PART III.

Merry once again is England, Civil warfare is forgot; Now another Charles is reigning Plenty smiles in hall and cot.

Spring is like a present angel; Loosened waters leap in light: Flowers are springing, birds are singing, All the world is glad and bright.

May, the blue-eyed bloomy creature, From God's presence yearly sent, Works with sweet ethereal fingers, Till both heaven and earth are blent.

Lovliest is a rural village In the May-time of the year; With its hall, its woods and waters, Verdant slopes, and herds of deer.

And in one, joy is exultant-- For this day the manly heir Of Sir Francis Leke is wedded-- Wedded too, his daughter fair.

Age rejoices; in the Mansion Rural hinds find wassail cheer; And bright troops of Knights and Ladies, Crowd the Hall from far and near.

Who is this in weeds unseemly, Half a man that seems, half beast, Who obtrudes himself unbidden On the merry marriage feast?

Hermit is he, or some Pilgrim, Entering boldly his own cell? No,--he lacks those ancient symbols, Sandal-shoon, and scallop shell.

All the youngsters titter; anger Flushes cheeks austere and cold: Whilst the aged look complacent On a beggar that is bold.

"Bear this Ring unto your Mistress," To a Page Sir Francis cried; And his words emphatic uttered Rung throughout the dwelling wide.

One there is--an age-blind servant-- Who in darkness sits apart-- Carried forth to feel the sunshine-- She has heard him in her heart;

And in agony of gladness, At that voice so long desired, She has loudly named her Master-- And then instantly expired.

Pensive in her room, the Matron Grieved--but distant from the crowd; She would not with selfish sorrow Their bright countenances cloud.

There her Ring receiving; Lucy Knew the sender of her gift, And, it seemed, by feet unaided, To him she descended swift.

There upon the rugged stranger, Gazed, with momentary check, Gazed, but for a passing moment, And then fell upon his neck.

Twice ten weary summers absent; By his faithful wife deplored; Like Ulysses to his Consort, Good Sir Francis is restored.

'Tis a time of double gladness-- Never was a scene like this; Joy o'erflows the Hall, the Village-- 'Tis a time of boundless bliss!

Clothed as instantly became him, Of Vile Skins all disarrayed, In his old Paternal Mansion He is honoured and obeyed.

All he prayed for to the Virgin, She has granted him and more; Not to die, his own beholding, First, when on his native shore.

Added years of happy ending, Are accorded him of right; 'Midst a cloud of friends descending, In a sunset warm and bright.

_The True Lover's Knot Untied:_

_Being the right path whereby to advise princely Virgins how to behave themselves, by the example of the renowned Princess the Lady Arabella, and the second son of the Lord Seymour, late Earl of Hertford._

The beautiful, much-injured, and ill-fated Lady Arabella of this touching ballad, whose sole crime was that she was born a Stuart, was the daughter of Elizabeth Cavendish of Chatsworth, in Derbyshire, by her husband Charles Stuart, Earl of Lennox, who was brother to Lord Darnley, the husband of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots. She was grand-daughter of Sir William Cavendish of Chatsworth, and of his wife, the celebrated "Bess of Hardwick," afterwards Countess of Shrewsbury.

The incidents of the life of this young, beautiful, and accomplished lady, which form one of the most touching episodes in our history,--the jealous eye with which Elizabeth looked upon her from her birth,--the careful watch set over her by Cecil,--the trials of Raleigh and his friends,--her troubles with her aunt (Mary, Countess of Shrewsbury),--her being placed under restraint,--her marriage with Seymour,--her seizure, imprisonment, sufferings, and death as a hopeless lunatic in the Tower of London, where she had been thrown by her cousin, James the First,--are all matters of history, and invest her life with a sad and melancholy interest.

As the autograph signature of this ill-starred but lovely and exemplary young lady is but little known, I append a fac-simile,

which no doubt will add to the interest of the following ballad. The ballad was sung to the tune of "The Frog Galliard."

As I to Ireland did pass, I saw a ship at anchor lay, Another ship likewise there was, Which from fair England took her way.

This ship that sail'd from fair England, Unknown unto our gracious king, The lord chief justice did command, That they to London should her bring.

I then drew near and saw more plain, Lady Arabella in distress, She wrung her hands, and wept amain, Bewailing of her heaviness.

When near fair London Tower she came, Whereas her landing place should be, The king and queen with all their train, Did meet this lady gallantly.

"How now, Arabella," said our good king, Unto this lady straight did say, "Who hath first try'd thee to this thing, That you from England took your way?"

"None but myself, my gracious liege, "These ten long years I have been in love, With the lord Seymour's second son, The earl of Hertford, so we prove:

"Full many a hundred pound I had In goods and livings in the land, Yet I have lands us to maintain, So much your grace doth understand.

"My lands and livings so well known Unto your books of majesty, Amount to twelvescore pounds a week, Besides what I do give," quoth she.

"In gallant Derbyshire likewise, I ninescore beadsmen maintain there, With hats and gowns and house-rent free, And every man five marks a year.

"I never raised rent," said she, "Nor yet oppress'd the tenant poor, I never did take bribes for fines, For why, I had enough before.

"Whom of your nobles will do so, For to maintain the commonalty? Such multitudes would never grow, Nor be such store of poverty.

"I would I had a milk-maid been, Or born of some more low degree, Then I might have lov'd where I liked, And no man could have hinder'd me.

"Or would I were some yeoman's child, For to receive my portion now, According unto my degree, As other virgins whom I know.

"The highest branch that soars aloft, Needs must beshade the myrtle-tree, Needs must the shadow of them both, Shadow the third in his degree.

"But when the tree is cut and gone, And from the ground is bore away, The lowest tree that there doth stand, In time may grow as high as they.

"Once too I might have been a queen, But that I ever did deny, I knew your grace had right to th' crown, Before Elizabeth did die.

"You of the eldest sister came, I of the second in degree, The earl of Hertford of the third, A man of royal blood was he.

"And so good night, my sovereign liege, Since in the Tower I must lie, I hope your Grace will condescend, That I may have my liberty."

"Lady Arabella," said the king, "I to your freedom would consent, If you would turn and go to church, There to receive the sacrament.

And so good night, Arabella fair," Our king replied to her again, "I will take council of my nobility, That you your freedom may obtain."

"Once more to prison must I go," Lady Arabella then did say, "To leave my love breeds all my woe, The which will bring my life's decay.

"Love is a knot none can unknit, Fancy a liking of the heart, Him whom I love I can't forget, Tho' from his presence I must part.

"The meanest people enjoy their mates, But I was born unhappily, For being cross'd by cruel fates, I want both love and liberty.

"But death I hope will end the strife, Farewel, farewel, my love," quoth she, "Once I had thought to have been thy wife, But now am forc'd to part with thee."

At this sad meeting she had cause, In heart and mind to grieve full sore, After that time Arabella fair, Did never see lord Seymour more.

_An Address to "Dickie."_

At a farm-house at Tunstead, near Chapel-en-le-Frith, a human skull, about which hangs many a strange story, has for several generations--indeed "time out of mind"--been preserved. There are some curious traditions connected with this skull, which is popularly known as "Dickie," or "Dicky o' Tunsted." How it first came to the farm is a complete mystery. All that is known is that it has been there for many generations, and always occupies the same position in the window-seat of the house. No matter what changes take place in the other occupiers of the house, Dicky holds his own against all comers, and remains quietly ensconced in his favourite place. It is firmly and persistently believed that so long as Dick remains in the house, unburied, everything will go on well and prosperously, but that if he is buried, or "discommoded," unpleasant consequences will assuredly follow. On more than one occasion he has been put "out of sight," but tempests have arisen and injured the building, deaths have ensued, cattle have been diseased and died off, or crops have failed, until the people have been humbled, and restored him to his proper place. One of the crowning triumphs of Dickie's power is said to have been evinced over the formation of the new Buxton and Whaley Bridge line of railway. He seems to have held the project in thorough hatred, and let no opportunity pass of doing damage. Whenever there was a land slip or a sinking, or whenever any mishap to man, beast, or line happened, the credit was at once given to Dickie, and he was sought to be propitiated in a variety of ways.

Hutchinson, who wrote "A Tour through the High Peak" in 1807, thus speaks of the skull, and of the supernatural powers attributed to it:--"Having heard a singular account of a human skull being preserved in a house at Tunstead, near the above place, and which was said to be haunted, curiosity induced me to deviate a little, for the purpose of making some enquiries respecting these _natural_ or _super_ natural appearances. That there are three parts of a human skull in the house is certain, and which I traced to have remained on the premises for near two centuries past, during all the revolutions of owners and tenants in that time. As to the truth of the supernatural appearance, it is not my design either to affirm or contradict, though I have been informed by a creditable person, a Mr. Adam Fox, who was brought up in the house, that he has not only repeatedly heard singular noises, and observed very singular circumstances, but can produce fifty persons, within the parish, who have seen an apparition at this place. He has often found the doors opening to his hand--the servants have been repeatedly called up in the morning--many good offices have been done by the apparition, at different times;--and, in fact, it is looked upon more as a guardian spirit than a terror to the family, never disturbing them but in case of an approaching death of a relation or neighbour, and showing its resentment only when spoken of with disrespect, or when its own awful memorial of mortality is removed. For twice within the memory of man the skull has been taken from the premises,--once on building the present house on the site of the old one, and another time when it was buried in Chapel churchyard;--but there was no peace! no rest! it must be replaced! Venerable time carries a report that one of two coheiresses residing here was murdered, and declared, in her last moments, that her bones should remain on the place for ever.[90] On this head the candid reader will think for himself; my duty is only faithfully to relate what I have been told. However, the circumstance of the skull being traced to have remained on the premises during the changes of different tenants and purchasers for near two centuries, must be a subject well worth the antiquarian's research, and often more than the investigation of a bust or a coin!"

The following clever _Address to "Dickie"_ was written by Mr. Samuel Laycock, and first appeared in the _Buxton Advertiser_.

Neaw, Dickie, be quiet wi' thee, lad, An' let navvies an' railways a be; Mon, tha shouldn't do soa,--it's to' bad, What harm are they doin' to thee? Deod folk shouldn't meddle at o', But leov o' these matters to th' wick; They'll see they're done gradeley, aw know,-- Dos' t' yer what aw say to thee, Dick?

Neaw dunna go spoil 'em i' th' dark What's cost so mich labber an' thowt; Iv tha'll let 'em go on wi' their wark, Tha shall ride deawn to Buxton for nowt; An' be a "director" too, mon; Get thi beef an' thi bottles o' wine, An' mak' as much brass as tha con Eawt o' th' London an' North Western line.

Awm surproised, Dick, at thee bein' here; Heaw is it tha'rt noan i' thi grave? Ar' t' come eawt o' gettin' thi beer, Or havin' a bit ov a shave? But _that's_ noan thi business, aw deawt, For tha hasn't a hair o' thi yed; Hast a woife an' some childer abeawt? When tha'rn living up here wurt wed?

Neaw, spake, or else let it a be, An' dunna be lookin' soa shy; Tha needn't be freeten'd o' me, Aw shall say nowt abeawt it, not I! It'll noan matter mich iv aw do, I can do thee no harm iv aw tell, Mon there's moor folk nor thee bin a foo', Aw've a woife an some childer misel'.

Heaw's business below; is it slack? Dos' t' yer? aw'm noan chaffin thee, mon' But aw reckon 'at when tha goes back Tha'll do me o' th' hurt as tha con. Neaw dunna do, that's a good lad, For awm freeten'd to deoth very nee, An' ewar Betty, poor lass, hoo'd go mad Iv aw wur to happen to dee!

When aw'n ceawer'd upo' th' hearston' awhoam, Aw'm inclined, very often, to boast; An' aw'n noan hawve as feart as some, But aw don't loike to talke to a ghost. So, Dickie, aw've written this song, An' aw trust it'll find thee o' reet; Look it o'er when tha'rt noan very throng, An' tha'll greatly obleege me,--good neet.

P.S.--Iv tha'rt wantin' to send a reply, Aw can gi'e thee mi place ov abode, It's reet under Dukinfilt sky, At thirty-nine, Cheetham Hill road. Aw'm awfully freeten'd dos t' see, Or else aw'd invite thee to come, An' ewar Betty, hoo's softer nor me, So aw'd _raythar_ tha'd tarry awhoam.

FOOTNOTE:

[90] On examining the parts of the skull, they did not appear to be the least decayed.

_The Driving of the Deer._

This admirable ballad, founded on an old Derbyshire tradition, is by my friend Mr. William Bennett, of whom I have before spoken. The Peverels were, as a part of the immense possessions given to them by William the Conqueror, owners of the tract of country comprising the Honour and Forest of the High Peak. Their stronghold was the castle at Castleton. The "Lord's seat" mentioned in the ballad is a mountain separating Rushop Edge from the valley of Edale. The view from here, where Peverel used to alight from his horse to watch the progress of the chace, says Mr. Bennett, "is magnificent; perhaps one of the finest in north Derbyshire, as from its summit you may see the Pennine chain of Cheshire, Derbyshire, and Staffordshire, with many of the lovely valleys which lie among the hills. Westward, you look down upon the valley of Chapel-en-le-Frith, the eastern part of which contains the ancient manor of Bowdon. To realize the following ballad, my readers must imagine the Lord of the Peak, William Peverel, with a number of his knights and gentlemen, on the Lord's Seat, preparing for the chace, when they hear the bugle blast which informs the proud baron that some audacious sportsmen are in chase of the deer within his forest. We may picture to ourselves the astonishment and indignation of the Norman prince, and his fierce determination to pounce upon the trespassers and punish them with all the severity of the cruel forest law. Well was it for all parties that he was attended by his brother Payne Peverel, the lord of Whittington, who was one of the noblest sons of chivalry, and whose presence prevented an affray which in all probability would have been fatal to many. Payne Peverel had previous to this time exhibited a grand pageant at Castleton, accompanied by a tournament held in the meadows below the castle, when he gave away his daughter to the knight who most distinguished himself on that occasion."

Lord Peverel stood on the Lordis Seat, And an angry man was he; For he heard the sound of a hunter's horn Slow winding up the lea. He look'd to north, he look'd to south, And east and west look'd he; And "Holy Cross!" the fierce Norman cried, "Who hunts in my country?

Belike they think the Peverel dead, Or far from forest walk; Woe worth their hunting, they shall find Abroad is still the Hawk." Again he looked where Helldon Hill Joins with the Konying's Dale; And then once more the bugle blast Came swelling along the gale.

"Mount, mount and ride!" the baron cried, "The sound comes o'er the Edge, By Perry dale, or Gautriss side, My knightly spurs I pledge. These outlaws, who now drive my deer, Shall sooth our quarry be; And he who reaches first the hounds Shall win a guerdon free."

