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Country Rambles, and Manchester Walks and Wild Flowers

by Leo H. Grindon · English · Gutenberg #47578 · 490,780 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Country Rambles, and Manchester Walks and Wild Flowers

Author: Leo H. Grindon


        
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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUNTRY RAMBLES, AND MANCHESTER WALKS AND WILD FLOWERS ***

Transcriber's Notes: Italic text is marked _thus_. Apparent
typographical errors have been corrected and hyphenation standardised.




COUNTRY RAMBLES.

[Illustration: _Rostherne Mere._]




COUNTRY RAMBLES,

AND

Manchester Walks and Wild flowers:

BEING RURAL WANDERINGS IN

CHESHIRE, LANCASHIRE, DERBYSHIRE, & YORKSHIRE.

BY

LEO H. GRINDON,

_Author of "The Manchester Flora," "Manchester Banks and Bankers,"

"Lancashire: Historical and Descriptive Notes," and other works._

  If thou art worn, and hard beset
  With sorrows that thou wouldst forget;
  If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep
  Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep,
  Go to the woods and hills! No tears
  Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.

LONGFELLOW.

  MANCHESTER:
  PALMER & HOWE, 73, 75, AND 77, PRINCESS ST.
  LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO.

1882.




  MANCHESTER:
  PALMER AND HOWE, PRINTERS, 73, 75, AND 77, PRINCESS STREET




[Illustration]




PREFACE.


The following pages consist, in part, of a reprint of the little
volume published in 1858 under the title of _Manchester Walks and
Wild-Flowers_;--in part, of brief _excerpta_ from the author's accounts
of trips made by the Field Naturalists' Society, as given in their
Annual Reports, 1860-1881. A very considerable amount of new matter
will also be found.

Giving descriptions in a novel and welcome manner, of pretty places
in the neighbourhood previously unknown to people in general, and
indicating in various ways the pleasure to be derived from rambles in
the country, the little volume spoken of is believed to have assisted,
in no slight measure, to awaken and foster the present widespread local
taste for rural scenes, and for recreation in the pursuit of practical
natural history. It is in the hope that similar results may ensue among
the present generation that the book is now partially republished.
It has long been unprocurable, and is constantly enquired for. The
reprinting presents also a curious and interesting picture of many
local conditions now effaced.

The preface to the original work of 1858 contained the following
passages:--"No grown-up person who has resided in Manchester even
twenty years, is unacquainted with the mighty changes that have
passed over its suburbs during that period; while those who have
lived here thirty, forty, and fifty years tell us of circumstances
and conditions almost incredible. Neighbourhoods once familiar as
delightful rural solitudes, are now covered with houses, and densely
crowded with population; the pleasant field-paths we trod in our youth
have disappeared, and in their stead are long lines of pavement,
lighted with gas, and paced by the policeman. In a few years it is not
improbable that places described in the following pages as rustic and
sylvan will have shared the same fate, and be as purely historical as
Garratt Wood and Ordsall Clough. The Botany of the district will to a
certain extent be similarly affected. No longer than fifteen years ago
(_i.e._ in 1840) the fields by St. George's Church, in the Chester
Road, were blue every March and April with the spring crocus, and on
the very spot where Platt Church now lifts its tall and graceful spire,
there was a large pond filled with the _Stratiotes_, or water-aloe.
If the past be a prognostic of the future, it is easy to guess what
will happen to other things, and to understand how in half a century
hence our present 'Walks' will have become as obsolete as their
author, and the entire subject require a new and livelier treatment.
A descriptive history of the suburbs of Manchester as they were fifty
years ago, would be a most interesting and valuable item of our local
literature. It would be as curious to the lover of bygones as this book
of to-day may perhaps appear to the Manchester people of A.D. 1900.
How extraordinary would be the facts may be judged from the following
extracts from De Quincey, whose youth, it is well known, was passed
in the neighbourhood of Manchester. Mark first what he says of the
_place_ he lived in. 'And if, after the manner of the Emperor Aurelius,
I should return thanks to Providence for all the separate blessings
of my early situation, these four I would single out as worthy of
special consideration,--that I lived in a _rustic solitude_; that this
solitude was in England; that my infant feelings were moulded by the
gentlest of sisters; and finally, that I and they were dutiful and
loving members of a pure, and holy, and magnificent church.' And now
mark where lay this 'rustic solitude.' He is describing the expected
return of his father:--'It was a summer evening of unusual solemnity.
The servants and four of us children were gathered for hours on the
lawn before the house, listening for the sound of wheels. Sunset came,
nine, ten, eleven o'clock, and nearly another hour had passed without
a warning sound, for Greenhay, being so _solitary a house_, formed a
"terminus ad quem," beyond which was nothing but a cluster of cottages,
composing the little hamlet of Greenhill; so that any sound of wheels
coming from the _country lane which then connected us with the Rusholme
Road_, carried with it of necessity, a warning summons to prepare
for visitors at Greenhay.' 'Greenhay' was the centre of the modern
Greenheys, and the 'hamlet of Greenhill' the predecessor of the present
Greenhill Terrace."

The changes foreboded have to an extent not unimportant, already come
to pass. Almost the whole of the great suburb which includes the
Alexandra Park has grown up since about 1860, effacing meadows and
corn-fields. In the contemplation of this new scene of busy life there
is pleasure, since it signifies human welfare and enjoyment. In other
directions, unhappily, the change has been for the worse, as indicated
in the notes to the original portraiture of Boggart-hole Clough, Mere
Clough, and the Reddish Valley. Before deciding to visit any particular
place in the immediate neighbourhood of the town it will be prudent,
accordingly, to read to the end. Never mind. Few things ever go
absolutely. Against the losses we are able to put the opportunities for
enjoyment in localities opened up by recent railway extensions,--places
quite as charming as the extinguished ones--it is simply a question now
of a little longer travel.

The present volume, be it remembered, is neither a gazetteer nor an
itinerary. The limits are too narrow for its making pretensions even
to be a Guide-book, though the style, often, I am aware, too swift
and abbreviated, may give it the semblance of one;--it proposes only
to supply hints as to where and how to secure country pastimes. While
constrained to leave many places with only a touch, others have been
treated so admirably by Mr. Earwaker, Mr. Croston, and Mr. Waugh, that
to tread the same ground would, on my own part, be alike needless and
ungraceful. Others again I have described only within these few months
in the "Lancashire," to which work I may be permitted to refer the
reader for particulars not here given.

Except in some few instances, I have not cared either to give minute
directions as to paths and gates. One of the grand charms of a rural
ramble consists in the sensation, at times, of being slightly and
agreeably lost; to say nothing of the pleasure which comes of being
called upon to employ our own wits, instead of always asking, like a
child, to be led by the hand.

If, when visited, some of the places seem over-praised, it must further
be understood that the descriptions are of their appearance in pleasant
weather, in sunshine, and when cherished companions help to make the
hours glad. I can say no more than that the descriptions are faithful
as regards my own experience, and that I hope earnestly they may become
true to the experience of every one else. From this point of view the
little book is a kind of record of what I have seen and felt during
forty years.

Nothing has been written for mere "cheap-trippers." The book is
addressed to the intelligent, the peaceful, and the cultivated; those
who, when they visit the country, desire to profit by its inestimable
sweet lessons. In many parts it is addressed especially to the young,
who have ductile material in them, and are the hope of the future
for us all. Neither has it been written for learned botanists or
antiquaries. The botanical details are simply such as it is hoped may
encourage the beginner. My main desire is to be educational, and by
this I would be judged.

Many of the places described or referred to are strictly private.
Permission to view them must therefore be asked some days before.
Common-sense and the courtesy of civilized beings will prescribe in
every case the proper method of procedure.

I have, in conclusion, to express my thanks to the artists who have so
pleasingly illustrated the work, Mr. W. Morton, and very particularly,
Mr. Thos. Letherbrow.

By some odd _lapsus calami_ the passage from Wordsworth on page 139 has
been mis-written. The third line should read, "So was it when _my life
began_."

LEO H. GRINDON.

MANCHESTER,

MAY 1st, 1882.




[Illustration]




CONTENTS.


                                                      Page
CHAPTER I.


  INTRODUCTORY                                           1


CHAPTER II.

  THE ASHLEY MEADOWS AND THE LOWER BOLLIN VALLEY        13


CHAPTER III.

  ROSTHERNE MERE, TATTON, DELAMERE                      31


CHAPTER IV.

  CARRINGTON MOSS, DUNHAM, LYMM                         47


CHAPTER V.

  GATLEY CARRS, WYTHENSHAWE                             68

CHAPTER VI.

  NORCLIFFE, ALDERLEY EDGE                              84


CHAPTER VII.

  COMBERMERE, BEESTON CASTLE                            93


CHAPTER VIII.

  THE REDDISH VALLEY, ARDEN HALL                       100


CHAPTER IX.

  PRESTBURY, POTT SHRIGLEY, GAWSWORTH, ALTON TOWERS    111


CHAPTER X.

  DISLEY, LYME PARK, TAXAL                             121


CHAPTER XI.

  MARPLE, CASTLETON, MILLER'S DALE                     129


CHAPTER XII.

  KINDER SCOUT, STALEY BRUSHES, SEAL BARK              139


CHAPTER XIII.

  BOGGART-HOLE CLOUGH, BAMFORD WOOD, HARDCASTLE CRAGS  151


CHAPTER XIV.

  MERE CLOUGH, THE AGECROFT VALLEY                     175


CHAPTER XV.

  THE OLD LANCASHIRE BOTANISTS                         194


CHAPTER XVI.

  ROSSENDALE, WHALLEY ABBEY, CLITHEROE, PENDLE         213


CHAPTER XVII.

  RIVINGTON, ASHURST, LATHOM HOUSE                     232


CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE LOCAL ORNITHOLOGY                                257


CHAPTER XIX.

  NATURAL HISTORY IN THE LIBRARY                       291


  SUMMARY OF RAILWAY STATIONS AND DISTANCES            303

  INDEX                                                313




FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                                   Page

  ROSTHERNE MERE. Drawn and Engraved by W. Morton,      _Frontispiece_.

  OLDFIELD, DUNHAM.  Drawn and Etched by Thos. Letherbrow            64

  BARLOW HALL. Drawn and Etched by Thos. Letherbrow                  82

  LYME HALL. Drawn and Etched by Thos. Letherbrow                   124

  HALEWOOD CHURCH.  Drawn by W. Hull, Etched by Thos. Letherbrow    168

  HALE HUT. Drawn and Etched by Thos. Letherbrow                    254




[Illustration]




Country Rambles.




CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.


  The meanest floweret of the vale,
  The simplest note that swells the gale,
  The common sun, the air, the skies,
  To him are opening Paradise.


Wide as may be the circle covered by a great town, we come to the
country at last. Let the bricks and mortar stride far as they will over
the greensward, there are always sanctuaries beyond--sweet spots where
we may yet listen to the singing of the birds, and pluck the early
primrose and anemone. We need but take our survey from a sufficiently
high point, to see that the vastest mass of houses ever heaped together
by man is still only an encampment in the fields. Like the waves of the
sea upon the shores of the islands, the surge of the yellow corn is
still close upon our borders. We need but turn our faces fondly towards
rural things and rural sights, and we shall find them.

Manchester itself, grim, flat, smoky Manchester, with its gigantic
suburb ever on the roll further into the plain, and scouts from its
great army of masons posted on every spot available for hostile
purposes,--Manchester itself denies to no one of its five hundred
thousand, who is blessed with health and strength, the amenities and
genial influences of the country. True, we have no grand scenery;
no Clyde, no Ben Lomond, no Leigh Woods, no St. Vincent's Rocks, no
Clevedon, no Durdham Down; our rivers are anything but limpid; our
mountains are far away, upon the horizon; our lakes owe less to nature
than to art; as for waterfalls, we have none but in our portfolios.
Still is our town bosomed in beauty. Though the magnificent and the
romantic be wanting, we have meadows trimmed with wild-flowers, the
scent of the new-mown hay and the purple clover; we have many a sweet
sylvan walk where we may hear

  The burnie wimplin' doon the glen,

and many a grateful pathway under the mingled boughs of beech and
chestnut. Next to a fine woman, the most delightful object in creation
is a noble and well-grown tree,--a group of such trees always reminds
us of a bevy of fair ladies; and dull and unthankful must be the man
who, in the tranquil and sacred shades of Alderley and Dunham, cannot
realise to himself the most genuine and heartfelt pleasure that
trees and woods can give. If they be not so sumptuous as the oaks of
Worcestershire, or so stately as the elms of Surrey, our trees are as
leafy and as green, and their shadows fall as softly on the summer
afternoon. The great secret in the enjoyment of nature, as in our
intercourse with society, is to look at its objects in a friendly
light, to make the most of them, such as they are; not invidiously
contrasting them with certain other objects at a distance, but
recognising that absolute and positive beauty which is possessed by
the very humblest. Superadd to this the habit of connecting our own
feelings and emotions with the forms of nature, and, however wanting
in attractions to the mere adulator of "fine scenery," every little
flower, every bend of the branches, and sweet concurrent play of light
and shade, every pendent shadow in the stream, becomes animated with a
meaning and a power of satisfying such as none but those who accustom
themselves to look for it _here_, can find in the most favoured and
spacious landscape. Justly to appreciate the wonderful and rare, we
must first learn to regard with a tender and intimate affection the
common and the unpretending; in the degree that we withdraw from the
latter, treating it with indifference or contempt, as surely does our
capacity diminish for the former. The common things of earth are the
most gracious gifts of God. None of us extract their full value, yet
every man holds it in his power to make himself tenfold happier by a
wise use of them. For true and continuous enjoyment of life is not
attained by the gratification of high-flown and artificial wants,
connected in large measure with the idea of pounds, shillings, and
pence. It is found in the culture of love for common things, the
untaxed game that no man can deprive us of, and which constitute the
chief part of the beauties of the country. Hence the worth of nature
to the poor. If the rich have their gardens and hothouses, here are
flower-beds and parks, fresh from God's own hand, without money, and
without price, and greater than the estates of all the nobles in the
kingdom. Hence, too, coming close to home, we may see how little reason
we have to lament the absence of the grand and wonderful, since nothing
less than total nakedness of surface can take from a place its power to
interest and please.

While adapted to give true pleasure, if looked for in a kindly spirit,
no less fertile is our neighbourhood in materials for a large and
practical culture of natural science. Most of the sciences may be
cultivated by Manchester residents to perfection. For geology there are
certainly fewer advantages than invite men to it in the neighbourhood
of some other large inland towns. But what scope there is for botany
and entomology is attested by the numbers of students of both these
charming sciences who have adorned the ranks of our working men
during the last half century.[1] Caley, Hobson, Crozier,[2] Crowther,
Horsefield, among those no longer in this life; Percival, Carter,
Evans,[3] still among us, have reflected honour upon Manchester as a
spontaneous working men's college of natural history, such as might
deservedly be envied by the proudest institution in the land. These men
acquired their knowledge in the scenes we speak of, and from nature's
"common things." The plants of the fields and hedgerows, the insects
of the moors, were their inspiration and instruction, the source at
the same moment of a thorough and pure delight; for while they are the
least expensive of pleasures, the naturalist's are also the truest and
most abiding. No one inexperienced in botany would imagine how many
wild-flowers are found growing about Manchester. Taking the area which
would be marked out by measuring a circle round the Exchange, fifteen
miles from it in every direction, six hundred different species were
catalogued in 1840.[4] Buxton's "Guide," printed in 1849, included one
hundred and fifty others, mostly accidental omissions from the earlier
list. Our own "Manchester Flora," 1858, in which everything is brought
up to that time, contains over twenty more, though, in consequence
of the diversity of opinion as to what plants should legitimately
be included, the figures are probably much about the same as in the
"Guide," namely, seven hundred and fifty. These seven hundred and
fifty comprise the flowering plants, the trees, and the ferns. The
number of mosses, fungi, lichens, and other flowerless plants, usually
regarded as a separate subject of study, is in the aggregate probably
quite as great, making a total of some one thousand five hundred
perfectly distinct forms. Not that they are all equally abundant. We
must distinguish between what botanists call the "Flora" of a given
district, and its vegetation. The "Flora" may be large, and yet the
mass of the vegetation consist of but few different kinds, the same
plants repeated over and over again, as when hills are covered for
miles together with heath and whortleberries. Such is the case with
Manchester. Though there are seven hundred and fifty different kinds
of flowers and ferns contained in our "Flora," probably not half the
number go to constitute the general herbage of the district. Some
species are very rarely met with, only once in the season perhaps.
But this is so much the more pleasing to the botanist, since it keeps
his enthusiasm vigorously alive. In addition to the living objects of
interest so freely supplied by the fields and woodlands, Manchester
naturalists have a singular privilege in the local Free Libraries
and museums. The museum at Peel Park is in many departments rich and
extensive, and nowhere in the world can we consult books of greater
value, or illustrated more magnificently, than are to be had for the
asking in Camp Field,[5] at the Chetham College, and again at Peel
Park. All three of these admirable libraries contain works on botany
and entomology which it is really melancholy to think are so little
known by the bulk of our town's people, when they might contribute to
an almost endless delight. Let it not be supposed that we are speaking
of botany, entomology, etc., as proper to be made the chief business
of life. "A man," said Dr. Johnson, "is never so well employed as when
he is earning money." Yes. One of the best friends a man has in the
world is a good round balance at his banker's, the fruit and reward
of his own toil. We speak of them as employments for the _intervals_
of business, which it is quite as important to occupy carefully and
diligently as the hours of business themselves. The more delight
derived from the contemplation and study of nature a man can pack into
his leisure moments, the keener, it is certain, will be his aptitude
for his ordinary duties. It is not only delight of spirit either that
comes of attention to nature; there are the salutary effects of it
upon the body. Rambling in the fields, the town-cobwebs get dusted out
of one's lungs, and the whole frame becomes buoyant and elastic. Good
as is a bathe in the cold water, scarcely inferior, when the skin is
clean, is a good bathe in the blowing wind.

With these inducements and recommendations to the love of nature so
amply spread before us, we purpose introducing our readers to the
principal scenes of rural beauty in the immediate neighbourhood,
those sweet side-chapels in the grand cathedral which no locality is
absolutely without. The experience of half a life-time has shown us
that no trifling source of pleasure is such familiarity with nature as
we hope to encourage. Days gone by are made brighter to recollection;
the present are filled with the same pleasures; for it is the peculiar
property of the happiness induced by the love of nature, that if we
are trained in youth to seek and find it, when we are old it will not
depart from us;--even the future is made cheerful and inviting by the
certainty that, leaving us our eyes, nature for her part will never
grow old nor look shabby, not even in winter, which is decorated in its
own way, but will always, like the Graces, be young and lovely. That
which truly keeps life going is sensibility to the romance of nature.
Youth and age are measured fictitiously if we count only by birthdays.
Some things always find us young, and make us young, and though love
and kindness may be the best known of these, none act more powerfully
than does the sweet smile of living nature. It is in conversing with
nature, moreover, that we learn how foolish are affectation and
sentimentalism; how poor we are in leisure for mournful musing and
fruitless reverie; that the truest and most precious pleasures are
those which are the manliest; how rich we are in opportunities for
affection and generosity. The facilities for reaching the most charming
and sequestered spots are now so great and manifold that no one need
be a stranger to them. It is not as some fifteen years ago,[6] when
they were only to be reached by a long walk, which consumed the half
of one's time, or by a specially engaged conveyance, the expense of
which compelled one's excursions to be like the angels' visits, few
and far between. The railways, penetrating every nook and corner, now
enable us to reach the very heart of the country in a very little
while, fresh and nimble for our enjoyment, and, when over, the same
will bring us home again. Honoured for ever be the name of Stephenson!
It is in facilitating men's intercourse with nature, and the purest
and most ennobling recreations they can enjoy and are capable of, that
the social blessings of railways have their highest realisation. Vast
is their use to commerce, but still vaster their unreckoned friendship
to health and healthy-mindedness. Now, also, there are more persons
prepared to supply our wants in the way of "Tired nature's sweet
restorer, balmy _tea_." Time was when the alehouse by the roadside,
or the weary walk back to town, were the only choice open to our poor
hunger and fatigue. But with the Saturday half-holiday, and the impetus
it gave to rural visitings, there has sprung up a readiness on the part
of country folks to open their doors in a hospitable spirit, which is
quite tempting and delightful; and, most assuredly, nothing forms so
pleasant a conclusion to an afternoon's ramble as to sit down in a neat
cottage to a comfortable farmhouse meal, with its huge broad piles of
bread and butter, and inexhaustible store of green salad and new-laid
eggs. There, with the sun shining aslant through the old-fashioned
window, the doors open, and the breeze gently peeping in, the cows
lowing in the pasture, and the very atmosphere redolent of the country,
we realise the fine hearty pleasurableness of a good appetite,
such as only the open air can induce, and learn the sweet savour of
the plainest diet when wisely earned. And this not only because of
the relish which comes of the exercise in the fresh air, but of the
higher relish born of that mutual satisfaction and kind feeling which
always follows a friendly visit to Dame Nature. People never feel more
attached to one another than when they have been enjoying the charms
of nature together; while the rose mounts to the cheek, the glow comes
upon the heart. We should court nature therefore, not only for our
own private and personal good, but if we would quicken our reciprocal
affections. Especially with regard to this latter point, is it valuable
to have some definite pursuit--something to attend to in particular
when we go out for an afternoon's or evening's walk. A stroll in the
fields is at all times good and healthful, but when two or three go
out together to look for plants, or in search of curious insects, or
to watch the movements, the manners and customs of the birds, quite
unconsciously there get established new and pleasing links of sympathy,
which lead to happiest results, both to head and heart. Some of the
firmest friendships that we know of have had their origin in the
exchange of ideas over a wild-flower. One of the noblest prerogatives
of nature is to make men friends with one another. In the town we
stand apart, excited and repelled by selfish and rival interests; but
in the tranquillity of the fields and woods, united in delightful
and invigorating pursuits, jealousies are forgotten, every man is
an equal and a brother. Not the least useful end either, that flows
from culture of love of the country, and particularly of some science
having reference to natural objects, is the perennial employment it
supplies for leisure hours at _home_. Half the mischief that boys
commit comes of their having no intelligent and useful occupation
for their playtime. As large a portion of the lax morality of their
elders may be referred to the same cause. A naturalist never has any
idle moments; if he be not at work in the country, he is busy with his
curiosities indoors. Little private collections of natural objects,
such as dried plants, insects, fossils, or shells, are always valuable,
and always pretty, and a perpetual fund of interest and amusement. To
gather together such things is not only highly instructive, and an
agreeable pursuit, through the prolonged and intelligent observation
which it demands; it is useful also as feeding the pleasure of
possession--a noble and worthy one when well directed; and it has the
yet higher recommendation of providing a diary and immortal record of
past pleasures. A volume of dried plants, gathered on occasions of
memorable enjoyment, becomes in a few years inexpressibly precious, an
aid to memory, and thus to the perpetuity of those enjoyments, which
even pictures give less perfectly, for here we have the very things
themselves that were handled and looked at during those bright and
fleeting moments. Such a volume of memorial-plants now lies on the
table before us, spreading before the mind the souvenirs of forty
years. In another part of this little book will be found instructions
as to the method of commencing such collections. Meanwhile, we have
cordially to recommend the idea to our readers, especially the young,
and invite them to accompany us in these rambles.

