Chapter V: Part 5

In 1816, the Ministers suspended the Habeas Corpus Act, and took other measures for burking public discussion. At the “blanketeer” meeting, held at St. Peter’s Fields, 10th March, it was decided that the men should march to London to petition, each with a blanket on his shoulder for protection from cold in the night. The meeting was dispersed by the military, many were arrested, and those who had started on their way to the Metropolis were pursued. The “blanketeers” were overtaken on Lancashire Hill, Stockport, where more were arrested, more wounded, and where one cottager was shot at his own door. It is only fair to the military to state that they showed far more moderation than the magistrates. A few of the “blanketeers” reached Derby. The spies were now at work, and Bamford tells how one of these invited him to join in making a “Moscow of Manchester.” The muddle-headed authorities accepted without inquiry all that their infamous agents told them, and after the arrest of Bamford and others at Ardwick, the Rev. W. R. Hay assured his awe-struck hearers that when these men were tried “purposes of the blackest enormity must be disclosed to the public.” After being taken in irons to London—one of them being an old man of seventy-four—and examined by the Secretary of State, they were discharged, and not even put upon their trial. Yet this “plot” was the chief argument used by Sidmouth for a further suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act. Castlereagh cynically avowed that they had sent Oliver the spy “to see what was going on.” The Lancashire men were warned in time, and Oliver, though he tried hard, had no success here. In Derbyshire, however, he fomented an “insurrection,” and those whom he had first incited to sedition he afterwards betrayed to the scaffold. In 1818, the Manchester reformers sent a petition to the House of Commons, in which they asserted that there never had been in this neighbourhood any reason for the suspension of the Habeas Corpus Act, denounced the work of the spies, and asked for an inquiry into the action of the magistrates at Manchester. Bamford and others who had been arrested also petitioned; but Mr. George Philips’s motion for an inquiry by a Committee of the House of Commons was rejected by 162 votes against 69, and the Ministry obtained an Act of indemnity for all their proceedings. Mr. John Greenwood managed to exclude the name of Mr. J. E. Taylor from the list of the Salford assessors because he was a moderate reformer, and asserted that he had written a handbill leading to the destruction at the Exchange in 1812. Mr. Taylor, unable to obtain any retraction or explanation, denounced him as “a liar, a slanderer, and a scoundrel.” For this an action for libel was begun. Mr. Taylor defended himself, and the jury came to the conclusion that the plaintiff was “a liar, a slanderer, and a scoundrel.” Mr. Taylor’s acquittal was chiefly due to the foreman of the jury, Mr. John Rylands, of Warrington, who, resolutely putting aside all legal cobwebs, declined to punish a man for telling the truth.

The year 1819 was an important one for the cause of reform. There was a meeting in St. Peter’s Fields in June, when the people, to embarrass the Government, decided to abstain from excisable articles as far as possible. Roasted corn was to take the place of coffee, sloe leaves to be substituted for tea, and the use of spirits and ale was to be abandoned. The “loyal” inhabitants placarded the town with incentives to drinking, and an attempt was made to pay for this poster out of the church rates. The people had lost hope of obtaining reform by petition, and the notion was broached of appointing a representative to claim a seat in the House of Commons. The reformers of Manchester therefore called a meeting for the purpose of electing “a legislatorial attorney and representative” for the town. This assembly was called for August 9th, but the magistrates declared that it would be illegal, and the intention was abandoned. The reformers then presented a requisition, signed by 700 householders, asking the Boroughreeve to call a town’s meeting. He refused to do so, and it was then decided to hold an open-air meeting in St. Peter’s Fields for the purpose of petitioning for a reform in Parliament. The reformers from all parts of Lancashire were expected to be there, and at Middleton and elsewhere they were drilled into the proper method of marching so that there might be no confusion. The authorities professed to regard these harmless marchings with sticks and broom handles as the presages of revolution. The procession that filed into St. Peter’s Fields on the morning of the 16th August, 1819, was largely composed of young men and young women of the artisan class, dressed out in their Sunday best. They had many flags with them. There were from sixty to eighty thousand people present to give a welcome to Henry Hunt, whose handsome form and power of speech made him at that time the idol of the Lancashire workmen. Loud were the cheers of the multitude as he rode up to the hustings—which had been placed where is now the south-east corner of the Free Trade Hall. The white hats—then the symbol of Radicals—were waved in the air, the men hurrahed, and the women smiled as the hero of the hour approached. The magistrates, perhaps honestly alarmed, but weak and vacillating, now determined to arrest the ringleaders in the face of the assembled multitude. There was not the slightest occasion to fear any riot or disturbance, and active precautions had been taken to overawe the reformers. On the field, in readiness for action, were six troops of the 15th Hussars, a troop of Horse Artillery with two guns, part of the 21st Regiment of Infantry, some companies of the 88th Regiment, above 300 of the Cheshire Yeomanry, and about forty members of the Manchester Yeomanry—sworn foes of reform. As the immense multitude listened in intense silence to the opening sentences of Hunt’s speech, the Manchester Yeomanry, under the command of Mr. H. H. Birley, appeared on the outskirts of the crowd, and were received with shouts. Without one word of warning they set their horses in a gallop, and with their bright swords flashing in the air, they dashed into the crowd, striking right and left with their sabres with all the energy of madmen. They became scattered over the field, and were literally wedged into the palpitating mass of humanity which they were attacking. The Hussars were now ordered to the attack, and for the most part drove the people with the flat of the sword, but the edge also was used. When the yeomanry were extricated they wheeled round and dashed again into the crowd wherever there was an opening, cutting and slashing at all who came before them. In many parts the panic-stricken crowd was literally piled up in heaps. For attending a perfectly peaceable meeting to ask for a reform in Parliament, which had then no representatives of the great towns, and was largely filled by the owners of pocket-boroughs and their nominees, for thus asserting their rights as Englishmen to discuss their grievances, ten men and one woman were killed and 600 were wounded. The man chiefly responsible for this slaughter was the Rev. W. R. Hay, who is said to have read the Riot Act from a neighbouring window, but, if so, did it in such a manner that it was never heard by the crowd. The peaceful nature of the assembly was shown by the number of women and of old men who were in it. Poor old Thomas Blinstone, at the age of 74, was rode over by the yeomanry, and had both arms broken, and said he, “What is wur than aw, mester, they’n broken my spectacles and aw’ve never yet been able to get a pair that suited me.”