Each knight and squire soon sat in selle, And urged his horse to speed, And Peverel, first among the rout, Proved his horse good at need. Adown the slope, along the flat, Against the hill they ride, Nor pull a rein 'till every steed Stands fast on Gautriss side.

"Hold hard! They're here," the Peverel said, And upward held his hand, While all his meany kept behind, Awaiting their lord's command; And westward, on the Bolt-edge Moor, Beyond the rocky height, Both hounds and hunters, men and horse, And deer were all in sight.

Said then the baron, "Who are these Who fear not Peverel's sword Nor forest laws." Outspoke a squire, "Of Bowdon he's the lord; Sir Bruno, hight, a Franklin brave, One of the Saxon swine Who feasts each day on fat fed beef, And guzzles ale, not wine."

"What stirs the sodden headed knave To make his pastime here?" Cried Peverel, "and thus dare to brave Him whom the king doth fear? Ride down the villains, horse and man; Would we were armed to-day, No Saxon chine should bear its head Forth from the bloody fray."

Up spoke his frere, Payne Peverel, then, Of Whittington lord was he, And said, "Fair Sir, for ruth and grace This slaughter may not be. The Saxon's lands are widely spread, And he holds them in capité, And claims three days with hawk and hound To wind his bugle free."

"Beshrew his horn, and beshrew his heart, In my forest he may not ride: If he kills a deer, by the Conqueror's bow By forest law he shall bide. Ride on, Sir Payne, and tell the churl He must cease his hunting cheer, And come to the knee of his suzerain lord Awaiting his presence here.

Ride with him, sirs, some two or three, And bring him hither straight: 'Twere best for him to come at once Than cause his lord to wait. There are trees in the forest strong enow To bear the madman's corse, And he shall hang on the highest bough If hither he comes perforce."

Sir Payne rode swiftly cross the dale, Followed by gentles three, Nor stayed his horse 'till he had reached The hunter's company: And then he said, "Fair sirs, ye ride And drive our deer as free As if the land were all your own And not in forestry.

Lord Peverel yonder waits your ease, To know how this may be; Since he is lord of the forest wide, And will no trespass see. He bids you, as your suzerain lord, Forthwith to come to his knee, And as his liegeman humbly stand, And answer him truthfully."

"No man of his," cried the Franklin, "then Am I, as he knows full well, Though within the bounds of his forest walk It likes me sooth to dwell. My manor of Bowdon, I hold in chief From good King Harry I trow; And to him alone will I homage pay And make my fealty vow."

"Beware, Sir Franklin," cried Sir Payne, "Beware how thou play the fool! To brave the ire of thy suzerain lord Will lead to direful dule. Come on with me, and make thy peace, Better do that than worse; He'll hang thee on the forest tree If we take thee hence perforce."

"Take me you can't while I have thews, And these have bows and spears," Cried the brave Franklin. "Threaten him Who the Lord Peverel fears. We've broke no forest law to-day; Our hunting here's my right; And only ye can force me hence If strongest in the fight."

Each hunter then upraised his spear, Or twanged his good yew bow, While cloth yard shafts from every sheaf Glinted a threatening shew. And back Payne Peverel reined his horse, And, as he rode away, Cried, "Fare ye well, this day of sport Will breed a bloody day."

Well was it for the Saxons then The Normans rode unarmed, Or they had scantly left that field And homeward gone unharmed. Lord Peverel viewed their bows and spears, And marked their strong array, And grimly smiled, and softly said, "We'll right this wrong some day."

But e'er that day, for fearful crime, The Peverel fled the land, And lost his pride of place, and eke His lordship and command. For Ranulph Earl of Chester's death, By him most foully wrought, He fled fair England's realm for aye, And other regions sought.

Where, so 'tis writ, a monk he turned, And penance dreed so sore, That all the holy brotherhood Quailed at the pains he bore. And yet the haughty Norman blood No sign of dolour showed; But bore all stoutly to the last, And died beneath the rood.

So Heaven receive his soul at last, He was a warrior brave; And Pope and priest were joined in mass His guilty soul to save. For Holy Church and Kingly Crown He was ever a champion true; For chivalry and ladies' grace Chiváler foiál et preux.

_The Ashupton Garland,_

_OR A DAY IN THE WOODLANDS;_

_Showing how a "righte merrie companie" went forth to seek a diversion in the Woodlands, aud what befell them there._

To a pleasant Northern Tune.

Ashopton is a small village, but little known away from its own neighbourhood, in the vale of the river Ashop, in the chapelry of Derwent, in the High Peak. This very clever ballad was written on occasion of what was evidently an extremely happy pic-nic party, held there not many years ago. It is one of the best modern ballads I have seen.

In summer time when leaves were green, With a hey derry down, you shall see; James Oakes he called his merry men all, Unto the green-wood tree.

James Oakes he was a worthy squire, Full six feet high he stood; No braver chief the forest rang'd, Since the days of Robin Hood.

Then some came East, and some came West, And Southrons there came three; Such a jovial band of fine fellows, You never more shall see.

Nor fairer Maidens ever tripp'd, Than bore them companie; The wood-nymphs peep'd, in wonder all, As they were passing by.

There was Sally of Riddings with her wit so sly, That young men's hearts beguil'd; And wilding Meg, with the hazel eye, And sweet maid-Marian mild.

Then came blithe Helen of Osgarthorpe, With her sister, as you shall know; Two fairer maids in Sheffield town Did ne'er set foot I trow.

Maid-Marian's sister too was there, And a merry little minx was she; And they were merry merry maidens all, When under the greenwood tree.

Then followed straight a matron dame, That summers more had seen; Her kindly eye did sparkle bright, And she seemed the woodland queen.

James Oakes the elder he went first, As captain of the band; Bill Graham of Skiers was by his side, And they shouted, "For merry England!"

Sylvester next, that rover bold, (Some called him little John,) With Bob the tall, from London town, As you shall hear anon.

Two stalworth blades, sworn friends, were there, Jem Oakes, and Asho'er Will; They wanted only a good cross-bow, The Queen's fat deer to kill.

Then came Nick Milnes, that smart young man, Of fifteen winters old; With Charley Oakes, a proper young man, Of courage stout and bold.

Next Tom of Riddings, the rural swain, (Their Allen-a-dale was he,) Came tripping o'er the heather bell, As blithe as blithe could be.

Good Lord it was a pleasant sight, To see them all on a row; With every man his good cigar, And his little bag hanging low.

Bill Graham, of Skiers, he then stepped forth, All buskined up to the knee; And he swore by all the fair maids there, Their champion he would be.

When this the Captain he did hear, To Bill up stepped he; And thus he said before the face Of that goodly companie:--

"The devil a drop, thou proud fellow! Of my whiskey shalt thou see, Until thy courage here be tried-- Thou shalt not go scot-free."

"By my troth," cried Bill "thourt a gallant knight, And worthy of me for thy squire, And I'll show thee how for a lady I'll fight, If thoul't meet me in good Yorkshire."

When sweet maid-Marian this did hear, With a hey down down and a derry; Her rosy cheek did bleach with fear, But sweet Meg it made merry.

"A boon, a boon," cried little John, "I'm sick, and fain would see, What thou hast got in thy leather bottel, I pray thee show to me."

"Come hither, come hither, thou fine fellow, Hold up thy head again; I've that within my leather bottel, That shall not breed thee pain."

Then the Captain took little John by the hand, And they sat them under the tree; "If we drink water while this doth last, Then an ill death may we dee."

Then little John he rose up once more, Renewed with mirth and glee; And eke with a bound, he danced a round, In sight of that companie.

These fine fellows all, did then take hands, And danced about the green tree; "For six merry men, for seven merry men, For nine merry men we be."

Then on they walked the rocks among, All on a midsummer day; Every youth with a maiden by his side, While the birds sang from each spray.

With kirtle tucked up to the knee, The maidens far did go; And Bob the tall to each and all, Great courtesie did show.

Some plucked the green leaf, some the rose, As to _Kinder-Scout_ they sped; Or wiled away the sweet summer's day, At lovely _Derwent-Head_.

And some did shout, and some did sing, With the heart so blithe and merry; And some adown the hill did roll, With a hey derry down, down derry.

And ever and anon they'd sit, On a mossy bank to rest; While the bag and the whiskey glass went round, With the ringing glass and jest.

Then some among the heather strayed, Springing the bonny Moor-hen; And some did climb the green hills' side, Or roam in the tangled glen.

The blackbird tried his golden bill, His sooty love to greet; Upon the bough, the throstle cock, Did carol blithe and sweet.

And when the dews began to fall, And the glowworm's lamp to shine, To _Ashupton_ Inn they did repair, In order for to dine.

Then on the board did smoke roast beef, With pasties hot and cold; And many a right good stomach showed, And many a tale was told.

And when the table it was cleared, And landlord brought them wine; He swore, that never there before, Such a companie did dine!

So a health to the Queene, and long may she reign, And Albert long live he; Push the glass about,--old _Kinder-Scout_, We'll drink long life to thee.

And here's a health to those fine fellows, And to all those maidens merry; May each take a heart from the _Ashupton-hills_, Singing hey derry down, down derry!

And here's a health unto James Oakes! And many a year may he Rise up, and call his merry men all, Unto the greenwood tree.

_Derbyshire Hills._

James Bannard, "a Wandering Poet, in his 74th year," is the writer of the following lines, which he says at the heading of the broad-sheet from which I reprint it, are "Views and reflections taken from Solomon's Temple, near Buxton." Of Bannard I know nothing, farther than that he was a poor man, and eked out his living by selling these verses "at the 'Cottage of Content,' Buxton."

At length my wand'ring feet have brought Me on this Derby Hill; Where my sweet muse and fancy both May sit and take their fill.

Although I've trod the stage of life Past seventy years and three: 'Tis the first time that ever I These Derby Hills did see.

Reader, before I now proceed, I pray you will excuse; Your pardon humbly I do beg, Intruding with my muse.

Born in an humble state of life, Grammar I could not attain; But from the school of Nature I, Did all my learning gain.

As on this eminence I stand, And view the Landscape round, Here hills and dales, rivers and rocks, Most sweetly do abound.

Mark how the glorious setting sun Fair Buxton Town displays; Buxton whose healing streams and air, Give hope for length of days.

The next that did attract the muse Was the fine noble Church, Where sinners every Sabbath day Their wicked hearts should search.

What numbers there already lie, Now sleeping at its feet; Waiting the great and awful day, When they their Judge must meet.

Their dust then joins its better part, I hope in realms above; And all its dross be pressed away, By the Redeemer's love.

The fine Hotels I next remarked, The walks and lawns so gay, Where gentry their amusements take, In this sweet month of May.

To Solomon's Temple I repaired, To take a wider view; And as I was a stranger there, All things appeared new.

How dare the wicked infidel Say that there is no God? These mountains high and these firm rocks May crumble at His nod.

In Him I live, in Him I move, In Him I have my being; In Him I on this mount now stand And paint this beauteous scene.

Brierlow and Foxlow I remark'd, Haddon and Croome likewise; But Axedge overcap'd them all, And struck me with surprise.

The Lover's Leap likewise I view'd, Shootingslow did appear; The Cat-and-Fiddle I have seen But I was never there.

Chee Tor, Bakewell, and Matlock too, Likewise the Diamond Hill; The Shivering Tor for to describe Is far beyond my skill.

Now from this mount I do descend Into the vale below, From whence the River Wye doth spring, And sweetly on doth flow.

For to describe the beauties all, Display'd in Derbyshire; Instead of musing for one day, Methinks 'twould take a year.

Having seen seventy years and three, My days are not a few; I may expect in a short time, To bid this world adieu.

May blessings rest on all your heads, Ye rich, likewise ye poor; Something forebodes within my mind, I must see these Derby Hills no more.

_Derbyshire Dales._

Having given some lines on "Derbyshire Hills," by a "Wandering poet" totally unknown to fame, it will be well to follow it by others on "Derbyshire Dales," by one whose name is known throughout the length and breadth of the land--Eliza Cooke.

I sigh for the land where the orange-tree flingeth Its prodigal bloom on the myrtle below; Where the moonlight is warm, and the gondolier singeth, And clear waters take up the strain as they go.

Oh! fond is the longing, and rapt is the vision That stirs up my soul over Italy's tales; But the _present_ was bright as the _far-off_ Elysian, When I roved in the sun-flood through Derbyshire Dales.

There was joy for my eye, there was balm for my breathing; Green branches above me--blue streams at my side: The hand of Creation seemed proudly bequeathing The beauty reserved for a festival tide.

I was bound, like a child, by some magical story, Forgetting the "South" and "Ionian Vales;" And felt that dear England had temples of Glory, Where any might worship, in Derbyshire Dales.

Sweet pass of the "Dove!" 'mid rock, river, and dingle, How great is thy charm for the wanderer's breast! With thy moss-girdled towers and foam-jewelled shingle, Thy mountains of might, and thy valleys of rest.

I gazed on thy wonders--lone, silent, adoring, I bent at the altar whose "fire never pales:" The Great Father was with me--Devotion was pouring Its holiest praises in Derbyshire Dales.

Wild glen of dark "Taddington"--rich in thy robing Of forest-green cloak, with grey lacing bedight; How I lingered to watch the red Western rays probing Thy leaf-mantled bosom with lances of light!

And "Monsal," thou mine of Arcadian treasure, Need we seek for "Greek Islands" and spice-laden gales, While a Tempe like thee of enchantment and pleasure May be found in our own native Derbyshire Dales?

There is much in my Past bearing way-marks and flowers, The purest and rarest in odour and bloom; There are beings and breathings, and places and hours, Still trailing in roses o'er Memory's tomb.

And when I shall count o'er the bliss that's departed, And Old Age be telling its garrulous tales, Those days will be first when the kind and true-hearted Were nursing my spirit in Derbyshire Dales.

_A RHAPSODY_

_On the Peak of Derbyshire._

The following exquisite lines by my late highly-gifted father,[91] on the land he loved so well,--the glorious district of the Peak of Derbyshire,--may well claim a place in this part of my present volume. I give them, not as being the most favourable example I could choose of his style, but as being the most appropriate for my present purpose.

O, give me the land where the wild thyme grows, The heathery dales among; Where Sol's own flow'er with crimson eye Creeps the sun-burnt banks along! Where the beetling Tor hangs over the dell, While its pinnacles pierce the sky, And its foot is laved by the waters pure, Of the lively murmuring Wye; Oh! give me the land, where the crimson heather, The thyme and the bilberry grow together.

O! where upon earth is another land So green, so fine, so fair? Can any within Old England's bounds With this heathery land compare? The mountain air, the crystal springs, Where health has established her throne, The flood-swollen torrent, the bright cascade, Belong to this land alone; O! give me the land where grow together The marj'ram, cistus, and purple heather.