[Illustration]

Footnotes

[1: _i.e._ since, in round numbers, about 1810.]

[2: Father of Mr. Robert Crozier, president, since 1878, of
the Manchester Academy of Fine Art.]

[3: The two last-named now also deceased.]

[4: In the _Flora Mancuniensis_, dictated by the Natural
History Class of the Mechanics' Institution, then in Cooper-street.]

[5: The "City Library," now in King-street.]

[6: _i.e._ in 1843.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER II.

THE ASHLEY MEADOWS, AND THE LOWER BOLLIN VALLEY.

SPRING VISIT.


    O Proserpina,
  For the flowers now that, frighted, thou let'st fall
  From Dis's wagon!
    Pale primroses
  That die unmarried, ere they can behold
  Bright Phoebus in his strength.

SHAKSPEARE.


The part of the country round Manchester which supplies the greatest
number of different wild-flowers, and of rare kinds in particular, is
unquestionably the neighbourhood of Bowdon. Next in botanical interest
come the Reddish valley, extending from Stockport to near Hyde,
the Disley hills, and the delightful woods in the neighbourhood of
Marple; and next to these again, and perhaps equalling them, Worsley,
Tyldesley, the northern side of Prestwich, and the vicinity of Clifton.
Bowdon, however, with the adjacent districts of Lymm and Cotterill,
stands ahead of all. It holds precedence, too, in respect of its early
seasons. While other portions of our district are scarcely giving
signs of vernal life, at Bowdon the spring flowers are often open and
abundant, and this quite as markedly in the fields as in the gardens.
The former is the more valuable and interesting part of the testimony
thus borne to the mildness of Bowdon, since the life of cultivated
plants is always in some measure artificial, or under the influence
of human direction, whereas the occupants of the hedgerows are pure
children of nature. In the pleasant little nook called Ashley meadows,
lingering with its very latest campanula and crimsoned bramble-leaf,
Autumn seems hardly gone before Spring prepares to change all again and
once more to green. Dunham Park offers nothing important for several
weeks after the Ashley meadows have flowers to show. The total, indeed,
of the botanical productions of the former place is not a fifth of what
may be found within a mile of Ashley Mill. It is well to note this,
because many people suppose that a scene delightful in its picturesque
is correspondingly rich in wild-flowers. Generally, no doubt, it is
so, since the picturesque in scenery is almost always connected with
great unevenness of surface, precipitous descents, rocks, and tumbling
waters, these usually coming in turn, of geological conditions,
such as are highly conducive to variety in the Flora. But when the
charm of a scene depends, not on cliffs and cataracts, but simply
on the agreeable intermixture of differently-tinted trees, a gently
undulating surface, sweet vistas and arcades of meeting branches, and
the allurements held out to the imagination by green forbidden paths
and tangled thickets;--then, as in Dunham Park, the primitive causes of
floral variety being absent, the flowers themselves, though they may be
plentiful in their respective kinds, are necessarily few as to distinct
species. It does not follow that where the variety is considerable we
are to look below the turf for the explanation. Meadows and pastures
are always more prolific than ground covered with forest-trees (except,
perhaps, in the tropics), the reason being partly that such trees offer
too much obstruction to the rays of the sun, and partly that their
immense and spreading roots block up the soil and hinder the growth of
smaller plants. The Ashley meadows, after all, like all other places
abounding in wild-flowers, are the _miniature_ of a romantic scene.
For in landscape, as in history, wherever we go, we have only the same
ideas on a larger or smaller scale, the great repeated in the little,
the little repeated in the great. Here is the mighty forest, clinging
to the mountain-side; here the extended plain, watered by its winding
river; here the terrible chasm and deep ravine,--all, however, in that
delicate and reduced measure which, while it gives us the type of
nature universally, enables us to see the whole at one view.

To get to the Ashley meadows, go by the railway to Bowdon, then along
the "Ashley Road" for about a mile, and then down the lane on the left
hand, which leads to Mr. Nield's model farm. After passing through the
field by the farm, there is seen a small wood upon the right, in which
are many beautiful treasures, and descending a little, we are in the
meadows, the Bollin flowing at the farther edge, and the mill, with
its weir and water-wheel, at the extremity. The very earliest spring
flowers to be gathered here are those of the hazel-nut, the willow, the
alder, and the poplar. People unacquainted with botany often suppose
that the latter and other timber-trees belong to the flowerless class
of plants. They fancy that flowers occur only upon fruit-trees, and
upon ornamental shrubs, such as the lilac and laburnum. The mistake
is a perfectly natural and excusable one, seeing that the established
idea of a flower is of something brilliant and highly coloured. A visit
to the Ashley meadows in the month of April soon shows that there are
other flowers than these. The hazel is by that time overblown, being
in perfection about February; but the other trees mentioned above are
covered with their curious blossoms, which in every case come out
before the leaves. Those of the alder and poplar resemble pendent
caterpillars, of a fine brownish red; the willow-blooms are in dense
clusters, green or lively yellow, according to their sex. For plants,
like animals, have sex, and though in most cases male and female
co-exist in the same flower, it happens with some, especially with the
timber-trees of northern latitudes, that the flowers are of only one
sex, some of them being male and others female. Occasionally the entire
tree is male only or female only--the condition of the willow and the
poplar, the yellow flowers of the former of which are the male, and the
greenish ones the female. On the hedge-banks below these trees may
be gathered the dogs' mercury, an herbaceous plant of distinct sexes,
readily recognised by its dark green, oval, pointed leaves. Soon after
the appearance of these, the banks and open sunny spots become decked
with the glossy yellow blossoms of the celandine, a flower resembling a
butter-cup, but with eight or nine long and narrow petals, instead of
five rounded ones. Mingled with it here and there is the musk-root, a
singular but unpretending little plant, green in every part, and with
its blossoms collected into a cube-shaped cluster, a flower turned to
each of the four points of the compass, and one looking right up to the
zenith. The roots, as implied in the name, have the odour of musk. On
the moister banks, such as those at the lower edge of the wood, grows
also the golden saxifrage, a pretty little plant, with flat tufts of
minute yellowish bloom. Yellow, in different shades, prevails to a
remarkable extent among English wild-flowers, and especially those
of spring. The rich living yellow of the coltsfoot is a conspicuous
example. The coltsfoot flowers, like those of the poplar tree, open
before the leaves, enlivening the bare waysides in the most beautiful
manner, or at least when the sun shines; for so dependent are they
upon the light, that it is only when the sun falls warm and animating
that they expand their delicate rays, slender as the finest needle,
and reminding us, in their elegant circle and luminous colour, of the
aureola round the head of a saint in Catholic pictures. At first sight,
the coltsfoot might be mistaken for a small dandelion. It is easily
distinguishable from that despised, but useful plant, by the scales
upon its stem, the stalk of the dandelion being perfectly smooth. The
leaves and flowers of the dandelion open, moreover, simultaneously. The
coltsfoot, like the flower it imitates, holds high repute among the
"yarb-doctors," who know more of the genuine properties of our native
plants than it is common to give them credit for.

On the banks of the Bollin and its little tributaries grows also
that curious plant, the butter-bur. Appearing first as an egg-shaped
purple bud, by degrees a beautiful cone or pyramid of lilac blossoms
is opened out, bearing no slight resemblance to a hyacinth. Here,
again, as happens with many spring flowers, and, strange to say,
with two or three autumnal ones, the blossoms are ready before the
leaves, which do not attain their full size till after midsummer.
Then they hide the river-banks everywhere about Manchester with a
thick and deceitful jungle, often lifted on stalks a yard high, and
in their vast circumference reminding one of rhubarb leaves. After
these earlier visitants come the furze, the purple dead-nettle, and
the primrose; and in the hedges, again without leaves, the sloe or
black-thorn, its milk-white bloom conspicuous from a long distance.
The name _black_-thorn, so oddly at variance with the pure white of
the flowers, refers to the leaflessness of the plant when in bloom,
the _white_-thorn, or "May," being at the corresponding period covered
with verdure. But it must not be imagined that these plants follow just
in the order we have named them. To a certain extent, no doubt there
is a sequence. Every one of the four seasons, whether spring, summer,
autumn, or winter, resembles the total of the year as to the regularity
in the order of its events. The glowing apple and the juicy pear follow
the lily and the rose, and are followed in their turn, by the aster
and the ivy-bloom. Similarly, in smaller compass, the crocus retires
before the daffodil, and the daffodil before the auricula; to expect,
however, that every particular kind of flower should open at some
precise and undeviating point of time, even relative, would be to look
for the very opposite of the delightful sportiveness so characteristic
of the ever-youthful life of nature, which is as charming,--not to say
as great and glorious, in its play and freedom, as in its laws and
inviolable order. The spring flowers arrive, not in single file, but in
troops and companies, so that of these latter only can succession be
rightly predicated, and even here it is greatly affected by differences
of shelter, soil, and aspect. Nor are those we have enumerated the
whole of what may be found. At least a dozen other species arrive with
the earliest breath of spring, and with every week afterwards, up
to midsummer, the beautiful stream quickens unabatingly. Thoroughly
to master the botany even of so limited an area as that of Ashley,
requires that it be made our almost daily haunt. It is proper to add,
that none of the flowers named are rare about Manchester, or anywhere
in England. Almost all our first comers are universally diffused.

The phenomena of spring, as regards the vegetable world, must not
be viewed as _beginning_ with the season in question. Spring, while
the harbinger and preparation of the ensuing seasons, is itself the
consummation of a long series of wonderful processes, wrought in the
silence and darkness of winter, and largely beneath the surface of
the earth. We never see the actual beginning of anything. Covered up
though they be, by the cold snow, the artizans of leaf and flower are
diligently at work even from the close of the preceding summer, and
only wait the vernal sunbeam to unfold the delicate product of their
labours. This is strikingly exemplified in "bulbous roots," such as
those of the tulip and crocus, in which the future flower may easily be
made out by careful dissection with a penknife. The hazel puts forth
its infant catkins as early as September, while the rich brown clusters
of the same season are but ripening, and the autumn yellow of the
leaves is in the distance. Soon after this it is quite easy to find the
incipient female alder-bloom of the season to come, and the rudimentary
golden catkins of the next year's sallow. Thus is the history of the
flower beautifully in keeping with that of its winged image--the
butterfly, which, like the flower in the bud, has been forming all
along, in the grub and chrysalis, the bud-state of the perfect insect.

The river approaches the Ashley meadows by an exceedingly pleasant
route, generally known as the lower Bollin valley. The whole course of
the stream, from beyond Macclesfield downwards, is interesting, and at
Norcliffe it begins to meander through the prettiest rural scenery near
Manchester. The gentle rise and fall of the ground on either side, the
plentiful and comely trees, the innumerable windings and turnings that
bring with every successive field a new and pretty prospect, the sound
of the rushing water, the birds saturating every grove and little wood
with their cheerful poor man's music, the flowers no longer ambitious,
for every bank and meadow is brimful and overflowing,--really it almost
makes one fancy, when down in this beautiful valley, that we have
got into those happy regions old Homer tells of, where the nepenthe
grows, and the lotus,--that wonderful fruit which, when people had once
tasted, they forgot their cares and troubles, and desired to remain
there always, and ceased to remember even home. The difference is here,
that after going thither, we love home all the better for our visit,
since the heart, though it may be unconsciously, always grows into a
resemblance of what it contemplates with interest and affection. No
senseless fiction is it after all, about the lotus-fruit. Every man has
his lotus-country somewhere; the poet has only turned into ingenious
fable the experience of universal human nature.

The middle portion of the valley, or that which, ascending it,
lies about half-way between Ashley and Wilmslow, is occupied by
Cotterill Clough, a place of the highest celebrity with the old
Lancashire botanists, being not only picturesque in every portion,
but containing a great variety of curious and unusual wild-flowers.
Many are found here that grow nowhere else in the neighbourhood, and
the very commonest attain the highest state of perfection. Hobson,
Crozier, Horsefield, and their companions above-named, used to come to
Cotterill regularly, both in summer and winter, gathering flowers in
the former season, mosses in the latter, and not more for the riches
of the vegetation, than, as Crozier once told me, for the singing of
the innumerable birds. The journey, both to and fro, was entirely
upon foot, and the men were often here by breakfast time. Being a
game preserve, there has always been some difficulty of access to the
clough, and of late years this has been considerably increased. But
gamekeepers, after all, are only men, and "a soft answer turneth away
wrath," so that none need despair if they will but act the part of
wisdom.

The approach to this pretty valley is made in the first instance
from Peel Causeway station, pursuing the lane for a little while,
then electing whether to continue, past Bank Hall and its seventeen
yew trees, or to strike through a field-path upon the left, thence
along the crest of a gentle acclivity, from which is obtained the
best view we are acquainted with, of Bowdon. Although requiring some
watchfulness, so as not to go astray, the upper path is decidedly the
best to take. One point alone needs specially careful observation,
that is, after crossing the little ravine, and emerging into another
lane, to turn down it to the right, and upon arriving at a cottage
upon the left, to take the path immediately _behind_. This leads
over the fields, Alderley Edge a few miles in front, and Cloud-end
rising grandly upon the horizon, then down a steep rough lane into
a dingle called Butts Clough, beyond which there is a green-floored
lane, leading to Warburton's farm, which being passed, we bear to the
right, and in ten minutes more dip into the valley, and very soon
tread the margin of the stream. About a mile and a half further up, we
come to Castle Mill, an old-established and celebrated corn-grinding
concern--and immediately opposite, the wooded slopes of Cotterill,
entered by crossing a single field. The time to select for a first
botanical visit to this charming spot should, if possible, be the end
of April, or at least before the expiration of May. The chief rarities
of the place belong to a somewhat later period, but there are several
that grow here abundantly, and are in perfection at the time named,
which, although less uncommon, it were a pity not to secure. Such
are the goldilocks and the arum. The former, a very graceful kind
of butter-cup, its name translated from the Latin one, _auricomus_,
fringes the bank at the foot of the wood for a long distance with its
light feathery herbage and shining yellow flowers; the other grows
under the trees, and among the brushwood, and in the part of the
clough through which the path leading to Ringway from Castle Mill
makes its way, thus being reachable without more trespass than of
twenty forgiven yards. Few persons fond of cultivating plants in their
parlours are unacquainted with that truly splendid flower, the African
lily, or _Richardia Ethiopica_, which, opening a great white vase on
the summit of its stem, resembles an alabaster lamp with a pillar of
flame burning in the centre; the leaves lifted on long stalks, and
shaped like the head of an arrow. Keeping the figure of this noble
plant before the mind's eye, as the type for comparison, there is no
difficulty in identifying the arum of Cotterill Wood. The latter is
essentially the same in structure, but rises to the height of only some
six or eight inches instead of thirty, with leaves proportionately
smaller, and the flower, instead of white and vase-like, of a pale
transparent green (though often mottled, like the leaves, with purple
stains), and curving over the pillar in the centre like the cowl of a
monk. The pillar is of a rich puce or claret colour, and occasionally
of a delicate light amber. In the south of England, where the plant
abounds, the dark ones are called "lords," and the amber-coloured,
"ladies." Newbridge Hollow, the Ashley Woods, and several other places
about Bowdon, share the possession of this remarkable plant, which is,
without question, the most eccentrically formed of any that grow wild
in the British Islands. It is found also near Pendlebury, at Barton,
Reddish, and several other places, but very scantily, a circumstance
worth notice, because illustrating so well what the learned call
botanical topography. The floras of entire countries are often not more
strongly marked by the presence or absence of certain species than the
portions even of so limited an area as that of Manchester half-holiday
excursions. Here, too, grows in profusion the sylvan forget-me-not,
the flowers of an azure that seems sucked from heaven itself. People
confound it sometimes with the germander-speedwell, another lovely
flower of May and June. But the leaves of the speedwell are oval
instead of long and narrow, like those of the forget-me-not; and the
flowers are not only of quite a different shade of blue, but composed
of four distinct pieces, the forget-me-not being five-lobed, and
yellow in the centre. The consummate distinction of the forget-me-not
is the mode in which the flowers expand, and which, along with its
unique and celestial tint, is the true reason of its being used as
the emblem of constancy. Possibly enough, the pathetic legend of the
knight and the lady by the water-side may have had a fact for its
basis, but the flower was representative of constancy long before the
unlucky lover met his death. The world, truly seen and understood, is
but another showing forth of human nature, an echo of its lord and
master, reiterating in its various and beautiful structures, colours,
and configurations, what in him are thoughts and passions, and in the
forget-me-not we have one of the foremost witnesses. This is no loose
and misty speculation; but to the earnest student of nature who looks
below the surface of things, a determinate and palpable fact, the
source of the most fascinating pleasures that connect themselves with
the genuine knowledge of plants and flowers, and of the objects of
nature universally. The peculiarity referred to consists principally in
the curious spiral stalk, and the store of secret buds, a new flower
opening fresh and fresh every day as the stalk uncoils. It may be
added, as furnishing another example of the variety in the distribution
of plants, that the forget-me-not, like the arum, is wanting on the
Prestwich side of the town, while the sylvan horsetail, so abundant in
Mere Clough, is comparatively a stranger to the valley of the Bollin.
To young people who have the opportunity of exploring the respective
places, independently of the large local knowledge they acquire, it is
a most instructive employment to note these phenomena, for they are all
more or less intimately connected with the grandest and widest laws of
physical geography--the great, as we have shown before, represented in
the little--and no science will be found in after life more thoroughly
entertaining or more practically useful. Besides these more choice
and remarkable flowers, there are in Cotterill Wood at this period
anemones and bluebells without end; while in the upper part, accessible
by the path before-mentioned, and which should on no account be left
unvisited, the firs and larches are at the acme of their floral pride.
The flowers of these trees, like those of the hazel and alder, are
some of them only male, others only female. The female flowers in
due time become the seed-cones, announcing them from afar; the male
flowers likewise assume the cone form, but as soon as the purpose of
their being is accomplished, they wither and drop off. In the larch,
the females are of a delicate pink, contrasting exquisitely with the
tender green of the young tufted leaves, and conspicuous from their
large size, the males being comparatively small, though noticeable
from their immense abundance. In the firs, on the other hand, we are
attracted rather by the male flowers, which are of a beautiful reddish
buff, and on the slightest blow being given to the branch, shed clouds
of their fertilising dust.

