est and humanest of men, Lord Sidmouth. Some of his sketches of the scenes with the Privy Council are amusing enough: for example

his surname, he answered in broad Lanca'On the doctor being asked how he spelled shire-"haitch, hay, haa, 1, hay, y:” (H, e, a1, e, y,) but the pronunciation of the e, and a, being different in London, there was some boggling about reducing his name to writing, The doctor knew that his forte lay not in feats and a pen and paper were handed to him. to obviate any small embarrassment on that of penmanship any more than in spelling; and account, he pulled out an old pocket-book, and took from it one of his prescription labels, on which the figures of a pestle and mortar were imposed from a rudely engraved plate; and these words, "JOSEPH HEALEY, SURGEON, MIDDLETON. PLEASE TAKE-TABLE SPOONThis he handed to Lord Sidmouth, who, as FULS OF THIS MIXTURE EACH HOURS." may be supposed, received it graciously, looked it carefully over, smiled, and read it again; and passed it round the council table. Presently they were all tittering, and the doctor stood quite delighted at finding them such a first blank had been originally filled with a set of merry gentlemen. The fact was, the figure of two: "Please take 2 Table Spoonfulls," &c.; but some mischievous wag had inserted two cyphers after the figure, and made it read "200 Table Spoonfuls of this

-

sult upon a new scheme of violence; but Bamford at once, he says, condemned it as atrocious, and intimated a strong suspicion that some 'government spy' must be at the bottom of the suggestion. To this last notion, he tells us, he still adheres; but we own we see no reason to agree with him, for Mr. Bamford details, as thus opened to him in the spring of 1816, a plot precisely the same with that which was carried to the edge of execution exactly four years later by Thistlewood and his Cato-street gang. A dozen steady men were, in short, to proceed to London, and commence a general revolution by the murder of the Ministers at a Cabinet dinner. However, Mr. Bamford says he protested without a pause against this scheme of assassination, and intimates that he would have revealed it to some person in authority, but for his dread of compromising friends who had put their confidence in him. Fully believing that he rejected the bloody proposal we are not, however, much surprised-seeing of what stuff his associates were made, and not finding the motive of his own moorland excursion clearly explained that he should shortly afterwards have incurred such grave suspicion as caused his arrest. He was instantly conveyed to London, in company with Dr. Healey, an Irishman by name O'-mixture each 2 hours." However it was, the Connor, and four or five other leading members of the 'botanical society,' there to be examined before the Privy Council, on a Mr. Bamford was not liberated until after charge of High Treason; and we appre- some days' detention in Coldbath-fields; but hend that if his knowledge and conceal- he dwells on his abode there as on the ment, first of the Moscow Scheme,' and whole a pleasant interval of repose and then of the Assassination Project,' had good fare, and, be it added, of good resolubeen brought home to him, the consequen- tions. One night, he says, while his felces must have been serious. As things stood, he appears to have all along felt quite satisfied that his arrest was a mistake, and could have no dangerous result-and thus at ease for himself, Mr. Bamford placed his talents at the service of his friends, whose case seemed to themselves and to him considerably more hazardous. He describes his exertions in preparing the party for their examination-concocting the minutest details of the 'one story'a fictitious story to wit-that was to be told and stuck to by the Botanists-and in effect claims the chief merit of the ultimate escape of the whole detachment.

doctor certainly imbibed a favorable opinion of the council.'-Vol. i. p. 108, 109.

lows were asleep, 'dreaming perhaps of the scaffold and the block,' he fell into a meditative mood, lived over all his past life, and formed and vowed a solemn resolution never more, if once set free, to meddle with political meetings and machinations. He made up his mind, he says, to what has now become his settled faith, viz. :

"That the industrious and poor man best family at home. That he best amends his serves his country by doing his duty to his country by giving it good children; and if he have not any, by setting a good example himself-That he best governs by obeying the laws; and by ruling in love and mercy his He does justice to the authorities, high own little kingdom at home. That his best and low, on this occasion; and we remark reform is that which corrects irregularities on his own hearth.-That his best meetings are in particular the very great respect with those with his own family, by his own fireside. which he always treats the then Secretary-That his best resolutions are those which for the home department, one of the firm- he carries into effect for his own amendment, NOVEMBER, 1844.