The “Peterloo Massacre” was a baptism of blood for the cause of reform, and the Tory victory was worse than a defeat, for it excited the indignation of all England against those who had caused the slaughter of their fellow-subjects for demanding admission within the pale of the Constitution.

The Rev. W. R. Hay wrote to Lord Sidmouth on the night of Peterloo giving his version of the affair. At the same time Mr. J. E. Taylor and Mr. Archibald Prentice each sent a plain account of the disgraceful conduct of the magistrates and the yeomanry. These appeared in London papers, and the accuracy of their narratives was amply confirmed by Mr. John Tyas, the representative of the _Times_, whom blundering “Jo” Nadin had taken into custody as one of the dreaded conspirators. The effect was to rouse a storm of indignation before which even the obtuse magistrates quailed. On the 19th, a hole-and-corner meeting was held in their interests at the Star Inn, when thanks were awarded to the justices and the yeomanry. This was responded to by a protest signed by 4,800 of the merchants, manufacturers, and others of the “respectable classes,” in which the meeting just mentioned was described as a private one, and those who had thus falsely claimed to speak for Manchester were invited to call a public meeting. On the 27th, Lord Sidmouth conveyed the thanks of the Prince Regent to the magistrates and military “for their prompt, decisive, and efficient measures for the preservation of the public peace.” Mr. Hay and his friends had need of sympathy, for they were the objects of general execration. Meetings all over the kingdom were held, at which their sanguinary interference with the right of public meeting was denounced. The sympathy felt with the working men reformers was not confined to one class. The Duke of Hamilton subscribed to the fund for the relief of the sufferers. Earl Fitzwilliam was dismissed from his post of Lord Lieutenant of the West Riding for his energetic protest against Peterloo. Sir Francis Burdett made a still more vigorous protest, and his letter to the electors of Westminster led to his imprisonment for three months, and the infliction of a fine of £2,000. Shelley, writing to Peacock, exclaims, “What an infernal business this is of Manchester! What is to be done?” What he did was to write his “Mask of Anarchy,” in which he made a call to the nation:—

“Rise like lions after slumber,
In unvanquishable number;
Shake your chains to earth like dew,
Which in sleep had fallen on you;
Ye are many—they are few.”

The effect of Peterloo was to bring forth a greater disposition to united action between the middle and the working classes on the reform question. The authorities on their side strained the law to crush out the reformers. An inquest was opened as to the death of John Lees, who died from the wounds he had received on the field. The object of the coroner was to avoid an unfavourable verdict, and this he accomplished first by not putting in an appearance at all, and then by frequent adjournments, so that the inquest, which opened 8th September, continued until December, and was never concluded. When Parliament met in November, Earl Grey moved an amendment to the Address in which the Manchester massacre was denounced as illegal and unconstitutional, but this was defeated by a large majority, as was a similar motion in the House of Commons. Sidmouth carried the series of coercive measures known as the “Six Acts,” and the powers of reaction were in full triumph. Several efforts were made, but in vain, to bring the assailants of the meeting to justice, and even as late as 1822 an unsuccessful action was brought against Captain Birley and three others of the yeomanry by one whom they had cut down.

