H1JRSTWOOD.* THOUGH Lancashire is the most thickly populated of English

counties, and factories and print-works, industrial villages and devouring towns, have wrought changes so dire in its physical aspect, that were an ancient inhabitant t) revisit his old home he might well believe that he had wandered by mistake into some Plutonic realm, there are still to be found, even in the Eastern Division, secluded spots unspoiled by enterprise, and sacred to repose,—spots which are pretty much as they were when witches held high revel on Wycollar Moor, and wild deer roamed the forests of Trawden and Pendle. One of them is Haratwood, near Burnley, a manu- facturing town of rare ugliness, yet situated in a district naturally picturesque, boasting a great antiquity, and rich in historic associations. Hurstwood is, indeed, so charming, that, in the opinion of our authors, Edmund Spenser must have had it in his mind when he wrote the following lines :-

" Fresh shadows, fit to shroud from sunny ray ; Faire lawnds, to take the sunne on season dew ; Sweet springs, in which a thousand Nymphs did play ; Soft rombling brooks, that gentle slumber drew ; High reared mounts, the land about to view ; Low-looking dales, disloign'd from common gaze."

Since Spenser went from Cambridge in 1576, and the building of Hurstwood Hall (about the same time), the only additions which have been made to the village are a few cottages of ancient but more recent date, and a chapel. Spenser's house, a substantial dwelling of millstone grit, still exists ; and according to tradition, it was at Itock Cottage, hard by on the banks of the Bran, where lived the " widowe'a

daughter of the glenne," the Rosalinde of whom he was enamoured, who " laughed his lays to scorn." But there is documentary evidence that the Spenser family lived at Hare. t- wood as far back as 1292 ; so that the old village may be regarded as the cradle of the poet's race.

The locality was also the home of a family even more widely known nowadays than the author of The Faerie Queen, albeit on a lower plane and for achievements of a very different order. The forbears of the Tattersalls of Albert Gate, were Harstwood

yeomen, and their ancient homestead, built as if it were meant to last for ages, is still "at the bottom of the fold." Our authors, who are both of the family, give an interesting account of its for- tunes. Thefounder of the great horse-dealing establishment was

Richard Tattersall, who at an early age left Hurst wood to seek his fortune, and eventually settled in London as an "auctioneer- In 1766, he took a ninety-nine years' lease of premises at Hyde Park Corner from Earl Grosvener. In 1779, he brought Lord Bolingbroke's famous racer, Highflyer;' for £2,500, and thenceforth called his house at New Barns, near Ely, High- flyer Hall, where he often entertained the Prince of Wales and other shining lights of the period. At a later date, he ran the Morning Post, jointly with his Royal Highness, a businesa

• Memories of Hurstwood. Burnley,_Laneashire : with Tales and Tr:WM.11s of the Neighbourhood. By Tattersall Wilkinson and J. F. Tattersall. L mixt: Virtue and Co. Burnley : J. and A. Lupton.

which seems to have been less lucrative than dealing in thoroughbred stock ; for when the concern was wound up, the balance due from the Prince for his share of the loss amounted to 210,000, a debt which, it is satisfactory to know, his Royal Highness subsequently discharged. When Richard Tattersall died (in 1795) somebody, probably a Lancashire admirer,.cele- brated his virtues in a ballad entitled " Blessed be the Memory of Good Old Tatt," which Mr. Wilkinson Tattersall remembers hearing sung many years ago at Worsthorn (near Huretwood).

The enterprise at Albert Gate still flourishes, and during its existence of nearly a century and a half, has suffered no solu- tion of continuity, which is probably due to the fact that the Tattersalls, like the Rothschilds, have minded their own business, and kept it strictly in the family.