Oxford may boast of its hundred spires, Its colleges, halls, and towers; Built in an ague-producing marsh, Are the Muses' and Learning's bowers; O! tell me not of the sluggish stream, Too lazy to creep along; Too dull to inspire a poet's dream! This is not the land of song! No! give me the land where grow together The cistus, the thyme, and the purple heather.

FOOTNOTE:

[91] Author of the "History of Buxton," "History of Lincoln," &c., &c.

_The Derby Hero._

The two following productions of some local muse, written in the year 1822, are intended to do honour to a young pedestrian of Derby, who no doubt was thought famous in those days of foot-racing and pugilism.

Of all your modern Heroes That rank so high in fame, There's one that takes the lead of all, Young Wantling is his name; For when he takes the field So nimbly he doth run, His feet is at the destin'd mark Ere the race is well begun! Fol de rol, &c.

This youth's been lately tried Against a man of great renown, And to run the Stafford hero He was back'd for fifty pounds; O he is the bravest lad That ever eyes did see, For he won the race quite easy, When the bets were five to three! Fol de rol, &c.

Now ye men of sporting talent I would have you all to know, On the eighteenth day of March You've a chance to see him go, For this Hero he is match'd to run Three hundred yards we're told, Against the Stafford Bragger For one hundred guineas in gold! Fol de rol, &c.

Then keep your spirits up, my lads, For he will show the way, He is as swift as Mercury, And is sure to win the day; For Wantling's of such good mettle, And his honour is as good, He is sure not to deceive you, As some other Runners would. Fol de rol, &c.

Of all the Runners now in vogue Young Wantling takes the lead; You would think him jealous of the wind When you view him in his speed: He will make that Braggadocia Afraid to show his face, To be beat by an apprentice boy-- It will be such disgrace. Fol de rol, &c.

We've another Hero on the list That runs but now and then, But he's well known upon the turf By the name of Little Ben; He's lately been to try his strength Some miles from Derby town, And there he well confirmed his name As a youth of some renown. Fol de rol, &c.

Then drink success to Derby town, For it stands high in fame, Its lads will yield to none, For they're Chickens of true Game; Their strength has oft been tried By men both far and near, But they never yet was beat, For their hearts are void of fear. Fol de rol, &c.

_A New Song_

_On the great Foot Race that was contested on the London Road, near Derby, on the 18th day of March, 1822, betwixt Jas. Wantling, of Derby, and Shaw, the Staffordshire Hero, for 2 Hundred Guineas._

The eighteenth day of March Will long be handed down, When thousands came from far Into famed Derby town, To see the great Foot Race For one hundred guineas aside, Betwixt Shaw, the Stafford Hero, And Wantling, Derby's pride! Fol de rol, &c.

Now the time is come That these Heroes try their skill, Whilst numbers flock together Offering to lay who will; Large sums are laid around Ere they begin to run, And mingled sounds you hear Crying I take your bet--done, done. Fol de rol, &c.

And now you see them striving Which shall get the first, Straining each nerve and muscle Till their veins are almost burst; But Wantling takes the lead, And labours hard to gain The money for his friends, And establish his own fame. Fol de rol, &c.

The race it soon was over, Whilst women, men, and boys Cried "Wantling still for ever!" In shouts that rend the skies. His name this day is raised, As a Runner of great fame, For Shaw, the Stafford Hero, Has been beat by him again! Fol de rol, &c.

All ye wise men of Staffordshire, Who back'd Shaw on that day, Having ventured all your money, Leaving none your shots to pay, Be wiser for the future, If again you chance to come, And bring more money with you, Lest you go empty home. Fol de rol, &c.

Then let us drink the Hero's health, Whilst Fame proclaims his name, May he never sell his honour For the sake of sordid gain: All base attempts to bias him With scorn from him be hurl'd, Then he will rise a wonder, And astonish all the world. Fol de rol, &c.

But let us act with honour, And not run the Hero down, Although he lost the race, He's a claim to great renown; For Shaw and his supporters Have acted manly parts, And any thing contrary Is quite foreign to their hearts. Fol de rol, &c.

_ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE_

_Rev. Bache Thornhill, M.A.,_

_Perpetual Curate of Winster, Ashford, and Longstone._

Mr. Thornhill, on whose death through accident the following verses were written, was son of Bache Thornhill, Esq., of Stanton in the Peak. He was a man of refined tastes, fond of antiquarian pursuits, and was highly esteemed in the county of Derby. He was M.A. of St. John's College, Cambridge, where he was a fellow-student with Sir Robert Peel, with whom to the period of his untimely death he kept up an intimate friendship. On the 13th of December, 1827, Mr. Thornhill was accidentally shot by the discharge of the fowling-piece of a friend. He lingered until the 27th, when he died, at the age of forty-two. He was buried at Youlgreave, the coffin bearing the inscription--"Rev. Bache Thornhill, Vicar of Winster, and Vice-Vicar of Ashford and Longstone, died the 27th day of December, 1827; aged forty-two."

The writer of these verses was John Brimlow, of Winster. Brimlow had been a soldier in Colonel Thornhill's regiment, under which gallant officer he served in Egypt. He afterwards suffered from opthalmia, became blind, and got a precarious livelihood by rambling about the country with a basket, gathering "rags and bones." The verses are here reprinted from a broad-sheet.

As I sat musing by the fire I heard some people say A dreadful accident has befel A worthy man this day.

Then I got up, went out of door For to see, and likewise hear, On every tongue enquiry sat, And, in many an eye, a tear,

Saying our worthy Pastor he has fall'n, Oh! how hard has been his lot, By accident a gun went off, And this good man was shot.

The rich, the poor, in groups they meet, Their sorrow for to express, Saying if fifty come there will be none like Bache To those that are in distress.

For he was a friend to every one, To all alike was kind, He was the same to rich and poor, Likewise sick, lame, or blind.

Oh! cruel Fate, what have we done, That this good man should fall, But the die was cast, and the thing is past, And there must be an end to all.

But, hark! a messenger has just arrived, Glad tidings doth he bring, This good man he is still alive, Oh! let us praise the King of kings.

Rejoice, my friends, he better gets, For the Lord has heard our prayer, And He has promised when a few does meet That He always will be there.

But adieu, vain hope, thou art for ever fled, For this good man is no more, For he is now numbered amongst the dead, So adieu, adieu, farewell for evermore.

JOHN BRIMLOW, Winster.

_A Journey into the Peak._

_TO SIR ASTON COKAINE._

Charles Cotton, the "honoured friend" of good old Izaac Walton, and of most of the celebrated men of his day, was born at Beresford Hall, on the banks of his

"----beloved Nymph! fair Dove, Princess of Rivers,"

whose praises he has sung, and whose beauties he has rendered immortal by his pen, and by his fishing-house, dedicated to lovers of the angle. He was the only child of Charles Cotton, Esq., by Olive, daughter of Sir John Stanhope, of Elvaston Castle, near Derby (ancestor of the Earl of Harrington, and of the same family as the Earl of Chesterfield, Earl Stanhope, &c.) He married, first, Isabella, daughter of Sir Thomas Hutchinson, of Owthorpe; and, second, the widowed Countess of Ardglass (daughter of Sir William Russel, of Strensham). He died in 1687.

Charles Cotton was a profuse writer. Among his principal works are the second part of "The Complete Angler," "The Wonders of the Peak," "Virgil Travestie," "Moral Philosophy of the Stoics," "The Planter's Manual," "Life of the Duke of Espernon," "The Commentaries of De Montluc," "The Complete Gamester," "The Fair One of Tunis," "Burlesque upon Burlesque," "Montaigne's Essays," &c., &c. After his death, a collection of "Poems on several Occasions," by Charles Cotton, was published.

The following characteristic lines I here print from the original MS. copy, in my own possession. The volume of manuscript is of the highest interest, and is in the autograph writing of Charles Cotton himself. It is entitled, in his own writing, "Charles Cotton, His Verses," and is in folio, in the old binding with clasps. This volume is described in Sir Harris Nicholas' Life of Cotton, attached to his edition of the Complete Angler. It contains some pieces not printed, and others very different from those in his "Poems on Several Occasions," printed surreptitiously after his death in 1689. The following varies in many parts from the copy printed in the volume alluded to.

S'R, Coming home into this frozen Clime, Grown cold, and almost senselesse, as my rythme, I found, that Winter's bold impetuous rage Prevented time and antidated age: For, in my veins did nought but crystall dwell, Each hair was frozen to an iceicle. My flesh was marble, so that, as I went, I did appear a walking monument. 'T might have been judged, rather than marble, flint, Had there been any spark of fier in't. My mother looking back (to bid good night) Was metamorphos'd, like the Sodomite. Like Sinons horse, our horses were become, And, since they could not go, they slided home. The hills were hard to such a qualitie, So beyond Reason in Philosophie; If Pegasus had kickt at one of those, Homer's Odysses had been writ in prose. These are strange stories, S'r, to you, who sweat Under the warm Sun's comfortable heat; Whose happy seat of Pooley farre outvies The fabled pleasures of blest Paradise. Whose Canaan fills your hous with wyne and oyl, Till't crack with burdens of a fruitful soil. Which hous, if it were plac't above the sphear, Would be a palace fit for Jupiter. The humble chappell for religious Rites, The inner rooms for honest, free delights, And Providence, that these miscarrie, loth, Has plac't the Tower a centinell to both: So that there's nothing wanting to improve Either your pietie, or peace, or love. Without, you have the pleasure of ye woods, Fair plains, sweet meadows, and transparent flouds, With all that's good, and excellent, beside The tempting apples by Euphrates' side. But, that, which does above all these aspire, Is Delphos, brought from Greece to Warwick-shire. But Oh! ungodly Hodge! that valu'd not The saving juice o'th' ænigmaticke pot. Whose charming virtue made mee to forget T'enquire of Fate, else I had stayed there yet. Nor had I then once dar'd to venture on The cutting ayr of this our Freezland zone. But once again, Dear Sir, I mean to come And learn to thank, as to be troublesome.

Another "Journey into the Peak" by Charles Cotton, which is but little known, is the following, which is an admirable specimen of his style. It is entitled an

_Epistle to John Bradshaw, Esq._

From _Porto Nova_ as pale wretches go, To swing on fatal _Tripus_, even so My dearest Friend, I went last day from thee, Whilst for five Miles, the figure of that Tree Was ever in my guilty Fancy's eye, As if in earnest I'd been doom'd to die For, what deserv'd it, so unworthily Stealing so early, _Jack_, away from thee. And that which (as't well might) encreas'd my fear, Was the ill luck of my vile Chariotier, Who drove so nicely too, t'increase my dread, As if his Horses with my vital thread Had Harness'd been, which being, alas! so weak He fear'd might snap, and would not it should break, Till he himself the honour had to do't With one thrice stronger, and my neck to boot. Thus far in hanging posture then I went, (And sting of Conscience is a punishment On Earth they say the greatest, and some tell It is moreo'er the onely one in Hell, The Worm that never dies being alone The thing they call endless Damnation:) But leaving that unto the Wise that made it, And knowing best the Gulf, can best evade it, I'll tell you, that being pass'd through _Highgate_, there I was saluted by the Countrey Air, With such a pleasing Gale, as made me smell The _Peak_ it self; nor is't a Miracle, For all that pass that _Portico_ this way Are _Transontani_, as the Courtiers say; Which suppos'd true, one then may boldly speak, That all of th' North-side _High-gate_ are i'th' _Peak_; And so to hanging when I thought to come, Wak'd from the Dream, I found my self at home.

Wonder not then if I, in such a case So over-joy'd, forgot thee for a space; And but a little space, for, by this light, I thought on thee again ten times e'er night; Though when the night was come, I then indeed Thought all on one of whom I'd greater need: But being now cur'd of that Malady, I'm at full leisure to remember thee, And (which I'm sure you long to know) set forth In Northern Song, my Journey to the North.

Know then with Horses twain, one sound, one lame, On _Sunday's_ Eve I to St. _Alban's_ came, Where, finding by my Body's lusty state I could not hold out home at that slow rate, I found a Coach-man, who, my case bemoaning, With three stout Geldings, and one able Stoning, For eight good Pounds did bravely undertake, Or for my own, or for my Money's sake, Through thick and thin, fall out what could befall, To bring me safe and sound to _Basford[92]-hall_. Which having drank upon, he bid good-night, And (Heaven forgive us) with the Morning's light, Not fearing God, nor his Vice-gerent Constable, We roundly rowling were the Road to _Dunstable_, Which, as they chim'd to Prayers, we trotted through, And 'fore elev'n ten minutes came unto The Town that _Brickhill_ height, where we did rest, And din'd indifferent well both man and beast. 'Twixt two and four to _Stratford_, 'twas well driven, And came to _Tocester_ to lodge at Even Next day we din'd at _Dunchurch_, and did lie That night four miles on our side _Coventry_. _Tuesday_ at Noon at _Lichfield_ Town we baited, But there some friends, who long that hour had waited, So long detain'd me, that my Chariotier Could drive that night but to _Uttoxiter_. And there the _Wedn'sday_, being Market-day, I was constrain'd with some kind Lads to stay Tippling till afternoon, which made it night When from my Hero's Tower I saw the light Of her Flambeaux, and fanci'd as we drave Each rising Hillock was a swelling wave, And that I swimming was in _Neptune'_ spight To my long long'd-for Harbour of delight. And now I'm here set down again in peace, After my troubles, business, Voyages, The same dull Northern clod I was before, Gravely enquiring how Ewes are a Score, How the Hay-Harvest, and the Corn was got, And if or no there's like to be a Rot; Just the same Sot I was e'er I remov'd, Nor by my travel, nor the Court improv'd; The same old fashion'd Squire, no whit refin'd, And shall be wiser when the Devil's blind: But find all here too in the self-same state, And now begin to live at the old rate, To bub old Ale, which nonsense does create, Write leud Epistles, and sometimes translate Old Tales of Tubs, of _Guyenne_, and _Provence_, And keep a clutter with th'old Blades of _France_, As _D'Avenant_ did with those of _Lombardy_, } Which any will receive, but none will buy, } And that has set _H.B._[93] and me awry. } My River still through the same Chanel glides, Clear from the Tumult, Salt, and dirt of Tides, And my poor Fishing-house, my Seat's best grace, Stands firm and faithfull in the self-same place I left it four months since, and ten to one I go a Fishing e'er two days are gone: So that (my Friend) I nothing want but thee To make me happy as I'd wish to be; And sure a day will come I shall be bless'd In his enjoyment whom my heart loves best; Which when it comes will raise me above men Greater than crowned Monarchs are, and then I'll not exchange my Cottage for _White_-hall, _Windsor_, the _Lauvre_, or th' _Escurial_.

