 I'd make ev'ry skull soft as fuz-ball, or stocking : 
 But Eobin, too much of these great rogues is vain. 
 Pray how do the parsons in gen'ral demean ? 
 
 EOE. 
 Hum — George — I am sorry, they're chips o'th' same block : 
 
 GEO. 
 Why then, by th' church-steeple, I'm none of their flock ; 
 If conscience lies snoring and int'rest bears sway, 
 I'll never believe them, whatever they say. 
 
 EOB. 
 Why, George, when did parsons their int'rest forsake, 
 Or miss a preferment would butter a cake? 
 They'll point thee the road unto bliss with both hands. 
 But still as a guide-post, the parson he stands : 
 
425 
 
 And, poor humble creature, will, for a good slice 
 Of sordid cold earth, give you mansions i'th' skies : 
 
 But parsons are parsons at M r too, 
 
 At L rp — 1, Litchfield, and all the world thro'. 
 
 GEO. 
 By th' miss, honest Eobin, I think thou canst preach. 
 And point truer doctrines than ever they'll teach ; 
 'Tis plain as a pike-staff their all is below ; 
 So here's to thee, Eobin, for now I must go. 
 
 ROB. 
 
 I'm willing enough — but first let us drink 
 Some sentiments proper to th' times, as I think ; 
 For thou, and I too, as we sail in this ship, 
 May sure wish its safety, and dread a false trip. 
 
 GEO. 
 With all my heart Eobin, for sure I can drink 'em 
 If thou can propose 'em, or ever once think 'em. 
 
 ROB. 
 Here's wishing the m — n — ry, headed by th' mitres, 
 Must lead up, at Boston, our regular fighters ; 
 And stand the same chance, which they force upon those. 
 Who are wiser and better by far, as fame goes. 
 So God bless the king, George, and send him such eyes. 
 As may blast all the knaves, and more honest men prize ; 
 And wishing it never prove England's hard lot, 
 To be rul'd by a Stuart, a Knave, or a Scot. 
 
 8h 
 
486 
 
 PLURALIST and OLD SOLD IE B. 
 
 A soldier maim'd and in the beggars' list, 
 Did thus address a well-fed pluralist : 
 
 At Ouadaloupe my leg and thigh I lost, 
 No pension have I, tho' it's right I boast ; 
 Your rev'rence, please some charity bestow, 
 Heav'n will pay double- — when you're there — you know. 
 
 Phi. Heav'n pay me double ! vagrant ! know that I 
 Ne'er give to strollers, they're so apt to lie : 
 Your parish and some work, would you become. 
 So haste away, — or constable's your doom ! 
 
 Sol. May't please your rev'rence, hear my case, and then. 
 You'll say I'm poorer than the most of men : 
 When Marlbro' sieg'd Lisle, I first drew breath. 
 And there my father met untimely death ; 
 My mother follow'd of a broken heart. 
 So I've no friend, or parish, for my part. 
 
 Flu. I say, begone ! — with that he loudly knocks. 
 And timber-toe began to smell the stocks : 
 Away he stumps — but in a rood, or two, 
 He clear 'd his weasand and his thoughts broke thro'. 
 
 Sol. This 'tis to beg of those who sometimes preach 
 Calm charity, and ev'ry virtue teach ; 
 But their disguise, to common sense, is thin, 
 A pocket button 'd — hypocrite within. 
 Send me kind heav'n, the well-tann'd captain's face. 
 Who gives me twelve-pence, and a curse, with grace ; 
 But let me not, in house, or lane, or street. 
 These treble-pension'd parsons ever meet : 
 And when I die, may I still number'd be 
 With the rough soldier, to eternity. 
 
THE FORTUNE TELLER: 
 
 OB THE 
 
 Court'-Ktcl^ at 2:ittlt6orougft* 
 
J. HE vice and folly wHioli at court appears, 
 
 The country soon the leprous livery wears. 
 
 Curs'd pride and luxury engender soon, 
 
 And straight produce their darling — ctrOKOHJOM. 
 
 Plac'd k — s and pension'd w — s derour the land ; 
 
 The bribed vote as bribers do command; 
 
 Eat time may come when we may think it sport, 
 
 To sweep with brooms a dirty, vicious court ; 
 
 Whose fashions do us country fools bewitch 
 
 And we catch vice, as people catch the itch. 
 
THE 
 
 FORTUNE TELLER 
 
 UwiVEB,* a looby, known full well 
 To those who near him chance to dwell : 
 Because with stick and slouching hat, 
 He strolls to find out calves when fat ; 
 And if his cash, with help of credit. 
 Can buy a good fat sheep, — will stab it ! 
 This lusty carl one day did peep in 
 Where buxom Eudda house was keeping ; 
 A girl as sweet as flow'rs in May, 
 As rose in June was fresh and gay ; 
 Whose very look, with keen desire, 
 Set Swivee's panting breast on fire ; 
 Who for a while, as sheep was dumb. 
 And all his speech was haw and hum. 
 At last comes out, I con, — J'or sartin 
 I con, — /oc shure, — tell lasses fortin. 
 Can you? quo' she, then tell me mine. 
 And all I have in pocket's thine. 
 
 He took and gently squeez'd her hand 
 And in the palm each line he seann'd ; 
 
 * The butcher's bye-name, which, in this part of Lancashire, only means 
 a slasher, or cutter ; — as, swive me off a beef-steak, &c. tho' it might pro- 
 bably be given bim by one who understood it in its primitive sense, as 
 'tis reported he got a woman with child the night his first wife was 
 buried; so the application is proper enough in either sense. 
 
430 
 
 Then cobbles, up a bubbling story, 
 How she must lire in wealth and glory 
 Be married soon and have a boy 
 That must his father's lands enjoy. 
 This pleas'd her so, she lost all strength. 
 And swooning, fell on couch at length ! 
 
 The God of Love now prompted to him, 
 And all the charms of Eudda shew'd him : 
 So SwivBB nick'd the lucky time. 
 And did ! — what shames our modest rhyme ! 
 
 Eudda that while, whate'er th' pretence, 
 Had not of feeling lost all sense : 
 Nor would the butcher do't to halves, 
 But oft enquired there for calves ; 
 And always did her fortune tell. 
 Which now he could do full as well 
 As any courtier of them all, 
 At good St. James's, or White-hall : 
 For he had got to th' highest pitch. 
 That noxious plague, the Couetier's Itch : 
 And was as learned in the lore 
 Of cuckoldom as punk, or whore. 
 
 At last it chanc'd, her master out. 
 And SwiVBE, being on the scout, 
 Tipp'd her the wink; — she knew th 'intent. 
 And all the servants out were sent : 
 The doors were shut a certain space. 
 Her master hearing in few days. 
 Did unto Eddda question put. 
 How came the doors one day t'be shut? 
 Eudda deny'd they ever were. 
 He then for Swiver sent, we hear, 
 And ask'd the same, who, humming twice, 
 -And finding it a point too nice, 
 
431 
 
 To answer which he was unable. 
 The question is not reasonable ; 
 Nor is it fit that you should know, 
 Said SwiVEB, and away did go. 
 
 Not many months had pass'd before, 
 The trump of fame began to roar, 
 That Eudda's pretty chubby face 
 Grew thin — but thicken'd in her stays : 
 Which dire report soon reach'd the ear 
 Of pretty Eudda, as we hear ; 
 Who slyly trac'd it to its source. 
 And vow'd the law should have its course. 
 
 Straight for a warrant Eddda goes 
 To Justice, who, each baby knows, 
 Is blind as beetle, and her scales 
 Will turn with th' parings of your nails : 
 Except when int'rest drives a peg 
 I'th' centre! — then an arm's a leg; 
 White may be black; right may be wrong; 
 And what's too short, be much too long. 
 
 Now warrant's serv'd on Tommy S — tt, 
 Tho' innocent as child, God wot ; 
 Who ne'er affirm 'd this lusty Swiveb 
 Had given Eudda a close driver : 
 Or, if you please, had given her pledge 
 Of steel, would cool, or whet an edge ; 
 Or whisper'd, that behind a curtain 
 She had been told her all her fortune; 
 So prosecution hot as fire. 
 Was driven on by female ire. 
 
 The magistrates, with imps below them. 
 Who just have brains to pull fees to them, 
 Harrass'd poor Tom all sorts of weather, 
 Till feet lost some, and bum more leather; 
 
432 
 
 His fob of guineas was bereav'd ; 
 For he paid costs and k — s receiv'd. 
 
 Thus j s, who loll on benches, 
 
 Do sometimes favour pretty wenches : 
 
 They smile, they squint, they ask a question. 
 
 How oft? — where? — when? and thus they jest on, 
 
 Till the deluded trembling creature. 
 
 With blushes purples ev'ry feature : 
 
 Her shiv'ring limbs can scarce support 
 
 Her shame, which some folks turn to sport. 
 
 With chagrin'd mind, poor Tom sits down. 
 
 A few short weeks ; — when thro' the town 
 
 'Twas whisper'd, that the other night 
 
 This dark affair burst into light; 
 
 And that the butcher had confess'd 
 
 His sins to th'wife, and thus profess'd ; 
 
 Why Ann, — indeed, — Tve made a faut ; 
 
 A greyt on too — as folc mey cau't '. 
 
 For 'tis a faut, Ann, — yet if I 
 
 Had but a little cash ; — by th' bye, 
 
 I think I could buy this job off, 
 
 Witheawt mitch sheme, and little scoff. 
 
 His downcast looks, and meek pretences, 
 
 Made Ann to muster up her senses. 
 
 And cast about how she could raise 
 
 The cash ; — so quickly took her ways 
 
 With wisket — and for wool she run. 
 
 And money drew before 'twas spun. 
 
 And to her husband gave it soon. 
 
 With, see thou knave that this be done. 
 
 And careful be thou never more 
 
 Tells fortune to another whore: 
 
 For when thou plays such pranks again, 
 
 May old Nick take thee for thy pain. 
 
433 
 
 Now SwivER to his doxy goes, 
 And helps to pack her Sunday cloaths, 
 And tells her which way she must steer, 
 And he soon after would be there. 
 Thus both are gone, and leave behind. 
 Sin, shame, and scandal, to the wind ! 
 
 Now bats and owls are seen by pairs — 
 Two magpies ricking, hopp'd: — two hares 
 Eun cross the road : — a ghost was seen 
 At boggart-well, dress'd all in green : 
 But some affirm, who saw it plain, 
 'Twas red as blood, or cloth in grain : 
 Yet wisest gossips think them right. 
 Who say that it appear'd in white ; 
 But this dispute we'll pass by here. 
 And to some other matters steer. 
 
 Our Eudda's brother, late one night. 
 
 Held out the child to p — ss or s : 
 
 Then calmly John lay down to rest, 
 But gloomy thoughts his mind oppress'd. 
 Long he'd not been thus musing on 
 Poor Eudda's fate, so lately gone. 
 But heard a noise that stunn'd his ears, 
 And drown'd his senses in his fears ! 
 He thought for sure the crashing sound, 
 Was pewter-shelf that dash'd to th' ground. 
 A waft of wind he thought did pass 
 As cold as could be o'er his face ! 
 This made John creep within the bed ; 
 When lo ! — he plainly heard the tread 
 Of bare feet plodding o'er the floor 
 Which made him sweat and trernble more : 
 'Till at the last, with courage stout. 
 His sweating nose he first put out ; 
 3i 
 
484 
 
 Then on his backside sat, and spies 
 
 As plain as could be, with his eyes, 
 
 A spectre, in a woman's form, 
 
 The like ne'er seen since man was boA ! 
 
 Her garments white as flaky snow; 
 
 Hair hung in locks her breasts below; 
 
 Her eyes with weeping much were blear'd ; 
 
 Her sobs and groans he plainly heard ; 
 
 She cross'd the room five limes that night. 
 
 Then vanish 'd in a flash of light ! 
 
 John now was frighten'd worse than ever ! 
 
 His sweat was cold ! — teeth hack'd together ! 
 
 He toss'd and tumbl'd without sleep 
 
 And left his bed when day did peep. 
 
 This frightful story he told soon. 
 Which spread two miles before 'twas noon : 
 His neighbours trembled at the tale 
 And good wives bless'd, and turned pale 1 
 Some few persuaded John to find 
 Out SwiVEE, and the rogue to bind 
 To th' sessions, and to make him tell. 
 If Kddda was alive and well. 
 The other party did prefer 
 His going to a conjurer: 
 As far the best and cheapest way, 
 And then no fees would be to pay. 
 But this dispute's not worth our while, 
 And much too great to reconcile, 
 And John to take the wrong is loth, 
 At present hangs between them both. 
 
 Ann was not long before she heard. 
 How th' apparition had appear'd 
 And frighten'd John ; so straight her mind 
 Foreboded something was behind ; 
 
485 
 
 And that more ill-luck might attend 
 This fortune-telling in the end. 
 
 This in the fire did cast more oil, 
 And Nanny's wrath did higher boil; 
 "With spite and anger she pursues 
 The rogue, and puts this in the news. 
 
 From Littleborough there lately stray'd, 
 Or by fair Kudda was convey'd, 
 A lusty carl, — no fluent speaker ; 
 A slouching hat, much like a quaker : 
 And who sometimes, pretends to tell 
 Fortune, or lay a nightly spell. 
 Whoe'er can this, our Swiver bring 
 To Ann, his wife, in rope or string, 
 Shall for their pains be the receiver 
 Of a good steel and heavy cleaver. 
 A pond'rous axe and leathern belt, 
 A swine-hook sharp as e'er was felt, 
 With two good brats* of Eussia cloth ; 
 (The which to part with I am loth) 
 Yet all's their own, who takes the pain 
 To send this rascal home again. 
 
 * Coarse linen aprons. 
 
THE GUGKOW AND OWL 
 91 Ja6Ie, 
 
 A CUCKOW many years had rang'd 
 
 Amongst the feather'd kind ; 
 To see if he a mate could meet, 
 
 Would fix his roving mind. 
 He tried all, he loves but few. 
 
 For some too high did soar; 
 Some were too little, some too big. 
 
 And some too ragg'd and poor. 
 At last he would a courting go, 
 
 To broad-fac'd Mistress Owl, 
 Believing her the prettiest bird 
 
 Of all the winged fowl. 
 Transported with this odd conceit 
 
 Away the Cuckow flew. 
 And in a very am'rous strain, 
 
 Be thus begins to woo : 
 Dear Madam Owl, my heart has been 
 
 Long captive to your charms. 
 Nor can it have a moment's rest 
 
 Till your soft down it warms. 
 
437 
 
 This said, the Cuckow would have bill'd. 
 
 The Owl she turn'd her face : 
 As knowing coyness whets an edge 
 
 And gives a better grace. 
 Sir Cuckow would not be denied, 
 
 But struggl'd for a kiss ; 
 Which having gain'd, the Cuckow cried 
 
 What melting joy is this ! 
 Thus thirteen moons the Cuckow woo'd 
 
 Her ladyship the Owl, 
 Who thought her sweet-heart lov'd her more 
 
 Than Miller loves his toll ; 
 Because he talk'd of hymen's noose, 
 
 And needs would have her go. 
 To have it ty'd about their necks. 
 
 By help of Parson Crow. 
 But as it chanc'd the Owl was deep 
 
 With Eev'rend Crow in love : 
 And hoping still to make him her's, 
 
 The thing did not approve. 
 But lest she should not gain the Crow 
 
 She would not flat deny, 
 The roving Cuckow's queer request, 
 
 Lest she alone should lie. 
 The Cuckow smelt the cunning jilt. 
 
 Too wise to be a tool ; 
 And carries on the farce a while. 
 
 To countermine the Owl. 
 For long he'd lov'd and was esteem'd 
 
 By th' solitary Jay ; 
 To whom he flying, weds, and leaves 
 
 The Owl to time a prey. 
 For she not pleasing Parson Crow, 
 
 Wish'd she'd the Cuckow then : 
 
438 
 
 But 'twas too late, the time was gone, 
 
 And would not come again. 
 Her ruddy face, so gay before, 
 
 Is turn'd a tarnish'd white ; 
 Her sprightly mind, and brilliant thoughts 
 
 Are like a cloudy night; 
 So now she haunts the lonely woods. 
 
 And hoots in barns by night ; 
 Complaining of her fine spun wit, 
 
 And hates to see the light. 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 The Virgin thus in all the bloom of life, 
 Is lov'd and courted for a happy wife; 
 But she denies — expecting nobler game, 
 Till forty comes, and she's no more the same 
 For time is gone : — then wishes vainly rise ; 
 She curses Av'rice, and a Maid she dies. 
 
THE GARDENER AND THE ASS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 An ass with poverty long strove, 
 
 And pastur'd in the lanes, 
 Till, hunger-bit, he thus to Jove 
 
 In rueful tone complains : 
 Ah ! hadst thou made me any beast, 
 
 That laden by doth pass, 
 Then had my paunch been fill'd, at least. 
 
 With straw — if not with grass ! 
 Jove hears his plaint, and soon doth send 
 
 A fox, with this advice. 
 Cheer up, and look more brisk, my friend. 
 
 Hunger should make thee wise : 
 Behold how gay the fool and knave, 
 
 Do stiffly strut along : 
 The rat is sleek, I fat and brave, 
 
 With murder, theft, and wrong, 
 Look thro' that fence, where spinage sweet. 
 
 And coleworts green do grow, 
 
 * There ia something lite a moeal at the end of this tale ; but as 
 TlMOTHT could not, would not, or durst not, deduce it naturally, from the 
 general scope of the fable, as it ought to be ; he has left it (like a skein 
 of ruffled silk) for hyperpolitical critics to unravel. 
 
440 
 
 The lettuce and the juicy beet, 
 
 Then who'd be hungry now? 
 The ass pricks up his slouching ears, 
 
 And into th' garden peeps ; 
 He longs the more, the more he stares. 
 
 Then thro' the hedge he creeps. 
 Balaam promiscuously doth browse 
 
 On herbs and choicest flow'rs, 
 Till Tom, the gard'ner, doth him rouse, 
 
 And all his sweetness sours. 
 For lo ! a heavy club cries thwang 
 
 Upon the ass's side ; 
 He starts at this unwelcome bang, 
 
 And o'er the bed doth stride. 
 The fine glass bells and pots are broke, 
 
 Carnations fully blown, 
 Alike are ruin'd at a stroke 
 
 And wholly overthrown ! 
 The gard'ner distracted, sees 
 
 The havock which he makes ! 
 He flatters much — desires a peace 
 
 And thus the ass bespeaks — 
 So, honest Balaam ! so, my lad ; 
 
 Stand still — I pry'thee stand ; 
 The club is lost which late I had. 
 
 As witness now my hand. 
 Thus, fawning, he with cautious strides, 
 
 Lays hold on Balaam's ears. 
 And out of paradise him guides, 
 
 To pay for all repairs. 
 For, 'tis resolv'd, old Hob must pay 
 
 And Balaam stoop to th'yoke. 
 By fetching pots and glass next day, 
 
 Instead of those he broke. 
 
441 
 
 II. 
 
 The morning scarcely peeps, when Tom 
 
 Between the crates is got, 
 And busy thrashing Balaam's bum, 
 
 For plunders past, God wot ! 
 The ass bewails his dismal case, 
 
 And groans for freedom lost ; 
 And longs his rider to displace, 
 
 From his triumphant post. 
 When lo ! he sees behind a ditch. 
 
 Two thorny bushes, where 
 He straight runs through, as if bewitch'd, 
 
 And quits his rider clear. 
 The crates and Torn are left behind, 
 
 He sprawling in the mud. 
 His face is scratoh'd, his peepers blind 
 
 With mixed mire and blood ! 
 Thus crates and saddle which, of late, 
 
 Tom, dauntless did bestride, 
 Mount in their turn — thus mighty fate 
 
 Doth humble human pride ! 
 He scrap'd his clothes, he wash'd his face, 
 
 And then for Balaam stares. 
 And saw him nibbling at the grass, 
 
 Disoharg'd of worldly cares. 
 Tom swore by Jove, reveng'd I'll be 
 
 On thee, by hook or crook ; 
 So with some pains and flatt'ry. 
 
 Again he Balaam took. 
 The ass is saddled once again. 
 
 And Tom again him mounts ; 
 Eesolv'd to ride with careful rein. 
 
 And make him clear accounts. 
 He then bang'd on about a mile. 
 
 Where he'd a bridge to pass, 
 3 k 
 
442 
 
 And Balaam's ready -with a wile. 
 
 As any other ass : 
 For he was dry, or did pretend, 
 
 At least, for to be so ; 
 Tom thinking he'd no other end. 
 
 So let the bridle go. 
 The ass put down his shaggy pate. 
 
 Then tosses up his rump, 
 And tumbles Tom from off his seat. 
 
 Who lights i'th' water — plump. 
 Balaam now thought he'd freedom gain'd. 
 
 But as he march'd away, 
 He found his head was still restrain'd, 
 
 Tho' Tom i'th' water lay. 
 For he'd the bridle in his hand. 
 
 By whieh the ass did draw 
 Him bravely sous'd unto the land, 
 
 111 chagrin'd in his maw. 
 Tom had no sooner found his feet 
 
 But banged at the ass, 
 As if on purpose to be beat. 
 
 As iron is, or brass. 
 But now his cudgel waxeth short. 
 
