him a droight o' ale to wesh it deawn wi'; an' as for heytin', he'll heyt mortal thing-dhyed or alive-iv he con get his teeth into't." A native of Smallbridge was asked, lately, what "Roddle" did for his living, and he replied, "Whaw, he wheels coals, and trails abeawt wi' his clogs loce, an' may's a foo' ov hissel' for ale." Yet utterly lost as Roddle is himself in person and habits, he is strongly imbued with the old prejudices against town's people. To him, the whitest linen worn by a townsman, is only what the country folk call a "French White." A welldressed person from Rochdale chanced one day, unwittingly, to awaken "Roddle's" ire, who, eyeing him from head to foot, with a critical sneer, said, "Shap off whoam, as fast as tho con, an' get tat buff shurt sceawr't a bit, wilto; an' thy skin an' o'; for theawr't wick wi' varmin; an' keep o' thy own clod, whol tho con turn eawt some bit like." "But," continued my informant, "aw'm a bit partial to th' offal divul for o' that; he's so much gam in him, and aw like a foo i' my heart! Eh! he used to be as limber as a treawt when he're young; but neaw he's as wambley an' slamp as a barrow full o' warp sizin'. Th' tother mornin' aw walked up to him for a bit ov a crack as uzal, but th' owd lad had gettin his toppin cut off close to his yed; an' he wacker't an' stare't like a twichelt dog; an' gran at mo like mad. Aw're fore't to dray back a bit, at th' furst, he glooart so flaysome. It're very frosty, an' his e'en looked white and wild, an' as geawl't as a whelp. Iv the dule had met Roddle at th' turn ov a lone that mornin' he'd a skriked hissel'

eawt oy his wits, an' gwon deawn again. Ir measther sauces me sometimes for talkin' to Roddle; but aw olez tell him at aw'st have a wort wi' th' poor owd twod when aw meet him, as what onobody says."

There is a race of hereditary sand-sellers, or "sond-knockers," in Smallbridge; a rough, uncouth, mountaineer breed, who live by crushing sandstone rock into powder, for sale in the town of Rochdale, and the villages about it. This sand is used for strewing upon the flagged house floors, when the floor is clean washed; and while it is yet damp, the sand is ground over it by

the motion of a heavy "scouring-stone," to which a long, strong, wooden handle is firmly fixed, by being fastened to an iron claw, which grasps the stone, and is imbedded into it by molten lead. The motion of the "scouring-stone" works the flags into smoothness, and leaves an ornamental whiteness on the floor when it gets dry; it breeds dust, however, and much needless labour. The people who knock this sand and sell it, have been known over the country side for many years by the name of "Th' Kitters," and the common local proverb, "We're o'ov a litter, like Kitter pigs," is used in Smallbridge, as an expression of friendship or of kinship, and an hospitable encouragement. As regular as Saturday morning came, the sandcarts used to come into Rochdale heavily laden; and I remember that they were often drawn by horses which, like the steed of the crazy gentleman of Spain, were "many cornered," and, generally ill-conditioned; and in addition to that, sometimes afflicted by some of the more serious ills which horse-flesh is heir to. They have better horses now, I believe, and they are better used. The train of attendants which usually accompanied these sand-carts into the town was of a curious description. Hardy, bull-necked, brown-faced drivers, generally dressed in strong fustian, which, if heavily plated with patches in particular quarters, was still mostly whole, but almost always well mauled, and soiled with the blended stains of sand, and spilt ale, and bacon fat, with clumsily stitched rips visible here and there. The whole being a kind of tapestried chronicle of the wearer's way of living, his work, his fights, fuddles, and feasts. Then they were often bareheaded, with their breeches ties flowing loose at the knees, and the shirt neck wide open, displaying a broad, hairy, weather-beaten chest; and the jovial-faced, Dutch-built women too, in blue lin aprons, blue woollen bedgowns, and clinkered shoon; and with round, wooden, peck and half-peck measures tucked under their arms, ready for "hawpuths" and "pennuths.” As the cart went slowly along, the women went from house to house, on each side of the road, and, laying one hand upon the door cheek, looked in with the old familiar inquiry, "Dun you

want ony sond this mornin'?" puth. Put it i' this can." and acquaintance, sometimes a short conversation would follow in a strain such as this, "Well, an heaw are yo, owd craythur?" "Whau, aw'm noan as aw should be by a dhyel. Aw can heyt naut mon, an' aw connut tay my wynt." "Aw dunnot wonder

"Hah, yo may lhyev a hawWhen they came to an old customer

at tat; yo'n so mich reech abeawt here. If yo'rn up at th' Smo'bridge, yo'dd'n be fit to heyt yirth-bobs an' scaplins, welly. Mon, th' wynt's chlyen up theer, an' there's plenty on't, an' wi' can help irsels to't when we like'n. Wi'n you come up o' seein' us?" "Eh, never name it! Aw's ne'er get eawt o' this hole till aw'm carried eawt th' feet foremost!" "Come, wi'n ha' noan o' that mak o' talk! Aw'd as lief as a keaw-price at yo'dd'n come. Yo'n be welcome to th' best wi' ha'n, an wi'n may yo comfortable beside; an' bring yo deawn again i'th cart. But ir Jem's gwon forrud wi'th sond. Let's see; did'n yo gi' mo th' hawp'ny? * * * Oh, hah! It'll be reet! Neaw tay care o' yorsel', and keep yo'r heart eawt o' yo'r clogs!" When the cart came to a rut, or a rise in the road, all hands were summoned to the push, except one, who tugged and thumped at the horse, and another, who seized the spokes of the wheel, and, with set teeth and strained limbs, lent his aid to the " party of progress" in that way. Sometimes a sturdy skulker would follow the cart, to help to push, and to serve out sand, but more for a share of the fun, and the pile of boiled brisket and cheese an' “moufin,” lapt in a clout, and stowed away in the cartbox at starting, to be washed down with "bally-droights" of cold fourpenny at some favourite "co'in-shop" on the road.