The Cotterill portion of the Bollin valley, while the primroses are
in bloom, has no parallel in our district. Certain distant places,
no doubt, are equally rich in this general favourite--the Isle of
Wight, for instance, and the same is said of the Isle of Man, but for
Manchester lovers of primroses, Cotterill is a very paradise. All the
woods and lanes are full, every bank and sheltered slope is yellow with
them, everywhere primroses, primroses, primroses, great handfuls, and
bunches, a score every time we pluck, till wonder is exhausted and out
of breath, and primroses and nature seem to mean the same thing. Such
was the spectacle on the 8th of May--when this was written--the glow
of bloom, which lasts in the whole perhaps for a month, being then at
its height. On one occasion it was as early as April 27th. We now come
to 1882. So great has been the havoc made by collectors of roots for
gardens, and for sale in the market-place, that except in forbidden
parts, and somewhat higher up the valley, the primrose is now almost
as scarce as at the time referred to it was plentiful. Great havoc has
also been wrought during the last quarter of a century by the mattock
of the farm-labourer, which has likewise diminished very considerably
the ancient abundance of some of the less common plants, where exposed,
such as the goldilocks and the forget-me-not, though higher up the
valley, like the primroses, these are still to be found in fair
quantity. Never mind: the anemones, the golden celandine, so glossy and
so sensitive, the cuckoo-flowers, the marsh-marigold, and a score of
others, are untouched, and will remain untouched. There is something
a great deal better than simple possession of the rare and strange,
and that is the happy faculty of appreciation of the lovely old and
common,--a faculty that needs only culture to become an inexhaustible
mine of enjoyment. Every man finds himself richer than he imagines when
he puts the real value upon what Providence has given him.

For the return, we may either mount the hill, and get into the lanes
which pass through Hale or Ringway, and so to Altrincham; or we may
follow the downward course of the stream, by the path enjoyed in
coming, as far as Warburton's farm, already mentioned. Arrived here,
for variety sake, the better course is not by the tempting green
lane, but through the fields below and to the left, which are full of
every kind of rural beauty, and here and there gemmed with cowslips.
Different paths take us either past the river again, and so by way of
Ashley to Bowdon, or into the road that leads to the Downs. The latter
is the shortest, but the Ashley way is the pleasanter. The distance in
the whole is a trifle over that by the road, or, omitting fractions,
four miles. All the way along the birds are in full trill; with this
great charm in the sound, that independently of the music, the songs
of birds are always songs of pleasure. _We_ sing in many moods, and
for many purposes, but the birds only when they are happy. No notes
of birds have an undertone of sadness in them. Beautiful, too, in
the early summer, is it to mark here the glow of the red horizontal
sunlight, as it lies softly amid the branches of the golden-budded
oak, and the milk-white blossoms of the tall wild cherries. Oh! how
thoughtless is it of people to let themselves be scared away from
Botany by its evil but undeserved reputation for "hard names," when,
with a tenth of the effort given to the study of chess or whist, they
might master everything needful, and enter intelligently into this
sweet and sacred Temple of Nature.

       *       *       *       *       *

The interest of the Bollin valley is quite as great to the entomologist
as to the botanist. By the kindness of my friend, Mr. Edleston, I am
enabled here to add the following list of the Lepidoptera, which will
be read with pleasure by every one acquainted with the exquisite forms
and patrician dresses of English butterflies.

"The meadows," he tells me, "near the river Bollin, from Bank Hall to
Castle Mill, produce more diurnal Lepidoptera than any other locality
in the Manchester district, as the following select list (1858) will
suffice to prove":--


  _Gonepteryx Rhamni_             Brimstone
  _Pieris Brassicæ_               Large White
  _  "    Rapæ_                   Small White
  _  "    Napi_                   Green-veined White
  _Anthocaris Cardamines_         Orange Tip
  _Hipparchia Janira_             Meadow Brown
  _    "      Jithonus_           Large Heath
  _    "      Hyperanthus_        Wood Ringlet
  _Coenonympha Pamphilus_         Small Heath
  _Cynthia Cardui_                Painted Lady
  _Vanessa Atalanta_              Red Admiral
  _   "    Io_                    Peacock
  _   "    Urticæ_                Small Tortoise-shell
  _Melitoea  Artemis_             Greasy Fritillary
  _Chrysophanus Phloeas_          Small Copper
  _Polyommatus Alexis_            Common Blue
  _Thanaos Tages_                 Dingy Skipper
  _Pamphila Sylvanus_             Large Skipper
  _Procris Statices_              Green Forester
  _Anthrocera Trifolii_           Five-spot Burnet
  _   "       Filipendulæ_        Six-spot Burnet
  _Sesia Bombyliformis_           Narrow-bordered Bee Hawk
  _Heliodes Arbuti_               Small Yellow Underwing
  _Euclidia Mi_                   Mother Shipton
  _   "     Glyphica_             Burnet


The past twenty-five years, it is to be feared, have told as heavily
upon the Lepidoptera as upon the primroses and the cowslips, the latter
also now far between. The birds, likewise, have greatly diminished in
numbers, partly in consequence of the extreme severity of the trio
of hard winters which commenced with that of 1878-9. We have also to
lament the death of Mr. Edleston.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER III.

ROSTHERNE MERE.


    When the month of May
  Is come, and I can hear the small birds sing,
  And the fresh flourès have begun to spring,
  Good bye, my book! devotion, too, good bye!

CHAUCER.


The path to the Ashley meadows offers the best point of departure also
for far-famed Rostherne, for although the distance is somewhat less
from the "Ashley" station, the old route past Bowdon vicarage remains
the most enjoyable. Going behind it, through a little plantation, we
proceed, with many curves, yet without perplexity, into the lane which
looks down upon the eastern extremity of the mere; then, crossing the
fields, into the immediate presence, as rejoiced in at the margin of
the graveyard of the church, which last is without question one of the
most charmingly placed in England, and in its site excites no wonder
that it was chosen for the ancient Saxon consecration, as declared
in the primitive name, Rodestorne, "the lake (or tarn) of the Holy
Cross." The peculiar charm of Rostherne Mere, compared with most other
Cheshire waters of similar character, comes of its lying so much in
a hollow, after the manner of many of the most delicious lakes of
Westmoreland, Cumberland, and the romantic parts of Scotland; the area
of the surface being at the same time so considerable that there is no
suggestion, as sometimes with smaller meres when lying in hollows, of
the gradual gathering there of the produce of rain-torrents, or even of
the outcome of natural springs. At Rostherne one learns not only what
calmness means, and what a broken fringe of diverse trees can do for
still water. Contemplating it from the graveyard, we seem to have a
fragment of the scenery of our beautiful world as it showed,--begging
pardon of the geologists and the evolutionists,--"When the
morning-stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy."
The depth of the water is remarkable. About a third of the distance
across, from near the summer-house, it is over a hundred feet, thus
as nearly as possible two-thirds of the depth of the English Channel
at the Straits of Dover, where the lead sinks lowest; and a third of
what it is anywhere between Dover and the Eddystone lighthouse, so that
our lovely Rostherne Mere may well assert its claim to be of almost
maritime profundity. The area of the surface is one hundred and fifteen
statute acres. In the church there is a monument which it is worth all
the journey to see,--Westmacott's sculptured marble in memory of Miss
Beatrix Egerton.

Rostherne, in turn, is the pleasantest way of pedestrian approach
to Tatton Park, so liberally opened to visitors by Lord Egerton,
on compliance with certain rules. Visitors bent on seeing Tatton
only, should go part way from Bowdon by vehicle; for here, as at
Cotterill, we want, as in a picture-gallery, every minute, and to
let too much time be consumed in mere travel is a mistake. To make a
too hasty and thoughtless use of our opportunities of pleasure is in
any case to throw away the half of them; the pleasure of the country
beyond all others requires a calm and unhurried step, a free and
unwistful mind and eye, such as cannot possibly be if, by waste or
extravagance, we are "tied to time,"--only when, by a wise economy
of our resources in this respect, we liberate ourselves from care
about trains and timebills, do we catch nature's sweetest smiles.
The boundary measurement of this beautiful park is upwards of ten
miles, and of its two thousand one hundred and thirty-five acres no
fewer than four hundred are occupied by woods and plantations, with
seventy-nine acres of water. Here we may stroll beneath green vaults
of foliage, and be reminded of the aisles of cathedrals. Here we may
contemplate the _viridis senectus_ of glorious old oaks that have
watched the flow of generations. Here, in autumn, we learn, from a
thousand old foresters--from beech, and chestnut, and elm--that brave
men, though overtaken by inclemencies there is no withstanding, still
put a good face upon their fallen fortunes, and, like Cæsar, who drew
his purple around him, die royally; and at Christmas, when the wind
seems to mourn amid the denuded boughs, here again we feel how grand
is the contrasted life of the great, green, shining, scarlet-beaded
hollies that in summer we took no note of. The gardens, including
conservatories and fernery, access to all of which is likewise
liberally permitted, are crowded with objects of interest--one hardly
knows whether inside their gates, or outside, is the more delectable.
The park was up till quite recently, the play-ground of nearly a
thousand deer, and still (1882) contains many hundreds. The sight of
them is one of the pleasures of the return walk to Knutsford, to which
place Tatton Park more especially pertains.

Knutsford, an admirable centre, is reached immediately, by train.
But it must not be overlooked that there is a very pleasant
field-way thereto from Mobberley, and that the path to Mobberley
itself, one of the most ancient of the Cheshire villages, is always
interesting,--starting, that is to say, from Ashley station. Every
portion of it is quiet and enjoyable, and those who love seclusion
would scarcely find another so exactly suited to their taste. Soon
after entering the fields, the path dives through a little dell
threaded by the Birkin (an affluent of the Bollin), then goes on
through lanes which in May are decked plenteously with primroses. The
way, perhaps, is rather intricate,--so much the better for the exercise
of our sagacity. Let not the "day of small things" be despised. The
Birkin is one of the little streams that in the great concourse called
the Mersey does honour at last to the British Tyre. Drayton notices it
in the Poly-olbion (1622)--

  From hence he getteth Goyte down from her Peakish spring,
  And Bollen, that along doth nimbler Birkin bring.[7]

The church, as would be anticipated, presents much that is
interesting to the ecclesiologist. Near the chancel stands the
accustomed and here undilapidated old village graveyard yew, emblem of
immortality, life triumphing over death, therefore so suitable,--this
particular one at Mobberley the largest and most symmetrical within a
circuit of many miles. Across the road, hard by, an ash-tree presents a
singularly fine example of the habit of growth called "weeping,"--not
the ordinary tent-form seen upon lawns, but lofty, and composed chiefly
of graceful self-woven ringlets, a cupola of green tresses, beautiful
at all seasons, and supplying, before the leaves are out, a capital
hint to every one desirous of learning trees--as they deserve to be
learned. For to this end trees must be contemplated almost every month
in the year, when leafless as well as leafy. A grand tree is like a
great poem--not a thing to be glanced at with a thoughtless "I have
read it," but to be studied, and with remembrance of what once happened
on the summit of mount Ida.

On the Cotterill side of Mobberley, or Alderley way, the country
resembles that in the vicinity of Castle Mill, consisting of gentle
slopes and promontories, often wooded, and at every turn presenting
some new and agreeable feature. The little dells and cloughs, each with
its stream of clear water scampering away to the Bollin, are delicious.
The botany of Cotterill is also recapitulated in its best features;
mosses of the choicest kinds grow in profusion on every bank,--_Hypna_,
with large green feathery branches, like ferns in miniature;
_Jungermannias_ also; and the noblest plants of the hart's-tongue fern
that occur in the district. One of the dells positively overflows with
it, excepting, that is, where the ground is not pre-occupied by the
prickly shield-fern. Burleyhurst Wood, close by, contains abundance
of the pretty green-flowered true-love, _Paris quadrifolia_, more
properly _trulove_, the name referring not to the sentiment itself,
but to the famous old four-fold symbol of engagement which in heraldry
reappears in "quartering." All the spring flowers open here with the
first steps of the renewed season; and most inspiring is it, at a
time when on the north side of the town there is nothing to be seen
but an early coltsfoot, to find one's self greeted in these sweet and
perennially green woods, by the primrose, the anemone, the butter-bur,
and the golden saxifrage,--and not as single couriers, but plentiful
as the delight they give, mingling with the great ferns bequeathed
by the autumn, as travellers tell us palms and fir-trees intermix on
tropical mountains, while the _Marchantia_ adds another charm in its
curious cones, and the smooth round cups of the _Peziza_ glow like so
many vases of deepest carnelian. In the aspect of vegetation in early
spring, as it discloses itself at Mobberley and at equal distance north
of the town, there is the difference of a full month. Such at least was
the case in 1858, the year in which these lines were written. There is
no occasion to return to Ashley by the same path. Mobberley station
is scarcely more than a mile from the village, and of course would be
preferred when the object is to reach the latter promptly.

Knutsford, celebrated as the scene of Mrs. Gaskell's "Cranford,"
commands many pleasant walks, and is the threshold not only to Tatton,
but to several other parks and estates of great celebrity. Booth
Hall, with its noble avenue of lindens, the winding sylvan wilderness
called Spring Wood, and its ample sheet of ornamental water, decked
with lilies, and in parts filled with that most curious aquatic, the
_Stratiotes_, is of considerable historic interest;--Toft, a mile to
the south, with its stately avenue, now of elms, in triple rows;--and
Tabley, about a mile to the west, the park once again with a spacious
mere, also have high claims upon the attention of every one who has
the opportunity of entering. Tabley is peculiarly interesting in its
ancient hall, which stands upon an island in the upper portion of the
mere, and dates from the time of Edward III. Only a remnant now exists,
but being covered with ivy, it presents a most picturesque appearance.
When will people see in that peerless evergreen not a foe, but an
inestimable friend, such as it is when knives and shears, and the touch
of the barbarian are forbidden? It is the ivy that has preserved for
the archæologist many of the most precious architectural relics our
country possesses. Where ivy defends the surface, nothing corrodes or
breaks away.

Toft Park gives very agreeable access to Peover,--a place which may
also be reached pleasantly from Plumbley, the station next succeeding
Knutsford. Not "rich" botanically, the field-path is still one of the
most inviting in the district. The views on either side, cheerful at
all seasons, are peculiarly so in spring, when the trees are pouring
their new green leaves into the sunshine, and the rising grass and
mingled wild-flowers flood the ground with living brightness. In parts,
towards the end of May, there is hereabouts an unwonted profusion of
Shakspeare's "Lady-smock." We admit, admiringly, that it "paints the
meadows with delight:"--to the first impression, when gathered and in
the hand, it scarcely seems "silver-white." A single spray in the hand
is unquestionably _lilac_, faint and translucent, but still lilac,
exquisitely veined. Beware. Shakspeare, when he talks of flowers may
always be trusted. At all events his only error is that curious one
in _Cymbeline_.[8] Viewed from a little distance, and obliquely, the
effect of a plentiful carpet of this lovely wild-flower is distinctly
and decidedly "silver-white." In all things a good deal depends upon
the angle at which we look, and never is the rule more needed than when
the subject is one of delicate tint. They were keen observers, depend
upon it, who in the Middle Ages gave name and fame at the same moment
to the pretty flowers that still preserve the ancient association with
"Our Lady," the Virgin Mary. Lower Peover church is one of the few
examples extant of the old-fashioned timber structure, the greater
portion of the interior being constructed of oak, while externally,
excepting the stone Elizabethan tower, it is "magpie," or black and
white, like so many of the old Cheshire halls and ancient manor-houses.
An epitaph in the graveyard is not without suggestiveness:--

  Peaceable Mary Fairbrother,
    1766.  Aged 90.

For the return walk there is a cheerful route through fields and lanes
to Knutsford, entering the town behind the prison; or, for variety,
there is Lostock Gralam station.

Pushing a few miles further, we find ourselves at Northwich, a place at
which there is little occasion to delay, unless it be wished to inspect
one of the salt mines, permission to do so being asked previously of
the proprietors. At Whitsuntide the public are in a certain sense
invited, and truly, a more interesting and wonderful spectacle than is
furnished by the Marston mine it would be hard to provide for holiday
pleasure. But at present we are seeking enjoyment upon the surface,
and to this end the journey should now be continued to Hartford, the
station for Vale Royal. "Vale Royal" is essentially the name of the
immense expanse of beautiful, though nearly level, country over which
the eye ranges when we stand amid the ruins of Beeston Castle. It is
still worthy of the praise lavished on it in 1656. "The ayre of Vale
Royall," says the old historian of that date, "is verie wholesome,
insomuch that the people of the country are seldom infected with
Disease or Sicknesse, neither do they use the help of Physicians,
nothing so much, as in other countries. For when any of them are sick,
they make him a posset, and tye a kerchief on his head; and if that
will not amend him, then God be mercifull to him! The people there live
to be very old: some are Grandfathers, their fathers yet living, and
some are Grandfathers before they be married.... They be very gentle
and courteous, ready to help and further one another; in Religion very
zealous, howbeit somewhat addicted to Superstition: otherwise stout,
bold, and hardy: withal impatient of wrong, and ready to resist the
Enemy or Stranger that shall invade their country.... Likewise be the
women very friendly and loving, in all kind of Housewifery expert,
fruitful in bearing Children after they be married, and sometimes
before.... I know divers men which are but farmers that may compare
therein with a Lord or Baron in some Countreys beyond the Seas."--A
considerable portion of this great expanse is represented in the still
current appellation of Delamere Forest,--a term not to be understood
as meaning that it was at any time covered by timber-trees, either
indigenous or planted, but that it was "outside," _ad foras_, a wild,
uncultivated and comparatively barren tract as opposed to districts
that were well farmed and sprinkled plentifully with habitations. Trees
there were, doubtless, and in abundance, but the _bonâ fide_ woods
occupied only a part of the "forest" in the aggregate. An idea of such
a forest as Delamere was in the olden time is very easily formed. We
need do no more than think of that imperishable one, "exempt from
public haunt," where Rosalind found her verses, with its stream-side
where the

    Poor sequester'd stag,
  That from the hunter's aim had ta'en a hurt
  Did come to languish.

The "forest," so late as two centuries ago, comprised no fewer than
eleven thousand acres of wood and wilderness. Much has now been brought
under cultivation, so that only about eight thousand acres remain
untilled, and of these about one-half have been planted with Scotch
fir, whence the peculiar and solemn aspect which masses of conifers
alone can bestow.

Entering this part of the "Vale," we are at once attracted to the
beautiful park, woods, and waters, distinguished particularly as
"Vale Royal," or in full, Vale Royal Abbey, the mansion,--the ancient
country seat of the Cholmondeley family--being nearly upon the site of
the famous monastic home founded in 1277 by Edward I. Lord Delamere
liberally permits access to the grounds, the approaches to which
are eminently sweet and pleasant. The railway should be quitted at
Hartford, quiet lanes from which place lead into the valley of the
Weaver.[9] Thence we move to the margin of Vale Royal Mere, with
choice, upon arrival, of one of the most charming sylvan walks in
Cheshire, obtained by going through the wood, or a more open path
along the opposite shore. To take one path going, the other returning,
and thus to secure the double harvest, of course is best. So, for the
final homeward journey, which should not be by way of Hartford, but
_viâ_ Cuddington. A drive through the glorious fir-plantations which
abut upon Vale Royal carries the privileged to another most beautiful
scene,--Oulton Park, the country seat of the Grey-Egertons. Here again
is a sheet of lilied water; here, too, are some of the noblest trees
in Cheshire, including one of the most remarkable lindens the world
contains.

