For this action Spink and I were time after time subjected to boycotting by aggrieved property owners. Spink had to live in no less than three houses in as many months; as soon as the new landlord found out who his new tenant was-and the word was carefully pa.s.sed along-poor Spink had to "flit." Finally, however, he managed to get into a house where he could stop. I, also, had to suffer similarly, though not as severely. In return, we practised a system of annoying the public authorities whenever they required a servant by sending in applications.

I APPLY FOR SITUATION AS WORKHOUSE MASTER

When advertis.e.m.e.nts were out for a master at the Workhouse, I sent in an application along with thirty-nine others. Mr J. W. Layc.o.c.k was the chairman of the Board. He objected to my application being read, but Mr T. Middlebrook and other members challenged his view, and said the application must be read. It was somewhat as follows:-"Gentlemen of the Board of Guardians.-In applying for the situation of Workhouse master I can a.s.sure you that I feel competent for the situation, seeing that I have had much to do with all cla.s.ses and kinds of people in my travels-both high and low, rich and poor. I know, gentlemen, that you could not do better than engage me, as I have ben so used to living on low commons that I could keep the paupers at 1s 3d per head, whereas you boast about keeping them at 2s 8d or 2s 9d per head. You sit down to a sumptuous dinner, with salmon, &c., every Board day, Mr Leach informs me, for which you pay 1s per head. Now, I think I could provide you with a sumptuous dinner at 3d per head, and I should want that allowance for a little tobacco. It is not, I can a.s.sure you, gentlemen, a question of wages, but one of sheer honour that prompts me to apply for the situation of master of the Keighley Workhouse. If this suits your notice, you can reply by return of post.-Your humble servant, Bill o' th' Hoylus End."

But I was not appointed; and it is perhaps unnecessary to say that I did not intend to be appointed. My application caused much amus.e.m.e.nt and stir in the town. After this, Spink and I kept the ball rolling, and one of us applied for almost every public or semi-public office where we thought we could cause a little annoyance to the property owners, &c., on the Boards. Among other posts I applied for were those of nuisances inspector and School Boards curator.

"THE POOR MAN'S LAWYER"

It was during the long spell of spare time that I had on my hands that I became a sort of poor man's lawyer, though I had not, I must say, pa.s.sed the requisite examination. Scores of people, mostly belonging to the Irish part of the town, put their confidence in me, telling me secrets which it would not be wise for me to disclose. This business included a great variety of subjects and things. But disputes as to insurance and club money were the most numerous. Many were the insurance agents and collectors I was brought in contact with, among them being the late Mr O'Connell.

I TURN INVENTOR

I next turned inventor, and met with some success. I had always had an idea for invention and novelty, wanting to wear a different kind of clothes, and dress my warps different from anybody else. It was in company with Mr William Greenwood that I invented a warp-slaying machine.

This we sold to Mr R. L. Hattersley. I also invented a patent wax for use in warp-dressing and weaving. This, I intended, should supersede Stephenson's paraffin wax, and that it would have done, I feel sure, had it been properly placed in the market; but of all people in the world there is none like a druggist for squeezing profit out of his wares. He will either have 11d profit in every shilling's worth of goods or "perish in the attempt." I disposed of my rights in this patent to a gentleman who is now in Australia. I also turned my attention to producing many other little inventions.

CHAPTER XXIV OLD TIME FRIENDS

BILL SPINK, THE COBBLER

During the past few weeks I have received from friends acquired in the days of my boyhood and early manhood letters which have awakened within me a train of memories-both joyful and sorrowful-respecting my friends and acquaintances in the auld lang syne. That must be my apology for devoting this week's chapter of my "Recollections" to a brief notice of several of these local worthies. Of Bill Spink, the statesman-cobbler, I have previously made mention. Spink was born in the house in West-lane (now occupied as a club) wherein Mr James Lund, of Malsis Hall, first saw the light. He was a queer chap in his way was Spink. He belonged to what I may call the Peculiar political party which also claimed as members "Little" Barnes, James Leach, Theophilus Hayes, Joseph Fieldhouse, and your humble servant; and it was in his little cobbler's shop that the deliberations of our party were carried on. Spink took the Tory side in national politics, and frequently attended political meetings up and down the district. On one occasion, I well remember, Spink was sent by the Tory party to a Liberal meeting at Silsden. Sir Mathew Wilson was one of the speakers, and he was "tackled" on certain points during his speech by Spink, until the Radical garrison made a raid upon this undesirable invader of their citadel, and ejected him into the street. Spink was severely handled in the process, and it occupied him all his strength-_i.e._ all that remained-to walk back to Keighley. Spink was a man who must speak his mind, and could not bear to hear the views and principles which he upheld ruthlessly set at nought. He was, at bottom, a good-natured man; indeed, I think I scarcely ever came across a man with a more sympathetic disposition. In any deserving public object, or case of private distress in the town, he was the first to the rescue.