Whilst the reformers were thus baffled in their endeavours to obtain justice, the partisan magistrates and judges made short work of those who fell into their power. Hunt and others who were arrested at Peterloo were sent to Lancaster, and the trial was removed to York. It was so plain that the Peterloo meeting was not illegal in itself, that every effort was made to connect it with previous drillings on White Moss, where a spy named Murray had been beaten by some of the reformers assembled there. The banners, one of which had on it the words, “Equal Representation or Death,” and others inscribed “No Corn Laws,” “No Boroughmongers,” were also made the most of. Five of the accused were acquitted, but Hunt, Johnson, Knight, Healey, and Bamford were found guilty of seditious conspiracy. Hunt received sentence of two years’ imprisonment, whilst Bamford and the others were condemned to a year’s imprisonment. Johnson was refused permission to visit, even in the custody of an officer, the deathbed of his wife. The Government had soon an opportunity of rewarding the Rev. Mr. Hay, and his appointment soon after Peterloo to the rich living of Rochdale increased the popular hatred which pursued him to the grave. An epigram of the time reads:—

“Hay making at Christmas, 15th January, 1820.
Well may the men of Rochdale say
That certain trades alone are thriving;
Who pay so high a price for _Hay_?
Whose _butcher_ gets so good a living!”

There was no perceptible change in the position of the reform question for some years. The House of Commons was in the hands of the boroughmongers, and the traffic in seats was notorious. Whilst Manchester was unrepresented, there were 200 members returned by 100 boroughs, whose united population was less than that of Manchester alone. In 1827, Manchester was fluttered by the prospect of a seat in Parliament being assigned to it. Penrhyn was then in bad odour for its corruption, and Lord John Russell gave notice that if it were disfranchised he would move that its power of electing two members should be transferred to Manchester. A meeting convened by persons of all parties was held in the still unplastered room of what is now the Old Town Hall. Tories like Mr. H. H. Birley and Mr. Benjamin Braidley were joined with Radicals and Whigs like Mr. Thomas Potter, Mr. G. W. Wood, Mr. John Shuttleworth, and Mr. F. R. Atkinson to petition for representation. This was all the more necessary since a member of the House of Commons, Mr. Legh Keck, strenuously denied that the great towns desired to have representatives in Parliament. The history of the bill was curious. It passed the Commons, and the second reading in the Lords was fixed for 23rd June. Lord Lyndhurst held that as there were 420 voters and only fourteen were shown to have been bribed, the further progress of the measure should be resisted. Lord de Dunstanville, who had property in the neighbourhood, naturally concurred. Lord Eldon had not known “a case so utterly destitute of foundation.” Lord Dacre declared that as the object of the bill was to transfer the franchise from the landed to the commercial interest he should oppose it. The then Marquis of Salisbury called attention to the preamble of the bill, which ran—“Whereas, on account of the great wealth and population of Manchester, it is expedient that it should return burgesses to Parliament.” “Now,” said the noble Lord, “in that single sentence were embodied all the wildest doctrines of reform. If there were no other ground for opposition he should oppose this bill on that ground alone. As no other noble lord had objected to the bill on that ground he had determined to enter his protest against such doctrines being smuggled into a bill to ruin the constitution.” In face of this Tory opposition the bill was withdrawn. A town’s meeting was held at Manchester in February, 1830, when Mr. John Brooks exhibited a list of bad debts for the year 1829, amounting to £11,180, and of bad debts in January-February, 1830, to the extent of £981. Mr. Prentice, Mr. Elijah Dixon, and others who spoke referred to the constitution of Parliament as the cause why no attempt was made to remedy the existing distress. In Parliament Lord John Russell vainly endeavoured to obtain hearing for a proposal to give Birmingham, Manchester, and Leeds representatives; O’Connell tried to bring in a bill for universal suffrage, triennial parliaments, and the ballot. Lord John Russell moved two resolutions in favour of an increased number of representatives, and for the additional ones being given to the large towns and populous counties. Both proposals were rejected by large majorities.

The death of George IV. on the 26th June, 1830, may be taken as the landmark between the old and the new era. The French revolution of July gave an impetus to the desire for reform at home. The Boroughreeve of Manchester declined to call a meeting of the inhabitants to congratulate the French people on the reconquest of their liberty, but the meeting was held in spite of official opposition, and Mr. Mark Philips, Mr. Alexander Kay, and Mr. J. C Dyer were appointed a deputation to convey the address then adopted to Paris. The need for reform at home was insisted upon by Mr. Richard Potter, Mr. R. H. Greg, Mr. G. Hadfield, and other speakers. The reformers were staggered when Parliament met in November by the language of the Duke of Wellington, who said that “he had never heard or read of any measure up to the present moment which could in any degree satisfy his mind that the state of the representation could be improved or be rendered more satisfactory to the country at large than at the present time. He was fully convinced that the country possessed at the present moment a Legislature which answered all the good purposes of legislation, and this to a greater degree than any Legislature ever answered in any country whatever.... He was not only not prepared, but he would at once declare that, so far as he was concerned, as long as he held any station in the Government of the country, he should always feel it to be his duty to resist such measures when proposed by others.” The Duke next advised the King that it would be unsafe to trust himself in the city. On the 15th, the Duke was defeated and resigned, and Earl Grey took his place pledged to peace, retrenchment, and reform.

