CHAPTER XVI.

VIA CLIFTON JUNCTION.

As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower Awes us less deeply in its morning hour, Than when the shades of time serenely fall On every broken arch and ivied wall, The tender images we love to trace, Steal from each year a melancholy grace.

ROGERS.

Clifton Junction may be regarded as the railway entrance to east and central Lancashire, since at this point, while the original line runs on to Bolton, there is divergence to Bury, whence, in turn, we get to Accrington. After Molyneux Brow, the first station is Ringley Road; then comes Radcliffe, the village of the "red cliffs," renowned in legend and in local family history, and in a few minutes more we are near the birthplace of Sir Robert Peel. The cliffs referred to, though bold and conspicuous, have none of the picturesque beauty pertaining to Prestwich. Nor, indeed, is the latter renewed until, after passing Bury, we get to Summerseat, distant from Manchester thirteen miles. The river, soon lost sight of after passing Molyneux, here comes into view again, winding among trees, and with steep declivities right and left. The eastern side of the valley is abundantly wooded, and although broken by little ravines, offers a delightful walk of about two miles to the village of Ramsbottom. To begin it, cross the little aqueduct over the gorge, then keep straight on beneath the shadow of the wood. Beside this pleasant path wild raspberries grow in plenty, and ferns, and on the sunward edges of the steep brows above the stream, not yet much sullied by "works," in September it is sweet to sit down to rest and talk, noting as we chat the lilac blossoms of the heather. It does not, as in the wilderness, monopolise the ground, but springs delicately from the turf, here a little and there a little, in quantity just enough to remind us that it is one of the friendly plants, those of the same spirit as the anemone and the celandine, which never care to live alone, but "love their own kind and to dwell among their kindred." For the curious in other matters, up above again, on the highest point, there is the celebrated tower which commemorates the "Cheeryble Brothers," William and Daniel Grant. Looking across the river, the opposite bank is remarkably different, the slopes being almost treeless. Gradually swelling, at last they expand into a vast tract of moorland called Holcombe Hill, well chosen for the erection of the far-seen landmark called the Peel monument.

Ramsbottom is succeeded by Stubbins, and after this we get to Newchurch, the best place to ascend from when bound for the other great moorland called Fo'edge, where the parsley-fern grows, and the alpine club-moss, and many another plant that disdains the lowlands, and from which, if we please, we may pursue a glorious walk to Rochdale, making acquaintance as we go with the bright and wilful Spodden. Running down Healey Dene, a narrow and romantic valley, the bordering cliffs seem to have been torn asunder at various times by the impetuosity of the rushing torrent. So picturesque is the dingle called specially the Thrutch,--the river here, in Lancashire phrase, thrutching its way past all impediment,--that one seems to be far away beyond the Tweed. From the elevated ground above there is once again a wonderful prospect, covering Lyme, Cloud-end, the Derbyshire hills, Frodsham, and the mountains of North Wales,--a prospect enjoyed, moreover, like that one from Jackson Edge, at an incredibly slight expenditure of climbing power. This fine neighbourhood may of course be reached direct from Rochdale, going by the Todmorden line; but geographically it belongs to Rossendale, in which both the Spodden and the Roch have their simple beginnings, wherein also, near the foot of Derpley Hill, we find the cradle of the Irwell. "Rossendale Forest," so called, the name having a sense similar to that of Delamere Forest (p. 41) is approached by way of Bacup. Lying upon the northern edge of the line, the forest presents, with almost the whole of the ground that stretches away to Cliviger, an endless variety of beautiful change in mountain scenery. Up here are found the grand summits called Hades Hill and Thieveley Pike, the view from the top of the last-named comprehending not only the southward country, but to the north, almost the whole of Craven, with Ingleborough and the wilds of Trawden Forest. The nearer portions of the Lake District mountains, those which rise above Cartmel, and that bathe their ancient feet in Coniston are also distinguishable; and on sunny evenings, when the atmosphere is clear, and if the tide be in, the estuary of the Ribble. Cliviger is remarkable not alone for the rocks and precipices the name denotes, but for the number of beautiful curves, green with much grass, which are interwoven with them, these latter constantly adding the very sweet unusual feature in scenery, of vast hemispherical green bowls, the whole country at the same time, if we push far enough into the solitude, so tranquil.