FOOTNOTES:

[92] Beresford Hall, Dove Dale, his residence.

[93] "Henry Brome at the Gun in St. Paul's Churchyard," who published many of Cotton's works.

_Hugh Stenson and Molly Green._

The following ballad has not, as far as I am aware, been "in print" before. I here give it from a MS. copy in my own possession. The Duke of Devonshire alluded to in the ballad as having acted so nobly in saving the life of "his countryman," Hugh Stenson, was, I presume, William, fourth Duke of Devonshire, who was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland in 1756.

Then oh, Hugh Stenson is my name, From Ashborne in the Peak I came, And at the age of seventeen I fell in love with Molly Green.

She is a beauty I do declare, She came from Highchurch in Shropshire; She was an angel in my eye, Which caused me from my colours to fly.

Long time I courted her for her love, But she would never constant prove; A thought then I did entertain, To cross the roaring ocean main.

But when I was upon the seas, I could not have one moment's ease; For she was daily in my sigh, Which made me from my colours to fly.

But when I did return again, I went unto this youthful dame, Desiring she would not disdain A bleeding heart and dying swain.

"Stenson," said she, "I pray forbear, I know that you a deserter are, And if my parents come to know, They sure would prove your overthrow."

When I heard she made this reply, I from her arms did swiftly fly, And with a kiss I took my leave, Although I'm bound a captive slave.

At Woolaton near Nottingham I put my trust in a false man, I took him for my friend to be, But he, like Judas, betrayed me.

Then a court marshall there was call'd, And I was brought amongst them all, And for deserting they did me try, And they condemned me for to die.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, it grieved me sore To lay my bones on an Irish shore; One General Pearcey he did cry, "It's by the Law that you must die."

From January to July Upon the boards and stones I did lie, Praying to Heavens both night and day To take this thread of life away.

Oh then bespoke the President, Hoping of me for to repent, "I have done the best for you I can, But O you are a dying man."

Twenty-five days I had to live, And bread and water I did receive; The Clergyman came twice a day, And for my soul did daily pray.

But at that time from England came The Duke of Devonshire by name, Our Lord Lieutenant for to be, And he from death did set me free.

And when this Lord appeared in land, I wrote to him with my own hand, Desiring that his Grace would save A dying mortal from the grave.

But when he looked these lines upon, And saw I was his own countryman, He said, "I'll ease him of his care, And send him home into Derbyshire."

Oh then he gave a strict command For to release me out of hand; A free discharge to me he gave, And so his Grace my life did save.

So whilst I live I'm in duty bound To kneel and pray upon the ground, That when I die without control, Sweet Jesus may receive my soul.

You soldiers all, where e'er you be, And hear of this my misery, I beg you'll warning take by me, And so I end my tragedy. FINIS.

_The Beggar's Ramble._

There are at least three or four different versions of the "Ramble;" or rather I should say there are at least three or four different metrical "Rambles" through Derbyshire, of this character. I give two. The first I reprint from a broad-sheet, and the second from an old MS. copy, both in my own collection. The allusions to places, persons, inns, &c., in the county, are curious and interesting.

Hark ye well, my neighbours all, and pray now can you tell Which is the nearest way unto the Begger's Well? There is Eaton, and Toten, and Brancot on the hill, There's Beggerly Beeston, and lousy Chilwell.

There's Trowel, and there's Cosel, from there to Cimberly Knowl, I would have call'd at Watnall, but I thought it would not do, There's Beaver, and there's Hansley, & so for Perkin Wood, I meant to have call'd at Selson, but there ale is not good.

There's Snelson green, and Pinstone green, and Blackwell old hall, An old place where I had lived I had a mind to call; I got a good refreshment, and something else beside, So turning up the closes, South Normanton I 'spied.

There's Blackwell, and there's Newton, from there to Marrot Moor, There's Tipshall, and there's Hardstaff, where I had been before, I cross o'er Hardstaff Common, from there to Pilsley lane Where once a noted butcher lived, Geo. Holland was his name.

There's Wingfield, and Tupton, from there to the Claycross, From there I went to Chesterfield,--was almost cut to loss, There's Asher, and there's Firbeck, and Stretton on the hill, There's Hickam, and Oakerthorpe, and so for Wiremill.

There's Brankenfield, & Wessenton, from there to Morat Moor, There's Pentrich, and Alfreton, where I had been before, There's Swanick, and Ripley, then to the hillocks I came, From there to Denby Common, for to see old Dolly Green.

There's Denby and Bottlebrook, from there to the Lane ends, From there I went to Horseley, in hopes to meet a friend, So turning down Coxbench, I made a sudden stop, Thinks I I'll up the closes go, for Potters of th' hill top.

In Woodhouse lane, as I've been told, they used to get good coal, And Stansby is a pretty place, and so for the Dob hole, There's the Justice room, and Smalley Bell, likewise the Rose and Crown, And at Morley Smithey, I've been told there lives one Saml. Brown.

There's Morley, and Stansby, and so for Lockey Grange, There's Spondon and Ockbrook, and so for Chaddeson came; There's Ferby, and Breadsall, and so for Alestree, From there to Little Eaton went, George Milward for to see.

There's Duffield down by Derwent side, & Milford, in a line, There's Belper, and there's Shottle, if I can get there in time; There's Turnditch, and Kirk Ireton, and so for Cross-in hand, And when I got to Wardgate, I was almost at a stand.

There's Hollington and Middleton by Youlgrave I've heard tell, There's Bonsal and there's Winster, from and to Bakewell, There's Wardlemire & Uckler, from there to Hoyland came, And when that I did thither get, I began to feel quite lame.

There's Calver, & there's Rowsley, that most delightful place, From there went to Chatsworth, the mansion of his Grace; There's Darley Dale, & Matlock, where I once stopt a week, There's Cromford, & Wirksworth, & Ashbourn in the Peak.

There's Ashbourn Green, & Hognaston, and so for Atlow-win, Then on by Shepherd Folly, and from there to Ginglers' Inn. There's Yeldersly, and Alderwasley, and Langley, and Longford, There's Brailford, and Mugington, and Weston Underwood.

There's Quarndon, and Markeaton, oft times I have heard tell, From there I went to Kedleston, where there is a useful well; And at Windy Mill, I do sure you very pleasant looks, If you will only stop and drink with Honest Puss-in-Boots.

There's Darley by Derby, for that is a shady bower, And Derby is a county town; there's handsome Micklover. There's Litlover, and Mackworth, and so for Etwell I went, Until at last I did arrive at Burton-upon-Trent.

There's Findon, and Repton, and Ashton also, And there's another little place, I think they call Shardlow; There's Elvaston, and Allvaston, I have travelled o'er and o'er, There's wind mills and south mills, and Barrow-upon-Soar.

There's Swarston Bridge and Smalley Bridge, as plain it doth appear, There's Keyworth, and Hathenturns, that lieth very near, There's Sheepshead, and Thingstun, and Whitrick also Across the Sherwood Forest, and from there to Loughborough.

There's Gotham rare for wisdom, and Bunny's rare for game, There's Clifton Grove and Rudington, Wilford down the lane; There's Cropwell, and there's Ratliffe, and Bridgeford on the hill, There's Gunthorpe, and Calthorpe, and Overington Mill.

There's Southwell, and Westhorpe, and Eperston so green, There's Lowtom and Burton Joice, and Bulcott lies between, There's Lambley, and Woodborough, from there to Calverton, And there's a place at Arnold, they call it Foxen Den.

There's Redhill and Maperly hills, from there to Thornywood, Where once a noted robber lived, his name was Robin Hood; There's Gedling, and Carlton, as plainly it does appear, There's Keyworth, and Hatherturns, that lieth very near.

There's Lenton, and Radford, and so for Bobber's Mill, There's Hyson Green, and Basford, and so for Sinder hill; There's Broxter, and there's Nuttel, and Greasley lieth nigh, There's Giltbrook, and Newthorpe, from there to Beggerley.

There's Moregreen and Nether Green, where lives a man of sport, And Eastwood is a pretty place of trade and resort; And at Langley Mill I stopt a while, to see a noble fight, And when I came to Brunsley Gin, thinks I I'll light my pipe.

There's Oldacre and Bentley, and so for the lime kilns, There's Woodend, and Heaner, and famous Tag Hill, There's Lee lane, and Marpole, where lives one Mr. Clay, There's Shipley, and Shipley wood, and so for Cotnermay.

And there's another little place, if I am not mistaken, I think some people call it Mapley by name, There's Little Hallam, and Hilson, and so for Gallows Inn, And when I came to Sandacre I was looken very thin.

There's Stapleford, and Risley, and Dracott also, At last I came to Breaston, where I wish'd for long ago, So I hope these lines which I have wrote no one they will offend, For at every door there stands a whore, at Leak Town end.

_The Beggar's Ramble._

Come hark you well, my masters, pray can you me tell Which is the nearest road unto the beggar's wells? There's Shoobottams of Womfords, and Bessicks in the Flash, There's ropemakers of Mansfield, and Dales of bordbast.

There's Sigsmore and Staysmore, and Clackmore so rough, There's Winster and Cotsworth, and merry Locksclough; There's Longnor and Buxton, and outerside the shade, From thence you may go to Leechurch[94] and call at the west gaites.

There's Caldon and Caulton, there's the waterfall and grinn, And these are four of the foulest places that ever man was in; There's Haymore by Ashbourn, and then to the Peak Hills, For Wool and Lead is the chiefest thing that the country yields.

There's Oaker[95] Hall and Blesford Hall,[96] and Mappleton in the sands, There's Thorpe Cloud and Bentley, and at Tissington lies good land; There's Parrich[97] and Braston,[98] there's Bradburn and Wet Wilnn,[99] There's Hopton and Carsdale, Park Nook and Pusses Inn.[100]

There's Middleton and Cromford, and so to Gosley bank, And if you taste of Wirksworth ale it's sure to make you drunk; There's Hognaston and Atlow, and Atlor in the fall, And from thence you may go to Bradley, and there's a pretty hall.

There's Marston and Mugginton and Allestree and Quarn, And in that pretty country there does grow good corn; There's Donington and Diseworth, and Breedon-on-the-Hill, And from thence you go to Newton, and so to the King's Mills.

There's Mackworth and Marton,[101] and so to the Nun's Green, There's Harehill and Hogdeston, a little way between; There's Longford and Mammaton, and so to Harton forge, And from thence you may go to Tidbury,[102] and in at the old George.

There's Foston and Roston, and so to Darley moor, There's Yeavely and Radgley, and thence you may be sure For why I did ramble to the far end of the town, And there's a pretty landlady that keeps the Rose and Crown.

At Ellaston and Wooton, and at Stanton there's good ale, And from thence you may go to Swinsor and Pantons in the Dale; There's Crumpwood and Prestwood, and Rosemary hill, There's Wotten Lodge and Alton Lodge, and so on to the Wire Mill.

There's Alton and Farley, and Rempstone so high, There's Cheadle and Oakamoor is a little hard by; There's Quicksall and Rosley[103] and Camebridge beyond, And from thence you may go to Utcetter,[104] and there lies good land.

There's Eaton and Crapnidge and Perwolt in the clay, There's Stramshall and Bramshall and merry Loxley, There's Overton and Netherton, and Bramest and Fole, There's Leechurch and Park Hall, and Checkley-in-the-hole.

There's Dubberidge and Blyfield, and so to Coloten Green, There's Boslem[105] and Handley[106] green a little way between, For potmen and great carriers they bear the bell away, But the old stock of Borleyash is quite gone to decay.

FOOTNOTES:

[94] Query Ludchurch.

[95] Okeover Hall.

[96] Brailsford.

[97] Parwich.

[98] Brassington.

[99] Wilne.

[100] "Puss-in-boots" at Windley.

[101] Markeaton.

[102] Tutbury.

[103] Rodsley.

[104] Uttoxeter.

[105] Burslem.

[106] Hanley.

_Henry and Clara._

_A PEAK BALLAD._

In the middle of last century as brutal and cold-blooded a murder as ever disgraced the annals of this kingdom was perpetrated in the Winnats (a corruption of "wind gates") at Castleton, the victims being a young gentleman and lady of "gentle," if not of "noble," blood, on their wedding-day, and the murderers being five miners of the place. The following ballad, the production, in his early days, of my late brother, the Rev. Arthur George Jewitt,[107] was printed by him in his "_Wanderings of Memory_," in 1815. The following explanatory note appears in "_Wanderings of Memory_:"--

"In the year 1768,[108] a young gentleman and lady, each mounted on a fine horse, but unattended by any servants, had been up to the Chapel of Peak Forest to be married, (as being extra-parochial, the Vicar at that time exercised the same privilege as the parson of Gretna Green, and married any couple that came to him, without making any impertinent enquiries concerning them,) and on their return, wishing to take Castleton in their way home, and being strangers in the country, found themselves benighted at the Winnats." "Here they were seized by five miners, dragged into a barn, robbed of a great sum of money, and then murdered. In vain the lady sought them to spare her husband; vainly he strove to defend his wife. While one part of them were employed in cutting the gentleman's throat, another of the villains, stepping behind the lady, struck a pick-axe into her head, which instantly killed her. Their horses were found, some days after, with their saddles and bridles still on them, in that great waste called Peak Forest; and Eldon Hole was examined for their riders, but without effect. They were then taken to Chatsworth, (the Duke of Devonshire being Lord of the Manor,) and ran there as '_waifs_,' but never were claimed, and it is said the saddles are yet preserved there. This murder, thus perpetrated in silence, though committed by so large a company, remained a secret till the death of the last of the murderers; but Heaven, ever watchful to punish such horrid wretches, rendered the fate of all the five singularly awful. One, named Nicholas Cock, fell down one of the Winnats, and was killed on the spot. John Bradshaw, another of the murderers, was crushed to death by a stone which fell upon him near the place where the poor victims were buried. A third, named Thomas Hall, became a suicide; a fourth, Francis Butler, after many attempts to destroy himself, died raging mad; and the fifth, after experiencing all the torments of remorse and despair which an ill-spent life can inflict on a sinner's death-bed, could not expire till he had disclosed the particulars of the horrid deed."

Christians, to my tragic ditty Deign to lend a patient ear, If your breasts e'er heav'd with pity, Now prepare to shed a tear.

Once there lived a tender virgin, Virtuous, fair, and young was she, Daughter of a wealthy lordling, But a haughty man was he.

Many suitors, rich and mighty, For this beauteous damsel strove, But she all their offers slighted, None could wake her soul to love.

One alone, of manners noble, Yet with slender fortune blessed, Caus'd this lady's bosom trouble, Raised the flame within her breast.