25

and that of his household.-That his best might change from the despotic to the anarchspeeches are those which promote "Peace on ical, when, as surely as death, would come earth, and good-will towards mankind."-That the despotic again; and that no redemption his best petitions are those of a contrite heart, for the masses could exist, save one that addressed to THE KING OF HEAVEN, by whom should arise from their own knowledge and "they will not be despised;" and those to the virtue,-that king-tyranny and mob-tyranny governors of the earth, for the peaceable ob- (the worst of all) might alternately bear tainment of ameliorations for his brother man. sway; and that no barrier could be interpos-And, that his best means for such obtained, save the self-knowledge and self-control of ment is the cultivation of good feelings in the a reformed people. hearts, and of good sense in the heads of those around him. That his best riches is contentment. That his best love is that which comforts his family.-That his best instruction is that which humanizes and ennobles their hearts. And, that his best religion is that which leads to "Do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with his God."-Would he triumph? let him learn to endure.-Would he be a hero? let him subdue himself.-Would he govern? let him first obey.'-Vol. i. p. 112.

He was finally dismissed on the 29th of April, with a kind warning from Lord Sidmouth, and having entered into recognizances of the usual sort, resumed his industry at Middleton; but the salutary impression was not as yet deep enough to be lasting.

'But, as I said, we had none such to advise. Our worthy old Major was to us a political reformer only; not a moral one. His counsels were good so far as they went, but they did not go to the root-end of radicalism. He seemed to have forgotten in the simplicity of a guileless heart, good old man as he was, that the people themselves wanted reforming,

that they were ignorant and corrupt; and that the source must be purified before a pure and free government could be maintained.

'In the absence, therefore, of such wholesome monition,-in the ardor, also, and levity of youth,-and impelled by a sincere and disinterested wish to deserve the gratitude of my be wondered at that I soon forgot whatever working fellow-countrymen; it is scarcely to merely prudential reflections my better sense had whispered to me whilst in durance; and that with a strong, though discreetly tempered zeal, I determined to go forward in the cause of parliamentary reform.

'I now went to work, my wife weaving beside me, and my little girl, now become doubly And so, as it were, like another Crusoe, I dear, attending school or going short errands for her mother. Why was I not content?-lay with my little boat in the still water, waitwhy was not my soul filled and thankful?-ing for the first breeze to carry me again to

what would I more?-what could mortal enjoy beyond a sufficiency to satisfy hunger and thirst,-apparel, to make him warm and decent, a home for shelter and repose, and the society of those he loved? All these I had, and still was craving, craving for something for "the nation," for some good for every person-forgetting all the time to ap. preciate and to husband the blessings I had on every side around me; and, like some honest enthusiasts of the present day, supervising the affairs of the nation to the great neglect of my own,-of my

the billows.'

Bamford

the two following years very rapidly. Mr. We may pass over the rest of 1816 and appears to have during that period kept aloof from 'secret meetings,' and he condemns as well as laments the different conduct of not a few of his friends, who were mixed up more or less with plots and risings in Derbyshire and elsewhere, and two or three of whom forfeited their lives in consequence. But during this, as he says, pru"Hours more dear than drops of gold." dent and tranquil interval, was he really But it was not with us then as it is now; and without participation in the guilt for which we have that excuse to plead. We had none others were thus punished? We cannot to direct or oppose us, except a strong-handed accept Mr. Bamford's self-eulogies. He government, whose politics were as much hat- had from the first been the Lancashire ed as their power was dreaded. We had not Poet: nor, though abstaining from 'meetany of our rank with whom to advise for the better, no man of other days who had gone ings' during the suspension of the Habeas through the ordeal of experience; and whose Corpus Act, did he think it at all necessary judgment might have directed our self-devo- to abstain from the worship of his inflamtion, and have instructed us that before the re-matory muse. It was at this time, he tells form we sought could be obtained and profited us, that he produced what seems to have by, there must be another-a deeper reform- been a very famous piece, 'the Lancashire emerging from our hearts, and first blessing Hymn -he refers to it often as one of the our households, by the production of every good we could possibly accomplish in our prime glories of his career, and exults now humble spheres,-informing us also, and eon- in repeating stanzas which no doubt stimufirming it by all history, that governments lated less studious reformers to deeds that

Mr. Bamford was at length called into action by the appearance of Orator Hunt in Lancashire. Thou raised'st thy voice, and the people awak-with two arches, a rather broad stream, which

SIGHS;" Manchester its "BRIDGE OF TEARS;" and this is it.

