Folk-lore is a word introduced into the English language by the late Mr. W. J. Thorns to designate the superstitions, observances, sayings, traditions, and beliefs of the people; the collecting and systematic arrangement of which is now recognised as an important section of the science of comparative mythology. Folk-lore treats

It takes cognisance of all the quaint notions connected with the varying seasons of the year and epochs of human life; of all the beliefs in futurity and supernatural agencies which are not sanctioned by religion; of the fireside story; of the milk-maid’s song and the mother’s lullaby; in short, of all the remains of ancient religion, history, science, and philosophy which have been preserved to the present day in the conservative memory and affection of the people. The old songs of the peasantry, the grandam’s fairy tales, the children’s rhymes, the auguries and omens of the ignorant and least educated portion of the community might seem at first sight to be unworthy of the serious attention of the antiquary. But experience has shown that these humble materials afford really important data for the student of mythology and anthropology. Customs, which once formed part of the ceremonial of creeds outworn, survive amongst European nations, as an evidence of their pre-Christian belief. The characters of the nursery tales are credited with the performance of deeds once attributed to mighty gods or heroes. The collation of these narratives enables us to remove some myths from the historic page. In a similar manner the examination of popular superstitions throws light upon the various systems of mythology. There is a great similarity noticeable in the folk-lore of different nations, even those which are most remote. Thus the legend narrated by Herodotus of Rhampsinitus is found to have been popular with the Norse children; and while this is the case with stories which do not appear to have any allegorical meaning, it is still more so with regard to those conceptions which we term myths. Each historic nation has emerged from a savage condition, more or less profound, and its folk-lore is merely fragmentary recollections of its past stages, often in the form of ceremonials dictated by principles no longer forming the ordinary rule of action, or even directly opposed to it. And as the ideas of savages are limited in number, and derived mainly from the contemplation of natural phenomena likely to strike each observer in the same manner, it ceases to be so great a matter of wonder that widely separated races of mankind should invent similar explanations to account for the wild or wonderful appearances which excited their awe and astonishment.

The literature of folk-lore has grown with great rapidity, and the foundation of the Folk-Lore Society greatly stimulated the study in this country. Mr. G. L. Gomme has defined folk-lore to be the science which treats of the survivals of archaic belief and custom in modern ages. His suggested classification shows the wide scope of the new science. The first branch, Traditional Narratives, includes folk-tales, hero-tales, ballads and songs, and place-legends. Under Traditional Customs he includes local customs, festivals, customs, ceremonial customs, and games. The third division, Superstitions and Beliefs, includes witchcraft, astrology, and superstitious practices and fancies. The last department, Folk-speech, covers popular sayings, popular nomenclature, proverbs, jingle-rhymes, riddles, etc.

The literature of the folk-lore of Lancashire is somewhat extensive, for references to popular superstitions and customs abound in the writings of Edwin Waugh, Ben Brierley, and the many writers who have illustrated the dialect of the county, and especially of its south-western portion. The late Mr. John Roby, whose “Traditions of Lancashire” first appeared in 1829, was a diligent collector of local legends, but his object was purely literary, and accordingly his book must be used cautiously, though it certainly contains important data. The “Lancashire Dialect Glossary” of Messrs. Nodal and Milner contains many references to popular customs. There are also many articles in Notes and Queries the Palatine Note-Book, Local Gleanings, Manchester City News Notes and Queries, Manchester Guardian Notes and Queries, and other literary and archÆological periodicals. The principal authorities on the subject are Messrs. John Harland and T. T. Wilkinson, whose “Lancashire Folk-lore” appeared in 1867, followed by “Lancashire Legends” in 1873. These have been several times reprinted. Mr. Charles Hardwick, in 1872, published a volume, the wide sweep of which is shown by the title, “Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-lore, chiefly Lancashire and the North of England, their affinity to others in widely distributed localities, and their Eastern origin and mythical significance.” Then Mr. James Bowker has written “The Goblin Stories of Lancashire.” Harland’s “Lancashire Ballads” should also be consulted, nor must the publications of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire and of the Lancashire and Cheshire Antiquarian Society be neglected.

