… travellers oft, at evening’s close,When eastwards slowly moving,
… travellers oft, at evening’s close,When eastwards slowly moving,
the glimpse still obtainable of lofty Stonyhurst, which ever and anon recalls the inimitable ode, “Ye distant spires, ye antique towers.” Each and every element in turn invites a pause, and linger as one may, Clitheroe is still too near, and reached too soon.
Arrived, there is new pleasure in inspection of the remains of the ancient castle, one of the most interesting feudal relics in the county,—built towards the close of the twelfth century by one of the De Lacy family, whose landed possessions extended from this neighbourhood uninterruptedly to Pontefract. It never was a castle in the thorough sense of the word, merely a stronghold to which the lords of the house came at intervals, to receive tribute and to dispense justice. There never was room for much more than a donjon, the rock upon which the little fortalice was erected, rising out of the flat like an islet, a sort of Beeston rock in miniature. There were buildings no doubt upon the slope, predecessors of the present, the former including a chapel, but these were quite external to the castleipsissima. The view from the summit is delightfully picturesque, and when this has been enjoyed, there is, as at Smithills, that curious blending of past and present, old and new, which always awakens gratitude to the gardener, for here, in this ancient keep, leaning against stones laid in their places nearly eight centuries ago, is one of the glossy little cotoneasters of northern India, unknown in England before 1825.
From Clitheroe we do well to proceed to Chatburn,by rail, if preferred, but far preferably on foot. Going about half–a–mile along the highway, presently, upon the left, there is a gate into a downward–sloping field, the path through which is continued under a flat railway bridge, then past the first of the celebrated Chatburn quarries, and into the fields again. Or we may go along the foot of mighty Pendle itself, and along a series of narrow and winding green lanes to Downham. The Chatburn quarries are capital hunting–grounds for the student of fossil shells, encrinites, and other remains found in limestone. We are enjoined to “consider the lilies of the field”—not foreign to the Divine behest is it to consider the Crinoidea, the wonderful stone–lilies of the limestone rock, the petrified flower–like heads of which here occur in inexpressible abundance. The great stones set up edgeways in place of stiles between the fields near the quarries, are crowded with fragments, and show the rough condition of a favourite material for chimneypieces. For the sake of ladies who may think of going this way, it may be well to add that the vertical stone barriers in question were plainly erected in defiance of the art of dress.
Chatburn is the point to start from when the top of Pendle is the object, a rather heavy climb of two miles and a half, but if the atmosphere be clear, well rewarded. The view from Whalley Nab was magnificent. Pendle is to the latter just what Cobden Edge is to Marple—a brow upon which the former grandeurs seem diminished to a fifth. The glistening waters of the Irish Sea beyondthe broad green plain in front; in the north, dim vistas and dark peaks, or mild blue masses, that declare the mountains of the Lake District,—old Coniston tossing the clouds from his hoary brows; proximately the smiling valley of the Ribble, the whole of the upper portion of which is overlooked; of the Hodder also, in temperament so wild and dashing, and the wandering Calder; and, turning to the east, the land towards the German Ocean as far as the powers of the eye can reach. The highest point of this huge mountain—the most prominent feature in the physical geography of mid–Lancashire—is stated by the Ordnance Survey to be one thousand eight hundred and fifty feet, thus falling very little short of the loftiest part of Kinder Scout, which nowhere claims a full two thousand. Keeping to the level, there is endless recreation, whether we penetrate Ribblesdale, or cross the river at the ferry, a mile below, for the fragments of Sawley, or content ourselves with the peaceful borders. Not what the Ribble is at “proud Preston,” some seven leagues lower down, a broad and majestic river, do we find it here, but rural, chaste, and tranquil, the water shallow and clear, thebeau–idealof a Peneus, the laurels only wanting.
The Bridegroom SeaIs toying with his wedded spouse, the shore.He decorates her tawny brow with shells,Retires a space, to see how fair she looks,Then, proud, runs up to kiss her.
The Bridegroom SeaIs toying with his wedded spouse, the shore.He decorates her tawny brow with shells,Retires a space, to see how fair she looks,Then, proud, runs up to kiss her.
ALEXANDER SMITH.
CAMDEN, in his famous seventeenth century tour, says that he approached Lancashire from Yorkshire, “that part of the country lying beyond the mountains towards the western ocean,” with “a kind of dread,” but trusted to Divine Providence, which, he said, “had gone with him hitherto,” to help him in the attempt. His apprehensions arose, no doubt, partly upon the immense difficulties which in those days attended travelling; but Lancashire west of the Rivington range was, in its rural portions, at the same period almost as rude and cheerless as Connemara. Towards the sea there were vast expanses of moor and marsh, and even the inland parts were cold and inhospitable. Howchanged by the wand of that greatest of magicians, Commerce! Though there is still abundant need of polish, Camden himself, could he come back, would surrender his fears, let him only be one of a party up to the Pike. Conspicuous from a hundred spots on the western margin of our city, Rivington Pike is little less worthy of a visit than Pendle, and has the advantage over the latter in being comparatively near. Proceeding first to Horwich, six miles beyond Bolton, on the main northern line, the ascent is quite easy, and may be undertaken by two or three different routes—one by the side of the little river Douglas; another by the quarry and Tiger Wood, a deep ravine containing all the accustomed pretty features of Lancashire mountain defiles, rushing water, many cascades, and abundance of trees. Ferns, mosses, and sylvan wild–flowers grow in plenty, and in one part, where the water collects in a large natural pool, there is quite a remarkable display of aquatic plants. The summit gained, over fifteen hundred feet above the sea, the prospect is magnificent, especially if we delay till the green country glows with a summer evening’s sunset. The great plain that stretches to the Ribble, and renews itself as the “Fylde,” lies at our feet. Chorley and Preston seem quite close; in the distance the church–towers and other aspiring portions of Southport are plainly visible, and beyond all there is a shining streak that is unmistakably the play–ground of the sea–gulls. North Cheshire, North Wales, and the nearer Derbyshire hills, are also seen. A very particularly fine view isobtained from the Anglezark end of the hill, a rough and broken eminence reached by a zigzag path from the base, which leads eventually to a soft and turfy brow. Upon the opposite side of the field, a trifle higher, there is a wall with a narrow iron gate in it, and here we take our stand. Now and then, on fine and perfectly tranquil evenings towards sunset, Lancaster Castle may be distinguished; if the tide be in, Morecambe Bay, and even Coniston.
Quite as interesting, every way, as the Pike, and more so in some respects, are the great reservoirs belonging to the Liverpool Waterworks, altogether out of sight from the railway, but as a spectacle from the hill–side undeniably one of the most charming in the county. The area of the entire water–surface is five hundred acres; the supply comes from ten thousand acres of moorland above, brought down chiefly by the little rivers called the Douglas, the Yarrow, and the Roddlesworth. The Act of Parliament authorising the construction of these great reservoirs was obtained in 1847. Water was first delivered from them in Liverpool January 2nd, 1857. Rivington Pike, after all, is not the highest point of the range. Winter Hill, well named, so wild and cold and dreary is the complexion, and so often is it beaten by storms, claims a considerably greater altitude.