Who, that recurs to recollections during forty years, and cannot enumerate tragedies enacted hereabouts, and calamities witnessed, which have called forth tears enow to have washed these channels with their stream? Do not we still hear, as it were, the appalling cry, when, during a great flood, a scaffold, on which nine human beings stood, broke down, and they were swept away, whilst hundreds of their fellow-townsmen and relatives stretched forth their hands, and implored God and man to save them, but in vain? Who hath so soon forgotten the thirty-four fine fellows, who perished at the launch of a boat? and who still hears not the shout of horror which arose off this bridge at the dreadful sight? the heart-broken moans of wives and children, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, as they came, distracted and weeping, to bestow an embrace which could not be returned?

and well-formed limbs being incased in white trowsers, stockings, and pumps, as if he were going to a bridal. His vest also was light colored, and a short jacket displayed his square and elegant bust; his shirt was open at the collar, and his brown hair was parted gracefully on his forehead, and hung upon his shoulders. Despair, and grief beyond utterance, were stamped on his countenance, mingled with a resignation which said, "Father, not my will, but thine, be done. Receive my spirit." He seemed faint at times, and his color changed, and he tasted an orange, listening anon to the consolations of religion. Tears would gush down his cheeks, and as he stooped to wipe them with his handkerchief he was somewhat withheld by the cords which bound him to that seat of shame. A coffin, a ladder, and a rope, were in the cart below him; whilst by his side walked a dogged-looking fellow, whose eyes were perhaps the only ones unmoistened that day. This was, indeed, a 'And thou, too, poor and beautiful, and inno- passage of tears; and a day of sadness, and of cent Lavinia Robinson-what heart but re-contemplation on the mysteries of life and sponds to thy affliction! It was midnight, and there came a deep moan, that told of grief not to be comforted-of a wounded spirit which could not be borne. Soft, but hasty footsteps approached—and, again, tones were heard almost too plaintive for human woe. Then there was a pause, and a plunge, and a choking, bubbling scream-and all was silent around that Bridge of Tears!

How many hundreds of human beings have crossed this bridge, conscious they were never to return? What strings of victims have been dragged over it ?-some in the serenity of innocence, some in the consciousness of habitual guilt, and others in a bowed and contrite spirit; but each followed by weeping friends, who still loved, when all the world besides was hostile or indifferent to their fate. *

death; with the consolement, at last, that now "his troubles were ended," and "all tears were wiped from his eyes.”

'Such was the spectacle of that "poor Irish lad," George Russel, who was hanged on Newton Heath for-stealing a piece of fustian! or, as the old ballad had it

"To rob the croft

I did intend,
Of Master Sharrock's
At Mill-gate end."

'Far be it from my wish, friend reader, to palliate wrong of any degree; but let us hope, and, if necessary, entreat, that all waste of life, like this, may have now passed for ever from England.'-Vol. i. pp. 87-90.

From the scene of these rueful associations Bamford was transferred next day to Lancaster castle-where he remained for some space in durance, in company with Mr. Hunt, Dr. Healey, and eight others;

'And now a sad spectacle occurs to my recollection. It was a fine sunny forenoon, and the church bells were tolling funereally, and Bridge-street was so crowded, that you might have walked on human heads. All eyes were turned towards this Bridge of Tears, and what came there? Ah! men on horseback, with but it was finally determined that their trial scarlet liveries, and white wands; and trump- should take place at York, in the spring; eters richly invested, who sent forth a note of and they were set free on bail during the wail that might have won pity from a heart interval, Sir Charles Wolseley being surety of stone. Next came halberdiers, and jave- for the Lancashire poet. He had been inlin-men; and then a horseman of lofty, but troduced to that gentleman shortly before gentle bearing, who, as he rode, turned, and cast a kind look towards one who followed, sit- by Mr. Peter Finnerty, who then managed ting high in a chair of shame, placed in a cart, the Lancashire correspondence of the And who is he? that youth so heart-broken Morning Chronicle, and who had found and hopeless, that draws tears from all eyes? Bamford useful in supplying him with notes at whose approach all heads are bared, all ex- of proceedings before magistrates, when the pressions are hushed, save sobs and prayers? regular reporters were excluded. 'Such,' For though he was but "a poor Irish lad," says Mr. Bamford, was my first connexthey said he was very comely," and "it was ion with the newspaper press :'-how much a great pity," and "hard that he could not be spared," and then, "might God support and or how little he has been connected with it comfort him!" High he sate, with his back to in the sequel we are not informed, Sir the horses, his whole persou exposed, his fee Charles invited Mr. Finnerty and his hum

6

bler coadjutor to pay him a visit at Wolsely | Lancashire Burns, 'that he wished me to Hall, and they did so immediately after the be a useful companion on the road—that is, liberation from Lancaster. It was the Bar- a kind of half-cad and half-comrade.' onet's hope that Bamford, of whom he had formed a high opinion, might henceforth be regularly employed by the Morning Chronicle; and it had been arranged that, instead of returning at once to Middleton, he should make a tentative excursion to London under Peter's wing.