For the visitor to Delamere Forest there is after all no scene more
inspiring than is furnished by Eddisbury. Cuddington station will do
for this, but the walk is rather too long; it is best to go direct
to "Delamere," thence along the road a short distance, and so to the
foot of the hill. In the time of the Heptarchy, it was an important
stronghold. Rising to the height of five hundred and eighty-four feet
above the sea, when in A.D. 914 that admirable lady, Ethelfleda,
daughter of Alfred, and widow of Ethelred, king of Mercia, sought to
establish herself in positions of great strength, her feminine sagacity
at once pointed to Eddisbury as impregnable. Ethelfleda, says the old
chronicler, was "the wisest lady in England, an heroic princess; she
might have been called a king rather than a lady or a queen. King
Edward, her brother, governed his life, in his best actions, by her
counsels." We have admirable women of our own living among us--women in
every sense queenly by nature:--let us never forget, in our gratitude
to God for the gift of them, that in the past there were prototypes
of the best. Continued in her rule, by acclamation, after the death
of her husband, Ethelfleda, "the lady of the Mercians," reigned for
eight years. Rather more than eleven acres of the green mound we
are now speaking of were defensively enclosed by her, partly with
palings, partly with earthworks, traces of which remain to this day.
Frail and perishable in its materials, the "city of Eddisbury," as
historians call this once glorious though simple settlement, in the
very nature of things could not last. A good river, essential to the
prosperity of an inland town, it did not possess. After the death,
moreover, of Ethelfleda, who went to her rest in 920, the subsidence
of the Danish invasions reduced the importance of such fortresses,
and so, by slow degrees, the famous old "city" disappeared. The name
of Eddisbury occurs, it is true, in Domesday Book, but apparently as
a name and nothing besides. Places like Eddisbury are to England
what the sites of Nineveh and Palmyra are to the world. Standing upon
their greensward, the memory of great things and greater people passes
before the mind in long and animating procession. The once so great
and powerful "Queen of the East," proud, chaste, literary Zenobia,
was not nobler in her way than Saxon Ethelfleda. Thinking of her,
pleasant it is to note how the little wild-flowers, the milk-wort and
the eyebright, the unchanged heritors of the ground, are virtually just
as she left them. Upon these, in such a spot, Time lays no "effacing
finger." "States fall, arts fade, but Nature doth not die." Not without
interest, either, is the fact that from the name of the people or
kingdom she ruled so well, comes that of our chief local river. The
Mersey was the dividing line between Mercia and Northumbria, and of the
former it preserves memorable tradition. All the way up the stream till
we get to the hill country, the topographical names further illustrate
the ancient Saxon presence. The view from storied Eddisbury is of
course very extensive and delightful, including, to-day, the venerable
Cathedral of Chester, Halton Castle, and the broad bosom of the river,
not to mention the boundless champaign to the south and east, and afar
off, in the quiet west, grey mountains that seem to lean against the
sky.

The "Delamere Hotel," to which all visitors to these regions very
naturally bend their steps, is the place to enquire at for the exact
way to the borders of Oakmere; most pleasing, after Rostherne, of the
Cheshire waters. For here, in the autumnal sunshine, the soft wind
is prone so to waft over the dimpling surface that it becomes covered
with lucid ripples, while at the margin, if the "crimson weeds" of the
mermaids' country are not present, there are pretty green ones that
"lie like pictures on the sands below,"

  With all those bright-hued pebbles that the sun
  Through the small waves so softly shines upon.

The borders of Oakmere abound with curious plants. One of the rarest of
British grasses, the _Calamagrostis stricta_, grows here. The locality
is also a noted one for the _Utricularia minor_, though we do not find
that interesting fern of the Vale Royal wood, the _Lastrea Thelypteris_.

Contemplating this lovely mere, whether from Eddisbury, or its own
borders, and remembering the many similar waters close by,[10] a group,
after that one to which Windermere leads the way, without parallel in
our island, it is impossible not to feel curious as to their history.
The simple fact appears to be that all, or nearly all the Vale Royal
meres are referable to the existence, underneath, of great salt crystal
beds which give occupation to the people of Northwich. The surface-soil
of the Cheshire salt district consists of a few feet of drift-sand
or clay. Below this there is a considerable depth of "New red marl,"
and below this there is good reason to believe there is a nearly
continuous bed or deposit of the crystal. The "new red sandstone" rock
in which these deposits are embedded, is very porous and much jointed.
Water is constantly filtering into them from above; the salt crystal,
exposed to its action, slowly dissolves into brine, which, as the
height is at least a hundred feet above the sea-level, slowly drains
away. Then the overlying strata gradually sink; depressions are caused,
of less or greater magnitude, and in course of time these become basins
of water. Mr. Edw. Hull, the distinguished geologist, considers that
should the process go on, the whole of the valley of the Weaver will
some day be submerged. Most of the salt sent from Cheshire is prepared
from this natural brine. To extract the crystal is not so cheap as
to let the water do the mining, then to pump up the solution, and
evaporate it.

[Illustration]

Footnotes

[7: Song the eleventh, p. 171, facing which is a map of
Cheshire, showing the rivers, out of every one of which rises a sort of
tutelary nymph, in design droll beyond imagination.--_Vide_ the Chetham
Library copy.]

[8:

    On her left breast,
  A mole, cinque-spotted, like the _crimson_ drops
  I' the bottom of a cowslip.]

[9: This noted Cheshire river rises upon Buckley Heath, near
Malpas, going thence past Nantwich and Winsford. At Northwich it joins
the Dane; soon afterwards there is confluence with the Peover, the
united waters eventually entering the Mersey, not far from Frodsham.]

[10: In addition to the meres already mentioned, there are
Pickmere, Rudworth Mere, Flaxmere, Doddington Mere, Combermere, and
several others.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER IV.

CARRINGTON MOSS.


  "Will you walk into my parlour?" said the spider to the fly:
  "'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy."

OLD SONG.


Should any of our unknown companions in these rambles be vegetarians,
they will please here take notice that Carrington Moss is in the
summer-time a scene of ravenous slaughter such as cannot but be
exceedingly painful and shocking to them. It will appear the more
repulsive from the high character for innocence ordinarily borne by
the destroyers, who are the last beings in the world we should expect
to find indulging in personal cruelty, much less acting the part of
perfidious sirens. Having given this warning, our friends will of
course have only themselves to blame should they persist in following
us to the spectacle we are about to describe; and now it only remains
to say that the perpetrators of the deeds alluded to are _plants_!
People are apt to look upon plants simply as things that just grow
up quietly and inoffensively, open their flowers, love the rain, in
due time ripen their seeds, then wither and depart, leaving no more to
be recorded of their life and actions than comes of the brief span of
the little babe that melts unweaned from its mother's arms. This is
quite to mistake their nature. So far from being uniform, and unmarked
by anything active, the lives of plants are full from beginning to
end of the most curious and diversified phenomena. Not that they act
knowingly, exercising consciousness and volition,--this has been the
dream only of a few enthusiasts,--but taking one plant with another,
the history of vegetable life is quite a romance, and scarcely inferior
in wonderful circumstance to that of animals. So close is the general
resemblance of plants to animals, as regards the vital processes and
phenomena, that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to point out
a single fact in connection with the one that has not a counterpart,
more or less exact, among the other. The animal world is a repetition
in finer workmanship of the vegetable. As for harmlessness and
inoffensiveness in plants, these are the very last qualities to be
ascribed to them. Pleasant are fragrant flowers, and sweet fruits,
and wholesome herbs, but these tell only half the tale. No wild beast
of the forest rends with sharper teeth than grow on thorn-trees of
different kinds; if the wasp darts its poisoned sting into our flesh,
so does the nettle; if snakes' bites be mortal, so is the venomous
juice of the deadly nightshade. Not in the least surprising is it,
then, that we should find certain plants indicating a propensity to
prey. Animals of lower degree as regards every other disposition of
life, why should they not participate in this one? That they do so is
plain. Though as a rule, plants feed upon watery and gaseous matters,
supplied by the earth and atmosphere, the members of at least two
curious tribes, the _Sarracenias_, and the _Droseraceæ_ or "Sundews,"
depend not alone on solutions of manure, or other long-since-decayed
organic substances, prepared by chemical action, but collect fresh
animal food on their own behalf. The latter include the plants that may
be seen engaged in their predatory work upon Carrington Moss.

Before entering upon the consideration of them, we may take the
opportunity, furnished by this long word _Droseraceæ_, of saying a
little about the "hard names" so often charged upon botanical science.
It is continually asked what need is there to call flowers by those
excruciating Latin titles. Why cannot they have plain English names?
Why must all our names be

    Like the verbum Græcum,
  Spermagoraiolekitholakapolides,
  Words that should only be said upon holidays,
  When one has nothing else to do?

Many make it a ground of abstaining from the study of botany
altogether, that the names are so hard to learn, as if every other
science and species of knowledge, including history and geography, were
not equally full of hard words. But look now at the simple truth of the
matter. Very many of the common or "English" names of flowers are in
reality their botanical or Latin ones, as fuchsia, laburnum, camellia,
geranium, iris, verbena, rhododendron, so that it is not a question
of language after all. To be consistent, these names should be left
to the professional man, and "English" ones be manufactured in their
place; it is clear, however, that they can quite easily be learned and
spoken, Latin though they are, and if some can be mastered and found
simple enough, of course others can. Besides, what would it advantage
us to substitute really English names for them? Nothing would be gained
except a synonym, by saying, as we might, "crimson-drop" instead of
fuchsia, or "golden-rain" instead of laburnum; while very much would
be lost in precision by using a name of obscure and uncertain origin,
and upon which even one's own neighbours might not be agreed, instead
of a term fixed by the great leaders in the science of botany, whose
judgment all respect, and which is accepted by every nation of the
civilised world. It is quite as necessary to call plants by determinate
scientific names as to call a certain constellation Orion, and a
certain island Spitzbergen. Botanists do not call plants by Latin names
simply out of pedantry, or to make their science difficult, but for the
sake of clearness and uniformity. None of the botanical names are so
hard as it is fancied; the Lancashire botanists in humble life have no
trouble with them; the real difficulty is in not caring anything about
the objects they are applied to. We do not find those who make so much
outcry about the Latin names particularly anxious to learn the English
ones either. The English names are not thrown overboard by their Latin
companions. All true botanists, so far from rejecting or despising
English names, love them and continually use them, substituting the
Latin synonyms only when scientific accuracy requires.

Let us now proceed to the sundews, first describing the way to their
habitation. All the mosses about Manchester possess these curious
plants, but Carrington Moss is the most readily accessible, lying only
a little distance south-west of Sale. From the station we go for about
a mile in the direction of Ashton-upon-Mersey, then turn up one of the
lanes upon the left, and look out for a grove of dark fir-trees, which,
being close upon the borders of the moss, is an excellent guide. The
edge of the moss is being drained and brought under cultivation; all
this part, along with the ditches, must be crossed, and the higher,
undisturbed portion ascended, and as soon as we are up here we find the
objects of our search. Among the heather are numberless little marshes,
filled with pea-green _Sphagnum_, and containing often a score or two
of the sundews, some of them with round leaves, about a third of an
inch across, and growing in flat rosettes of half-a-dozen; others, with
long and slender leaves that grow erect. Every leaf is set round with
bright red hairs, which spread from it like eyelashes, while similar
but shorter hairs cover the surface. When the plant is full-grown and
healthy, these hairs exude from their points little drops of sticky and
limpid fluid, which, glittering like the diamonds of Aurora, show the
reason of the poetical English name, sundew. Directly that any little
fly or midge comes in contact with the sticky drops, the unfortunate
creature is taken captive, just as birds are caught with bird-lime.
Held fast in its jewelled trap, the poor prisoner soon expires; and
then, either its juices or the gaseous products of the decomposition,
appear to be absorbed by the plant, and thus to constitute a portion
of its diet. This is rendered the more probable by the experiments of
the late Mr. Joseph Knight, of Chelsea, who fed the large American
flycatcher, the _Dionæa_, with fibres of raw beef, and found the plant
all the better for its good dinners. Certainly it cannot be asserted
positively that the Drosera is nourished by its animal prey, but it is
difficult to imagine that so extraordinary and successful an apparatus
is given to these plants for the mere purpose of destroying midges, and
that the higher purpose of food is not the primary one. On the larger
leaves may generally be seen relics of the repast, shrivelled bodies,
wings, and legs, reminding one of the picked bones that strew the
entrance to the giant's cavern in the fairy tale. Sundew plants may be
kept in a parlour, by planting them in a dishful of green moss, which
must be constantly flooded with water, and covering the whole with a
glass shade. Exposed to the sunshine, their glittering drops come out
abundantly, but the redness of the hairs diminishes sensibly, owing,
perhaps, to their being denied their natural prey. The flowers of these
singular plants are white, and borne on slender stalks that rise to the
height of three or four inches. The roots survive the winter.

Carrington Moss is further remarkable for the profuse growth of that
beautiful flower, the Lancashire asphodel, which, at the end of July
and the beginning of August, lights it up with flambeaux of bright
yellow. Here also grow the _Rhyncospora alba_, the cranberry, the
Andromeda, and the cotton-sedge, all in great abundance; and on the
margin, among the ditches, luxuriant grasses peculiar to moorland, and
the finest specimens of the purple heather that are anywhere to be
seen so near Manchester. The rich sunset-like lustre of this sturdy
but graceful plant renders it one of the loveliest ornaments of our
country when summer begins to wane into autumn. Branches, gathered when
in full bloom, and laid to dry in the shade, retain their freshness
of form and pretty colour for many months, and serve very pleasingly
to mix with honesty and everlastings for the winter decoration of the
chimneypiece. Intermixed with the heather grows the _Erica tetralix_,
or blushing-maiden heath, an exceedingly elegant species, with light
pink flowers, collected in dense clusters at the very summit of the
stalk. The immediate borders of the moss, and the lanes approaching
it, are prolific in curious plants. To go no further, indeed, quite
repays a visit. July is the best time. Then the foxgloves lift their
magnificent crimson spires, and the purple-tufted vetch trails its
light foliage and delicate clusters beneath the woodbines; and the tall
bright lotus in coronets of gold, and the meadow-sweet, smelling like
hawthorn, make the lady-fern look its greenest, while in the fields
alongside stands, in all its pride of yellow and violet, the great
parti-coloured dead-nettle, which here grows in luxuriant perfection.
Up to the very end of autumn this district is quite a garden to the
practical botanist. Where cultivated and uncultivated land adjoin,
just as where land and sea come in contact, there is always found the
largest variety and plenty, alike of vegetable and of animal life; and
nowhere is this more marked than on the borders of Carrington Moss. The
cottages near the moss are but few. Tea may be procured nevertheless,
if we are content to run the risk of there being no milk, which, like
fish by the sea-side, is often a scarce thing even in the heart of the
country; but on a pleasant summer evening, when everything else is fair
and contenting, he must be a grumbler indeed who would let _this_ spoil
his enjoyment. Half a loaf enjoyed with one's friends, far away in the
sweet silence of nature, and a happy walk home afterwards, with loving
faces right and left, is better, ten times over, than a luxurious
meal got by coming away prematurely. All this part of the country is
remarkable also for the luxuriance of its culinary vegetables. The
rhubarb is some of the finest grown near Manchester, and it is quite a
treat to look at the beans.

Another way to the moss, available for residents at Bowdon, is through
Oldfield, and by Seaman's Moss Bridge, where we cross the Warrington
railway, to Sinderland, looking out when thus far for a lane upon the
right, bordered first by birch-trees and afterwards by oaks. All these
lanes, like those on the Ashton side of the moss, are remarkably rich
in wild-flowers and ferns, the latter including the royal fern, or
Osmunda, and in early summer show great plenty of the white lychnis,
called, from not opening its petals till evening, the _vespertina_.
The pink-flowered lychnis, the "brid-e'en" or "bird's eye" of the
country people, is, like the telegraph office, "open always." Here we
may perceive the use of Latin or botanical names; for "bird's eye" is
applied to many different plants in different parts of England, so that
a botanist at a distance who might chance to read these lines could not
possibly tell what flower was meant, whereas, in "Lychnis vespertina"
there is certainty for all. Whoever is fond of blackberries and wild
raspberries would do well to make acquaintance with these pretty lanes;
whoever, too, is fond of solitude--a state not fit for all, nor for
any man too prolongedly, but a true friend to those who can use it. If
we would thoroughly enjoy life, we should never overlook the value of
occasional solitude. It is one of the four things which we should get a
little of, if possible, every day of our lives, namely, reading, good
music, sport with little children, and utter seclusion from the busy
world.

The number of mosses and moors in the neighbourhood of Manchester
makes it interesting--as in the case of the Cheshire meres, to know
something of their origin. The wonderful discoveries of geology, with
regard to the crust of the earth, and the successive deposition of
the strata of which it is composed, claim our attention scarcely more
than the history of the surface, which has undergone changes quite as
momentous to the welfare of man, and no part of that history is more
curious, perhaps, than that of the mosses. Wherever a moss now extends
in wet and dreary waste, it would seem that there was once a plain or
expanse of tolerably dry land, more or less plentifully covered with
trees and underwood, but subject, by reason of the depressed level, to
frequent inundation, just as we see the fields at Sale and Stretford
flooded every now and then at the present day. The falling of the older
and weaker trees, in consequence of the long-continued wetness, and
the want of a steady and complete outlet for the accumulated waters,
would soon cause the place to assume the character of a marsh,--neither
land nor lake,--and now semi-amphibious plants would not be slow to
spring up, for wherever such conditions of surface are exchanged for
dry ones, plants of that nature appear as if by magic. The morass thus
formed and occupied, would in a single season become knee-deep in
the very same kind of mixture as that which now forms the outer skin
of Carrington Moss, viz., heather of different kinds, cotton-sedges,
and bog-moss. Every successive year the original mass of roots and
stems would be left deeper and deeper beneath by the new and upward
growth of the vegetation above; till at last, saturated with wet, and
pressed by the weight of the superincumbent matter, it would acquire
the compact form which is now called "peat." The original moisture of
the place, instead of diminishing, would be incessantly reinforced
from the clouds, and the lapse of a few centuries would pile up on
the surface of the once dry ground, a heap many yards in vertical
thickness of half-decayed, half-living heath and moss, with sundews,
cotton-sedges, and asphodels on the top. The branches of the trees
drowned and entombed at the beginning, would remain where they fell,
slowly decaying, but retaining their character well enough to be
recognised, and hence wherever a moss is now drained, and portions of
the original deposit are dug out, there are generally found mixed with
it branches and fragments that in a measure may be likened to fossils.
Carrington Moss, in parts where drained, is strewed with such bits of
the silver birch, declared by the shining whiteness of the bark. The
trees that these bits belonged to no doubt grew tall and leafy on the
spot that is now their sepulchre and memorial. Flowers and seeds of
bog plants are also found low down in the moss, almost as fresh as if
newly fallen. In the middle, these vast vegetable tumuli are often
twenty or thirty feet deep. In any part a walking-stick may be plunged
in for its full length, and though by stepping and standing on the
denser tufts of heather, it is quite easy to walk about dry-shod, it
is quite as easy by uncarefulness, especially after wet weather, to
be in a pool of water up to the ankle in a few minutes. There is no
_danger_ in walking upon the mosses, merely this little risk of getting
wet-footed, which is more than compensated by the curious objects that
may be found upon them. In winter and dull weather they are desolate
enough, but on a summer afternoon full of reward. Owing to their
immense capacity for absorption, many mosses swell into mounds higher
than the surrounding country, as happens at Carrington; and after
heavy rains this enlargement is so much increased that distant objects
are concealed from view until evaporation and drainage have caused
subsidence to the ordinary level. Before Ashton Moss (between Droylsden
and Ashton-under-Lyne) was drained, trees and houses were often lost to
view for many days, by persons residing on the opposite side.

That this is the true origin of the mosses is rendered fairly certain
by the circumstance of works of human art having often been found at
the bottom. When Ashton Moss was drained, there were found under the
peat a Celtic axe and some Roman coins;[11] and in another part, at the
foot of one of the old stumps of trees, a quantity of charred wood,
betokening that a fire had once been lighted there. The coins would
naturally suggest that some old Roman soldier had had a hand in the
kindling, and the well-known fact of the extensive felling of trees by
the Romans, both in road-making, and to aid them in the subjugation
of the country, has led to the belief with some, that to these people
may partially be attributed the origination of the mosses. The trees
and scattered branches encumbering the ground, are supposed to have
checked the free passage of floods and other water, which, becoming
stagnated, gradually destroyed the growing timber, and eventually led
to the results described above. Baines (History of Lancashire, iii.
131) says of Chat Moss, that it was originally the site of an immense
forest, but was reduced to a bog by the Roman invaders, at a period
coeval with the first promulgation of the Christian religion. It would
probably be no error to assert with Whitaker, that the whole of the
country round Manchester, and not merely the site of Chat Moss, was, at
the time of the Romans, covered with trees. One thing is quite certain,
namely, that the formation of the mosses is comparatively recent, and
probably much within one thousand eight hundred years. They appear to
rest universally on a clayey substratum, and it is very interesting to
observe that where the peat is wholly removed, for the purpose of fuel,
as upon Holford Moss, near Toft and Peover, the clay surface being then
laid bare, birch-trees spring up unsown. The seeds of these trees must
have been lying there since they ripened, unable to vegetate previously
for want of air and the solar warmth. It is quite a familiar phenomenon
for plants to spring up in this way from seeds that have been buried
for ages, especially on earth laid bare by cuttings for railways and
similar works; so in truth it is no more than would be expected in
connection with the clearing away of peat, and the restoration of the
under-surface. The tree next in frequency to the birch, as a denizen of
the old _silva_, appears to have been the oak.