By this same line we go also to Chorley for Whittle–le–Woods, distant only four miles from Hoghton Tower, a romantic and secluded spot, noted for its historical associations, its “Springs,” and, if we care to pursue aquiet and pretty walk by the edge of the canal, for wild–flowers found nowhere else near Manchester. Excepting in the canal at Disley, there is not another within the distance where there are in particular so many pond–weeds, that beautiful plant thelucensleading the way. Of these submerged things the question has been asked perhaps more frequently than of any others, What use are they? Rest upon them, then, for a moment. Use is a triple idea. Taking the entire mass of the vegetation of our planet, first there is economic use, as for food, which last being rendered to brute creatures as well as to mankind, is at the best but at a low and menial one. Secondly, comes the admirable use subserved by beauty, which brutes are incapable of appreciating, and blindness to which, like the use of foul and profane language, may be taken perhaps as the infallible sign of an imbecile. Plants can never be truly learned, nor is their highest use realised so long as we rest in the contemplation, albeit so salutary, even of their loveliness. Their last and crowning use comes of theirinterpretingpower. There is not a species that does not cast some welcome side–light, that does not open our understanding to something previously unperceived. The pond–weeds do this, if nothing below, so that meeting with them we may rejoice.
The fine old halls scattered so freely about Bolton have counterparts in the neighbourhood of Wigan, all this part of the county having been in the hands of wealthy men during the time of the Stuarts and of the Commonwealth. Ince Hall, black and white, with itsfive gables, though of late much disfigured; Lostock Old Hall, Standish, Pemberton, Birchley, and Winstanley, are all very interesting; and if Haigh Hall, the Lancashire seat of the Earl of Crawford and Balcarres, be less curious, archæologically, there is not one that will compare with it in respect of gardens or romantic approach. The walk through the wood, beginning at a mile from the Wigan market–place, is in its way, for so near a coal and factory centre, without a rival.
For a charming bit of wild nature thereabouts, commend us, however, to Dean Wood. Nothing, as regards landscape and prospects of sylvan solitude, can be more unpromising than the approach thereto through Hindley and Wigan. Two or three miles beyond the latter, where the ground begins to rise, and trees and streams of water make their appearance, it seems possible, after all, that something picturesque may lie concealed; and leaving the line at Gathurst, sure enough, we are by no means disappointed. Turning up on the left, after a few minutes along field–paths, the way changes into a beautiful clough, in many respects not unlike Bamford Wood, and which goes on improving to the end. Of course it is not to be confounded with the Dean Wood upon the slopes of Rivington; nor is the river below to be confounded with the Rivington “Douglas.” This one, in truth, is the Lancashire Douglas pre–eminently: a stream of fifteen miles’ flow before entering the Ribble, and the same with which tradition connects bloody conflicts in the time of the Danes. A tributary comesdown the wood, after rain often so much swollen as to drown the path beside, when we may take an upper one, every bit as enjoyable, especially in autumn, since it gives a charming view of the trees below, among which there is unusual plenty of the kinds that bear red berries. Ferns and mosses grow in equal abundance; wild–flowers also, and flowering shrubs. The Gueldres–rose is especially abundant, and upon one occasion—October 10th, 1868—the ground was strewed in certain spots with the fallen fruit of the wild apple. In the upper part of the wood there are some curious varieties of the common oak, the leaves so small that they might be thought to belong to a different species. Emerging near the green lane, the homeward path lies first through Up–Holland, then either by the lanes to Wigan—four miles distant—or more speedily to Orrel station on the Bolton and Liverpool line.
Appley Bridge, the station succeeding Gathurst, is the nearest for that glorious eminence, Ashurst Hill, the prospect from which is once again all that heart can desire, let only the day be fair. Now, too, we have something quite different, the great flat, looking southwards, being that which reaches to the estuary of the Mersey, the eye resting upon the distant trees of Knowsley Park, and detecting even Liverpool; while to the west, almost underneath, is Lathom, Ormskirk beyond, and exquisitely upon the horizon, the lucid sea, and the mountains that talk quietly of the Vale of Llangollen. A similar view is obtainable from the summit of Billinge, half–waybetween Wigan and St. Helens, but access thereto is not so easy, nor is there the same sweet sense of remote and airy solitude, green as the early spring, which, unless the visit happens to be most unfortunately timed, always awaits the pilgrim to Ashurst. The beacon upon the summit, a stone tower with pyramidal spire, was erected in the time of the French Revolutionary wars, taking the place of one established on the identical spot in the memorable August of 1588,—the year, as Charles Kingsley says, of Britain’s Salamis.
From Appley Bridge there is also a grand walk to the summits upon theright–handside of the rails, the chief of them, Horrocks Hill, lying about two miles away to the north, and at a spot called Higher Barn, attaining an elevation superior even to Ashurst. But it is not so well adapted for a signalling station, and hence, instead of a beacon, is marked only by a tree. The view from the top is singularly fine, embracing the whole country up to the Lune, with the towers of Lancaster city, Blackpool, Rufford (where there is a very interesting old hall, black and white), the Ribble, and the entire course of the Douglas, embouchure included. For variety, the return walk may be madeviâStandish.
Lathom Park implies, upon the Newborough side, a delicious walk through the intricacies of what in this part would be better called Lathom Wood. The trees are lofty; the shade is dense; the path, gently undulated, crosses about the middle a swiftly–running stream called the Sawd. This, like the water in Dean Wood, is atributary of the Douglas. Just outside the park there is another, now called the Slate Brook, and of special historical interest, being that one which in the records of the memorable siege of Lathom House is called the Golforden.
Shortly after emerging from the wood, and crossing the smooth greensward of the park where open to the sunshine, the house itself comes in view, a noble mansion, worthy alike of the domain and of the owner. That it is not the original Lathom House—the Lathom which belongs not more to the history of Lancashire than to the annals of English courage and to the biography of great–souled women, scarcely needs saying. The original,—the magnificent building honoured by the visit of Henry VII. and his queen, when the “singing women” walked in front,—which had no fewer than eighteen towers, in addition to the lofty “eagle,” and a fosse of eight yards in width, received so much injury at the time of the siege that on the removal of the family, shortly afterwards, to Knowsley, it soon fell into a state of utter dilapidation. Passing into the hands of the Bootle family, restoration was found impracticable, and during the ten years following 1724 the present building superseded the historic one. Nothing in its style can be finer than the north front, one hundred and fifty–six feet long, rising from a massive rustic basement, with double flight of steps to the first story, the lateral portions supported by Ionic columns. The interior corresponds; the great hall being forty feet square, with a height of thirty feet; the saloon, ofalmost similar dimensions, and the library fifty feet by twenty. When given over to decay, the original hall was literally carried off stone by stone, the country people in the vicinity being permitted to take whatever they liked for private use, so that now, as has happened with many an ancient abbey and castle, the building may be said to be diffused over the whole district. In farmyard and cottage walls it is not difficult to identify now and then, on a very fair basis of conjecture, a fragment or two of the ancestral home of the Stanleys, every atom suggestive, as we contemplate it, of ancient dignity and heroism almost unique.