The old custom of distinguishing persons by Christian names alone, prevails generally in Smallbridge, as in all country parts of Lancashire, more or less. It sometimes happens, in small country villages like this, that there are people almost unknown, even among their own neighbours, by their surnames. Roby gives an instance of this kind in his "Traditions of Lancashire," where he mentions a woman, then living in the village of Whitworth, for whom it would be useless to inquire there by her

proper name; but anybody in the village could have instantly directed 66 to you Susy o'Yem's o' Fairoff's, at th' top o' th' Rake," by which name she was intimately known. Individuals are often met, whose surnames have almost dropt into oblivion by disuse, and who have been principally distinguished through life by the name of their residence, or some epithet, descriptive of a remarkable personal peculiarity, or some notable incident in their lives. Such names as the following, which will be recognised in their locality, are constantly met, and the list of them might be authentically extended to any desirable degree:

"Tum's o' Charles o' Billy's," or "Red Tum," "Bridfuut," 66 Corker," "Owd Fourpenny," ‚” “Tum o' Meawlo's," "Rantipow," and "Ab o' Pinder's," who fought a battle in the middle of the river Roch, at a great bull-bait in Rochdale, more than thirty years ago; "Bull Robin," "Jone o' Muzden's," "Owd Moreover," and "Bonny Meawth." This last reminds me of the report of a young villager, near Smallbridge, respecting the size of the people's mouths in a neighbouring district. 66 Thin th' bigg'st meawths i' yon country," said he, "at ever aw seed clapt under a lip! Aw hove one on 'em his yure up, to see if his meawth went o' reawnd; but he knockt mo into th' slutch." Many of these quaint names rise in my memory as I write : "Owd Dragon,” “Paul o' Bill's,” “Plunge,” “Ben o' Robin's o' Bob's o' th' Brid-stuffers, o' Buersil Yed," "Collop," "Tolloll," ," "Pratty Strider," "Lither Dick," and "Reawnt Legs,"

"Reawnt Legs he wur a cunnin' owd twod,
He made a mule draw a four-horse lwod."

And then there was "Johnny Baa Lamb," a noted character in
Rochdale twelve years ago.
He was low in stature, rather
stout, and very knock-knee'd; and his face was one paradise
of never-fading ale-blossoms. Johnny's life was spent in
helping about the slaughter-houses, and roaming from ale-
house to alehouse, where, between his comical appearance, his
drunken humour, his imitations of the tones of sheep, lambs,
and other animals, and his old song,—

"The mon and the mare,

Flew up in the air,

An' aw think aw see 'em yet, yet, yet;”—

the chorus of which he assisted by clattering a great poker on the hearth, he was a general favourite, and kept himself afloat in ale-the staple of his ambition-by being the butt of every tap-room, where his memory remains embarmed. There was "Barfuut Sam," a carter, who never would wear any footgear; "Ab o' Slender's," "Broth," " "Sthyem," "Scutcher," Peawch," and "Dick-in-a-Minnit." Most of these were as well known as the church clock. And then there was "Daunt o' Peggy's,' Brunner," ," "Shin 'em," "Ayli o' Joe's o' Bet's o' Owd Bullfuut's," and "Fidler Bill," who is mentioned in the Lancashire song, "Hopper hop't eawt, an' Limper limp't in,"

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"Then aw went to th' Peel's Arms to taste of their ale;

They sup'n it so fast it never gwos stale!

An' when aw'd set deawn, an' getten a gill,

Who should come in boh Fidler Bill.

He rambles abeawt through boroughs an' teawns,
A' sellin folk up as boh ow'n a few peawnds;"

and, then, there was "Jone o' Isaac's," the mower, "Pheyswad," and "Bedflock," who sowed blendspice in his garden for parsley seed; and "Owd Tet, i' Crook," an amiable and aged country woman, who lately lived in a remote corner of the moors, above Smallbridge, and whose intended husband dying when she was young, she took it deeply to heart. On being pressed to accept the hand of a neighbour, who knew her excellent qualities, she at last consented, assuring him, however, that her heart was gone, and all that she could promise him was that she could "spin, an' be gradely;" which saying has become a local proverb. In the Forest of Rossendale I have met with a few names of more curious structure than even any of the previous ones, such as "Eb o' Peg's o' Puddin' Jane's," "Bet o' Owd Harry's o' Nathan's at th' Change," "Enoch o' Jem's o' Rutchot's up at th' Nook," "Harry o' Mon John's," "Ormerod o' Jem's o' Bob's," and "Henry o' Ann's o' Harry's o' Milley's