Mary Barton | Page 4

wonder, then, that these
fields are popular places of resort at every holiday time; and you would
not wonder, if you could see, or I properly describe, the charm of one
particular stile, that it should be, on such occasions, a crowded halting
place. Close by it is a deep, clear pond, reflecting in its dark green
depths the shadowy trees that bend over it to exclude the sun. The only
place where its banks are shelving is on the side next to a rambling
farmyard, belonging to one of those old world, gabled, black and white
houses I named above, overlooking the field through which the public
footpath leads. The porch of this farmhouse is covered by a rose-tree;
and the little garden surrounding it is crowded with a medley of
old-fashioned herbs and flowers, planted long ago, when the garden
was the only druggist's shop within reach, and allowed to grow in
scrambling and wild luxuriance--roses, lavender, sage, balm (for tea),
rosemary, pinks and wallflowers, onions and jessamine, in most
republican and indiscriminate order. This farmhouse and garden are
within a hundred yards of the stile of which I spoke, leading from the
large pasture field into a smaller one, divided by a hedge of hawthorn
and blackthorn; and near this stile, on the further side, there runs a tale
that primroses may often be found, and occasionally the blue sweet
violet on the grassy hedge bank.
I do not know whether it was on a holiday granted by the masters, or a
holiday seized in right of Nature and her beautiful spring time by the

workmen, but one afternoon (now ten or a dozen years ago) these fields
were much thronged. It was an early May evening--the April of the
poets; for heavy showers had fallen all the morning, and the round, soft,
white clouds which were blown by a west wind over the dark blue sky,
were sometimes varied by one blacker and more threatening. The
softness of the day tempted forth the young green leaves, which almost
visibly fluttered into life; and the willows, which that morning had had
only a brown reflection in the water below, were now of that tender
grey-green which blends so delicately with the spring harmony of
colours.
Groups of merry and somewhat loud-talking girls, whose ages might
range from twelve to twenty, came by with a buoyant step. They were
most of them factory girls, and wore the usual out-of-doors dress of
that particular class of maidens; namely, a shawl, which at midday or in
fine weather was allowed to be merely a shawl, but towards evening, if
the day was chilly, became a sort of Spanish mantilla or Scotch plaid,
and was brought over the head and hung loosely down, or was pinned
under the chin in no unpicturesque fashion.
Their faces were not remarkable for beauty; indeed, they were below
the average, with one or two exceptions; they had dark hair, neatly and
classically arranged, dark eyes, but sallow complexions and irregular
features. The only thing to strike a passer-by was an acuteness and
intelligence of countenance, which has often been noticed in a
manufacturing population.
There were also numbers of boys, or rather young men, rambling
among these fields, ready to bandy jokes with any one, and particularly
ready to enter into conversation with the girls, who, however, held
themselves aloof, not in a shy, but rather in an independent way,
assuming an indifferent manner to the noisy wit or obstreperous
compliments of the lads. Here and there came a sober, quiet couple,
either whispering lovers, or husband and wife, as the case might be;
and if the latter, they were seldom unencumbered by an infant, carried
for the most part by the father, while occasionally even three or four
little toddlers had been carried or dragged thus far, in order that the
whole family might enjoy the delicious May afternoon together.
Some time in the course of that afternoon, two working men met with
friendly greeting at the stile so often named. One was a thorough

specimen of a Manchester man; born of factory workers, and himself
bred up in youth, and living in manhood, among the mills. He was
below the middle size and slightly made; there was almost a stunted
look about him; and his wan, colourless face gave you the idea, that in
his childhood he had suffered from the scanty living consequent upon
bad times and improvident habits. His features were strongly marked,
though not irregular, and their expression was extreme earnestness;
resolute either for good or evil, a sort of latent stern enthusiasm. At the
time of which I write, the good predominated over the bad in the
countenance, and he was one from whom a stranger would have asked
a favour