'I went over to the hall, and found Finnerty quite comfortably domiciled. Lady Wolseley was in the straw up stairs, so that Sir Charles had much of his own way below. Friend Finnerty, now that he had the run of a splendid suite of apartments, attendance of servants, and all hospitalities, was also somewhat changed in his manner. His place was in the parlour with Sir Charles; mine in the housekeeper's room, with the occasional company of that amiable, respectable, and well-informed lady. I dined with her in the servants' hall, and took my other meals in her apartment, in company with her, the lady's maid, a joking, smiling and modest young girl, and a Monsieur something, the French cook. I lived pretty agreeably amongst my kind-hearted new acquaintances, yet at times, I could not prevent gloomy sensations from pressing on my mind. Finnerty had become quite condescending, for which I could not prevail on myself to feel thankful. Sir Charles was always kind and affable, without pretension; but still I could not but feel that in his house I was only a very humble guest. I had read how "an Ayrshire ploughman" had once been deemed good company for a Scottish duchess; bnt I found that the barriers of English rank were not to be moved by " a Lancashire weaver," though he could say, "I also am a poet," and, quite as much as the Scottish bard, a patriot also. I lodged at the inn; and often on mornings would I stroll out solitarily to look at the deer on the moorlands. Those majestic and beautiful animals would toss their proud antlers-gaze a moment in surprise, as if they also knew I

was a stranger.

'At length the glad morning came, when an end was to be put to this. I was to go with Finnerty to London, with a gig and horse which Charles Pearson had left at Stafford, I think, on his way down to Lancashire. Sir Charles made me a present of two pounds; Finnerty took the whip, and bidding good morn to our worthy host, we drove slowly from Wolseley Hall -Vol. ii. p. 29.

'At Lichfield, Finnerty spent an hour looking at the cathedral, whilst I looked after the mare at the inn. At Birmingham, which we reached tardily, we dined, gave the mare a good feed, and, after resting two hours, my friend, unexpectedly by me, gave the word to proceed; and with reluctance on my part, for I thought the beast had done enough for that day, we went on to some road-side inn, about nine miles further, where we got down, and the jaded thing was released and put into a warm stable. On looking over the luggage, it was discovered that a new silk umbrella, which Finnerty had bought at Manchester, was missing. He went into a passion, and stormed with all the wordiness and gesticulation for which his countrymen are remarkable; whilst I, sometimes provoked, sometimes amused, sat coolly and smoked a pipe until supper was ready.He laid all the blame on me: he expected I would have seen that the luggage was safe; he had trusted all to me, and was thus disappointed, like a fool as he was for troubling himself about other people's welfare. He was sure it had been left at Birmingham, and it was my neglect in not putting it in the gig; and then again he repeated what it had cost him-two pounds, I think.

'On entering Oxford I was struck by the noble and venerable appearance of many of its buildings, which I concluded, in my own mind, must be its churches and colleges. The streets were occupied by a numerous and very respectable-looking population; and I was not long in descrying, by the peculiarity of their dress, some of those fortunate and ingenious youths who, "born with silver spoons in their mouths," are, as we are taught to believe, "designed by a wise providence," and are certainly permitted by a wise people(?) to spoon up the riches and superfluities, which else would, by their very grossness, render said people dull of intellect, and sluggish in action; and yet I didn't think the young fellows looked like "spoonies."-Vol. ii.

P.

34.

At Oxford, Mr. Finnerty found a pretty young lady waiting for him—and in her presence the umbrella was again handled in a style so intolerable to Mr. Bamford, that he took his leave of the pair abruptly, and set off, late in the evening, to walk the rest of the way to London solus. Night overtakes him before he has got beyond NuneThe gig journey is given at some length.ham-and he seeks the shelter of a publicPeter Finnerty, pink of philanthropy, was house on the way-side, where, among a so savage in his treatment of the lent steed, group of village carousers, he finds a warm that the poet often walked for miles in the reception. mud rather than witness it; nor was he soothed by the great man's demeanor towards himself. I soon found,' says our

'Whilst we were chattering and enjoying ourselves comfortably with our pipes, some young fellows came into the next room, and