 And cooler grows his ire : 
 Yet mounting steed is not his sport, 
 
 Or trotting his desire. 
 For, hanging bridle on his *rm, 
 
 He walks before the ass, " 
 As fearing that some greater harm 
 
 Might quickly come to pass. 
 So Time, who sees the end of things. 
 
 Doth half his journey see. 
 Where Tom his pots and glasses rings. 
 
 Poor Balaam's load to be. 
 
443 
 
 III. 
 
 Now Tom his brittle ware doth pack, 
 
 In straw well mix'd with care, 
 And lays them on the ass's back, 
 
 Which made him grunt and stare. 
 Howe'er, with patience Balaam went. 
 
 Until he came unto 
 The place where will, or accident 
 
 So late his master threw. 
 Nature, or man's contrivance, made 
 
 A high and lower way : 
 The one for such as love to wade. 
 
 One o'er a wood-bridge lay. 
 The ass by chance, or choice, had got 
 
 Upon the higher road. 
 When Tom began to dread the lot 
 
 Of his precarious load. 
 No farther durst he drive the ass, 
 
 Nor could he bring him back; 
 And Tom in such dilemma was. 
 
 As put his mind o'th' rack, 
 Fear and vexation fiercely mov'd 
 
 Like light 'ning thro' his breast. 
 Until his fury master prov'd 
 
 And then he smote his beast: 
 The blow on Balaam's nose did light. 
 
 Which drove his head askew ; 
 A foot behind slips off for spite. 
 
 And all the rest o'erthrew. 
 Now, topsy-turvy, bell and pot 
 
 Do jinglinat tumble down. 
 And Balaam Ties with four feet up, 
 
 Quite dead ! — or in a SAvoon ! 
 
444 
 
 The gard'ner, with uplifted hands, 
 
 Extends his mouth and eyes, 
 And like a marble statue stands, 
 
 In terrible surprise. 
 A neighbouring tinker by doth come, 
 
 And shakes him by the nose ; 
 Tom answers with a haw and hum, 
 
 As people in a dose. 
 Then index finger he doth stretch. 
 
 And points at all his woe ; 
 For look, said he, that clumsy wretch 
 
 Is tumbled down below. 
 Well, tho' 'tis so, the tinker says. 
 
 An ass is but an ass : 
 Tom quick replies, — That's not the case, 
 
 He's broke my pots and glass ! 
 The tinker owns the story bad, 
 
 But says — Thy standing here 
 Will never mend it — come my lad, 
 
 Let's view thy broken geer. 
 Tom and the tinker now agree, 
 
 And soon unloose the ass ; 
 Then roll him off the crates, but he 
 
 Seem'd deadly stiff, alas ! 
 Then both of them began to throw 
 
 Away the broken ware ; 
 But those they found in statu quo, 
 
 Are pack'd again with care. 
 This done, the tinker takes one crate 
 
 And saddle on his back, 
 Tom lifts the other on his pate. 
 
 And homeward both do pack. 
 As on the road they jogging went, 
 
 Tom told the story o'er: 
 
445 
 
 The tinker did his case laYaent, 
 
 But still he roundly swore, 
 Tom was a fool in grain to think 
 
 Of coping with an ass ; 
 Since more we stir the more we stink, 
 
 In ev'ry dirty case. 
 The ass now left — contention sore 
 
 Arose between these two ; 
 Tom thought him dead — the tinker swore 
 
 "No more than I or you." 
 All authors since do vary here, 
 
 In this mysterious case ; 
 Some write " he broke his neck,'' some swear 
 
 " He outliv'd this disgrace.'' 
 Be this as't will, we'll leave him here, 
 
 'Twixt doubtful life and death ; 
 Expecting time will make it clear, 
 
 If he still live and breathe. 
 
 MORAL. 
 So have I seen a Ministry bestride, 
 A common-wealth in all the pomp of pride ; 
 Who for the public good ne'er laid a scheme. 
 But dear self-interest was their only aim ; 
 And nestl'd in the umbrage of a crown. 
 Rode Jehu-like, nor dream'd of tumbling down. 
 Brib'd S — n — rs, sold votes, to make us pay. 
 Three-fifths to those, who squander'd all away: 
 But now such taxes ne'er before were known. 
 Yet knaves cry up the times, when freedom's flown. 
 ! glorious times ! when candles and the sun. 
 Must yield them thousands, or all's dark at noon ! 
 
446 
 
 The red-streak a23ple golden-juice must yield, 
 Like bits of paper, or the sterile field, 
 We feel the yoke and fatal ruin see. 
 
 Yet dare not struggle for lost 1 y ! 
 
 But the' at present all things smoothly pass, 
 Take care, ye Joekies, lest ye EIDE AN ASS ! 
 
 THREE CONCEITED BEAUTIES. 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 J-HEEE country bumkins chano'd to meet 
 
 Whose phizzes look'd like vizards : 
 The first, the second thus doth greet, 
 
 " Thy face is like some wizard's ! 
 The ugliest of the ugliest sort. 
 
 Thou art, or I'm mistaken : 
 Sure nature made thee all for sport, 
 
 Or sight has me forsaken.'' 
 
 SECOND. 
 
 But thou'rt all beauty in thy looks. 
 
 And ev'ry feature's pleasing ! 
 This I would swear on twenty books, 
 
 But for my sin increasing. 
 For sure, thy nose, thy mouth, thy eye. 
 
 Would suit no other mortal ; 
 Pluto and Jove will throw tliee by. 
 
 On ent'ring grim death's portal. 
 
447 
 
 THIKD. 
 
 The third, and ugliest of the three, 
 
 Said " Lord ! how you're conceited ! 
 I cannot stand a mute, and see. 
 
 Two neighb'ring friends thus cheated. 
 I wonder why such mortals should 
 
 About their beauty fall out : 
 Were I as ugly, I ne'er would 
 
 From my poor cottage crawl out : 
 For with an axe, and owler-tree, 
 
 I'd make two men as handsome ; 
 Or live a slave in Tripoli, 
 
 And never sue for ransom." 
 
 MORAL. 
 This is an emblem of all human kind ; 
 We ev'ry one to our own faults are blind : 
 Nay, tho' they're blazing, them we cannot see, 
 They're beauties all, or pass from censure free. 
 
 Lancashire Hob and the Quack Doctor. 
 
 A TALE.— 1762. 
 
 A THRIFTY carl was tir'd of lonely cot. 
 Because the tooth-ach he so often got : 
 Six teeth were all he had to chew his food ; 
 All gave him pain, but none could do him good. 
 Hob hearing Rochdale town did then contain 
 A famous quaek, that drew teeth without pain ; 
 
448 
 
 To him he flies, and in a voice as loud 
 
 As Stentor's, thus bespoke him thro' the crowd : 
 
 " Ho — onist moil lohot munneh gi' yo t'drea 
 
 A tush ot pleagues me awmust neet un dea ? " 
 
 " Six-pence," the quack replies. — Hob spoke again, 
 
 " Vii conneh do't meh, thinkneh, heawt mitch pein ? " 
 
 "Oh, well enough!" — Quoth Hoh, "Suppose I two, 
 
 Yoan do for neenpunce ? " " That I will not do." 
 
 " Heaw monny then, for twelvepunce winneh poo ? " 
 
 " All that thou hast." — Quoth Hob, " They're just enoo." 
 
 The doctor took this for a country joke, 
 Till he saw Hob hard pressing thro' the folk, 
 And mount the stage. — Quack now some mirth intends. 
 And slily for a pair of pincers sends ; 
 Thinking he'd met one of those puny fools 
 Who'd run away from such inhuman tools. 
 Hob takes the pincers, " Vara weel," said he, 
 " If they'll fit yo, I'm sure they win fit me." 
 
 Hob now aloft is seated in a chair. 
 With open mouth, in which the quack did stare ; 
 Who laughing said, you have but six, I find, 
 And they're so loose, they'll wag with every wind," 
 " Better for yo, yo lenone, do yo yer job.'' 
 " Yes, yes, and quickly too, my honest Hob, 
 Hold ,up your head " — " Oh !" — " Here is one you see. 
 Come, hold again — here's two — would you have three ?" 
 " / thwik ot mans a foo ; we hargint plene, 
 Poo theese aiv eawt, or set thoose in ogen." 
 " If that be th' case, hold up again, my friend, 
 Come, open wide, and soon the work we'll end." 
 
 Hob now extends his spacious jaws so wide. 
 There's room for pincers and good light beside. 
 Cries Quack, " Here's three, here's four ;" Hob bawls out Oh ! 
 " Hold, hold, says quack, " there's something more to do : 
 
449 
 
 Come, gape again ; — here's five, here's six, and th'last. 
 
 And now I'm sure thy tooth-ache pains are past." 
 
 "That's reet," quoth Hob, " gi' me meh teeth, un then 
 
 Til pey OS freely os sum roycher men." 
 
 The quack complies, and Hob his twelve-pence paid. 
 
 Then, in dismounting, to the mob thus said : 
 
 " They're arron foos ot sixpimce pein for loon. 
 
 While for a shillhig I ha six jobs dun ; 
 
 But still they're bigger foos that live e piein, 
 
 When good seawnd teeth may choance to come agen." 
 
 The doctor stares — and hastily replies, 
 
 " They come again ! not till the dead shall rise. 
 
 One single tooth no more thy jaws shall boast, 
 
 I hold a crown thou ev'ry tooth hast lost." 
 
 " Tls done," quoth Hob : — and stakes a Charles's crown ; 
 
 The quack as nimbly throws five shillings down. 
 
 Hob takes up all, and in a neighbour's hand 
 
 Secures the total, then makes his demand. 
 
 " Measter, yo knone eaicr bet is that I've lost 
 
 My teeth — and that I have not won to boast." 
 
 The quack replies, " Tis true, and what by that ? " 
 
 " Whi/ see, I've six, neaw, e meh owd scull-hat, 
 
 Ne, sur, if yoon geaiv wimme whoam, I'll shew 
 
 Yo e'ery tooth ot e meh meaicth did groo." 
 
 The quack, ill vex'd he such a bite should meet, 
 Turn'd on his heel! while Hob said, "Sur! good neet." 
 
 S L 
 
450 
 
 JOHN OF GAUNT'S LEASES IMITATED. 
 
 APEIL— 1759. 
 
 JjY this, R—d T—y, of B—d, doth grant 
 
 To John Clegg, the dyer, three things he doth want : 
 
 The dye-house, as he many years hath it held, 
 
 With leave for two tenters to stand i'th greave field ; 
 
 Which tenters do fence near the north and east sides ; 
 
 One likewise the field into two now divides : 
 
 The brow, or the lower part of the said field, 
 
 Together with all above mentioned, I yield 
 
 Unto the said dyer, for his life and mine, 
 
 Or whether lives longer : — But then I confine 
 
 Him duly to pay me and mine ev'ry year, 
 
 Three pounds of good money, and I'll taxes bear. 
 
 One half he at Whitsuntide strictly shall pay, 
 
 The other as duly each Martinmas day. 
 
 To shew that the dyer this lease did not steal. 
 
 Behold, here I fix both my hand and my seal. 
 
 Signed and seal'd, this day, before 
 
 Two sober mortals, and no more. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 1 E — d T — y, of B — d, the younger, 
 
 Do grant to John Collier, for whether lives longer, 
 
 The Wheat-field, and th' Bylings, the rent four pounds ten, 
 
 Which payment neglected, are both mine again. 
 
 That my heirs may take notice, know all, that this came, 
 
 From my hearty good will, so here I write my name. 
 
 Signed this day, sans fraud, or guiles, 
 
 Before James Haslem, and J. Fildes. 
 December IRth, 1738. 
 
451 
 
 THE ECCLESIASTICAL AND LAY-MISER'S 
 SPECULUM. 
 
 A ESTMI NG SEBMON. 
 
 ON THE DECEASE OE DR. POESTEE, THE PLURALIST. 
 
 From James, chap. v. 1, 2, 3. 
 
 Go to, ye rich men, weep and howl, ye know 
 Your garments moth eat ; riches canker'd grow ; 
 The ruBt shall eat your flesh, like fires that glow. 
 
 XlEAE this, ye gripes ! — ye blind insatiate crew, 
 Whose hoards abound — whose heirs and friends are few ! 
 And your own fate in Forster's glass here view. 
 
 What's now become of all his griping schemes, 
 Of hoarding wealth, which foster'd silken dreams ? 
 The flash is vanish'd like our northern gleams ! (a) 
 
 The sweetest consolation riches yield, (b) 
 Fly quick and wither, like a flower o'th' field, (c) 
 You trust a broken reed — a crazy shield ! (d) 
 
 Woe to you misers — you that live at ease. 
 Who swallow up the poor, your wealth t' increase. 
 Your mis'ries come : but tell me when they'll cease ? (e) 
 
 Can racking tenants, and your treasur'd wealth, 
 Give calm content, or purchase balmy health ? 
 Or bribe grim death from creeping on by stealth ? 
 
 No — here you're feeble ! tho this gloomy thought 
 Torments the mind, that Time will not be bought, 
 Tho' bags and chests with mighty gold are fraught. 
 
 (a) Prov. xxiii. 5. (b) Luke xii. 20. (c) Luke vi. 25. (d) James i. 1. 2. 
 (e) James t. 1. 
 
4S2 
 
 Consider, now, if sordid pelf will gain 
 A seat in bliss, or ease one dying pain ? 
 If not, from squeezing of the poor refrain. 
 
 Expand your narrow minds — your bags untie; 
 Nor tremble when you give a groat, — for why? 
 Your God will slip you, when you come to die. (f) 
 
 Relieve the wants, and cherish the sad heart 
 Of your poor neighbours, who endure the smart 
 Of meagre want, that pierces like a dart, (g) 
 
 But Forster's gone, whose life we thought was wrong. 
 And tho' the devil at the court be throng, 
 He'll fetch— who starts ? — another e'er't be long. 
 
 (f) ProY. xxiii. 5. (g) Eocles, xi. 1. 2. 
 
THE GOOSE. 
 
 91 ^ e m . 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To J. B , Esq. 
 
 SIE, 
 As I have the honor to be a member of the ancient and venerable order 
 of the Qormogons, I am obliged by the laws of the great Chin- Quaw-Ki-Po^ 
 emperor of China, to read, yearly, some part of the ancient records of that 
 country. 
 
 I -was performing my annual task -when the extraordinary piece of jus- 
 tice in the following poem fell under my perusal, but more reasons than 
 one determined me to translate it into verse. 
 
 Tour worship is too well known in these parts for any one to imagine, 
 I could long hesitate in the choice of a patron. 
 
 The stupidity, peevishness, passion, and vanity of the Chinese justice, 
 will undoubtedly serve as foils to set off, and illustrate your consummate 
 wisdom, and prodigious virtues. 
 
 You may believe, sir, 'twas with this regard I dedicated the poem to 
 you : every true Briton who hears of your justice, candour, and humanity, 
 (especially to strangers) must be charmed with your conduct ; for had all 
 Britain such justices as your worship, we might sing, or say, with one 
 accord,—" OuE couNTBX is mkely goteened ! " 
 
 But though I give you your just praises, I am afraid I offend your 
 modesty. 
 
 I am sensible that harsh sounds cannot escape the animadversions of 
 critical ears : and for that reason have been often on the point of changing 
 the title of my poem from the GoosB to the Gandee. But, reflecting that 
 the geese who gave warning of the enemy's approach, were called Seeva- 
 TOEES EoMtE, I chose to retain my former title in honor of them, and 
 such-like illustrious patriots. 
 
 To you then, Sir, the Goose waddles for protection, and begs leave 
 to assure you that the present Poet Latteeat* shall never want a quill to 
 celebrate your immortal praises. 
 
 May your worship live as long here, as you are an ornament to the 
 
 high station you are placed in : and when you remove out of this country, 
 
 may you be preferred in the other, before JEacits, Miiros, or Ehadaman- 
 
 THtrs, which is the siooere wish of 
 
 Sib, &c. 
 
 ' CoUey Gibber. 
 
THE GOOSE: 
 
 9i poem. 
 
 Wi 
 
 EAEY with homely food, and toils of life, 
 With crying children, and a scolding wife, 
 A weaver is resolv'd to .banish sorrow, 
 And live to day, let what will come to-morrow : 
 For who the tiresome loom can always bear. 
 And not regale his stomach with good cheer ? 
 
 With this intent he from his loom doth start, 
 And asks his pockets, if they'll take his part ? 
 And fortune favours, for they answer — Yes ! 
 Which makes him skip, and thank his stars for this ; 
 Then Sunday-coat he o'er his singlet* puts. 
 And in high-spirits to the market struts ; 
 Where geese, and ducks, and chickens feast his eyes. 
 But only one fat goose poor shuttle buys. 
 
 And now he thinks the happy moment come. 
 To triumph thro' the streets, and bear the trophy home. 
 But who can guard against the turns of fate? 
 The wench he bought the goose of cries — a cheat ! 
 From hence ensues a noisy, doubtful strife. 
 Such as was never heard 'twixt man and wife : 
 The gaping crowd around in parties stand ! 
 But, lo ! old Granidoodle's just at hand : 
 When now their anger boils to such a pitch, 
 That there was whore, and rogue, and dog, and bitch ! 
 But words like these a poem may debase. 
 And only suit the hero of the piece. 
 His worship hearing, could no longer bear, 
 But cries aloud — " What noythe, what noythe ith there ? 
 
 * A woollen waistcoat undyed. 
 
456 
 
 Ith it for nought tliat I, the mighty I, 
 
 Do reprethent hith Ohinethe majethty ? 
 
 Or that in vain I wear the thowrd and thield ? 
 
 My name ith, wath, and will be " 
 
 Both trembled at his voice — but first the man, 
 Made a respectful bow, and thus began. 
 " May't please your worship's honour and your glory, 
 I will exactly tell you all the story. 
 This goose I bought for twelve-pence, and paid down 
 In good and lawful money, half-a-crown : 
 But now, a saucy slut, my change refuses. 
 Demands more coin, and gives me gross abuses." 
 
 " "What thay you, woman ! ith thith falthe or true, 
 Thith fellow doth athert contherning you? " 
 
 " May't please your sov'reign lord, the king's great justice. 
 In whom for goose or money all my trust is ; 
 I wish I ne'er may see iny spouse, or house. 
 If ever I receiv'd of him a souse." 
 
 " But will you thwear thith ith the cathe ? if tho. 
 He thall to bridewell for correotheon go." 
 
 " For God's sake hear me, Sir,'' the weaver cries, 
 " I'll swear to ev'ry thing which she denies : 
 If I ha'n't given her half-a-crown then never 
 Let warp and weft be firmly join'd together." 
 
 " What ! huththe ! thirrah ! he thwear, you thwear too : 
 If Tholomon wath here, what could he do ? 
 The matter ith tho nithe upon my troth ; 
 My mind inclin'th me to confine you both. 
 
 But hold 
 
 I'll toth a piethe of money up, that'th fair, 
 Whitch thall dethide the perthon that mutht thwear : 
 But mark me well, the woman ith to chuthe. 
 Or head, or tail, like chanthe to win or loothe." 
 
457 
 
 No sooner said, than done — both parties willing 
 The Justice twirls aloft a splendid shilling ; 
 While she, (ah nature, nature,) calls for tail, 
 And pity 'tis, poor soul, that she should fail ! 
 But chance decrees — up turns great Chin-Quaiv-Ki-Po, 
 Whose very name my belly sore doth gripe — oh ! 
 His worship view'd with joy the royal head. 
 And thus in broken lisping accents said : 
 
 " By thith event we very plainly find 
 That Juthtithe will take plathe, tho thumtimeth blind : 
 And had not I by providenth been here, 
 You two had fought it out like dog, and bear. 
 Here, fellow — take the book — for chanth deoreeth 
 You take the oath — but pay me firtht my feeth : 
 From peril of the law you'll then be loothe ; 
 Huththe, give him the change and eke the goothe : 
 And, thuttle, for the future, let me tell ye, 
 You mutht not pamper your ungodly belly ! 
 Geethe, duckth, and caponth, are far huth thage cato'th, 
 Be you content with thjannock and potatoth." 
 
 His work thus finish'd, passing thro' the streets, 
 He tells the wond'rous tale to all he meets ; 
 And hugs himself for this rare action done. 
 Whilst all men stare, some laugh ; still he goes on. 
 
 " Plain ath a pike-thtaff 'tith, that I in pow'r, 
 Do king and cpuntry thervith ev'ry hour ; 
 And to my utmoth do good order keep, 
 Both when I am awake, and when I thleep 
 O ! two, three, four, nay, five timeth happy nathion, 
 When magithtrath have thuch a penetrathion ; 
 No thtrangerth now for bread thall dare to roam. 
 But with their wiveth and children thtay at home : 
 Ath for philothopherth ! I'll make them thqueak. 
 In thpite of all their latin and their greek ; 
 3 i\r 
 
458 
 
 Newton himthelf tshould here find no protecthion, 
 And all hith pupilth tshall rethieve correcthion ! 
 They're papith all, in diff'rent mathkth and we 
 Tshould watch, like arguth, dangerth to forethee. 
 The nationth right on juthtitheth depend. 
 And tith our duty rogueth to apprehend. 
 
 Thuth withe men alwayth act, and I, thith day, 
 Have church and thtate pretherv'd by quelling thith 
 thad fray." 
 
 THE MAYOR OF 'S PETITION 
 
 AN ANECDOTE 
 
 Paraphrased from St, James's Chroniole, Dee. 21 — 23, 1769. 
 