To recite, once again, the majestic old story of the siege is not needful. Suffice it to say that in 1642, when James, the seventh Earl of Derby, whose steadfast loyalty so well fulfilled the family motto,Sans changer, was in the Isle of Man, approach was made to Lathom House with a view to capture by the Parliamentarians under Fairfax. The countess, originally Charlotte de Tremouille, a high–born lady whose kindred were connected with the blood–royal of France, replied to the summons to surrender that she had a double trust to sustain—faith to her lord the Earl, who had entrusted her with the safe keeping, and allegiance to her king—and that she was resolved not to swerve from either honour or obedience. The nature of the long defence, the discomfiture of the assailants, and what happened subsequently, constitutes, as well known, a chapter in the family history at once consummately noble and profoundly sorrowful. It readsmore touchingly than any romance or tale of fancy, and would supply subjects for many a great picture. Plenty of memorials of the siege have been preserved. A little while ago, upon removal of a tree near the site of the original hall, numbers of bullets were found in the earth about the roots. Tradition also has plenty to say, and apparently with more truth than is sometimes the case. In the history of the siege, written shortly after its time, seven of the defenders are said to have lost their lives, and one of these, called on account of his great stature, Long Jan, is said to have owed his death–wound to his head rising above the wall or parapet. Very interesting was it, therefore, a few years since, when during some alterations in the level of the ground, there were discovered seven skeletons, one of them indicating a frame little less than gigantic. The bones, when uncovered, were seemingly perfect, but all soon crumbled away, and not a trace remained. Another circumstance mentioned in the old history of the siege is that supplies of coal were obtained by excavating in the courtyard. The Earl of Lathom was so fortunate, a year or two ago, as to personally prove the truthfulness of this statement by the discovery of an outcrop below the turf, just in front of the drawing–room windows of the modern mansion.
The Lathom pleasure–grounds and gardens are not less beautiful than the wood. In the former, among many other rare and admirable trees, there is a plane, in Lancashire quite a stranger; this one the very emblem of health and nobleness, a sight, as Dame Quickly says,“to thank God on:” the latter teem with interesting hardy herbaceous plants, quite refreshing to behold after the inlay of chromatic geometry which at the present day is so often substituted for a garden. The flowers, in great abundance and variety, are chiefly of the kinds that the poets and artists always loved, those that have been sung of in a thousand simple verses, which the poets still love best of all, and which, when neatly and nicely marshalled and tended, keep up an unrelaxing flow of tinted loveliness from the time of Christmas–roses and yellow aconites until that of the last lingering asters of November. Access to this charming place is for the favoured few not beyond the range of the possibilities. Never yet, when properly asked, has the Earl of Lathom refused to give proof of generous courtesy such as distinguishes the Lancashire gentleman and the English nobleman.
Not far from Lathom Park there is another very interesting old family seat, Blythe Hall, the residence of the Hon. Mrs. Bootle–Wilbraham. This is approached most pleasantly from Burscough, through lanes, meadows, and corn–fields, and in its garden, like Lathom, and, we may add, like Cheshire Tatton, gives delightful guarantee that, despite the enmity of modern planters, genuine floriculture will, with the tasteful, outlive them all. There are fit and proper places, no doubt, for every style and system of flower–planting. Any mode that pleases a considerable number of rational people is proved, by the simple fact of its doing so, to be right under certainconditions, local ones, and limited. The misfortune is that “bedding–out” very generally implies, if it does not necessitate, the abolition of a thousand things that are individually and supremely meritorious, the piece of land which it embosses becoming only by a euphemism, “a garden,” and this at infinitely greater pains than if cultivated.
When at Blythe, it would be a pity to forget that at a few fields’ distance remains exist to this day of the once celebrated and stately Burscough Priory. The fragments, for they really are no more, consist of portions of one of the principal interior arches, deeply sunk in the mass of earth and rubbish accumulated after the overthrow of the building, the arched head of a piscina alone declaring the ancient level. The ruins seem to have stood untouched and grey, as at this moment, for at least a couple of centuries. The grass comes up to their feet, and looks as if it had been there always. Very interesting, however, is it to note, close by, orchards comparatively young, in their season full of honey–plums and damsons; corn also, within a few yards, the fruit and the grain renewing to–day what no doubt was the exact spectacle five hundred years ago. The priory was founded by Robert Fitz–Henry, lord of Lathom, temp. Richard I. It was richly endowed, and at the time of the suppression required as many as forty servants. Some of the Stanley monuments, and eight of the bells, were then removed to Ormskirk church, where a new tower was built for the reception of the latter, the remainder goingto Croston. The mutilated alabaster effigies of knights and ladies from the old Derby burial–place, form one of the most interesting of the many attractions of remarkable Ormskirk. Excepting a few portraits, these effigies, strange to say, are the only extant art memorials of that ancient line! A tablet, an epitaph, even a gravestone in honour of a Derby of the lang syne, is sought in vain. Knowsley, the present seat of the family, seven miles from Liverpool and two from Prescot, is celebrated for the magnitude, rather than the symmetry, of its splendid hall. Built at very various times, it presents as many different styles. The park, nine or ten miles in circumference, abounds with pretty bits of the picturesque given by trees. Many of these, however, have the curious look presented by such as growing near the shore, are constantly wind–beaten.
