CARRINGTON MOSS.
"Will you walk into my parlour?" said the spider to the fly:
"'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy."
OLD SONG.
Should any of our unknown companions in these rambles be vegetarians,
they will please here take notice that Carrington Moss is in the
summer-time a scene of ravenous slaughter such as cannot but be
exceedingly painful and shocking to them. It will appear the more
repulsive from the high character for innocence ordinarily borne by
the destroyers, who are the last beings in the world we should expect
to find indulging in personal cruelty, much less acting the part of
perfidious sirens. Having given this warning, our friends will of
course have only themselves to blame should they persist in following
us to the spectacle we are about to describe; and now it only remains
to say that the perpetrators of the deeds alluded to are _plants_!
People are apt to look upon plants simply as things that just grow
up quietly and inoffensively, open their flowers, love the rain, in
due time ripen their seeds, then wither and depart, leaving no more to
be recorded of their life and actions than comes of the brief span of
the little babe that melts unweaned from its mother's arms. This is
quite to mistake their nature. So far from being uniform, and unmarked
by anything active, the lives of plants are full from beginning to
end of the most curious and diversified phenomena. Not that they act
knowingly, exercising consciousness and volition,--this has been the
dream only of a few enthusiasts,--but taking one plant with another,
the history of vegetable life is quite a romance, and scarcely inferior
in wonderful circumstance to that of animals. So close is the general
resemblance of plants to animals, as regards the vital processes and
phenomena, that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to point out
a single fact in connection with the one that has not a counterpart,
more or less exact, among the other. The animal world is a repetition
in finer workmanship of the vegetable. As for harmlessness and
inoffensiveness in plants, these are the very last qualities to be
ascribed to them. Pleasant are fragrant flowers, and sweet fruits,
and wholesome herbs, but these tell only half the tale. No wild beast
of the forest rends with sharper teeth than grow on thorn-trees of
different kinds; if the wasp darts its poisoned sting into our flesh,
so does the nettle; if snakes' bites be mortal, so is the venomous
juice of the deadly nightshade. Not in the least surprising is it,
then, that we should find certain plants indicating a propensity to
prey. Animals of lower degree as regards every other disposition of
life, why should they not participate in this one? That they do so is
plain. Though as a rule, plants feed upon watery and gaseous matters,
supplied by the earth and atmosphere, the members of at least two
curious tribes, the _Sarracenias_, and the _Droseraceæ_ or "Sundews,"
depend not alone on solutions of manure, or other long-since-decayed
organic substances, prepared by chemical action, but collect fresh
animal food on their own behalf. The latter include the plants that may
be seen engaged in their predatory work upon Carrington Moss.
Before entering upon the consideration of them, we may take the
opportunity, furnished by this long word _Droseraceæ_, of saying a
little about the "hard names" so often charged upon botanical science.
It is continually asked what need is there to call flowers by those
excruciating Latin titles. Why cannot they have plain English names?
Why must all our names be
Like the verbum Græcum,
Spermagoraiolekitholakapolides,
Words that should only be said upon holidays,
When one has nothing else to do?
Many make it a ground of abstaining from the study of botany
altogether, that the names are so hard to learn, as if every other
science and species of knowledge, including history and geography, were
not equally full of hard words. But look now at the simple truth of the
matter. Very many of the common or "English" names of flowers are in
reality their botanical or Latin ones, as fuchsia, laburnum, camellia,
geranium, iris, verbena, rhododendron, so that it is not a question
of language after all. To be consistent, these names should be left
to the professional man, and "English" ones be manufactured in their
place; it is clear, however, that they can quite easily be learned and
spoken, Latin though they are, and if some can be mastered and found
simple enough, of course others can. Besides, what would it advantage
us to substitute really English names for them? Nothing would be gained
except a synonym, by saying, as we might, "crimson-drop" instead of
fuchsia, or "golden-rain" instead of laburnum; while very much would
be lost in precision by using a name of obscure and uncertain origin,
and upon which even one's own neighbours might not be agreed, instead
of a term fixed by the great leaders in the science of botany, whose
judgment all respect, and which is accepted by every nation of the
civilised world. It is quite as necessary to call plants by determinate
scientific names as to call a certain constellation Orion, and a
certain island Spitzbergen. Botanists do not call plants by Latin names
simply out of pedantry, or to make their science difficult, but for the
sake of clearness and uniformity. None of the botanical names are so
hard as it is fancied; the Lancashire botanists in humble life have no
trouble with them; the real difficulty is in not caring anything about
the objects they are applied to. We do not find those who make so much
outcry about the Latin names particularly anxious to learn the English
ones either. The English names are not thrown overboard by their Latin
companions. All true botanists, so far from rejecting or despising
English names, love them and continually use them, substituting the
Latin synonyms only when scientific accuracy requires.