In Manchester the year was remarkable for the opening of the Manchester and Liverpool Railway, and the formation of a Political Union very much on the plan of that of Birmingham. This association was at first mainly composed of shopkeepers and working men, but was afterwards joined by representatives of all classes. Amongst the artisan members was Mr. Rowland Detrosier, a self-taught workman, remarkable for the extent of his intellectual acquirements and for his great oratorical powers. An early death cut short a career that promised the highest distinction. In January, 1831, a requisition was presented to the Boroughreeve and constables asking them to call a meeting to petition for reform. They declined because the town was in an excited state. A great meeting was, however, held on the 20th, and the petition adopted. On the 31st a petition for representation was adopted at a town’s meeting in Salford. When Lord John introduced the bill on the 1st of March he put the case of the great towns very neatly. “Our opponents say our ancestors gave Old Sarum representatives, therefore we should give Old Sarum representatives. We say our ancestors gave Old Sarum representatives because it was a large town; therefore we give representatives to Manchester, which is a large town.” Henry Hunt, who spoke on the second day of the debate, vindicated the reform agitation in which he had taken part, and, in spite of attempts to drown his voice, denounced “the drunken and infuriated yeomanry” who had slaughtered the people in 1819 for doing that which the Government was then doing—advocating the propriety of Parliamentary reform. A town’s meeting was held in Manchester on the 8th March to thank the Ministry for the introduction of the bill. This was the first gathering of the kind that had ever been convened by the authorities. In the House of Commons the second reading was carried by a majority of one. In the Committee stage there was a long fight, and on their proposal to reduce the number of members, the Government were put in a minority of eight. The King, although regarded by the public as a reformer, was really in great dread of the bill, and had refused to dissolve until stung by some language used in the Lords. “What did they dare to meddle with the prerogative?” he exclaimed, and then declared that he would go down to dissolve the House in a hackney coach if necessary. He went down. “Turn the rogues out, your Majesty,” was the advice of a rough sailor who rushed from the crowd to the side of the carriage. He gave voice to the feeling of the nation. Parliament was dissolved, and the Tories strained every nerve to secure a victory at the polls. The Duke of Northumberland alone is said to have subscribed £100,000 to their election fund. But the nation at large saw that the choice lay between reform and revolution, and a great majority of the counties and free boroughs returned candidates who were pledged to support the bill. The bill was re-introduced, and passed the second reading on July 7th by a majority of 136. Next day “Orator” Hunt presented a petition from 194,000 working people of Manchester and the district in favour of universal suffrage, annual parliaments, and vote by ballot. When the question of enfranchisement came up, some members argued that as Manchester was to have two members, there was no need to give one to Salford. The bill was introduced on the 25th of June, but the tactics of delay were so well observed that the third reading was not reached until September 22nd. That very day there was a town’s meeting in Manchester, when Mr. James Burt, the Boroughreeve, again presided. The speakers included Mr. Richard Potter, Mr. Mark Philips, Mr. R. H. Greg, Mr. G. Hadfield, and others. The only dissentient was a working man, who was, however, ready to accept the bill as a stepping-stone to something better. A similar meeting was held in Salford in the following week. The bill was brought into the House of Lords on the 3rd of October, and its rejection was moved by the Earl of Wharncliffe. The debate was continued until the 8th, when the votes for the bill were 158, against 199. The majority of 41 included a contingent of 21 Tory bishops, on whose behalf the then Archbishop of Canterbury made the hypocritical declaration “that to a temperate and safe reform he would offer no objections.” The prelates have since learned more sense.