From various points near Lathom and Ormskirk there is seen, in the Southport direction, to all appearance a village spire. This indicates, in reality, Scarisbrick Hall, one of the most striking and successful efforts in architecture the county possesses. The ancestors of the Scarisbrick family having owned the estates for at least seven centuries, we learn without surprise that, as in other cases, where the present building now stands there was once a black and white; further, that the family being Catholic, it was well provided with outer defences, and had its “secret chamber” for refuge in times of persecution. The original was in 1799 the residence of the philanthropic Mr. Eccleston at whose cost and underwhose guidance Martin Mere was reclaimed. In 1814 all was changed. The old timbered building was cased in stone so completely that now not a trace remains in view; and the general form, a centre with projecting wings, is all that exists in the shape of memorial. But how magnificently effected! The work was entrusted to the elder Pugin, and continued by his son, without stint as to cost, the result being an edifice in the Tudor style, treated with power and opulence so astonishing that all ordinary domestic buildings of similar character seem by comparison insignificant. Sculptures and every kind of decorative stone–work contribute to the wonderful beauty of the vast exterior. Along the base of the enriched cornices or parapets scripture texts have been introduced—“I have raised up the ruins, and I have builded it as in the days of old;” “Every house is builded by some man, but He that buildeth all is God;”—the ample windows, in their turn, are freely traced with lines and patterns of shining gold. The superb tower, which in the distance seems a village spire, erected about a dozen years ago, is over one hundred and sixty feet in height, and is understood to be an exact copy of the Victoria Tower of the Houses of Parliament. The cost of this portion alone approached the sum of £25,000. Gardens and conservatories add to the interest of this splendid place; the former containing a holly, the stem of which, at twenty inches above the ground, is six feet in circumference; while the latter are renowned for their tropical ferns. The very low situation, and the flatnessof all the surrounding country, unfortunately prevent this noble building being seen to advantage. It is a marvel, nevertheless, to all who approach. The Scarisbrick family has of late years experienced changes. The present owner of the hall, by marriage to the daughter of the Lady Scarisbrick who died in 1872, is the Marquis de Blandos de Castèja.
Southport should be visited for the sake of its unusually good Aquarium, with Winter Gardens above, a flower–show all the year round; for the beautiful Churchtown Botanical Gardens, the fernery belonging to which has no rival, as regards our own neighbourhood, except at Tatton; and for the Birkdale sandhills, no dreary place except to the dreary–hearted, but in their way so remarkable and picturesque, so richly stored with curious plants, and breathing an air so soft and salubrious that in the north of England they stand alone. In their wild and ever–changing complexion they supply enjoyments quite distinct from the uniformity of a corn and pastoral country. Standing upon their spear–clad ridges, we seem to be surveying a miniature Cordillera. In winter the northward and eastward slopes are flecked with snow, while the southern and western ones bask in the sunshine; mosses of all shades of green and coppery–gold strew the former parts with little islands of sweet brightness; and in July the open plateaux are crowded with the white cups of the parnassia. Up to about twenty years ago, no place in the entire county, excepting Grange, was so rich for the botanist as Southport ingeneral. Building, drainage, and the changes incident to town–extension, have obliterated many of the best localities; still, so long as the Birkdale sandhills remain intact, it will preserve no trifling part of the reputation. The want at Southport is more sea. The tide not only goes out to an incredible distance, but always seems reluctant to return. It is in respect of this that superiority is so justly claimed by Blackpool, the sea at the latter place, save on exceptional days, being always within view, always grand and inspiring.
South Lancashire,viâthe original Liverpool and Manchester line, or that which runs through Barton, offers few attractions to the excursionist, being flat and very seldom relieved by wood and water. The best part of the country traversed by the line in question is that which holds Worsley Hall, the seat of the Earl of Ellesmere, the ground here rising into a terrace which commands a view over the whole of the great plain bounded upon the opposite side by Dunham Park. The summit of the lofty tower at Wren’s Wood, a little to the west of the hall, overlooks or allows of glimpses of no fewer than six counties. Hence it is itself seen from great distances. The grounds pertaining to the hall, access to which is granted at certain times, supply an excellent example of high–class professional laying–out, without exciting the sense of surfeit such as at Alton is scarcely avoidable. The woodland paths are pretty, and in autumn the floricultural part emulates even Vale Royal. The hall, just beyond the village, upon the left hand, is the third of thename. The original, or “Old” hall, a most interesting, quaintly–timbered structure, still exists, and is at present occupied by the Hon. Algernon Egerton. The second was pulled down about twenty years ago. The present magnificent structure, so conspicuous from the railway, was commenced in or about 1839 by the first Earl of Ellesmere, then Lord Francis Egerton, under the superintendence of Mr. Blore, the architect of the new façade of Buckingham Palace. Upon the right–hand side of the road, after emerging from the village, there is a very pretty sylvan adjunct to the park called the Hen Pen, the paths meandering through which often recall the scenery of Mere Clough. The village itself is exceptionally picturesque, the late Earl having encouraged the erection of private houses and other buildings in the style of the old hall, the ancient black and white or “magpie” fashion, these gaining in turn from the happily chosen position of the church, which last is considered to be one of the most successful productions of Mr. Gilbert Scott, and is in any case a most beautiful example of Geometrical Decorated. Worsley may be reached by three different routes. First, there is the station of its own name, upon the Tyldesley line, going thence across the fields. Secondly, there is the old wayviâPatricroft, proceeding thence on foot by the side of the canal, a walk of about two miles. Thirdly, when permission can be obtained, there is the delightful path through Botany Bay Wood, one of the most sequestered to be found anywhere near Manchester. Being strictlypreserved, it is of course only at certain seasons, and then only by special favour, that people are allowed to pass through, or can reasonably ask for leave. The entrance to it is from Barton Moss, beginning with the station, then crossing the waste at right angles, so as to step on to a broad causeway which borders the moss in a line parallel with the rails, and after becoming greener and softer, at last enters the wood. Filling the whole of the space between the grounds of Worsley Hall and the edge of the moss, and of purely artificial origin, this charming leafy covert received its somewhat singular name from the workmen by whose labour it was formed. So arduous was the toil demanded by the draining and subsequent planting, that they compared it to the penalty of transportation to the eighty years ago famous “Botany Bay” of the antipodes, the terror of evil doers, and precursor of the Dartmoor of to–day. Barton Moss is essentially a portion or adjunct of Chat Moss, an element of the landscape as surveyed from the higher parts of Worsley, which can hardly be considered cheerful, though rich in interesting associations, foremost among which is the history of the means adopted to overcome the difficulties it presented to the constructors of the original Liverpool and Manchester Railway. The naturalist still finds upon it abundance of welcome objects, including the bog–myrtle,Myrica Galë, one of the very few really indigenous British plants which can be rightfully called aromatic. A surface like Chat Moss, saturated with wet, seems in little danger of ignition, yet no further backthan in June, 1868, a very considerable portion was on fire. The conflagration commenced in a plantation near Astley. Within an hour most of the trees were levelled with the ground. A strong wind was blowing at the time, the fire spread rapidly, and the flames and clouds of smoke were seen for miles. Continuing for between four and five days, at last it approached Barton, and only then did it die away. The moss is traversed hereabouts by many ditches cut for draining purposes. They are from five to eight feet wide, and twelve to fifteen feet in depth, and are generally full of water. So powerful, however, was the action of the fire, that when it expired in many of them there was scarcely an inch, and others were entirely dry. A conflagration of similar character occurred in 1790 upon Lindow Common, resulting in the destruction of an enormous quantity of the game then so plentiful there.
