Chapter II: Appendix: 375 (1)

WEEP NO MORE, WOFUL SHEPHERDS, WEEP NO MORE,
FOR LYCIDAS YOUR SORROW IS NOT DEAD,
SUNK THOUGH HE BE BENEATH THE WATERY FLOOR;
SO SINKS THE DAY-STAR IN THE OCEAN BED,
AND YET ANON REPAIRS HIS DROOPING HEAD,
AND TRICKS HIS BEAMS, AND WITH NEW-SPANGLED ORE
FLAMES IN THE FOREHEAD OF THE MORNING SKY;
SO LYCIDAS SUNK LOW, BUT MOUNTED HIGH,
THROUGH THE DEAR MIGHT OF HIM THAT WALK'D THE WAVES,
WHERE OTHER GROVES, AND OTHER STREAMS ALONG,
WITH NECTAR PURE HIS OOZY LOCKS HE LAVES,
AND HEARS THE UNEXPRESSIVE NUPTIAL SONG,
IN THE BLEST KINGDOMS MEEK OF JOY AND LOVE.
THERE ENTERTAIN HIM ALL THE SAINTS ABOVE,
IN SOLEMN TROOPS AND SWEET SOCIETIES,
THAT SING, AND SINGING IN THEIR GLORY MOVE,
AND WIPE THE TEARS FOR EVER FROM HIS EYES.

MILTON.

SKETCH

OF

THE LITERARY LIFE AND CHARACTER

OF

JOHN ROBY.

When an author's name is chiefly known by a work connected with any particular locality, our natural expectations are gratified in finding that personal or family associations drew his attention to the subject. This was the case with the author of "The Traditions of Lancashire." Born in a neighbourhood where the faint legends of the olden time were yet floating, he himself belonged to the district whose memorials he perpetuated. He was attached to his native county, proud of her wild scenery, of her old historic associations, and of the energetic, well-defined character of her sons. His family name was not unknown in her annals. One of his ancestors, Captain Roby, who was born in an old mansion, long since pulled down, in the township of Roby, near Liverpool, was distinguished by his courage and gallant conduct during the civil wars of the seventeenth century, at the time when the north was the scene of operations.

JOHN ROBY was born at Wigan, the 5th of January 1793. From his father, NEHEMIAH ROBY, who was for many years master of the grammar-school at Haigh, he inherited a fine constitution and unbending principles of honour and integrity. From the family of his mother, MARY ASPULL, he derived the quick impressible temperament of genius and that love of humour which so conspicuously marks the Lancashire character.

Destitute of home companions of his own age, being by many years the youngest of the family, he often suffered from an oppressive sense of loneliness. One of his strongest characteristics was an intense yearning for sympathy, however concealed in after-life, from the general eye, by the exuberance of his natural spirits. This led him to seek companionship with inanimate things, which he invested with a sympathetic existence. A reflected light proceeding from the surface of water in a butt at the back of the house, which frequently played on the upper wall of the staircase, was one of these friendly objects. Ignorant of the cause, he would watch for its coming, and sit for hours in communion with the strange and beautiful appearance. It was to him a fair and mysterious visitant, who came in pure benevolence to cheer his solitude. Indicative of the dramatic bent of his mind was another of his resources. He was accustomed to cut out little paper figures of men and women, which he would carry to bed and place under his pillow. As soon as the light was withdrawn he delighted himself in conversations with his paper friends, losing his sense of loneliness in their ideal companionship.

Another thing contributed to deepen his unsatisfied longing for sympathy. His father revered the sterner virtues, and sacrificed to them whatever he apprehended might tend to enervate his son's character. In conformity with this theory of training, even the maternal kiss was forbidden. Only once did he remember feeling the soft pressure of his mother's lips on his cheek, though frequently and fervently did he long to feel it again. In after-life, even down to its close, when rejoicing in the sunshine of confiding and playful affection, he would refer with tears in his eyes to the lonely and unfondled years of childhood. For the sake of both, deeply was it to be regretted, that a mother's love of her latest born, one of the strongest of human affections, should be denied its natural expression, repressed as a duty, till it was subdued and its very existence scarcely suspected.

His thirst for knowledge was early and strongly manifested. If his inquiries were neglected or evaded, he would insist on an intelligible reply. Having been once told, not to be so inquisitive, "'Inquisitive' wants to know" was ever after his form of urgent appeal. Characteristic of this disposition was an incident which occurred when he was a child in petticoats. One fine afternoon 'Inquisitive' was seated in a low chair by his mother's side, conning his lesson. He loved not a task from which he gained no idea; the spelling of _t-h-e_, _the_, _f-o-r_, _for_, was wearisome, and, as an expedient to rid himself of it, he feigned sleep: his father entering the room remarked, "John is asleep: this warm afternoon has made him drowsy." The mother knew the pranks of childhood, and quietly replied, "He is only sleeping dog's sleep." There was a new idea: up started the little head in a moment with the inquiry, "What is dog's sleep, mother?" Even at that early age, when a question suggested itself, he could not rest till he had arrived at a satisfactory answer; often and long would he ponder over some little thing that puzzled him, and on which he could gain no information from others beyond the unsatisfactory reply "Why, _so it is_."

