to carry away the stones for building or any other purpose. Had not a stop at last been put to this sort of work there would not in time have been a vestige of the old Abbey left. I recollect that there was a belief that a tunnel or subterraneous passage ran under the Mersey to Liverpool from the Priory, and that the entrance in 1818, when the church was built, had been found and a good way traversed. That passage was commonly spoken of as being in existence when I was a boy, and I often vowed I would try to find it. I have been up the tunnels or caves at the Red and White Noses many a time for great distances. I was once fishing for codling at the Perch, and with two young companions went up the caves for at least a mile, and could have gone further only we became frightened as our lights went out. It was thought these caves ran up to Chester Cathedral—but that was all stuff. I believe they were excavated by smugglers in part, and partly natural cavities of the earth. We knew little then of archaeology or geology, or any other “ology,” or I might be able to tell a good deal about these caves, for I saw them more than once, but I now forget what their size and height was. The floor, I recollect, was very uneven and strewed about with big stones, while the roof was arched over in the red sand-stone. The encroachment of the sea upon the Wirral shore has been very gradual,
but regular, for many years. Within the memory of man the sea has made an inroad of nearly, if not quite, a mile from its former high-water mark. It was not until the erection of the Wallasey embankment that a stop was put to its ravages.
When I stand on the Pier-head, or take my daily walk on the Landing-Stage, I often pause and revolve in my mind the wonderful changes that have taken place in my time in this native town of mine. The other day, soon after the completion of the large Landing-Stage, I sat down and thought would any man then making use of the old baths, swimming inside the palisade, have not considered me, some eighty years ago, a mad fool to have predicted that before I died I should sit on a long floating stage two or three hundred yards from where we were swimming, that would be about a quarter of a mile in length, and that between it and the shore there would be most wonderful docks built, in which the ships of all nations would display their colours, and discharge their precious freights? As I sat there the other day, I thought of the one bath and the old houses by the river’s brink, and the Bath-street, along which came, in the summer-time, such strings of country “dowkers.” Beyond the baths there were no houses, all was open shore consisting of boulder stones, sand, and pools, such as may be seen on any sea-beach. There was hot as well as cold water
bathing in the baths, and a palisade ran out into the river, within which, at high-water, persons could swim, as in a plunge-bath. These baths were erected originally by Mr. Wright, who sold them to the corporation in 1774, by which body they were enlarged and greatly improved.
I recollect the bath-woman sold a sort of parliament cake, covered over with coloured sugar plums, and also some sweet things which in appearance resembled slugs. I never see these caraway-cakes and confections in the low shops in which they are now only sold, without thinking of the fat old bath-woman, who was a terror to me and others of my size and age. In 1816 these baths were discontinued and pulled down on the opening of George’s Pier-head baths. For a mile or more there was good bathing on the shore. The bathing machines were introduced about the end of the last century. The keeper of the “Wishing Gate-house” had several, and an old man who lived in a low hut near the mill (the remains of which still stand in the Waterloo-road) had two or three, and made money by them. At that time Bootle and Bootle Marshes were wild places, the roads execrable, and as for frogs (Bootle organs), the noise they made at night was wonderful. I recollect all the docks and streets from Bath-street downwards being sand-hills and salt-marshes. New Quay, of which Bath-street was a
continuation, was a sort of haven, into which small vessels, at certain times of the tide, ran to discharge their cargoes. On the tide receding the vessels were left high and dry upon the bank. Bathers used to be seen in any number on the shore. Decency was so frequently outraged that the authorities were at last compelled to take steps to redress the grievance. Not far from the baths was once a pleasant public walk of which I have often heard my father and mother speak. It was called the “Ladies Walk,” and extended from the site of the present Canal bridge by Old Hall-street, down to the river. It was a sort of a terraced gravel walk, having four rows of fine Lombardy poplars, and seats underneath. On fine evenings all the gay and fashionable world of Liverpool used to take the air and show off their hoops and high heels, and the gentlemen their brocaded silk coats, and three-cornered hats. The sword was often drawn by the gallants for some fancied affront, and occasionally a little blood was spilt, a matter of no moment in those days. Great was the grief when it was announced that the Leeds and Liverpool Canal Company had resolved on the destruction of the Ladies Walk.
There was another Ladies Walk in Duke-street, which extended from opposite the present York-street (then called Great George-street) to Berry-street. This was afterwards converted into a
ropery and succeeded by Parr-street. By the way, Duke-street, which occupies a portion of its site, has been famous for notable persons residing in it. In the third house from Colquitt-street Felicia Hemans was born, and she wrote some of her early poetry there. In the yard of the next house was once a tree, the last remnant of the Ladies Walk, which had two rows of trees down the sides and centre as in the other Ladies Walk previously mentioned. Mrs. Hemans apostrophizes this tree in one of her early poems. I recollect her very well, for she was intimate with my friends, the Nicholsons, who lived at the top of Richmond-row some forty years ago. Miss Browne received much advice and encouragement from Mr. Nicholson, and she was a most pleasing person. As Mrs. Hemans, her life was not happy. She resided at one time at Wavertree, in one of those cottages on the left hand side of the road just beyond Orford-street. The present “Loggerheads Tavern Revived” was Mr. Nicholson’s house. It was a public-house, called “The Loggerheads” before he converted it into a private dwelling. Where Soho-street now begins there was a dyer’s pond and yard; over it was a fine weeping-willow. In Duke-street also lodged at one time Thomas Campbell, the poet. He occupied part of the house now converted into a cabinet-maker’s shop by Messrs. Abbot. I visited Mr.
Campbell several times when he was preparing “The Pleasures of Hope” for publication. He was a very handsome young man, with a fine face and bright eyes. Mr. John Howard lodged in Duke-street in the house directly facing Cornwallis-street, then newly built. At this time his “Report on Prisons” was passing through the Warrington Press; and he used to journey backwards and forwards to correct the proofs. The Rev. Gilbert Wakefield lodged in Duke-street, near the bottom, when he was first appointed curate to St. Paul’s church, then just erected. Dr. Henderson was the first incumbent of that church. Strangely enough, he seceded from the Dissenting body, while Mr. Wakefield joined it from the Church. Curious stories were told of Dr. Henderson’s ministration. Mr. Wakefield complained bitterly of the unkindness and inhospitality of the Liverpool clergy. He said he never was invited but by one brother clergyman to visit him during his stay in Liverpool.
In 1812, Bellingham, who shot Mr. Percival in the House of Commons, on the 11th of May, also lived in Duke-street, about the sixth house above Slater-street. His wife was a dressmaker and milliner. She was a very nice person, and after Bellingham’s execution the ladies of Liverpool raised a subscription for, and greatly patronized her. Bellingham was born at St. Neot’s, in