Newton–le–Willows, a place of more names than any other in the county, being also called Newton Bridge, and Newton–in–Makerfield, and by sporting men simply Newton, all these superseding the ancient “Rokeden,” gives access to interesting places both right and left. The town itself has its attractions, consisting of little more than the one old original broad street, with plenty of archæological curiosities, which preserves the primitive idea of a rural English village. Some very pleasant walks, partly sylvan, invite us to the northern side, where also will be found a large and picturesque sheet of water. Like Taxal and Rudyard it is artificial, having beenformed by barricading the outlets of two small streams—the Dene and the Sankey—which previously occupied little independent valleys of their own, so that the outline of the “lake” so called, is most agreeably irregular. In parts it is abundantly flowered with water–lilies, so easy is it for good taste to confer a pure and lasting ornament. On the southern side of the line the specialty consists in the very ancient and interesting village of Winwick, with its celebrated church and innumerable antiquities, including a runic cross in the graveyard. Thence, by permission, there is a charming walk towards Warrington, first along the old lane in front of the church, then through the grounds and shrubberies attached to Winwick Hall, after leaving which the path becomes public. The rhododendrons at Winwick Hall are probably the oldest, as they are certainly the largest and finest in the district. They give one a perfect idea of the stalwart vitality of this inestimable flowering shrub, and place it before us, in all likelihood, just as developed in its native valleys upon the borders of the Euxine, all these very large and venerable rhododendrons, wherever seen, being the originalPonticum. While the original “anemone” was the flower we now call the cistus, the original “rhododendron” was after all, not our universal garden favourite so named, but a totally different thing—the shrub, originally from Palestine, cherished in greenhouses as the “oleander.” Such, at least, was the application of the name in the times immediately preceding those when Pliny wrote.
On the extreme south–western margin of the county, where the simple rustic streams we found near Marple, the Goyt and the Etherowe, after uniting their strength, and receiving the waters of the Tame, the Irwell, and the Bollin, at length become glorious as the estuary of the Mersey, there remain for us, in conclusion, two of the most interesting places in Lancashire. These are Speke Hall, near Garston, and the village of Hale; the latter possessed of some fine archæological fragments, with, close by, the park and gardens appertaining to the residence of Colonel Blackburne.
Speke Hall is a most charming example of genuine Elizabethan work, affording, both inside and out, some of the best and most characteristic features of the better kind of domestic architecture which came into general use soon after the middle of the sixteenth century. To compare small things with great, it may be described as a miniature Bramhall. It stands only a few minutes’ walk from the edge of the estuary, and in the olden time would often, no doubt, be approached from the water, to which an avenue or arcade of lofty trees at present shows the way. In front the ground is level, consisting of green fields which reach to the garden fence. The want of elevation, as at Scarisbrick, rather hinders full appreciation of the singular beauty of the building, at all events until we draw near enough to perceive that, like nearly all other mansions of the kind, it was originally protected by a moat. This has long since been superseded by turf, the bridge alone remaining to showthe depth and width, and the grand old structure now rising up in all its nobleness of design. It is not the original Speke Hall. At the period of the Domesday survey the estate was held by a Saxon thane. After the Conquest, it fell to the share of that famous Norman, Roger de Poictou, who as a reward for his conduct at the battle of Hastings, received so large a portion of Lancashire. Roger, as we all remember, took part in sundry small acts of disloyalty, for which, in turn, he was punished by forfeiture. Subsequently changing hands yet again, at last—perhaps about 1350—the property came to be owned by a branch of the celebrated old family of Norreys (one of the descendants of which fought under Lord Stanley at Flodden,A.D.1513), and by these the first hall of the name was erected, in what style is not known. Remaining in their possession, Speke, as we see it to–day, was the work of one Edward Norreys, who commemorates himself in an inscription in antique letters over the principal entrance:—“This worke 25 yards long was wolly built by Edw. N., Esq. Anno 1598.” The ground–plan, as in similar halls, consisted of a spacious quadrangular courtyard, buildings occupying all four of the sides, so that by means of the corridors and galleries, any portion can be reached by an inmate without stepping into the open air. The richness of these corridors, the beauty of the wood–carving, and the general ornamentation, it is impossible to describe briefly; some of the carved oak was brought from Holyrood by the Sir Wm. Norreys of Flodden fame. There is a finecollection also of ancient weapons, miscellaneous curiosities, and paintings. A wonderful and probably unique spectacle, as regards our own country, is presented upon entering the quadrangle. A very considerable portion of its large area is occupied by a pair of yew trees, much older than the building itself, and to accommodate which the builder seems to have given his first thought while measuring, not forgetting that while his walls would remain unchanged, the trees would grow. They are not of the same age. The yew being one of the trees which are distinctly unisexual, it is plain that the object in introducing the second individual was to secure red berries, such as are still produced abundantly every year. In 1736 the Speke estate passed, through a marriage, into the hands of one of the Beauclerk family, concerning whom the historians seem to care to say no more than is needful; and in 1780 it was purchased by Mr. Richard Watt, an opulent Liverpool merchant. Continuing in his family, it is now held by the lady—Miss Ada Watt—whose kindly permission to enter the gates is indispensable.
Tho. Letherbrow.Hale Hut.Larger image(170 kB)
Tho. Letherbrow.Hale Hut.
Larger image(170 kB)
Hale, renowned for its cottage–gardens, with lilies and roses beyond the counting, is a quiet, peaceful, salubrious little place, claiming celebrity as regards historical mention long anterior to that of Liverpool. When the site of that wealthy city was known to few but fishermen, Hale, so its people assert, already possessed a royal charter. To–day the archæologist turns with interest to the remains of a mansion which in its way must havebeen a fitting companion even for Speke—the ancient baronial residence called the Hutte, about two miles upon the Liverpool side of the village, and lying back a little distance from the turnpike road. The great hall was a hundred feet long by thirty feet wide; scarcely anything is to be seen now beyond some of the grand old windows, an ancient chimneypiece, and the moat, with its drawbridge. Hale Church, like the Hutte, tells of a time when the maps did not insert Liverpool.[29]The body dates from about the middle of the last century, but the tower is of immemorial age, contemporaneous perhaps with the vast pile at the western extremity of Ormskirk old church, thus with the very earliest ecclesiastical remains extant in Lancashire. Here, too, we have a beautiful example of the ancient lych–gate.
Soon after the Restoration the Hutte would seem to have been relinquished as a place of residence by the local family. A new one at all events was built in 1674—the Hale Hall of the present day—mentioned above as the seat of Colonel Blackburne. Like many another first–class country–house, in style it is substantially domestic, extremely comfortable to look at, and no doubt well appointed within; but still neither in outline or physiognomy can it be said to preserve the traditions of any particular school of art. The park is spacious, full of fine trees, including many lindens, so valuablewherever men are sagacious enough to set up beehives. It supplies, also, many a delightful prospect, especially when the eye crosses the water and rests upon the opposite distant hills of North–West Cheshire, which are said to resemble very strikingly the rising grounds about Bethany and Bethphage. The gardens have great historic interest, since it was to Hale that the famous collection of plants once existing at Orford Mount was transferred, these including vines now two or three centuries old, but still prolific of grapes. Vines in this healthful village seem comfortable anywhere, mounting, as in the south, to the cottage eaves, and outstripping in their beautiful green ambition even the honeysuckles.