As he grew up into boyhood surrounded by objects to which tradition had assigned her marvellous stories, they sank silently into his companionless and sensitive spirit. In his immediate vicinity were Haigh Hall, and Mab's Cross, the scenes of Lady Mabel's sufferings and penance--the subject of one of his earliest tales. Almost within sight of the windows through which, with the dreamy gaze of childhood, he first looked on earth and sky, lay the fine range of hills of which Rivington Pike is a spur. Never will be forgotten the pleasure with which, fifty years afterwards, during the last summer of his life, when travelling past that neighbourhood, he pointed out the roof and chimneys of his birthplace, the well-remembered hills as they lay with the beautiful light of the afternoon sun upon them, Hoghton Tower crowning its woody steep, and other spots at once the haunts of early days and the scenes of the legends he afterwards so beautifully re-imbodied.

His various talents were very early called forth. While yet a child he was accustomed, at first occasionally, and then regularly, to take the organ at the Countess of Huntingdon's Chapel, Wigan, during the Sunday service. His ear was exquisitely true, and his voice also excellent; but, used too freely at the period of its change, it never afterwards fully regained its tone.

His first attempt at drawing was made when he was a very little fellow. A lady with whom he was a special favourite--Miss Leigh, sister of the late Sir Robert Holt Leigh--had one day, to his great delight, been showing him some sketches, when, after he had looked at them, she placed the drawing of a cow before him, saying,

"Now cannot you draw that cow?"

"Oh, no! I never did such a thing," was his reply;

"Try," her wise rejoinder.

With some persuasion the volatile child was induced to attempt the task. The pencil was poised--his attention concentrated on the subject--his hand began to follow the eye, and with oft-repeated delight he beheld the form grow rapidly under his touch; so that whether his teacher or himself was the more pleased, it would be difficult to say. This was a precious lesson to him, which he did not forget. It was so firmly rooted, that, in after-life, he never doubted success in anything he thought proper to attempt. Years after, in 1849, when writing to a friend whom he wished to encourage to mental effort, he referred to this time, when the little word "Try" was the "Open Sesame" of the "Arabian Nights" to him.

He cared little for ordinary companions, never so happy as when he could steal away from them, into the company of such of the other sex as were much older than himself, and listen for hours to song and music. He always considered he was more indebted for the formation of his habits and the development of his character and talents, as in the instance above, to woman's discriminating encouragement, than to anything else; and, for weal or for woe, hers was an influence to which he was ever peculiarly sensitive.

The education he received appears to have been rather desultory. The dry and spiritless mode of conveying instruction in those days had neither attractions for his taste, nor power over his mind. As he advanced into youth, and "macadamised his own road," various branches of the natural sciences, history, antiquities, and the fine arts, nearly absorbed his attention. A course of mathematical study would probably have been the best discipline for him at this time, as a balance to the spontaneous development of his imagination. He afterwards pursued it with great enjoyment, though to no considerable extent; and, late in life, he proposed a resumption of the study to the companion of his pursuits--one of the many plans so suddenly and so mournfully cut short.

When he entered on life, and the duties of his profession, that of a banker, early left him master of many leisure hours, the use of the pencil was a favourite recreation. His artistic perceptions must have been very early developed. He was acquainted with a gentleman a professed virtuoso, and a collector of those fine old drawings and sketches which are the first rough thoughts of the painter, or the playful offspring of his lighter moments. In an unpublished MS. he thus describes in the third person his own first introduction to the beauties of the old masters:--

"A new faculty seemed dawning upon him. He felt their glorious power exalting, refining, the sense by the wondrous potency of art; rendering the forms and hues seen by the imagination visible to the bodily as to the mental eye; and expressing in a tangible shape what had before existed only in the hidden recesses of the soul. He saw for the first time a few of the random sketches, the first bright thoughts of these great men, struck out like sparks from the glowing embers of fancy. The fire and freedom of such rude scratches were pointed out; and he could see with a painter's eye the beauty of a line, the combination and the arrangement, the first shadowy thoughts of the artist emerging from chaos into form." That he possessed even then, to a considerable extent, the artist's power as well as his perception, may be inferred from an anecdote of those days which forms the conclusion of the passage:--

"The professor of _vertu_ was expatiating one day, to a group of bystanders, on the merits of some little gem of a drawing he had just purchased. He pointed out the beauties with great gusto, fully impressing his auditory with a sense of the profound knowledge and superiority of his own discrimination. The novice leaned over, and, young as he was, enjoyed the dissertation vastly. In a while he ventured to make a remark: the man of art turned round, and with a look of contempt, intended to extinguish the youthful aspirant, said, 'We don't allow you to be a judge, sir.' Abashed, he shrank back; but the wound rankled, and he determined to have lusty revenge. He sketched on paper, with great freedom and carelessness, the subject of an old etching, imitating as nearly as possible the style he had previously seen. By the judicious application of tobacco-juice, soot, bistre, ochre, and a little grease, so as to make the picture a perfect pattern of dirt,--a rent, a puncture, a piecing here and there, to show the care with which it had been preserved,--he succeeded in making, as he thought, a tolerable imitation, and with great glee gallanted off the prize to his preceptor. The connoisseur at once pronounced the few bold strokes, every one of which 'told,' to be those of a master; and his pupil had much difficulty in evading his inquiries, as to where he had met with it, and whether there were any more to be had." His success was complete; but neither love of triumph, nor gratified vanity, tempted him to divulge the secret, and thereby mortify his acquaintance: he was satisfied with the result of the experiment, nor did he ever after repeat it.