"Moors" are a more consolidated form of mosses. Seated, most usually,
on higher and more easily drained ground than the mosses, they have
in some cases preserved a drier nature from the first; in others, they
have become drier in the course of time, through the escape of their
moisture by runnels to lower levels; and in others again, they have
allowed of easy artificial draining, and conversion to purposes of
pasturage and tillage, or at least over a considerable portion of their
surface, and have thus disappeared into farm-land. The most extensive
and celebrated mosses about Manchester, still undrained, are Chat Moss,
Carrington Moss, and Clifton Moss, near the Clifton railway station, on
the left hand of the Bolton-road. Fifteen years ago (_i.e._ in 1843),
White Moss and Ashton Moss might have been included in the list, but
both of these are now largely brought under cultivation. The most
celebrated moors are now nearly all under the power of the plough, as
Baguley Moor and Sale Moor, while Newton Heath is covered with houses.

The above chapter was written in 1858. The story of the sundews has now
become an old familiar one, having been placed prominently before the
world by Dr. Hooker during the 1874 meeting of the British Association,
when the novelty of the theme attracted universal attention to it.
It has been dealt with also by Mr. Darwin and many of his disciples.
The facts described have all been verified, though there is still
considerable difference of opinion in regard to the digestive process.
This question is one we cannot pretend to go further into at present;
it remains for the rising generation of Manchester, and other local
physiologists, to recognise the value of the opportunities they
possess in having the plants themselves so close at hand. Upon
Carrington, however, the Droseras seem to be less plentiful than they
were forty years ago. The draining at the margins appears to have
favoured the growth of the heather, as well as to have rendered the
moss less swampy. If deficient here, there are plenty elsewhere, the
sundews being to peat-bogs what daisies are to the meadows. Since 1858
the approaches to the moss from the Manchester side have also been a
good deal altered, and enquiry must now be made of residents in the
neighbourhood when seeking the most convenient means of access.

Extending so far in the direction of Dunham, the wooded slopes of which
latter are plainly visible from all parts, wet Carrington,--

  Water, water, everywhere,
  And not a drop to drink,--

excites new relish for the shades of its beautiful park. Few are the
inhabitants of our town to whom Dunham is unknown, and who fail upon
every new visit to find in it a poem and a jubilee. The greater number
of the trees were planted by George, second Earl of Warrington. He
was born in 1675, and died in 1758, so that his exemplary work may
be considered to date from the time, as to its beginning, of Queen
Anne, and the oldest of the trees to have been growing for nearly two
centuries, since, of course, it would not be acorns that were placed
in the soil, but saplings, already stout and hearty. Wandering amid
the rich glooms they now afford, occasional breaks and interspaces
disclosing green hollows filled with sunlight, or crested knolls that
seem like sanctuaries; delicate pencillings of lighter foliage throwing
into grand relief the darker and heavier masses, in this sweet land
there is never any sense of sameness,--we are awakened rather to the
power there is in perfect sylvan scenery, as well as in that of the
mountains, and the sea-margin, to elevate and refresh one's entire
spiritual nature. Very pleasant is it when we can simultaneously
thank God for creating noble trees, and let the mind rest upon a
fellow-creature as the immediate donor. Many of the old Dunham oaks
date considerably further back than the time indicated. England is
dotted all over with individual trees, the age of which is rightfully
estimated by centuries, and Dunham Park is not without its reverend
share.

Emerging from the park, past the old mill--beloved of sketching
artists--there are pleasant footways across the meadows that conduct
eventually to Lymm. To trace them was, in the bygones, a never-failing
enjoyment. Now we go to Lymm direct by train, finding there, as of
old, one of the most beautiful of the Cheshire waters; in this case,
however, of origin very different from the Vale Royal meres. The water
at Lymm, romantic and picturesque as are its surroundings, is simply
a vast reservoir, brought into existence by the construction of the
viaduct at the foot. The site now occupied by the water was originally
a little vale, down which flowed a streamlet called the Dane. Becoming
very narrow where the roadway now is, to throw a barricade across
was easy. The construction of this gave distinctiveness also to the
"dell," the pretty hollow, full of trees, into which, when the water
is high, the overplus, creeping under the road by a concealed channel,
springs so cheerily. Ordinarily, it must be confessed, there is little
more than a thin trickle, but after a day or two's heavy rain, down it
comes, with a joyous double leap, in great sheaves and waving veils,
the more delectable since the cascade in question is the only one in
this part of Cheshire, or anywhere upon the Cheshire side of the town.

The pleasantest time to visit this beautiful neighbourhood is the very
end of July. The wild cherries are then ripe, and glisten like coral
amid the green leaves; and in the water there is a rosy archipelago of
persicaria blossom. Beyond the plantation, at the upper extremity, the
surface is often so still and placid that every flower and leaf upon
the banks finds its image beneath, the inverted foxgloves changing, as
the calm gives way to ripples, into softly twining spirals of crimson
light. When the shores are laid unusually bare through drought, they
furnish abundance of the beautiful shells of the fresh-water mussel,
_Anodonta cygnea_, often four inches in length, externally olive-green,
and possessed inside of the pearly iridescence so much admired in
sea-shells. Many, however, are broken, the swans being fond of the
contents. To see the water to its full extent, visitors should continue
along the hill-side, opposite the church, and as far as the grove of
trees. With permission of the proprietor, it is a great gain, on
arrival there, to cross by the rustic bridge, and, turning to the
left, ascend the little valley called "Ridding's Brook." The botany
of this part is truly rich,--in March the slopes are yellow with the
wild daffodil, and in late summer the bank is gay with purple lythrum.
The special interest of the valley lies, after all, in its curious
dropping and petrifying spring. At the further extremity, upon the
right, the steep clay bank, instead of receding, is hollowed underneath
for the length of a hundred yards or so, the upper edge projecting to
a considerable distance beyond the base, so as to overhang the stream,
and form a sloping roof to it. The surface is completely covered with
luxuriant moss, and from the land overhead comes an incessant filter of
water, which at once nourishing the moss and entangled in it, causes
it to hang down in long vegetable ringlets. At a distance they seem
soft, but examination shows that every drop has brought along with it a
particle of earth, which being deposited in the very substance of the
moss, is gradually converting it into stone. Every cluster, externally
so green and living, is in its heart a petrifaction.

[Illustration: Tho. Letherbrow.

_Oldfield, Dunham_]

Very pleasant walks, of entirely different character, are to be found
also, when at Lymm, along the great alluvial flat bordered by the
river, and which reaches to Thelwall. Thelwall was once a port for
ships! When founded by Edward the elder, about the year 923, the stream
was so much wider and deeper that, according to tradition, the Danish
invaders came this way in vessels, landed, and established a camp
or fortress at Mickley Hill, the mound, now covered with fir-trees,
which marks the point where the Bollin enters. Up to about 1855, or
before the water was so defiled, the Mersey at this part, and more
particularly near Statham, was to the sportsman supremely attractive.
It was visited in the winter by many curious birds, including the
sheldrake, the widgeon, the teal, and occasionally the wild swan. Lymm
village contains several objects of archæological interest. Near the
centre are the remains of an ancient cross, the lower steps of which
are cut out of the solid rock; and close by, upon an eminence, is
Lymm Hall, an ancient building, once, like most others of its kind,
protected by a moat. Lymm church tower is as high above the sea-level
at the base as Bowdon old tower is at the top. The shrubs in the
gardens, owing to the altitude, are often reached, in tempestuous
weather, by the salt of the Irish Sea. Near Lymm there are many other
very interesting places. Oughtrington Hall and Agden Hall, in the
Dunham direction; High Legh, with its ancient and beautiful little
church, covered with ivy; and Warburton, again noted for its church,
are all, in their respective ways, full of attraction. Warburton church
is one of the three in Cheshire which, as at Peover, were built in
the quaint old "black and white" or "magpie" style. Only a portion,
however, of the original remains at Warburton, new structures, very
odd in complexion, having been added at various times. The stone part
is dated 1645,--the tower, about a century old, and fortunately now
ivy-mantled, is of _brick_! The yews are no doubt contemporaneous with
the foundation, say about seven hundred years of age.

Latchford, the station next beyond Thelwall, is a good point of
departure for Hill Cliff, the lofty and beautiful eminence upon which
Warrington so prides itself. The view from the summit is considered by
many the most varied and extensive in Cheshire--justly so, perhaps,
since upon the east it extends to Alderley, and upon the west to
Moel Famma. Another route to Hill Cliff is by the original line to
Warrington, through Eccles, from Victoria station, the same which
leads on to Norton for Norton Priory, Norton Park, and Halton Castle;
to Frodsham, for its glorious hills, and to Chester. The views from
the Frodsham hills cover, like those from Hill Cliff, a most charming
variety of scene,--Halton Castle, Weston Point, Rock Savage, the
Aston Woods, and the winding Weaver, with its many craft, being all
embraced at once. The best way of procedure, in order to enjoy the
hills thoroughly, is to take the Helsby portion first, beginning at the
station of that name, then to cross the valley and ascend the Overton
part. If considered too much for a single day, there is amply enough
for a couple of separate visits. Norton Park, made up of undulating and
flowery glades, with the Priory in the centre, is little less enjoyable
than Tatton, though the spectacle of the dire mischief wrought by
the fumes from the adjacent alkali-works, apparently irreparable, is
very sad; Halton Castle has its chief attraction in the record, for
the precincts, of well-known historical events; the interest of the
river consists in its identification with one of the most important
branches of the local commerce. Before going so far in search of
enjoyment, it is wise to remember that long before reaching even Lymm,
the line _viâ_ Broadheath gives access to quiet fields that in summer
evenings are rich in pleasant influence, those in particular which lie
west of Dunham Massey. A very delightful rural neighbourhood, almost
contiguous, has also now been opened up by the "Cheshire Midland."
Urmston, Flixton, and Glazebrook are centres from which it is difficult
to move unprofitably. Very much of course depends upon the amount
of disposition to be pleased that we carry with us, and upon one's
progress in the culture of that finest of the fine arts--the art of
seeing.

[Illustration]

[11: See a description of these coins in the _Ashton
Reporter_, of March 14th, 1857.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER V.

GATLEY CARRS.


  We live by admiration, hope, and love,
  And even as these are well and wisely fixed,
  In dignity of being we ascend.

WORDSWORTH.


There is not a more delightful ride out of town, at any season of
the year, than through Rusholme and Didsbury to Cheadle. The country
is on either hand fertile and pleasantly wooded, and in many places
embellished with handsome grounds, while gardens and shrubberies
succeed one another so fast that the road seems completely edged with
them. The variety of trees presented to view is greater than upon any
other road out of Manchester. In the five miles between Ducie-street
and Abney Hall, we have counted upwards of forty different species,
some of them by no means frequent in these parts, while others are
uncommonly fine examples of their kind. The finest sycamore, and, after
the great horse-chestnut between Singleton and Besses-o'-th'-Barn,
perhaps the finest tree of any sort near Manchester, as regards either
symmetry or altitude, stands upon the lawn of Mr. T. H. Nevill's
house at Didsbury, the second on the Manchester side of the College.
Oak, willow, elm, poplar in three different kinds, lime, ash, and
beech, both green and purple, are also represented very fairly. There
are examples, too, of walnut, of negundo, and of tulip trees. A noble
specimen of the last-named stood not far from the Didsbury sycamore
until about 1855, and was covered with flowers every season; but, like
the cedar in the grounds adjoining Mr. Callender's late residence at
Rusholme, which was another of the finest trees on the road, fell a
victim about that time to the axe of "improvement." Each was a cruel
case of what Miss Mitford well calls "tree murder." Such trees cannot
be replaced in less than three generations; the sycamore at Mr.
Nevill's is already over a hundred years old; so near to Manchester, it
will probably be impossible ever to see the like of them again; let us
hope, then, that what remain will be cherished. Cut them down when they
become ruinous, if you will,--though nothing makes a more beautiful
ornament of true pleasure-grounds than the torso of an ancient tree
from which the living glory has departed,--but spare them as long
as vigorous life endures. So numerous are the lilacs, laburnums,
chestnuts, thorns, both white and red, and other gay-blossomed
contributors to this charming arboretum, that from the end of May till
the middle of June the road is one long flower-show. Before these
commence their gala, there are the apple and pear trees; earlier yet
the silver birches, covered with their pendent catkins; and in the
autumn we seem to have flowers over again in the scarlet berries of the
holly and mountain ash.

Not only is the road beautiful in itself, but to residents upon the
Greenheys and Chorlton side of the town, the opportunities which
it provides of access to scenes of rural beauty are peculiarly
advantageous. Stretford way, there is nothing worth mention till we
reach Dunham. There are plenty of quiet lanes, it is true, and the
farm-land is well cultivated; but in landscape, the whole of the great
plain intersected by the Bowdon Railway is totally and admittedly
deficient. With Didsbury, on the other hand, we enter a country fit
for a Linnell. We may turn down by the church to the river-side, and
follow the stream through pleasant fields to Northen; or we may push
forward another mile, cross the Mersey at Cheadle Bridge, and strike
into a scene of such singular and romantic beauty, and so thoroughly
unique in its composition, that we know of nothing in the neighbourhood
to liken it to. This is the place called "Gatley Carrs." It is easily
found. Immediately the bridge is crossed, take the broad path through
the meadow on the right, and look out for the chimney of Mr. Jowett's
corn-mill. Go through the mill-yard, and over the brook, then through
another field or two into a lane red with refuse from a tile-croft, and
in a little while there will be seen, again upon the right, a cluster
of cottages and barns. These surround a bit of sward called "Gatley
Green," which must be traversed, and after a hundred yards further
walk by a runnel of water, we have the Carrs straight before us. The
term "Carr" is of Gothic derivation, and denotes an expanse of level
land, near a river, covered with alders or other water-loving trees.
Such is the character of the scene here. An extensive and verdant
plain, smooth and level as a bowling-green, stretches from our feet
away to some undiscoverable boundary, its further portion covered with
tall poplars, entirely bare of branches for half their height, and
leafy only towards their summit, the trunks standing just near enough
together to form a grove of pillared foliage, and just far enough apart
for every tree to be seen in its integrity, and for the sunshine to
penetrate and illuminate every nook. They are not the kind of poplar
commonly understood by the name--the slender, spire-like tree, which is
quite exceptional even among poplars--but one of the species with ample
and spreading crowns. The number of trees is immense--at a rough guess,
perhaps a thousand. They were planted by the late Mr. Worthington,
of Sharston Hall; the timber, though almost useless to the joiner,
being well adapted for cutting into the thin, narrow strips called
"swords," upon which it is customary to fold silks. The path commanding
this beautiful view runs along the upper margin of the plain. It is
somewhat elevated above the grass, and keeps company with a stream, the
opposite bank of which rises still higher, and is covered with oaks
and ferns. The superiority of position thus afforded, though trifling,
gives to the plain the aspect of a vast amphitheatre, and so calm and
delicious is the whole scene, so tranquil and consecrated the look of
the untrodden wood, that it seems surely one of the sacred groves of
the Druids, and one can hardly think but that presently we shall see
the priests enter in grand procession, in their white robes and ancient
beards, and carrying the golden knife that is to sever the misletoe
bough. In the evening there come effects of yet rarer charm, for then
the declining sun casts long interlineations of shadow across the
level, and lights up every leaf from underneath.

The botany of the Carrs corresponds in extent with that of Mobberley,
though in many respects quite different. The greatest curiosity,
perhaps, is the toothwort, or _Lathræa_, that singular plant which,
disliking the solar ray, lives recluse in woods and groves, often
half-concealed in dead tree-leaves, and scarcely lifting its cadaverous
bloom above the surface. Here also grows the _Poa nemoralis_. The
meads yield occasional specimens of a pretty rose-coloured variety of
the creeping bugle, and are so rich in wild-flowers in general as to
form, along with the woods beside the stream, quite a natural botanic
garden. The further part of the wood, towards Sharston, is, no doubt,
the abode of many plants of interest, and only wants searching out. The
reputation of a given locality for rare plants comes not infrequently
of some one of ardour having gone to work upon it; innumerable places,
were they thoroughly explored, would rise from unimportance into fame.
Happily, as regards Gatley Carrs, Mr. Edward Stone, son of the able
and well-known chemist, whose collection, both of indigenous and exotic
plants, in his garden at Cheadle, has done so much good service to the
cause of botany, is devoting himself to the task.

The stream above-mentioned curves, after a little while, to the right,
and the path changes to the opposite side. It is at this point that
the extent of the wood is developed, and that we turn to go homewards.
If time permit, it is well to continue awhile along the middle path
in front, and visit first the Upper Carrs, which, as seen from the
terrace that runs all the way from Cheadle to Baguley, are remarkably
beautiful. The wood, as here disclosed, is full of invitation, and
where the branches stand asunder, we see great prairies, the green
grass all a-glow with red sorrel blossom, and dotted with islands of
radiant white, where that giant of field flowers, the great moon-daisy,
shows its pride. This noble ornament of our meadow-land, called on
the other side of the Tweed the "horse-gowan," is one of the class of
flowers called "compound," being made up of some hundreds of "florets"
or miniature flowers, enclosed in a kind of basket. An average specimen
has been found to contain five hundred and sixty, and a fine one no
fewer than eight hundred. The florets are disposed in exquisite curving
lines, exactly resembling the back of an engine-turned watch. What has
the ingenuity of man ever devised that has not its prototype somewhere
in nature? The chalice holding this remarkable flower is of the most
elegant construction, and in form like an acorn-cup. Moving on by the
brookside, after crossing it at the bridge, we soon enter a spacious
meadow upon the left, and find ourselves again in sight of the Mersey.
On the bank of the stream, just before quitting it, may be seen the
wild red-currant, making, with its neighbours, the wild raspberry
and the wood strawberry, a show of native fruits without parallel in
this neighbourhood. The meadow is of exuberant fertility, owing to
the annual flood from the river. Leaving it, we come next to a rising
ground, planted with white willows, and from this emerge into a lane,
and so over the brow of the hill to Northen churchyard. Northen, of
course, becomes a resting-place, and a very pleasant one it is. Both
church and churchyard deserve examination. The former contains a neat
monument to the memory of Mr. Worthington, the planter of the poplars
in the Carrs, and another with an epitaph attributed to the pen of
Alexander Pope.[12] Several pretty memorials of the dead occur likewise
among the tombstones outside. On one fragment there is seemingly
written with green moss, the graving in the stone being entirely filled
up with the plant--

  ANNE - DOVG
  HTAR - OF -
  HVMFREY - SA
  VAGE - DYED

On another are the following pretty lines:--

  The cup of life just with her lips she pressed,
  Found the taste bitter, and declined the rest;
  Averse then turning from the face of day,
  She softly sighed her little soul away.

From Northen to Manchester the ways are many. One is to walk two miles
and a half along the lanes to Sale Moor station; a second, to follow
the southern bank of the river to Jackson's boat; a third, is to cross
the fields into the Cheadle road, and catch the townwards omnibus,
a distance of less than a mile; and the last, to our own mind much
the pleasantest--first along the northern bank for about a mile, and
then across the fields towards Platt and Rusholme. The commencement
of the last-named is exceedingly delightful, the water flowing on
the left, woods and pastures upon the right, in the evening sweetly
enlivened by the cuckoo. Nothing in the year's round of pleasure is
more heart-soothing than an hour in these quiet fields immediately
after sunset, while it is too light for the stars, but the planets peer
forth in their beautiful lustre, and the darkness quickens our ears to
the slightest sound. The nightingale alone is wanting to complete the
effect, but we have no nightingales near Manchester. There is nothing
for them to eat, and they stay away. The bird sometimes mistaken for
the nightingale, from its singing at the same hours, and running
through a variety of notes, is the sedge-warbler.