Mutual was the blissful passion, Stronger and stronger still it grew; Henry liv'd but for his Clara, Clara but her Henry knew.

But, alas! their bliss how transient, Earthly joy but leads to care: Henry sought her haughty parent And implor'd his daughter fair--

Dar'd to ask the wealthy lordling, For the damsel's willing hand,-- Pleaded with respectful fervour, Who could his request withstand?

Clara's father,--he withstood it, He the ardent suit denied,-- To a house so poor, though noble, Never would he be allied.

Bade him seek a love more equal, Banish Clara from his mind, For he should no more behold her,-- She,--poor maid, he close confin'd.

Hapless Henry, thus rejected, Lost, unfriended, and forlorn, Wretched, sad, by all neglected, His fond heart with anguish torn.

Then, to crown his bosom's sorrow, News was whisper'd in his ear, Clara on the coming morrow, Would a lordling's bride appear.

Wild, distracted, mad with phrenzy, To the father's house he flew, There determin'd to behold her, And to breathe his last adieu.

Joyous on the nuptial even, Round the sparkling festal board, With a crowd of guests carousing, Sat this rich and haughty lord.

Left a moment unattended, Clara soon that moment seiz'd, First to heav'n her sire commended, Then fled from home, tho' weeping, pleas'd.

Henry gain'd the castle portal, A footstep Clara's fears alarm'd; She stops,--she lists,--they came,--fast panting, Henry caught her in his arms.

Now no time for fond endearments, Swift on wings of love they fled; Till from father's house far distant, Father's frowns no more they dread.

Then before the sacred altar, They in wedlock join'd their hands: Long their souls had been united In indissoluble bands.

Now with virtuous rapture burning, Whilst fond hope encreas'd the flame; Tow'rds their home again returning, To this lonesome place they came.

Christian, shall I close my story? Words can never tell the tale;-- To relate a scene so bloody, All the pow'rs of language fail.

In that glen so dark and dismal, Five ruffians met this youthful pair; Long the lover bravely struggled, Fought to save his bride so fair.

But at last, o'erpowr'd and breathless, Faint he sinks beneath their pow'r: Joyful shouts the demon Murder, In this gloomy midnight hour.

Bids them not to rest with plunder, But their souls with rage inspires, All their dark and flinty bosoms, With infernal malice fires.

High they lift the murd'rous weapon, Wretches, hear ye not her cries? High they lift the murd'rous weapon? Lo! her love, her husband dies!

Rocks, why stood ye so unmoved? Earth, why op'dst thou not thy womb? Lightnings, tempests, did ye slumber? Scap'd these hell-hounds instant doom?

High they lift the murd'rous weapon, Who can 'bide her piercing shriek? 'Tis done----the dale is wrapt in silence, On their hands her life-blood reeks.

Dark and darker grows the welkin, Through the dale the whirlwind howls; On its head the black cloud low'ring, Threat'ning now, the grey rock scowls.

Conscience, where are now thine arrows? Does the murd'rer feel the smart? Death and Grave, where are your terrors? Written in the murd'rer's heart.

Yes, he sees their ghastly spectres Ever rising on his view; Eyes wide glaring,--face distorted, Quiv'ring lips of livid hue.

Ever sees the life-blood flowing, Ever feels the reeking stream, Ever hears _his_ last weak groaning, Mingled with _her_ dying scream.

Christians, I have told my ditty, If you shudder not with fear, If your breasts can glow with pity, Can you now withhold a tear?

FOOTNOTES:

[107] The Rev. A. G. Jewitt, who was the author of several well-known works, was born at Chesterfield in 1794, and died in 1828.

[108] Another account says 1758.

_The Gipsies' Song._

For the following curious old Derbyshire song I am indebted to my good friend James Orchard Halliwell, F.S.A. It occurs in Playford's "Musical Companion," printed in 1673, and has not, so far as I am aware, been reprinted till now. "Honest John Playford," who was a printer as well as clerk of the Temple Church, London, published several of the most famous music-books of his day, and which at the present time are of the most service of any in determining the dates and names of tunes to which the old ballads, &c., were sung. In 1651 he published "A Musical Banquet, in three books, consisting of Lessons for the Lyra Viol, Allmains, and Sarabands, choice Catches and Rounds, &c.;" and again with the title, "A Banquet of Musick, set forth in three several varieties of Musick: first, Lessons for the Lyra Violl; the second, Ayres and Jiggs for the Violin; the third, Rounds and Catches: all which are fitted to the capacity of young practitioners in Music." Among his many other publications, his most famous was "The English Dancing Master, or Plaine and Easie Rules for the Dancing of Country Dances, with the Tune to each Dance," which passed through many editions, with additional tunes, &c. The "Musical Companion" was first published in 1673, and from this edition the following "Gipsies Song" and music are taken. The work contained two hundred and eighteen compositions, of which one hundred and forty-three were catches and rounds, and the remainder glees, airs, part-songs, &c. This work was highly popular, and between the years 1673 and 1730 it passed through ten editions.

The "Gipsies' Song" here given was for two voices, and was composed by Robert Johnson.

[Music:

A. 2. _Voc._ (The Gipsies' Song.) _Cantus._ _Rob. Johnson._

From the fam-ous Peak of _Dar-by_, and the De- vil's A--that's hard by; where we year-ly make our mus-ters; There the _Gyp-sies_ throng in clus-ters. Be not fright-ed with our fashion, though we seem a tatter'd Na-tion; We account our Raggs our Rich-es, so our tricks ex-ceed our stitches: Give us Ba-con, Rinds of Wal-nuts, Shells of Cockels and of Small Nuts: Ribonds, Bells, and Saffron Lin-nin; And all the World is ours to win in.]

_THE_

_Flax-Dresser's Wife of Spondon,_

_AND THE POUND OF TEA._

The following ballad, recounting the droll mistake made by a woman at Spondon, near Derby, who thought _green_ tea was to be boiled as _greens_, and eaten accordingly as "cabbage and bacon," was printed in the "spirit of English wit," in 1809. It tells its own tale. It may be well to remark that flax was, some years ago, much grown in this part of Derbyshire: some meadows at Duffield through which the turnpike road passes, are still known by the name of _Flax-holmes_.

'Twas more than fifty years ago, In Spondon's simple village, Spondon, in Derbyshire, I trow, Well known for useful tillage.

There dwelt a pair of simple souls-- The husband a flax-dresser; His wife dressed victuals for his jowls, And darn'd his hose--God bless her.

Now these poor folks had got a friend, Who dwelt in London city; And oft some present he would send To John and dame, in pity.

Now, reader, if you'll backwards turn, And read this tale's beginning, Full half-a-century you'll learn This story has been spinning.

Now near that time, you must be told, Tea first came into fashion; Tea, which oft made a husband scold, And bounce about in passion.

At least, 'mongst those of middling life It made a hideous riot; To have a gay tea-drinking wife, A man could ne'er be quiet.

'Twas thought as bad as now, I ween,-- A sin since then grown bigger,-- Were a man's wife, by guzzling gin, To cut a reeling figure.

But London, who drank tea the first, Grew reconcil'd unto it; And, though 'twas thought of crimes the worst, The ladies still would do it.

Now, reader, the flax-dresser's friend (The flax-dresser of Spondon) Thought a good pound of tea he'd send To please them both from London.

But he forgot, good man, I trow, That in this favoured nation, Good things, or bad, still travel slow, Like cow-inoculation.

Nor ever dreamt, you may believe, That they had no more notion What was the gift they did receive, Than of the Western Ocean.

So when it came, long ponder'd they How 'twas to be devour'd; They wish'd he'd sent some hint to say, For they were quite o'erpower'd.

At length, right well they both agreed 'Twere best it should be taken, By way of greens, when next they'd need, With some of their fat bacon.

Next day arrived, the flax-man's wife Set on her sauce-pan flattish, Popp'd in the tea, then took a knife And cut some bacon fattish.

The bacon soon enough was done, But still the tea, so evil, Kept very tough--the clock struck One; She wish'd it at the devil.

For at the hour of noon each day, These humble friends of labour Took their plain meal--nor only they, For so did every neighbour.

Finding it hard, though tasted oft, She bawl'd out like a sinner, "This cursed stuff will ne'er be soft, So, John! come down to dinner."

_The Ashborne Foot-Ball Song._

On page 118 I have spoken of the game of foot-ball as played at Derby. Ashborne was also one of the strongholds of this manly game, and in that pleasant little town it has been played from time immemorial, until "put down" by the strong arm of the law--not without much unpleasantness and strenuous opposition--a few years ago. The following song was sung (and I believe written) by Mr. Fawcett, the comedian, at the Ashborne theatre, on the 26th of February, 1821.

I'll sing you a song of a neat little place, Top full of good humour and beauty and grace; Where coaches are rolling by day and by night, And in playing at Foot-Ball the people delight. Where health and good humour does always abound, And hospitality's cup flows freely around, Where friendship and harmony are to be found, In the neat little town of Ashborne.

Shrove Tuesday, you know, is always the day, When pancake's the prelude, and Foot-Ball's the play, Where upwards and downwards men ready for fun, Like the French at the Battle of Waterloo run. And well may they run like the devil to pay, 'Tis always the case as I have heard say, If a Derbyshire Foot-Ball man comes in the way, In the neat little town of Ashborne.

There's Mappleton, Mayfield, Okeover and Thorpe, Can furnish some men that nothing can whop, And Bentley and Tissington always in tune, And Clifton and Sturston are ready as soon. Then there's Snelston and Wyaston, Shirley and all, Who all are good men at brave Whittaker's call; And who come to kick at Paul Gettliffe's Foot-Ball, In the neat little town of Ashborne.

The Ball is turn'd up, and the Bull Ring's the place, And as fierce as a bull-dog's is every man's face; Whilst kicking and shouting and howling they run, Until every stitch in the Ball comes undone. There's Faulkner and Smith, Bodge Hand and some more, Who hide it and hug it and kick it so sore, And deserve a good whopping at every man's door In the neat little town of Ashborne.

If they get to the Park the upwards men shout And think all the downwards men put to the rout, But a right about face they soon have to learn, And the upwards men shout and huzza in their turn. Then into Shaw Croft where the bold and the brave, Get a ducking in trying the Foot-Ball to save; For 'tis well known they fear not a watery grave, In defence of the Foot-Ball at Ashborne.

If into Church Street should the Ball take its way, The White Hart and Wheat Sheaf will cause some delay, For from tasting their liquor no man can refrain, Till he rolls like the Foot-Ball in Warin's tear-brain. Then they run and they shout, they bawl and they laugh, They kick and huzza, still the liquor they quaff Till another Foot-Ball has been cut into half, By the unfair players of Ashborne.

_The Parsons Torr._

The following admirable ballad, the production of the Rev. W. R. Bell, formerly curate of Bakewell, is founded partly on _facts_, and partly on _local traditions_. The unfortunate hero of the story was the Rev. Robert Lomas, Incumbent of Monyash, who was found dead, as described in the ballad, on the 12th of October, 1776. The scene of the ballad comprises the towns of Bakewell and Monyash, and the mountainous country between them, the western part of which--that bordering on Lathkiln and Harlow Dales--being one of the most romantic districts of the Peak. The ballad first appeared in the "Reliquary," in 1864.

The Parson of Monyash, late one eve, Sat in his old oak arm-chair; And a playful flame in the low turf fire Oft-times shewed him sitting there.

What was it that made that kind-hearted man Sit pensively there alone? Did other men's sorrows make sad his heart? Or, say--a glimpse of his own?

Black dark was that night and stormy withal, It rained as 'twould rain a sea; And round and within the old Parsonage house The wind moaned piteously.

Still sat he deep musing till midnight hour, And then in a waking dream-- He quailed to hear mid the tempest a crash, And eke a wild piercing scream.

O mercy! cried he, with faltering breath, What sounds are these which I hear? May evil be far from both me and mine! Good Lord, be thou to us near!

No longer sat he in that old arm-chair, But prayed and lay down in bed; And strove hard to sleep, and not hear the storm That scowled and raged o'er his head.

But sleep seldom comes when 'tis most desired, And least to a troubled mind; And the Parson lay wake long time, I ween, Ere soft repose he could find.

As the dark hours of night passed slowly on, He slept as weary man will; But light was his sleep, and broken his rest, And sad his fore-dread of ill.

Thus restless he lay, and at early dawn He dream'd that he fell amain, Down--down an abyss of fathomless depth, Loud shrieking for help in vain.

He woke up at once with a sudden shock, And threw out his arms wide-spread; "Good heavens!" he gasped, "what ill-omen is this? Where am I--with quick or dead?"

Right well was he pleased to find 'twas a dream-- That still he was safe and sound: With the last shades of night, fear passed away, And joy once again came round.

The morning was calm, and the storm was hushed, Nor wind nor rain swept the sky; And betimes he arose, for bound was he To Bakewell that day to hie.

Old Hugh brought his horse to the garden gate, And saw him all safe astride; "Good-bye!" quoth the Parson; quoth Hugh, "good-bye! I wish you a pleasant ride!"

Forth rode he across the lone trackless moor, His thoughts on his errand bent And hoped he right soon to come back again The very same way he went.

The journey to Bakewell he safely made A little before mid-day: But Vicar and people were all at church,[109] Where they were oft wont to pray.

"I'll put up my beast," quoth the Parson, "here, At the White Horse hostelry;[110] And go up to Church, that when prayers are done, The Vicar I there may see."

But ere he could reach the Old Newark door,[111] Both Priest and people were gone; And the Vicar to soothe a dying man, To Over-Haddon sped on.

'Twas three past noon when the Vicar came back, The Parson he asked to dine, And time stole a march on the heedless guest, Six struck as he sat at wine.

Up rose he from table and took his leave, Quite startled to find it late; He called for his horse at the hostelry, And homeward was soon agate.

As he rode up the hill, past All Saints' Church, The moon just one glance bestowed, And the wierd-like form of the old Stone Cross, In the Church-yard, dimly shewed.

Still higher and higher he climbed the hill, Yet more and more dark it grew; The drizzling rain became sleet as he climbed, And the wind more keenly blew.

Ah! thick was the mist on the moor that night, Poor wight, he had lost his way! The north-east wind blowing strong on his right, To the left had made him stray.

And now he was close to lone Haddon Grove, Bewildered upon the moor; Slow leading his horse that followed behind, Himself groping on before.

Still onward and leeward, at last he came To the edge of Harlow Dale; From his cave[112] the Lathkil a warning roared, But louder then howled the gale.

On the brink of Fox Torr the doomed man stood, And tugged the bridle in vain; His horse would not move--then quick started back, And, snap, went each bridle-rein!