O'er stiller place No singing skylark ever poised himself.

In some parts the rocks are clothed lavishly with ivy, the knotted and rugged stems very plainly the growth of centuries, while the massive upper branches throw themselves elegantly into the aërial sea, imitating the glorious _abandon_ of the strong swimmer when he dives. The whole of the Lancashire border, at this part, including the neighbourhood of Burnley, Trawden Forest, and the Colne district, with the contiguous parts of Yorkshire, is immensely rich in scenery. Up here, too, it is that one catches aboriginal Lancashire at its best, the dialect in its prettiest modifications, and among the rural population the primitive manners and customs. Towneley Park, near Burnley, one of the most beautiful of the old county family seats, is distinguished not more for its associations than for the abundance of its venerable trees.

Taking a great bend towards the west, after passing Stubbins, the line runs through Haslingden, Accrington, and Blackburn, to a spot of immemorial celebrity. Five or six miles from the last-named the Darwen flows through a secluded vale called Hoghton Bottoms. At times it is bordered by green and level meads; in certain parts great lateral walls of rock make it uproarious. The name refers to the very ancient and distinguished family seated here ever since the time of Henry II., the residence up to the middle of the sixteenth century having been not far from the edge of the water. Doubtless this would be constructed chiefly or wholly of wood, for the park, "in former tyme," says the old chronicler, was "so full of tymber that a man passing through it could scarcely have seen the sun shine at mid-day." Soon after the accession of Elizabeth the existing hall, upon the top of the hill, was erected, the builder being the celebrated Thomas Hoghton, who on account of his creed was constrained to forsake his ancestral home almost immediately after the completion, and thenceforwards live in exile upon the Continent. The story of the departure of the unfortunate man is told in the beautiful and pathetic ballad, "The Blessed Conscience," preserved in the late Mr. T. T. Wilkinson's well-known volume. It would seem to have been one of the earliest buildings of the kind constructed entirely of stone. Perfect in design, and in excellent preservation, Hoghton Tower presents to this day, an admirable example of the architecture of the period, as regards both adaptedness to domestic use and to defensive purposes. The great quadrangular lower court is spacious enough for the movement of five or six hundred men. The upper one gives access to noble staircases and long galleries, including one for the minstrels. All that is wanting is the very lofty tower which in the beginning rose above the central gateway, and from which the mansion was named. This tower was accidentally destroyed during the Civil Wars by an explosion of gunpowder, and there seems never to have been any disposition to reconstruct it.

A site more charming than that selected by Thomas Hoghton for the glorious old hall which preserves so many interesting and old familiar traditions pertaining to Lancashire, it would be difficult to find. It stands upon the crest of a gentle slope, from which, as well as from the windows, we look right away over the plain and the bright-faced stream that waters Preston, to the mountains of the Lake District, these looming grandly from their curtains of mist; the sea, glorious in the sheen of sunset, upon the left, and upon the right, gigantic Pendle. The immediate surroundings are no less delightful than the prospects; the dell beneath is one of the kind in which the thin-tissued flowers of early spring love to shelter, and which summer fills with a score of sprightly forms. The eastern side of the hill is rugged and steep, the Darwen at its foot struggling with boulders brought down probably by its own vehemence in remote ages.