On the 12th October there was an immense gathering in Manchester. The first intention was to hold a meeting in the then Riding School in Lower Mosley Street, which would hold about 4,000 persons. The street was, however, so full of eager candidates for admission that it was decided to hold the meeting in the open-air at Campfield. The Boroughreeve, not feeling equal to the control of such a gathering, Mr. (afterwards Sir) Thomas Potter presided over this meeting of one hundred thousand persons. The temper of the people was bitterly hostile to the Lords. When Mr. Shuttleworth spoke of the necessity of creating fresh peers, the response was, “No more peers; we’ve had enough of them.” One of the Radicals, Mr. R. J. Richardson, moved an amendment asking the King to issue writs to populous boroughs, to withhold them from rotten boroughs, to create no new peers, but to take such other measures as would ensure a bill for universal suffrage, annual parliaments, and vote by ballot. This was carried by an enormous majority, and the vast assembly then peaceably dispersed. At Bristol and other places there were disastrous riots. In Manchester the influence of the Political Union and the good sense of the people generally, who were willing to accept the bill as a substantial instalment of reform, prevented any outbreak. Parliament was prorogued until December 6th. The second bill was introduced on the 12th, and the second reading was carried in the early hours of Sunday morning, December 18th, by a majority of 162 in a House of 486. The third reading was not reached until March 19th, when 355 voted for and 239 against. The great question now was, “What will the Lords do?” It soon became apparent that they would mutilate the bill. On a motion by Lord Lyndhurst, the Ministry found themselves in a minority of 35. The King’s fears had been increased by the riots, and he refused Earl Grey the power to create such fresh peers as would give him a majority. The Ministry resigned, and the Duke of Wellington, as the leader of the Tories, was “sent for” on the 9th of May. The news reached Manchester by seven o’clock on the following morning, and the excitement was intense. Business was suspended, and groups of citizens were seen discussing the gravity of the situation. The Reform Committee had sat daily at the Town Hall since the previous September, and thither flocked the friends of reform. On the motion of Mr. Absolom Watkin, a petition to the Commons was adopted, calling upon them to refuse to vote any supplies until the bill was passed. The petition was not placed for signature until nearly three o’clock, but by six it had received 24,000 signatures, and Mr. Richard Potter, Mr. John Fielden, and Mr. John Shuttleworth set off in a chaise to take it to London. They departed amidst the cheers of the multitude, and had an enthusiastic greeting at Leek, Derby, Northampton, and other places on the road. The journey was accomplished in seventeen hours. As they approached London they gave reports of the meeting and copies of the petition to the passengers of the coaches on the road, and the news spread like wildfire through the country. The petition was presented to the House that same night by Mr. John Wood, M.P. for Preston. This was the first call to the Commons to stop supplies until reform was obtained, and it had quickly many echoes.

Peterloo was the place selected for an open-air meeting on the 14th. Mr. C. J. S. Walker, the son of the man whose house had been attacked by the Tories of 1792, was called to the chair, and the venerable Robert Philips, a veteran of ’92, moved the first resolution. Mr. Elijah Dixon and Mr. Joseph Johnson, who had been imprisoned after Peterloo, were amongst the speakers. A town’s meeting was held in Salford, and another in Chorlton. Throughout the country the same sentiment prevailed, and it was said that the Duke of Wellington would try to form a Ministry that should deal with reform. The announcement was received with such a storm of indignation that even the victor of Waterloo was cowed. The King had to recall Earl Grey, but to avoid the creation of fresh peers a sufficient number of the Lords abstained from the divisions, and the Reform Bill became law on the 7th of June, 1832. The general joy found expression in a grand procession of the authorities and trade societies of Manchester and Salford on the 9th of August. In the long debates on the Reform Bill nothing is more remarkable than the distrust of the people felt by the opponents of reform. There was a prophetic instinct in Earl Grey’s reply to a sneer of the Earl of Dudley. “The Earl of Dudley,” said Earl Grey, “will live to learn a lesson from the statesmen of Birmingham and the philanthropists of Manchester.”

The Folk-Lore of Lancashire.

Folk-lore is a word introduced into the English language by the late Mr. W. J. Thorns to designate the superstitions, observances, sayings, traditions, and beliefs of the people; the collecting and systematic arrangement of which is now recognised as an important section of the science of comparative mythology. Folk-lore treats

“Of witching rhymes
And evil spirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb’d the widow, and devour’d
The orphan’s portion; of unquiet souls
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life concealed; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains and wave
The torch of Hell around the murderer’s bed.”

It takes cognisance of all the quaint notions connected with the varying seasons of the year and epochs of human life; of all the beliefs in futurity and supernatural agencies which are not sanctioned by religion; of the fireside story; of the milk-maid’s song and the mother’s lullaby; in short, of all the remains of ancient religion, history, science, and philosophy which have been preserved to the present day in the conservative memory and affection of the people. The old songs of the peasantry, the grandam’s fairy tales, the children’s rhymes, the auguries and omens of the ignorant and least educated portion of the community might seem at first sight to be unworthy of the serious attention of the antiquary. But experience has shown that these humble materials afford really important data for the student of mythology and anthropology. Customs, which once formed part of the ceremonial of creeds outworn, survive amongst European nations, as an evidence of their pre-Christian belief. The characters of the nursery tales are credited with the performance of deeds once attributed to mighty gods or heroes. The collation of these narratives enables us to remove some myths from the historic page. In a similar manner the examination of popular superstitions throws light upon the various systems of mythology. There is a great similarity noticeable in the folk-lore of different nations, even those which are most remote. Thus the legend narrated by Herodotus of Rhampsinitus is found to have been popular with the Norse children; and while this is the case with stories which do not appear to have any allegorical meaning, it is still more so with regard to those conceptions which we term myths. Each historic nation has emerged from a savage condition, more or less profound, and its folk-lore is merely fragmentary recollections of its past stages, often in the form of ceremonials dictated by principles no longer forming the ordinary rule of action, or even directly opposed to it. And as the ideas of savages are limited in number, and derived mainly from the contemplation of natural phenomena likely to strike each observer in the same manner, it ceases to be so great a matter of wonder that widely separated races of mankind should invent similar explanations to account for the wild or wonderful appearances which excited their awe and astonishment.