Enjoying this sweet neighbourhood in early summer, and while it is
yet broad day, one can hardly fail to notice the tribe of _grasses_,
at least up to the time of haymaking. No fewer than sixty-three
different kinds may be collected about Manchester, and fully a third of
these in the meadows. The remainder are inhabitants of the woods and
ponds, while a few grow exclusively upon the moors. Attaining their
perfection in May and June, easily collected, and not withering on
the way home, the grasses are the very best plants to begin with in
forming a collection of dried flowers. We have spoken before of the
pleasure that attends this pursuit: the utility, to any one who takes
the slightest interest in nature, is quite upon a par. How pleasant at
Christmas to turn over the pages of one's _Hortus Siccus_, freshening
our remembrance alike of the beautiful and diversified shapes of the
plants, and of the days and scenes where they were gathered! A more
interesting or instructive pursuit for a young person, of either sex,
than to set about collecting specimens of the grasses, ferns, and
wild-flowers in general, that they meet with in their country walks, is
in truth scarcely to be found. The attraction it gives to the country
is prodigious, and surely it is more sensible when out in the fields
thus to employ one's self than to wander along listlessly for want
of an object, and perhaps get into mischief. The method to pursue is
exceedingly simple. First get together a quantity of old newspapers,
and fold them to about eighteen inches square. Then buy a few quires of
Bentall's botanical drying paper, and procure also three or four pieces
of stout millboard. Such is the apparatus; nothing more is wanted;
and next we must gather our specimens, selecting, to begin with, such
as are of slender make and comparatively juiceless texture. Pieces of
about a foot long are large enough, but if the plant be less than ten
or twelve inches in height, it should be taken root and all. Having the
boards and papers in readiness, lay one of the former as a foundation,
and to serve as a tray; upon this place a folded newspaper, and upon
this a sheet of Bentall, and then the specimen intended to be dried.
Over the specimen should come a second sheet of Bentall, then another
newspaper, and so on till the whole collecting is deposited. All being
in order, it remains only to place a heavy weight upon the top of the
pile, so as to press the plants flat, and prevent the air entering to
shrivel them. The easiest weights to use are common red bricks, but,
as bricks look untidy in a parlour, and are unpleasant to handle in
their naked state, they should be tied up neatly and separately in
smooth brown paper, and then not the most fastidious or weak-fingered
can object to them. In this condition the pile should be left till
the next day, when it should be turned over, layer by layer, and the
specimens transferred into dry Bentall. The newspapers need not be
changed unless the plants are succulent ones, and their moisture has
penetrated. The weight should then be replaced, and the pile again be
left to itself for three or four days, when the specimens will be found
perfectly dry, their forms scarcely altered, and their colours, except
in special cases, almost as bright as when growing. For very delicate
plants, instead of Bentall, it is best to use sheets of clean white
cotton-wadding, with tissue paper, to prevent the specimens clinging
to the cotton when of adhesive nature. When quite deprived of their
juices, the specimens should be transferred into sheets of white paper,
and neatly fastened down, not with gum arabic, which is apt to smear
and look untidy, but with a solution of caoutchouc in naphtha, sold in
the shops under the name of "indiarubber cement." The great advantage
of this is that if any should exude from below the specimen, it may,
when dry, be rubbed off like a pencil mark. The name of the plant, and
the date and place where gathered, should be written underneath. Giving
a summer to the work, it is surprising how soon a large and beautiful
collection of plants will accumulate, and how rapidly we feel ourselves
progressing in botanical knowledge. Taking ordinary care, there is
no reason why plants should not look nearly as green and pretty when
dried as when living. If an herbarium be only a heap of Latin hay,
as sometimes happens, it is not that the art of preserving plants is
deceptive, but that the collector has been clumsy or neglectful. Nor
are dried plants, as some esteem them, mere vegetable mummies, wretched
corpses devoid of all instructiveness or value, for they are far more
lively than drawings, and answer all our questions with readiness. Many
good botanists, it is true, have done without such collections, showing
that they are by no means indispensable to the study of botany. But
none who have taken the trouble to form them ever regret it, while all
confess their inestimable service. Even if the herbarium served no
scientific purpose whatever, there is always the pleasure of finding in
it a garden all the year round.

  Here spring perpetual leads the laughing hours,
  And winter wears a wreath of summer flowers.

_Viâ_ Northen is the pleasantest route to the beautiful district of
which the centre is Wythenshawe Hall, a remarkably fine building of
the time of James the First, and at present the seat of Mr. Thomas
Wm. Tatton. It is approached through a piece of ground called the
"Saxfield," upon which tradition says there was once a terrible fight
between Saxons and Danes; old maps mark the place with crossed swords.
We have not much of historical interest pertaining to the neighbourhood
of Manchester, but what there is seems to concentrate about Northen.
The Pretender, Prince Charles Edward, crossed the river in 1745, at a
place not very far below Cheadle Bridge, and it is curious that the
Prince Consort's visit, in 1857, when he came to open the Art-Treasures
Exhibition at Old Trafford, should have been made by way of the very
bridge alluded to. In 1644 Wythenshawe was besieged by a party of
Cromwell's soldiers, who planted a battery on the side overlooking
Northen, and threw many cannon-shots against the house. During some
alterations in the garden a few years since, and the conversion of a
pond-bottom into flower-beds, several of the balls were found; and
another, which entered by the drawing-room window, and smashed the
wood-carving on the opposite wall, is shown to visitors privileged to
view this beautiful hall. The carving was not replaced, so that the
blank space preserves a distinct memorial of the attack. The siege
was conducted by the celebrated Colonel Robert Dukenfield, the most
conspicuous soldier, after Sir William Brereton, in the Cheshire
history of the Civil War. It occupied some time, and was only brought
to a close by getting two pieces of ordnance from Manchester, the same
probably from which the balls above alluded to were discharged. During
its progress, one of the maid-servants inside, for her amusement, took
aim with a musket at an officer of the Parliamentary forces, who was
carelessly lounging about, and managed to kill him. He is supposed to
have been the "Captayne Adams," stated in the Stockport register of
burials to have been "slayne at Withenshawe, on Sunday, the 25th." In
the course of alterations in the grounds during the last century, six
skeletons were discovered. They were lying close together, and are
reasonably supposed to have been those of soldiers who perished during
the siege. Cromwell afterwards stayed at the hall, and slept in a room
still called, from his occupation of it, "Oliver Cromwell's room." The
bed, which is dated 1619, is of elegantly carved wood, the furniture
and mirrors matching it, and of the same age. The wood-carving at Lyme
Hall is usually considered to show the best local work of the period,
but that at Wythenshawe, in the opinion of many, is still finer. The
gardens surrounding the hall are full of curious trees, many of them
remarkably good and shapely specimens, especially an _Arbor vitæ_,
consisting of a tall green pyramid, surrounded by minarets, like a
spire with pinnacles round the base, and exquisitely beautiful when
swayed slopingly by the wind. In 1858 there sprang up in a piece of
newly-turned land at the back of the hall, many hundreds of the _Rumex
sanguineus_, its large oval light-green leaves traced and pencilled in
every direction with the richest crimson. The ordinary green-juiced
form of the plant is common enough, but the crimson-juiced is one of
the rarities of our Flora.

Further again, for those who care for rural pleasures and the legacies
of the past, there is the interesting district of Baguley and its old
hall. Only one large apartment of the latter remains, the greater
portion of the structure having, at some remote period, been destroyed
by fire; the buildings which surround and prop up the ancient piece
are comparatively new. Baguley Old Hall is well worth a visit, and
may be reached, if more convenient to excursionists, by way of Sale
Moor station, and a walk of two or three miles along the lanes. In
the interior, it will be observed that the doorways are formed of
oaken boughs that were curved at one extremity, so that when sliced
and reared on end, with the curved portions directed one towards the
other, they would form arches. These arches are exceedingly curious,
and, along with the numerous armorial bearings, form quite a noticeable
feature of the place. A walk across a few fields leads to Baguley
Mill. The lanes are full of fragrant roses; the high hedges shelter
innumerable veronicas; and by the sides of the little water-courses,
close to the mill, grows abundance of the hart's-tongue fern. To
attempt the whole in the space of a single afternoon, of course is
not practicable, especially if one is verging towards that inexorable
period of life when gravitation begins to get the better of a man
sooner than he has been accustomed to; nor is it intended to recommend
so much. Gatley Carrs suffice for one walk; the immediate neighbourhood
of Northen and the river-banks provide another; and Baguley _viâ_
Sale will pleasantly supply objects for a third. There is a fourth,
moreover, well commenced at Didsbury, but keeping in the direction of
Chorlton-cum-Hardy, so as eventually to reach Barlow Hall, the local
residence of Mr. William Cunliffe Brooks. The archæological interest
of Barlow Hall we have not room here to enlarge upon. It must suffice
to invite attention to Mr. Letherbrow's beautiful etching of the best
fragment in preservation, the period of which is believed to be that
of the reign of Henry VIII., when the hall was occupied by the very
ancient and historical family of de Barlow, allied by marriage to the
still more celebrated Stanleys, as shown by the heraldry of the window.

[Illustration: Barlow Hall.]

No chapter of the original little volume of 1858 calls for so many
obituary notices, now in 1882, as this one descriptive of Gatley Carrs.
The magnificent, not to say unique, Didsbury sycamore was cut down a
year or two after the publication. The great horse-chestnut, near
Singleton has disappeared.[13] Mr. Callender died in 1872. Mr. Stone,
sen., is also "with the majority," and the Carrs themselves no longer
deserve the ancient appellation, having been crossed by a railway
embankment. A good deal remains no doubt that is pretty and pleasing,
but the picture drawn above exists no longer. That a locality once so
beautiful should have been thus rudely dealt with is unfortunate, few
will deny. But nothing that contributes to the prosperity of a great
nation, or to the public welfare, is at any time to be deplored. Such
changes simply illustrate anew the primæval law that great purposes
shall always demand some kind of sacrifice.

[Illustration]

Footnotes

[12: The epitaph, Mr. Kelly kindly points out to me, is
veritably Pope's, but was originally written for the Hon. Robt. Digby
and his sister Mary. It was altered and abridged to suit the monument
which now bears it,--one to the memory of the Hon. Penelope Ducie
Tatton, who died Jan. 31, 1747.]

[13: It may be well to say that this grand old tree stood
by the lodge gates of Polefield Hall, a few hundred yards through
the village of Holyrood, or Rooden Lane, on the right towards
Besses-o'-th'-Barn. Unlike the Didsbury sycamore, which was in the prime
of its princely life, the Singleton horse-chestnut had become decrepid,
and during the rigour of the winters beginning in 1878 received
injuries from which it could not possibly recover.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER VI.

BY THE NORTH-WESTERN LINE THROUGH STOCKPORT.

  Oh, my lord, lie not idle:
  The chiefest action for a man of great spirit
  Is never to be out of action. We should think
  The soul was never put into the body,
  Which has so many rare and curious pieces
  Of mathematical motion, to stand still.

WEBSTER.


Before the opening of the "Manchester and Birmingham"--a title
now forgotten, the line having been absorbed into the London and
North-Western--the road through Rusholme, Didsbury, and Cheadle was
the accustomed highway to Congleton, _viâ_ Wilmslow, to which latter
place the hand still points at certain corners within a mile or two of
All Saints' Church. The Cheadle people occasionally made use of it for
pic-nic carriage parties to a fir-crowned steep just beyond Chorley,
a wilderness scarcely inhabited, and, save for its checking the speed
of travellers from Knutsford to Macclesfield, scarcely recognized in
the local geography. How vast the revolution promoted in 1842! The
wilderness soon became decked with mansions and gardens; it blossomed
as the rose; and "Alderley Edge" is now little less than a suburb of
Manchester.

The old carriage-way being superseded by the rail, and much that is
delightful being reached by train long before getting to Alderley, we
will now accordingly make new departure for fair Cheshire by way of
Stockport. Arrived at Wilmslow the old-fashioned, the Bollin reappears,
this particular point being in truth the head of the valley through
which the stream, as before-mentioned, pursues its sinuous and rapid
course to Ashley. The country upon the right is full of quiet lanes and
pretty meadows, none of which are more pleasing than those containing
the path to the margin of Norcliffe. If permission can be obtained to
visit the glen _ipsissima_, they are like the vestibule of a temple.
Norcliffe was laid out in 1830 by the late Mr. R. H. Greg. Selecting
everything that he planted with consummate taste and judgment, the
slopes are rich with trees which in point of value and variety have no
equal in this part of England. Beautiful from the first, the scene at
the present moment is more charming than ever before; for tree-planting
is one of those essentially noble and generous works the glory of which
a man can rarely expect to see unfolded in his own life-time:--like a
great poem, it reaches afar, and covers the generations that succeed.
The very striking feature of Norcliffe, the main and characteristic
one, consists in the profusion of the Conifers. The pine, the fir, the
cedar, in their many and always princely forms, are represented in
this delicious spot by upwards of forty species and varieties, many of
them having very numerous examples, all presenting, in the best manner,
the symmetrical outlines so remarkable in coniferous trees, and holding
positions with regard to their immediate neighbours such as awaken the
most agreeable ideas of harmony. There is no taller Deodara in the
neighbourhood than one of the specimens near the lawn, nor is there
anywhere in this neighbourhood a more comely Norway spruce, the top
already seventy feet above the turf, and covered annually with cones,
which the squirrels are glad of, the spring never finding one that the
little creatures have overlooked.

Norcliffe is equally remarkable in respect of its rhododendrons, the
purple splendour, early in June, tossed up like a floral surf. These
last, being like the conifers, evergreens, Norcliffe, if nothing
else, is a place of perennial verdure. Almost, as on the banks of old
Clitumnus--

  Hic ver assiduum, atque alienis mensibus æstas!

The walk through the sylvan part of the glen, tortuous, and rarely on
level ground, brings many beautiful wild-flowers into view. Here, in
the month of May, is the wood-millet--lightest and daintiest, after
the Briza, of our native grasses--and yet more plentifully the sweet
woodruff, holding up in every corner its little handfuls of snow-white
crosses. Access to Norcliffe,--the grounds being strictly and in every
portion private,--is, of course, only by favour. But the honoured
name of Greg has always been a synonym for liberality, and leave to
enter when properly sought is not likely to be refused. The same may
be said of the picturesque and delightful grounds, a mile further
down the valley, which appertain to Oversley Lodge, the residence of
Mr. Arthur Greg. The treat here is the wilderness-walk, a portion of
which was cut only in 1881, along the side of the principal cliff.
During the progress of the clearing a new locality was found for the
true-love.[14] So certain is the reward, not only in important shape,
but in little and unexpected ways, of every man who first makes a path
through the forest, whether with the axe or with the more subtle tools
that are not wrought upon human forges. Spring is the time, above all
others, if it can be managed, for these beautiful Oversley woods; for
then we have the opening green leaves in a thousand artistic forms,
and in endless shades; the violets also, and the satin-flower; and,
full of promise, the so-comfortably-wrapped-up ferns that in September
will show how nature revels in transformations. The Oversley woods
abut very closely upon Cotterill, approaching which place there is
scenery not inferior in its modest and singular sweetness to that of
the vicinity of Castle Mill. The public approach is from Wilmslow,
treading first the western margin of Lindow Common, then going through
various lanes, and in front of "Dooley's farm." The greensward portion
of the country now soon entered is generally distinguished by the name
of the Morley Meadows, and the sylvan part by the somewhat odd title
of "Hanging-banks Wood." The phrase is designed, it would seem, to
convey an idea analogous to that involved in the name of the famous
"Hanging-gardens" of ancient Babylon, signifying terraces of wood and
blossom disposed in parallel order upon some gentle slope. This is
the part of the Bollin valley referred to in an early chapter (p. 27)
as the asylum, it is to be hoped indefinitely, of the primrose. Here,
too, Ophelia's "long-purples" live again, while under the shadow of
the trees we descry her "nettles," those beautiful golden yellow ones
that do not sting, and which blend so perfectly with the orchis and the
crow-flower. One fears almost to descend to the edge of the stream, for
willows are there that grow "aslant," and that have "envious slivers"
as of old. Once in these lovely meadows it is easy to find the way
into the lower Bollin valley, and thence to Ashley and Bowdon. But
the double walk is rather long, and prudence says return to Wilmslow.
Norcliffe and Oversley, it should be added, are reached as regards
carriage-way, by a nearly straight road from Handforth.

Lindow Common, famed from time immemorial for its bracing air, extends
from Wilmslow to Brook Lane. There is nothing particular to be seen
upon it, except by the naturalist, who, in one part or another, finds
abundance to give him pleasure. The locality is remarkable alike for
its sundews and the profusion of wild bees; it is one of the best known
to entomologists for the class Andrenidæ.

Women, it has been remarked, need no eulogy, since they speak for
themselves. Something similar, descriptively, might be said of Alderley
Edge. Whatever smoke-engendered thoughts may occupy the mind for
twenty minutes after contemplating Stockport, they are effectually
dispelled by the sight of the piny hill, a medley of nature and art,
that shows so proudly in front as soon as the train crosses the Bollin.
A grand undulating mass of sandstone, rising boldly out of the plain,
of considerable elevation,--the highest point being six hundred and
fifty feet above the sea,--and, reckoning to the out-of-sight portion
which overlooks Bollington, quite two miles in length, must needs be
impressive. Alderley gathers charm also from its great smooth slants
of green, rough and projecting rocks, and trees innumerable, three
or four aged and wind-beaten firs upon the tip-top, giving admirable
accentuation. Every portion in view from the railway is accessible
by paths, usually easy, these introducing us to many a deep and
sequestered glade that in autumn is crowded with ferns, or leading to
the crest of the hill, the views from which compensate all possible
fatigue of climbing. The simplest route to follow is that by the old
road running to Macclesfield. From the lower part of this we may take
one of the bye-roads that lie to the left, and thus get eventually
to the somewhat rough and scrambling, but still quite practicable
and pleasant, track which leads along the face of the great westward
incline. This huge slope, called the "Hough," may be ascended also
from beneath, keeping along the foot for about a mile, then turning
up through a field. Green shades and leafy labyrinths here tempt to
a never-slackening onward movement, especially in that part where a
great curve in the mountain-mass gives rise to a kind of bay, grassy
always, and that in spring teems with anemones. The prospect from the
Hough is everywhere magnificent, extending to Delamere Forest and the
Overton hills, which, like Coniston "alt maen," have a profile never
doubtful. The intermediate broad, flat space is the now familiar North
Cheshire plain. Should a canopy of smoke be distinguishable, it will
indicate Manchester. To enjoy this wonderful prospect perfectly, it
is best to adventure to the edge of "Stormy Point," or the Holywell
Rock--that noted crag which, in case of need, would serve well for a
new Tarpeian. Another quite different way to the top of the Edge is to
proceed a short distance along the Congleton road, or that which leads,
in the first instance, towards old Alderley village; then to turn up
a lane upon the left, which, passing through a grove of fir-trees,
terminates in the Macclesfield road, near the "Wizard." It is behind
this noted hostelry, commemorative in its name of the local legend,
that the sylvan loveliness of Alderley Edge is felt most exquisitely,
nature seeming here to have been left more to her own sweet wantonness;
while the views, extending now over a totally different country, hills
instead of a plain, add to our previous enjoyments the always welcome
one of surprise. Curling round this glorious promontory, we gradually
progress towards the "Beacon," the highest point, and in a few
minutes, descending thence, are once again in the public thoroughfare.

Alderley Park, the seat of Lord Stanley, lies near the village, upon
the left of the turnpike road. Strangers very rarely enter the gates.
The wonder to those who do is that so little should have been made of
natural advantages scarcely excelled anywhere in Cheshire. The best
features are the magnificent beech-trees and the sheet of ornamental
water, called Radnor Mere, upon the margins of which grow two of the
most interesting of the British sedges, the _Carex ampullacea_ and the
_Carex vesicaria_. The gardens have long been noted for their mulberry
trees.

Beyond this again is Birtles, the neighbourhood of which supplies a
very pleasant walk. Mounting the hill on the southern side, or where
the latter gently melts away into the level, the road in question
leads eventually to the "Wizard," at which point, if more convenient,
the walk may be commenced. If begun at the base, we turn up by the
four-armed guide-post, a little beyond Alderley church. The walk is
somewhat long, therefore better deferred till winter, selecting a day
when the frost is keen and the atmosphere bracing. A winter forenoon,
when the atmosphere is motionless, and icicles hang from the little
arches that bridge the water-courses, is every bit as enjoyable as the
most brilliant of summer evenings, let only the heart be alive and the
eyes trained to seeing. Over and above the rich healthfulness of this
Birtles walk, all the way up to the crown of the Edge, and round about
amid the trees in winter, for the artist of pre-Raphael vision, there
is bijouterie;--the chaste and tender arabesque given to rock and aged
bough by green moss and grey and golden lichen, gems of nature that
when the trees are leafy are apt to be skipped, but when all else is
cold and bare, like faithful affection, "make glad the solitary place."

Between Alderley and Chelford, pushing still further along the
Congleton road, we find yet another of the Cheshire meres, this one,
in itself in the time of water-lilies, worth all the travel. Reeds
Mere, famous in local fairy tale, is to the painter and the poet, when
the lilies are out, a floral Venice. Virtually, it is in Capesthorne
Park, the seat of one of the younger branches of the very ancient
Davenport family. To get to the water's edge, if time be short, the
nearest point to start from is Chelford, but the road above indicated
is so charmingly wooded, that not to go that way is distinctly a loss.
Chelford village may be reached by a field walk, commenced first below
Alderley church, crossing the meadow slantwise and leftwards, and so
past Heywood Hall, going presently through a plantation of Scotch firs.
Hard by there is another charming seat, with spacious park, rare trees,
and ornamental water--Astle Hall, the residence of Captain Dixon. In
the grounds we are reminded of Norcliffe, for here, too, is shown the
love of Conifers which always indicates good taste.

[Illustration]

Footnote

[14: See above, page 36.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER VII.

