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To the Editor of the Northern Star.


When a traveller sets out on a journey of observation, the result of which proposes to lay before his friends, or in other words, the public, he is not necessitated a priori, to disclose his motives, or to make known his intentions. If he had any, he trusts his readers will be able to find them out on perusal, and if he had none, (as certainly is the case with many tourists,) incident alone must render his tour interesting.

The YORKSHIRE TOURIST however, has in his perigrinations, frequently observed that the public is interested in the works of a writer in proportion as he is personally known, and the length, or the shortness of his face, the colour of his eyes, or as the case may be of his single eye, the hue of his hair, his beard, and perhaps of his whiskers; his stature port and demeanour, give him a consequence in the eyes of his readers, and render his works more or less the object of inquiry. Numerous instances he conceives might be addued to support these observations, but as he hates trifling and is always ready to gratify a laudable curiosity, he proceeds (as in all probability hundreds of Yorkshiremen will recollect him) to delineate himself on the first outset of his journey on the morning of the 12th of May, in the year of our Lord 1817.

And now gentle reader,. conceive in thy own mind a light made, lean figure of a man, about forty-five years of age; of a stature some few inches above five feet; his face lank, his beard dark coloured, his hair formerly black, half blanched with care. and exhibiting in colour the appearance of a Magpie's wing, his eye, (now a great deal depends upon the eye) I mean his eyes, (and surely more depends upon two than one,) plainly indicating by a motion peculiar to eyes, whether their possessor felt pain or pleasure,— but as he is trotting along in a suit of black, with a pair of large saddlebags under him, on a little long tailed dun-coloured Welsh Keffil, the colour of his eyes cannot be easily distinguished.

Perhaps from this description he may be easily recollected, if not by following him into the yard of the White Bear Inn, at Barnsley, he may be seen dismounting. Here after refreshing himself and his poney, and perambulating the town, he has minuted in his pocket book the following obBARNSLEY.


Barnsley seems to be a place of business, yet its inhabitants want both spirit and curiosity. The Town externally is one rich compound of incongruities.

It has long had prefixed to its name the epithet of Black, for what reason I could never learn, though probably from the smoke and colour attending any of the manufactures of Iron; for Barnsley was formerly noted for its Wire Works. Its principal trade at present is in Linen.

The old part of the Town, is close, unhealthy, and disgusting; the streets narrow, crooked, and inconvenient, but the new part is in a great measure the reverse; yet even in the new habitations, particularly those


adapted for the labouring part of the inhabitants, there is still wanting that comfort and convenience, which is so observable in the dwellings of the same class of people in some other towns which I have visited.

Barnsley however is now improving. Of this the National School is a strong instance, not only in the building itself, which would be a credit to any town, but in the manner in which it is conducted. To the Master, (or more properly the officiating master, the proper one being ill) rather than to the system, is owing that surprising progress which the children exhibt. This young man, not yet eighteen years of age, appears to have devoted with uncommon attention, his talents to improvement, and to have found out the method of making these talents more useful than most individuals are able to do; such a teacher is a blessing to the place in which he is stationed.

My journey hither has been rather unpleasant. The morning showery prevented my enjoying the beautiful prospects near Sheffield, but the clearing up of the weather a few miles before reaching Barnsley, gave me an opportunity of seeing the grounds of Stainborough, or Wentworth Castle. In many forms, the edifice and the park shew themselves to the traveller, but are never seen to disadvantage; so well, so judiciously are they planned. Who on viewing them can withold a sigh to the memory of their once noble owner, the illustrious, the loyal Earl of Strafford?

The Village of Worsbrough is highly picturesque; and the iron furnaces in the dale, with the crowded wharf, point it out as the abode of Industry and its concomitant Plenty.

Mount Vernon, a Post-house and Inn, about three miles before reaching Barnsley, is pleasantly situated, it commands an extensive prospect, but the mock antiques with which it is surrounded, evince such an attachment to bad taste, as must call down the censure of every rational observer.

As the introduction of the Tourist himself, any more to his readers cannot be attended with any great degree of interest, (for by this time they must all be pretty well acquainted with him,) he will in all probability be no more seen, than as he may occasionally make himself visible in the following copies from his tablets.


Every Town has its Characteristic; that of Wakefield is cleanliness. Perhaps it appears to great advantage by being contrasted with Barnsley. Its streets are wide and commodious, its buildings elegant. Opulence and Ease seem here to have fixed their dwelling.

The Chapel on the Bridge is one of the most beautiful specimens of Anglo-Norman Architecture, yet in being. The frize though much decay. ed, is rich even to profusion. Historical subjects seem to be the design of the piece, and each compartment is a separate whole. 'Tis a building to which it is impossible to do justice with the pen, and the tempestuous wea ther prevents my sketching it. (To be continued.)




Good neighbourhood seems to be as well understood and English Hospitality as generally practised in the Moorland villages, as in any part of the kingdom. At Christmas, or at the annual feast, the inhabitants may almost be said to make but one family and to live at each house in daily succession. The stranger is admitted at every table, and the master thinks himself honored if he condescends to partake freely of his cheer, his pale home brew'd Ale, and his Elder Wine.


The principal amusement of a Staffordshire Fête is prison-bars; a diversion not much known in any other part of England except in the Isle of Thanet, where 'tis called by the name of a Running match. Mr. Keate in his Sketches from Nature, 'has beautifully described one of these running matches which he was witness to in the neighbourhood of Margate.

From the interest taken in this mode of amusement, the Moorland youths are from the cradle inured to running, and to this must be ascribed that fleetness of foot which has so long characterised the young men of Staffordshire.