The literature of folk-lore has grown with great rapidity, and the foundation of the Folk-Lore Society greatly stimulated the study in this country. Mr. G. L. Gomme has defined folk-lore to be the science which treats of the survivals of archaic belief and custom in modern ages. His suggested classification shows the wide scope of the new science. The first branch, _Traditional Narratives_, includes folk-tales, hero-tales, ballads and songs, and place-legends. Under _Traditional Customs_ he includes local customs, festivals, customs, ceremonial customs, and games. The third division, _Superstitions and Beliefs_, includes witchcraft, astrology, and superstitious practices and fancies. The last department, _Folk-speech_, covers popular sayings, popular nomenclature, proverbs, jingle-rhymes, riddles, etc.

The literature of the folk-lore of Lancashire is somewhat extensive, for references to popular superstitions and customs abound in the writings of Edwin Waugh, Ben Brierley, and the many writers who have illustrated the dialect of the county, and especially of its south-western portion. The late Mr. John Roby, whose “Traditions of Lancashire” first appeared in 1829, was a diligent collector of local legends, but his object was purely literary, and accordingly his book must be used cautiously, though it certainly contains important data. The “Lancashire Dialect Glossary” of Messrs. Nodal and Milner contains many references to popular customs. There are also many articles in _Notes and Queries_ the _Palatine Note-Book_, _Local Gleanings_, _Manchester City News Notes and Queries_, _Manchester Guardian Notes and Queries_, and other literary and archæological periodicals. The principal authorities on the subject are Messrs. John Harland and T. T. Wilkinson, whose “Lancashire Folk-lore” appeared in 1867, followed by “Lancashire Legends” in 1873. These have been several times reprinted. Mr. Charles Hardwick, in 1872, published a volume, the wide sweep of which is shown by the title, “Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-lore, chiefly Lancashire and the North of England, their affinity to others in widely distributed localities, and their Eastern origin and mythical significance.” Then Mr. James Bowker has written “The Goblin Stories of Lancashire.” Harland’s “Lancashire Ballads” should also be consulted, nor must the publications of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire and of the Lancashire and Cheshire Antiquarian Society be neglected.

Some may be inclined to ask, “Is there any folk-lore left?” Certainly during the present age the rapid diffusion of knowledge has happily driven forth much antique superstition; but there is a temptation to exaggerate the extent of the effects which have thus been produced. In Lancashire, where we might have expected to find that the noise of the steam-engine had frightened away both the fairies and the queen of the May, and the spread of knowledge to have destroyed all faith in spells and charms, interesting articles of folk-lore have been recorded as either still surviving, or as having only recently become obsolete. Many observances are connected with particular seasons of the year. Thus on New Year’s Day there is a firm belief that if a light-haired person “let in” the New Year, a twelve month of ill-luck will be the result, and that, on the contrary, dark persons will bring with them a year of good fortune. So Pan-cake Tuesday, Simnel Sunday, Easter, May Day, Christmas, etc., have each their special customs still observed in Lancashire, though in many cases so shorn of their ancient glories as to be little more than relics of former greatness.

The habit of attaching a symbolic importance, even to the most trifling occurrences, is strikingly illustrated in the following quotations from Harland and Wilkinson:—“Most grandmothers will explain, ‘God bless you!’ when they hear a child sneeze, and they sum up the philosophy of the subject with the following lines, which used to delight the writer in the days of his childhood:—

‘Sneeze on a Monday, you sneeze for danger;
Sneeze on a Tuesday, you kiss a stranger;
Sneeze on a Wednesday, you sneeze for a letter;
Sneeze on a Thursday, for something better;
Sneeze on a Friday, you sneeze for sorrow;
Sneeze on a Saturday, your sweetheart to-morrow;
Sneeze on a Sunday, your safety seek,
The Devil will have you the whole of the week.’”

This is certainly a comprehensive epitome of the entire philosophy of sneezing.

The finger-nails of a baby should be bitten shorter. If they are cut, the child will become “sharp fingered”—_i.e._, thievish.

As a specimen of the folk-tale, we may take that of the “Three Tasks.” The inhabitants of Cockerham, having made up their minds that the devil had been showing an unreasonable partiality to their village, gave the schoolmaster the not very pleasant task of expelling the Prince of Darkness from their midst. The man of letters, having raised the foul fiend, appointed him three tasks; if he failed to accomplish them he was never to appear again at Cockerham, but if he succeeded in their performance, the pedagogue became his prey. The two first tasks were soon done, but the third, the fatal, mystic third—

“Now make me, dear sir, a rope of yon sand,
Which will bear washing in Cocker, and not lose a strand”—

proved too much even for the ingenuity of the Father of Evil, and if he stuck to his bargain Cockerham must be the happiest place on earth! This legend of the Three Tasks is not confined to Lancashire, but is also narrated in connection with Merton Sands, Cheshire, and a Cornish version forms the subject of “Featherstone’s Doom,” one of the Rev. R. S. Hawker’s wildest lyrics. Another curious story is that which says that the parochial church of Burnley was originally intended to be built on the site occupied by the old Saxon Cross in Godly Lane; “but however much the masons might have built during the day, both stones and scaffolding were invariably found where the church now stands on their coming to work next morning.” This legend is told also of Rochdale, Winwick, Samlesbury, Over, Saddleworth, Churchdown, and many other churches.