’Twas then we heard the cuckoo’s noteSound sweetly through the air,And everything around us lookedMost beautiful and fair.
’Twas then we heard the cuckoo’s noteSound sweetly through the air,And everything around us lookedMost beautiful and fair.
OLD SONG.
ALL lovers of the woods and fields are interested in our native birds. Many of their sincerest pleasures are associated with birds; they listen for the song of the thrush in early spring; for the note of the cuckoo, inestimable herald of the summer, voiceful when all else is voiceless, magnet of the heart in quiet evenings as we tread the rising grass or scent the new–cut hay;—and when the corn is awaiting the sickle, for thecrec crecof the land–rail. So with the sweet spectacle of the little nests, hidden away in the hawthorn or ancient ivy–bush. So again with the graceful movements of very many,
The thin–winged swallow skating on the air;
the lengthened undulations of the yellow wagtail; theflutter of the goldfinch about the thistle–stems; the rich and massive sailing of the rooks when homeward bound, so grand, in particular, as they descend to their night covert in the trees. “Who was it,” asks Mr. Bright, who so happily applied to rooks the lines in the sixth Æneid, where Virgil, speaking of the descent of Æneas and his guide upon the Elysian plains, says,
Devenere locos lætos, et amœna viretaFortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas?And down they came upon the happy haunts,The pleasant greenery of the favoured groves,Their blissful resting–place.[30]
Devenere locos lætos, et amœna viretaFortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas?
And down they came upon the happy haunts,The pleasant greenery of the favoured groves,Their blissful resting–place.[30]
We propose, accordingly, now to add a brief account of the ornithology of the district these Rambles cover, so far, at all events, as regards the immediate neighbourhood of Manchester. The detailed observations upon the habits of the various species as originally given in the “Walks and Wild flowers” were, as stated in that work, supplied to a considerable extent by two old friends, both long since deceased, Samuel Carter and Edward Jacques. Many others will now be found, and for these we have chiefly to thank Mr. Charles E. Reade.
When Dr. Latham published his famous history of birds, exactly a hundred years ago, the number of ascertained species, in all countries, was about four thousand. It is now beyond question that the number is not less than eleven thousand, and many others no doubt exist in remote corners of which little or nothing has yet beenlearned. Europe contains a fair proportion of the great total. So does old England individually. The Rev. F. O. Morris, in his six well–known volumes, the first of which is dated 1863, describes and figures no fewer than three hundred and fifty–eight, or about a thirtieth of the whole number, which, very curiously, is just about the same proportion as that of the inhabitants of the British Islands to the aggregate of the world in general. In this list are included the genuine Ancient Britons, the aborigines, the birds that never go away, hence called “Permanent Residents;” the migratory birds, or such as come for awhile in summer or winter, hence called “Periodical Visitors;” and, thirdly, the vagrants, the lost, and the adventurous, collectively called “Casuals.” The introduction of the last–named, though legitimate, gives, it must be confessed, a certain deceptiveness to the figures. In the whole range of natural history there is no fact more interesting than that birds, in their airy voyages, often wander inconceivably far from home, so that in all countries solitary examples of different kinds are met with in turn, not one of them perhaps ever revisiting that particular spot. Well may the poets, that is to say, the philosophers, find in birds the representatives and emblems of human thought, which, as we all know, travels illimitably. To give these casuals, however, a place in the catalogue commensurate with that of the aborigines, the birds residing in the country all the year round, or even with that of the established visitors, which, like the cuckoo, never forget their appointedseason, is manifestly to introduce confusion. At least fifty out of Mr. Morris’s three hundred and fifty–eight have not occurred more than once or twice in any part of Great Britain; and another hundred are particularised as “extremely rare.” To say that there are about two hundred British species is thus nearer the truth as regards the established denizens of our island—the birds we are familiar with, or with which we may become so by steady watching; and of these, proper to our own neighbourhood, there would seem to occur within a few miles of Manchester about ninety. The number of permanent residents mentioned in the “Walks” is fifty–nine, and of regular summer and winter visitors between twenty–five and thirty; if there is any difference at the present moment, the changes of twenty–four years will certainly not indicate increase. Why we have no more than about one–half of the proper ornithology of the country is that Lancashire is too far to the north, and its climate too damp and chilly, for many of the summer immigrants from beyond the channel, though some of these have no objection to visit the adjacent county of York; while in respect of the winter visitors from the colder parts of the Continent and the Baltic regions, we are rather too far to the west. If few in comparison with the possessions of more favoured districts, the ninety or a hundred are still enough to be proud of and to rejoice in. It is with birds as with wild–flowers: we do not want lengthy catalogues, but that which shall gladden the heart. A single life–history, followed up in every little particular, supplies,exactly as in botany, more real and lasting enjoyment than acquaintance, however sounding, with a score of mere shapes and measurements, and resting therein.
The parts most abounding in birds are naturally those which supply food in the greatest abundance. The peat–mosses, the cold and treeless hills have their inhabitants. Still, it is where fruit abounds, and where the insects depending on vegetation are most numerous, that birds must always be expected to gather in largest numbers. Trees and substantial hedgerows are also inviting, so that, all things considered, the southern and south–western parts of the neighbourhood are probably the richest both in number of species and of individuals.
The simple fact of so many as ninety of the prettiest and most interesting of the birds accounted British being denizens of our own district should operate as a strong inducement, especially with young people, to commence earnest study of ornithology. If the gathering and examination of ferns and wild–flowers be a perennial pastime, quite as hearty is the enjoyment that comes of observing the forms of birds, always so elegant, the diversities of their vestures, their odd and entertaining manners and customs, their ingenuity, characters, and tempers, their almost human instincts, and their incessant prefiguration of human character. This last is, in truth, not simply one of the most curious and amusing parts of ornithology, but literally the inexhaustible part. The best and most precious lessons in natural history, whatever may be the department, are those which enable usto trace the harmonies between the lower forms of life and our own, seeing that man is not so much contained in nature, as the continent of it, the summary, compend, and epitome of all that is outside of him, and of all that has gone before. It is not necessary, as some seem to suppose, that we shouldshootevery unlucky bird we may desire to be acquainted with. The museums are now so amply stocked with good stuffed specimens, that there is no need for further slaughter, unless under peculiar circumstances; all that we may want to know about form and colour is procurable indoors, and the best part of the subject is always that which is followed up with our eyes and ears in the fields. There is no harm in killing birds, any more than in the insecticide of the entomologist, so long as necessary for the genuine purposes of science; but to make a point of bringing down every poor wayfarer that may come within range is wanton cruelty. Instead of glorying in the destruction of a rare bird, or of a brilliant butterfly that an instant before had been waving its painted fans like an animated flower, it should rather be matter of regret that it has now been prevented from any longer brightening the earth and air, and that the beauty of the world has been thus much defaced. If a bird in the hand be worth two in the bush, a bird in the woods, rejoicing in the freedom of nature, is worth twenty in a museum or a glass case.