 J. HAT merry monarch, Charles the Second, 
 Who mirth and women lov'd, 'tis reckon'd. 
 On progress once, must needs go thro' 
 A borough which sent members two ; 
 And govern'd was by its own mayor. 
 And aldermen, a doughty pair ! 
 Whose pockets were so thinly lin'd. 
 That all was out when e'er they'd din'd. 
 These three, when join'd by all the people. 
 Could not erect within the steeple, 
 A clock to tell them by it's chime. 
 When pudding smoak'd at dinner time ; 
 So were resolv'd they would lay hold on 
 The king to get a little gold on ; 
 
159 
 
 So that the clock might be erected 
 Sooner and cheaper than expected. 
 
 This wight, the mayor, my authors say 
 Would eat and drink — a summer's day — 
 His cheeks rubb'd on his breast and shoulders, 
 With Falstaff 's belly to beholders : 
 Had form'd a speech, he'd got by rote. 
 Which, gracefully, he thought to quote. 
 
 The king was driving, Jehu-like, 
 But seeing th' mayor, with glance oblique. 
 He stops his train that did approach. 
 And eke his glitt'ring gilded coach ; 
 And at the door receives in state. 
 This jolly, rustic magistrate. 
 
 Behold this liege-man true now making 
 A low obeisance — with much quaking ; 
 He utter'd — humbly — May it please 
 Your majesty, — when lo ! — his knees 
 And belly squeez'd so hard together, 
 Wind broke — like thunder in hot weather ! 
 
 This dire explosion gave the king 
 A fit of laughter — but did fling 
 The mayor into such confusion. 
 His speech he made but little use on : 
 But after hemming thrice, he muster 'd 
 Up so much sense, that out he bluster 'd, 
 May't please your majesty, — I had — 
 As good a speech — as — e'er was made : — 
 But greatly fear — as — I'm a man, 
 At the wrong end — on't — I began. — 
 
 Stop, brother Sov'reign quoth the king 
 By G — d you cannot mend the thing ; 
 Or any other man in England, 
 In Scotland, Denmark, or in Finland. 
 
460 
 
 This said, his majesty threw pat, 
 Twenty broad pieces in his hat : 
 And bowing to the mayor, drove off 
 Most highly pleas'd, with many a laugh : 
 Swearing it was, tho' highly scented, 
 The strong'st petition e'er presented ! 
 
 THE SCHOOL BOY AND HUNGRY SOW. 
 
 In times of yore when brutes could speak 
 Both hebrew and old fashion 'd greek ; 
 A school-boy sauntering in the way 
 Laid greasy psalter down one day : 
 We can't say whether greek or hebrew ; 
 But psalter 'twas as all agree to : — 
 That is, when new — for now by thumbing, 
 'Twas blackish grown, and unbecoming; 
 Of many leaves was quite bereft. 
 But penitential psalms were left. 
 
 The boy i'th hedge was getting nuts. 
 When sow came by with empty guts. 
 On acorn-hunting ; when she found 
 The curious morsel on the ground : 
 She smelt — then took it in her jaws 
 And eat — for hunger needs no sauce. 
 
 The boy peeps thro' the boughs and sees 
 His book eat up, like bread and cheese, 
 And laughing — asks the sow, how she 
 Approv'd the dainty novelty ? 
 
461 
 
 The sow replied, the words are good, 
 But quite, alas ! — too airy food — 
 And want the pow'r, friend, I must tell ye 
 To satisfy my hungry belly. 
 
 MOEAL. 
 
 Thus our rich clergy teach the poor to live 
 On heav'nly food — they nothing else can give ! 
 This unto bigots seems most complaisant : 
 But Where's the priest, who keeps the poor from want? 
 
 CLERICAL CHARACTERS: 
 
 Biionging to seven ludicrous Pictures sold at the Roebuck in Rochdale. 
 
 1762. 
 
 DEHOLD the course old Levi's tribe pursues, 
 
 Squeezing from tenants, tythes, high rents and dues : 
 
 But still with double chins they boldly preach 
 
 Benevolence, and other duties teach : 
 
 Display the vanity of worldly things ; 
 
 Shew how lay-pleasures carry poignant stings : 
 
 That abstinence for bliss doth qualify, 
 
 Whilst practice gives their theory the lie. 
 
 For guide post like they point us out the way 
 
 To future bliss and everlasting day ; 
 
 Content with trash, poor saints, they here below can stay. 
 
 The first's an honest country Curate, who 
 Is the best Christian of the rev'rend row. 
 
46S 
 
 His income's forty pounds a year, yet he 
 
 Maintains a wife and numerous family ; 
 
 Gives more to th' poor than any other three ! 
 
 His merry vein procur'd him here to dine, 
 
 With doctor Screw, half drown'd in sleep and wine : 
 
 Who always fleeces — seldom feeds his sheep, 
 
 But leaves them for his Curate, poor, to keep. 
 
 The next we see enjoying of his pipe. 
 Is a rich Levite, who we'll christen Gripe : 
 He stoop'd to Walpole — then to Pult'ney bow'd ; 
 For he was best, who most on him bestow'd : 
 Yet, tho' receiving is his dear delight, 
 He lives a pauper — scarce bestows a mite ! 
 He's Vicar, Eector, Dean, and Prebend too. 
 His stockings moth-eat, and each mouldy shoe 
 In garrets lie, for mice and rats to chew ! 
 
 On his right-hand, with fat deserted pate, 
 Wig under arm, and glass awry is sat, 
 A right right rev'rend Dad- — -Hight Doctor Eake, 
 In eighty-six, his first degrees did take 
 And was for th' court — in two years turn'd about, 
 For Billy pray'd, and was a Whig devout ! 
 Next he huzza'd, and drank Sachev'ral's health ; 
 Preach'd church's danger, and heap'd store of wealth : 
 Then, like a rat, he smelt a falling house, 
 Turn'd tail again, and Tory disallows. 
 Bribes, like old hock, slip down his throat with glee, 
 Drinks healths to Walpole, and his black levee. 
 And thus our modem Priest — this Vicar o' Bray, 
 Eose to Eight Eev. and holds it to this day. 
 
 The next with broken pipe and wig askew, 
 Keeps a gay lass — who keeps his house, 'tis true ; 
 
463 
 
 Was never married — and he's no occasion ; 
 
 For why can't Eev'rend Doctors be in fasliion ? 
 
 Eight hundred pounds a year, and Chaplain's place ; 
 
 Not giv'n by God — not they — but by his grace ! 
 
 Visits his parish once a year, to dtaw 
 
 His rents — but cares not for their souls a straw. 
 
 Allows his starving Curate surplice dues. 
 
 But puddings none ; or quarterage for pews ; 
 
 Screws up his tenants to the highest pitch. 
 
 And looks you see, like succubus, or witch ! 
 
 The next's a jolly toper, Oxford bred. 
 Who ne'er old Polycarp, or Austin read : 
 He smokes, he drinks, he hunts, the fox and hare ; 
 But of his flock he takes but little care. 
 His rectory is three hundred pounds a year. 
 Besides some lands — yet nothing has to spare. 
 
 But hark ! — the clock strikes two : who is't we've here ? 
 Is this his grace so drowsy doth appear '? 
 Whose heavy head on shoulder doth recline ; 
 Stuflf'd with rich viands, and o'er-charged with wine : 
 With double chin, and pouting mouth looks big 
 And valet comes and brings a cap, for wig. 
 Yes, this is he, who lolls on couch with ease ; 
 Who swells his bags with tythe of pigs and geese : 
 Whose pride's predominant — e'en whilst he prays 
 Unto his God, — or scripture truth conveys : 
 But 'tis not habit that doth make the monk. 
 For see ! his lordship privately is drunk ! 
 
 Tis thus, alas ! whilst britons seem to sleep. 
 We're driven on by fools and knaves like sheep. 
 
LETTERS IN RHYME. 
 
 TO EICHAED TOWNLEY, ESQ. 
 SIR, 
 
 XWAS Thursday last, when I, John Goosequill, 
 Went for some odds-and-ends to Rochdale, 
 With charge to buy some beef and mutton, 
 But these, alas ! were quite forgotten : 
 For lighting on some friends I sat 
 An hour (my wife says two) too late. 
 However, chance threw in my way, 
 Some Dutton cockles, fresh as May, 
 Which well I knew would please wife's palate, 
 Better than any lamb and salad. 
 
 Quite free from care, I spent the hours. 
 Till Time bawl'd out to horse, to horse ; 
 Twas then the wallet press'd my shoulder, 
 And on I march'd, no hussar bolder. 
 
 When I got home (I hate to tell it) 
 I fell to emptying of my wallet 
 Of candles, soap, and such like stuff. 
 Of which wed-folks have ne'er enough ; 
 But left the cookies still at bottom, 
 (Bought to keep quietness when I got home ;) 
 Then pour'd some water out of jug, 
 Mix'd with some salt into a mug, 
 And turn'd the end of wallet up 
 For fish (like other folks) would sup. 
 
465 
 
 'Tis true, their crackling, empty sound, 
 Chim'd ill with cockles full and round : 
 But, far from smelling any rat, 
 I took up this and look'd at that, 
 But all were empty — then I curst 
 Bill Porky, as of knaves the worst, 
 For selling nuts but ne'er a kernel. 
 And wish'd him with the d — 1 infernal. 
 
 Now searching on quite to the bottom, 
 I found some stones ; — thought I, ah rot'em 1 
 Poor Billy Porky s honester 
 Than th' best of my companions are ; 
 Unless the fish could, all at once, 
 Slip fi'om their shells and turn to stones. 
 
 Awhile I stood considering 
 The plaguy oddness of the thing : 
 Grop'd at my eyes, lest it should prove 
 A dream — but felt my eye-lids move ; 
 I studied how I might come off. 
 Without MolVs frowning, or her laugh ; 
 Thought I, my rib will think I joke her. 
 And brought home shells just to provoke her ; 
 Or, frowning, tell me some mad tale. 
 Of minding nothing but good ale, 
 Then, sighing, rais'd my maudlwa-head, 
 Eeel'd up the stairs — and went to bed. 
 
 No sooner up, but there's a query, 
 Put by my loving wife : Hight, Mary, 
 
 What meat I'd bought? Why — nothing else 
 
 But pebble stones and cockle-shells ! 
 
 3 k 
 
466 
 TO ME. COWPER, 
 
 WINU MBECHANT, IN LIVEBPOOL. 
 SIR, Dec. 24tli, 1761. 
 
 A DIZZY head and thoughts o'th' ramble, 
 Makes me to write without preamble, 
 
 And bold as any trooper ; 
 To let my friend at distance know 
 The plague and trouble I go through. 
 
 Because of Mr. Coivper. 
 For my Crook'd Rib, each now and then, 
 Doth frowning ask me, pray, sir, when 
 
 May I expect my mountain ? 
 I shrug my shoulders — why — e'er long. 
 Twill be at Rochdale, good and strong. 
 
 And clear as any fountain. 
 But as the clock strikes at the heels 
 Of the last hour so Timmy feels 
 
 His ears stunn'd with this question — 
 When will my wine and brandy come ? 
 I clear my weasand — answer — mum — 
 
 Though I've your word to rest on. 
 Perhaps your pictures you expect, 
 Before I feel the warm effect 
 
 Of your care-killing liquor ! 
 But hark you, sir, the days are dark 
 And cold ; Un then I hete aw wark. 
 
 As ill as any vicar. 
 But in a month or two at least. 
 Except the sun wheel back to th' east. 
 
 You may expect your beauties ; 
 But, in the mean time, must I fast. 
 Or guzzle ale not to my taste? 
 
 Nay, hang me on some yew-trees ! 
 
407 
 
 I from my cot, this Ghristmas Eve, 
 Write with a troubled mind — believe, 
 
 And wife in doleful dumps ; 
 For who can merry be, that's wise. 
 While what he wants in Lerijo lies. 
 
 And vex'd with jeers and frumps ? 
 Pray send a line, that I may say. 
 To my Crook'd Rib, on such a day. 
 
 Your gossip's nose shall job in 
 A tankard made of mountain wine, 
 Sweet water, nutmeg, sugar fine. 
 
 And set at rest 
 
 TIM BOBBIN. 
 
 TO MY FKIEND T. M TT, 
 
 In a severe fit of the Gout — 1764. 
 
 Ah me, what rumours stun my list'ning ears ! 
 What dire reports are these, Tim Bobbin hears ! 
 Fame, with her trumpet crack'd, most hoarsely blows, 
 That ease is fled, and pain hath seiz'd your toes! 
 This makes your friend now try to banish pain. 
 And re-enthrone soft silken ease again : 
 Should this be done — the mark I surely hit ; 
 Then, patience, sir ! and read when pains admit. 
 
 Eye-dazzling Riches was the teeming birth 
 Of Proserpine, but stroll'd from hell to earth : 
 She was a beauteous soul-enamouring fair ; 
 Who saw her, lov'd, and dropt into her snare : 
 Yet was by nature prone to all deceit. 
 And jilted fools and wise, the small and great. 
 
468 
 
 A miser first procur'd her for a wife, 
 And strove t' enjoy her, even after Ufe ! 
 She Ti^as the dotard's joy — his soul — his God; 
 And in his heart she found a warm abode. 
 Nay when he came death's bitter cup to taste. 
 The flame burnt fiercer, and his love encreased : 
 But, as he dos'd, the gipsy slipp'd away. 
 And left old Nunk's a lifeless lump of clay ! 
 
 A quaker next espy'd the lovely dame : 
 His holy eyes drank in the amorous flame. 
 He knew her nature, always giv'n to change : 
 That her delight was ev'ry where to range : 
 So durst not trust her from his careful sight. 
 But watch 'd her closely morning, noon, and night. 
 He humm'd, he haw'd, he sigh'd, he shook his head. 
 Yet dream 'd, one night, the gipsy from him fled. 
 This spurr'd desire — his heart more fiercely burn'd ; 
 The inward-man was all to cinders turn'd : 
 So he, good man, a Phoenix soon became, 
 And left the world expiring in this flame ! 
 
 A merchant next spent all his time and care 
 In courting of this saint-deluding fair : 
 He, for her sake, ran to the spicy east, 
 And for to gain her sail'd unto the west : 
 But, when on board he had her safely shipp'd, 
 His vessel founder'd, and she downward slipp'd ! 
 He sav'd himself by swimming on a bale, 
 And paid his debts by — lying in a jail. 
 
 No sooner had she left the wat'ry main 
 Than a purse milking lawyer's plodding brain. 
 Attempted with sly arguments to win 
 The gilded prize and thus he did begin. 
 Ah! madam Riches! — what would I not do 
 To gain your favour, or one smile from you ! 
 
469 
 
 My ears I'd pawn — my neck in hemp should twine ; 
 Nay e'en my soul should go — were you but mine ! 
 I must — I will enjoy ! — by force then he 
 Seiz'd on, and lodg'd her under lock and key. 
 His heart, his soul, his goddess were the same ; 
 He found no diff'rence, only in the name. 
 And as he found fresh beauties ev'ry day. 
 So care encreas'd, lest she should slip away. 
 
 Thus many years he kept his paramour ; 
 Till death one night rapp'd at his office door, 
 Great was the knock ! — the lawyer prick'd his ears ; 
 And sweat came trickling, mix'd with trembling fears. 
 When thus he spoke : — What booby raps so loud ; 
 And stuns my ears like thunder from a cloud ? 
 Some country bumpkin, with his empty pate 
 Disturbs me thus, by rapping at my gate : 
 Come up, ye fool — when lo ! pale death steps in, 
 And with hoarse voice and a contemptuous grin. 
 Did answer thus : — Behold a writ is here, 
 And you must now before the bar appear ; 
 And shew just cause why, vi et armis, you 
 Seiz'd on the jilt who was another's due. 
 
 The lawyer here demurr'd, and would remove 
 The cause — for why ? he lik'd not courts above. 
 This forc'd a smile from unrelenting death. 
 Who grasp'd his throat, and stopp'd his falt'ring breath. 
 
 Next was the knav'ry of a monarch seen. 
 Who was resolv'd to make the minx a queen. 
 He plumes himself and thinks the gaudy toy 
 Would prove a goddess, could he once enjoy. 
 But in his breast she rais'd ambition dire, 
 And neighb'ring nations wastes with sword and fire ; 
 Till rigid fate, — on sieging the last town, 
 A ball sent out, which whirl'd him from his throne! 
 
470 
 
 But should the muse the cheating jilt pursue 
 Thro' half her freaks, they'd tedious prove to you. 
 Tho' worldly-witlings strive the toy to catch, 
 She ne'er was made for mortal men a match. 
 Nor could these spouses any offspring raise, 
 A sylph she was, and slipp'ry all her ways. 
 
 Now let us see for what dame Nature made 
 This phantom Biches ; — this deluding shade : 
 Pleasure she saw, a youth of blooming charms ; 
 He fell in love ; — and she into his arms. 
 This knot appear'd to ev'ry mortal eye 
 As sweetly knit, as Nature's self coul'd tie 
 And soon produc'd a buxom girl, and she 
 At present's known by th' name of Luxury, 
 Who in her teens, a baron of high fame, 
 Espous'd for life, lord Eiot was his name. 
 This wanton couple saw each ball and Eout 
 And issue had a crabbed son, the Gout: 
 Who at his birth gave such heart-wringing throws. 
 That all lamented his fond parents' woes ! 
 And as he grew, his stubbornness appear'd. 
 More strongly rooted, and more groans were heard : 
 Till at the last, with ev'ry pois'nous dart, 
 He kill'd his dad, and broke his mother's heart. 
 
 Kind providence — my thanks I give to thee. 
 
 Who kept back Biches, and the Gout from me. 
 
471 
 COLLIDON'S COMPLAINT 
 
 POB THE ABSENCE OP BOSAHKDA. 1734. 
 
 U COU'D I now in doleful lines express 
 My drooping sorrow, or my deep distress ! 
 
 My doleful sighs ; my numerous flowing tears ; 
 
 My bleeding heart — or my prophetic fears — ! 
 
 But how can words, or this my virgin-muse 
 Pourtray pale grief, which parted love now screws 
 To the highest pitch ? Or can my nimble pen 
 By scribbling here, this tide of sorrows stem ? 
 
 no, 'tis vain — ; 'tis all in vain — ; since I 
 Have lost my dearest, all my pleasure's die ! 
 My bosom friends in whom I took delight 
 
 Now seem insipid radiant daj' seems night : 
 
 The well-tun'd flute which once did pleasure yield 
 To pensive sighing, now must quit the field. 
 
 Th' harmonious cornet, and the loud hautboy. 
 Instead of pleasing do my fancy cloy. 
 Whilst you was here I the spectator lov'd ; 
 The tatler too my active fancy mov'd : 
 But now you're gone all my delights are fled. 
 No books or music please my love-sick head : 
 No room I find for these, they trifles seem. 
 To that dear creature I so much esteem. 
 
 1 own I love : experience too has taught 
 
 It is return'd, in wish, in soul, and thought. 
 Our hearts are barter'd ; and since mine is gone 
 Let yours ne'er wander, or by art be won. 
 What tho' you're absent, know, I still can love ; 
 Nor can th' enchanting charms of beauty move 
 My fixed heart, which like a solid rock, 
 
 Stands curling waves ; and smiles at every shock : 
 
472 
 
 Learn then of me, and shun man's tempting smiles, 
 Their wanton looks, and their deceitful wiles : 
 And by all things which you hold dear on earth, 
 By all the charms of love, by former mirth ; 
 
 By that alluring face those sparkling eyes : 
 
 By all that's honest, virtuous, rich, or wise ; 
 Nay by your charming self, whom I hold dear; 
 
 Or by my pensive heart or by this tear 
 
 AVhich now obstructs my sight, never do you, 
 Eesign those charms which to my love are due. 
 
 AN ANSWEE TO A POETICAL EPISTLE, 
 
 FEOM THE 
 
 THREE PKETTY MISSES S— S, H , AND L . 
 
 March H, 1735. 
 Ladies, • 
 
 Y 
 
 ■^OUE lines Ive got, where numbers sweetly flow, 
 But don't pretend the poetess to know : 
 Perhaps your wits you join'd, to puzzle me ; 
 Howe'er I answer thus, to one, two, three. 
 
 But ah — ! the arduous task, what Hercules 
 Can e'er pretend, three pretty girls to please ? 
 But as I'm stout — , and very large my heart, 
 I'll it divide, and give to each a part : 
 Nor frown ye fair, but be contented then, 
 A turkey's leg, outweighs a roasted wren : 
 And never more poor Tim ungrateful call; 
 Tho' I'm all heart, I'll swear you have it all. 
 
 I feel my passion is so vastly grown, 
 I love three more, than others can love one. 
 
473 
 
 The letters S H L stick in my heart, 
 
 And deeper pierce, than Cupid's thrilling dart. 
 When e'er I take the pen, great Jove, thou knows, 
 
 S H and L, spontaneous from it flows : 
 
 But still alas, when I your verses see 
 
 My love o'erwhelms me like a half-drown'd bee : 
 
 The more I want to write, the more I feel 
 
 The words stick fast my thoughts I cant reveal. 
 
 But sure your piercing thoughts can penetrate 
 These dusky clouds, of bashfulness so great; 
 And thro' the mists perceive my passions glow ; 
 As ^tna flames when cover'd deep with snow. 
 
 You hint my heart's so very closely fixed 
 
 On some sly lass, that none can come betwixt : 
 Or else some dowdy meets my am'rous flame. 
 And lurking steals the thing I dare not name. 
 
