Chap. XXXII.—The Act for widening Market Street was obtained in 1821; but I find that the ancient houses did not begin to “crumble into dust” until the following year.
Chap. XXXVIII.—“I’ll please my eye if I plague my heart,” with its answer and consequences, formed the original base of this story; the wilful girl and her handsome savage of a husband being in all respects but their names realities. They were both in their graves before the period I assign to their union. The old Hall which witnessed so many outrages and such sad catastrophes, may be found in the map of Hardwicke’s History of Preston under its true name.
Chap. XLVI.—For much information respecting the fatal launch of the Emma, I am indebted to the courtesy of the Secretary of the Bridgewater Navigation Company, and also to Mrs. Abel Heywood, who has just presented to Manchester a statue of Oliver Cromwell, in the name of her former husband, Mr. Goadsby, who had been Mayor of the city. Mrs. Heywood was originally the Miss Grimes who christened the luckless flat.
I cannot close this Appendix without acknowledging much kind assistance from literary and and antiquarian friends in my researches. Of these the late John Harland, Esq., antiquary and historian, the late Thomas Jones, Esq., librarian of Chetham Hospital, and the Rev. J. Finch Smith, M.A., R.D., must be placed foremost.
ISABELLA BANKS.
London, January, 1876.
APPENDIX No. II.
SINCE the publication of the last edition of “The Manchester Man,” the following letter has appeared in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph, April 5th, 1879. It is here reproduced in the hope that for some of my readers it may have interest, since it adds a new feature to my portrait of Madame Broadbent:—
To the editor of the “Sheffield Daily Telegraph.”
“Sir,—In your advertisement of the new tale by Mrs. Linnæus Banks, about to appear in the pages of your journal, you quote some critiques on ‘The Manchester Man,’ by the same author. One of the characters is true to the very life. Hers was the first school I ever attended, and I have a vivid recollection of the venerable, stately, little dame—a rigid martinet, exacting the utmost deference from all who approached her, and invariably addressed as ‘Madam’ Broadbent. I have often since recalled my feelings of delight when for the first time I went with her and my schoolfellows in great state to the theatre, as described in the novel. She educated the daughters of most of the leading Manchester merchants of that day, the wife of a recent mayor being one of them.