The original "Manchester and Bolton," opened as far back as May 24th, 1838, is now only the first link in the splendid chain of railway lines which, going nearly three hundred miles due north, connects our town with the very heart of Scotland, and by means of the westward branches, with every part of the shore from the Mersey to the Clyde. How little was such adventure dreamed of when the old calmness of the Agecroft valley was first invaded! Eight years afterwards (April 29th, 1846) it had become the highway to Blackpool, and on April 7th, 1855, people began to start by it for Southport. Diverging also to Blackburn, and thence running on to Clitheroe, a country of wonderful beauty was added to our already ample choice. Cheshire was discovered to be by no means the all in all, and in mid-Lancashire to-day we learn anew that in scenery, as in all other things good for the soul, the secret of beauty comes of nice balance of complementaries. There is endless enjoyment also for the archæologist in the old halls up that way, many of which are scarcely rivalled--Turton Tower, for instance, Hall-i'th'-Wood, and Smithills Hall. Turton Tower, upon the right of the Clitheroe line, the square form of which gives it an appearance of great solidity, is almost sacred, having once been the residence of Humphrey Chetham. Part of it is stone, part black and white, the latter with gables, and the storeys successively overhanging, the former with an embattled parapet. Inside there are old carved ceilings, with doors of massive oak, and much besides that talks pleasantly of the fashions of three hundred years ago. Of late years a good deal of "restoration" has been carried on, happily with so much judgment that the original features are in no degree obscured.

Hall-i'th'-Wood is in its associations one of the most interesting spots in England, since it was in the large upper chamber, the one with a window of no fewer than twenty-four compartments, that Samuel Crompton constructed the exquisitely skilful machine upon which the cotton industry of Lancashire arose to its present magnitude and importance. The way to it is from the little wayside station called the "Oaks," crossing the fields, a pleasant walk of about a mile. The hall stands upon the edge of a cliff, at the foot of which flows a little river called the Eagley, one of the early collectors for the Irwell, the scenery on every side just such as would recommend the site to that fine old race of country gentlemen, neither barons nor vassals, under whose authority marks so enduring as these old Lancashire halls were impressed upon the land. When Crompton lived at Hall-i'th'-Wood, it was embosomed in trees, many of them so mighty that when cut down it was like attacking granite columns. As at Turton, the material is twofold, a portion being magpie, believed to have been put together in 1483, while the remainder is grey stone, erected in 1648; the former, to appearance, wholly untouched, and the latter altered only by the introduction, at a little later period than that of the building of the walls, of some mouldings and other exterior ornaments. Altogether, the hall is unquestionably to be regarded as a first-rate specimen of the style it illustrates. This is proved by its having often been taken as a model for modern Elizabethan houses--we do not mean by copyists, but by the men of higher platform--those with whom knowledge and learning are never the limit of thought, but only the basis.[28]

Smithills Hall, now the residence of Mr. R. H. Ainsworth, claims to occupy the site of an ancient Norman abode, which itself, if all be true in the legends, succeeded a Saxon palatial one. There can be no doubt that the spot is one of genuine historical interest. A chapel, dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, was consecrated at Smithills in 793, nearly a hundred years before the time of King Alfred; and the locality, like that of Hall-i'th'-Wood, is precisely of the kind that would be selected for their stronghold by the lords then having authority over the district, being at the head of two or three beautiful little glens, at once charming in complexion, and facilitating defence in case of assault. Much of the original hall has been renewed from time to time, but it is still a glorious type of the best work of the sixteenth century, and in the interior, as to antique carving and other treasures, is rich beyond description. The gardens also are delightful, and awaken reflections in the most interesting manner, on the way in which good planting now-a-days links past and present. The ancient Britons, the oak, the birch, and the hawthorn are there just as a thousand years ago;--alongside of them are the shapely evergreens which modern enterprise has brought from the Himalayas and Japan. A pleasant though somewhat round about way to Smithills, when permission can be obtained to enter,--a privilege not to be thought lightly of--is to go first to Hall-i'th'-Wood, then after crossing the Eagley, past Sweetloves, to Horrocks Fold, and along the edge of the moor, locally called the Scout, to the top of Deane Road, when the hall is just below. The distance from Bolton is about three miles.