Let us now proceed to the sundews, first describing the way to their
habitation. All the mosses about Manchester possess these curious
plants, but Carrington Moss is the most readily accessible, lying only
a little distance south-west of Sale. From the station we go for about
a mile in the direction of Ashton-upon-Mersey, then turn up one of the
lanes upon the left, and look out for a grove of dark fir-trees, which,
being close upon the borders of the moss, is an excellent guide. The
edge of the moss is being drained and brought under cultivation; all
this part, along with the ditches, must be crossed, and the higher,
undisturbed portion ascended, and as soon as we are up here we find the
objects of our search. Among the heather are numberless little marshes,
filled with pea-green _Sphagnum_, and containing often a score or two
of the sundews, some of them with round leaves, about a third of an
inch across, and growing in flat rosettes of half-a-dozen; others, with
long and slender leaves that grow erect. Every leaf is set round with
bright red hairs, which spread from it like eyelashes, while similar
but shorter hairs cover the surface. When the plant is full-grown and
healthy, these hairs exude from their points little drops of sticky and
limpid fluid, which, glittering like the diamonds of Aurora, show the
reason of the poetical English name, sundew. Directly that any little
fly or midge comes in contact with the sticky drops, the unfortunate
creature is taken captive, just as birds are caught with bird-lime.
Held fast in its jewelled trap, the poor prisoner soon expires; and
then, either its juices or the gaseous products of the decomposition,
appear to be absorbed by the plant, and thus to constitute a portion
of its diet. This is rendered the more probable by the experiments of
the late Mr. Joseph Knight, of Chelsea, who fed the large American
flycatcher, the _Dionæa_, with fibres of raw beef, and found the plant
all the better for its good dinners. Certainly it cannot be asserted
positively that the Drosera is nourished by its animal prey, but it is
difficult to imagine that so extraordinary and successful an apparatus
is given to these plants for the mere purpose of destroying midges, and
that the higher purpose of food is not the primary one. On the larger
leaves may generally be seen relics of the repast, shrivelled bodies,
wings, and legs, reminding one of the picked bones that strew the
entrance to the giant's cavern in the fairy tale. Sundew plants may be
kept in a parlour, by planting them in a dishful of green moss, which
must be constantly flooded with water, and covering the whole with a
glass shade. Exposed to the sunshine, their glittering drops come out
abundantly, but the redness of the hairs diminishes sensibly, owing,
perhaps, to their being denied their natural prey. The flowers of these
singular plants are white, and borne on slender stalks that rise to the
height of three or four inches. The roots survive the winter.
Carrington Moss is further remarkable for the profuse growth of that
beautiful flower, the Lancashire asphodel, which, at the end of July
and the beginning of August, lights it up with flambeaux of bright
yellow. Here also grow the _Rhyncospora alba_, the cranberry, the
Andromeda, and the cotton-sedge, all in great abundance; and on the
margin, among the ditches, luxuriant grasses peculiar to moorland, and
the finest specimens of the purple heather that are anywhere to be
seen so near Manchester. The rich sunset-like lustre of this sturdy
but graceful plant renders it one of the loveliest ornaments of our
country when summer begins to wane into autumn. Branches, gathered when
in full bloom, and laid to dry in the shade, retain their freshness
of form and pretty colour for many months, and serve very pleasingly
to mix with honesty and everlastings for the winter decoration of the
chimneypiece. Intermixed with the heather grows the _Erica tetralix_,
or blushing-maiden heath, an exceedingly elegant species, with light
pink flowers, collected in dense clusters at the very summit of the
stalk. The immediate borders of the moss, and the lanes approaching
it, are prolific in curious plants. To go no further, indeed, quite
repays a visit. July is the best time. Then the foxgloves lift their
magnificent crimson spires, and the purple-tufted vetch trails its
light foliage and delicate clusters beneath the woodbines; and the tall
bright lotus in coronets of gold, and the meadow-sweet, smelling like
hawthorn, make the lady-fern look its greenest, while in the fields
alongside stands, in all its pride of yellow and violet, the great
parti-coloured dead-nettle, which here grows in luxuriant perfection.
