CHAPTER II.
MARPLE HALL—THE BRADSHAWS—COLONEL HENRY BRADSHAW THE STORY OF THE REGICIDE.
Cheshire abounds with ancient houses, but few, if any, of them are more interesting from their historical or traditional associations than Marple Hall, the home of Colonel Henry Bradshaw, the noted Cromwellian soldier, and the place where his younger brother, “Judge” Bradshaw, passed the earlier years of his eventful life. It is one of the few old mansions of the county that have remained to the descendants of the earlier possessors, and though located in close proximity to a district singularly at variance with associations awakened by the time-honoured memorials of bygone days, is yet surrounded by much that is picturesque and attractive.
The house, which stands a mile or more away from the straggling village from which it takes its name, is within the compass of a pleasant walk from Stockport or Hazel Grove, but it is more readily approached from the Rose Hill Station of the Macclesfield and Bollington Railway. It cannot be seen from the highway, but an antiquated and somewhat stately looking gateway, a few yards from the station, gives admission to a tree-shaded drive that leads across the park, at the further end of which the quaint old pile comes in view, standing upon a natural platform or terrace, with a lichened and moss-grown wall on the further side, all grey and weather-worn, that extends along the edge of the precipice on which it is built. The shelving slopes below are clothed with shrubs and trees that furnish a pleasant shade in the summer time; wild flowers in abundance peep out from the clefts and crevices; and were our visit made in the earlier months of the year, while the white fringe of nature’s weaving yet lingers upon the skirts of winter’s mantle, we should find the acclivities plentifully besprinkled with the pale and delicate blossoms of the snowdrop—the firstling of the year awakening from its lengthened sleep to proclaim the reanimation of the vegetable world. At the foot of the cliff is a sequestered dingle with a still pool, the remains, possibly, of a former moat or mere,[4] that gleams in the green depths, and a tiny rivulet that looks up through the overhanging verdure as it wanders on in pastoral and picturesque seclusion. The well-wooded heights of Thorncliffe shut in this bosky dell from the valley of the Goyt, across which, from the terraced heights, there is a delightful view in the direction of Werneth Low, the Arnfield and Woodhead Moors, and the range of green uplands and dusky eminences which stretch away in long succession to the pale blue hills that in the remote distance bound the landscape. There this interesting memorial of the stormiest period of England’s history stands in peaceful serenity, lifting its dark stone front above the surrounding offices and outbuildings, with its high-peaked gables draped with a luxurious mantle of ivy that softens the sterner outlines into beauty, its long, low, mullioned windows, and its entrance tower and balcony above, now protected by a latticed railing, so as to form a kind of observatory, and which once had the addition of a cupola.
High on a craggy steep it stands,
Near Marple’s fertile vale,
An ancient ivy-covered house
And lofty woods of elm and oak
That ancient house enclose,