The game is simply this. A number of young men habited in fine shirts and white linen drawers or trowsers, divide themselves by lot or otherwise into two equal parties; the one distinguished by Red, the other by Blue Ribbons tied round their arms and waists. The superfluous clothes of each party are deposited in two heaps at the distance of thirty or forty yards from each other. These are considered as the goals, or homes of the respective contenders, and in the middle space between them, two umpires and a drummer take their stations. The opponents are now arranged at their respective goals, and on the tap of the drum one of the players runs out toward the other goal by way of challenge, makes a short circuit and returns home; the other party proceeds in the same manner, and thus they continue for some time, each combatant singling out in his own mind the individual he means to pursue.

After diverting themselves in this manner for some time, one of the fleetest runners extends his circuit and is instantly pursued by one of the other side, who in his turn is also chased by one from the goal the first runner started from, and so on alternately; the game is now begun in earnest, and the field is soon covered with the emulous contenders, each exerting all

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his force to hit the youth before him, each anxious to preserve himself from the attack of his pursuer, and each endeavouring to keep open the retreat to his goal. They who have never seen this play can have no conception of the stratagems, the turns, and evolutions now made use of to give or elude the stroke, and 'tis not unfrequent with good players to have many courses before either side can claim the advantage of a hit. At length 'tis given, and the roll of the Drum summons the combatants home, amid the shouts of the Spectators, who hail the youth that gave the "premier coup," and decorate him with a Badge of honour, as the Hero of the Day. After resting a few minutes, the game re-commences, and is continued in the same manner till one party has given the other seven strokes; this party is then acknowledged victor and the running ceases.

To him who can rejoice in the happiness of his fellow beings, this game affords a gratifying spectacle, and to the admirer of pastoral simplicity, it presents a reality of sylvan amusement which is seldom equalled, and never exceeded.

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This diversion, say our polite neighbours the French, is not of English origin; our Character is too ferocious to relish sylvan amusements or to feel delight in the simple sports of Nature; but that we are not monopolists of ferocity is sufficiently evident from the following extract from their justly admired writer the amiable St. Pierre. Speaking of the pastimes of the Gallic Peasantry; "There is" says he one among many which strikes me as detestable; it is that in which they take a live goose, suspend her by the neck and contend who shall first bring her down by alternately throwing a Stick at their victim. During this long agony which lasts for hours together, the wretched animal tosses about her feet in the air to the great satisfaction of her executioners, till at length one of them, a better marksman than the rest, by completing a seperation of the vertebræ, brings to the ground the bruised and palpitating carcase; he then carries it off in triumph and devours it with his companions."


The ancient custom of suspending in the middle of the Hall at Christmas atuft of Misletoe, for the purpose of saluting the females underneath by way of wishing them a merry holiday, is still observed in the Moorlands. I know nothing of its origin, but it appears to me, that if the young men shouldby chance neglect it, the Women would be too tenacious of their privileges to forego the ceremony.


Too are very frequently erected here. Some of them are of an amazing height; and will bear the vestiges of their rustic ornaments for many years. On the whole, though the Moorlands can never convey an exact idea of the Poetical Arcadia, it displays more vestiges of Sylvan simplicity, more origina

As many of our readers may probably be amused by an elucidation of the origin of the Kissing Bush and the May Pole, the Editor will feel much obliged for the communication of any of his correspondents on the subject..

lity of manners, and less of the corruptions of politeness, than most other parts of this singular Island.


From the unevenness of the country the service of carts is in many places nearly excluded. Mules are trained up to supply this deficiency, and Coals, Ore, and Copper are carried on their backs. The former is piled on wooden saddles, and the latter in little bags is thrown over a well strawstuffed pad. These animals travel from twelve to forty or fifty in a gang, under the direction of a single driver, go through much labour with very little support, and will walk in safety where a horse would find it impossible to keep his legs.


The Moorlands among many other mineral productions abound in some parts with a reddish Marle which is found of great advantage as a manure for many of their clayey lands. The operation of marling is considered as a festival, and every farmer thinks it his duty to assist his neighbour in covering his fields. Twenty or thirty differemt teams are often employed in carrying this matter, while the pit is filled with willing labourers, some loosening and raising it up with the mattock, some using the spade and loading the carts; the striplings who are not strong enough to dig, chearfully conducting the teams to the field. The horses decorated with ribbons,

the chearful songs which animate the labour of the husbandmen, and the profusion of pies, puddings, beef, and ale displayed on the carpet of nature at their repast, give it more the effect of a "Fête champêtre" than one of the most fatiguing operations of agriculture.



Till the year 1788 Whittington remained in an obscurity which had enveloped it for upwards of three quarters of a century, the celebration of the hundredth anniversary of the Revolution awakened public curiosity and brought it into notice.

When James the second, disregarding the catastrophe of his royal father and in defiance of his coronation oath, had taken it into his head to play the tyrant, the people alarmed at the idea of innovation, determined to watch his proceedings with the utmost jealousy, and if possible render all his schemes abortive. While contriving new modes of oppression in London, his Nobles were holding secret conferences in the Country in order to circumvent him, and he found too late that the steps he had taken to increase his authority, had only hastened the total subversion of his power, and deprived him of the government of a country which has yet to learn the lesson of passive submission to the absolute will of an arbitrary monarch.

The Earls of Devonshire and Danby, D'Arcy, son and heir to the Earl of Holderness, Lord Delamere, Sir Scroop Howe and the representatives of many other illustrious houses, held numerous assemblies under various spe

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