Some may be inclined to ask, “Is there any folk-lore left?” Certainly during the present age the rapid diffusion of knowledge has happily driven forth much antique superstition; but there is a temptation to exaggerate the extent of the effects which have thus been produced. In Lancashire, where we might have expected to find that the noise of the steam-engine had frightened away both the fairies and the queen of the May, and the spread of knowledge to have destroyed all faith in spells and charms, interesting articles of folk-lore have been recorded as either still surviving, or as having only recently become obsolete. Many observances are connected with particular seasons of the year. Thus on New Year’s Day there is a firm belief that if a light-haired person “let in” the New Year, a twelve month of ill-luck will be the result, and that, on the contrary, dark persons will bring with them a year of good fortune. So Pan-cake Tuesday, Simnel Sunday, Easter, May Day, Christmas, etc., have each their special customs still observed in Lancashire, though in many cases so shorn of their ancient glories as to be little more than relics of former greatness.

The habit of attaching a symbolic importance, even to the most trifling occurrences, is strikingly illustrated in the following quotations from Harland and Wilkinson:—“Most grandmothers will explain, ‘God bless you!’ when they hear a child sneeze, and they sum up the philosophy of the subject with the following lines, which used to delight the writer in the days of his childhood:—

This is certainly a comprehensive epitome of the entire philosophy of sneezing.

The finger-nails of a baby should be bitten shorter. If they are cut, the child will become “sharp fingered”—i.e., thievish.

As a specimen of the folk-tale, we may take that of the “Three Tasks.” The inhabitants of Cockerham, having made up their minds that the devil had been showing an unreasonable partiality to their village, gave the schoolmaster the not very pleasant task of expelling the Prince of Darkness from their midst. The man of letters, having raised the foul fiend, appointed him three tasks; if he failed to accomplish them he was never to appear again at Cockerham, but if he succeeded in their performance, the pedagogue became his prey. The two first tasks were soon done, but the third, the fatal, mystic third—

proved too much even for the ingenuity of the Father of Evil, and if he stuck to his bargain Cockerham must be the happiest place on earth! This legend of the Three Tasks is not confined to Lancashire, but is also narrated in connection with Merton Sands, Cheshire, and a Cornish version forms the subject of “Featherstone’s Doom,” one of the Rev. R. S. Hawker’s wildest lyrics. Another curious story is that which says that the parochial church of Burnley was originally intended to be built on the site occupied by the old Saxon Cross in Godly Lane; “but however much the masons might have built during the day, both stones and scaffolding were invariably found where the church now stands on their coming to work next morning.” This legend is told also of Rochdale, Winwick, Samlesbury, Over, Saddleworth, Churchdown, and many other churches.

A winding-sheet in the candle, spilling the salt, crossing knives, and various other trifles, are omens of evil to thousands even at this day. Should one of your children fall sick when on a visit to a friend’s house, it is held to be sure to entail bad luck on that family for the rest of the year, if you stay over New Year’s Day. Persons have been known to travel sixty miles with a sick child, rather than run the risk. A flake of soot on the bars of the grate is said to indicate the approach of a stranger; a bright spark on the wick of a candle, or a long piece of stalk in the tea-cup, betokens a similar event. When the fire burns briskly some lover smirks or is good-humoured. A cinder thrown out of the fire by a jet of gas from burning coals is looked upon as a coffin if its hollow be long; as a purse of gold if the cavity be round. Crickets in houses are said to indicate good fortune, but should they forsake the chimney corner, it is a sure sign of coming misfortune.