 But hear ye Tim believe, ye ladies fair ; 
 
 No flow'rs he plucks ; none in the gardens are 
 
 That he has chose, can prove his taste so ill 
 To slight the rose, and cliuse the dafl'odil. 
 You think a blush, because the flash is great, 
 Proves, I'm for entering on the married state : 
 But how can I pretend to live at ease. 
 When I love three, and take a fourth to please ? 
 
 No I've no passion that defiles my heart ; 
 
 No low intrigue to make my conscience start : 
 But if to love you all be reckoned so, -\ 
 
 AVhat shall I do ? or whither must I go ? [■ 
 
 Alas I'm lost ! I'm drown'd in bitter woe! ) 
 
 Direct me then ye soul invading three ; 
 
 Be council for me in extremity ; 
 Guide with your numbers my far wand'ring feet ; 
 Or visit Timmy in his calm retreat. 
 3o 
 
474 
 
 AN ANSWER TO ANOTHER LETTER, 
 
 From Miss L , one of the Three Poetesses. 
 
 April 12, 1736. 
 
 Madam, 
 
 What balmy pleasure ran thro' ev'ry vein 
 When your's I open'd, writ in pleasing green ! 
 The beauteous thing I view'd with eager care, 
 And wish'd the Writer, only with me there. 
 
 Methought I saw the God of Love profound 
 Make the green margin, and indent it round. 
 I kiss'd the paper where your snow-white hand 
 Touoh'd, when the pen it did so well command. 
 These strong ideas heighten'd to your charms. 
 That fancy grasp'd you close within my arms : 
 But envious Time, convinc'd poor Tim, too plain, 
 Such thoughts were idle, and such hugging vain. 
 Then reading on, a few smart hints I mark 
 As tho' my style and sentiments were dark. 
 Next was a prayer, that all the powers above 
 Would always be propitious to my love : 
 And then a promise you would ever be 
 A faithful friend and counsellor to me. 
 
 My thanks are due to so sincere a friend 
 
 Accept 'em then for I'll on you depend. 
 
 Some soft complaints do next my eyes invade ; 
 
 You say I'm fickle, and a wand'ring blade. 
 
 In my last lines, 'tis true, I did pretend 
 
 To love all three, that I might not none offend : 
 
 But should you think this scheme too wild, and vain, 
 
 These queries answer, apropos, and plain. 
 
 Suppose, as you allow, that I'm in love 
 With one of you Pray, would that one approve 
 
473 
 
 My ardent passion ? Would she quick return 
 
 Those warm desires, with which for her I burn ? 
 Nay would she venture the world's ocean wide. 
 
 In my small boat be pilot, w e, and guide ? 
 
 Consult ye fair ; together, or alone ; 
 Reply all three, or only answer one. 
 
 Be quick ; be serious ; since I'm ev'ry limb. 
 
 Your faithful slave, and 
 
 Humble Servant, 
 
 TIM. 
 
 TO MISS MOLLY B R, 
 
 OF MANCHESTER, 
 
 In which she enclosed some Matches to bum her Letters. 
 
 Milnrow, March 1st, 1736. 
 Madam, 
 
 JjAST day brought to my hands 
 Your lines, with all your neat fire-brands 
 And now, to shew I'm none of those 
 Who 're wedded unto plodding prose, 
 My fancy bids me at this time 
 To write to you in jingling rhyme : 
 And sure I'm not the proto-ass 
 Who's imitated Hudibras. 
 
 And, Madam, first, with soul as humble 
 As e'er did at the Pope's-toe tumble 
 I ' beg you'll take a closer view 
 (If matches have not spoil'd their hue) 
 
 Of my last lines ; in which you'll find 
 
 That to your sex I'm not unkind ; 
 
 Nor did I say, I never yet 
 
 Found any but wou'd scold and fret 
 
476 
 
 Or else with folded arms wou'd sit 
 
 Or shew their Bacchanalian wit 
 
 Wou'd wrythe, wou'd twist, and twine about 
 
 Or worse — : wou'd make bull-feathers sprout. 
 
 I ne'er said this, in whole or part 
 
 Or ever thought it in my heart. 
 
 You in your letter ask'd me pardon 
 For faults that spotless ne'er had heard on 
 
 Which made me say I'm in the case 
 
 Awise but saucy fellow ' was : 
 
 He a good woman sought in vain, 
 So I stirr'd up my musty brain 
 To see if I your faults could ken; 
 
 But I found none : pray was this then 
 
 Condemning all the softer kind, 
 Nor virtue cou'd in women find ? 
 
 No, surely — : it was the reverse ; 
 Your faults I sought in terms express ; 
 It was not meet helps, that I thought on ; 
 Your errors were the things I spoke on. 
 
 But if the faults in my inditing 
 For want oth' usual points in writing 
 That I am now misunderstood, 
 Forgive me and consider th' mood 
 That I was in, when them I scribbled ; 
 Which might be th' cause that you was misled. 
 
 This was my meaning, or may I 
 A rhymer be, until I die 
 Or may my scull, and brain poetic 
 Linger away in rhyming hectic 
 Nay — let love's-darts my poor heart thrill 
 If spotless be not. 
 
 Spotless still. 
 
477 
 ON Miss S DS. 
 
 CONCEALING DB. SH TT 's PESTLE. 
 
 i\OW from her chamber Chloe smiling comes 
 Like summer's empress deck'd with airy plumes 
 The Cyprian goddess ■whose transporting charms 
 Calms furious Mars, when in her snowy arms, 
 Shew'd no such beauty when for golden fruit 
 Jiino, and Pallas did with her dispute 
 Nature and art here join'd their utmost care 
 To form this lovely, soul-enticing fair 
 Who wou'd have serv'd the Grecian painter's view, 
 When he blind eupid's beauteous mother drew 
 Her ev'ry charm wou'd make adultery 
 A venial crime and th' I'avisher set free. 
 
 Dress'd a-la-mode, and clean as falling snow 
 
 She sallies forth , scarce knowing where to go 
 
 With portly air she thro' the street did move 
 
 When her assailing eyes by chance did rove 
 
 Into the place where the adopted son 
 
 Of Galen sits to hear how life goes on 
 
 And whether Clotho holds her distaff fast 
 
 Or Lachesis doth whirl with too much haste 
 
 And where he with compound art declares 
 
 The hand of Atropos he stays, and crazy life repairs. 
 
 He being out, young Chloe ventur'd in 
 And stroak'd his pestle, thinking it no sin 
 She view'd his seat and counter where he leans 
 His elbow, when his patients tell their pains : 
 But durst not touch, or taste his powerful drugs 
 But out of mortar she the pestle lugs 
 This done, she scarce knew whether to conceal 
 It in the shop, or cunningly it steal, 
 
478 
 
 But chose the first ; by -which she gave this hint 
 When she ith' basket covered it with mint 
 That pestles might, as well not be at all 
 As be concealed when indigence doth call. 
 
 Thrice happy Galen whose propitious stars 
 Preserved thee from soft Chloe's crafty snares 
 To fav'ring Gods present a sacrifice 
 Of thy best drugs and oriental spice, 
 Who guarded thee from being Chloe's prize, 
 Boast of their favours and officious care 
 And shun their smiles who study to ensnare. 
 For meeting Chloe then, unto your cost 
 You not a pestle — ; but a heart had lost. 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO JAEED LEIGH, 
 
 OF WABRINGTON. 
 
 December 14th, 1756. 
 
 Deae Beotheb, 
 
 lOUES writ by candlelight. 
 At the tenth hour, the tenth at night. 
 And the tenth month, old stile now lies 
 Oth' table spread before my eyes. 
 
 In answer, I've not yet forgot 
 Your order, when the punch was hot: 
 And when I do forget, may I, 
 Drink milk and water till I die. 
 
 Ah what a woful wish is this 
 
 But how the dickens can one miss ? 
 Vex'd to the heart, that I should be 
 Charg'd with forgetting Brother Leigh? 
 
479 
 
 And tho' I've plenty of excuses, 
 Nay more than ever hare had muses ; 
 Yet them to muster up in line 
 Would gravel sounder brains than mine. 
 
 But lest you think these -words are wind, 
 And much too weak your faith to bind, 
 Be pleas'd to take a specimen, 
 Or two, now from my scribbling pen. 
 
 Soon after I'd the pleasing view, 
 At Littleborough to see you two ; 
 Whilst it was warm and pleasant weather, 
 My friend and I, rode out together, 
 So long, my rib thought me at Lima, 
 Or on a voyage gone to China. 
 
 When I got home the hoary frost 
 Pinch'd more than wife for time I'd lost ; 
 And by experience made me know. 
 Painters hate work in frost and snow. 
 
 Few days were pass'd but 'gainst my will 
 I travell'd o'er the hills, to hill : 
 And thus have I, four several times 
 The mountains cross'd, as these are rhymes. 
 
 The next excuse that comes in view 
 Is very odd, but very true : 
 For after many days of play 
 Of drinking wine, and living gay, 
 I'm metamorphos'd quite, alas. 
 As sure as e'er Actseon was : 
 And am as far above all work, 
 As Mogul great, or the Grand Turk : 
 No more can bear the sight of pallet. 
 Than beggar rais'd, his greasy wallet. 
 Nor can I further live from fire. 
 Than parson fat, or tender squire : 
 
480 
 
 And am as ill to tune again, 
 
 As organ, which long time has lain 
 
 In dusty corner, or the rain. 
 
 Hush sure I hear you say thou elf — 
 
 Hold sir : I did not make myself : 
 
 No no, not I and that's the best ; 
 
 This prop is strong, and here I'll rest. 
 
 Tho' promises I hold as duties 
 Have I had time to paint your beauties ? 
 I know your pay as bank is current. 
 Nor do I in the least demur on't : 
 And wish I could these holy days 
 Find ways and means, or means and ways, 
 
 To bring the Heads myself but then, 
 
 To this I dare not say Amen. 
 
 The last word makes my senses bristle, 
 And bids me close, my long epistle; 
 Without the usual trite excuses 
 Of tir'd pens, and jading muses : 
 When all this jading, and this tiring, 
 
 But only says my wit's expiring. 
 
 For 'tis myself that now doth tire ; 
 My candle's short, and low my fire : 
 
 My jug is out But what is worse 
 
 The barrel too ah woful curse ! 
 
 Yet still no mortal liveth jollier, 
 Than doth 
 
 Your loving Bro. 
 
 JOHN COLLIER. 
 
481 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 Sam. Cheetham, of Castleton, Esq. being High Sheriff for the County 
 of Lancaster, in 1738, Sam. Greenlees, a poor tonsor, in Eochdale, was by 
 the help of friends raised to the office of Sheriff's Barber. Sam stretched 
 every vein to raise new clothes, hat, linen, razors, &o. that he might be 
 equipped like a gentleman barber. But alas, between the first and latter 
 Assize, a bruit flew about that Sam had been a Uttle too familiar with his 
 sweetheart. Upon this (that nothing might attend the Sheriff that smelt 
 of wickedness, or carnality) Sam must pass an examination before him : 
 but it not being in the barber's power to clear himself to satisfaction; the 
 Sheriff insisted the barber should deposit a certain number of guineas in 
 his hand to be forfeited should the girl prove with child. Poor tonsor 
 being unwilling or unable to comply with this odd proposal, was turned 
 out of his office and deserted by his friends. On which the followiug epigram 
 was sent him. 
 
 i OOR honest Sam, thy eyes appear 
 
 Spectacles to thy mind, 
 For thro' them I can see it clear, 
 
 Thy thoughts with grief are twin'd ; 
 
 Chear up thy heart, what if thy friends 
 
 And Sheriff too, are gone ; 
 The first might do it for their ends, 
 
 The last hut saves thy hone. 
 
 He was too wise to take thy word ; 
 
 Thy gold he'd fain have had ; 
 Because thou'd fenc'd with carnal sword, 
 
 But Sam was not so mad. 
 
 Repine not then, tho' Frank* doth take 
 
 The Sheriff by the nose ; 
 His head's so high Frank's hand may shake, 
 
 And he his office lose. 
 
 * Frank Thompson — a proud Lilliputian Barber. 
 3r 
 
48S 
 
 Tliy razors which thou's bought perhaps 
 
 May serve thee and thy son 
 Thy linen will be noddle-caps 
 
 For Barn that's coming on. 
 
 Thy fine new cloaths, and lac'd-hat keep 
 
 Against a sudden press, 
 Then when thou'rt sailing on the deep 
 
 Bid Sheriffs kiss thy a se. 
 
 TO De. M T. 
 
 Jan. 21i 1765. 
 
 FaiEMD DOCTOE, 
 
 Reflecting on what you told me yesterday, that many of your 
 patients aeem to think that you should frighten away their disease by put- 
 ting your head up at their doors ; and yet would pay little or nothing for 
 so easy a nostrum. And as perhaps you have not seen the Lon. Ohroti, 
 of the 8th to the 10th currt. wherein is mentioned the miraculous ciu?e of 
 an inveterate costive belly which was hugged about by his most excellent 
 Majesty Jammy the first of ridiculous memory. And as this was effected 
 by a quick, and cheap panacea, I here send you the story paraphrased, 
 for the good of your patients, mankind in general. This I do for your 
 kind communication of a specific for the flux ; leaving it entirely to your 
 own judgment on whom, and when to use it. 
 
 I am &o. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 T 
 
 HE road thro' James the first was barr'd 
 No victuals cou'd go thro' him ; 
 For all within was bak'd so hard. 
 No good cou'd physic do him. 
 
 One Doctor wiser than the rest 
 
 Was sent for, to attend him ; 
 Who by his constitution guess'd, 
 
 What physic soon'st wqu'd mend him. 
 
483 
 
 A pistol loaded deep, he brought 
 
 In secret, to his chamber — : 
 An4 bounce — it went — -when Jammy thought 
 
 The least of gun-shot danger ! 
 
 The pistol scarce was off, before, 
 
 The cork flew out from anus ; 
 With such a noise ; and stink — one swore. 
 
 His Majesty hath slaun us — ! 
 
 The King with other Scotchmen star'd ; 
 
 But, mum- were all their speeches : 
 'Mongst whom, for ease, and joy, he shar'd 
 
 The lining of — his Breeches. 
 
 ON THE R E ATTORNEYS. 
 
 IhEEE'S Gentleman Joseph, and Joseph the Squire, 
 
 And S n the sly Gander catcher : 
 
 They trip up folks' heels and then leave them ith' mire. 
 
 And turn yeomen to dogger or thatcher. 
 There's Jo — ny the elder can smile on the great ; 
 
 But treads on the orphan, and widow, 
 His son is too noble the poor thus to treat 
 
 But the old fox will do as he did do. 
 There's E d bold plundering clert of the peace. 
 
 That's a man with the help of old Sq m. 
 
 And Eoger, all eloquence — honesty — grace ! 
 
 Ye Gods — give them all Eoger's income. 
 I wish every ideot to Bedlam must go 
 
 Who employ such vile pests of the nation ; 
 And if they reform not, may they never know 
 
 A better than Eoger's old station.* 
 
 * Lancaster Castle. 
 
484 
 AN ANSWER TO 
 
 AN ANONYMOUS RHYMING LETTER. 
 
 Milnrow, Nov. 24, 1763. 
 
 1 WONDER who to Timmy writes 
 Or whose head 'tis the maggot bites 
 
 So keen and so unruly ; 
 Who carping doubts in doggrel lay, 
 The truth of what his hand-bills say 
 
 So very plain and truly. 
 
 Now friend or foe, be who you will, 
 Methinks you show more spite than skill, 
 
 Tim's cuckow strain to question ; 
 As if with different views they sing, 
 When meat and drink is every thing 
 
 To Tim — and this he rests on. 
 
 Now can the cuckow sing for less ; 
 She's meat and drink and gaudy dress 
 
 By nature kindly given ; 
 Tim has not — nay, he wants not more. 
 Nor dreads the thought of being poor ; 
 
 Whose chance is best in heaven. 
 
 That he applies unto his friends 
 
 Not for their own but for his ends. 
 
 If truth has any beauty. 
 Deserves no ridicule or scorn. 
 Till virtue's self is quite forlorn. 
 
 And lying proves a duty. 
 
 Whene'er you hear he hoards his chink 
 For other use, than meat and drink, 
 
 Then may his friends forsake him ; 
 May small-beer ever be his fate. 
 No whim e'er dart into his pate, 
 
 But let his coffin take him. 
 
485 
 
 But friend unknown, your thoughts are odd 
 To think Tim such a stupid clod 
 
 To write for windy praise : 
 This would not bring him beef and ale, 
 But prove the high-road to a jail, 
 
 And there to end his days. 
 
 With candour view the premises 
 Where truth appears in simple dress. 
 
 Subscribe, and be my friend: 
 Persuade your friends, and theirs, to be. 
 All friends to Tim sans bribe or fee ; 
 
 So here's his answer's end : 
 
 P.S. Since the above I've got a peep 
 At what before was hid so deep 
 
 From my enquiring eyes. 
 And send a hand-bill here enclos'd 
 Which tho' in masquerade oppos'd, 
 
 Proves friendship in disguise. 
 
 TO Me. BUDWORTH, 
 
 bull's head, MANCHESTER. 
 
 Feb. 9, 1765. 
 Deae Sir, 
 
 -LhE proverb says care kills the cat; 
 Well, be it so ; ne'er mind for that. 
 
 It saved my bottled rum : 
 For round about the brittle ware 
 The straw was placed with so much care 
 
 Each drop did safely come. 
 
480 
 
 One reason was, if you'll believe me, 
 I told the carrier (God forgive me) 
 
 'Twas bottl'd aquafortis ; 
 So not one dram on't durst he touch 
 When offer 'd him, for e'er so much ; 
 
 Tho' I said — try, what 'tis. 
 
 But hark you, friend, I want to know 
 Why others rum so far will go. 
 
 And your's will go no further ? 
 For when it's flavour we do taste 
 It has so strange so quick a waste 
 
 Each bottle crys out Murder. 
 
 This is the reason why I send 
 So soon again to my old friend 
 
 The hamper hack, for more : 
 But let each bottle, or each flask 
 Be drawn from the identic cask 
 
 Of which I had before. 
 
 A bill of parcels, if you've time 
 
 Send back in prose, or jingling rhyme. 
 
 By th' carrier, or i'th hamper : 
 And tho' most poets are by lot 
 The sons of Job, and poor, God wot — ! 
 
 I'll pay, or hard I'll scamper. 
 
 Hum — m — let me see — I can't tell when : 
 For wit creeps out but now, and then. 
 
 And painting goes by whim ; 
 Yet tho' I am thus bound and thrall. 
 Have patience — and I'll pay you all — ! 
 
 Your humble servant 
 
 TIM. 
 
487 
 
 TO Me. THOMAS TYLDESLEY, 
 
 AT THE BUCK, HOOHDALE. 
 
 Feb. SS, 1777. 
 
 Deae Sib, 
 
 Wi 
 
 HEN yesterday I tried to write, 
 I could not frame a letter ! 
 No more than I could fly like kite. 
 Or hunt grouse like a setter. 
 
 But now my hand is steady grown, 
 
 I sure can "do no less 
 Than thank you for the favours shewn 
 
 To Tim in his distress. 
 
 On parting with you at church yard 
 
 I fac'd the blust'ring wind. 
 Which caus'd my peepers water hard, 
 
 And made me almost blind. 
 
 But I stalk'd on until I got 
 
 A little way past Belfield ; 
 Where neither man nor horse could trot ; 
 
 Snow had the lanes so well fiU'd. 
 
 But with a heart that knows no fear 
 I steer 'd 'gainst wind and tide; 
 
 And found large shoes, the best that are 
 O'er heaps of snow, to stride. 
 
 For I'd a pair — once Wh rs. 
 
 That were both long, and broad. 
 
 The very best ith' universe. 
 In any drifted road. 
 
 Thus on snow-heaps that were as high 
 
 As Mr. Wordsworth's chaise, 
 I mounted, ^Yhen the snow did fly 
 
 In whirling rounds, apace — ! 
 
488 
 
 But I got o'er with my broad shoes, 
 And thought the worst was past 
 
 When, lo — ! the lane before me shews 
 Drifts higher than the last — ! 
 
 Besides the winds did whisk the snow 
 
 From off the level fields : 
 And curling eddies plagu'd me so. 
 
 That now — poor Timmy yields. 
 
 I here took counsel — star'd about, 
 Which way my course to steer : 
 
 And thought the fields the better rout, 
 So left the lanes, ith' rear. 
 
 But woeful case — ! still worse and worse : 
 
 Each step was insecure : 
 The wind with high continued course. 
 
 Old Tim could scarce endure. 
 
 North eastern gales so high did blow 
 I wished poor Tim safe from 'em : 
 
 When — blessed sight ; I from the brow 
 Saw Milnrow in the bottom. 
 
 When I got in — nose, hands, and ears, 
 
 Had all their feeling lost : 
 My old blear'd eyes ran o'er with tears, 
 
 111 vex'd with rain and frost. 
 
 I found my crook'd rib was gone out ; 
 
 But left the key o'th cellar : 
 You know what I should do, no doubt. 
 
 Without a — fortune teller. 
 
 She coming in, was glad to find 
 
 Old Timmy safe and sound : 
 Hot ale and punch, with lemon rind 
 
 I plentifully found. 
 
489 
 
 So now my almost founder'd sloop 
 
 Is safely moor'd and rides 
 Along my rib's broadside and poop, 
 
 Nor cares for wind or tides. 
 