Up to the very end of autumn this district is quite a garden to the
practical botanist. Where cultivated and uncultivated land adjoin,
just as where land and sea come in contact, there is always found the
largest variety and plenty, alike of vegetable and of animal life; and
nowhere is this more marked than on the borders of Carrington Moss. The
cottages near the moss are but few. Tea may be procured nevertheless,
if we are content to run the risk of there being no milk, which, like
fish by the sea-side, is often a scarce thing even in the heart of the
country; but on a pleasant summer evening, when everything else is fair
and contenting, he must be a grumbler indeed who would let _this_ spoil
his enjoyment. Half a loaf enjoyed with one's friends, far away in the
sweet silence of nature, and a happy walk home afterwards, with loving
faces right and left, is better, ten times over, than a luxurious
meal got by coming away prematurely. All this part of the country is
remarkable also for the luxuriance of its culinary vegetables. The
rhubarb is some of the finest grown near Manchester, and it is quite a
treat to look at the beans.
Another way to the moss, available for residents at Bowdon, is through
Oldfield, and by Seaman's Moss Bridge, where we cross the Warrington
railway, to Sinderland, looking out when thus far for a lane upon the
right, bordered first by birch-trees and afterwards by oaks. All these
lanes, like those on the Ashton side of the moss, are remarkably rich
in wild-flowers and ferns, the latter including the royal fern, or
Osmunda, and in early summer show great plenty of the white lychnis,
called, from not opening its petals till evening, the _vespertina_.
The pink-flowered lychnis, the "brid-e'en" or "bird's eye" of the
country people, is, like the telegraph office, "open always." Here we
may perceive the use of Latin or botanical names; for "bird's eye" is
applied to many different plants in different parts of England, so that
a botanist at a distance who might chance to read these lines could not
possibly tell what flower was meant, whereas, in "Lychnis vespertina"
there is certainty for all. Whoever is fond of blackberries and wild
raspberries would do well to make acquaintance with these pretty lanes;
whoever, too, is fond of solitude--a state not fit for all, nor for
any man too prolongedly, but a true friend to those who can use it. If
we would thoroughly enjoy life, we should never overlook the value of
occasional solitude. It is one of the four things which we should get a
little of, if possible, every day of our lives, namely, reading, good
music, sport with little children, and utter seclusion from the busy
world.
The number of mosses and moors in the neighbourhood of Manchester
makes it interesting--as in the case of the Cheshire meres, to know
something of their origin. The wonderful discoveries of geology, with
regard to the crust of the earth, and the successive deposition of
the strata of which it is composed, claim our attention scarcely more
than the history of the surface, which has undergone changes quite as
momentous to the welfare of man, and no part of that history is more
curious, perhaps, than that of the mosses. Wherever a moss now extends
in wet and dreary waste, it would seem that there was once a plain or
expanse of tolerably dry land, more or less plentifully covered with
trees and underwood, but subject, by reason of the depressed level, to
frequent inundation, just as we see the fields at Sale and Stretford
flooded every now and then at the present day. The falling of the older
and weaker trees, in consequence of the long-continued wetness, and
the want of a steady and complete outlet for the accumulated waters,
would soon cause the place to assume the character of a marsh,--neither
land nor lake,--and now semi-amphibious plants would not be slow to
spring up, for wherever such conditions of surface are exchanged for
dry ones, plants of that nature appear as if by magic. The morass thus
formed and occupied, would in a single season become knee-deep in
the very same kind of mixture as that which now forms the outer skin
of Carrington Moss, viz., heather of different kinds, cotton-sedges,
and bog-moss. Every successive year the original mass of roots and
stems would be left deeper and deeper beneath by the new and upward
growth of the vegetation above; till at last, saturated with wet, and
pressed by the weight of the superincumbent matter, it would acquire
the compact form which is now called "peat." The original moisture of
the place, instead of diminishing, would be incessantly reinforced
from the clouds, and the lapse of a few centuries would pile up on
the surface of the once dry ground, a heap many yards in vertical
thickness of half-decayed, half-living heath and moss, with sundews,
cotton-sedges, and asphodels on the top. The branches of the trees
drowned and entombed at the beginning, would remain where they fell,
slowly decaying, but retaining their character well enough to be
recognised, and hence wherever a moss is now drained, and portions of
the original deposit are dug out, there are generally found mixed with
it branches and fragments that in a measure may be likened to fossils.