Unfortunately, he suffered much from a diseased leg, which was the cause of his death. There was an unpleasant hitch at the funeral. When the party arrived at the Keighley Cemetery, it was found that the grave was too small, and it was some time before the necessary extension could be made. The circ.u.mstance of the mourners having to wait was aggravated by a heavy down fall of rain. At last, however, the remains of my old friend were duly consigned to Mother Earth. In his life time I promised Spink that I would write his epitaph, which I now produce:-

Here lie the remains of the friend of the poor, Inside of his palace without any door.

By man's inhumanity he was oft made to flit, But now he's at home, where he'll bide for a bit.

He had a large heart that beat in his breast; Without some sensation he never could rest; If he saw a mean action he'd cry like a calf; If he saw a kind deed he'd cry more bi't half.

A THEATRICAL CHUM

I must now revert to my old theatrical friend, John Spencer, who had returned from America. He was greatly changed in appearance, so that I scarcely knew him by sight; he put me in mind of a Spanish brigand.

Spencer, while in the States, had gone through the Civil War, having served, he told me, on the sides of both North and South. He was first pressed into service while travelling with a circus. The request was put to the whole company, who 'listed as one man, and joined the Confederate Army. Spencer was put in as express rider, his duty being to act as mounted postman from one camp to another. It was while on one of these journeys that he was made a prisoner. He had a large amount of money in notes upon him, but this he managed to hand unnoticed to a civilian friend. As a prisoner he was taken to Washington. Being a first-cla.s.s misdemeanant, he was allowed to patrol the streets, which, however, were closely watched, and it seemed an impossibility for him to pa.s.s the sentinels. But John had knocked about the world a good deal, and had had his wits sharpened, and by a "theatrical stratagem" he managed to evade the outposts and to make his escape. He stopped at a dye-house some distance out of Washington, and was fortunate enough there to meet with a friend from his native district-Sam Brook, a theatrical amateur, from Crossflatts, near Bingley. Sam furnished his erstwhile companion of the stage with a dyer's wearing apparel, and, thus disguised, Spencer managed to get back to the place where he had been captured, and to recover the notes which he had deposited with the person mentioned. With this money Spencer seems to have got back to England. Arrived at Keighley, he sent for me, and nothing would satisfy him but that I should break off work at once and help him, so to speak, to "mak t' bra.s.s fly." Together we travelled nearly all over Great Britain, and also paid a visit to Paris.

It was in the French capital that Spencer found the money getting "beautifully less," and he concluded that it would be better for all concerned if we returned to Keighley. This we did. Soon after, Spencer took up a position as traveller for the Bradford Old Brewery Company. But the English climate did not seem to suit him-far from it; there were certain peculiarities about his const.i.tution which said as much. It was with much pain that one morning I heard of his death, which had taken place very suddenly at the house of his father, who was landlord of the Bay Horse Inn. The Rev Mr Goodman, then the Baptist minister, officiated at the funeral of the deceased, and, I recollect, spoke of the awful suddenness of death. His remarks, I felt, were directed to myself, and I was very uncomfortable the while. Among the many persons present at the funeral was "Doctor" John Walton, who was at one time in partnership with Mr Anthony Spencer and Mr Henry Newton as herbalists, &c.

WITH THE LATE MR EDWIN WAUGH

On one particular evening which has left its imprint indelibly on my mind, I spent a few pleasant hours with a handful of local celebrities in the Commercial Inn. The chief of the party was the celebrated Lancashire poet, the late Mr Edwin Waugh, who had come to Keighley to give readings in the old Mechanic's Hall, and was invited to join us. Another member of our party was Mr John Hopkinson, brother to Mr Barber Hopkinson. A right merry fellow he was, full of yarns and comic ditties. With him was his nephew, Mr Benjamin Hopkinson, who about the time was causing some stir in the district with several letters which he published in the Press.