 No cutting words — no blowzing looks, 
 My ears or eyes did grate : 
 
 So Tim's at rest — and with bis books 
 Lives in a happy state. 
 
 If compliments acceptance find 
 With you all three — this whim 
 
 Will ever after please the mind 
 Of, sir, your servant 
 
 TIM. 
 
 TIM BOBBIN TO HIS FRIENDS 
 
 IN LIVERPOOL. 
 
 Aug. SI, 1780. 
 
 Tim bobbin now to ev'ry friend 
 
 In Liverpool doth write. 
 And grateful thanks to all doth send. 
 
 If thanks can all requite. 
 
 The first are due to his friend Clegg, 
 Who took such wond'rous pain ; 
 
 And never spar'd tongue, arm, or leg 
 For poor Tim Bobbin's gain. 
 
 The next he thanks good Mr. Yates, 
 
 His new but gen'rous friend : 
 And hopes no frowning from the fates 
 
 Will e'er his works attend. 
 3q 
 
4ao 
 
 If he'll take heads, and make fair swaps 
 
 With idle, drunken Tim, 
 He'll ne'er dispute — but embrio maps 
 
 Shall balance all with him. 
 
 Then Mr. Parr, who Neptune rules. 
 
 As greater than a God ! 
 He sent me one oth' prettiest tools 
 
 A snuff-box — quite ith' mode ! 
 
 Next Mr. Wilson, of Low-hill 
 He thanks — for Tim both hear 
 
 He'll take some heads, and will fill 
 Them out, in Unsworth's beer. 
 
 One Mr. Humphrey's Tim doth find. 
 
 Most warmly took his part. 
 For which he's grateful in his mind. 
 
 And thanks with all his heart. 
 
 All other friends, the which to name 
 Wou'd murder too much time. 
 
 He wishes health, and wealth, and fame. 
 In this Sternholdian rhyme. 
 
 T. B. 
 
 P. S. Good Mr. Clegg 
 
 Of you I beg 
 You'll shew this rhyming Letter, 
 
 To those concern'd, 
 
 Who my thanks earn'd. 
 And act all for th' better. 
 
491 
 
 TO De. HOLDEN. 
 
 Oct. 9S, 177S. 
 Deab Doctoe, 
 
 At present I -write from my bed, 
 And tho' not with ink, can do't with black-lead : 
 To tell you, the pitcher that oft goes to th' well 
 Comes broken at last ; tho' as sound as a bell ; 
 For yesternight I cou'd not go to my bed 
 Before Mr. Punch, drove the brains from my head ; 
 And reeling, I fell on the arm of a chair ; 
 And two, or three ribs, I have broken I fear — ! 
 Advice, and assistance is wanted by him, 
 Who was, is, and will be. 
 
 Your servant, 
 
 OLD TIM. 
 
 EPIGEAM IN IMITATION OF Mr. WALSH. 
 
 Minor Poets, Pa. 110. 
 * Q 
 
 OQUEBZE racks his thoughts — ; his meagre face he screws 
 To hoard up wealth he wants the soul to use ! 
 Whilst gen'rous Spree is still contriving ways 
 To spend more cash, than making shoes will raise. 
 How happy wou'd these diff'rent mortals be. 
 Had Spree his wealth — ; or Squeeze the soul of Spree. 
 O, that kind Providence wou'd end their span, 
 Knead well their mould, and form them o'er again 
 And of two wretched mortals, make one happy man ! 
 
 * Oheetham, of Castleton. 
 
493 
 
 a ? [1 1? (i\ ? Si s 
 
 ON JOE GEEEN, LATE SEXTON AT ROCHDALE. 
 
 JlEAR lies Joe Green, who arch has been, 
 
 And drove a gainful trade 
 With powerful death, till out of breath, 
 
 He threw away his spade. 
 When Death beheld his comrade yield. 
 
 He, like a cunning knave. 
 Came, soft as wind, poor Joe behind, 
 
 And push'd him in his grave. 
 Reader, one tear, if thou hast one in store. 
 Since Joe Green's tongue and chin can wag no more. 
 
 ON MR. JOHN HAMER, MATHEMATICIAN, 
 
 XATE OF aOCHDALE. 
 
 xlO, passenger ! see who lies here ; 
 
 Perhaps 'tis worth thy knowing ; 
 'Tis Hamer the philosopher. 
 
 Whose bellows have done blowing. 
 
 An arch and jovial wight he was. 
 And skill'd in Newton's notions : 
 
 He could demonstrate by his glass, 
 The twirl o'th heavenly motions. 
 
 Copernicus's system, he 
 
 Prov'd true by quart and candle ; 
 
 And harvest moons familiarly, 
 liike full punch bowls did handle. 
 
493 
 
 Ah me ! what pity 'tis he's gone ! 
 
 Say mortals how it could be, 
 That he was cramm'd beneath this stone, 
 
 Where fools and misers should be. 
 
 ON De. FORSTER, 
 
 LATE VICAB OF EOCHDjiiE. 
 
 JD ULL three feet deep beneath this stone 
 
 Lies our late vicar Forster, 
 Who clipp'd his sheep to th' very bone, 
 
 But said no Pater Noster. 
 
 By ev'ry squeezing way, 'tis said. 
 Eight hundred he rais'd yearly ■ 
 
 Yet not a sixpence of this paid 
 To th' curate — this look's queerly ! 
 
 His tenants all now praise the Lord 
 With hands lift up and clapping ! 
 
 And thank grim death with one accord. 
 That he has ta'en him napping. 
 
 To Lambeth's lord, now let us praj' 
 
 No pluralist he'll send us, 
 But should he do't, what must we say. 
 
 Why — Lord above defend us ! 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S EPITAPH. 
 
 A 
 
 ^^ YARD beneath this heavy stone. 
 
 Lies Jack-of-all-trades, good at none, 
 A weaver first, and then school-master ; 
 A scrivener next ; next poetaster. 
 
494 
 
 A painter, graver, and a fluter, 
 And fame doth whisper, a C— 
 
 An author. Carver, and hedge-clark : 
 E whoo-woo-whob, vyhot whofoo wark ! 
 He's left um aw, to lie ith dark ! 
 
 ANOTHEE. 
 
 IIeEE lies John, and with him Mary, 
 
 Oheek-by-jowl, and never vary 
 
 No wonder that they so agree 
 
 John wants no punch, and Moll no tea. 
 
THE 
 
 DIALOGUE OF THOMAS & MARY, 
 
 EENDERED INTO 
 
 SIMPLE ENGLISH, EROM THE VEBNACUZAB OE 
 JOHN COLLI ER. 
 
 BY ELIJAH RIDINGS 
 
Entee, THOMAS AND MARY. 
 
 Thomas. — God of mine, Mary ! what witch would have 
 thought of meeting with thee, here, so soon this morning ? 
 Where hast thou been ? Thou art all in a sweat, I think ; 
 for thou look'st primely. 
 
 Mary. — Believe me, Thomas, I have nearly lost my breath ; 
 for, I have had such a jaunt this morning, as I never had in 
 my life ; for I have been to John's of Henry's, of tall John's, 
 to borrow their thible,^ to stir th' fimnentif with ; and his wife 
 had lent it to Betty at my Grandame's : so, I scoured onward ; 
 and when I came there, she had lent it to Christopher o'Eich- 
 ard's, and, (the de'il astound him for a brindled cur^) he had 
 made it into shoon-pegs ! Now, would not such a moon-shine 
 ramble vex any body ? 
 
 Thomas.— Mark what I tell thee, Mary, for I think, that, the 
 longer folk live, and the more mischances they have. 
 
 Mary. — Not always : God willing. But, what mak'st thou to 
 sigh, and seem so down-cast : for, I can tell thee, I am fain 
 to see thee, alive and hearty. 
 
 Thomas. — Alive, and hearty, too ; God's wounds ! But I can 
 tell thee, that, it is more than the bargain, that, I am either 
 alive, or hearty ; for it was a seven-pound loaf to a two-penny 
 jannock, that I had been as dead as a door-nail, by this hour ; 
 for, the last evening, my master had nearly killed me ; and, 
 just now, as sure as thou and I are standing here, I am ac- 
 tually running my country. 
 
 1. A round, smooth piece'of wood, to stir any pottage of meal, or flour. TS.C. 
 
 2. Furmenty. N.C. Froumentee. F. Frumentum. L. Frumenty. English. 
 
 3. A small dog, streaked, or spotted, with various colours. Brindled — MUton. 
 
 " Thrice tie brindled cat hath mewed." — Shakspeare. 
 
 3e 
 
498 
 
 Mary. — Why, what has been the matter ? Have you quarrel- 
 ed with your master ? 
 
 Thomas. — What ! There has been more to do than ever there 
 was in a goose-pen, I will be bound: for, what dost thou 
 think ? It was but the day before yesterday, our lads might 
 have a bit of a holliday,^ because it was the Circumcision of 
 our Lady,^ I believe : yet, we must do some sundry, trifling 
 jobs f and I must either spread mole-hills, or go to Eochdale 
 with a cow and a wye-calf.* — Now, look thee, Mary ; I was idle, 
 and had a mind of a jaunt : So I donned my Sunday coat on 
 the top of my waistcoat, and would go with th' cow and calf : 
 and the de'il take all bad luck for me ; for oiir bitch, Nip, 
 went with me, and that made ill worse. 
 
 Mary. — I cannot see how that could make ill luck, Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. — No : nor any one else till they have known : but 
 here is a fine, dry bank, under this thorn ; let us crouch down 
 on the earth, awhile, and I will thee all, how it was. 
 
 Mary. — With all my heart; for my mistress is gone from 
 home, and she will not come again till baggin-time.' 
 
 Thomas. — Well : as I was telling thee, I would go to Roch- 
 dale : so I got up by break of day, and set off, and went 
 forward until I nearly came within a mile of the town ; when, 
 as the de'il would have it, a mare was standing at an ale-house 
 door, and my calf, — the de'il might have bored out its eyes, 
 for anything I cared, — mistook the mare for her mother, and 
 would indeed suck her; and, I believe the foolish creature 
 mistook th' calf for her colt, she neighed so, when she saw it ; 
 but when she felt it suck, she lifted her hoof, and killed my 
 calf as dead as a knit. 
 
 Mary. — Eh, Lord ! what a freak was that. 
 
 Thomas. — Freak ! God's flesh ! such a freak was never played 
 in Endland's shires. 
 
 1. Holy-day. 2. January 2. 3. Odds an' eends. — Text. 4. She-calf. 
 
 5. Baggin-time : a lunch in the afternoon. From carrying in a bag, bread 
 
 and cheese, and ale in a bottle, to labourers in the fields. 
 
499 
 
 Mary. — Why, hearken, Thomas. What could you do with 
 it? You would be quite ruined. 
 
 Thomas. — Do ! What could I do ! — 'Sflesh ! if it had been 
 killed gradely,^ it would have made as good veal as ever died 
 of a thwittle; for my master might have had seventeen shil- 
 lings for it, the evening before. 
 
 Mary. — And did you leave it in the lane ? 
 
 Thomas. — No ; Mary ; I was not such a ninny as that, either : 
 for as luck would have it, a butcher was in the ale-house, and 
 he came out, when he heard my calf bah ! but, instead of being 
 sorry when he saw it sprawling on the ground, the sneering 
 beast set up a roar of laughter, and could shamelessly tell me, 
 that, he would bury it for a pint of ale. 
 
 Mary. — Why, that was pretty cheap ; for Dickey o' Will's, 
 o' John's, o' Sam's, told me, that he buried a child to'ther day 
 at Eochdale, and, that, he paid Joe Green,* a groat for a grave 
 no bigger than a five-penny trunk. 
 
 Thomas. — Well : that might be, but I would not give it him ; 
 for, I borrowed a shovel, and would bury it myself; and I was 
 busy shovelling it in, when a thought came into my noddle, 
 that the hide could be no worse : so, I would flee it ; but the 
 de'il a thtvittle" was there to be found, but the butcher's, and the 
 spiteful tyke would not lend it to me. Now, Mary, what could 
 any man do ? 
 
 Mary. — Do ! I should have gone stark-mad ! 
 
 Thomas. — I believe thou wouldst, or any one else ; but, that 
 would do nothing in my case : so, I bargained with the rascal. 
 He was to take the hide growing to the carcase, and give me 
 thirteen-pence ; so, I got the money, and went onward with 
 the cow. 
 
 1. Oradely. Gradually, properly. 
 
 2 This is the Joseph Green, sexton, of whom sereral anecdotes are still in 
 the memoi-y of the "oldest inhabitant." Collier wrote his epitaph, from 
 which it would appear, that he "drove a gainful trade," as sexton of the 
 Parish Church of Koohdale. 
 
 3. The knife, i.e. a particular sharp knife, always used for cutting hard 
 substances. — See Chaucer. 
 
500 
 
 Mary. — Now, my mind misgives^ me, that you were going half 
 an errand ; and that the man would not take the cow without 
 the calf. 
 
 Thomas. — God's woe ! Mary, thou guessest within two tumbles 
 of a louse ; for it was long, and longer,^ before he would : but, 
 when I told how -it was knocked on the head, with a mare's 
 hoof, as I came, and that he might settle with my master about 
 it, he took. her, at last. Then, I went and bought two pounds 
 of salt, and an ounce of black pepper for our folks, and went 
 towards home again. 
 
 Mary. — With a fearful, heavy heart, I will be bound. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, ay ; that is true ; but what wilt thou say, when 
 that I tell thee, that, he never buried th' calf, but sold it at 
 Oldham, that evening, for twopence-halfpenny a-pound. 
 
 Mary. — Say ! why, by my troth, it was rank cheating ; but it 
 is just like their rascally tricks ; for there's not an honest bone 
 in the hide of any greasy tyke of them all. 
 
 Thomas. — Indeed, Mary, I am of thy mind ; for it was very 
 wrong : but I think in my conscience, that rascals in the world 
 are as numerous as stings in a wasp-nest. 
 
 Mary. — It is not to tell ; but I shall wonder strangely if you 
 meet with a worse knave than this. 
 
 Thomas. — Alack-a-day I' Thou knowest but little of the mat- 
 ter; but thou shalt learn. I had not gone back again, above 
 a mile, or so, before I saw a crowd of lads and youngsters, as 
 busy as Thrap's-wife.^ When that I got to them,'' I could not see 
 
 1. Misgivings are suspicions. 
 
 2. The peoiiliar idiomatic strength, and simplicity of this dialogue, as well 
 
 as the many still existing forms of speech, amongst the rural population of 
 
 Lancashire, often remind the genuine reader of some of those beautiful traits, 
 
 for which the poetical writers of the Elizabethan age are remarkable. 
 
 3. Alaa ! the day. 
 
 4. As throng as Thrap's wife, is still an often-repeated simile. It is a taunt 
 in reality upon those who give themselves too much trouble, or seem to be 
 overpowered with their work. Hence the sarcasm, " as throng as Thrap's wife, 
 when she hanged herself in the dish-clout." 
 
 5. This is merely a verbal rendering, as the syntax, or construction of this 
 dialogue is generally, saving its vernacular form, most minutely grammatical. 
 
501 
 
 what they were after : for two of them carried a ladder on their 
 shoulders, another had a riddle in his hand, and Hal o' Nabs,^ 
 i' th' Midge-lane, had his knuckles wrapped in his leather 
 apron, all the rest of them had staves, or long swinging sticks. 
 
 Mary. — In the name of St. Catherine, what were they for ? 
 
 Thomas. — Nothing, that is any thing, thou mayst be sure ; if 
 that limping tyke Hal was with them. Now, thou must know ; 
 One night, last shearing-time, when John's of Henry's got their 
 churn,^ this same 'scape-gallows was taken in their plum-tree, 
 and was in such a flutter in getting down again, that, he fell 
 and broke the little bone of his leg. 
 
 Mary. — Oh ! wrong joint ! hang him ! I know him well 
 enough, for the last great snow, he was for hanging a poor hare 
 in some horse-hair traps, and he throttled our poor Towser in a 
 clewkin noose. 
 
 Thomas.- — The very same : so, I asked him what they were 
 about. Why, said he, we have just now seen an owl fly, through 
 yon loop-hole, into the barn, and we are going to take her ! 
 Come, Tum, said he. Egad ! if thou wilt go with us, thou shalt 
 see such a frolic as thou never saw in thy life : beside, thou 
 shall hold the riddle. Said I, I know not what thou meanst, 
 by holding th' riddle, but I will go, with all my heart, if thou 
 wilt teach me. I can shew thee in a crack, said he. So, away 
 we went, and began a-cramming all the loop-holes, and lift-holes 
 i' th' barn-walls, full of straw ; and, then, we reared the ladder 
 softly against the wall, and th' owl-hole. Now, lads, said Hal, 
 mind your eye. I'll wrap my hands in my leather-apron, so, that 
 she cannot scratch me, when that, I take her in the hole ; Tum 
 
 It is obserrable also in the rural districts, that there is a greater variety in the 
 forms of speech, than there is in large towns : and as to the vowel sounds, 
 you may hear thein in all their open nature and fuhiess. 
 
 1. Hal o' Nabs. Collier is always happy in the choice of his names. 
 They seem to express the character : and give a due note of preparation to 
 the true reader. Hal o' Nabs ! what a name, for a reckless young fellow. 
 Mary might well exclaim, " Oh ! wrong joint! hang him !" 
 
 2. Got their Churn. A chum-getting is a harvest home on a small scale. 
 
609 
 
 O' William's must climb the ladder, thrust the straw out of the 
 loop-hole, and hold the riddle close on it ; all the rest must be 
 powlerers,^ and frighten her into it. So, away they went into 
 the barn, and fastened the doors : and I— — 
 
 Mary. — (Interrupting him.) Why, now, I'll be far'' if I would 
 not as lief have seen it than a puppet-show. 
 
 Thomas. — (Checking her. J Good Lord's — Mary ! Thou art 
 so hasty. — So, I climbed the ladder, in a snuff, shoved the straw 
 out, and smacked my riddle close on th' hole. I had no sooner 
 done so, but I heard one of them say : " See, she's there !" 
 Shooh ! said one : shooh ! said another : then, they all began 
 of halloohing and whooping,^ like heigh-go-mad.* I thought it 
 was as rare sport as ever mortal man saw : so, I grinned, and I 
 thrusted, till my arms ached again. Still, they kept shoohing 
 and powlering in the barn, and then, I thought I felt something 
 stir the ladder. I looked down, and there was an old sow busy 
 scratching herself on one of the strines. — S'flesh ! thinks I to 
 myself, she will have me down, even now. Just then, I thought 
 I heard the owl come into the hole ; and presently something 
 came, with a great flush through the riddle. 
 
 Mary. — God of mine ! And did you let her go, or you took 
 her? 
 
 Thomas. — Took her ! Nay, Mary, an owl is not so soon 
 
 taken : but I can hardly tell thee, I'm so sickly : 
 
 for, I'm ready to spew with the thoughts of it. There was none 
 to take, Mary. 
 
 Mary. — What, no owl ? 
 
 Thomas, — No ! no ! not there ! It was nothing in the world 
 but arrant old lant^ that they had made worse with loosing 
 something into it ; and that hodge-podge came into my face with 
 
 1. Powlerers — i.e. Searchers, mating a great noise. 
 
 2. I'll he far. An asseveration, which softens some ruder mode of speech. 
 
 3. Whooping, as if you were calling loud to horses. 
 
 4. Crying, or shouting mad. 5. Lee, urine. 
 
503 
 
 such a force, that, someway, or other, it made me dizzy ; and I 
 fell off the ladder ; but, more by chance than any good luck, 
 I fell exactly on the sow, with such a swilk, that, I think in my 
 conscience, she was both worse frightened and hurt than I was, 
 
 Mary. — Eh, Lord ! What an awful fall you had. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, fall, ay : for I thought I had broken my collar- 
 bone ; but, it was better than it had like to have been ; for, I 
 had no hurt but one thumb bruised, and the skin off the whirl- 
 bone of my knee, that made me limp a little. 
 
 Mary. — Any evil befall them P What unmannerly vermin ! 
 I should have been stark-mad at them, and have broken their 
 bones. 
 
 Thomas. — I was as mad as thou couldst be ; or any one else ; 
 but, thou knowest every man 's not a witch. However, I limp- 
 ed around the barn to catch some of the bullying bastards : 
 but none could I meet with ; for they were all crept into the 
 barn, and the doors were as fast as Beeston Castle. But, they 
 made me hear them, i' faith ! for they all whistled and laughed, 
 ichooping and shouting, like madlings, at their new-ta'en owl, as 
 
 they called me : Wounds ! Mary, if I'd had /ire, I should 
 
 have set the whole barn in a holy blaze," if I had died for it ! 
 But, then, the sow kept such a shrieking, squeaking din, as if 
 her back were in twain, in two places, that I durst not stay any 
 longer, for fear of somebody coming, and making me accessary 
 to her death : so, I scampered away, as fast as I could, and ran 
 a mile in that predicament, before I gave one glance behind 
 me. Then, I leaped over a fence, and as a rindle of water was 
 nigh, I washed all my clothes till I came to my hair. And all 
 little enough, too, for I think in my heart, I shall stink like 
 a pole-cat while my name's Turn. 
 
 1. This is a literal rendering of the text. 
 2. Halliblash. Holy blaze, i.e. He would have made a sacrifice of it, and 
 from the imperfection of his reasoning, he might consider himself justified. 
 Many a lialiiblasli has been created on much weaker grounds. 
 