Carrington Moss, in parts where drained, is strewed with such bits of
the silver birch, declared by the shining whiteness of the bark. The
trees that these bits belonged to no doubt grew tall and leafy on the
spot that is now their sepulchre and memorial. Flowers and seeds of
bog plants are also found low down in the moss, almost as fresh as if
newly fallen. In the middle, these vast vegetable tumuli are often
twenty or thirty feet deep. In any part a walking-stick may be plunged
in for its full length, and though by stepping and standing on the
denser tufts of heather, it is quite easy to walk about dry-shod, it
is quite as easy by uncarefulness, especially after wet weather, to
be in a pool of water up to the ankle in a few minutes. There is no
_danger_ in walking upon the mosses, merely this little risk of getting
wet-footed, which is more than compensated by the curious objects that
may be found upon them. In winter and dull weather they are desolate
enough, but on a summer afternoon full of reward. Owing to their
immense capacity for absorption, many mosses swell into mounds higher
than the surrounding country, as happens at Carrington; and after
heavy rains this enlargement is so much increased that distant objects
are concealed from view until evaporation and drainage have caused
subsidence to the ordinary level. Before Ashton Moss (between Droylsden
and Ashton-under-Lyne) was drained, trees and houses were often lost to
view for many days, by persons residing on the opposite side.
That this is the true origin of the mosses is rendered fairly certain
by the circumstance of works of human art having often been found at
the bottom. When Ashton Moss was drained, there were found under the
peat a Celtic axe and some Roman coins;[11] and in another part, at the
foot of one of the old stumps of trees, a quantity of charred wood,
betokening that a fire had once been lighted there. The coins would
naturally suggest that some old Roman soldier had had a hand in the
kindling, and the well-known fact of the extensive felling of trees by
the Romans, both in road-making, and to aid them in the subjugation
of the country, has led to the belief with some, that to these people
may partially be attributed the origination of the mosses. The trees
and scattered branches encumbering the ground, are supposed to have
checked the free passage of floods and other water, which, becoming
stagnated, gradually destroyed the growing timber, and eventually led
to the results described above. Baines (History of Lancashire, iii.
131) says of Chat Moss, that it was originally the site of an immense
forest, but was reduced to a bog by the Roman invaders, at a period
coeval with the first promulgation of the Christian religion. It would
probably be no error to assert with Whitaker, that the whole of the
country round Manchester, and not merely the site of Chat Moss, was, at
the time of the Romans, covered with trees. One thing is quite certain,
namely, that the formation of the mosses is comparatively recent, and
probably much within one thousand eight hundred years. They appear to
rest universally on a clayey substratum, and it is very interesting to
observe that where the peat is wholly removed, for the purpose of fuel,
as upon Holford Moss, near Toft and Peover, the clay surface being then
laid bare, birch-trees spring up unsown. The seeds of these trees must
have been lying there since they ripened, unable to vegetate previously
for want of air and the solar warmth. It is quite a familiar phenomenon
for plants to spring up in this way from seeds that have been buried
for ages, especially on earth laid bare by cuttings for railways and
similar works; so in truth it is no more than would be expected in
connection with the clearing away of peat, and the restoration of the
under-surface. The tree next in frequency to the birch, as a denizen of
the old _silva_, appears to have been the oak.
"Moors" are a more consolidated form of mosses. Seated, most usually,
on higher and more easily drained ground than the mosses, they have
in some cases preserved a drier nature from the first; in others, they
have become drier in the course of time, through the escape of their
moisture by runnels to lower levels; and in others again, they have
allowed of easy artificial draining, and conversion to purposes of
pasturage and tillage, or at least over a considerable portion of their
surface, and have thus disappeared into farm-land. The most extensive
and celebrated mosses about Manchester, still undrained, are Chat Moss,
Carrington Moss, and Clifton Moss, near the Clifton railway station, on
the left hand of the Bolton-road. Fifteen years ago (_i.e._ in 1843),
White Moss and Ashton Moss might have been included in the list, but
both of these are now largely brought under cultivation. The most
celebrated moors are now nearly all under the power of the plough, as
Baguley Moor and Sale Moor, while Newton Heath is covered with houses.
The above chapter was written in 1858. The story of the sundews has now
become an old familiar one, having been placed prominently before the
world by Dr. Hooker during the 1874 meeting of the British Association,
when the novelty of the theme attracted universal attention to it.
It has been dealt with also by Mr. Darwin and many of his disciples.
The facts described have all been verified, though there is still
considerable difference of opinion in regard to the digestive process.