His first attempt at composition was called forth by a friend, who put into his hand a copy of a periodical which, at that time, offered prizes for the best essays on prescribed subjects, to be sent in by young persons under a specified age. It was suggested to him, that he should take one of the subjects, and see what he could make of it. He at first hesitated; but, recalling the magic power of the little word "TRY," he sat down to the task, and composed an essay:--"To show what obligations parents and children are under to tutors and governesses, and how far it is their duty, from gratitude and interest, to behave towards them with friendship and respect." It was considered worthy of the prize, as appears from a copy of Blair's Class-book,--in the fly-leaves of which the essay is preserved,--bearing in the customary gilt letters the inscription,

"PRESENTED TO MASTER JOHN ROBY, AGED FIFTEEN.
A REWARD OF MERIT."

Now fairly aware of his powers, to the pleasures of the pencil were added those of the pen. As might be expected, Poetry, Essay, Tale, were all tried, read at first to juvenile companions, as extracts he had met with. Why should early authorship, like early love, be a thing we shrink from avowing, even to the nearest of our friends? It is because, when we write truthfully and earnestly, we lay bare our very soul; and the avowal in this, as in the other case, becomes an exposure of one's inner self.

Debating and Philosophical societies ere long attracted him, and he evidently exerted a leading influence on his companions. He took a prominent part in their projects and reunions. "Sucking in knowledge like a sponge," as he afterwards said, he was as ready to impart it. A silver snuff-box,--still prized as a relic of his eighteenth or nineteenth year,--bearing the following inscription,

"THE GIFT OF THE PHILOSOPHIC SOCIETY, WIGAN,
TO THEIR
ESTEEMED LECTURER AND WORTHY MEMBER,
MR. J. ROBY,"

attests the nature of his early pursuits, and the estimation in which he was then held by his associates.

The local press was another channel for the exercise of his talents; and it appears by a letter from the editor of the "Chester Courant," preserved with other relics of early days, that some of his contributions to the paper, during a short residence in that city, attracted the notice of the London papers, and were copied into their columns,--a fact on which the worthy editor rather prided himself, while he congratulated his unknown correspondent. From a memorandum book in handwriting of an early date, containing "Subjects for Consideration," we transcribe one page to indicate favourite directions of thought:--

"The oxydation of metals, by passing the electric spark through them.

"The faculty which the eye possesses of accommodating its focal distance to objects placed at different distances.

"The sound which proceeds from the shock of the particles of the air, against those of water in motion. Vide Thomson's Ann. Phil. p. 187.

"Fresh-discovered property of the syphon."

He had now found, in part at least, that companionship and sympathy for which he had so earnestly longed, and his spirit gave itself up to delighted converse with its fellows, and to the pursuits of literature and art:

"All the glowing future, one
Wide atmosphere of light."

His preference even from childhood of cultivated female society, while his reverence for woman and his standard of her excellence were equally high, also contributed to keep the tone of his mind pure and his life stainless. The dawn of existence thus brightened into the full morning of youth: and if those who now fondly look back upon him with affection and pride, may bless GOD for such a youth, it is owing, under His blessing, to the love of art, knowledge, and woman's intelligent society.

Yet his own estimate of his character at that period should not be lost sight of. When referring to this time, in terms of thankfulness for having been kept from outward evil, he ever owned that as yet he was without the guidance of the true Christian principle--love to GOD; "that 'the light of the glorious Gospel,' which alone is the true 'lamp unto our path,' had not yet shone into his spirit. _He lived only to himself_; and though, soaring through natural bias to loftier pursuits, thus kept from the grovelling propensities of youth, yet, in a religious point of view, _his heart_ was, equally with that of others, the barren wilderness, _destitute of fruit to the glory of Him who created it_, and who demands our 'heart, and soul, and strength,' in His service." So judged a mature self-knowledge, on looking back to the first years of manhood. Were introspection always as faithful, might not the same conclusion be oftener reached?

Hitherto the little bark had sped with no cross wind, no disturbing current, no shadow on her sail. Love came: still life's glad waters were unruffled--all sunshine and repose. But the storm soon gathered, and life's first romance was destined to close in gloom. It will be readily supposed, that, with the impassioned temperament of genius, he gave himself up without reserve to the power of a _first-love_; and, with the adhesiveness which Phrenology so largely assigned to him, the permanence of his attachment promised to equal its intensity. For a time, "the course of true love," _did_ "run smooth;" but at length a coldness he could not account for, but which had for some time pained him, led on his part to remonstrance. It was resented, and the interview ended in mutual displeasure. Riding home,--not in the happiest mood,--his horse stumbled and threw him. For a few days he lay, unable to travel, in a house near the spot where he had been thrown. Humbler and wiser thoughts prevailed; and the first use he made of his recovered power of moving, was to return and seek another interview. Reconciliation followed, and he left happy and reassured. But, the evening after his arrival at home, a short, cold, and haughty epistle, brought him by private hand, forbade his future visits. Stung to the quick by what appeared heartlessness, if not duplicity, he resolved to forget his idol for ever; and looked around for a worthier object in whose affection he might lose his sense of injury and regret. It was not till his faith was plighted to another that he discovered the _undated_ note was written previously to his last visit, shortly after their angry parting, but owing to his absence from home not sooner delivered. Honour forbade any allusion to this circumstance to the object of the second attachment, to whom he considered himself sacredly engaged, but the blow struck home. A severe illness, during which his life was despaired of, supervened; and, though an elastic nature recovered, it still retained traces of this "maddening misery." More than thirty years afterwards he could not refer to these passages of his history without a shudder, and intense, though controlled, feeling. Some peculiarities referable to this source remained through life. Henceforth a discord ran through all the melodies of existence, and ever and anon reproduced itself in the creations of imagination.