Then headlong fell he o'er the lofty cliff, He shrieked, and sank in the gloom; Down--down to the bottom he swiftly sped, And death was his dreadful doom.

The dead man lay cold on the blood-stained rocks-- The darkness did him enshroud;-- And the owls high up in the ivy-clad Torr, Bewailed him all night full loud.

O little thought they in the old thatched cot, Hard by the Parsonage gate; Their master they never again should see, Nor ope to him soon nor late!

"This night is no better than last," quoth Hugh, "And master has not come back; I hope he is hale and safe housed with friends, And has of good cheer no lack."

Quoth Betty, "I liked not his morning ride-- I fear he's in evil plight-- A Friday's venture's, no luck! I've heard say, God help him if out this night."

At dawn of next day, old Betty went forth To milk the cow in the shed;-- And saw him sitting upon a large stone, All pale, and mute--with bare head.

But a moment she turned her eyes away, A fall she heard and a groan; She looked again, but, no Parson was there, He'd vanished from off the stone!

Soon spread the dread tale through Monyash town-- They made a great hue and cry; And some off to this place--and some to that, To seek the lost man did hie.

Bad tidings from Bakewell--no Parson there-- No parson could else be found; 'Twas noon, yet no tidings--they still searched on, And missed they no likely ground.

At last the searchers went into the Dale, And there at the foot of Fox Torr-- They found the Parson, all cold and dead, 'Mong the rocks all stained with gore.

They took up his corse--and six stalwart men, Slowly bore it along the Dale; And they laid the dead in his house that night, And many did him bewail.

When time had passed over--a day or twain, They buried him in the grave; And his bones now rest in the lone Churchyard, Till doomsday them thence shall crave.

O dread was the death of that luckless man-- Not soon will it be forgot; The dismal story--for ages to come-- Will often be told, I wot.

You may not now see in Monyash town The deadman's sear tuft of grass; But still it is there, in memory stored, And thence it never shall pass.

You may not now find Fox Torr by that name, The swain thus knows it no more; But pointing thereat from the Lathkil grot, He'll shew you the Parson's Torr.

And now, my dear friends, what more need I say? I've told you the story through:-- If you've in the least been pleased with my song, Then I am well-pleased with you.

FOOTNOTES:

[109] At the _Friday_ morning service.

[110] Now called the _Rutland Arms_.

[111] The door in the south transept, locally called the _Newark_ door.

[112] The river Lathkil issues from a cavern in the limestone rock, directly opposite the Parson's Torr.

INDEX.

[** asterism]In the following Index the titles of the Ballads are given in SMALL CAPITALS, and the first lines in _italics_.

A BALLAD OF DERBYSHIRE, 7

A DAY IN THE WOODLANDS, 237

A JOURNEY INTO THE PEAK, 257, 259

A NEW SONG ON THE GREAT FOOT-RACE AT DERBY, 252

A PEAK BALLAD, 274

A POEM FOUND BY MR. * * * AND DEDICATED TO MAJOR TROWELL, 190

A RHAPSODY ON THE PEAK OF DERBYSHIRE, 248

A STRANGE BANQUET, OR THE DEVIL'S ENTERTAINMENT BY COOK LAUREL AT THE PEAK IN DERBYSHIRE, 125

Abington, 180

Adam Bell, 75

ADDRESS TO "DICKIE," 226

Agincourt, Battle of, et seq., 8

AGRICULTURAL MEETING, 160

Alderwasley, 269

Ale, Derby, 11, 129, 142

---- Cakes and, 60

Aldermary Church Yard, 1

"_All you that delight in merriment_," 119

Allestree, 268, 273

ALL SAINTS' CHURCH, DERBY, 206

Alfreton, 267

Alvaston, 269

Allan-a-Dale, 100

Alroes, Lord, 52

Alton Towers, 134, 135, 273

Alton Lodge, 273

Amber, 151

AN ADDRESS TO "DICKIE," 226

"Angler, Complete," 257

AN ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE GREATEST GENTRY IN DARLEY DALLE, 146

Anne, St. Well, 10

ANTHONY BABINGTON'S COMPLAINTE, 164

Ap. Thomas, Sir Rees, 45, 49, 52

Arabella Stuart, 222

Archer's Wall, 102

Ardglass, Countess of, 257

Arnold, 270

"_As I sat musing by the fire_", 255

"_As our king lay musing in his bed_," 2, 3, 4

"_As I was going to Darby, Sir_," 115

"_Arthur a Bradley_," 83

"_As I on Oker Hill one day did stand_," 147

"_As I to Ireland did pass_," 223

Ashborne, 6, 83, 132, 133, 135, 263, et seq., 269, 272, 284-286

ASHBORNE FOOT-BALL SONG, 284

Ashborne Inns, 286

-------- bull-ring, 285

-------- "tear brain," 286

-------- theatre, 284

Ashop, river, 237

Ashopton, 237, 238, 242

Ashford-in-the-Water, 130, 255

Ashmole, Elias, 92

--------------- autograph, 292

Ashover, 146, 152, 239 et seq., 267

Ashton, 269

ASHUPTON GARLAND, 237

Atlow, 269, 272

"_Attend, ye jolly gardeners_", 184

"_At length my wandering feet have brought_," 243

Audley End, 11

Autograph, Anthony Babington, 165

---------- Arabella Stuart, 222

---------- Elias Ashmole, 92

Aurora Borealis, ballad on, 64

Axe Edge, 143, 245

Ayscough, William, 65

Babington family, 151, 164-181

Babington, Antony, Complainte, 164

Bakewell, 66, 130, 131, 245, 268, 286, et seq.

BALLAD OF DERBYSHIRE, 7

--------- Hero Robin Hood, 73

Bage, 148

Baske, 148

Ballard, 175

Bank Hall, 142, 143

Banks, Sir Joseph, 152

Bannard, James, 243, 246

Barking Barbers, 199

Barnwell, 175

Barrow-upon-Soar, 269

BACHELORS OF DARBY, THE UNCONSCIONABLE, 58

Basford, 270

Bath, 157

Ballad, a Peak, HENRY AND CLARA, 274

Bateman, Thomas, 12, 129

Bath, 8

Beggars' Well, 266

Beeston, 267

Beaumaris, 25

BEGGAR'S RAMBLE, 266

BEGGAR'S WELLS, 176

Beggarley, 270

Bellamy, 176

Bell, Adam, 75

Belper, 268

Bellman of London, 126

Belvoir, 267

Bennett, William, 67, 96, 230

Beresford Hall, 257, 261

Bessy, Song of the Lady, 12

Begrammes Abbey, 39, 43

Bessel, J., (Printer,) 61

Bentley, 271

Bell, Rev. W. R., 286

Bessick, 271

BEGGAR'S RAMBLE, THE, 271

Birchover, 147

Blackwell, 267

Blakely Oldhurst, 134

BLINK-EYED COBBLER, 119

BLUE'S VALOUR DISPLAYED, 129

Blesford Hall, 272

Blyfield, 274

Bonner, Sir William, 46

Boothby, ----------- 7, 135

Boyce, Dr., 209

Bottle Brook, 268

Bolt Edge Moor, 232

Bosworth Field, 47, 48

Bolesworth field, 47, 48

Bonsall, 268

Boar, Blue, 49, 75

Bow Lane, 1

Bow, wow, wow, 199

Bowden, 231, 233

Bood, 142

Borleyash, 274

Broxter, 270

Brailsford, 261

Brown, Samuel, 268

Bridgeford, 270

Breadsall, 268

Bramcote, 267

Bradford, 135

Brickhill, 261

Brackenbury, 14, et seq.

Browne, 134

Brierlow, 245

Brereton, Humphry, 12, et seq.

BRADSHAW, EPISTLE TO JOHN, 258

Brimlow, John, 255, 256

Brome, Henry, 263

Bromefield, 13

Brightside, 153

Bradley, 272

_Bradley, Arthur A'_, 83

Brunsley Gin, 271

Breaston, 271

Brailsford Hall, 272

Braston, 272

Brassington, 272

Bradburn, 272

Breedon on the Hill, 273

Bramshall, 274

Bramest, 274

Butler, 275

Bradshaw, 275

Bull, 74, 75, 79-81

Bullets, 10

Buxton, 8, 66, 68, 96-103, 227, 228, 243, 244, 272

------ Advertiser, 228

BUCKSTONE, LAY OF THE, 96

Buckingham, 30

Bulcote, 270

"Burlesque upon Burlesque," 257

Burning in a Tun, 17

Burton-on-Trent, 269

Burton Joyce, 270

Bull-running, 73, 74, 79, 80, 81

BUTCHER, DRUNKEN, OF TIDESWELL, 66

Burslem, 274

Calverton, 270

Calton family, 148

Carlton, 276

Calton, 148

Calthorpe, 270

Castle Naze works, 142

Cakes and ale, 60

Calver, 269

Callcott, 115, 269

CAT, WHITTINGTON AND HIS, 103

Cat and Fiddle, 245

Cambridge, Duke of, 2, 273

---------- 7, 255, 273

Castleton, 68, 92, 125-129, 274, 275, 280

---------- a strange banquet at, 125, 230

Cards, game at, for a kingdom, 64

Candles, 23

Cap of maintenance, 128

Carnarvon, 25

"Cavalier," 67

Cavendish, Sir William, 222

---------- Elizabeth, Countess of, 222

Caldon, 272

Caulton, 272

Carsdale, 272

Cecil, 222

Celestial bard, 193

Chappell, W., 3, 62, 110

Chapel-en-le-Frith, 62, 68, 69, 97, 102, 142, 143, 204, 226, 231

Chamber Knoll, 71

Charcoal, 23

Chatsworth, 11, 222, 269, 275

Chaddesden, 268

Cheadle, 273

Checkley in the Hole, 274

Cheetham, Library, 1

Chester, Ranulph, Earl of, 236

Cheshire, 5, 13 et seq., 39, 40, 56, 58, 230

Chesterfield, 104, 267

------------- Earl of, 257

Chee Tor, 245

Cheetham Hill, 230

Chester, West, 26

Chevy Chace, 196

Chilwell, 267

Chirk Land, 13

Choir of All Saints' Church, 206

"_Christians, to my tragic ditty_," 274

---------- thunder at, 274, 275

Cider, 60

Cinder Hills, 270

CLARA, HENRY AND, 274

Claret, 11

Clay Cross, 267

Clarence, Duke of, 14, et seq.

Clifton, 285

Clifton Grove, 270

Clim of the Clough, 75, 100

Clorinda (Maid Marian), 74 et seq.

Clough, Clim of the, 75, 100

Clowdeslee, William of, 75, 100

COBLER, THE BLINK-EYED, 119

COCK TAIL REEL, 153

Cock Lorel, or Cook Laurel, 125

Comical Scotch dialogue, 64

Coke family, 135, 137, et seq., 187 to 203

Cokain, Sir Aston, notice of, 6, 7

------- Ballad of Derbyshire, 6

------- Poems, 7

------- portrait of, 7

------- Journey into the Peak, 257

Cokain, Thomas, 6, 7

Coke, Daniel Parker, 187--

COOK LAUREL'S ENTERTAINMENT TO THE DEVIL, 125

------------- note, 126

Cook, Eliza, 246

Cook, 275

"_Cook Laurel would have the Devil his guest_," 126

Colepepper Col., 55

Coloton Green, 274

Collyer, J. Payne, 179

Colvile, C. R., 161

Collumbell, 149

"Complete Gamester," 257

"Commentaries of De Montlac," 257

COMPLAINTE OF ANTHONIE BABINGTON, 164

Combs Moss, 97, 102

"_Come lasses and lads_," 61

"_Come all you gallant lasses of courage stout and bold_," 129

"_Come gather round and form a throng_," 160

"Complete Angler," 257, et seq.

"_Come hark you well, my masters, pray can you me tell_," 271

"_Coming home into this frozen clime_," 258

Congleton, 143

Cooper, W. Durant, 164

Coopland, 24

Cosel, 267

Cottage of Content, 243

Cotnermay, 271

Cotton, Charles, 7, 257-263

---------------- Journey into the Peak, 257

---------------- Epistle to John Bradshaw, 259

---------------- list of his works, 257

---------------- MS. poems, 257

---------------- Poems on Several Occasions, 257

---------------- life of, 257

---------------- Complete Angler, 257

Coventry, 262

Coventry, 75

Cowley, 169

Coxbench, 268

Crapnidge, 274

Crich, 152, 162

Cromford, 269, 272

Crompton, John Bell, 162

Croome, 245

Cropwell, 270

Cross-o'th-hands, 268

Crumpswood, 273

Cubley, 207

Dakin, 152

Dale, 271

DANBY, LORD, DEVONSHIRE'S NOBLE DUEL WITH, 55

Darnall Park, 25

Darley, 273

Darley Abbey, 269

DARLEY DALE, ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE GREATEST GENTRY, 146

------------ 269

Date Obelum Belisario, 199

DEATH OF REV. BACHE THORNHILL, 255

Deaf Stone, 11

"_Dear Polyhymnie be_," 7

"_Declare, O Muse, what demon 'twas_," 111

Deincourt, 210

Delamere forest, 13, et seq.

-------- Lord, 55, et seq.

Delaware, Lord, 58

Deloney, Thomas, 179

Denby, 268

Derby, Earl of, 8, 12, et seq.

Derby, 6, 7, 115, et seq., 269

DERBY RAM, 115

Derby, 182, 183, 280, 281

Derby, Agricultural Meeting, 160

------ Nun's Green, Songs on, 187--

DERBY BLUES, 129, 184

DERBY HERO, 249

Derby hills, 1, 243

----- ale, 11, 129

----- UNCONSCIONABLE BACHELORS OF, 58

----- lasses of, 58

----- races, 118

----- FLORIST'S SONG, 206

Derbyshire Volunteers, 2, 131

---------- Militia, 115, 182, 192

DERBYSHIRE, A BALLAD OF, 6

DERBYSHIRE, NEW BALLAD OF ROBIN HOOD, 73

DERBYSHIRE MILLER, 110

DERBYSHIRE MEN, 145

DERBYSHIRE MILITIA, SONG IN PRAISE OF, 182

DERBYSHIRE HILLS, 243

DERBYSHIRE DALES, 246

DERBYSHIRE, A RHAPSODY ON, 248

Derrick, Samuel, 157

Derwent, river, 8, 237, 241, 268

-------- village, 237

Derwentwater, Lord, 55

Dethick, 151, 164-181

DEVONSHIRE'S NOBLE DUEL, 55

---------- Duke of, 55, et seq., 157, 183, 263, 265, 275

---------- Long-Arm'd Duke, 55

---------- Duchess of, 57

---------- Yorkshire Pie, 157

Diamond Hill, 245

Dibden, 198

Dicey, W., 74

Dick Whittington, 103

Dickie of Tunstead, 226

"DICKIE," AN ADDRESS TO, 226

Diseworth, 273

Dixon, H., 1

Donnington, 273

Dob Holes, 268

Doctor Double Ale, 126

Dove, river, 247

Doveridge, 83, 274

Dove Dale, 247, 257, et seq.