Entwistle, the station next beyond Turton, gives access to a bit of water-scenery that would scarcely be expected. Lymm and Hollingworth have prepared us for magnificent reservoirs; "Entwistle Lodge," the embankment for which was constructed about fifty years ago, is little inferior in beauty. As at Lymm, it has given existence also to a dell beneath, into which, after heavy rain, causing the water to overflow, there descends a cataract of at least a hundred and fifty feet fall. The dell is the only place near Manchester where the lily-of-the-valley appears to grow truly wild. In autumn it abounds with golden-rod, ferns, hawkweeds, and the blue jasione, and upon the slopes, as in Hurst Clough, there are many bushes of the deepest-coloured of the wild English roses, the _Rosa villosa_. A romantic natural dell called "The Jumbles," near Edgworth, is also rich in wild-flowers, but a factory having taken possession, it invites one no longer.

The valley through which the railway pursues its course, running on to Darwen, and thence to Blackburn, is one of those which perfectly illustrates the rich character of the Lancashire uplands. An excellent idea of its various wealth is gathered from near the Scout, when on the way to Smithills, and even while travelling it is impossible not to perceive how fruitful is every part in the picturesque, particularly in amphitheatres receding among the hills, which if somewhat naked, still always have a cheerful look. All the way, moreover, there is the noble spectacle of human activity. Langho station, a quarter of an hour beyond Blackburn, opens the way once more to pleasing novelty of scene, not to mention its ancient and beautiful little chapel, the oldest place of Christian worship in Lancashire still used as one, and from which it is no more than a pleasant walk of two or three miles to Whalley itself, the locality of the earliest Christian preaching in our county. Here it was that Paulinus, in 627, made his first efforts to convert the Northumbrians--crosses in the ancient graveyard commemorate the event, memorials of pious labour which belong, in truth, not more to this once lonesome valley than to the nation. The church, immensely venerable, portions of it being Norman, is crowded with interesting antiquities, and would itself well repay the journey, even were there no Whalley Abbey alongside; say rather the few portions of the grand old pile that have been spared by Time, and by that still heavier despoiler, man bent on destruction. The abbey, founded in 1296, belonged to the Cistercians, and, as usual with that fraternity, was dedicated to the Virgin, whence the sacred monogram M still discoverable upon some of the relics. Like all other abbeys, it was for more than two hundred and forty years a place of refuge for every one who needed succour or counsel. Within its consecrated precincts there was always wisdom to guide the inexperienced, and charity to relieve the famishing and distressed. The dissolution of the monasteries in the calamitous year 1539 by a monarch who thirsted less for reformation than for spoil, brought everything to an end; and though the building itself was not demolished till some time afterwards, the delay was less designed than accidental. Eventually the very stones were scattered far and wide; hence there is no identifying the various portions as we do at Furness, and Fountains, and Tintern, and Glastonbury, and Rievaulx. The archæologist conversant with monastic ruins is able to trace them, but for the ordinary visitor, after the abbot's house, long since modernised, and the two grand old gateways, there are only a few grey and shattered walls, some fragments of arches, and broken corridors. The extent of the abbey grounds, enclosed partly by the river, partly by an artificial trench or moat, exceeds thirty-six acres. The building itself appears to have consisted of three quadrangles, the westernmost holding the cloisters, and being edged upon the north by the wall of the church. There were, in addition, as usual, stables and outer offices. In the presence of so vast an extinction, it is pleasant to mark the abundance of trees now growing within the ancient boundaries; and more particularly to note the taste with which in ancient nooks of aisle and corridor, clumps of green fern have been planted by the owner or resident, Mr. Appleby. At one time these most interesting ruins were opened to the public as freely as the church. Now they are virtually closed, owing to the misconduct of a party of excursionists--not from Manchester--the innocent, as in so many other places that have been abused, suffering for the guilty. When will people privileged to enter a gentleman's private grounds learn to conduct themselves with the same decorum they would expect others to observe in regard to their own; or if unpossessed of grounds or gardens, with regard to any other private property? That the ignorant and selfish will continue to abuse their privileges to the end of time, is perhaps only too lamentably certain. Contrariwise, what a happy day it will be when curiosity in regard to such places will be synonymous with good manners. When at Whalley, of course we ascend the Nab, that beautiful tree-clad hill which overlooks the abbey, and gives the first taste of the landscape grandeurs to be enjoyed later on from the crest of Pendle.