504 
 
 Mary. — Now, even, by my troth ! I thought you savoured 
 strongly of a herb ; but, when all's done, Thomas, this kill- 
 ing o' th' calf, and th' owl-catching, were not the fault of Nip. 
 
 Thomas. — God's heart ! Hold thy tongue, Mary ; for, I 
 either angered some he-witch, or the de'il threw his club o'er 
 me, that morning, when I got up : for misfortunes came upon 
 me as quick as light. 
 
 Mary. — God's blood ! none through Nip — God willing ! 
 
 Thomas. — Through Nip ! Yea, through Nip ! and I wish 
 her neck had been broken in nine spots^ when she was 
 whelped, for any thing I care for her : (God forgive me ! th' 
 down-creature does no hurt, either,) for I had not gradely 
 washed and put myself to rights, and* leaped into the lane, 
 again ; but I met a fattish, thriving fellow, in a blackish wig, 
 and he stood and stared at Nip. Quoth he, honest man, wilt 
 thou sell thy dog ? Said I, my dog's a bitch, and so is never 
 a dog i' th' town : for, by my troth, I was as cross as two 
 sticks. 
 
 Mary. — Odds ! but you were bothersome, and answered him 
 oafishly, too. 
 
 Thomas. — Well; but, dog or bitch, said th' fellow, if I had 
 known of her three days since, I would have given thee twenty 
 shillings for her; as I see she is a right, staunch,^ Ban dyhewit!' 
 and there is a gentleman that lives about three miles off, who 
 wants one just now. — Now, Mary, to tell thee true, I had a 
 mind to cheat, (God forgive me !) and sell him my sheep-cur 
 for a Bandyhewit ; though I no more knew than the man in 
 the moon what a Bandyhewit was. — Why, said I, she is primely 
 bred; for her mother came from London, though she was 
 whelpt at my master's ; and though she is as good as any in 
 England's shires, I will sell her if my price come. 
 
 1. Spot— ^^Zace — spots — places. 
 
 2. Staunch. Solid, good, and sound. Standan. Saxon. 
 
 Sfanchness. English i.e. Fierceness. Substantialness. 
 
 3. Bandyhewit. A name given to" a dog, in order to send its master on a 
 
 fool's errand. 
 
505 
 
 Mary. — Well done, Thomas ; what said he then ? 
 
 Thomas. — Why, quoth he, what dost ask for her? She is 
 worth a guinea-and-a-half, in gold, said I, but a guinea I'll 
 have for her. Quoth he, I gave a guinea for mine, 
 and I would rather have thine by a crown ; but, if thou wilt 
 go to Justice — ( — hum — let me see — ; but I have forgotten 
 what he's named ; — but no great matter of him ! for I think 
 he's a piece of a rascal, as well as the rest) he will be fain 
 of the bargain. 
 
 Mary. — That was clever, too ; was it not ? 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, middling. Then, I asked him what way I 
 might go ? and he told me : and away I set, with my heart as 
 light as a bit of a flea ; and carried Nip under my arm : for 
 now, thou must understand, I was afraid to lose her, never 
 doubting I should be rich enough to pay my master for the 
 calf, and have something in my pocket to spare for myself. 
 
 Mary. — God's flesh ; but that was brave. You were in no 
 ill turn, now, Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, but thou shall hear. It was a dreary way, 
 too : however, I got there by three o'clock ; and before I 
 opened the door, I covered Nip with the clout that I wipe my 
 nose with, to let him see how I stored her. Then, I opened 
 the door, and what the de'il dost thou think? Three tiny 
 bandyheu'its, as I thought, then, came barking, as if the little 
 rats would have worried me, and after that have swallowed me 
 alive. Then, there came a fine fresh-coloured woman, that 
 stood as stiff as if she had swallowed a poker ; and I took her 
 for a she-justice, she was so mighty fine : for I heard Eichard 
 o' Jack's, o' Samuel's, tell my master, that, th' she-justices^ always 
 did most of the work. However, I asked her, if Mr. Justice 
 was at home. She could not open her mouth to say aye or no, 
 
 1. The lady of the magistrate in Collier's time, as a matter of course, 
 would come more in contact with the people, which might obtain her this 
 vernacular souhriquet. 
 
 3s 
 
506 
 
 but simpered and said iss. (The Dickons hiss her, and him 
 too !) Said I, I would have you to tell him, I would fain 
 speak to him. 
 
 Mary. — Odds ! but you were bold. I should have been timid. 
 But, let us know how you went on. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, well enough, for thou mayst nip and cheat, 
 as ill as one of their clerks, and they will not meddle with 
 thee : but thou must not pump, nor tease them, for they hate to 
 be vexed. 
 
 Mary. — But, how went you on. Was the Justice at home? 
 
 Thomas.— Aj, and came quickly, and asked me what I want- 
 ed. Why, said I, I've a very fine bandyhewit to sell ; and I 
 hear you want one, Sir. Humph ! said he — a bandyhewit — 
 Pr'y thee, let's look at it. Ay, said I ; and I pulled the clout 
 off her, streaked her down th' back, and said : She is as fine 
 a bandyhewit as ever run before a tail. 
 
 Mary. — Well done, Thomas ! you could not mend that, if you 
 had it to do over again : but, you are fit to go out, i' faith ! 
 
 Thomas. — She is a fine one, indeed, said th' justice; and it 
 is a thousand pities, but I had known of her yesterday ; for, a 
 fellow came, and I bought one, not so good as this by half a 
 guinea ; and I'll be bound thou wilt take a guinea for this. 
 And that I'll have, if I could meet a chapman, said I. She 
 is richly worth it, said he ; and I think, I can tell thee where 
 thou mayst part with her, if he be not fitted already. 
 
 Mary. — God's like ! but that was a good-natured Justice was 
 he not ? 
 
 Thomas. — Eh ! Mary, thou talkst like a silly ninny-hammer : 
 for, take my word for it, nothing that is any thing, can come 
 of it, when a man deals with rascally folks. But, as I was 
 telling thee, he named a fellow that lived about three miles off 
 his house, (but the de'il forget him, as I have done,) and I 
 must go back again through Eochdale. So, I got Nip under 
 my arm again, made a stride with my foot, and bid th' Justice 
 
607 
 
 good night, with a heavy heart, thou mayst be sure : and but, 
 as I thought I could have sold her in this other place, it would 
 certainly have broken. 
 
 Mary. — Lord bless us ! It was like the trouble of all troubles. 
 
 Thomas. — But thou shall hear. I had not gone over above 
 a field, or two, but I came to a great brook, with a foul, narrow 
 sapling-bridge over it. As it had rained the night before, as if 
 the welkin would have opened, the water was bank-full : although 
 it was fairer a deal in the morning ; and a somehow, when I 
 was about half over, my shoe slipped, and down fell I, arsey 
 versey,^ with Nip in my arm's, into the water. Nip I allowed to 
 defend herself, and I flaskered^ in it, got hold of a willow-twig, 
 and so helped myself, or else, neither thee, nor any body else 
 would ever have seen Turn again : for by my troth, I was nearly 
 drown 'd. 
 
 Mary. — Good Lord's days ! The like was never ! This had 
 like to have beat all the other, and yet you came farrantly off," 
 for it was a great mercy you were not drowned. 
 
 Thomas. — I know not whether it was or not — either. But, 
 thou mayst be sure I was primely boyrnt^ and dripping wet. 
 Beside, I had no comb to kem^ my hair, so, that I looked more 
 like a drowned mouse than a man. 
 
 Mary. — Beside, you would be as cold as icicles. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, thou mayst be sure I was not as hot as a 
 muffin : but thou shalt hear. I had not gone above a stone's 
 throw, before I wondered what the plague was the matter with 
 me, for I began to smart as if five hundred pismires were in 
 my breeches. I loosed them, but could see nothing that was 
 alive ; and yet, I looked as raw as a skinned mouse. (We were 
 seldom without scratching at my masters.) — 'Sflesh ! I was 
 
 1. A mock imitation of those who interlard their conyersation with Latin 
 phrases. 2. Flaslcer — To struggle in the water. 
 
 3. Parrantly oflT. Text. i.e. pretty well oif, or clearly,, or fairly off. 
 
 4. Boyrnt, rinsed. — A.S. 
 
 5. Kem. Text. To Comb. Kempt, combed, trimmed. — Comptus. Latin^ 
 
SOS 
 
 ready to go mad, and know not what I ailed ; and then I be- 
 thought me of my salt. 
 
 Mary. — Eh ! woe's me ! I had forgotten that, too ! I doubt 
 it would quite mar-a.' 
 
 Thomas. — No : no : Mary : I was not quite marred. 'Tis true 
 I went wigglety — wagglety, for an hour, or so, before I was 
 right again ; and when I got right, and came to grope in my 
 waistcoat pocket for my salt, the de'il a bit of salt was there, 
 for it had all run away. And now it jumped into my head, 
 that I saw two magpies at the same bridge as I came. 
 
 Mary. — Did ever ! That was a sign of bad fortune : for I 
 heard my granny say, she would as lief have seen two old 
 Harries, as two magpies. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, ay, so says mine aunt Margaret, and a many 
 a-folk, and I know magpies are as cunning owls as walk the 
 earth. But, as I was telling thee, Mary, what with the smart, 
 and one thing and another, I was so distracted, that I could 
 have found in my heart to have punched th' bitch's guts out ; 
 and then, I thought again, Nip's in no fault: for by my troth 
 I was nearly off at side.^ 
 
 Mary. — Indeed, Thomas, I believe you : but alack-a-day ! 
 purring th' bitch would have been completely wrong. 
 
 Thomas. — That is true ; but thou knowst, one can but do 
 what one can do. 
 
 Mary. — Eight : but how did you do with your wet clothes ? 
 were you not nearly starved to death ? 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, by my troth ! I trembled till my teeth shaked 
 together in my head again ; but that was not all. It began to 
 be dark, and I was without lantern, in a strange country, five, 
 or six miles from home : so, that I meandered in the fields 
 above two hours, and could not tell where I was : for I might 
 
 1. Mar-a. The a at the end is agreeable to an old mode of terminating 
 words, both in conversation, and in songs and ballads. Mar. — To spoil, an 
 old word. " Do not touch it : I'm afraid you'll mar it." — Shakspeee. 
 
 2. Nearly lost his senses. 
 
509 
 
 as well have been in an oven : and if I had held up my hand, 
 I could no more have seen it, than I could see a flea upon thee, 
 novsr. Here it was I got into a gate-way, and I thought I 
 heard something coming, and if the truth must be spoken, I 
 was so alarmed, that my hair stood on end, for thou knowst 
 I neither knew who, nor what it might be. 
 
 Mary. — True, Thomas, no wonder that you were so frighten- 
 ed, it was so fearfully dark ! 
 
 Thomas. — However, I resolved to make the best of it, and up 
 spake I. "Who is that?" A lad's voice answered, in a crying 
 din, " Eh, Law ! dunna tak' — dunna tak' me." No, said I, I'll 
 not take thee, by our Lady. " Whose lad art thou ?" Why, 
 said he, I am John's o' Loll's o' Simmy's o' Marian's, o' Dick's 
 o' Nathan's o' Lall's o' Simmy's, i'th' Holmes ; and I am going 
 home.' Odds ! thinks I to myself, thou hast a longer name 
 than mine. And here, Mary, I could not but think what long 
 names some of us have ; but this lad's name was so much 
 longer, that I thought it docked mine one half. 
 
 Mary. — Pr'y you, now, tell me how these long names happen. 
 
 Thomas. — Um m mn — let me see : I cannot tell thee 
 
 correctly, but I think it is to tell folk by. 
 
 Mary. — Well, and how did you go on with him ? 
 
 Thomas. — Then, as I thought he talked so awkardly, I would 
 ask for once, what news he heard stirring. I hear none, said 
 he, but that Jack o' Ned's told me, that Sam's o' Jack's, o' Yed 
 Marler's, has wed Mai o' Nan's, o' Sal's o' Peg's, that goes 
 about a-begging churn-milk, with a pitcher, with a lid on. 
 Then, I asked him, where Jack o' Ned's lived : says he, he's 'pren- 
 ticed with Isaac o' Tim's, o' Nick's o' th' Hough-lane ; and he'd 
 been at Jammy's o' George's, o' Peter's, i' th' Dingles, for half a 
 pound of treacle, to sweeten a West pudding with ; and his 
 
 1. This rustic heraldry reminds me of names in higher circles. Who has 
 not Been in certain books the name of William, Kichard, Arthur, Tilney, 
 Long, Pole, Wellesley ? 
 
510 
 
 father and mother lived at Eossendale, but his granny's alive, 
 and lives with his aunt Margaret, in Greenfield, at the place, 
 where his own mother came from. Good lad ! said I, how far 
 is this Littleborough off ; for I aim to see it, to night, if I can. 
 Says th' lad. It's about a mile, and you must keep straight for- 
 ward on your left hand, and you may happen do} So, in this 
 manner we parted ; but I rambled, and lost my way soon. So, 
 I climbed over gates, hedges, and ditches, till I came to this 
 Littleborough, and there I was frightened again, for, I thought 
 I had seen a boggart ; but it proved a man with a wool-piece, 
 resting himself on a post, in the lane. As soon as I could 
 speak for trembling, I asked him where there was an ale-house, 
 and he shewed me. I went in, and found that two fat, bulky 
 folk kept it ; and they had some of the worst, quarrelsomest 
 company, that, ever I saw, for they were worrying, banning, and 
 calling one another lousy owls as quick as lightning. How- 
 ever, I pulled up a stool, and, set myself down in the nook, 
 o' tW side a' th' hoh. I had no sooner done so, but a foul sour- 
 looking fellow, with a withen stick, which he had in his hand, 
 slapped a sort of a withered, mezzilt face^ man such a thwang 
 o' th' scalp, that he completely smoked again, with it ! and down 
 he came on the hearth-stone, with his head in the ash-hole : 
 his scrunt-wig fell off, and a handful of red-hot cinders fell into 
 it, and burnt and frizzled it so, that when he offered to don it, 
 an unlucky carrion? gave it a slap, and slipped it over his head ; 
 and, there it lay like a horse-collar* on his shoulders. I stared 
 like a stuck tup, afraid of a dust myself, and crept further into 
 th' chimney place. Each body thought that Mezzilt-face would 
 
 1. The brevity and simplicity here remind me of a passage in the life of 
 Dr. Johnson. In his last moments, a female attendant was adjusting his 
 pillow, making it easier for him, and said to the doctor, " Will it do ? " Dr. 
 J. answered characteristic of his brightest days. " It will do as much as a 
 pillow can do." 
 
 2. Mezzilt-face. — A red pimpled face. 3. Carrion — A word of contempt. 
 
 4. Hawmbark — Text. 
 
511 
 
 make a flitting of it, and have died in a crack : so, some of them 
 cried out, "A doctor — a doctor!" while others made the land- 
 lord to saddle th' horse to fetch one. While this was doing, 
 some of them had met with a kind of a doctor, who lived a bit 
 oif, and they shewed him the man on the hearth-stone. He 
 laid hold of his arm, to feel his pulse, I guess, and pulled as 
 if he had seen Death pulling at the other arm, and was re- 
 solved to over-pull him. After looking doubtingly-wise, awhile, 
 he got from his whirl-bones, and said to them, " While his 
 heart beats, and his blood sarcullates, there's hopes, but when 
 that stops, it's whoo-up with him, i' faith !" Mezzilt-face hearing 
 something about whoo-up, started on his feet, grumbled none, 
 but grinned like a foomurt-dog ,^ and set at the black, swarthy 
 tyke with both fists, and knocked him over into th' Galkcr, full 
 of new drink working : he begun a-possing and paling him into 
 it, that all was blended together— snap — . 'Sflesh ! IMary, thou 
 wouldst have been beside thyself, to have seen how th' gobbin was 
 altered, when they had pulled him out ; and what a hobthrust" 
 he looked with all the barm" about him. He kept wiping his 
 eyes, but he might as well have sought for tliem at his other 
 end, until the landlady had made an hour's labour on him at 
 the pump. When he came in again, he stared audaciously 
 at Mezzilt-face, and Mezzilt-face stared as crookedly at him 
 again, but neither of them worried nor thrapped} So, they set 
 themselves down ; and then the landlady came in, and would 
 make them pay for the luinber^ they had done her: " My drink's 
 worse by a crown," said she : " beside, there's two tumblers, 
 three quaffing pots, and four pipes smashed, and a whole paper 
 of tobacco scattered." This made them glance at each other ; 
 but the black tyke's passion had been cooled at the pump, and 
 
 1. A dog to hunt the pole-ont, and the otter. 2. Hobthrust — A wood-goblin. 
 3. Barm — Yeast. Ber-heim, over beer. German. 
 
 4 Thrapped Threop. Two may discourse, but if a third interfere, the 
 
 conversation may turn to a quarrel, when no longer retaining their seats, 
 there will be a three-up, or Threop. 5. Mischief, damage. 
 
513 
 
 th' withen stick had quietened the other, so, that, they mur- 
 mured little or none, but agreed to pay all between them ; 
 then, they set down and were friends again in a snuff. 
 
 Mary. — This was mad, foolish work ; and nearly as bad as 
 taking th' owl. 
 
 Thomas. — Nay — not quite — neither, Mary ; for harm has a 
 wholesome smell. However, when all was settled, I crept near- 
 er the fire again ; for I wanted a warm fearfully, for I was cold 
 and wet, as well as hungry and thirsty. 
 
 Mary. — Believe me, Thomas, you might well be; but you 
 were in a good way, that you had money in your pocket. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, I thought I had money enough ; but thou 
 shalt hear more of that, in a little while. So, I called for 
 something to eat, and a pint of ale ; and she brought some cold 
 mutton and turnips, and as prime veal and pestile, as needed to 
 be touched. I stole Nip, now and then, a luncheon, but Turn 
 took care of all the other, steawp an' reawp^ for I ate like a 
 Yorkshireman, and cleared th' stool. 
 
 Mary. — Well done, Thomas ; you had not sure a ree-supper'' 
 for you out-did Wrynot, and beat the charges, for any thing 
 I hear. 
 
 Thomas. — True : so, I sate, and rested myself, and drank my 
 pint of ale; but as my thirst was not properly quenched, I 
 called for another, and embezzled that, too, for, I was as dry as 
 soot : and it was too late to go anywhere with my bitch, I asked 
 the landlady if I could stay all night. She told me I might, if 
 I would. Said I, "I'll go now, if you'll go with me." "I — 
 go with thee," quoth she; "Why, what art thou afraid of bog- 
 garts, or, thou art not weaned, and cannot sleep without a 
 
 1. Steawp an' Eeawp. — " Get thee to Yaughan's , and fetch me a stoop of 
 liquor." — Hamlet. " Ah ! surely you'll be your pint stoop ; " — Burns. 
 Stump and Eump — Everything. Thomas means that he finished both 
 meat and drink. Covert and Overt, is near in meaning to steaiop and 
 reawp ; because a reatup is open and exposed ; a stoop is confined. 
 2. A ree-supper — A second supper. 
 
S13 
 
 pap ?" — 'sflesh ! said I, what are you talking about — I want to 
 go to bed ! " Ho ! ho ! if that be all," said she, " Margaret 
 shall shew thee." So, Margaret lighted a candle, and took me 
 to a large wisty room, and a bed, with curtains, for sooth. I 
 thought Margaret lingered long in the chamber, before she left ; 
 and I suspected she was uneasy for want of something ; but, 
 somehow, I was so tired, and bashful, that I was in no spirit 
 for courting: so, I said nothing to her : but I have thought 
 since : for she was no daggle-taiP I will be bound, but as neat 
 a lass as Sarah o' Eichard's, every bit. 
 
 Mary. — Marry — come out — like enough — Why not ? Is Sarah 
 o' Eichard's so handsome ? 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, she's moderate. However, when she was gone 
 I doffed my dank shoon and hose, and my wet clothes, and, in 
 truth, Mary, I never lay in such a bed since I was christened. 
 
 Mary. — Eh, dear I'homas ! I could have liked to have been 
 with you. I warrant, you would sleep soundly ! 
 
 Thomas. — Nay, I cannot say that I did ; for I was mightily 
 troubled about my calf Beside, I was afraid of our folk 
 searching for me ; and my master beating me, when I got 
 home. It is true, my body was pretty easy, but my mind 
 might as well have lain on a pissmire-hole, or in a bush of 
 holly, or gorse ; for, it was one o'clock before I could close 
 mine eyes. 
 
 Mary. — Well, and how went you on in the morning, when 
 you awoke ? 
 
 Thomas. — Why, as I was donning my damp clothes, I 
 thought I'll know how my shof stands before I'll order my 
 breakfast : so, I called, and the landlady came, and cast up 
 my shot to thirteen-pence : So ; thought I ; a wonderful deal 1 
 \Vhat destruction have I made here ? I could have found 
 
 1. A word of contempt for a dirty woman, particularly of one, who cannot 
 keep herself fidi/ about the feet, and the lower part of her apparel. 
 
 2. Shot — Score. "What is set down with challe, or pen, in a public house. 
 
 St 
 
614 
 
 myself a whole week with us for that sum. I shall not have 
 one bodle^ to spare of my hide-silver. And now I was in as ill 
 a turn as anybody — was I not ? 
 