A winding-sheet in the candle, spilling the salt, crossing knives, and various other trifles, are omens of evil to thousands even at this day. Should one of your children fall sick when on a visit to a friend’s house, it is held to be sure to entail bad luck on that family for the rest of the year, if you stay over New Year’s Day. Persons have been known to travel sixty miles with a sick child, rather than run the risk. A flake of soot on the bars of the grate is said to indicate the approach of a stranger; a bright spark on the wick of a candle, or a long piece of stalk in the tea-cup, betokens a similar event. When the fire burns briskly some lover smirks or is good-humoured. A cinder thrown out of the fire by a jet of gas from burning coals is looked upon as a coffin if its hollow be long; as a purse of gold if the cavity be round. Crickets in houses are said to indicate good fortune, but should they forsake the chimney corner, it is a sure sign of coming misfortune.

By this time the mixture of races in Lancashire is so complete that it is not easy to gather at first hand fresh data as to indigenous superstitions. This is more especially the case in the populous districts, where immigrants from every part of the United Kingdom and from abroad have been attracted by the great industries of the County Palatine. These influxes have necessarily had their influence upon the population and its beliefs. There is the danger of mistaking for a genuine product of the Lancashire soil what is merely an exotic. This danger exists as to oral tradition, but is still greater with regard to what has become literature. It will be well to illustrate this by a concrete example. In the pleasant volume of “Poems and Songs” by Thomas Newbigging there is a poem entitled “The Story of Old Gamul,” narrating as a Rossendale tradition one of those strange legends which are links in the history of fiction. According to Mr. Newbigging’s story, old Gamul had the enmity of but one man—the keeper, who determined to work his destruction. This villain caused a pit to be dug, and cunningly covered over with turf and branches. Thinking that the victim is already there, the keeper goes to the place and falls into it himself. Gamul soon after passes, and hearing a cry for help, lets down ropes, and pulls up, first a lion, then a serpent, then an ape, and last of all his enemy. The keeper invites Gamul to his house, and when he goes there, knocks him down with a club, and casts him forth as dead. Gamul, however, recovers, and when next he goes to the wood, he is aided in his labour by the ape, the serpent brings him “the adder’s magic stone,” and the lion shows him a cave full of treasure.

“That lucky night went Gamul home,
The richest wight in Christendom.”

The keeper finally hangs himself for vexation, and the old woodman becomes Sir Gamul.

“Nor e’er were turned the homeless poor
Unfriended from the open door.”

A work by a German named Massenius was published at Cologne in 1657. It was entitled “Palæstra Dramatica,” and contained, amongst other curious narratives, one of a certain Signor Vitalis, who fell into a pit in which a lion, a monkey, and a serpent had also fallen. They were all rescued by an honest countryman, Massaccio, to whom Vitalis promised a marriage-dower and his palace. Once safe, he denies all knowledge of his deliverer. The beasts prove more grateful, but a gem which is given to the peasant by the serpent leads to a suspicion that he has stolen it. At the trial Vitalis again denies him, but is overwhelmed with confusion when the beasts enter the court and force from him an involuntary confession. A translation of this story appeared in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ for March, 1835. The fable was, however, not invented by Massenius, for in a slightly different form it occurs in the “Gesta Romanorum,” that famous collection of mediæval stories. It also attracted the notice of Gower, and is told in the “Confessio Amantis,” in this the lion is omitted. Matthew Paris gives it as an apologue told by Richard of the Lion Heart. Finally it is found in that storehouse of Eastern legend, the _Calilah u Dimnah_. This was translated by Doni into Italian, and an English rendering of his version appeared in 1570. Massenius may have obtained the story either from the “Gesta,” or from this book of Doni. It is very probable that many other versions exist. But does Mr. Newbigging’s poem really represent a Lancashire tradition? To solve this doubt the readiest way was to put the question to him. The following is his reply:—“With some differences my ‘reverend Grannie’ used to relate this story to amuse my childhood. I cannot help smiling when I look back and remember the time when, if some casualty, such as an unusually wet night, or a ‘hawket heel,’ or any of the thousand and one ills attendant on boyhood, kept me chained to the fireside, my invariable petition was, ‘Grannie! gie’s auld Guy!’ (she gave the hero’s name as Guy, not Gamul, as I have given it) and forthwith ‘Auld Guy’ was related for the fiftieth time by the same patient lips, and to the same eager listener. I had never been able, though I had looked long and carefully, to find anything like it in print. My good grandam (who was a rare old Scotch woman, full of old-world lore) heard the story from her father, and she believed that he had read it in some old book.”