BEESTON CASTLE.


  This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
  Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
  Unto our gentle senses.
    This guest of summer,
  The temple-haunting martlet, doth approve
  By his lov'd mansionry, that the heavens' breath
  Smells wooingly here.

SHAKSPEARE.


When for our country pleasure an entire day can be commanded, Crewe,
ten or twelve miles from Chelford, and thirty-one from Manchester,
marks the way to Combermere Abbey and Beeston Castle--places alike of
singular interest, though of totally different character. To reach
Combermere, it is needful to continue a little distance along the line
which diverges from Crewe for Shrewsbury, booking to and alighting
at Wrenbury. Two or three different routes may be taken thence, in
any case by pleasant fields and lanes not difficult to discover. The
shortest way is to go first across Mr. Wilson's broad acres of model
farm-land, cereals right and left; then along a lane with a mill-pond
upon the left; then through a corridor of trees upon the right, the
floor, green as their boughs, bordered like a missal, shortly after
issuing from which we arrive at the beautiful water referred to in
the Abbey name. More than a mile in length, covering one hundred and
thirty-two acres, and much too irregular in outline to be seen at
once in its full extent, Combermere, with its adjacent woods, yields
as a picture only to Rostherne. The paths in every direction are full
of landscape. Though the country is flat, we do not perceive it to
be so, and what may be wanting in grandeur, is found in tranquillity
and repose. The mansion, of which there is an admirable view across
the mere, occupies the site of the ancient monastery--a Benedictine,
founded in 1133. Strictly modern, plain and substantial, there is
nothing about the exterior to preserve the memory of monastic times;
inside, however, old and new are let shake hands, the library being
an adaptation of the ancient refectory. The walls, the galleries, and
the principal apartments contain great store of Indian trophies and
curiosities, brought home by the renowned Sir Stapleton-Cotton, whose
bravery in the Peninsular War, and afterwards at the siege and capture
of Bhurtpore, gained for him the title first of Baron, and then of
Viscount, now held by the Lord Combermere, his son.

A similar short ride from Crewe, now by the line which continues to
Chester, conveys us to Beeston, the walk from which station to the
castle, occupying less than half an hour, is again by lanes and
fields. Lancaster Castle, excepting its incomparable gateway-tower, and
a small portion inside, has been so much altered in order to adapt it
for modern uses, that the past is lost in the present. Clitheroe Castle
is all gone, excepting the keep. Beeston, happily, though itself only
a relic, has suffered nothing at the hands of the modern architect.
Even time seems to look on it leniently. As a memorial of the feudal
ages, it is in our own part of England supreme and uncontested, and
in any case one of the most charming resorts within the distance for
all in Manchester who care for the majestic, the antique, and the
picturesque. This famous and far-seen ruin is seated upon the brow of
a mighty rock, which, rising out of the meadows on the eastern side by
a regular and at first easy, but afterwards somewhat steep incline,
terminates, on the western side, in an abrupt and absolutely vertical
precipice, the brink of which is three hundred and sixty-six feet
above the level of the base, or of almost precisely the elevation of
the High Tor at Matlock, and of the loftier parts of St. Vincent's.
Hence, in the distance, viewed sideways, as for example, from Alderley
Edge, the outline is exactly that of a cone-shaped mountain toppled
over and lying prostrate. The broad green slope, dry and velvety,
furnishes an unsurpassed natural lawn for rest and pic-nic. Mounting it
to the summit, the ruins, which now consist chiefly of ivied bastions,
tower above our heads with an inexpressible and mournful grandeur that
recalls the story of Caractacus in the streets of ancient Rome. The
mind runs back to the time when the walls were alive with armed men,
and shouts rose from the turrets, now discrowned. Not that the castle
was ever actually assaulted, for a glance at the entrance is enough
to convince any one that as a military post in the feudal times it
was impregnable. Of military incidents connected with Beeston, there
is indeed no record whatever. All that history has to tell is of one
or two changes in the holding, brought about by treachery or want of
vigilance. But from the time of the building, in 1220, by Randulph de
Blondeville, sixth Earl of Chester, on his return from Palestine, there
can be no doubt that for four centuries the old castle was the scene of
much that was imposing.

Everything has vanished now, and for ever. Up on that wonderful crag
to-day, where the scene is so still, and the "heavens' breath smells
wooingly," we feel far more profoundly than in streets and cities,
how grateful is the dominion of peace compared with the turbulence
of war. For, looking over the westward parapet, at our feet is Vale
Royal, a warm and smiling plain that stretches, literally, to the rim
of the landscape. Randulph looked upon those far away Welsh mountains,
the Frodsham hills, the estuaries of the Dee and the Mersey, all so
beautiful as ingredients in the magnificent prospect. To-day we have
that which he did _not_ see, and probably never imagined. Scattered
over this glorious map are villages, homesteads, orchards, gardens
innumerable; the vast breadth of bright emerald and sunny pasture
laced with hedgerows that in spring are blossom-dappled, and streams,
of which, although so distant, we get twinkling glimpses among the
leafage. If it be autumn, the scene is chequered with the hues of
harvest, every field plainly distinguishable, for one of the peculiar
charms of the view from Beeston Castle rock, granting a favourable day,
with lucid atmosphere, is that while the country is brimful, every
element is well-defined. Later still, we may watch October winding its
tinted way through the green summer of the reluctant trees;--this, no
doubt, it did just in the same sweet old amber-sandalled fashion five
centuries ago, but the trees did not then, as now, cast their shadows
upon liberty and civilisation. Two periods there are when Beeston calls
upon us to remember, with a sigh, that there are forms of beauty in
the world in which we may not hope to revel many times, perhaps, in
their perfection, not more than once or twice. One is mid-winter, when
in the great hush of the virgin snow the landscape becomes a world
carved in spotless marble; the other, when the corn is waiting the
sickle, and the vast plain is steeped in sunset such as August only
witnesses. Watched from this tall rock, the wind-sculptured clouds
that an hour before were glistening pearl slowly change to purple
mountains, while the molten gold boils up above their brows; these go,
and by and by there are left only bars of delicate rose, and veils
of fading asphodel, and at last we are with old Homer and the camp
before Troy, "when the stars are seen round the bright moon, and the
air is breathless, and all beacons, and lofty summits, and forests
appear, and the shepherd is delighted in his mind."[15] So that, adding
all together, the value of the grand old stronghold has in no wise
died out, but only taken another shape. Instead of inspiring awe and
terror, it supplies the heart with noble enjoyments, and with new and
animating incentives to seek the rewards that attend love of the pure
and beautiful.

When at Beeston, on descending from the castle, we visit, as a matter
of course, Peckforton, a mile beyond, the residence of Lord Tollemache.

This splendid edifice restores, in the finest possible manner, the
irregular Norman style of architecture prevalent in the reign of Edward
I. Occupying a space of not less than nine thousand square yards, and
not more remarkable for the superb proportions than for the perfect
finish of every part, in Cheshire it has no equal. Peckforton has
peculiar interest also in the circumstance of the walls being entirely
devoid of paint and paper, thus presenting a contrast to the dressed
surfaces favoured in modern times that for the moment is overwhelming.
The hill upon which it stands is covered with natural wood, and in
the remote parts gives way to heathery wilderness. To pursue this for
any considerable distance, when half the day has already been given
to Beeston, of course is not possible. Begun early enough, we find it
almost continuous with the heights reached by way of Broxton.

After the bastions and the gateway of Beeston Castle, the curiosity of
the place is the ancient well, sunk through the rock to Beeston Brook,
a depth of three hundred and seventy feet, but now quite dry. A trayful
of lighted candles is let down by a windlass for the entertainment of
visitors who care to see the light diminish to a speck. On the way to
Peckforton, it must not be overlooked, either, that in a pretty garden
upon the right will be found Horsley Bath, limpid water perpetually
running out of the rock, and in restorative powers, if the legends be
true, a genuine "fountain of rejuvenescence."

[Illustration]

Footnote

[15: _Iliad_, Book viii., at the end, thus gloriously
rendered by the most spirited and poetical, if somewhat rugged, of his
translators, Chapman, A.D. 1596:--

  And spent all night in the open field, fires round about them shined,
  As when about the silver moon, when air is free from wind,
  And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams, high prospects,
    and the brows
  Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust themselves up for shows,
  And even the lowly valleys joy, to glitter in their sight,
  When the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose her light,
  And all the signs in heaven are seen that glad the shepherd's heart.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER VIII.

THE REDDISH VALLEY AND ARDEN (OR HARDEN) HALL.


  What exhibitions various hath the world
  Witness'd of mutability in all
  That we account most durable below!
  Change is the diet on which all subsist,
  Created changeable, and change at last
  Destroys them.

COWPER.


It speaks not a little for the vigorous and buoyant life of the
immediate neighbourhood of our town that so few examples are to be met
with of decay and ruin. Turn whichever way we will, we find new houses,
new factories, new enterprises, but scarcely an instance of wasting
away and dilapidation. The nearest important relic of the feudal
times is Beeston Castle, just described; and the nearest memorial and
sepulchre of those brave, good men who, while the rulers of our country
were fighting and oppressing, conserved within the convent walls
learning, religion, charity, and a hundred other things that kept the
national civilisation moving until the aurora of the Reformation, is
Whalley Abbey, also more than thirty miles away. Excepting a few old
houses of little significance, everything about us is intact, occupied
usefully, and a fine testimony to the intelligence and the energy of
the province. Let a stranger visit any part of the country within the
radius indicated, and he will feel that he is in a place where life
is concentrated: everything bespeaks nerve; whatever has died seems
to have been succeeded on the instant by a more powerful thing. Like
a laurel-tree, we are dressed in this district in the foliage of
perennial and vehement vitality; while there is plenty of solid stem to
mark honourable antiquity, the leaves that have gone have but made way
for new and larger ones.

These reflections have been suggested by a visit to Arden Hall, the
solitary exception to the strong, unyielding life of the vicinity. Upon
this account alone it is a place of interest. The situation, also,
is one of the most delightful ever selected for a country residence.
The locality may be described, in general terms, as on the Cheshire
bank of the river Tame, about half-way between Stockport and Hyde.
The Tame separates Lancashire from that odd bit of Cheshire which,
running up in a kind of peninsula at its north-east corner, terminates
with Mossley and Tintwistle, the Etherowe forming its boundary on the
opposite side, and dividing it from Derbyshire. Few would suppose it
possible, but the county of Cheshire is at this point scarcely more
than two miles across! The ruin itself is easily found, the way to it
being by Levenshulme and Reddish,[16] inquiring there for the Reddish
paper-mills, which lie in the valley on the Lancashire side of the
river, and are approached by a steep descent, with beautiful views of
the surrounding country in front and upon the left. Crossing the river
by the mills, mounting the hill, going through a few fields and a grove
of trees, right before us, sooner than expected, stands the hall, a
large, tall square building of grey stone. At first sight, it appears
to be in tolerable preservation. The remains of the old sun-dial are
still visible, the diamonded casements of some of the windows are
perfect, and the exterior generally is undefaced. But the illusion
soon passes away. Penetrating to the inside, the great hall--a noble
apartment, some eleven yards by eight--is found heaped with rubbish
and fallen beams; the ceiling, once ornamented with pendent points,
is all gone, except a small portion in one corner; it seems a wonder
that the roof still cares to stay. A slender turret, rising above the
rest of the fabric, includes a circular staircase, leading to the
gallery of the upper floor. Here the diamonded casements reappear,
looking full into the western sky, and over the trees and river winding
at the foot of the steep; and here we discover the loveliness of the
site. Abundantly wooded, strewn with fertile meads, and opening out in
every direction pretty views of distant hills, with yet more distant
ones peeping over their shoulders, there is not a more picturesque
valley east of Manchester, that is to say, not until we are fairly
into Derbyshire, than is spread before the windows of forsaken Arden.
There is not a spot upon its slopes where we may not pause and admire,
and wish for our friends. As at Beeston, the mind quickly travels back
to the lang syne. Out of those windows, through the open casements,
how often have the eyes of fair girls gazed, in sweet summer evenings,
long and peacefully, upon the woods and winding water, and painted
sunset, one generation after another, all gone now, their ancient home
crumbling to dust--but the woods and winding water and sunset the same.
The poets talk of nature's sympathy with man; there is nothing so
marked as her lofty indifference to him.

Archæologically, Arden is interesting as a fine specimen of the
domestic architecture of the sixteenth century, and is remarkable
for its unusually large bay windows. The waterspouts are inscribed
1597. The history of the estate and its proprietors dates, however,
as far back as the time of King John, and though no direct evidence
is within reach, there is reason to believe that an earlier building
once stood near, and that the present ruin is the second hall. John
o' Gaunt is said to have been an inmate of the original. The family
history may be seen at length in Ormerod's "Cheshire," in the third
volume of which work, p. 399, is a drawing of the hall as it appeared
before relinquished to decay. Visitors to the Art-Treasures Exhibition
of 1857 will recollect Mr. C. H. Mitchell's pretty water-colour view
of the same place, and there are few, perhaps, of our local artists
who have not sketched it. It would appear from the date of Ormerod's
work (1819), where the hall is described as containing furniture and
paintings, that it has been deserted only since the death of George
III. Until recently one of its curiosities was a stone pulpit, in
which it is said Oliver Cromwell once preached. The rustic legend of
the place is that, once upon a time, long before powder and shot were
invented, there lived hereabouts a doughty baron. On the opposite side
of the valley was a similar castle, held by a rival baron, who returned
his neighbour's jealousy with interest. These two worthies used to
spend their time in shooting at one another with bows and arrows, till
at last, tired of long range, and such desultory warfare, the Baron of
Arden collected his dependents, dived down into the valley, scaled the
opposite heights, slaughtered his enemy, and so utterly demolished his
castle, that now not a vestige of it is discoverable.

There is generally some good foundation for such legends. Upon the
eastern side of the hall, some distance from the moat, traces of
ancient earthworks are discoverable, extending towards the present
"Castle-hill," and which probably protected some simple fortification.
Flint arrow-heads and other relics of primitive weapons found in the
soil of the adjacent fields sustain the conjecture, and in truth a
better seat for a manorial stronghold it would not be easy to select.
The appellation of the ancient fortress when superseded by a building
of more peaceful character, would naturally be transferred to the
latter, and after the lapse of a little time, nothing more than the
name would survive to tell the story. Originally it was Arderne, as
in the reference by Webb, in 1622, to another seat of the family, "A
fine house belonging to Henry Arderne, Esq." In any case, the prefix
of an _H_ appears to be erroneous, if nothing worse. The last of
this name was the Richard Pepper Arderne, born at the old hall, and
educated at the Manchester Grammar School, who in 1801, three years
before his death, was raised to the peerage, with the title of Baron
Alvanley. Arden Hall is not only remarkable in being built wholly of
stone, when so many other mansions of the period were timber, but in
the high-pitched roof of the tower--a feature rarely observable in such
edifices.

Leaving the hall, the road descends rapidly towards the river, here
crossed by a stone bridge, shortly before reaching which there are some
cottages upon the left. At one of these, with the name "Thomas Ingham"
over the door, a nice tea may be obtained. It is not a very attractive
place to look at, but the parlour (at the back) is as comfortable as
any lady could desire; the provision is excellent, the attendance
prompt and respectful, and the charge so moderate that it seems
wonderful how it can pay. Forget not that in visiting such places the
obligation is mutual. Excursionists have no sort of claim upon private
houses, and should be glad to recompense with liberality the kindly
willingness to accommodate, save for which they might have to plod for
miles hungry and tired. Tea disposed of, we have a walk homewards
even more pleasing than the first, by taking, that is, the contrary or
Lancashire side of the river, and thus passing through the very woods
admired an hour previously from the hall and the crest of the hill.
The way is first over the stone bridge, then for a little distance up
the hill, descending thence into the field-path, found by means of a
large circular brick structure in one of the meadows, seemingly the
ventilation mouth of a coal-mine. There is a path quite close to the
river, if preferred, entered almost immediately after crossing the
bridge, but the water after wet weather is apt to be disagreeable,
and in autumn there is a thick and laborious jungle of butter-bur
leaves. The hill-side at this point is decidedly the best place for
viewing the hall, which crowns the tall cliff immediately in front of
it. It is hard to think, as we contemplate its lovely adjuncts, how
so romantic a site could have been deserted. The woods hanging the
hill-sides with their beautiful tapestry, the river creeping quietly
in the bottom, but seen only in shining lakelets where the branches of
the trees disentangle themselves, and make a green lacework of light
twig and leaf, just dense enough to serve as a thin veil, and just open
enough to let the eye pierce it and be delighted; the perfect calm
of the whole scene, and the sweet allurement of the path with every
additional step, how came they to be ignored? Approaching Reddish the
woods are unfenced, and the path lies almost beneath the trees. At the
end of May these woods are suffused with the brightest blue in every
direction,--the bloom of the innumerable wild hyacinth, which clusters
here in great banks and masses, so close that the green of the foliage
is concealed. The ground being a slope, and viewed from below, the
effect is most singular and striking. Shakspeare speaks of "making the
green one red;" here we have literally the green made blue. In the same
woods grows the forget-me-not, in abundance only exceeded in the Morley
meadows. One might almost fancy that the nymphs of ancient poetry had
been transmigrated into these sweet turquoise-coloured flowers. Among
the specialities of the Reddish valley, mentioned before as eminently
rich in plants of interest, are the bird-cherry, _Prunus Padus_, and
that curious fern the _Lunaria_. The first is quite a different thing
from the ordinary wild cherry of Mobberley, Peover, Lymm, and the
Bollin valley, having long, pendulous clusters of white flowers, like
those of the laburnum, and with a smell of honey. It is seen not only
as a tree, but sometimes forms part of the hedges. The lunaria grows
in the meadows, and is in perfection about the end of May. In August
and September the river-banks here are gay also with the fine crimson
of the willow-herb, the young shoots of which, along with the flowers,
drawn through the half-closed hand, leave behind them a grateful smell
of baked apples and cream.

The upper portion of the valley, nearer Hyde, was very diligently
and successfully explored in 1840-42 by Mr. Joseph Sidebotham, then
resident at Apethorne,--a townsman whom we have not more reason to be
proud of as a naturalist of the most varied and accurate information,
and as one of the most scientific and successful prosecutors of
microscopical research, than as a singularly skilful artist in
photography, and this without letting the colours grow dry upon the
palette from which he has been accustomed to transfer them to coveted
drawings. It was Mr. Sidebotham who first drew the attention of
Manchester naturalists to the fresh-water algæ of our district, and
who principally determined their forms and numbers. He also it was
who collected the principal portion known up to 1858 of the local
_Diatomaceæ_. During the five or six years he devoted to the botany
of Bredbury, Reddish, and the banks of the Tame generally, he added no
fewer than twenty-five species to the Manchester Flora, many of them
belonging to the difficult genera _Rubus_ and _Carex_. His walks were
not often solitary. What a broiling day was that on which we first
gathered in the Reddish valley the great white cardamine!--what a sweet
forenoon that vernal one when we stood contemplating the thousand
anemones! Nature seems to delight again in _upsetting_ everything
human! One cannot even bestow a name, but she tries to undermine it.
No epithet is more appropriate, as a rule, to this most modest of the
anemone race, the wild English one, than its specific name, nemorosa,
"inhabiting the groves;"--every reader of classical verse recalls,
as the eye glides over the word, the _nemus_ which grew greener
wherever Phyllis set her foot in it. Giving her the least chance, see,
nevertheless, how the wayward lady to whom we owe everything, laughs
alike at ourselves and our nomenclature. We call the flower nemorosa,
conclude that all is settled, and straightway, as in that sweet and
still forenoon in the Reddish valley (1840), she flings it by handfuls
over the sward, and leaves the grove as she then left the Arden woods,
without a blossom and without a leaf. Similar curious departure from
the accustomed habitat of the wood-anemone has since been observed at
Cheadle and at Alderley.

No slight pleasure is it in connection with botany that plants and
events thus link themselves together, recalling whole days of tranquil
happiness spent with valued friends in the green fields. Associations
with trees and flowers seem almost inevitably pleasant and graceful
ones; at all events, we never hear of the reverse. When orators and
poets want objects for elegant simile and comparison, they find
trees and flowers supply them most readily; and, on the other hand,
how rarely are these beautiful productions of nature used for the
illustration of what is vicious and degrading, or in any way mixed
up with what is vile and disgraceful. Trees and flowers lead us, by
virtue of their kindly influences on the heart and the imagination, to
a disrelish and forgetfulness of the uncomely, and to think better of
everything around us; so that a walk in the fields, over and above its
invigorating and refreshing value, acts as a kindly little preacher,
and shows us that we may at all events read, if not

  _Honi soit qui mal y pense_, write,
  In emerald tufts, flowers purple, blue, and white.