This trio are now gone over to the great majority. Mr Emmott, veterinary surgeon, and Mr Lacy, another local worthy, were also in the company.

Very pleasant and entertaining was the time we spent together that night.

Next morning I accompanied Mr Waugh to Kildwick, whither we walked on the ca.n.a.l bank. On the way, the Lancashire poet proved himself an intensely interesting and instructive companion. He had a large stock of funny stories, and possessed quite a knack of imparting his sensible advice to one in an inoffensive and almost unnoticeable manner. During the journey I said little, but thought much. At Kildwick we inspected the "Lang Kirk," and other places of note in the locality, and then parted. It was soon after this visit that I wrote the following verses:-

Old Kildwick Grange and Kildwick Hall, I see them now once more; They 'mind me of my boyish days, Those happy days of yore.

The old White Lion in the corner stands, Most fitting for the poets, Where Turner from a foreign land Would give his great exploits.

'Twas in the Indian jungle The tiger first he saw, With fiery eye, and open mouth, Sharp talons on his paw.

They met, and with a desperate spring The tiger on his prey; While Turner's two companions- Both cowards ran away.

But Turner fought a desperate fight, His courage ne'er forsook, He javelled at the tiger Until his bayonet broke.

One part was in the savage breast, And Turner understood If he could grovel out the steel 'Twould draw the savage blood.

'Twas done-the blood gushed out amain, The lion-hearted brave Beheld his foe go to a stream, To drink and meet his grave.

I see the house where Turner lived; But Turner is not here.

In the Lang Kirkyard he now may rest Without a tiger's fear.

"SAMMY" MOORE, AND OTHERS

Since I began these Reminiscences I have received a letter from an old friend of mine, whom I said I thought was dead. I allude to "Sammy"

Moore, and I am glad to hear that he is alive and doing well. I had not heard of him for a score of years. Many are the happy hours we have spent together on the stage. His letter says he is in California, where he is occupying a good situation as registrar of a town of about 10,000 inhabitants. He says he has left off acting and wishes to know if I have done the same; and he also inquires after many of his old Keighley friends. This sentence leads me to refer to a few more of my own friends in the days of yore. There is the Rev William Thawbrey, a Wesleyan Methodist minister at Keighley, who subsequently took up work in the mission field in South Africa. Then there are the late Mr Thomas Carrodus, the manager of the Yorkshire Penny Bank at Keighley, the Brothers Kay, Mr Joshua Robinson, and Mr James Lister,-all of whom were fellow stage amateurs of mine. The hand of death has pa.s.sed heavily over my old friends-particularly those with whom I moved on the amateur theatrical stage-and I can number on my fingers those who have been left.

CHAPTER XXV

MR JONAS BOTTOMLEY

I had not a little to do with the late Mr Jonas Bottomley, of mint rock fame. I first became acquainted with him in the warp department at Messrs Lund's in West-lane. He came to ask me if I would write his "manifesto,"

or election address, as he intended "standing" for the Local Board and the Board of Guardians. I wrote out the address, but Mr Bottomley did not succeed in getting on either of the Boards. It was soon afterwards that the Prince of Wales was announced to visit Milner Field, Saltaire. Mr Bottomley had hit upon some idea or other, and he came to ask me who was the likeliest person to write a letter to the Prince of Wales. I referred him to the late Rev J. Room, vicar of Eastwood. Mr Bottomley accordingly waited upon Mr Room, who, however, said he had come to the wrong person; he (Mr Room), was not in the habit of addressing kings and princes, and lords and dukes, but he could refer him to a man who was. Mr Room said he knew n.o.body better for the work than Bill o' th' Hoylus End. So Mr Bottomley appealed to me, and, with some demur, I penned a rough epistle, which was couched somewhat as follows:-"To His Royal Highness Albert Edward Prince of Wales.-May it please your Royal Highness to accept a package of mint rock from your humble servant. And, in addition, while your Royal Highness is staying in the locality, I should very greatly appreciate an interview. If you could see your way to consent to my earnest longing you would greatly oblige your most humble and obedient servant, Jonas Bottomley." Mr Bottomley told me when I was writing the letter that if he got the Royal patronage to his mint rock he would give me 100 "slap dahn," which, you may guess, made me as anxious as Mr Bottomley to bring about the desired "interview." I had also to write some verses concerning the Royal visit to Saltaire-