Assuredly, too, it is a great mistake to shoot down birds because of the damage they do in orchards and corn–fields. Caterpillars, grubs, and flies of various kindsmultiply in precisely the degree that pains are taken to protect the fruit by destroying the birds disposed to attack it. The prudent man, instead of killing all he can, knows that his best policy is so to alarm the invaders that they shall go away of their own accord. Birds of a feather not only flock together, but, as every ornithologist knows full well, can confabulate. Warned by the discharge of small shot such as will do them no harm, they soon discern that mischief is brewing, and though, like boys, they will “try it on” again, by and by they take their departure, and conscience is not smitten with the reflection that, after all, the poor creature was more of a friend than an adversary. By killing off birds systematically, not to say malevolently and vindictively, those who do so strive their best to exterminate a leading section of the sanitary police of nature. No policy is more short–sighted; it is the opprobrium of the present day, and if persisted in will induce results that, when too late, will be deplored.
While speaking thus of the wanton destruction of birds, let it be added that the words apply with equal force to the wanton destruction of flowers and ferns. Gather what can be applied to good and useful purposes, butno more; and as regards roots, never dig up anything that cannot be relied upon as quite sure to take kindly to the garden or the rockery it is destined for. All true naturalists love to contemplate Life, and living things, and no one deserves the name who wilfully and wantonly or even heedlessly puts things to death, or who treatsthem in such a way that they will presently be sure to die.
Let us proceed, however, with our list, adding only that the original localities of 1858 have all been allowed to stand, so that it may be seen what Manchester possessed then, if not to–day. The scientific appellations are those which lead off the lists of synonyms given by Morris. To facilitate reference to his useful work, the volume and the number of the plate are cited after every name, the plates being counted as No. 1 and thence onwards up to 358.
The Kestrel, or Windhover(Falco Tinnunculus), Morris, vol. i., pl. 17.
Common, building in woods, especially where little disturbed by visitors. One of the most beautiful and harmless of its race, and remarkable for hovering over its prey, which is often a field–mouse. It may be seen suspended in the air by quick, short flapping of the wings, sometimes for five minutes, then dropping down upon its victim with wonderful speed and force.
The Sparrow–hawk(Accipiter Fringillarius), i., 19.
Common, a bird of great daring, and a very general and successful destroyer of smaller ones, pouncing at once upon its prey. Usually builds in a tree which commands a good view in every direction.
The Short–eared Owl(Strix brachyotus), i., 23.
Frequently found on the mosses. Two upon Trafford Moss in the winter of 1858–9.
The White or Barn Owl(Strix flammea), i., 29.
Common. The most frequent, familiar, and useful of the British owls, being a great destroyer of mice and young rats, therefore especially valuable to farmers who have granaries. Often laughed at because of its “stupid” look, the owl is a bird of consummate interest. The great size of the eyes is adapted to the small amount of light in which they are usually to be employed. In the broad light of day the poor creature is dazzled, and may well look irrational. Mark also the beautiful fringe around the eyes. This prevents the interference of lateral light, and the bird can concentrate the whole of its power upon what lies immediately before it, just as we ourselves shade the eye with the hand, and curve the fingers, when we want to examine some distant object more particularly.
The Song Thrush(Turdus musicus), iii., 127.
Everywhere in the district, and its sweet voice known to every one. In congenial seasons it begins to sing in February. The nests, with the eggs, are brought every year to the market for sale. In the work of no creatures more than of birds, as in higher circles of life, is there more of “love’s labour lost.” But to balance extreme lack of wisdom, so great in thepresent instance is the perseverance, that if in endeavouring to raise a brood it is foiled by one of its many enemies, the thrush almost invariably follows that good old rule, “try again.”
The Missel Thrush(Turdus viscivorus), iii., 124.
Common, breeding freely and very early, and building a nest similar to that of the song–thrush, but in rather slovenly fashion, and usually very conspicuous, being placed in the forks of the branches of trees. Any odd stuff is used for it, as pieces of torn–up newspaper, bits of old flannel, stray cotton–wool, old ribbon, &c.
The Blackbird(Turdus merula), iii., 131.
Common everywhere, restless and vigilant, breeding freely, known to every one, and a great plague to gardeners. Blackbirds, however, consume so many snails, that in the matter of spoiled fruit we can quite afford to be lenient.
The Hedge Sparrow, or Dunnock(Accentor modularis), iii., 135.
Common, and especially attached to gardens. Begins to sing towards dusk, never any sooner; then mounts to the highest twig it can find near its nest, and is tuneful to the highest degree, saying, as well as a bird can, “Home, home, sweet, sweet home, my day’s work is done, like yours; good night, all’s well.” A more exquisitely beautiful and immaculateshade of blue than that of the eggs it is scarcely possible to discover.
The Robin, or Redbreast(Sylvia rubecula), iii., 136.
Universally known and beloved; very fond of visiting timber–yards in the town during the winter, where it sings freely; and in the country an excellent prophet of the weather, for if the next day is to be fine, the robin mounts to the top of the tallest tree; if the contrary, it warbles softly underneath. The young birds are nearly the colour of throstles, the distinctive hue not appearing till after the first moult. At this period the bird seems patched with red, presenting a most comical appearance.
The Stonechat(Sylvia rubicola), iii., 140.
Seen every winter in the neighbourhood of Withington, haunting the Swedish turnip fields. In the summer it lodges elsewhere.
The Golden–crested Wren(Regulus cristatus), iii., 162.
This bird builds annually in the yews in the grounds at Dunham Hall, and is common on the outskirts of the town generally. The note resembles that of a weak cricket, and is often repeated, as if the little creatures, like children, were afraid of losing one another. The male and female are never seen apart, and usually there are three or four couples together.
The Great Titmouse(Parus major), i., 36.
Common, haunting woods and gardens, and busy most of its time in looking for insects and spiders. Imitating other birds, and making all sorts of queer noises, the reward it often gets is to be shot for its pains, the wonder being what droll creature can it be.
The Blue Titmouse(Parus cœruleus), i., 39.
Very beautiful in plumage, usually a sweet light blue or dark blue and yellow, common in woods and gardens, and building its nest in holes of trees, in letter–boxes, old pumps, and anything else that has a cavity in it and it takes a fancy to. In late autumn and winter there is no prettier sight than to watch one of these elegant little creatures pecking away at one of the two or three apples that a kind–hearted man always leaves for it.
The Cole Titmouse(Parus ater), i., 37.
Common, but chiefly found in winter, usually going northwards to breed.