This question is one we cannot pretend to go further into at present;
it remains for the rising generation of Manchester, and other local
physiologists, to recognise the value of the opportunities they
possess in having the plants themselves so close at hand. Upon
Carrington, however, the Droseras seem to be less plentiful than they
were forty years ago. The draining at the margins appears to have
favoured the growth of the heather, as well as to have rendered the
moss less swampy. If deficient here, there are plenty elsewhere, the
sundews being to peat-bogs what daisies are to the meadows. Since 1858
the approaches to the moss from the Manchester side have also been a
good deal altered, and enquiry must now be made of residents in the
neighbourhood when seeking the most convenient means of access.
Extending so far in the direction of Dunham, the wooded slopes of which
latter are plainly visible from all parts, wet Carrington,--
Water, water, everywhere,
And not a drop to drink,--
excites new relish for the shades of its beautiful park. Few are the
inhabitants of our town to whom Dunham is unknown, and who fail upon
every new visit to find in it a poem and a jubilee. The greater number
of the trees were planted by George, second Earl of Warrington. He
was born in 1675, and died in 1758, so that his exemplary work may
be considered to date from the time, as to its beginning, of Queen
Anne, and the oldest of the trees to have been growing for nearly two
centuries, since, of course, it would not be acorns that were placed
in the soil, but saplings, already stout and hearty. Wandering amid
the rich glooms they now afford, occasional breaks and interspaces
disclosing green hollows filled with sunlight, or crested knolls that
seem like sanctuaries; delicate pencillings of lighter foliage throwing
into grand relief the darker and heavier masses, in this sweet land
there is never any sense of sameness,--we are awakened rather to the
power there is in perfect sylvan scenery, as well as in that of the
mountains, and the sea-margin, to elevate and refresh one's entire
spiritual nature. Very pleasant is it when we can simultaneously
thank God for creating noble trees, and let the mind rest upon a
fellow-creature as the immediate donor. Many of the old Dunham oaks
date considerably further back than the time indicated. England is
dotted all over with individual trees, the age of which is rightfully
estimated by centuries, and Dunham Park is not without its reverend
share.
Emerging from the park, past the old mill--beloved of sketching
artists--there are pleasant footways across the meadows that conduct
eventually to Lymm. To trace them was, in the bygones, a never-failing
enjoyment. Now we go to Lymm direct by train, finding there, as of
old, one of the most beautiful of the Cheshire waters; in this case,
however, of origin very different from the Vale Royal meres. The water
at Lymm, romantic and picturesque as are its surroundings, is simply
a vast reservoir, brought into existence by the construction of the
viaduct at the foot. The site now occupied by the water was originally
a little vale, down which flowed a streamlet called the Dane. Becoming
very narrow where the roadway now is, to throw a barricade across
was easy. The construction of this gave distinctiveness also to the
"dell," the pretty hollow, full of trees, into which, when the water
is high, the overplus, creeping under the road by a concealed channel,
springs so cheerily. Ordinarily, it must be confessed, there is little
more than a thin trickle, but after a day or two's heavy rain, down it
comes, with a joyous double leap, in great sheaves and waving veils,
the more delectable since the cascade in question is the only one in
this part of Cheshire, or anywhere upon the Cheshire side of the town.
The pleasantest time to visit this beautiful neighbourhood is the very
end of July. The wild cherries are then ripe, and glisten like coral
amid the green leaves; and in the water there is a rosy archipelago of
persicaria blossom. Beyond the plantation, at the upper extremity, the
surface is often so still and placid that every flower and leaf upon
the banks finds its image beneath, the inverted foxgloves changing, as
the calm gives way to ripples, into softly twining spirals of crimson
light. When the shores are laid unusually bare through drought, they
furnish abundance of the beautiful shells of the fresh-water mussel,
_Anodonta cygnea_, often four inches in length, externally olive-green,
and possessed inside of the pearly iridescence so much admired in
sea-shells. Many, however, are broken, the swans being fond of the
contents. To see the water to its full extent, visitors should continue
along the hill-side, opposite the church, and as far as the grove of
trees. With permission of the proprietor, it is a great gain, on
arrival there, to cross by the rustic bridge, and, turning to the
left, ascend the little valley called "Ridding's Brook." The botany
of this part is truly rich,--in March the slopes are yellow with the
wild daffodil, and in late summer the bank is gay with purple lythrum.