By this time the mixture of races in Lancashire is so complete that it is not easy to gather at first hand fresh data as to indigenous superstitions. This is more especially the case in the populous districts, where immigrants from every part of the United Kingdom and from abroad have been attracted by the great industries of the County Palatine. These influxes have necessarily had their influence upon the population and its beliefs. There is the danger of mistaking for a genuine product of the Lancashire soil what is merely an exotic. This danger exists as to oral tradition, but is still greater with regard to what has become literature. It will be well to illustrate this by a concrete example. In the pleasant volume of “Poems and Songs” by Thomas Newbigging there is a poem entitled “The Story of Old Gamul,” narrating as a Rossendale tradition one of those strange legends which are links in the history of fiction. According to Mr. Newbigging’s story, old Gamul had the enmity of but one man—the keeper, who determined to work his destruction. This villain caused a pit to be dug, and cunningly covered over with turf and branches. Thinking that the victim is already there, the keeper goes to the place and falls into it himself. Gamul soon after passes, and hearing a cry for help, lets down ropes, and pulls up, first a lion, then a serpent, then an ape, and last of all his enemy. The keeper invites Gamul to his house, and when he goes there, knocks him down with a club, and casts him forth as dead. Gamul, however, recovers, and when next he goes to the wood, he is aided in his labour by the ape, the serpent brings him “the adder’s magic stone,” and the lion shows him a cave full of treasure.

The keeper finally hangs himself for vexation, and the old woodman becomes Sir Gamul.

A work by a German named Massenius was published at Cologne in 1657. It was entitled “PalÆstra Dramatica,” and contained, amongst other curious narratives, one of a certain Signor Vitalis, who fell into a pit in which a lion, a monkey, and a serpent had also fallen. They were all rescued by an honest countryman, Massaccio, to whom Vitalis promised a marriage-dower and his palace. Once safe, he denies all knowledge of his deliverer. The beasts prove more grateful, but a gem which is given to the peasant by the serpent leads to a suspicion that he has stolen it. At the trial Vitalis again denies him, but is overwhelmed with confusion when the beasts enter the court and force from him an involuntary confession. A translation of this story appeared in Blackwood’s Magazine for March, 1835. The fable was, however, not invented by Massenius, for in a slightly different form it occurs in the “Gesta Romanorum,” that famous collection of mediÆval stories. It also attracted the notice of Gower, and is told in the “Confessio Amantis,” in this the lion is omitted. Matthew Paris gives it as an apologue told by Richard of the Lion Heart. Finally it is found in that storehouse of Eastern legend, the Calilah u Dimnah. This was translated by Doni into Italian, and an English rendering of his version appeared in 1570. Massenius may have obtained the story either from the “Gesta,” or from this book of Doni. It is very probable that many other versions exist. But does Mr. Newbigging’s poem really represent a Lancashire tradition? To solve this doubt the readiest way was to put the question to him. The following is his reply:—“With some differences my ‘reverend Grannie’ used to relate this story to amuse my childhood. I cannot help smiling when I look back and remember the time when, if some casualty, such as an unusually wet night, or a ‘hawket heel,’ or any of the thousand and one ills attendant on boyhood, kept me chained to the fireside, my invariable petition was, ‘Grannie! gie’s auld Guy!’ (she gave the hero’s name as Guy, not Gamul, as I have given it) and forthwith ‘Auld Guy’ was related for the fiftieth time by the same patient lips, and to the same eager listener. I had never been able, though I had looked long and carefully, to find anything like it in print. My good grandam (who was a rare old Scotch woman, full of old-world lore) heard the story from her father, and she believed that he had read it in some old book.”

Doubtless this ancestor of Mr. Newbigging’s read the story in one of the many editions of the “Gesta Romanorum,” which was for centuries a favourite story-book. The name of Guido clearly indicates the source. It is a striking instance of the passage of literature into legend. In fifty years from now Mr. Newbigging’s poem would be considered no light proof of the existence of a Lancashire variant of the story; yet, as we have just learned, it has no connection with Rossendale, but came from Scotland, and even then was a book tale, and not a genuine legend. This instance will not have been cited in vain if it warns any too enthusiastic student “folk-lorist” of the pitfalls that beset his path.