Mr. Roby first appeared before the world as a poet. In 1815 he published "Sir Bertram, a poem in six cantos." Elegant and melodious versification, exquisite word-painting, and a marked tendency to the use of the supernatural, are its chief characteristics. Though not published before, there is every reason to believe it was composed some time previously, during the happy season of hopeful, if not formally requited, love. Here are no traces to be found of that one sorrow. It was the pouring forth of song from a poetic spirit, that as yet knew not the power of the minor key. Another poem quickly followed, entitled "Lorenzo, a tale of Redemption." It met with a limited sale: the versification was heavy, unlike anything else he ever wrote, and the subject was unsuited to his powers. The now venerable poet Montgomery, who had just published his own "Greenland," gave the young author the benefit of his judicious criticism, a kindness difficult to perform; but, judging by a letter from him of the date of July, 1817, he knew well how to combine candour and courtesy. The subsequent productions of his disciple proved that his valuable suggestions were not thrown away.

In 1816 Mr. Roby married Ann, the youngest daughter of James and Dorothy Bealey, of Derrikens near Blackburn. Of her many excellencies he ever spoke in the highest terms, and she must have been, from the testimony of all who had the pleasure of knowing her, as well as from that of her husband, one of the best and gentlest of women, the most affectionate and anxious of mothers. They had nine children, three of whom died in their infancy.

"The Duke of Mantua," a tragedy, which appeared in 1823, was Mr. Roby's next publication. It went through three or four editions in a short time, and was pronounced by the critics, "worthy of a place among our best closet plays." It has been long out of print, and is included in the present volume.

In the course of the summer, he made an excursion in Scotland. He visited "the bonnie braes of Yarrow," in company with Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. His account of the day so pleasantly spent, is a good specimen of his early prose style:--

"I went with Hogg the other morning on a '_Voyage pittoresque_' up
the Yarrow. It was a delicious Claude-looking day--the sky filled
with a warm hazy brightness. Every cloud stole as softly up the
firmament, as if some creature 'of the immaterial air' melting
into the blue ether. None of those sudden lights--those breaks
through a hard and almost impenetrable pile of clouds--an
Apennine or Andes poised in the middle air, dividing the
landscape into vast enclosures--masses of shadow, deep, awful,
and abrupt--or moving patches, of a wild and unnatural
brightness.

"We set out from Selkirk pretty early, intending to reach St.
Mary's before noon. We loitered lazily up the stream, imbibing
the keen freshness of the morning. The mists were just rolling
from the green hills, when, on passing the bridge, we turned to
our left, entering upon the beautiful road, leading through the
Duke of Buccleugh's grounds, to Altrieve and St. Mary's Loch. The
Yarrow and the Ettrick unite about two miles above Selkirk.
Following the course of the former, we soon spied the ruins of
Newark Castle, the scene of Sir Walter's 'Lay of the Last
Minstrel.' It is a massive square tower, now unroofed, surrounded
by an outward wall, and defended by round flanking turrets.
During the minority of the present Duke, the castle was
dilapidated; the wooden beams, and such stones as could be
removed, were employed in building a miserable farm-house in its
vicinity.

"I felt wishful to obtain a closer inspection of this fine old
specimen of border antiquity; more especially on learning that
Mungo Park--born at Foulshiels, a small farm within a stone's
throw of the castle--had left his autograph somewhere within its
walls. We soon procured admittance, and on climbing the ruined
staircase, entered a large roofless apartment on the second
story, where, sure enough, we found, without much trouble, the
name of our enterprising, but unfortunate, countryman, written,
two or three times, in a large clerk-like hand with _red chalk_.
Hogg seemed as well pleased as if he had found a 'poss,' and
rummaged his galligaskins for a hideous bit of scrawl, that he
had several times brought forth from its dark den, during our
journey, when any thing particularly inspiring had urged its
momentary liberation. A poem perhaps, another exquisite 'Kilmeny'
or 'Mary Lee' in embryo, undergoing its appointed period of
incubation. I made no inquiries, but continued undisturbed in the
great business of exploration. In a short time I heard him
bundling down the steps, to take a morning's gossip with the
keeper. It was not long ere I found myself amply repaid for any
sense of deprivation I might have endured, by discovering
another flourish with the identical red chalk, and evidently by
the same hand. It was a stanza--four lines of poetry by Mungo
Park!--If thou hast any touch of feeling--any mark of
kindred--any spark of rarer sympathy--imagine, if thou canst, my
delight,--the fervour, the intensity of my rapture. They fixed
indelibly, and almost involuntarily on my memory;--there they now
exist, and probably will continue until every faculty, every
function, be obliterated.

"The following is a true copy, spelling and all. The orthography
of poor Park was not of the purest kind:--

'Within these walls where obscene birds of night
Whistle and shriek alternate round,
Soft music _floted_ once, whilst with delight
The distant shepherd caught the dying sound.'

"I do not think they show marks of quotation. I hope and believe
they are original; at least, I am pretty certain they have not
before been noticed.