The lapse of twenty-four years has not tended to improve the aspect of
the Reddish valley. The main features are the same, but the brightness
is sadly dimmed. Everything now, in 1882, illustrates the operation
of town smoke and hurtful vapours, not to mention the devastating
influences which come of human travel. The wild-flowers have shared
the fate of those in other suburban localities; the old hall has
sunk further towards decay; the Inghams, happily, are extant. Mr.
Sidebotham, for his own part, practices, amid the refinements of his
Bowdon home, all that he cultivated originally upon the banks of the
little river, and with the added success that arises upon unbroken
assiduity. He tells me now of his researches into the entomology of
Dunham Park, where not long ago, for one or two successive seasons, in
July, a curious beetle occurred in plenty, a fact immensely remarkable,
since only one other of its kind has ever been noticed elsewhere in
England, this upon an oak in Windsor Forest as far back as 1829! The
insect was first detected by Mr. Joseph Chappell, a working mechanic at
Sir Joseph Whitworth's, and one of the most careful observers of nature
now in our midst.

       *       *       *       *       *

The first photographs ever shown in Manchester were laid before a
meeting of the Literary and Philosophical Society by the late Mr. J.
E. Bowman, in November, 1838. I remember the occasion well, and the
interest taken in them by Dr. Dalton.

[Illustration]

[16: At which last-named place there is now also (1882) a
railway station.]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER IX.

ALONG THE MACCLESFIELD LINE.


    It is fine
  To stand upon some lofty mountain-thought,
  And feel the spirit stretch into a view:
  To joy in what might be if will and power
  For good would work together but one hour.
  Yet millions never think a noble thought,
  But with brute hate of brightness bay a mind
  Which drives the darkness out of them, like hounds.

J. P. BAILEY.


Stockport, the uninviting, in whatever direction we look to escape from
it, is a point of rare value for departure for scenes of interest--this
mainly because of its standing on the threshold of the hills which a
little further on become members of the English Apennine,--the grand
range stretching from Derbyshire to the Cheviots. Soon after passing
Edgley, while the original line pursues its course to Wilmslow and
Alderley, great branches strike out upon the left, one primarily
for Macclesfield, the other for Disley and Buxton. Each in its turn
leads to scenes of delightful beauty, and that before the time of
railways were scarcely known. Alighting at Bramhall, we secure the
added pleasure of a visit to the very celebrated old hall of that
name--the most admirable example in our district of the "magpie" style
of architecture, and not more charming in its external features than
rich in interest within. The oldest portions date from soon after the
middle of the fourteenth century, and are thus as nearly as possible
contemporaneous as to period of building with the choir of York
Minster. These very aged portions are found chiefly in connection with
the entrance to the chapel. Massive beams and supports, hard as iron,
refusing the least dint of the knife, and presenting the peculiar
surface characteristic of the work of their time, attest very plainly
the profound significance of "heart of oak." Everything, moreover, in
this grand old place is so solidly laid together, so compactly and
impregnably knit, that it seems as if it would serve pretty nearly
for the base of another Eddystone or Cleopatra's needle. In the most
tempestuous of winter nights, Bramhall has never been known to flinch
a hair's breadth--so, at least, the late Colonel Davenport used to
assure his friends, the writer of these lines included. No portions of
the building appear to be of later date than the time of Elizabeth,
the domestic architecture of whose reign is nowhere in England better
interpreted. The situation of Bramhall is on a par with its artistic
qualities. No dull soul was it who more than five hundred years ago
selected for his abode the crest of that gentle declivity, trees
far and near, a stream gliding below, and views from the upper
windows that reach for many miles across the undulating and sweetly
variegated greensward. The romantic bit at present is the ravine hard
by, saturated in spring with tender wild-flowers, the wood-sorrel in
myriads.

Prestbury, a few miles beyond, also has great attractions for the
antiquary, the chancel and south aisle of the church being of about
A.D. 1130, while the school-house in the graveyard is entered by a
doorway with apparently Norman mouldings. The tower is about A.D. 1460.
If in search more particularly of rural pastime, we take the contrary
side of the line, and so through the lanes and fields to the delicious
Kerridge hills. Remarkable for their very sudden rise out of the
plain, these green and airy hills command views, like those obtained
at Alderley, of truly charming extent and variety. Tegsnose, at the
southern extremity, is thirteen hundred feet above the sea-level--the
little building just above Bollington, called "White Nancy," plainly
visible from the line near Wilmslow when the sunlight falls on it, is
nine hundred and thirty feet;--no wonder that from this last, since
there is nothing to intercept, the prospect in favourable weather
reaches to Liverpool, and even to the sweet wavy lavender upon the
horizon that indicates North Wales.

Bollington is now reached also by a line (part of the Manchester,
Sheffield, and Lincolnshire system,) which diverges for Macclesfield at
Woodley Junction. This perhaps gives nearer approach to the Kerridge
hills; in any case, it is the best to take for the extremely beautiful
adjacent neighbourhood, which for its little metropolis has the village
of Pott Shrigley. Before the opening of the line in question, the
station for this part was Adlington, on the London and North-Western.
Grand as the prospects have already been, above Pott Shrigley,
excepting only the "castled crag" at Beeston, all are surpassed. No
lover of the illimitable need go to Cumberland or Carnarvonshire for
a sight more glorious. Alderley Edge, rising out of the plain below,
seems only a mound. The plain itself stretches away far more remotely
than the eye can cover, no eminence of magnitude occurring nearer
than the Overton hills. The towers and spires of Bowdon and Dunham
are plainly distinguishable; and close by, in comparison, is the fine
western extremity of the Kerridge range, with "White Nancy,"--the hill
itself on which we stand, or rather seat ourselves, remembering the
picture in Milton,

    See how the bee,
  Sitting assiduous on the honeyed bloom,
  Sucks liquid sweet,

just such a one as suggested that other immortal portrait,

  Green, and of mild declivity, the last,
  As 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such,
  Save that there is no sea to lave its base,
  But a most living landscape.

The time to go to this glad pinnacle is at the end of May or the
beginning of June, mounting the hill in the first instance, by the
immediate route from the station.

When the time arrives to descend, dip westwards, curve round by the
water, and through the fields which lead into the Disley road, thence
into Pott Shrigley village. No description can convey a perfect idea of
the loveliness of this part of the walk at the season indicated. The
long-extended survey of hill and dale, the innumerable trees, clothing
the slopes at agreeable distances with the most picturesque of little
woodlands, bright and cheerful in their unsullied raiment of leaves
that are only yet learning the sweetness of sunshine; the rise and fall
of the ground; the incessant turns and sinuosities of the pathway,
every separate item is a treat, and yet the ravishing spectacle of all,
at the season referred to, has still to be named. This consists in
the inexpressible, the infinite multitude of the bluebells, which far
surpasses that of the old Reddish valley. They saturate every slope and
recess that is in any degree shady, and diffuse themselves even upon
the otherwise bare hill-sides, not in a thin and niggardly way, but
with the semblance of an azure mist. In many parts, at the edges of the
little groves, where the ground is steep, they seem to be flowing in
streams into the meadows beneath, and where there are breaks among the
nearer trees they actually illuminate the opening. When the spectacle
of the bluebells comes to an end, the walk continues along a beautiful
green arcade, straight, level, and uninterrupted into the village.

By whichever of the two routes we prefer to go to Macclesfield, that
ancient and celebrated town becomes in itself a new and excellent
starting point. If desiring to go beyond, the London and North-Western
should be chosen. The massive heights on the way to Buxton, including
the well-known and far-conspicuous mamelon called Shutlings Low, are
accessible only by carriage or on foot. North Rode, on the other hand,
is but a few minutes' continued railway journey, and for this, if we
come at all, the longest day is all too short. Just in front rises
Cloud-end, the mighty promontory seen from the fields near Butts Clough
(p. 23), covered with trees, the _Vitis Idæa_ filling the open spaces,
and plenty of nuts in the neighbouring hedgerows. Keeping the mountain
to the left, descending the green lane, and passing, "on sufferance,"
through North Rode Park, agreeable scenery on each side all the way,
the end is that _beau-ideal_ of a rural retreat, pretty Gawsworth. The
ancient trees, the venerable church, the dignified old residences, all
speak at once of a long-standing and undisturbed respectability such as
few villages can now assert. In the graveyard stand patriarchal yews,
one of them, reduced to a torso, encased in ivy, and protected on the
weaker side by a little wall of steps, intended seemingly to make it
useful as a tree-pulpit. Six great walnut-trees form part of the riches
of the Hall, another pleasing old "magpie;" water also is near at hand,
thronged with fishes that sport near the surface, and gliding through
the sunbeams gleam like silver. To return to Macclesfield there is no
need to retrace one's steps to North Rode, the walk being short and
pleasant, and rendered peculiarly interesting by its beech-trees, a
long and noble avenue, if contemplated through an opera-glass never
to be forgotten, for then the half-mile of leafy colonnade is brought
close to the eye, a green and moving stereoscopic picture.

When at Gawsworth it is a pity to let slip the opportunity of visiting
Marton, for the sake alike of its fine old hall, ancient church,
and renowned oak. The hall, like so many others in this part of the
country, is a black and white of the time of Elizabeth, supplying,
in the material, yet another illustration of the ancient plenty in
Cheshire of magnificent trees; Lancashire, though it contains many
old halls and manor-houses of the same character, presenting a far
more considerable proportion of stone ones. In the old "magpies,"
very generally, so vast is the quantity of wood that one is disposed
to exclaim--Surely when this house was raised a forest must have been
felled. Inside there are many very interesting relics, as one would
expect in a primitive seat of the old owners of Bramhall. The church,
built in 1343, is in the style of Peover and the oldest portion of
Warburton, the aisles being separated from the nave by oaken pillars.
As for the "Marton oak," it needs only to say that in dimensions it is
an acknowledged rival of the Cowthorpe, the circumference at a yard
from the ground being fifty feet, and at the height of a man more than
forty feet. It can hardly be called a "trunk," if by that word we are
to understand a solid mass of timber, the inner portion having long
since decayed, leaving only a shell, though the branches above are
still vigorous and clothed every season with unabating foliage.

Three or four miles beyond North Rode ancient Congleton comes in view,
opening the way, if we care to enter Staffordshire, to Biddulph Grange,
renowned for its gardens. Mow Cop, just on the frontiers, awaits
those who love mountain air. Trentham Park, fifteen miles further,
or about forty-three from Manchester, is the seat, as well-known, of
the Duke of Sutherland; and not far, again, from this is the Earl of
Shrewsbury's--Alton Towers. To reach the latter, we diverge from North
Rode along the Churnet Valley line, the same which leads, in the first
instance, to the beautiful neighbourhood of Rushton, famed for its
ancient church, the untouched beams of the same date as Beeston Castle;
then past Rudyard Lake and the delicious woods appertaining to Cliffe
Hall. The view from Rushton churchyard is one for painters. The valley,
receding southwards, encloses the smooth expanse of Rudyard, which,
though no more than a reservoir, has all the winning ways of a Coniston
or a Windermere, seeking to elude one's view by reliance on friendly
trees. In the north and east the hills rise terrace-wise, range beyond
range, each remoter one of different hue, Shutlings Low, that beautiful
mamelon, towering above all, and more effectively than as contemplated
from any other point we know of. After this comes the lovely walk
through the woods themselves, the water visible, intermittently, all
the way, with at last pause for rest, in Rudyard village. It is not a
little singular that Rudyard, like the reservoir at Lymm, should have
for its parent a river Dane, though here the stream does not vanish,
the Rudyard Dane being the boundary of the two counties, Cheshire and
Staffordshire.

Alton Towers, a trifle further, illustrate in the finest manner what
can be achieved by the skill of the landscape gardener. At the time
of Waterloo the grounds were simple rabbit-warren, and the site of
the present mansion was occupied by only a cottage. Worthily is it
inscribed, just within the garden gate, "He made the desert smile," the
_he_ being Charles, the sixteenth earl, under whose directions the work
was executed. The framework consists of two deep and winding valleys,
which lose themselves in a third of similar character. Over their
slopes have been diffused terraces, arbours, ivied grottoes, trees and
shrubs innumerable, green cypresses that rise like spires among the
round sycamores, and rhododendrons that in May, looked at across the
chasm, seem changed to purple sea-foam. Wherever practicable, there
have been added waterfalls and aspiring fountains, and threading in
every direction there are moss-grown and apparently interminable sylvan
paths. From many points of view, the scene is one no doubt that would
have captivated Claude or Salvator Rosa. Still, it must be confessed
that the impression, after survey, which lingers longest in the mind
is of something not simply lavish, but inordinate. Very beautiful,
without question, as an essay in constructive art, therefore invaluable
educationally, one falls back, nevertheless, when departing, on the
thought of tranquil Norcliffe, that never tires. The earl, it may be
interesting to add, to whom the Alton grounds owe their existence,
represented by lineal descent the famous Talbot of the Maid of Orleans'
story. When we part with him, we may run on, if we please, to Rocester
Junction, and thence to Ashbourne, the threshold of Dovedale, there to
chat with immortal Izaak Walton.

Shutlings Low, the old familiar and far-seen mamelon above-mentioned,
the only one we know of in Cheshire, is considered also to be the
highest ground in the county, the summit reaching an elevation of over
seventeen hundred feet. The view which rewards the rather stiff climb
is like that from the crest of Mow Cop, not only vast in compass, but
very agreeably new, from commanding as much as the eye can embrace of
Staffordshire. The ascent is best made from Wild Boar Clough, itself
the most picturesque of the many wild ravines which betoken the near
neighbourhood of Derbyshire. For pedestrians the walk from Macclesfield
to Buxton is also a glorious one, Axe Edge intervening, with at about a
hundred feet below its topmost point the celebrated hostelry, reputed
to exceed in elevation even the "Travellers' Rest" in Kirkstone Pass,
and which in name commemorates faithful Caton, _Caton fidèle_.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




CHAPTER X.

DISLEY AND MARPLE WAY.


  So shalt thou keep thy memory green,
    And redolent as balmy noon
  With happiness, for love makes glad;
    Child-natures never lose their June.

S. E. TONKIN.


When the L. and N. W. opened its branch from Stockport to Buxton, June
15th, 1863, every one loving the country had visions of immense delight
among the sweet and then scarcely known hills of Disley and Marple.
Previously, they were no more than an element of the scenery observed
from the Buxton coach. Since then we have better understood the meaning
of those grateful lines,

  You gave me such sweet breath as made
  The things more rich.

For if the fronts of these beautiful hills be sometimes rugged, there
are none that the western breezes better love to caress, nor are there
any that welcome the sunshine with a more strenuous hospitality.
Disley and Marple count not with the places which the sunshine only
flatters; they are always cheerful and pretty, whether it be the
hottest day of July, or winter, or spring. Even after a storm, be it
ever so vehement, they recover themselves as rapidly as a child's cheek
after the tears. How great and affable, too, their landscapes!--how
bright their lawn-like pastures, where tricolour daisies bloom all
the year round: there are woods moreover, in the recesses, where we
may bathe our eyes in the sweet calm that comes only of green shade,
and that like the airy summits up above, give at the same moment both
animation and repose.

Disley is known to most of us as the first station after Hazel-grove,
and the point from which departure is taken for Lyme Park.
Intermediately there is a delightful walk, reaching the greater part
of the distance, upon the right-hand side of the line, through the
sylvan covert called Middlewood. The wood is not "preserved." It is
semi-private, nevertheless, so that permission to pass through ought
to be asked; it is rare, even then, to hear any voices except our
own and those of the birds. Either to ascend, or to proceed by train
direct to Disley, and enter the wood at the head, is, in its way
advantageous. The latter is, perhaps, the better course, since we then
accompany the stream,--one of the very few so near Manchester still
unpolluted. The water is the same as that which flows past Bramhall,
running thence to Cheadle, where its bubbles swim into the Mersey.
Middlewood, unfortunately for its primitive charm, has recently shared
the fate of Gatley Carrs, so that the path is now very inconveniently
obstructed, and the Bramhall part of this pretty brook, instead of
being the inferior, is to-day, perhaps, after all, the most pleasing.
Comparisons may be spared. The meadows it traverses were never wanting
in any substantial element of pastoral charm, and if a thing be good
absolutely, what need to ask for more? The way to them is _viâ_ Cheadle
Hulme, then to Lady Bridge, as far as Bramhall-green, there crossing
the road, and stepping anew upon the grass, where the path returns to
the water-side. Hence, we go on to Mill-bank farm, told at once by its
three great yews, and for the return may take Hazel-grove.

The broad green slopes and expanses of Lyme Park, though they partake
of the loneliness of the neighbouring moors, are, as indicated above,
pleasant at every season of the year. Nature, in truth, is always
good, no matter what the season is, if the people are so who seek it.
As we traverse them, in the south-west the eye rests upon the great
plain that stretches to Bowdon; upon the left, on a swelling height,
is the far-seen square grey tower called Lyme Cage, clearly intended,
when built, for a huntsman's refuge; and passing this it is not far
to the hall, upon which, being in a hollow, one comes so suddenly
as to be reminded of the adventures of the knights-errant in tales
of chivalry. A very fine quadrangular gritstone building, partly
Corinthian, partly Ionic, some portion is nevertheless of the time of
Elizabeth. The interior is also very various, in many portions stately
and richly ornamented, and literally crowded almost everywhere with
works of art, including a rude picture of the original hall in the
time of King John, with portraits, heraldry, tapestry, stained glass,
and wood-carving enough to satisfy the most ravenous. The rare mosaic
of fact and fiction currently accepted as the family history of the
Leghs is well sustained by the armour and other antiquities, not the
least interesting of which is the font in the chapel, in which for ages
the youthful scions of the house have been baptized. There is very
little timber in the park, though on the borders not wanting. The most
remarkable feature, as regards trees, is an avenue of over seventy
lindens.

[Illustration: Tho. Letherbrow.

Lyme Hall.]

The supreme part of Disley is that which lies on the contrary side of
the station, consisting in the green and lofty crest called Jackson
Edge. This is reached by going a short distance along the Buxton
road, then mounting a steep ascent upon the left, cottages on either
side, and eventually through a lane upon the right. Due west from the
summit, like a garden viewed from a balcony, the plain seen from Lyme
Park is displayed even more variously. When satisfied, we may curl
round by the stone-quarries, then through the fir-wood, and so back
into Disley village,--a little tour just enough for those who not
being very strong of limb, still go shares with the strongest in zest
for mountain breath and extended prospects; or we may leave Disley
again behind, and, crossing a few meadows, mount glorious Marple
Ridge.[17] Here the prospect becomes wider and more varied still:
filling one also with astonishment that so much can be commanded at the
cost of so little labour. The fact is that the railway does half the
climbing for us, the line from Hazel Grove to Disley being almost a
slope. Standing with our backs to Disley village, on the right towers
the great green pyramid called Cobden Edge; then come the hills that
rise above Whaley Bridge and Taxal, Kinder Scout resting upon their
shoulders. In front are hills again, Werneth Low, always identified by
the sky-line fringe of trees; Stirrup-benches and Charlesworth Coombs,
and the three-hill-churches always remembered by their corresponding
initial, Marple, Mellor, and Mottram, with Chadkirk and Compstall in
the valley. Southwards, Lyme Cage and Lyme Hall, the latter half-hidden
among its trees, are discoverable; and due west is the great plain now
familiar,--that one which includes Vale Royal, and reaches to Chester.
Let all who make a pilgrimage hither remember, as when they visit
Gawsworth, to bring their opera-glasses, which however useful when
there is curiosity as to a cantatrice, have nowhere a more excellent
use than on the mountain-side. Cobden Edge, from its greatly superior
altitude, overlooks even Marple Ridge! To reach it, after leaving
Disley station, cross the wood a little beyond the hotel, and go down a
steep lane, arriving presently at a slit in the wall upon the right,
through which it is necessary to sidle as best one may. The canal has
then to be crossed, and the river Goyt, after which there is a little
glen leading the way to the path up the hill. On the top, all the
grandeurs of Marple Ridge are renewed five-fold. Alderley has nearly
subsided into the plain. Beeston Castle is conspicuous. Some say they
can descry the great Ormes-head. Pursuing the road along the crest of
the hill, we soon arrive at Marple village; or descending from it,
upon the right, get almost as soon into the beautiful valley of the
Goyt. Both, however, since 1867, have been rendered so much more easily
accessible by means of the Midland railway, that they may be left for
another chapter, the more particularly since a few miles' continued
ride from Disley brings us to another charming neighbourhood--that one
which comprises the above-mentioned Whaley Bridge and Taxal.

The most manageable of the many pleasant walks within reach of the
latter, is that one which leads to Taxal church, following the high
road till a white gate upon the right opens into meadows descending
into a dell, where the swift and limpid waters, if

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