---- river, 257 et seq.

Doune, 7

Draycott, 271

Drawn with wild horses, 17

Drayton, 7

Draycott, Philip, 170

DRIVING OF THE DEER, 230

Dronfield, 153

DRUNKEN BUTCHER OF TIDESWELL, 66

Duckinfield, 230

Dudley, W., 207

------- S., 207

Duel, Devonshire's noble, 55

Duffield, 268, 281

Dunstable, 261

Dunchurch, 262

Durham, Bishop of, 46

Durintwood, 134

Eagles Foot, 35

Eastwood, 271

Eaton, 267, 274

Ebbing and flowing well, 10

Edale, 230

Edward IV., 12

Edwards, 149

Eldon Hole, 10, 275

----- Hill, 232

Ellaston, 273

ELEGY UPON THE DEATH OF THE GREATEST GENTRY OF DARLEY DALE, 146

Elizabeth of York, 12

Elvaston, 6, 257, 269

Entcliffe Hill, 130, 131

Eperstone, 270

EPISTLE TO JOHN BRADSHAW, ESQ., 258

Epsom, 10

Espernon, Duke of, 257

Etwall 269

Eyre, family, 129, 147

"Fair one of Tunis," 257

Fairfield, 78

Fair, Humours of Hayfield, 61

----- Nottingham Goose, 58, et seq.

"_Farewell our daddies and our mammies_," 182

Farley, 273

Farnfield, 24

Faulkner, 285

Fawcett's Ashborne Foot-ball Song, 284

Ferrars, Lord, 41, 132

Findern, 269

Firby, 268

Firbeck, 267

Fitzwarine, Sir Hugh, 104

----------- Alice, 104

----------- Maud, 104

Flash, 271

FLAX-DRESSER'S WIFE OF SPONDON AND THE POUND OF TEA, 281

Flax-holmes, 281

FLORISTS' SONG, 206

FLORIST'S SONG, 184

Florist's society, 184

Fludyer, 157

Fole, 274

Foljamb, 67

Forest, Delamere, 13, et seq.

"_For Jesus' sake be merry and glad_," 12

Foston, 273

Foot-ball, game of, 118

---------- Derby, 118, 284

FOOT-BALL SONG, ASHBORNE, 284

Foot-ball at Ashborne, 284, et seq.

FOX CHASE, SQUIRE VERNON'S, 131

Fox, family, 118, 227

Fox Low, 245

Fox Torr, 290, 292, 293

France, conquest of, 1

French King, 1, 4

FRITH, SQUIRE, HUNTING SONG, 142

Frith, Samuel, 142

Fools, strips of, 16

"_From the famous Peak of Darby_," 281

Gage, 180

Gallow's Inn, 271

Game at cards for a kingdom, 64

------- cakes and ale, 60

"Gamester, Complete," 257

Gamwell of Gamwell Hall, 75, 76

GARLAND OF MERRIMENT, 64

GARLAND, ASHUPTON, 237

Gaunt, John of, 79, 188-203

Gautriss Dale, 232

Gawn, 118

Gawsworth, 143

Gedling, 270

Gell, Colonel Thomas, 210

----- Sir John, 210

George Inn, 273

George III., 2

Gerrard, Sir Gilbert, 177

Getliffe, 285

Ghent, John of, 79, 188-203

Ghost, 71, 72

Giltbrook, 270

Gingler's Inn, 269

Gipsies metamorphosed, 126

GIPSIES' SONG, THE, 280

"_God that is moste of myghte_," 54

"_God prosper long fair Derby town_," 196

"_Good people give attention to a story you shall hear_," 55

Gosley Bank, 272

Goose Fair, 58, et seq.

Gotham, 210, 270

Gray, 210

Graceley, 143

Greaves, 147

Greensmith, 149

Greene, 209

GREEN, HUGH STENSON AND MOLLY, 263

Gresley, 270

Greswark, 144

Gretna Green, 274

Grindleford Bridge, 92

Guards, brigade of, 2

Gunthorpe, 270

Gutch, John Mathew, 73

Guy, Earl of Warwick, 75

Habbington, 7

Haddon Hall, 131, 148, 245

------ Over, 289

------ Grove, 290

Haines, William, 92

Hall, 275

Halliwell, J. O., 280

Hand, 285

Halliwell Collection, 1, 12

Handford, Tom, 136-142

Hansley, 267

Handel, 209

Harpham, 157

Harden, 13

Harestan, 210

Harrington, Earl of, 6, 257

"_Hark, hark, brother sportsmen, what a melodious sound_," 143

Harehill, 273

Harton, 273

Harlow Dale, 280, 290

Harleian MSS., 54

Hardstaff, 267

"_Hark you well, you neighbours all, and pray now can you tell_," 266

Harrington, Sir William, 46, 51

Hardwick, Earl of, 160, 161

--------- Bess of, 222

Hartington, "strange and wonderful sight" there, 64

Hartington, 64, 66

Hathersage, 85, 91, 92

Hassop, 147

------- and Little John, 85, et seq., 91, et seq.

------- Little John's grave, &c., 91, 92

Hathenturns, 270

HAYFIELD FAIR, HUMOURS OF, 61

Hayfield, 61, 62

Haymore, 272

Heanor, 271

Helldon Hill, 232

HENRY AND CLARA, a Peak Ballad, 274

"_Here must I tell the praise_," 105

HERO, DERBY, 249

----- Stafford, 250-254

Hertford, Earl of, 222, 225

Hickham, 267

High Peak, 61, 64, 67, 248, 274, 280

High Church in Shropshire, 264

Highlander, 64

Highgate, 260

Hilson (Ilkeston), 271

Hills, Derby, 1, 5

Hillary, 210

Hood, Robin, 73-103

Hodgkinson, 152

Hogdeston, 273

Hognaston, 269, 272

Holland, George, 267

Hollington, 268

Holt Castle, 12, 19, 24, 45

Holy poker, 199

Horsley, 268

Howitt, Richard, 210

Howsley, 143

Hoyland, 269

HUGH STENSON AND MOLLY GREEN, 263

HUMOURS OF HAYFIELD FAIR, 61

Hunter, Rev. Joseph, 73

Hunting songs, Squire Vernon's Fox Chace, 131

-------------- Trusley, 137

-------------- Squire Frith's, 142

Hurdle, 17

Hutchinson, Tour through the Peak, 61, 227

---------- of Owthorpe, 257

Hyde Park, 2

Hyson Green, 270

"_I'll sing you a song of a neat little place_," 284

"_I sigh for the land where the orange tree flingeth_," 246

"_I' Darbyshire who're born an' bred_," 145

Ilam Hall, 134

Ilkeston, 271

"_In summer time when leaves are green_," 237

Isle of Man, 13, 18

"_Jack Asses' trot_," 193

James, King, 56

------------ taxes, 55, et seq.

------------ treachery of, 57

Jenkinson, 149

Jewitt, Arthur, 248

------- Rev. Arthur George, 274

-------------------'s "Wanderings of Memory," 274

--------------------- HENRY AND CLARA, a Peak Ballad, 274

Johnson, 280

Jonson, Ben, 7

Jones, 179, 180

JOURNEY INTO THE PEAK, 257, 259

Kedleston, 269

Kendall, 24

Kent, 26, 73

----- Earl of, 46

Keyworth, 270

"_Kind gentlemen will you be patient awhile_," 74

King's Mills, 273

KING HENRY V., HIS CONQUEST OF FRANCE, 1

---- Edward IV., 12

---- George III., 2

---- Henry VII., 12

---- Charles II., 12

---- Richard, 50, et seq.

---- James, 56

"---- of the Peak," 67, 133

---- Henry VIII., 67

---- Richard II., 79

---- Castile and Leon, 79

---- George IV., 111

---- George I., 146

---- James I., 164, 222

---- Charles I., 211

---- William I., 230

Kimberworth, 153

Kimberley, 267

Kinder Scout, 67, 241, 242

Kirk Ireton, 268

Kirke, H., 204

Kirkland, Walter, 145

Kirklees Priory, 91, 93

Kniveton, Sir Gilbert, 7

--------- Mary, 7

Knolls, Sir Frederick, 179

Konynges Dale, 232

Langley Mill, 271

LADY BESSY, Song of the, 12

Lady Low, 97

Lady Arabella Stuart, 222--

Lambley, 270

Lancashire, 5, 49, 105

Lancaster, Duke of, 79, 187--

Langley, 143, 144, 269

Lasses of Darby pawned by their sweethearts, 58

"_Last night as slumbering on my bed I lay_," 188

Latham House, 24, et seq.

Lathkiln Dale, 287, 290

-------- River, 290

Latimer, Lord, 46

LAY OF THE BUCKSTONE, 96

Laycock, Samuel, 229

Layksley (see Loxley)

Lead, 272

Lead, 10, 11

Leak, 210

Leake, or Leke, family, 210 et seq.

Lee Lane, 271

Lee, Lord, 41

Leech, Mrs., of Tideswell, 114

Leechurch, 272, 274

Leicestershire, 117

Leigh, Lord, 41

Leicester, 44, 53

LEKE, SIR FRANCIS, 210

Lennox, Earl of, 222

Lenton, 270

Lichfield, 48, 262

"Life of the Duke of Espernon," 257

Lincoln, 76, 98

Lincolnshire, 58

LINES OCCASIONED BY A YORKSHIRE PIE, 157

Lislay, Lord, 38

Little Hallam, 271

Little Britain, 39, 47

------ Stoone, 47

------ Eaton, 268

Little John, 73-103, 238, et seq.

LITTLE JOHN AND ROBIN HOOD, 85

LITTLE JOHN'S END, 91

Littleover, 269

Liverpool, 39

Locko Grange, 268

Lomas, 286

Longnor, 272

London, 16, et seq., 55, 104, 105, 121, 157, 280, 282, 283

------- great fire of, 104

------- Tower of, 225

Long-Armed Duke, 55

Longstone, 255

Longford, 135, 137, 269, 273

Lordis Seat, 230, 231

"_Lord Peverel stood on the Lordis Seat_," 231

LOST AND DEAD, 204

Loughborough, 270

Lovell, Lord, 46

Lovers' Leap, 244

Lowton, 270

Loxley, 73-103, 274

Ludlow, 14

Lysons, 210

Mackworth, 269, 273

Macclesfield Forest, 143, 144

Maid Marian, 73-103, 238, et seq.

Malpas, 40

Mam Tor, 245

Mammaton, 273

Manners, 148

Manchester, 1, 24, et seq.

Mansfield, 271

Mapperley, 270, 271

Mappleton, 272

Markeaton, 269, 273

Marrot Moor, 267

Mar routed, 64

Martin Markall, 126

Marston, 273

Marpole, 271

Marton, 273

Mary Queen of Scots, 222

Masbro', 153

Massinger, 7

Matlock, 150, 245, 269

May, 7

May pole, 61

Mayfield, 285

Mead, 60

Mercaston, 7

Mercer's Company, 104

Merriment, garland of, 64

Meverell, 67

Mickleover, 269

Middleton, 272

Middleton by Youlgrave, 268

Milford Haven, 43

Militia, Derbyshire, 115, 182

-------------------- Song in praise of, 182

Milnes, 239, et seq.

Milward, 150, 268

MILLER, THE DERBYSHIRE, 110

Minstrels, 79, 80

Minstrels' Court, 79, 80

---------- King of the, 79, 80

Monsal Dale, 247

"Montaigne's Essays," 257

Montlac De, 257

Monyash, 286, et seq.

Moregreen, 271

Morley, 149, 268

Morgan, 173

"Moral Philosophy of the Stoics," 257

Moules dale, 13

Music of "As our King lay musing in his bed," 2

Music of "The Derbyshire Miller," 110

Music of "The Gipsies' Song," 280-281

Mugginton, 269, 273

Mullins, Tom, 132-134

Mundy family, 198, 203

Nares, 209

"_Neaw, Dickie, be quiet wi' thee, lad_," 228

Nether Green, 271

Netherton, 274

NEW BALLAD OF ROBIN HOOD, shewing his Birth, Breeding, Valour, and Marriage, at Tutbury Bull Running, 73

NEW SONG IN PRAISE OF THE DERBYSHIRE MILITIA, 182

Newton, 267, 273

Newthorpe, 270

Norfolk, Duke of, 46, 52

Northampton, 74

Northern Lights, ballad on, 64

Nottingham, 58, 65, 73, 98, 264

---------- Goose Fair, 58, et seq.

Nottinghamshire, 73-103

NUN'S GREEN RANGERS, 199

Nun's Green, ballads on, 187-203

Nuttall, 270

Oaker Hall, 272

Oakes, James, 237, et seq.

Oakamoor, 273

Obstinate lady, 7

Ockbrook, 268

"_Of all your modern heroes_," 249

"_O give me the land where the wild thyme grows_," 248

Ogston, 151

Oker Hill, 147, 153

Okerthorpe, 267

Okeover Hall, 272, 285

Oldacre, 271

OLD NUN'S GREEN, 187

"_One Valentine's day in the morning_," 137

ON THE STRANGE AND WONDERFUL SIGHT THAT WAS SEEN IN THE AIR ON THE 6TH OF MARCH, 1716, 64

ON THE DEATH OF THE LATE REV. BACHE THORNHILL, M.A., 255

"_O say not so, Sir Francis_," 210

Osgathorpe, 230, et seq.

Osmaston by Ashborne, 133

Over Haddon, 289

Overton, 152

Overton, 274

Overington, 270

Owen, Jack, 143

Owthorpe, 257

Oxford, Earl of, 41

Oxford, 249

Paget, 173

Paislow Moss, 68, 71

Pain, 149

Pantons in the Dale, 273

Paris, 6, 42

Park Nook, 272

Park Hall, 274

PARSON'S TORR, 286

Parwich, 272

PAVING AND LIGHTING. A NEW SONG, 196

Paynslee, 170

Pearcey, General, 265

Peel, Sir Robert, 255

Peak Hills, 272

---- Ballad, HENRY AND CLARA, 274

"Peak, Wonders of the," 257

----- Tradition of, 2

----- High, 61, 64, 67, 248, 274, 280

----- A RHAPSODY ON, 248

----- JOURNEY INTO THE, 257, 259

----- Forest, 67, 103, 204, 230, 275

Pedlar and Robin Hood, 3

Percy Society, 1, 12

----- Lord, 46, 52

Pentrich, 267

Perkin Wood, 267

Perwolt, 274

Perry Dale, 232

PEVEREL AND THE DRIVING OF THE DEER, 230

Peverel family, 230, 231, et seq.

