Th Barrel Organ

Th' Barrel Organ

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Th' Barrel Organ, by Edwin Waugh
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Title: Th' Barrel Organ
Author: Edwin Waugh
Release Date: June 4, 2005 [eBook #15986]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TH'
BARREL ORGAN***
E-text prepared by Todd Augsburger

TH' BARREL ORGAN
by
EDWIN WAUGH
Manchester: John Heywood, 143 Deansgate. London: Simkin, Marshall
& Co.

I came out at Haslingden town-end with my old acquaintance, "Rondle
o'th Nab," better known by the name of "Sceawter," a moor-end farmer
and cattle dealer. He was telling me a story about a cat that squinted,
and grew very fat because--to use his own words--it "catched two mice
at one go." When he had finished the tale, he stopped suddenly in the
middle of the road, and looking round at the hills, he said, "Nea then.
I'se be like to lev yo here. I mun turn off to 'Dick o' Rough-cap's' up
Musbury Road. I want to bargain about yon heifer. He's a very fair
chap, is Dick,--for a cow-jobber. But yo met as weel go up wi' me, an'

then go forrud to our house. We'n some singers comin' to neet."
"Nay," said I, "I think I'll tak up through Horncliffe, an' by th'
moor-gate, to't 'Top o'th Hoof.'"
"Well, then," replied he, "yo mun strike off at th' lift hond, about a mile
fur on; an' then up th' hill side, an' through th' delph. Fro theer yo mun
get upo' th' owd road as weel as yo con; an' when yo'n getten it, keep it.
So good day, an' tak care o' yorsel'. Barfoot folk should never walk upo'
prickles." He then turned, and walked off. Before he had gone twenty
yards he shouted back, "Hey! I say! Dunnot forget th' cat."
It was a fine autumn day; clear and cool. Dead leaves were whirling
about the road-side. I toiled slowly up the hill, to the famous Horncliffe
Quarries, where the sounds of picks, chisels, and gavelocks, used by the
workmen, rose strangely clear amidst the surrounding stillness. From
the quarries I got up by an old pack horse road, to a commanding
elevation at the top of the moors. Here I sat down on a rude block of
mossy stone, upon a bleak point of the hills, overlooking one of the
most picturesque parts of the Irwell valley. The country around me was
part of the wild tract still known by its ancient name of the Forest of
Rossendale. Lodges of water and beautiful reaches of the winding river
gleamed in the evening sun, among green holms and patches of
woodland, far down the vale; and mills, mansions, farmsteads,
churches, and busy hamlets succeeded each other as far as the eye
could see. The moorland tops and slopes were all purpled with fading
heather, save here and there where a well-defined tract of green showed
that cultivation had worked up a little plot of the wilderness into
pasture land. About eight miles south, a gray cloud hung over the town
of Bury, and nearer, a flying trail of white steam marked the rush of a
railway train along the valley. From a lofty perch of the hills, on the
north-west, the sounds of Haslingden church bells came sweetly upon
the ear, swayed to and fro by the unsettled wind, now soft and low,
borne away by the breeze, now full and clear, sweeping by me in a
great gush of melody, and dying out upon the moorland wilds behind.
Up from the valley came drowsy sounds that tell the wane of day, and
please the ear of evening as she draws her curtains over the world. A
woman's voice floated up from the pastures of an old farm-house,
below where I sat, calling the cattle home. The barking of dogs
sounded clear in different parts of the vale, and about scattered hamlets,

on the hill sides. I could hear the far-off prattle of a company of girls,
mingled with the lazy joltings of a cart, the occasional crack of a whip,
and the surly call of a driver to his horses, upon the high road, half a
mile below me. From a wooded slope, on the opposite side of the
valley, the crack of a gun came, waking the echoes for a minute; and
then all seemed to sink into a deeper stillness than before, and the
dreamy surge of sound broke softer and softer upon the shores of
evening, as daylight sobered down.