 Mary. — No, Marry, not you : if you had made destruction 
 and embezzled away more money than you had, you might have 
 talked. 
 
 Thomas. — I find thou canst tell true to a hair, if thou wilt, 
 Mary : for by the Mass ! when, that, I came to grope in my slop 
 to pay her, I was astounded, for the de'il a halfpenny had I : 
 and whether I lost it in the brook, or with scrambling over the 
 ditch-banks, I no more know than the man in the moon : but 
 gone it was. I stared like a wild-cat, and was nearly senseless. 
 At the last I told her I had lost my money ! Said she, " What 
 do you mean, man ? you shall not put Yorkshire^ on me : that 
 tale will not fit me : for you are like to pay in some way." 
 Said I, " But it is true, and you may grope in my pockets if 
 you will." " Thou art some mismannered Jack-an-apes, I will 
 be bound," said she. " Fie ! nay ! I shall not grope in thy 
 breeches pocket — not I." " Why," said I, " then you are like 
 to have nothing, except you will take my woollen mittens, and 
 my salt-cloth." " Those will not do," said she ; " they are not 
 worth above two groats." " I have nothing else, except you 
 will have my sneeze-horn ; and I am loth to part with it, be- 
 cause Sarah O' Eichard's gave it to me, th' last Christmas." 
 " Let's see them," said she, " for thou art some arrant rascal, I 
 will be bound." So, I gave them to her ; and still this broad- 
 ling fussocP looked as foul as thunder, when I had done all I 
 could. 
 
 Mary. — Good Lord ! I think you had the worst luck that 
 ever christened soul had. 
 
 1 Bodle. A half-farthing. 
 
 2. This is a reflection upon the County of York, or rather upon Tork- 
 shiremen, generally. It invariably means to impose on people, or to act 
 with a low, cunning dishonesty. 
 
 3. I retain this very expressive epithet, which is generally applied with a 
 degree of indignation to a gross, fat, selfish, and worthless woman. 
 
51S 
 
 Thomas. — Thou wilt say so, presently. Well : I was tired of 
 that place, and crept away without hite, or sup, or cup of sneeze, 
 for I blundered, and let that go, too. I soon enquired this 
 gentleman's hall out ; and when I got there, I gave a glance 
 into the shippon,^ and saw a man standing in the groop? Said 
 I, is your master at home, pray you ? Ay, said he. I wish you 
 would tell him I would fain speak to him, said I. Yea, said 
 he, that I will do. So, he was no sooner gone, but a fine fattish, 
 bulky gentleman came in a trice, and asked me what I wanted. 
 Said I, I understand you want a bandyhewit, sir, and I have a 
 pure one to sell, here. Let us see the shape of her, said he. 
 So, I stroked her down th' back, and threw her on the ground. 
 She is the finest that I ever saw, said he ; but I doubt things 
 will fall unluckily for thee ; for, I got two this last week, and 
 they made up my count. — Now, Mary, I was ready to cruttle 
 down," for thou mightst have knocked me over with a pea. But, 
 " What's thy price ?" said he. I cannot afford her to mine 
 own brother, under a guinea, said I. She is cheap at that, 
 said he ; and no doubt but thou mayst sell her. 
 
 Mary. — God's like ! you were long in finding a chapman : 
 every body is always fitted, so. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, fitted, ay ; for they needed none ; no more than 
 I need water in my shoon — not they. But thou shalt hear. — 
 Then, said he, there's an old cratchinly* gentleman that lives 
 at yon house, among yon trees, just anent!^ us, who, I believe 
 will give thee thy price ; if not, Justice such-an-one is a likely 
 man, if thou wilt go thither. Said I, I was there last evening, 
 and he had met with one the morning before. That happened 
 foully, for thee, said he. Ay, ay, said I, so it even did, for I 
 
 1. A cowhouse. 2. Chroop — The channel of a shippon. 
 
 3. Cruttle — A shrinting of the whole body downwards, when it falls 
 without being extended. Cruttled ov a rook. Of a heap. A most expres- 
 sive vernacularism. Crinkle — Danish. 
 
 4. Cratchinly — Weak, feeble, infirm. 
 
 5. Anent — Opposite, over against. — Old English. 
 
516 
 
 made a deal of labour about it, I am sure. Well, but this old 
 gentleman is the likeliest of any I know, said he. So, I made 
 him my manners and set out for this other place. 
 
 Mary. — I hope you will have better luck, in God's name. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, I thought I should too ; for now, it popped 
 in my mind, that Nip did not hold her tail high enough ; and 
 that folk would not buy her because of that ; and, if thou hast 
 not forgotten, I bought two ounces of pepper, when I bought 
 my salt, and though it was thodden} as tharcake,^ I'd rub her 
 with it ; for I had seen Humphrey o' Matthew's play that touch, 
 by his cropp'd-tail mare, that day that Yem, o' th' Eed Bank, 
 came to buy her. So, just before I got there, I took Nip and 
 rubbed her well, i' faith ! even till she howled again. I was at 
 the house in a crack ; and met with the old gentleman, in the 
 fold, about to get on horse-back. Said I to him. Is your name 
 Mr. Scar ? Said he, thou art either there, or thereabouts, and 
 I guess I am he that thou meanest. What wantest thou with 
 me ? I am informed, said I, that you want a bandyhewit, and 
 I have as first-rate a one in my arms, as there is any in Eng- 
 land's shires. That's a great breadth, said he ; but pr'y thee, 
 let's handle her, a bit, for if I touch her, I can tell whether she 
 is right-bred, or not. 
 
 Mary. — Odd ! but that was a mighty -wise old fellow — too-to.' 
 
 Thomas. — 'Sflesh ! Mary, I think, in my conscience, that he 
 was the greatest rascal of them all. But, I let him handle her ; 
 and he was so silly ; and his hands shook so desperately, that he 
 could not stick to her ; and she leaped down. Now, for it ! 
 thought I, Nip, cock thy tail, and shew thyself ! But, instead 
 of that, she clapped her tail between her legs, and crept into a 
 hole i' th' horse-stone. 
 
 1. Thodden — Applied to bread, as if it were unleavened, when there has 
 been a failure, in consequence of the barm not working. Close and 
 compact. — N. C. 
 
 2. Thar-cate — Hearth-cake, anciently, was baked on the hearth, near the 
 fire, which, without a grate, would be sufficiently hot. It is made of oat- 
 meal, unleavened and mixed with butter and treacle. 
 
 3. Too-to. — This word often occurs in the original, and is used to denote 
 excellence. 
 
517 
 
 Mary. — Fie on her ! I should have been as mad at her as a 
 vexed wasp. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, I was as mad as thou couldest be, that she had 
 shamed herself so wofully. However, I said to the old man, — 
 " Must I take her again, for you will find that she is no lap-dog 
 of a bitch.'' No : no : said he ; I feel she is fat as a snig, and 
 as smooth as a mole ; and I find, as plain as a pike-staff, by her 
 lennocW- ears that she is right-bred ; and I would have had her 
 if she had cost me a moidore, but, that a friend has sent me 
 one, out of Yorkshire, and I need no more ; but I will swap^ 
 with thee, if thou wilt. No, said I, I'll swap none ; for I'll 
 either have a guinea for her, or she shall never go, while my 
 head stands on my shoulders. Then, I can chaffer none with 
 thee, said he : but hast thou been at yon fine building oppo- 
 site ? Ay, said I, but he has enow of them. Well, but they 
 are as scant now as ever they were in this world, said he : and 
 there's one Muslin, in Eochdale, that is a mighty fine lover of 
 them. Why, said I, I shall go and see. — Now, Mary, I began 
 to mistrust, that, they were making a fool of me. 
 
 Mary. — The firrups take them ! but they never would be all 
 alike. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, but hold thy tongue a little, and thou shalt 
 hear ; for I thought I would try this other fellow, and if he 
 had gotten fitted, too, I would try no more, for, then, it would 
 be as plain as Blackstone-edge, that they were making an arrant 
 gawhtf of me. So, I went to Eochdale, and speired* this man 
 out. I found him at the back of his shop-board, with a little 
 dog beside him. Thought I to myself, I wish thou wert chok- 
 ed : this fellow will be Jitted, too, I doubt. Well, said he, 
 
 1. Lennock. Smooth, lithe, and extended. The comprehensive meaning 
 of Beveral words, still in use, in the rural districts, baffles the skill of the 
 etymologist, and for the explanation of which, a mere antiquarian is at a 
 loss and often stumbles on obsolete and too remote verbalisms. 
 
 2. Swap. — Exchange. 3. An arrant gawhy. — An half-idiot. 
 4. Sper. To enquire of places and persons. 
 
518 
 
 " Honest man, what do you please to have ?" I want nothing 
 that you have, said I ; for, I am come to sell you a bandyhewit. 
 Now, Mary, this rascal, as well as all the rest, praised my bitch 
 to the very welkin ; but at the time, he did not want one. 
 
 Mary. — Eh ! woe is me ! Thomas, I doubt, but they were 
 making a perfect natural of you. 
 
 Thomas. — A natural ! ay, the biggest that ever was made 
 since Cain killed Abel. And now, I was so stark-mad ; I was 
 arrantly bewildered,; and could have found in my heart to 
 have beaten all their heads together. I was no sooner out of 
 doors, but a throng of rabblement were watching for me at the 
 door : one of them said, " This is he " — another, " He's here ! " 
 and one bartard's bastard asked me, if I had sold my bandy- 
 hewit. By the mass ! Mary, I was so angry at that, that I up 
 with my grippen fist, and hit him a good box on the ear, and 
 then, with my shoe, punched him into th' channel ; and ill- 
 grimed, and dirtied th' lad was, for sure. Then, they all set 
 against me ; and before I had gone above a rood, th' lad's mo- 
 ther came, and crept softly behind me, and got me by the hair, 
 and down came Nip and I into th' gutter, and the woman on 
 the top of me. While this tussle lasted, her lad, (and the 
 bastards all took his part !) kept grinning and dirtying me with 
 sink-dirt, that I thought mine eyes would never have done 
 good again : for I might as well have been in a midden-sluice, 
 or at the taking of forty owls ! 
 
 Mary. — Ah ! well-a-day ! what abundance of misfortunes you 
 had! 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, for, if old Nick owed me a spite, he paid me 
 home with use : for while the skirmish lasted all the town were 
 clustered about us. I shamed as if I had stolen something, 
 and scampered away with a flea in my ear, up the. brow, into the 
 church-yard : there I had a mind to see if any body followed me. 
 I turned me, and what the de'il dost think, but I had lost Nip ! 
 
 Mary. — What, say you that ? 
 
519 
 
 Thomas. — It is true, Mary ; so I called, and whistled, but no 
 Nip was to be found, high nor low: and for all I Imew my 
 master set such store of her, because of her fetching th' cows 
 and sheep up, I durst as soon have taken a bear by th' tooth, 
 as to offer to search for her, in the town. So, I took home-ward, 
 for it was nearly night ; and I had neither bite nor sup, nor cup 
 of sneeze of all that day. 
 
 Mary. — Why, you would be as gaunt as a greimd,^ and nearly 
 famished. 
 
 Thomas. — I tell thee, Mary, I was nearly bewildered. Then, 
 I thought my heart would have sunk into my shoon ; for it felt 
 as heavy as a ball : and I stank so, it made me as sick as any- 
 thing ; and I had two or three water tombs f beside all this, 
 my belly ached ; and in this plight I must creep home and face 
 my master ! 
 
 Mary. — Eh, dear ! what kind of a bout had you with him ? 
 
 Thomas. — Why, I shall tell thee more of that by and by. 
 But, first thou must know, that, as I was going towards home, 
 as downhearted, and as melancholy as a methodist, who fancies 
 himself pregnant with the devil,^ a man overtook me, riding on 
 horse-back, and leading another. Thought I to myself, this is 
 some Yorkshire horse-jockey ; I wish he would let me ride : for 
 thou must know, I was woful weak and faint. This thought 
 had hardly glanced through my head, before that the fellow 
 said, " Come up. Honesty, thou lookst as if thou wert ill tired : 
 thou shalt ride a bit if thou wilt." " That's what I want," I 
 said, " if you please, for I am nearly done." So, look thee, 
 Mary, I got on, and I thought I never rode easier since I could 
 get ham-stridden on horse-back. 
 
 1 . Grrey hound. 
 
 2. Water-tombs. Water qualms, or water hrasli, coming into the mouth ; 
 generally in cases of debility or indigestion. 
 
 3. In-pig wi' owd Harry. Text. A powerful sarcasm of Collier's, aimed 
 at the early Methodists. 
 
620 
 
 Mary. — A good deed, Thomas ! That was no ill fellow ; you 
 would have no ill luck at this bout, in God's name. 
 
 Thomas. — Eh ! Mary, thou hast even guessed wrong many 
 and many a time ; and now thou passes by the bowl again ; ■ for 
 I wish I had ridden our Billy's hobby-horse a whale day toge- 
 ther, instead of getting on this horse : for, hearken thee to me. 
 We had not ridden above five rood, but the fellow asked me 
 how far I was going that way. Says I, about a mile and a half. 
 " That's right," said he. " There is an ale-house just there- 
 about ; I will ride before, and thou must come softly after, and 
 I will stay for thee, there." So he set off like heigh-go-mad, 
 but I kept up a post's pace ; for my horse sweat so, and seemed 
 as tired as I was : now, look thee, Mary, after this, I had not rid- 
 den much above a half-a-mile, but I heard some folk coming after 
 me, a-gallop, a-gallop, as if the de'il had had.a, holliday. They 
 had hardly overtaken me, when one of them said, " This is my 
 horse, and I will have it, too, if old Nick stand not in the gap."^ 
 With that, a lusty, rude tyke pulled out a thing like a piece of a 
 bassoon, and slapping me on the shoulders with it said, " Friend, 
 I am a constable ; and you are my prisoner." The de'il take 
 your friendship, and constableship, too, said I ; what do you 
 mean, man ? What must I be a prisoner for ? " You have 
 stolen this horse," said he, " and you must go back with me be- 
 fore a Justice." I have stolen none of it, said I, for I have this 
 moment got upon it, and a man,-:who has galloped before, and 
 who I took for the owner, gave me leave : so, what business have 
 either you, or the Justice with me. " Stuff ! stuff ; mere balder- 
 dash ! " said the constable. With that I leaped off the horse, in 
 a great heat, and said. If it be your's take it, and take it to 
 the de'il, for I know nothing of it, nor of you either, not I. 
 
 Mary. — Well acted, Thomas ! that was manfully said, and 
 done, too, I think. 
 
 1. Gap. A passage through a thom-hedge, made by straying cattle, or by 
 rectless trespsBsers. 
 
521 
 
 Thomas. — But, hush ! Mary, and thou shalt hear farther. 
 " Come, come," said constable, " that ivhiff-ivhaff stuflf -will not 
 do for me : for go, you both micst, and shall, either by hook or 
 crook."^ And with that he pulled out some iron trinkets, that 
 ricked like a parcel of chains. Wounds ! thought I to myself, 
 what are these ? If they be shackles, I am in a rare scrape, in- 
 deed. I am worse off now than ever I was. I shall be hanged, 
 or some devilment, at this very time. For by my troth, Mary, 
 I hated the jingling of his thing-um-bobs, as ill, as if thou, or 
 any one else had been ringing my passing-bell. 
 
 Mary. — Good Lord's days ! It is not to tell how cross things 
 can happen. 
 
 Thomas. — However, I mustered up my courage, and said, 
 " Hark you, constable ; put up those things that jingle so ; and 
 if I must go, I will go : and quietly too :" for, thou knows that 
 force is medicine for a mad dog. 
 
 Mary. — Whoo-who — whoo-who — whoo ! Why, Thomas ! It 
 has now buzzed into my head, that this same horse-jockey had 
 stolen this horse, and for fear of being overtaken, got you to 
 ride, to save his own bacon, and so put Yorkshire on you. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, I think thou guesseth to a hair ; for he slip- 
 ped th' rope from around his own neck, and wound it on mine ; 
 that is certain. However, it made pitiful work indeed, to be 
 guarded by two men, and a constable, back again, through 
 Eochdale, where I had so lately lost my bitch, and been so very 
 dirtily rolled in the gutter ! However, these constable-folk were 
 mighty modest, and as mute as moles ; for we got through the 
 town, with very little staring at us, and less questioning, and 
 were at th' Justice's in a crack. 
 
 Mary. — Eh, dear ! Thomas, did not a halter run strongly in 
 
 1. By hook, or by crook, right or wrong, rough or smooth, taking the 
 opposites. More timidly, but hypocritically said, " Get it honestly, if you 
 can — but get it." 
 
 3u 
 
5S3 
 
 your head ? For, something runs in mine, as if it were full of 
 ropes and pulley-bowls. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, look thee, Mary : I thought so plaguy hard, 
 that I could think of nothing at all ; for thou seest, I was alarm- 
 ed in all sorts of ways. Still, I had one comfort always in my 
 head ; for, thought I to myself, I have stolen no horse, not I: and 
 thou know'st, that Truth and Honesty, going hand in hand, 
 together, hold each other's backs primely, and stand as stiff as a 
 gablock.^ 
 
 Mary. — True, Thomas ; they are prime props in a difficulty ; 
 that is certain. But, I yearn to hear how things turned out at 
 the end of all. 
 
 Thomas. — Thou hast no patience, Mary. But, hold thy 
 tongue, and thou shalt hear ; for thou must know that this 
 same constable was as proud that he had taken poor Turn 
 prisoner, as thou wouldst be, if thou had taken a hare, and had 
 her in thy apron just now ; but the gobbin never considered, 
 that hanging would not be called good sport by any body in 
 their senses ; and that it was enough to edge a finer man's teeth 
 than mine. However, he knocked as boldly at the Justice's 
 door, as if he would have banged it down. This brought a 
 proud, gruff fellow out, who put us into a place, where there 
 were as many books and papers, as a cart would hold. To this 
 man, who I soon perceived was the clerk, the constable told my 
 woful case, and in truth, Mary, I was as senseless as a goose ; 
 and began a-trembling, as if I had stolen a whole string of 
 horses.^ Then, this fellow went out, a while, and returned 
 with th' Justice, whom I glanced at seriously and thought he 
 resembled old John o'Dobbs, whom thou know'st always wears a 
 
 1. Gablock, or gavelock, is an iron instrument, something like a crow-bar, 
 but straight, and may be used for various purposes. It has a point, and 
 can be driven into the ground, or beneath any thing. The reader will admire 
 Collier's power of expression here. It would be almost »■ profanation to 
 presume to "fettle" this glorious passage. 
 
 2. A draught of horses. Draught, in military affairs, means a detachment 
 of soldiers. DreigM is the test. 
 
523 
 
 brownish-white wig, that hangs o'er his shoulders, like cow-tails. 
 Well, Mr. Constable, said th' Justice, what have you brought 
 me, now ? Why, please your Worship, we have just now taken 
 a horse-stealer, who was making off with the horse as fast as he 
 could. God! thought I to myself! Now — or never; Turn, 
 speak for thyself, or thou art throttled at this very time. So, I 
 spake up, and said, " That is not true, Mr. Justice ; for I was 
 only going at a foot's pace." "Humph!" said the Justice; 
 " there is not much difference, as to that point. However, hold 
 thy tongue, young man, and speak when thou art spoken to. 
 Well, thou, man in the brown coat ; thou, said th' Justice ; 
 What hast thou to say against this fellow, here ? Is this thy 
 horse, sayest thou ?" " It is, sir." " Here, clerk, bring us 
 that book, and let us swear him." Here, the Justice said a 
 nomony^ and told him, he must take care of what he said, or he 
 might easily be forsworn, or hang that youth there. — Well : and 
 thou say'st that this horse is thy horse — is it ? It is, please 
 your Worship. And where hadst thou him, sayest thou ? I 
 bred him, sir. In what country ? Colne-edge, sir. And when 
 was he stolen, sayest thou ? Last day, but yesterday, about 
 three o'clock, in the afternoon, for our Yem saw him about two, 
 and we missed him about four o'clock. And from Colne-edge, 
 thou sayest ? Yes, sir. Then the Justice turned himself to 
 me, and said, " Is all this true, that this man says — hearest 
 thou me ?" It is, said I — part of it — and part of it is not — for 
 I did not steal this horse : nor is it above two hours since the 
 first time that I spread mine eyes upon it. How camest thou 
 to be riding away with him then, if thou didst not steal him ? 
 Why, in good deed, sir, as I was going towards home, to-day, a 
 fellow with a little round hat, and a scrunt-wig, th' colour of 
 your's, but shorter, overtook me ; he was riding one horse, and 
 led another. Now, this man seeing I was tired, because I went 
 
 1. Nomony. — Formal words spoken with gravity, many of which are 
 not understood by the common people. 
 
524 
 
 wigglety-wagglety in the lane, offered me his led-horse to ride ; 
 but he rode off, whip and spur, though he could hardly make th' 
 horse canter before : and would stay for me, at an ale-house, on 
 the road. Now, Mr. Justice, I had not gone three quarters of a 
 mile, when these folk overtook me ; told me I had stolen this 
 horse ; and now, have brought me hither, as if I were a York- 
 shire horsestealer. And this is all true, Mr. Justice, or may I 
 never go to a good place when I die. 
 
 Mary. — Primely spoken, i' faith ! Thomas ! you completely 
 beat Wrynot^ in telling this tale, think I : but what said th' 
 Justice, then ? 
 