Doubtless this ancestor of Mr. Newbigging’s read the story in one of the many editions of the “Gesta Romanorum,” which was for centuries a favourite story-book. The name of Guido clearly indicates the source. It is a striking instance of the passage of literature into legend. In fifty years from now Mr. Newbigging’s poem would be considered no light proof of the existence of a Lancashire variant of the story; yet, as we have just learned, it has no connection with Rossendale, but came from Scotland, and even then was a book tale, and not a genuine legend. This instance will not have been cited in vain if it warns any too enthusiastic student “folk-lorist” of the pitfalls that beset his path.

We can only indicate the varied interest of Lancashire folk-lore by two or three examples. Let us take a phrase which may still be heard occasionally, “Aw’m coming too, like th’ Clegg Ho’ Boggart.” This is an allusion to a story told of more than one old house in the county. The inmates are perplexed and worried by the exploits of a tricksy spirit that upsets the furniture, makes strange noises, and generally renders everyone uncomfortable. They decide to remove, but when the furniture is on the cart, the “boggart” is heard to exclaim, “I’m going too,” whereupon they decide to remain and endure as best they may the unwelcome companionship of their household spirit. Now this story of the “flitting boggart” is a widespread one. When Professor Worsaae was in England, he surprised a Lancashire friend by narrating a Scandinavian legend which is practically identical. “_See i dag flitter vi_,” were the words of the Danish brownie. The version given by Mr. Roby appears to be merely a literary appropriation of a Yorkshire story, but the widespread character of the tale is undoubted. Tennyson is familiar with it, and has thus put it into verse:—

“... his house, for so they say,
Was haunted with a jolly ghost, that shook
The curtains, whined in lobbies, tapt at doors,
And rummaged like a rat: no servant stay’d:
The farmer vext packs up his beds and chairs,
And all his household stuff; and with his boy
Betwixt his knees, his wife upon the tilt,
Sets out, and meets a friend who hails him, ‘What!
You’re flitting!’ ‘Yes, we’re flitting,’ says the ghost
(For they had pack’d the thing among the beds).
‘Oh well,’ says he, ‘you flitting with us too,—
Jack, turn the horses’ heads, and home again.’”

The late Mr. Charles Hardwick thought that the flitting boggart was of Scandinavian origin, and the evidence seemed strong enough, but there is evidence that he is known in Italy. In that charming book by Janet Ross, “The Land of Manfred,” there is this interesting bit of folk-lore:—“I observed that some of the flock the old shepherd was guarding looked tired and hung their heads wearily. I asked whether they were ill, and he answered, ‘No; but I must get rid of them, because the Laùro has taken an antipathy to them.’ On further inquiry, he told me that the Laùro was a little man, only thirty centimetres high, always dressed in velvet, and wearing a Calabrese hat with a feather stuck into it. The Laùro is most capricious: to some who ask him for money he gives a sackful of broken potsherds; to others who ask for sand he gives old coins. He took a particular dislike to a cousin of the old shepherd’s, sitting on her chest at night and giving her terrible dreams. At last she was so worried by the Laùro that she determined to leave her house. All the household goods and chattels were on the cart; nothing was left but an old broom, and when the goodwife went to fetch it the Laùro suddenly appeared, saying, ‘I’ll take that; let us be off to the new house.’ His antipathies or likings are unaccountable; he will steal the corn from one horse or mule to give it to another, twist up their manes and tails in a fantastic way, or shave them in queer patterns. The Laùro would not allow the sheep I had asked about to rest at night, and any animal he hated had to be sold.”

It may, of course, be said that the flitting boggart went to Taranto with Guiscard’s Normans in the eleventh century, but it is equally probable that the Lancashire weaver and the Italian peasant have each inherited their belief from a common and an earlier source.

The devil occupies a conspicuous place in folk-lore, but he is not the fallen angel, dark, gloomy, and majestic whom Milton drew, nor is he the accomplished Mephistophiles, the spirit that denies, whom Goethe has painted. The devil of folk-lore is malignant but stupid, and oftener the dupe of humanity than the slayer of souls. This is evident in the story of the devil’s task of making a rope of sand already named, and is equally clear in the story of the tailor who made a wager with the devil that he would beat him at a sewing match. He succeeded by giving the Evil One a needle with a thread in it so long that for every stitch the demon had to fly all round the room, whilst the tailor’s was only of the normal length. The devil of folk-lore is more like Pan and the satyrs, than he is like the Adversary who tempted Job. But _de mortuis nil nisi honum_, and _if_—there is much virtue in an _if_—if the devil is drowned let him rest in peace.