PIE, YORKSHIRE, 157

Pills to purge melancholy, 61, 126

Pilsley, 267

Pinder of Wakefield, 74

Pinxstone, 267

Playford, 280

Poems on Nun's Green, 187-203

----- dedicated to Major Trowel, 192

"----- upon Several Occasions," 257

Polesworth, 7

Pooley, 6, 7

Poole's Hole, 10

Potter of Hill Top, 268

Pott, 149

POWER OF LOVE, 210

PRESSED MAN'S LAMENTATION, 182

Prestwood, 273

PRINCELY DIVERSION, or the Jovial Hunting Match, 137

PRINCE IN THE TOWN, AND DEVIL IN THE CHURCH, 111

Prince of Wales, George, 111

Printers, J. Bessel, 61

--------- William Ayscough, 65

--------- Wynkende Worde, 73, 126

--------- W. Dicey, 74

--------- R. Raikes, 74

--------- W. O., 126, 137

--------- A. M., 126

--------- J. Deacon, 126

"Planter's Manual," 257

"Puss in Boots," 269, 272

Pursglove, Bishop, 67

QUADRUPEDS, THE, 193

Quarndon, 269, 273

Queen Elizabeth, 164, 165, 225

----- of Scots, Mary, 166-181

Quicksall, 273

Quin, 157

Quintin, St., family, 157, 158

-------- Sir William, 157, 158

Radborne, 137

Radford, 270

Radgley, 273

Raikes, R., 74

Raleigh, Sir Walter, 222

RAM, THE DERBY, 115

RAMBLE, BEGGAR'S, 266

RAMBLE, THE BEGGAR'S, 271

Randolph, 7

Ratcliffe, 270

Rees Ap Thomas, Sir, 45, 49, 52

Red Hill, 270

REEL, COCKTAIL, 157

Recruiting Derby hills, 1, 5

Red Rose, 49-53

Rempstone, 273

Repton, 269

"Reliquary," 65, 73, 92, 97, 145, 164, 287

RHAPSODY ON THE PEAK OF DERBYSHIRE, 248

Riber Hall, 150

Richmond, Duke of, 161

Richard, King, 50, et seq.

Richmond, Margaret, 12, et seq.

--------- Earl of, 12, et seq.

Riddings, 238, et seq.

Ripley, 268

Risley, 271

Robin Hood and the Pedlar, 32

---------- A NEW BALLAD OF, 73

---------- Lytell geste of, 73

---------- AND LITTLE JOHN, 85

---------- 73-103, 238, et seq., 270

Robin Hood's marks, 102

Rodsley, 273

Rosemary Hill, 273

Rosley, 273

Roston, 273

Ross, Lord, 46

Rose of England, 6

Rose, red, 49, 53

Rose, Union of, 53

Rose of Lancaster, 69

Rose and Crown, 268

Rowlands, 126

Row (or Roo) Tor, 147

Rowsley, 269

Rowland of Warburton, 45

Roxburghe Collection, 1, 58, 74, 126

Ruddington, 270

Runcorn, 144

Rural dance about the May-pole, 61

Rushop Edge, 230

Russell, Sir William, 257

Sack, 11

Salisbury, 30, 54

Salford, 24

------- Bridge, 24

Sandall Castle, 19

Sandiacre, 271

Sandys, 7

Sandy Way Head, 68

Savage, 175

Savage, Sir John, 19, 49

Scarsdale, 210

---------- Lord, 210

Scarlet, Will, 100

Scotch dialogue, 64

Scrope, Lord, 46

Selston, 267

Seymour, Lord, 222

Shallcross, 144

Shardlow, 269

Shaw, the Staffordshire hero, 252

Shaws Croft, 286

Sheepshead, 270

Sheffield, 31, 74, 239, et seq.

---------- Castle, 31

Sheppards Folly, 269

Sherwood Forest, 73-103, 270

Sherry, Cary, 7

------- Mary, 7

Ship of fools, 126

Shipley Wood, 271

Shipley, 271

Shirley Park, 132, 285

------- family, 132

Shoolbottam, 271

Shottle, 268

Shootingslow, 245

"_Should the French but presume on our coast to appear_," 182

Shrewsbury, Earl of, 12, et seq., 222

----------- 43, 45

Shrove Tuesday, 285

Sign of the Eagle's foot, 35

----------- Bull, 75

----------- George, 112

----------- Angel, 126, 184

----------- White Horse, 131

----------- Rutland Arms, 289

----------- White Hart, 286, 289

----------- Wheat Sheaf, 286

----------- Sun, 263

----------- Rose and Crown, 268

----------- Puss in Boots, 269

Sigsmore, 272

Sinfin Moor, 118

SIR RICHARD WHITTINGTON'S ADVANCEMENT, 104

SIR FRANCIS LEKE; or the Power of Love, 210

Skiers, 238, et seq.

Skull at Tunstead, 226

Slack, 71

Sloman, Charles, 110

Smalley, 268

Smith, 197, 285

Smock frock, 64

Snelston, 267, 285

Snitterton, 150

Solomon's Temple, 243, 245

SONG, 206

SONG OF THE LADY BESSY, 12

SONG, ASHBORNE FOOT-BALL, 284

SONG, THE GIPSIES', 280

"_Soon as old Ball was got better_," 153

SONG (a satirical attack on the Choir of All Saints' Church, Derby) 206

South Normanton, 267

Southwell, 270

Sparrowpit, 68

Spencer, Earl, 161

SPONDON, THE FLAX-DRESSER'S WIFE OF, AND THE POUND OF TEA, 281

Spondon, 268, 281-284

SQUIRE VERNON'S FOX CHACE, 131

St. Albans, 261

St. Ann's Well, 10

St. Michael's ground, 93

St. Quintin Sir William, 157

Stafford, 45, 47, 250, et seq.

--------- Hero, 250, et seq.

Staffordshire, 73, 230

Stainsby, 268

Stancliffe Hall, 148

Stanhope, Sir John, 6, 257

--------- Earl, 257

Stanley, Earls of Derby, 12, et seq.

-------- family, 12, et seq.

Stapleford, 271

Stanton, 255, 273

Staysmore, 272

STENSON, HUGH, AND MOLLY GREEN, 263

Steare, 148

Stoics, Moral Philosophy of, 257

Stone, Staffordshire, 47, 48

Stone, Little, 47

Stoone, Little, 47

Stramshall, 274

STRANGE AND WONDERFUL SIGHT AT HARTINGTON, 64

Strange, Lord George, 12, et seq.

Stratford, 261

Strensham, 257

Stretton on the Hill, 267

Strutt, 197

Stuart, Arabella, 222--

------- Charles, 222

Sturston, 285

Stutely, Will, 89, 90

Suckling, 7

Sudbury Hall, 131, 136

Surrey, Earl of, 46

Sutton-on-the-Hill, 140

Sutton-in-Scarsdale, 210, 211

Swarkstone, 270

Swanwick, 268

Swinsor, 273

Swinscoe Moor, 118

Swift, 210

Swithamly, 143, 144

Taddington, 247

Tag Hill, 271

Talbot, 19

Tamworth, Lord, 132

TAYLOR'S RAMBLE, 129

Tea, pound of, 281

Tennis balls, 1, 5

Teneriffe, 10

Terrill, James, 14

Tewkesbury, 26

THE AGRICULTURAL MEETING, 160-164

THE ASHBORNE FOOT-BALL SONG, 284

THE ASHUPTON GARLAND, OR A DAY IN THE WOODLANDS, 237

THE BEGGAR'S RAMBLE, 271

THE DERBY HERO, 249

THE DRIVING OF THE DEER, 230

"_The eighteenth day of March_," 252

"_The fire burns brightly on the hearth_," 204

THE FLAX-DRESSER'S WIFE OF SPONDON, 281

THE FLORISTS' SONG, 184

THE GIPSIES' SONG, 280

THE HUMOURS OF HAYFIELD FAIR, 61

"_The Miller he caught the maid by the toe_," 110

THE MOST PLEASANT SONG OF THE LADY BESSY, 12

THE NUN'S GREEN RANGERS, or the Triple Alliance, consisting of a Sergeant, a Tinker, and a Bear, 199

"_The Parson of Monyash late one eve_," 287

THE POWER OF LOVE; SIR FRANCIS LEKE, OR, 210

THE QUADRUPEDS, or Four-Footed Petitioners against the Sale of Nun's Green, 193

THE SORROWFUL LAMENTATION, LAST DYING SPEECH AND CONFESSION OF OLD NUN'S GREEN, 187

"_The sixth of March, kind neighbours this is true_," 65

THE TAILOR'S RAMBLE, or the Blues' Valour Displayed, 129

THE TRUE LOVER'S KNOT UNTIED (Arabella Stuart), 222

THE UNCONSCIONABLE BATCHELORS OF DARBY, 58

"_Then, oh Hugh Stenson is my name_", 263

Thirsk, 157

Thomas Rees, Ap, 45, 49, 52

Thompson, 157

Thorpe, 285

Thorpe Cloud, 272

Thornywood, 270

Thornhill family, 148, 255

--------- Thomas Bache, Elegy on, 252

Thringstone, 270

Tibshelf, 267

TIDESWELL IN AN UPROAR, or the Prince in the Town, and the Devil in the Church, 111

TIDESWELL, DRUNKEN BUTCHER OF, 66

Tideswell, 66, et seq., 111, 112, 113, 114, 155

Tinker's Inn, 133

Tipling school, 59

"_'Tis merry in the High Peak forest_," 97

Tissington, 272

Titbury (see Tutbury)

Tixhall Poetry, 62

Ton of tennis balls, 1

Toton, 267

Tower Hill, 17, 31, 47

Towcester, 261

Tragedy of Ovid, 7

Tragnel, 144

Trapalin supposed a Prince, 7

Trent, river, 8

Tribute, 1, 4

TRIPLE ALLIANCE, consisting of an old Sergeant, a Tinker, and a Bear, 199

Trowel, 267

Trowell, Major, 190

TRUE LOVERS' KNOT UNTIED, 222

Trusley, 137-142

TRUSLEY HUNTING SONG, 137

Tudor, Henry, 45

Tune, "To thee, to thee," 58

----- "As our King lay musing on his bed," 2, 3

----- Derbyshire Miller, 110

----- Cook Laurel, 125

----- King of the Cannibal Islands, 160

----- Chevy Chace, 196

----- Bow, wow, wow, 199

----- Barking Barber, 199

----- Date Obolum Belisario, 199

----- Vicar and Moses, 206

----- Gipsies' Song, 280-281

Tun, burning in a, 17

Tunbridge, 10

"Tunis, Fair one of," 257

Tunstead, Dickie of, 226

Tunstead, 226, 227

Tupton, 267

Turbutt, Gladwin, 151

Turnditch, 268

Tutbury, 13, et seq., 273

Tutbury bull-running, 73, 74, 79

"_'Twas more than fifty years ago_," 282

"_Two jackasses, the father and the son_," 193

Tydder Henry, 45

Ucklow, 269

UNCONSCIONABLE BATCHELORS OF DERBY, 58

Union of the Roses, 53

Utceter, 273

Uttoxeter, 262, 273

VERNON, SQUIRE, FOX CHACE, 131

------- family, 131, et seq.

------- Lord, 131, 135

------- George, 132-136

------- Dorothy, 132

Victoria, Queen, 2

"Virgil Travestie," 257

Volunteers, Derbyshire, 2, 131

Wakefield, Pinder of, 74

Walker, 133, 134

Walton, Isaac, 257

"Wanderings of Memory," 274

Wantling, 249-252

Warburton, 45

Wardgate, 268

Wardlowmier, 269

Warin, 286

Warwick, Guy, Earl of, 75

Warwickshire, 75, 259

Waterloo, 285

Wathall, 267

Wells, Lady, 22

"_Were but my muse inspired by Fludyer's taste_," 157

West Chester, 26

---- Smithfield, 61

Westminster, 15, et seq.

Weston-under-wood, 269

Westhorpe, 270

Wessington, 267

Wet Willm, 272

Weever Hills, 154

Whaley Bridge, 69, 227

"_What will it availe on fortune to exclayme_," 167

Wheatcroft, Leonard, 146, 152

"_When Apollo thinks fit to handle his lyre_," 206

"_When Heaven from Earth had shut out day_," 190

"_When Robin Hood was about twenty years old_," 58

Whittaker, 285

WHITTINGTON, SIR RICHARD'S, ADVANCEMENT, 104

Whittington and his Cat, 104

----------- De, 104

----------- in Derbyshire, 104, 231, 233

----------- Sir William, 104

Whitrick, 270

Whitehall, 263

Whitworth guns, 148

Whitworth, Joseph, 148

Wilford, 270

Williams, Richard, 164-166

Willoughby, Lord, 57

Will Stutely, 89, 90

Willett, 142

Winnats, 274, 275

Winnats, murder at, 274, 275

Windsor, 11, 263

Winster, 255-257, 268, 272

Wilson, Jack, 139

Wire Mill, 273

Windley, 272

Wirksworth, 269, 272

Wood end, 271

Woodlands, 237, et seq.

WOODLANDS, A DAY IN THE, 237

Woodborough, 270

Wool, 272

Woolaton, 264

Wooley, 133-136, 150, 151

Womfords, 271

"Wonders of the Peak," 257

Worde, Wynken de, 73, 126

Worcestershire, 26

Wootton, 135, 273

Wotton Lodge, 273

Wyaston, 133, 285

Wye river, 245, 248

Wynken de Worde, 73, 126

Yeaveley, 273

"_Ye Tideswellites can this be true_," 114

Yeldersley, 269

York, 157

York, Duke of, 14, et seq.

YORKSHIRE PIE, 157

"_You lovers of mirth attend awhile_," 59

Young lasses pawned by their sweethearts, 58

BEMROSE AND SONS, PRINTERS, DERBY.

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.

All spelling variations and apparent printer's errors in the text have been retained.

Descriptions were added to captionless illustrations.

All spelling variations and apparent printer's errors in text have been retained.

Changes to index entries: - Castleton, a strange banquet at: page number 331 removed as it does not exist; - Chester: removed as there's no corresponding text; - Music of "The Gipsies' Song": page numbers 280-281 added; - Rosemary Hill: page number 273 added; - THE AGRICULTURAL MEETING: page numbers 160-164 added; - "_The Parson of Monyash late one eve_": moved to the correct place according to alphabetical order and page number corrected to be 287; - Tune, Derbyshire Miller: page number 110 added; - Tune, Gipsies' Song: page numbers 280-281 added.