We can only indicate the varied interest of Lancashire folk-lore by two or three examples. Let us take a phrase which may still be heard occasionally, “Aw’m coming too, like th’ Clegg Ho’ Boggart.” This is an allusion to a story told of more than one old house in the county. The inmates are perplexed and worried by the exploits of a tricksy spirit that upsets the furniture, makes strange noises, and generally renders everyone uncomfortable. They decide to remove, but when the furniture is on the cart, the “boggart” is heard to exclaim, “I’m going too,” whereupon they decide to remain and endure as best they may the unwelcome companionship of their household spirit. Now this story of the “flitting boggart” is a widespread one. When Professor Worsaae was in England, he surprised a Lancashire friend by narrating a Scandinavian legend which is practically identical. “See i dag flitter vi,” were the words of the Danish brownie. The version given by Mr. Roby appears to be merely a literary appropriation of a Yorkshire story, but the widespread character of the tale is undoubted. Tennyson is familiar with it, and has thus put it into verse:—

The late Mr. Charles Hardwick thought that the flitting boggart was of Scandinavian origin, and the evidence seemed strong enough, but there is evidence that he is known in Italy. In that charming book by Janet Ross, “The Land of Manfred,” there is this interesting bit of folk-lore:—“I observed that some of the flock the old shepherd was guarding looked tired and hung their heads wearily. I asked whether they were ill, and he answered, ‘No; but I must get rid of them, because the LaÙro has taken an antipathy to them.’ On further inquiry, he told me that the LaÙro was a little man, only thirty centimetres high, always dressed in velvet, and wearing a Calabrese hat with a feather stuck into it. The LaÙro is most capricious: to some who ask him for money he gives a sackful of broken potsherds; to others who ask for sand he gives old coins. He took a particular dislike to a cousin of the old shepherd’s, sitting on her chest at night and giving her terrible dreams. At last she was so worried by the LaÙro that she determined to leave her house. All the household goods and chattels were on the cart; nothing was left but an old broom, and when the goodwife went to fetch it the LaÙro suddenly appeared, saying, ‘I’ll take that; let us be off to the new house.’ His antipathies or likings are unaccountable; he will steal the corn from one horse or mule to give it to another, twist up their manes and tails in a fantastic way, or shave them in queer patterns. The LaÙro would not allow the sheep I had asked about to rest at night, and any animal he hated had to be sold.”

It may, of course, be said that the flitting boggart went to Taranto with Guiscard’s Normans in the eleventh century, but it is equally probable that the Lancashire weaver and the Italian peasant have each inherited their belief from a common and an earlier source.

The devil occupies a conspicuous place in folk-lore, but he is not the fallen angel, dark, gloomy, and majestic whom Milton drew, nor is he the accomplished Mephistophiles, the spirit that denies, whom Goethe has painted. The devil of folk-lore is malignant but stupid, and oftener the dupe of humanity than the slayer of souls. This is evident in the story of the devil’s task of making a rope of sand already named, and is equally clear in the story of the tailor who made a wager with the devil that he would beat him at a sewing match. He succeeded by giving the Evil One a needle with a thread in it so long that for every stitch the demon had to fly all round the room, whilst the tailor’s was only of the normal length. The devil of folk-lore is more like Pan and the satyrs, than he is like the Adversary who tempted Job. But de mortuis nil nisi honum, and if—there is much virtue in an if—if the devil is drowned let him rest in peace.