But the " Memories " are by no means exclusively concerned with the doings of the " Tatts ; " we have folk-lore, ghost- stories, bits of family history, legends, and reminiscences, which are not alone interesting in themselves, but reproduce for us (with the help of a little imagination) the life of a Lancashire village in the good old times, when men fought

with bows and bills, believed in warlocks and witches, wore homespun of their own weaving, and drank beer of their own brewing. Rural society in those days was a much simpler affair than it has since become. Classes were fewer, and pro- bably less exclusive. There were squires, yeomen, tenant- farmers, labourers, and a few artisans and shopkeepers. The

difference between squire and yeoman was by no means sharply defined ; the family of the one was probably quite as old as the family of the other ; their ideas and education were not dissimilar ; yeomen associated with farmers on equal terms, and the relations between landlord and tenant were patriarchal and friendly. The great people of the neighbour- hood were, and are yet, the Towneleys, a loyalist family of ancient lineage. One Towneley led a body of his tenants and neighbours to Marston Moor ; another expiated on the scaffold his participation in the rising of '45 ; and the Towneleys still belong to the old religion. Some three centuries ago there was a Towneley boggart. It haunted a bridge near Towneley, and caused so much consternation that the priestat the Hall was asked to lay it, which he succeeded in doing, by agreement with the boggart, who undertook never again to revisit "the glimpses of the moon" so long as there was a green leaf in a neighbouring dough. This condition was observed by planting the dough with holly-trees, and it is called Hollis' Hey Clough to this day. At a later period, an illegal enclosure of land by the Towneleys brought on the scene another boggart, who, according to tradition, used to be heard crying, in a wailing tone :-

" Be warned, lay out ! be warned, lay out! Around Hoare Law and Rollin Hey Clough, To the children give back the widow's cot ; For you and yours there's still enough."

But the boggart wailed in vain ; the landgrabbers declined to disgorge, and Hoare Law Clough was permanently annexed to the Towneley property. There were other boggarts. Extwistle had one; so had Holden and Barcroft. In fact, the county abounded in boggarts, and the devil himself occasionally "came along "—in disguise—always, however, vanishing in a flash of lightning at sight of the priest from Towneley Hall. A good story is told about the old Wapen- take Law. The Honour of Clitheroe used to have the power of issuing " wapentakes " (writs) for the recovery of debts under 40s.; and it was the custom of the bailiffs of the Court, after serving process, to seize a pair of tongs, poker, kettle,

or what not, and take it back to the castle, as proof of delivery of the wapentake. Now, once upon a time there lived in a little cottage at Worsthorn two men, father and son (the latter

a deaf and dumb giant), who followed the calling of pig- ringers and mole-catchers. The father got into debt, and one day—the son only being at home—two bailiffs entered the cottage, threw a wapentake on the table, and collared an

old kettle. The giant neither understanding nor appre- ciating this proceeding, incontinently locked the door, put

the key in his pocket, seized one of the interlopers by the scruff of his neck, and made as if he were going to ring him—like a pig. When the other bailiff attempted to rescue his comrade, he was promptly knocked sense- less by the irate mole-catcher, who thereupon deliberately ornamented his victim's nose with an iron ring. Meanwhile, the other minion of the law, recovering his senses, and fearful of being treated likewise, dashed through the window, taking with him in his headlong flight both frame and glass. How the Honour of Clitheroe vindicated its outraged honour, and what punishment was awarded to the dumb giant for his rebellion, tradition tells not. Let us hope that he was leniently dealt with. Ringing a bailiff is a distinctly humorous idea, and eminently characteristic of Lancashire.

The authors of Memories of Hurstwood deserve our thanks

for rescuing from oblivion a fine old hunting song, written to celebrate a wonderful run after a buck which took place early in the eighteenth century, probably about 1715. The buck was found near Extwistle Hall, ran thence to Longridge and back again, and was " ta-en " by Pendle Water, thus covering something like forty miles :-

" They hunted fro' Roggerham to Wycollar Moor, But th' buck kept ahead and made th' horses to spoor; There were th' owd dog and Pincher, but Rover bet all 'At started that morning from Entwistle Hall.

They hunted to Longridge, and then back again, Till o'er Pendle Water th' owd buck it were ta'en ; Some horses did stumble, some riders did fall; For they hunted beawt restin' fro' Extwistle Hall."

The book, as a whole, is bright, entertaining, and informing, and will doubtless be highly appreciated by Lancastrians, especially those of them who are familiar with the scenes and localities which it celebrates and describes.