For those who love to feel their feet pressing the turf, Whalley is the best point of departure also for Stonyhurst, and for the pretty villages of Great and Little Mitton, the former upon the opposite bank of the Ribble, which here separates Lancashire from Yorkshire. The announcement, when half-way over the bridge, comes with most curious unexpectedness. All of a sudden, while delighting in the sweet spectacle of the stream, silver-eddied like the immortal ones in the greatest of epics, an inscription upon the wall says we are in the county of the white rose! How can this be? Our faces are turned westwards! Yorkshire is not in front of us, but behind! Look at the map, and you will discover that Mitton stands upon an odd bit which darts away from all the rest, after traversing which we are in Lancashire again. Little Mitton Hall is accounted one of the finest specimens in England of the style of domestic architecture which prevailed at the commencement of the sixteenth century, or that of the building of Henry the Seventh's Chapel at Westminster. The basement is stone, the upper portion timber, including the roof of the great hall, which is ceiled with oak in wrought compartments of singular beauty. Great Mitton Church (in Yorkshire) is no less interesting in respect of its antiquities and to the admirer of sculpture in the private chapel, near the altar, once belonging to the Shireburns, the very ancient and honourable family, long since extinct, by which Stonyhurst was founded and originally occupied. The marble monuments bear epitaphs of rare tenderness, though antiquated in phraseology, foremost among them being that which commemorates the last of the race, Richard Francis Shireburn, who died, poor boy, in 1702, at the age of only nine--poisoned, tradition says, by eating yew-berries, though as the time of his death is stated on the monument to have been June, and it is impossible for yew-berries to exist except in October and November, there is something in need of explanation. It is not, by the way, the yew-_berry_ that is poisonous, for that is perfectly innocuous, but the _seed_.

Stonyhurst needs at least half-a-day purely and entirely to itself. At present, as well known, it is the principal college maintained in this country by the Jesuits, a party of whom obtained possession of it in 1794, when driven from Liege by the terrors of the French Revolution. The site was occupied by a hall in exceedingly remote times, a Shireburn going hence in 1347 to attend Queen Philippa at Calais. The existing edifice was raised in the time of Elizabeth, by whom the head of the family was so highly esteemed, that although a Catholic, she allowed him to retain his private oratory and domestic priest. The lofty and battlemented centre and the noble cupolas give it a character among our Lancashire mansions quite unique. The interior is in perfect harmony with the external design. It is richly stored, moreover, with works of art, and with archæological and historical curiosities, the latter including various treasures brought from the continent at the time of the establishment of the college. The present refectory was the old state reception hall, left unfinished through the death of the builder of this splendid place, magnificent nevertheless in its incompleteness, especially in regard to the ceiling and the friezes. Of late years very considerable additions have been made to the building, so as to adapt it more thoroughly to educational use of the highest character, and these, happily, are all consistent with the original scheme of decoration as well of architectural plan. Visitors are allowed to go through on making previous and proper application.

A more delightful neighbourhood for a great residence it would be difficult to find. Everywhere in the vicinity alike of Stonyhurst and of the two Mittons, the country constantly reminds one of the south. Upon foot it is impossible to go astray, for if in rambling we do not reach the particular point that was contemplated at the outset, meadows, running water, woodlands, and the sweet spectacle of hills, both near and distant, and of all chaste hues, are everywhere our own, and the last hour is no less animating than the first. A very lovely walk in particular is that one from Mitton to Clitheroe, keeping the Lancashire side of the stream. The babble of the broad and shining water, the patient expectancy of many anglers, majestic Pendle upon the right, a thousand green trees, and by turning the head a little, after the manner of

... travellers oft, at evening's close, When eastwards slowly moving,

the glimpse still obtainable of lofty Stonyhurst, which ever and anon recalls the inimitable ode, "Ye distant spires, ye antique towers." Each and every element in turn invites a pause, and linger as one may, Clitheroe is still too near, and reached too soon.