"I soon roused the skulkers: a vigorous hurrah was the first
intimation they had of the enemy being so near their camp. Bang
went the first door I came to, and there I found my friend and
his, cantie over a cup of the best mountain, and deep in the
heart of a thrifty controversy about sheep, their ailments and
cures. It was 'an awfu downcome; they stared at each other
without perfectly understanding the nature of my announcement. On
a repetition, 'Eh, Mr. Bogle, but ye're gone clean blate,' was
the rejoinder, 'Ha' ye seen a ghaist!' With some difficulty I
made them reluctantly comprehend two very important matters, to
wit, my meaning, and a request that they would give me their
sweet company awhile. But how they did shout, and rub their
sleeves at the discovery; we looked as funny at one another as
three ambassadors at a congress. It was as good as the
development of a state secret. The best of it is, that it will be
a little fortune to the keeper, and a dowry to his weans.
Henceforth pilgrimages will be made to the shrine, vieing with
Loch Katrine and the pass of Aberfoil in the number of its
votaries and the ardour of its worshippers.

"We bade good bye to Newark, and awa' up the braes o' Yarrow,
shouting and laughing with the wild echoes of the flood, to the
great dismay of sundry bare-legged Naiads and goddesses, peeping
ever and anon through 'covert green and woodland dell.'

"My companion had to make a call at his tailor's, who inhabits
the low house nigh to the Ford.--A very strange personage this,
but of an infinite humour, and pomposity of demeanor.

"It was the very man whom Blackwood accused in one of his 'magi,'
of regularly buying two copies of that work, and reading both,
from beginning to end, imagining them to be diverse and distinct
from each other. He was mightily affronted at this insinuation,
and duly wrote, and concocted a letter;--such a curiosity as was
never before seen, since the world whistled. I recollect being
indulged with a sight of it in the 'back-shop.' He utterly
disclaimed taking two copies of the magazine, under any such
erroneous impression. The true reason was, that wife and bairns
had such an 'ettling for the beuk' that he had no comfort on the
occasion, and was often obliged to run for it--to creep behind a
stone dike or into a hedge bottom, in the hope of getting free
from their importunities, and even then he was in no wise safe
from interruption,--some kind neighbour or another would scent
him out, and be 'aye licken his fingers frae the dish.' Taking
two copies set all to rights, and each party enjoyed their meal
in peace. He was dreadfully puzzled about the different 'Horae'
scattered through the numbers, and consulted the minister about
their reference to certain matters then abroad, but to which he
thought no decent respectable publication, like Blackwood, should
have alluded.

"We journeyed on to Altrieve, where Hogg has a quiet domicile
within sight of St. Mary's banks, and Dryhope tower, where 'the
flower of Yarrow lived and died.' It was high dinner hour when we
arrived. A hearty welcome--a dish of boiled trout fresh from the
Lake, and et ceteras _ad lib._, gave a _gout_ and a relish to the
succeeding conceptions and concoctions, over which Mrs. Hogg
presided,--while the exhilarating influence of high animal
spirits, and a 'wee drappie' of the elixir of the mountain, threw
a vivid hue and a glowing atmosphere around every theme on which
we dilated.

"Hogg is a kind-hearted creature, a man of the rarest genius,
compounded out of the most heterogeneous elements, as if nature
in one of her freaks had determined to evince the omnipotence of
her power, over the most untractable, and unpromising
materials,--to mould even the stubborn, and unyielding forms over
which she broods, into combinations of the most exquisite
symmetry, and delicacy of texture.

"I reckon Hogg's achievements on a par with the most wonderful
records of human capability extant. A shepherd's boy, as uncouth
and ungifted as any of his tribe--apparently without a glimmer,
or an idea of the beautiful or sublime, any further than as it
might have relation to a dry bed and a comfortable meal--scarcely
able to write his name at a very advanced period of growth. Now
he blazes forth, a bright intelligence amongst the lights of the
age. Really his works deserve to form part and parcel of our
national literature, at once a monument to his glory and an
inextinguishable record of the operations of that genius, who
setteth no bounds to her habitation, nor suffereth control."

The literary leisure of the next six years was occupied in collecting materials for the Traditions of Lancashire, and by the creative power of imagination, weaving them into tales of romantic interest. Mr. Roby received the most courteous assistance from several of the representatives of the noble houses, whose early history he elucidated; particularly from the Earl and late Countess of Crawford and Balcarres, and also from the late Earl of Derby (1853).

The commencement of the year 1827 was marked by one of those home events, which, though nothing to the world, make sad change in the fire-side circle. Mr. Roby's second boy, named after his brother, the late Rev. William Roby, of Manchester, was at this time about three years of age. Possessed of unusual loveliness and remarkable sensibility for so young a child, he had won upon his parents' hearts, and on that of his father to a remarkable degree. The moment he entered the house, he would call for his darling boy, and place him on his knee at the piano, while the little listener, if not interrupted, would remain for hours rapt in delight. He could not be happy while the child was out of his sight. After a very brief illness, this beautiful boy was called away from the world. His father's heart was wrung, long did he mourn him; and he never dared again to love a child with such idolatry. An infant, a few months' old, had before been laid in the family grave, and on the stone covering their remains, Mr. Roby had the following lines engraven:--

"Farewell sweet babes! Upon a mother's breast
Ye pass'd life's hour of fretfulness and pain:
Death bids you on his colder bosom rest,
Herald of bliss;--unutterable gain!
His touch was life!--in robes of triumph drest,
Sinless and spotless now--a Saviour's death
The fountain opened--washed from every stain
Each spirit, ere its last faint quivering breath--
As o'er its eyeballs burst eternal day,
Left its first cherub smile to linger on its clay."