The Marsh Titmouse.(Parus palustris), i., 40.
Similar to the last both in habits and note, but building more frequently.
The Long–tailed Titmouse(Parus caudatus), i., 41.
The nest, which is usually suspended from the ends of branches in the thick of the hedge, is most beautifully formed, and resembles a little bee–hive. It is constructed of moss, lichens, and spiders’ webs,and lined with feathers, as many, when pulled out and scattered abroad, as would fill a couple of hats. In autumn, parties of about half–a–dozen usually go about together, scampering through the orchards, generally from east to west, examining every tree with remarkable rapidity, always moving, never resting; after which they are not seen again perhaps for months.
The Pied Wag–tail, or Dish–washer(Motacilla Yarrellii), ii., 80.
A common and very elegant bird, building under bridges, and near the water, but always in some rough or stony place, such as a hole where a brick has fallen out. Haunting stream and pond–sides in quest of food, it is quite as particular as a lady is over her dress, flirting its little tail so as to preserve it from getting soiled.
The Gray Wag–tail, (Motacilla sulphurea), ii., 82.
Similar to the last in habits, and very beautiful in its breeding plumage, showing yellow, blue, black, white, green, and many other tints. Near Manchester rather rare.
The Meadow Pipit, or Titling(Anthus pratensis), ii., 86.
Common in meadows and upon the mosses, as Chat Moss and White Moss, on which it breeds abundantly. This bird has most young cuckoos to rear of any of the feathered tribe that build on the ground, and a good deal of work to do, for theyoung cuckoos are both big and hungry. It is one also of many which, if they think their young are in danger, feign to be wounded, so as to draw attention away from the nest.
The Skylark, or Lavrock(Alauda arvensis), ii., 93.
Common everywhere, building on the ground. The male bird seems to collect the materials, while the female employs herself in arranging them. Seldom alighting upon either tree or bush, the lark, rather singular to say, is, except when soaring, in its habits almost wholly terrestrial.
The Common Bunting(Emberiza miliaria), ii., 97.
Not infrequent, singing, in a shrill note, in March, on the tops of trees near cultivated fields. The nest is built on the ground, near the sides of ditches.
The Black–headed Bunting, or Black–cap(Emberiza schœniculus), ii., 98.
Common about pit–sides and wide ditches.
The Yellow–ammer(Emberiza citrinella), ii., 90.
Common. The song, in March and April, is very peculiar, and sounds like the words, “A little bit of bread and no ch–e–e–se,” the first part of the sentence uttered rapidly, and the latter long drawn out. (This name, often mis–written yellow–hammer, represents the Germangoldammer, literally “yellow–bunting.”)
The Chaffinch(Fringilla cælebs), ii., 102.
Common. A very early harbinger of spring, in woods, fields, and gardens, and very fond of orchards,building a beautiful nest of all sorts of materials within reach. One has been found constructed entirely of raw cotton. The eggs are sometimes blue, sometimes white with pale spots, or pinky, or red, as if pencil–marked. Namedcælebsby Linnæus, because in winter, especially when the season is severe, in many parts the sexes say good–bye to one another, and live asunder till spring, when they re–unite. One of the neatest in habits of all English birds. Even in the depth of winter the chaffinch seeks a lavatory every day.
The Tree Sparrow(Passer montanus), ii., 104.
A sharp little bird, not uncommon, and usually building in hollow oak–trees. If the tree be approached during incubation it flies off like a shot.
The House Sparrow(Passer domesticus), ii., 105.
The bold, pert, quarrelsome bird, indifferent alike to our kindness and our enmity, which nevertheless one is glad to see feeding on the crumbs considerately thrown to it from the parlour breakfast–table.
The Greenfinch(Coccothraustes chloris), ii., 106.
Common in cultivated fields and gardens. Song sweet but monotonous.
The Common Linnet(Linaria cannabina), ii., 110.
Abundant everywhere on heaths and in hedgerows. Many are kept in cages for the beauty of the song. Not only among mankind, it would seem, does a fine voice sometimes prove the road to ruin.
The Less Red–pole(Linaria minor), ii., 111.
This bird breeds in Marple Wood, Cotterill Clough, and similar places. The nest, rather hard to discover, is round, the size of a racket–ball, and composed of fibrous roots and the hemp–like bark of the dead nettle–stalks of the previous year, with which the little architect ties them together, the inside being lined with the pappus or down of the coltsfoot seed. It is generally placed in high hedges or in the boughs of fir–trees.
The Bullfinch(Loxia Pyrrhula), ii., 114.
Rare. Remarkable for the beauty of its nest, which is constructed of the withered ends of the slenderest woodbine twigs the bird can find, laid crosswise like a woven fabric. Generally found in a bush, and about a yard from the ground.
The Starling, or Shepster(Sturnus vulgaris), iii., 121.
A bird well–known as stopping up waterspouts with its nest, and never going to bed till after a prolonged chatter. Common everywhere.
The Carrion Crow(Corvus corone), i., 52.
Formerly common in Hough–end Clough, but now extinct, and fast disappearing from the neighbourhood in general.
The Rook(Corvus frugilegus), i., 54.
Common everywhere. Their clamour one of the most familiar of rural sounds, and their great feathers,of the only shade of black that is lively, constantly seen lying upon the ground.
The Jackdaw(Corvus monedula), i., 55.
Formerly an inhabitant of the steeples of St. John’s, St. Anne’s, St. Matthew’s, and St. Mary’s churches. Plentiful wherever there is an old ruin.
The Magpie(Pica caudata), i., 56.
Formerly very abundant about Urmston, but has become scarce with the disappearance of the tall trees, especially poplars, once so plentiful there. It suffers sadly, also, from sportsmen and gamekeepers.
The Jay(Garrulus glandarius), i., 58.
Frequent about Withington, Didsbury, Northen, and in that part of the neighbourhood.
The Green Woodpecker(Picus viridis), ii., 64.
This bird used to breed in Dunham Park. One was seen there in January, 1859.
The Great Spotted Woodpecker(Picus major), ii., 65.
Rare. Dunham Park; Barlow Moor.
The Common Creeper(Certhia familiaris), ii., 62.
Abundant, but, in consequence of its retired habits, little known. At a short distance it looks like a mouse, running up the tree from the very bottom, and clearing it all round of every insect that may happen to be in the way. Plentiful at Gatley Carrs.
The Common Wren(Sylvia Troglodytes), iii., 160.
Well–known, and common everywhere in gardens, woods, and hedgerows. Often found with a few scattered white feathers, and sometimes with white wings. The large and pretty nest reminds one of what women do for the world. The hen commences one and completes it. Meantime the male bird begins two or three in succession, a short distance from his mate’s, but never completes one of them. The materials are moss, feathers, hair, dead leaves, and dead fern.
The Peewit, or Lapwing(Vanellus cristatus), iv., 192.