Arrived, there is new pleasure in inspection of the remains of the ancient castle, one of the most interesting feudal relics in the county,--built towards the close of the twelfth century by one of the De Lacy family, whose landed possessions extended from this neighbourhood uninterruptedly to Pontefract. It never was a castle in the thorough sense of the word, merely a stronghold to which the lords of the house came at intervals, to receive tribute and to dispense justice. There never was room for much more than a donjon, the rock upon which the little fortalice was erected, rising out of the flat like an islet, a sort of Beeston rock in miniature. There were buildings no doubt upon the slope, predecessors of the present, the former including a chapel, but these were quite external to the castle _ipsissima_. The view from the summit is delightfully picturesque, and when this has been enjoyed, there is, as at Smithills, that curious blending of past and present, old and new, which always awakens gratitude to the gardener, for here, in this ancient keep, leaning against stones laid in their places nearly eight centuries ago, is one of the glossy little cotoneasters of northern India, unknown in England before 1825.

From Clitheroe we do well to proceed to Chatburn, by rail, if preferred, but far preferably on foot. Going about half-a-mile along the highway, presently, upon the left, there is a gate into a downward-sloping field, the path through which is continued under a flat railway bridge, then past the first of the celebrated Chatburn quarries, and into the fields again. Or we may go along the foot of mighty Pendle itself, and along a series of narrow and winding green lanes to Downham. The Chatburn quarries are capital hunting-grounds for the student of fossil shells, encrinites, and other remains found in limestone. We are enjoined to "consider the lilies of the field"--not foreign to the Divine behest is it to consider the Crinoidea, the wonderful stone-lilies of the limestone rock, the petrified flower-like heads of which here occur in inexpressible abundance. The great stones set up edgeways in place of stiles between the fields near the quarries, are crowded with fragments, and show the rough condition of a favourite material for chimneypieces. For the sake of ladies who may think of going this way, it may be well to add that the vertical stone barriers in question were plainly erected in defiance of the art of dress.

Chatburn is the point to start from when the top of Pendle is the object, a rather heavy climb of two miles and a half, but if the atmosphere be clear, well rewarded. The view from Whalley Nab was magnificent. Pendle is to the latter just what Cobden Edge is to Marple--a brow upon which the former grandeurs seem diminished to a fifth. The glistening waters of the Irish Sea beyond the broad green plain in front; in the north, dim vistas and dark peaks, or mild blue masses, that declare the mountains of the Lake District,--old Coniston tossing the clouds from his hoary brows; proximately the smiling valley of the Ribble, the whole of the upper portion of which is overlooked; of the Hodder also, in temperament so wild and dashing, and the wandering Calder; and, turning to the east, the land towards the German Ocean as far as the powers of the eye can reach. The highest point of this huge mountain--the most prominent feature in the physical geography of mid-Lancashire--is stated by the Ordnance Survey to be one thousand eight hundred and fifty feet, thus falling very little short of the loftiest part of Kinder Scout, which nowhere claims a full two thousand. Keeping to the level, there is endless recreation, whether we penetrate Ribblesdale, or cross the river at the ferry, a mile below, for the fragments of Sawley, or content ourselves with the peaceful borders. Not what the Ribble is at "proud Preston," some seven leagues lower down, a broad and majestic river, do we find it here, but rural, chaste, and tranquil, the water shallow and clear, the _beau-ideal_ of a Peneus, the laurels only wanting.

Footnote

[28: See an excellent description of Hall-i'th'-Wood, accompanied by a drawing, in the _Manchester Literary Club_ volume for 1880, p. 254.]