A third infant was laid beside them in 1832, and there now repose _his own_ loved and most precious remains, and to these last, as to those for whom they were originally intended, may the closing lines be applied. The smile last seen on that beloved face is one with which it may well awake on the morning of the resurrection.

Mr. Roby visited the English Lakes that year. A manuscript book of notes and sketches remains, and both pen and pencil attest the quickness and correctness of the observer. On ordinary objects he looked with an eye practised in gaining general information, and on Nature with that of the artist. In looking over the sketches one cannot but remark how very little change years have made in that district. Not only the majestic objects of Nature, the accessories of man's placing also, stood then precisely as they do now. The Druid's Circle near Keswick seems the only exception; the fir trees which then waved their dark branches above the grey stones are gone. Grange, reposing at the foot of Borrowdale, with its beautiful bridge, dark clear stream, and everlasting mountains a close back-ground. The Bowder stone[B], its ladder and cottage, and the sharply-defined perpendicular strata rising above all, are unchanged. The sketches of a quarter of a century ago might be those of last year. The very buildings seem identically the same in every part. Nature stamped them picturesque as they were set down in her sacred recesses, and they have not dared to throw off the spell. A few extracts from the note-book will exemplify the style of observation. The aspect of the district; the manners of its inhabitants; individual peculiarities whatever of men or things; natural productions, and above all, the ever-varying forms of beauty, with which nature in such a region clothes herself,--none of these escaped his observant and admiring eye.

"Kendal, Aug. 21. 1827.

"Dialect. Kendal mode of calling a person up, '_Shoot on him_
there.' First view of Windermere. Writing on Inn Windows--This
perishable and frail tablet more durable than man's existence.
Mountains--The same outline, the same aspect has met the eye of
man for thousands of years.... On the Lake--View from the north
side of Curwen's Island, light and shadow disposed as if
according to art--broad lights upon the rich colours. Corn-fields
&c. near--summits of hills dark blue, cutting against the sky,
angular and sharp. Island follows the universal law--north by
west, rugged and mountainous; south, undulating and flat."

Grasmere was at that time the abode of the gifted and excentric
Hartley Coleridge. He was standing at Jonathan's door when the
tourists drove up. They soon made acquaintance with him, and it
was not long ere they were deep in discussion on the subject of
Kant's Philosophy, the Rosicrucian System, &c. &c.

"The repose of Grasmere; pleasures of retirement. No pleasure but
to those who possess an innate repose and a mind full of
susceptibilities for these beautiful impressions. The bold
dragoon and his wife, who took a house here about three months
since, for seven years,--are now heartily tired of it.
Confounding of phrases--to say a man _is_ a genius, great
mistake--rather say a man _has_ genius, or rather genius has
_him_. Often disappointed in our approach to 'reputed geniuses.'
A clever man not always a man of genius. Idiom and dialect
diffused over a man's very form and face, habits, and character.
Tone of voice acquired by contact. Strong voices of the females
generally in the north. Quite a literary air about Grasmere.
Proof sheets lying about the public-house. Hartley Coleridge
engaged in writing the article 'Poetry' in the 'Encyclopedia
Metropolitana.'" The notice of Grasmere concludes with a then
unpublished song by H. Coleridge--"'I have lived, and I have
loved,'" with the autograph of the Poet.

"Keswick Lake. Sun-set. Colour of the mountains blue, a band
between the fiery sky, and the fiery reflection in the lake.
Cloudy morning. Skiddaw still has his night-cap on. Clearing
towards seven, determine to mount. Pass Skiddaw's cub, Latrigg.
Hills tumbled about in great disorder, compared to a large
painted sheet of canvass thrown down horizontally and propped up
in different places underneath with pointed sticks of various
lengths. Eye soon accustoming itself to the size of objects
thereby diminishing their bulk to its own previous conceptions.
Every now and then obliged to find an object, of a known size, in
order to feel the vast dimensions of these objects of unknown
magnitude.... Gaining the summit, an envious cloud sweeping round
the hill. Double echoes apparently from grouse shooters. Cloud
rapidly approaches, falls between us and the distant prospect
like a curtain. Completely enveloped. Sit down wrapped in my
cloak under the lee-side of a huge heap of stones, and wait in
expectation of the cloud clearing off for nearly an hour. Quietly
read 'Otley's Guide,' Geology of the Mountains. Symptoms of a
break in the cloud, mist still continues. Guide relates the
dangers and perils of ascents and descents in a mist, even to
those well acquainted with the path.... During these amusing and
exhilarating narratives the mist breaks in partial
openings--Wonderful bursts of prospect through the clouds. Solway
Frith--the Sea--Wigton, Cockermouth, Bassenthwaite Lake. A vessel
on the Solway, by telescope, a brig.

"Hermitage near Derwentwater Lake. Major Pocklington built and
endowed it for any person who would live there in entire
seclusion, locked up for seven years; after this apprenticeship
he might, if he thought proper, have his liberty, and an annuity
of 100_l._ a year. No one has yet been found to fulfil this
engagement, and the place built twenty or thirty years ago.

