[28: See an excellent description of Hall-i'th'-Wood, accompanied by a drawing, in the _Manchester Literary Club_ volume for 1880, p. 254.]
The Bridegroom Sea Is toying with his wedded spouse, the shore. He decorates her tawny brow with shells, Retires a space, to see how fair she looks, Then, proud, runs up to kiss her.
Camden, in his famous seventeenth century tour, says that he approached Lancashire from Yorkshire, "that part of the country lying beyond the mountains towards the western ocean," with "a kind of dread," but trusted to Divine Providence, which, he said, "had gone with him hitherto," to help him in the attempt. His apprehensions arose, no doubt, partly upon the immense difficulties which in those days attended travelling; but Lancashire west of the Rivington range was, in its rural portions, at the same period almost as rude and cheerless as Connemara. Towards the sea there were vast expanses of moor and marsh, and even the inland parts were cold and inhospitable. How changed by the wand of that greatest of magicians, Commerce! Though there is still abundant need of polish, Camden himself, could he come back, would surrender his fears, let him only be one of a party up to the Pike. Conspicuous from a hundred spots on the western margin of our city, Rivington Pike is little less worthy of a visit than Pendle, and has the advantage over the latter in being comparatively near. Proceeding first to Horwich, six miles beyond Bolton, on the main northern line, the ascent is quite easy, and may be undertaken by two or three different routes--one by the side of the little river Douglas; another by the quarry and Tiger Wood, a deep ravine containing all the accustomed pretty features of Lancashire mountain defiles, rushing water, many cascades, and abundance of trees. Ferns, mosses, and sylvan wild-flowers grow in plenty, and in one part, where the water collects in a large natural pool, there is quite a remarkable display of aquatic plants. The summit gained, over fifteen hundred feet above the sea, the prospect is magnificent, especially if we delay till the green country glows with a summer evening's sunset. The great plain that stretches to the Ribble, and renews itself as the "Fylde," lies at our feet. Chorley and Preston seem quite close; in the distance the church-towers and other aspiring portions of Southport are plainly visible, and beyond all there is a shining streak that is unmistakably the play-ground of the sea-gulls. North Cheshire, North Wales, and the nearer Derbyshire hills, are also seen. A very particularly fine view is obtained from the Anglezark end of the hill, a rough and broken eminence reached by a zigzag path from the base, which leads eventually to a soft and turfy brow. Upon the opposite side of the field, a trifle higher, there is a wall with a narrow iron gate in it, and here we take our stand. Now and then, on fine and perfectly tranquil evenings towards sunset, Lancaster Castle may be distinguished; if the tide be in, Morecambe Bay, and even Coniston.