When Archbishop Whately was a Fellow of Oriel, he told this story in the Common Room:—“A cobbler in Somersetshire dreamt that a person told him that if he would go to London Bridge he would meet with something to his advantage. He dreamt the same the next night, and again the night after. He then determined to go to London Bridge, and walked thither accordingly. When arrived there, he walked about the whole of the first day without anything occurring; the next day was passed in a similar manner. He resumed his place the third day, and walked about till evening, when, giving it up as hopeless, he determined to leave London and return home. At this moment a stranger came up and said to him, ‘I have seen you for the last three days walking up and down this bridge; may I ask if you are waiting for anyone?’ The answer was ‘No!’ ‘Then what is your object in staying here?’ The cobbler then frankly told his reason for being there, and the dream that had visited him three successive nights. The stranger then advised him to go home again to his work, and no more pay any attention to dreams. ‘I myself,’ he said, ‘had about six months ago a dream. I dreamed three nights together that, if I would go into Somersetshire, in an orchard, under an apple-tree, I should find a pot of gold; but I paid no attention to my dream, and have remained quietly at my business.’ It immediately occurred to the cobbler that the stranger described his own orchard and his own apple-tree. He immediately returned home, dug under the apple-tree, and found a pot of gold. After this increase of fortune he was enabled to send his son to school, where the boy learnt Latin. When he came home for the holidays, he one day examined the pot which had contained the gold, on which was some writing. He said, ‘Father, I can show you that what I have learnt at school is of some use.’ He then translated the Latin inscription on the pot thus, ‘Look under, and you will find better.’ They did look under, and a larger quantity of gold was found.” This story was as current in Lancashire as in Somersetshire. At Swaffham, in Norfolk, there is a figure of a chapman and his dog. This pedlar popular tradition describes as founding the church out of a treasure found in the manner already described. The story is current also in Cornwall and in Yorkshire. It is narrated as a matter of fact in the history of “Dost in Holland.” But it is found in the Eastern as well as in the Western world. This will be seen from this story which is given in E. W. Lane’s “Arabian Tales and Anecdotes”:—“It is related that a man of BaghdÁd was possessed of ample riches and great wealth; but his wealth passed away and his state changed, and he became utterly destitute, and could not obtain his sustenance save by laborious exertion. And he slept one night, overwhelmed and oppressed, and saw in his sleep a person who said to him, ‘Verily thy fortune is in Cairo; therefore seek it and repair to it.’ So he journeyed to Cairo; and when he arrived there, the evening overtook him, and he slept in a mosque. Now there was, adjacent to the mosque, a house; and as God (whose name be exalted!) had decreed, a party of robbers entered the mosque, and thence passed to that house; and the people of the house, awaking at the disturbance occasioned by the robbers, raised cries; whereupon the WÁlee^[13] came to their aid with his followers, and the robbers fled. The WÁlee then entered the mosque, and found the man of BaghdÁd sleeping there: so he laid hold upon him, and inflicted upon him a painful beating with mikra’ahst (the thick end of a palm stick used for beating), until he was at the point of death, and imprisoned him; and he remained three days in the prison; after which, the WÁlee caused him to be brought, and said to him, ‘From what country art thou?’ He answered, ‘From BaghdÁd.’—‘And what affair,’ said the WÁlee, ‘was the cause of thy coming to Cairo?’ He answered, ‘I saw in my sleep a person who said to me, ‘Verily thy fortune is in Cairo: therefore repair to it.’ And when I came to Cairo, I found the fortune of which he told me to be those blows of the palm stick that I have received from thee.’—And upon this the WÁlee laughed so that his grinders appeared, and said to him, ‘O thou son of little sense, I saw three times in my sleep a person who said to me, ‘Verily a house in BaghdÁd, in such a district, and of such a description, hath in its court a garden, at the lower end of which is a fountain, wherein is wealth of great amount: therefore repair to it and take it. But I went not: and thou, through the smallness of thy sense, hast journeyed from city to city on account of a thing thou hast seen in sleep, when it was only an effect of confused dreams.’—Then he gave him some money, and said to him, ‘Help thyself with this to return to thy city.’ So he took it and returned to BaghdÁd. Now the house which the WÁlee had described, in BaghdÁd, was the house of that man; therefore when he arrived at his abode, he dug beneath the fountain, and beheld abundant wealth. Thus God enriched and sustained him; and this was a wonderful coincidence.” This story is found in the “Masnavi,” written by JalÁuddin, who died about A.D. 1260.