 Thomas. — Why, he said : Hearest thou me again, thou young- 
 ster ? Tell me where thou wast, the other day but yesterday, 
 especially in the evening, wilt thou ? Why, said I, I set out 
 from home, soon in the morning, with a cow and calf, for Roch- 
 dale ; my calf was killed, in the lane, with a mare's hoof, as I 
 came ; and in the afternoon, I was all up and down, in this 
 neighbourhood, doing my best to sell my bitch, that folk called 
 a bandyhewit, to see if I could make the calf-money up, for my 
 master : but, woe is me ! everybody was gotten fitted with them. 
 So, I was cast in the dark, and forced to stay all night at Lit- 
 tlgborough. And where wast thou yesterday ? said th' Justice. 
 Why, said I, I rambled up and down hereabouts again on this 
 same endless errand, and was forced to harbour all th' last 
 night, in a barn, where boggarts swarm.^ Lord bless us ! and 
 breed, too, I believe, for every body says it is never without 
 'em, and to day, as I was going home, I met with the fellow, 
 that I took for a horse-jockey ; and so was taken up for a horse- 
 stealer. But hearken thou to me ; thou prisoner, said th' Justice. 
 Was not thou here the other day but yesterday, with thy dog ? 
 I was, sir ; but you would not buy her, for you were fitted, too. 
 
 1. He beats Wrynot, and Wrynot beat the Devil. — An old saying. 
 
 2. Swarm. — To cluster, to abound. Swarmian — Saxon. Sohwarmen — 
 Teutonic. 
 
595 
 
 What time of the day might it be, thinkest thou? Between 
 three and Jour o'clock, said I. Believe me, man, thou art either 
 there or there-abouts, said he. Hear you, Master Constable, fol- 
 low me. Now, Mary, what dost thou think? While these two 
 were out, awhile, this wastril, this tyke of a clerk, called me 
 aside, and offered to bring me clear off, for half-a-guinea. Says 
 I, man, if I knew a halter must make my neck as long as a 
 gander's to-morrow, I could not raise half-a-guinea : for, hanged, 
 or not hanged, I have not one half-penny to save my neck with. 
 But, says he, wilt thou give thy note for it ? I'll give no notes, 
 not I : for I might as well be hanged for this job, as steal, and 
 be hanged for that ; and I have no other way to raise it, but 
 stealing, that I know of. 
 
 Mary. — Good Lord of Mercy ! More rogues, and more ! Now, 
 fie ujoon all such ivastrUs, for ever, and a day longer, say I. 
 
 Thomas. — Hush ! hush ! Mary ; for now th' Justice and th' 
 Constable came in. 
 
 Mary. — Eh, Lord ! I'll be hanged myself, if I do not tremble 
 for fear : but go forward, Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, th» Justice, after rubbing his brows, and 
 wiping his face, said : Hear you, Master Constable ; you, fellow, 
 that owns this horse. I must say, that you are both in the 
 wrong box, and have gotten the wrong sow by the ear : for, this 
 youngster, here, could not steal this horse the last afternoon, but 
 one ; for, between three and four o'clock on that day, I saw him, 
 here, myself; and you say, this horse was stolen from Colne-edge 
 about that time. Now, he could not be in two places at one 
 time, you know. So, hearest thou me, young man, I must acquit 
 thee, as to this job : so, go thy way home, and be honest. I will, 
 said I, and thanks, Mr. Justice : for you have pulled truth out 
 of a dirty place at last. So, I made him a low bow, and a great 
 scrape with my shoe, and came my way. 
 
 Mary. — Bravely come off, Thomas ! Ay, and merrily, too, I 
 
526 
 
 will be bound ; now, even God bless all honest Justices, say I. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, Ay, and so say I, too ; for I had good luck at 
 the end of all, or Turn had not been here to have told thee this 
 tale. But, yet, Mary, I think, in my conscience, that there are 
 mice-nests,^ among some of them, as well as among other folk, 
 or why should this same clerk of his, when he perceived that I 
 was innocent, propose to bring me off for half-a-guinea ? Had 
 not this a strong savour of downright-right cheating and nipping 
 o' poor folk ? And dost thou think that these Justices do not 
 know, when these tykes play a hundred worse tricks than this 
 in a year ? Beside, Mary, I heard that cunning fellow, Dick o' 
 Yem's, o' old Harry's, say that he knew some of them that went 
 snacks with these caterpillars, their clerks ; and if so, should 
 they not be hugged on the same back, and beaten with the same 
 rod, with their clerks- — hearest thou me ? 
 
 Mary. — No, no : not they, marry : for, if such things must be 
 done gradely, and as they ought to be, the bigger rascal should 
 have the bigger smacks, and more of them, you know, Thomas. 
 But great folk often do what they will with little ones, right or 
 wrong : What care they ? So, let us leave* such to mend when 
 they can think of mending. And now tell me how went you on 
 with your master. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, by the mass ! Mary, I had forgotten that. 
 Why, then, thou must know, in such a case, as that, I had no 
 excuse to make, for I told him how the calf was killed in the 
 lane, and that I had sold the hide for thirteen pence. And 
 then, I could tell him no more ; for he caught hold of the dation 
 that stood on the hearth-stone, and whirled it at me ; but instead 
 of hitting me, it hit the cream-mug, that stood on the hob, and 
 spilled all the cream into the fire : then th' battril^ came, and 
 whether it lamed the child that was in the cradle, I know not, 
 
 1. Mice-neata are figuratively mean, diahonest actions. 
 2. An implement used by a laundress, to beat linen with. 
 
527 
 
 for, I left it roaring^ and belling -.^ so, as I was scampering away, 
 our Sarah asked me where I would go ? I told her that Nick 
 o' th' Farmer's great barn was th' nearest, and I would go thither. 
 
 Mary. — Of all the places in the world there would I not have 
 gone, for my two hands full of guineas. 
 
 Thomas. — I guess thou meanest because folk say that boggarts 
 always haunted it ; but thou knowest I was wearily knocked 
 up ; force is medicine for a mad dog, as I told thee before. 
 
 Mary. — It matters not. It would never have overcome me to 
 have harboured there. 
 
 Thom.as. — Well : but I went, and just as I was gotten to the 
 barn-door, whom should I meet, but Yed o' Jeremy's, their new 
 man. 
 
 Mary. — That happened well, for Yed's as gradely a lad as 
 needs to nip o' th' hem of a cake. 
 
 Thomas. — True, so, I told him my case, in short, and sorry he 
 looked. I wish I durst let thee sleep with me, said he ; but as 
 I but came to live here this day se'en-night, I dare not venture. 
 But, I will shew thee a prime motigh of hay, and thou mayst do 
 moderately, for anything I know. That will do said I : shew it 
 to me, for I am stiff and stark, and ill done. So, while he was 
 shewing it me with th' lantern, he said, I have something to say 
 to thee Turn; but I am loth. Thou meanest about boggarts, 
 said I ; but I am still like to venture. Thou hast hit it, said 
 he ; and I can tell thee, I could like my place primely, but for 
 that : however as th' horses must out very yarly,^ I must proven 
 them about one o'clock, and I will call and see how thou goest 
 on — 'Sblood ! said I, if thou must go so yarhj, I'll fodder and 
 proven th' horses for thee, and thou mayst sleep, if thou wilt lay 
 
 1. Boaring. — To roar, is to cry, or weep aloud : 
 
 Sit thee down and roar ; 
 
 For thou has kill'd the sweetest innocent, 
 
 That e'er did lift up eye. — Othello. 
 
 2. Belling. — Making a great noise. 
 
 3. Yarly is not an unpleasant mode of pronouncing early. 
 
538 
 
 the proven ready. Then, he shewed me how the mough was cut 
 with a hay-knife, half-way down, like a great step, and that I 
 might come off easily on that side. So, we bade one another 
 good night. I was hut just settled, when I heard something in 
 the barn. Good Lord's — Mary ! My flesh crept on my bones, 
 and my ears cracked again, with hearkening. Presently I heard 
 somebody call softly, " Tummus, Tummus.'' I knew th' voice, 
 and said, " Who is that ? Thee, Sarah?" Ay, said she, and I 
 have stolen some water-porridge and some thrutchins ;' and a 
 treacle-cake, if you can eat them. Fear me not, said I, for I am 
 as hungry as a rat. Why, much good, indeed go with them ! 
 said she, and you may come and begin, for they need no cooling. 
 Now, I was in such a hurry in getting to the food, that I had 
 forgotten the place that Yed told me of : so, I fell down off the 
 highest side of the mough, and such a floose of hay followed me, 
 that it drove me sheer down, and Sarah, with the meat in her 
 hand, on the top of me, and quite covered us both. 
 
 Mary. — God's flesh ! This was a nice trick,^ of the size of it, 
 was it not ? 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, so it was ; but it happened well that th' por- 
 ridge were not scalding hot : for when we had made a shift to 
 heave, and creep from under the hay, some of the porridge I 
 found had daubed up one of min? eyes, the thrutchins were spil- 
 led on the waist-band of my breeches, and th' treacle-cake stuck 
 to Sarah's apron. However, with scrambling, and groping 
 about in the dark, we got up what we could, and I ate it quick- 
 ly, for, believe me, Mary, I was so keen-bitten, I made no balks^ 
 at a hay-seed. So, while I was busy filling my belly, '^ she told 
 me she thought her father was turned distracted, and if I went 
 home again, I should be in danger of being injured. My mistress 
 
 1. The last pressed wAet/ in making cheese. 
 
 2. Triclc. — Used for feat, shght accident, mean action, &o. 
 
 3. Balk. — To frustrate — to disappoint — to be stopped : properly from 
 
 balk, or beam of timber, which impedes the way. Why Valicare, an Italian 
 
 word, should be given as the etymon, I must confess my ignorance. 
 
 4. Cadgin my wem. Text. i. e. filling my bag. 
 
S30 
 
 would have me to run auay, for I should be loose at Shrovetide, 
 and it mattered not much. I thought this ■rfas good counsel, 
 so, I got Sarah to fetch my other shirt. She did so, and I 
 thanked her, bade farewell, and so we parted. I soon settled 
 myself down again in the mough, under a floose of hay, and 
 slept so well, that when I awoke, I was afraid that I had over- 
 slept myself, and could not proven th' horses in time. 
 
 Mary. — It was well for you, that you could sleep at all, for I 
 must never have lain mine eyes together, I am sure. 
 
 Thomas. — Well : but I started up to go to th' horses, and 
 slided down to the lower part of the hay-mough : and by the 
 Lord of the Mass ! what dost t' think ? I alighted ham- stridden 
 upon something that felt mighty hairy ; and it started up, with 
 me on its back ; down the lower part of the hay-mough it jump- 
 ed ; crossed the barn ; out of the door with me it took ; and 
 into the watering-pool, as if the de'il o' hell had driven it; and 
 there it threw me in, or I fell, I cannot tell whether, for the 
 life of mine. 
 
 Mary. — Whoo-who — whoo-who — wlioo ! What i' th' name of 
 God ! will you say ? 
 
 Thomas. — Say ! why, I say true gospel : and I was so fright- 
 ened, that I was worse set to get out, if possible, than I was, 
 when Nip and I fell off th' bridge. 
 
 Mary. — I never heard such tales, since my name was ]Mal. 
 Nor any one else — think I. 
 
 Thomas. — Tales ! God's blood ! take them all together, and 
 they would nearly make a man stand on the wrong end. 
 
 Mary. — Well : but was it old Nick, think you, or it was not ? 
 
 Thomas. — I hate to think of it. Wilt thou hold thy tongue — 
 but if it was not old Niek, he was the orderer of it, to be sure. 
 
 Mary. — Why, Thomas, pr'y you, what was it ? 
 
 Thomas. — Bless me, Mary! Thou'rt so yearnfuP that thou 
 
 1. Extremely anxious. 
 3x 
 
eso 
 
 wilt not let me tell my tale. Why, I did not know myself, for 
 an hour — if I know yet. 
 
 Mary. — Well : but how went you on, then ? 
 
 Thomas. — Why, with much powlering, I got out of the pool ; 
 and by my troth, believe me, as thou wilt, I could not tell 
 whether I was in a sleawm} or awake, till I groped mine eyes ; 
 and as I was resolved to go no more into the barn, I crept 
 under a wall, and stood like a gawmbling,^ or a perfect natural, 
 till nearly day : and just then, Yed came. 
 
 Mary That was passing well ; considering the case, that, 
 
 you was in. 
 
 Thomas. — True, lass, for I think I was never fainer to see any 
 body, since I was christened. 
 
 Mary. — What said Yed? 
 
 Thomas. — Why, he lifted up his hands ! and he blessed ; and 
 he prayed ; and he made such marlocks.* But, if I had not 
 been in that woful plight, I should have burst with laughing. 
 Then he asked me how I came to be so wet, and why I stood 
 there : and such like questions. I told him I could give no 
 account of myself; but that I was carried out of the barn by 
 old Nick, as I thought. 
 
 Mary. — I had always a notion what it would prove at the end 
 of all. 
 
 Thomas. — Pr'y thee, hold thy tongue, awhile ; thou puts me 
 out. I told him I thought it was old Nick : for it was vast 
 strong ; very hairy ; and mighty swift. 
 
 Mary. — Eh ! what a great mercy it is you are where you are, 
 Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, Mary, so it is ; for it is more than I expected. 
 But thou shalt hear. Yed was so frighten 'd with the little that 
 I had told him, that he got me by the hand, and said. Come, 
 Thomas, let us flit from this place, for my part, I'll not stay a 
 
 I, Slumber. 2 Stood like a fool. 3. Marlocks — antics — ridiculous 
 
 gestures. 
 
581 
 
 moment longer. Said I, if thou wilt fetch my sark out of the 
 barn, I will go with thee. Nay, said he, that I will never do, 
 while my name's Yed. Why, said I, then I'm like to go without. 
 Do not trouble thy head about that : I have two at home, and I 
 will give thee one. Come let's get off, said he. So, we were 
 marching away, and before we had gone five rood, I saw some- 
 thing, and set up a great shriek, for I thought I had seen old 
 Nick again. Lord bless us ! says Yed, what art thou afraid of 
 now, Thomas ? I pointed th' finger, and said, Is not that the 
 De'il? Which? said he. That under th' hedge, said I. No, 
 no: Not it. That's our young colt, that lies out, said Yed. 
 The Dickens it is, said I. But I think in my heart that tJial 
 carried me out o' th' barn. Then, Yed asked me, if the door 
 was open. I told him I thought it was. But, I am sure I 
 fastened it, said Yed. That might be, for after thou left me, 
 our Sarah brought me my supper ; and she might have left it 
 open. By the mass ! said Yed, if so, Turn, this very colt will 
 prove to be th' boggart. Let's go into th' barn, and see, for it is 
 not so dark as it was. With all my heart, said I, but let us 
 stick to one another's hand, then. In this manner we went 
 into the barn, and by my troth, Mary, I know not what to 
 think ! There was a heap of colt-dung upon the lower part of 
 the hay-mough ; and the place where it had lain was as plain 
 as a pike-staff. But still, if it was it, that carried me, I mai-vel 
 how I could stick on so long, it was in such a hurry to get 
 away. 
 
 Mary. — What the firrups ! It signifies nothing ; for, whether, 
 you stuck on, or fell off, I find, that old Nick was th' colt that 
 lies areawt} 
 
 Thomas. — Why, I cannot say a deal about it. It looks likely 
 as thou sayst ; but, if this was not a boggart I think there 
 never was any, if they had been fairly sifted into.* 
 
 1. Areawt — Out of doors. 
 2. A most judicious hint of Collier's that, he was perfectly sane on this 
 
S3S 
 
 Mary. — Marry, I am much of your mind : but hark you — did 
 you find your sark ?^ 
 
 Thomas. — Ay, ay ; I have it in my pocket, see thou : for it is 
 but just now that I took my leave of Yed, and now thou seest 
 I am running my country. 
 
 Mary. — And what do you think to do ? 
 
 Thomas. — I think to be an ostler ; for, I can mexen,^ kem, and 
 fettle horses, as well as any one of them, although thou may 
 think I am boasting. 
 
 Mary. — Nay, I can believe you. Eh, Lord ; what a cank' we 
 have had ! I must not find time to stay any longer. God be 
 with you ! for I must away. 
 
 Thomas. — Hold != — Nay — Mary : let me have one kiss at part- 
 ing, for thou art not such a foul whean,^ neither. 
 
 Mary. — Nay ! — now ! — so ! Thomas ! Go, thou and slobber 
 Sarah o'Eichard's, if you be so loving. 
 
 Thomas. — Whoo ! — now ! — How spiteful thou art ! What if a 
 body do like Sarah ? There is nobody, but likes sombody. 
 
 Mary. — Ay, true, Thomas : but then, sometimes, somebody 
 likes somebody else. 
 
 Thomas. — I guess what thou meanest, for thou art glancing 
 
 at that flopper-mouth'd gob-sloteh,° Bill o' old Katty's, because 
 
 that folk say Sarah hankers" after him. I marvel what the de'il 
 
 she can see in him. I am mad at her. 
 
 Mary. — Like enough : for it's a foul life to love those that 
 
 subject, and was not likely to be a superstitious man, at all events, notwith- 
 standing any uncharitable insinuation, that he was in any manner tainted 
 with insanity. His descendants, some of them at least, were unfortunate 
 in this respect, but it should be recollected that the brother of Martin, the 
 magnificent and sublime artist, set fire to York Minster, in a paroxysm of 
 mania. There is, however, the reflection of our great satirist on record : 
 G-reat wits to madness nearly are aUied, 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide. — DryAen, 
 1. Sark.- — Shirt. 2. Mexen. — To clean a stable. 3. Cank. — Conversation, 
 4. JVhean. — A slut. 
 6. A most powerful phrase, for a uoisy, slovenly fellow. 
 6. Hankers. — Extremely desirous. 
 
633 
 
 love other folk : but you are a ninny-hammer to heed her : for 
 there is none auch. farra7itly talk about her. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, what do they say ? 
 
 Mary. — I may not tell : beside, you may happen to take it 
 none so well, if a body should. 
 
 Thomas. — Why, I cannot be angry at thee ; whatever thou 
 sayst ; as long as thou but repeats after other folk. 
 
 Mary. — Why, then, they say, that she's a dirty, daggle- 
 tailed, good-for-nothing — and — and — and — and — 
 
 Thomas. — And what, Mary ? Speak out. 
 
 Mary. — Why, to be plain with you, they say that her mother 
 caught Bill o' old Katty's, and her in bed, together, last Sunday 
 morning ! 
 
 Thomas. — Eh ! The Dev— . Good Lord bless us ! Is that 
 true ? 
 
 Mary. — How should it be otherwise, for her mother was 
 crying, and sighing, to my Mistress, about it. 
 
 Thomas. — 'Sflesh ! Mary ; I am fit to cruttle down, into th' 
 earth : I would as lief have ta'en forty owls ! 
 
 Mary. — Why, look you, now ; I am even sorry for it. God 
 help it ! Will it topple o'er? May I hold it's head, while it's 
 heart beats awhile. 
 
 Thomas. — Eh ! Mary, thou little knows how it thrusts 
 against my plucks ;^ for, if thou didst, thou wouldst not make 
 such a fool of me. 
 
 Mary. — Now, in my good troth, I can hardly hold myself 
 from laughing, to see how fast you are in Love's clutches ! 
 But I thought I would try you. 
 
 Thomas. — Mary ! what dost thou mean ? 
 
 Mary. — Why, I told a parcel of thumping lies, on purpose. 
 
 Thomas. — The Dickesn^ take thee, Mary. What an awkward 
 
 1. This is £1 strong expression for the inward confusion of body, which 
 grief and other extreme passions of the mind invariably cause. 
 2. Diccon. — A wizard. 
 
534 
 
 lass art thou? What the plague didst frighten me in this 
 way, for ? Thou art a silly whean. I would as leave have gone 
 the errand forty-miles. 
 
 Mary. — Ay — a hundred — rather than have had it to have 
 been true : but I thought I would try you. 
 
 Thomas. — Well : and if I do not try thee, sooner, or later, 
 it will be a marvel ! 
 
 Mary. — It is a great mercy you cannot do it now, for cruttling 
 down. — But, I must away ; for, if my mistress be come home, 
 there will be a ricking. — Well : think on't, that you would 
 rather have ta'en forty owls ! 
 
 Thomas. — I shall think that thou lookst a bit frisky, what- 
 ever Sarah o' Richard's is. 
 
 Mary. — I've heard them say, that guessing is a-kin to lying, 
 and that the proof o' th' pudding is in the eating : so farewell, 
 Thomas. 
 
 Thomas. — Mary, fare thee well, heartily; and give my love to 
 Sarah, let it happen how it will. 
 
 Mary. — Will you forgive me, then ? 
 
 Thomas. — By th' Mass ! will I, Mary, from the bottom of 
 my heart.'- 
 
 I. The gemu3 of Collier is admirably manifeated in the ooncluBion of thia 
 Berio-comio master-piece. — K. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 John Heywoocl, Printer, 113, Deansgatc, Manchester, 
 
Pi'ice 10s. 6tZ,, d&my folio, on thiclc paper, half calf, neat, 
 
 'i'lM BOBBIN'S 
 
 HUMAN PASSIONS DELINEATED 
 
 From the Original Plates, with Explanatory Notes, &c. 
 A REAL CURIOSITY. 
 
 Manchester :— John Heywood. London :— Simpltin, Marshall, and Co. 
 
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