"Borrowdale. Lead mine on very steep hill. Gryphite lies in
sops. Old levels worked out. At fault; cannot yet find any;
trying near the summit of the hill. Immense productiveness at
times. Supposed to have been once in a state of fusion. Evident
marks of this. No date of its discovery. Tradition tells us, that
a tree being blown down bared the first vein. Used for marking
sheep only in all probability at the first. Maps of the county
might be printed on pocket-handkerchiefs. Dine at Rossthwaite:
another party arrive, folly of not being content with what the
house affords....

"Patterdale. Met a young sheep dog.--One leg tied up to prevent
his scampering after the sheep too far--dog education; not beat
young dogs, it breaks their spirits and spoils them. May this
hint apply to the education of two-legged cubs? Beautiful and
fertile valleys running up into so many gorges of the
mountains.... Musty egg at breakfast. Irishman swearing not a hen
in all England that laid fresh eggs.... Kirkstone pass. Savage
sublimity of the road. Kirkstone like the gable end of a house
peeping above. Saxifraga Nivalis.... High moor between the lakes
and Kendal. Grand view of Langdale Pikes twenty miles off, like
immense buttresses or towers, supporting a long line of rocks."
Of all the beautiful objects in that district none excited Mr.
Roby's admiration as those two magnificent rocks. His enthusiasm
for them was unbounded.

The first series of the Traditions of Lancashire appeared in 1829, in two volumes, illustrated by plates engraved by Finden, from drawings by Pickering; and wood-cuts by Williams, after designs by Frank Howard. The matter, the embellishments, and the spirited publishers, Messrs Longman and Co., were alike worthy of each other. The reception of the work equalled Mr. Roby's most sanguine expectations; for though the price, demy 8vo., 2_l._ 2_s._, royal 8vo., with proofs and etchings, 4_l._ 4_s._, made it rather a book for a gentleman's library than for general circulation, a second edition was called for within twelve months. The following note from Sir Francis Palgrave, no incompetent judge, was a gratifying estimate of the work as forming part of our national literature:--

"26, Duke-street, Westminster,
26th October, 1829.
"Sir,

"I am greatly obliged to you for the very interesting volumes
which you have had the kindness to send me.

"As compositions, the extreme beauty of your style, and the skill
which you have shown in working up the rude materials, must
entitle them to the highest rank in the class of works to which
they belong.

"Are there any peculiar traditions in or about Cartmel, where, as
you probably know, the Britons continued till a comparatively
late period? You have made such a valuable addition, not only to
English literature, but to English topography by your
collection--for these popular traditions form, or ought to form,
an important feature in topographical history--that it is to be
hoped you will not stop with the present volumes.

"I have the honor to remain,
Sir,
With great respect,
Your obedient and faithful servant,
"FRANCIS PALGRAVE."

The second series, consisting also of two volumes, uniform with the first, was published in 1831, and met with similar success. Both series were reviewed in the most cordial manner by the leading periodicals of the day; more than once quoted, and characterized by Sir Walter Scott, himself a host, as an elegant work. (_See Introduction to the Betrothed._)

When composing, Mr. Roby usually wrote with his family around him; the only restraint he laid upon them, was the prohibition of whispering; from conversation carried on in the ordinary tone he could wholly abstract himself. Seated in a favourite rocking-chair, that common northern luxury, wrapped in a loose study-gown, he wrote for hours with rapidity and pleasure. When invention flagged, and he had to seek an idea, he would fold his arms, and gently rock for a few minutes, then with the air of a person who had found what he sought, return to the page with renewed spirit. Though undisturbed by familiar sounds, which, indeed, he appeared not to perceive, so completely was he absorbed in his ideal world, he yet required all things in order around him before he commenced; objects indiscriminately scattered conveying disturbance through the eye, or even an open door, would so effectually dissipate his thoughts, as to prevent him from writing. His practice was to make himself master of the historical ground-work of the tale, and as far as possible of the manners and customs of the period, and then to commence composition, with Fosbroke's "Encyclopedia of Antiquities" at hand, for accuracy of costume, &c. He always gave the credit of his style, which the Westminster Review termed "a very model of good Saxon," to his native country, the force and energy of whose dialect arises mainly from the prevalence of the Teutonic element. "The thought digs out the word," was a favourite saying, when the exact expression he wanted did not at once occur. To his fine ear for musical sound he was much indebted for the flowing ease of his diction.

Though constituting what is denominated light literature, much careful research was required in the composition of the tales. The aspect of the country in those distant times, the costume and customs of the day, were particulars in which he was scrupulously exact. To secure this truthfulness of detail, long investigations were often needed, even where perhaps they would be little suspected: but always confident that he should succeed at last, he spared no pains in ascertaining the most minute particular, and this very persuasion of success contributed to secure it. By some means or other he invariably commanded the information in due time. Amusing instances of this sometimes occurred. Once, when out of the reach of any work of reference, he was completely at fault for the blazonry of a particular banner, used five hundred years ago. He did not despair, but left the matter in blank, expecting--though he would have been puzzled to tell whence--the wished-for information would be forthcoming. And so it was: casually looking at a review, it so happened that the very thing he wanted was described with more than ordinary minuteness.

His inexhaustible creative power is conspicuous; about two hundred different characters are introduced, no one of whom reminds the reader of another, nor is invention wanting for abundant diversity of incident and adventure, heroic and comic. A gentleman who had been reading the Traditions for the first time, recently remarked, that for invention he scarcely knew any writer Mr. Roby's equal. It is perhaps worthy of notice, that all the characters are creations, not one an idealized portrait.