It is not always easy or even possible to trace the precise pedigree of a popular superstition or custom, but many of them can be identified as fragments of bygone religious and mythological systems. When an old faith is supplanted by a new, the missionaries, as a matter of tact, will leave untouched customs that are harmless, and will turn to better uses those that can safely be modified or appropriated. Thus much of folk-lore is fossil theology, and much of it is fossil science. The wonderful “cures,” and sometimes disgusting remedies that linger in use among the ignorant, were the recognised methods of the healing art a few generations ago. Folk-lore, in some respect, corresponds to that wonderful faculty of “make-believe” possessed by all children, and is an inheritance from the mental childhood of the race. The physical evils, the mental and moral discordances of life, are to primitive man not the result of the operation of natural law, but abnormal phenomena, the result of external non-human agencies. Disease is not regarded as the result of infractions of hygienic rules, but as the possession of the sufferer by evil spirits. When man looked around for an explanation of the facts of nature, he found it by peopling the world with unseen beings, who guarded the trees and the wells; who let loose the storm and chained up the winds; who had the good and the evil gifts of human nature; who helped and hindered; who cheated and were cheated. These imaginary beings are sometimes merely the distortion and personification of words. It is not every great language that has attained to the dignity of a neuter gender, though our own possesses one. Personification is a common enough rhetorical device. It is possible, then, that if we could accurately analyse the notions of a modern Lancashire mind, we should find in addition to the deliberately-held faith of conviction fragments of the mythologies of Greece and Rome and Scandinavia and India.

In regard to popular traditions and the household stories, so dear to children, they have come to us by many routes, but the line has always been from East to West. The Buddhist missionaries, going forth to preach the faith of Gautama, made abundant use of fables and apologues to enforce their lessons. The traders, as their caravans passed from land to land, beguiled the tedium of the journey with such narratives. The mediÆval preachers freely employed them in their discourses to the unlearned people. If such a phrase be permitted, these tales formed the unwritten popular literature of the Middle Ages. The stories passed from mouth to mouth, and were gradually associated with the place and people best known to the narrator. In this way legends become localised.

The tendency of modern thought is to simplification. The African savage, bowing to his fetish, has probably a more complex theory of life than the Oxford professor, and the study of folk-lore shows how penetrating was the influence of custom and superstition upon the life of the people. It followed man from the cradle to the grave. There were ceremonies to be observed at birth, at marriage, at death; at every stage of the journey of life. It gave to clouds and birds omens that decided human fate. It peopled the meadows with fairies, and the mountains with witches; and made the woods and waters alive with spirits, sometimes friendly, but often malignant. It lighted the Beltane fires at Midsummer and the Yule-log at Christmas. The Calendar of the Year and the Calendar of Man’s Life alike registered its decrees. Whatever happened, good or bad, was referred alike to the supernatural powers, who for bane or blessing were continually intervening in the most trivial details of every home. Fairies were sometimes friends and sometimes foes, but witches and warlocks were entirely malicious. The dead rested not in their graves, but returned to terrify the living. The old gods, dethroned from their eminence, remained as demons to exercise a real and usually an evil power. Viewed in this light the decay of folk-lore may be regarded as an advantage. We may regret the nymphs and dryads, and even the “lubber fiend,” but with them vanish the whole tribe of “witches and warlocks and things that cried ‘Boh’ in the night.” We will not desire to revive or retain the popular superstitions and customs of bygone days, but as they pass away let us examine them with careful and patient attention, and see what they have to tell us of the past history of the race and the psychology of primitive man. Studied in this spirit we may sometimes learn as much from the observation of a child’s game as from the speculations of a philosopher.

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