The special interest of the valley lies, after all, in its curious
dropping and petrifying spring. At the further extremity, upon the
right, the steep clay bank, instead of receding, is hollowed underneath
for the length of a hundred yards or so, the upper edge projecting to
a considerable distance beyond the base, so as to overhang the stream,
and form a sloping roof to it. The surface is completely covered with
luxuriant moss, and from the land overhead comes an incessant filter of
water, which at once nourishing the moss and entangled in it, causes
it to hang down in long vegetable ringlets. At a distance they seem
soft, but examination shows that every drop has brought along with it a
particle of earth, which being deposited in the very substance of the
moss, is gradually converting it into stone. Every cluster, externally
so green and living, is in its heart a petrifaction.
[Illustration: Tho. Letherbrow.
_Oldfield, Dunham_]
Very pleasant walks, of entirely different character, are to be found
also, when at Lymm, along the great alluvial flat bordered by the
river, and which reaches to Thelwall. Thelwall was once a port for
ships! When founded by Edward the elder, about the year 923, the stream
was so much wider and deeper that, according to tradition, the Danish
invaders came this way in vessels, landed, and established a camp
or fortress at Mickley Hill, the mound, now covered with fir-trees,
which marks the point where the Bollin enters. Up to about 1855, or
before the water was so defiled, the Mersey at this part, and more
particularly near Statham, was to the sportsman supremely attractive.
It was visited in the winter by many curious birds, including the
sheldrake, the widgeon, the teal, and occasionally the wild swan. Lymm
village contains several objects of archæological interest. Near the
centre are the remains of an ancient cross, the lower steps of which
are cut out of the solid rock; and close by, upon an eminence, is
Lymm Hall, an ancient building, once, like most others of its kind,
protected by a moat. Lymm church tower is as high above the sea-level
at the base as Bowdon old tower is at the top. The shrubs in the
gardens, owing to the altitude, are often reached, in tempestuous
weather, by the salt of the Irish Sea. Near Lymm there are many other
very interesting places. Oughtrington Hall and Agden Hall, in the
Dunham direction; High Legh, with its ancient and beautiful little
church, covered with ivy; and Warburton, again noted for its church,
are all, in their respective ways, full of attraction. Warburton church
is one of the three in Cheshire which, as at Peover, were built in
the quaint old "black and white" or "magpie" style. Only a portion,
however, of the original remains at Warburton, new structures, very
odd in complexion, having been added at various times. The stone part
is dated 1645,--the tower, about a century old, and fortunately now
ivy-mantled, is of _brick_! The yews are no doubt contemporaneous with
the foundation, say about seven hundred years of age.
Latchford, the station next beyond Thelwall, is a good point of
departure for Hill Cliff, the lofty and beautiful eminence upon which
Warrington so prides itself. The view from the summit is considered by
many the most varied and extensive in Cheshire--justly so, perhaps,
since upon the east it extends to Alderley, and upon the west to
Moel Famma. Another route to Hill Cliff is by the original line to
Warrington, through Eccles, from Victoria station, the same which
leads on to Norton for Norton Priory, Norton Park, and Halton Castle;
to Frodsham, for its glorious hills, and to Chester. The views from
the Frodsham hills cover, like those from Hill Cliff, a most charming
variety of scene,--Halton Castle, Weston Point, Rock Savage, the
Aston Woods, and the winding Weaver, with its many craft, being all
embraced at once. The best way of procedure, in order to enjoy the
hills thoroughly, is to take the Helsby portion first, beginning at the
station of that name, then to cross the valley and ascend the Overton
part. If considered too much for a single day, there is amply enough
for a couple of separate visits. Norton Park, made up of undulating and
flowery glades, with the Priory in the centre, is little less enjoyable
than Tatton, though the spectacle of the dire mischief wrought by
the fumes from the adjacent alkali-works, apparently irreparable, is
very sad; Halton Castle has its chief attraction in the record, for
the precincts, of well-known historical events; the interest of the
river consists in its identification with one of the most important
branches of the local commerce. Before going so far in search of
enjoyment, it is wise to remember that long before reaching even Lymm,
the line _viâ_ Broadheath gives access to quiet fields that in summer
evenings are rich in pleasant influence, those in particular which lie
west of Dunham Massey. A very delightful rural neighbourhood, almost
contiguous, has also now been opened up by the "Cheshire Midland."
Urmston, Flixton, and Glazebrook are centres from which it is difficult
to move unprofitably. Very much of course depends upon the amount
of disposition to be pleased that we carry with us, and upon one's
progress in the culture of that finest of the fine arts--the art of
seeing.
[Illustration]
[11: See a description of these coins in the _Ashton
Reporter_, of March 14th, 1857.]
[Illustration]