Another charm is the fine mould in which his heroines are cast. There is a delicacy, a nobility, or high-minded spirit of self-sacrifice about the more prominent, which, while leaving the characters perfectly distinct, sustains throughout a high ideal of woman. Not one bad character figures as a woman; the only approach to such is in tales of witchcraft, where, indeed, the Arch Evil One, rather than his poor victim, is the criminal, as though he would not even bring the idea of evil athwart the favourite vision of his imagination. It may be deemed not adhering to nature, thus to omit an object she, alas! too often presents; but who would blame the artist for the faultless beauty of his creations? The sculptor may display his skill, by representing the contortions of deformity, but not his highest ideal; may show how clever a copyist with the chisel he can be, but not how deeply he has drunk of the inspiration common to all art, how near he has approached to the Fountain of all Beauty. The clearness of his conceptions, and the way in which he threw himself into his characters, are evinced by the dramatic action of even the shortest story. While writing he appeared actually to feel as he would have done, had he been in the situations he described; he felt the perplexity, the sense of danger, and the exultation of escape; for the time he seemed to have a double life, at once sharing the existence of his hero, and sympathizing as a spectator. It was in a tone that he would have used, had she been a living being, that he said of one of his heroines, under very peculiar circumstances of danger[C], "_I could not_ let her perish." His plan was to commence his tale, bring his characters into strange or perilous situations, realize their danger in its full extent, without the slightest idea of how he should extricate them; and then, when the means of escape presented themselves to his imagination, he would work on, delighted with the suggestion, till to his great regret the tale was finished. He knew when to leave off, but it cost him something to do so; it was like parting company with friends.

The short vivid descriptions of scenery scattered throughout, are not often equalled. By a few strokes of the pen, not only a perfect picture of the permanent objects of a locality is placed before the reader's eye, but also the temporary lights and shadows which are thrown on the landscape by the ever-shifting skies; the very feeling of the air does not escape him. Each tale is in fact a cabinet picture, combining history and landscape. In the foreground the traditionary group appears in vivid action; beyond, a far-receding distance, faint in the noon-tide haze, or perchance a wood, with its broad shadows, and burst of sunlight across the next glade. An artist might paint from his descriptions. In the case of one of the most effective engravings, that of Rivington Pike, the drawing was made after the artist had read the tale; the accessories of light and shade, and in the original, of colour also, doubtless owe something of their character to this circumstance.

In his power of depicting the supernatural, Mr. Roby stands pre-eminent; and this not only in little weird touches, that come upon the reader he knows not how, waking a chord within which makes him feel that he has kindred with mysteries more than the eye sees, or the ear hears--but in long-sustained intercourse with beings who people the unseen world, and who seem at certain times, and in certain places, to press upon mortal spirits even to recognition, more, even to hallowed or unhallowed communion. As if there were, time and space concurring, points of juncture for the two worlds. The ease with which he carries his reader along with him, even in spite of the anti-spiritual prejudices of the present age, cannot be better exemplified than in the tale to which reference has just been made, Rivington Pike, which has been said by a German reviewer to be, "the only authentic tale of demoniacal possession the English have." The composition of the story had a powerful effect on the writer himself. He sat up writing longer than usual after the rest of the family had retired. It was midnight when he had finished; and so completely had the scenes he had been describing, taken possession of his own mind, that he dared not stir from his seat, nor did he, till Mrs. Roby, surprised at his remaining down stairs so long after his accustomed time, entered the room; the sight of a familiar face broke the spell, and dissipated the visionary alarm.

The purity of the morality is such as befits a Christian writer, and there is throughout the work a spirit of reverence for things sacred, and of deference to the supreme source of illumination, which is not always to be found in our lighter literature. The reader, charmed and delighted, is carried away from ordinary scenes into a world of romance. Nevertheless in that ideal land he finds the same laws of morality which govern his daily life--the same God looked up to, as the disposer of all things, the Father at once to be loved and obeyed; and he may go back to his duties in common life, without one moral idea having been deranged, or one principle disturbed.

It was at one time Mr. Roby's intention to follow up the "Traditions of Lancashire" with similar illustrations of the early history of the county of York. Subjects were chosen, and a few tales written, which appeared in Blackwood's and Frazer's magazines. One, though not of this series, which was published in Frazer, February 1837, under the title of "The Smuggler's Daughter," was proposed to be dramatised. The parts were cast, Mrs. Yates or Mrs. Keeley was to have taken that of the heroine, and Mr. Buckstone and Mr. O. Smith were to have engaged in others. From the correspondence on the subject, it appears that Mr. Buckstone's attention being demanded by other and rather perplexing affairs, the representation of the "Smuggler's Daughter" was delayed till after the appearance of the story in the Magazine, and at last suffered to fall to the ground.

A book containing sketches of the different localities he intended to illustrate, and memoranda of the traditions attached to them, made during excursions into Yorkshire for this purpose, show the spirit with which he entered on his task, and it is much to be regretted that anything should have been allowed to set it aside. About this time he commenced the study of botany in good earnest. In the same book are notes of a first botanical tour, a few extracts from which may not be uninteresting: they are certainly characteristic. While pursuing the details of science, he was in no danger of falling under the poet's malediction on him,

"Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes."

They appear to have been written on the spot, whenever any fresh object presented itself.