Charities.—John Barrett, Esq., of the Madeiras, bequeathed the sum of £200 to the poor of Broseley. Frances Morgan left £50, the interest to be divided among twelve poor widows on Christmas-day annually. Richard Edwards, of Rowton, left £110 to be laid out in land, and the profits thereof to be distributed on Christmas-day and Easter-day, in equal proportions, among such poor widows of the parish as his heirs and the minister of the parish should judge proper objects of charity. Esther Hollyman left £20 to be added to the poor’s stock in 1730. It appears from entries in a modern parish book and from a memorandum in the handwriting of a late curate of the parish, that the several legacies above specified, amounting together to the sum of £380, were lent to the parish about the year 1777, and employed (with other monies borrowed and raised by subscriptions) in building a market house and shops, from the rents of which it was agreed that a sum not exceeding £18 should be annually distributed among the poor. By a more recent resolution, which purports to have been made at a parish meeting held on the 31st May, 1802, it was resolved—“That there should be paid to the poor, from the revenues of the market hall, in half yearly payments, the annual sum of £18 until the £3 above £15 should liquidate a debt which appeared due to the said poor of £43; and that then £15 per annum should be paid only as the permanent interest of £380 borrowed of the trustees of the said poor, and for the purpose of building the said market hall.” How the debt of £43 originated we are not able to state, the old parish books, which would probably have thrown some light upon the subject, having been lost. It appears to us, however, not improbable that this sum may be the remains of the poor’s stock arising from the benefactions which are recorded on the tables in the church, left by ten several donors, and amounting to £51. 10s. If the debt of £43, stated to be due from the parish to the poor, was part of the stock arising from the above benefactions, the resolution by which it was determined to distribute it by instalments among the poor seems to be at variance with the intentions of the respective donors, whose object clearly was the establishment of a fund that should continue permanently productive. It may be necessary to observe that although by the payment of £3 per annum, according to the terms of the resolution above mentioned, the debt of £43 would be wholly liquidated in the year 1816, yet the annual payment of £18 has been since continued without any abatement. This sum is distributed by the minister in equal moieties at Christmas and Easter, among the poor inhabitants of Broseley, in sums proportioned to their necessities.
William Lewis, by indenture, dated January 2nd, 1740, granted a yearly rent charge of 20s., issuing out of a messuage and two acres of land, situate near the church, in Broseley, with the penalty of 6s. for every day that the payment should be in arrear, and directed the same to be distributed among twenty poor widows. It further appears from the benefaction table that Andrew Langley, of the Woodhouse, left 12s. yearly to be distributed by the minister and churchwardens on St. Andrew’s-day yearly, and to be paid for ever by the owner of the Woodhouse estate.
Mary Cotton, who died in 1838, bequeathed to the minister and churchwardens for the time being of this parish the sum of £300, three per cent consolidated bank annuities, upon trust, to receive the interest and divide it among forty poor widows of this parish on the 29th of December, yearly. Fanny Pritchard left £100 in trust to the same parties, to be invested in government securities, and directed the interest to be divided among ten poor widows on St. Thomas’s day.
At a place called the Birches, between Buildwas and Ironbridge, and not far from Broseley, an extraordinary phenomenon occurred in May, 1775, of which the following account has been given by the Rev. John Fletcher, of Madeley. “When I went to the spot,” says Mr. Fletcher, “the first thing that struck me was the destruction of the little bridge that separated the parish of Madeley from that of Buildwas, and the total disappearing of the turnpike road to Buildwas bridge, instead of which nothing presented itself to my view but a confused heap of bushes, and huge clods of earth tumbled one over another. The river also wore a different aspect; it was shallow, turbid, noisy, boisterous, and came down from a different point. Whether I considered the water or the land the scene appeared to me entirely new, and as I could not fancy myself in another part of the country, I concluded that the God of nature had shaken his providential iron rod over the subverted spot before me. Following the track made by a great number of spectators, who came already from the neighbouring parishes, I climbed over the ruins and came to a field well grown with rye-grass, where the ground was greatly cracked in several places, and where large turfs, some entirely, others half turned up exhibited the appearance of straight or crooked furrows, imperfectly formed by a plough drawn at a venture. Getting from that field over the hedge, into a part of the road which was yet visible, I found it raised in one place, sunk in another, concave in a third, hanging on one side in a fourth, and contracted as if some uncommon force had pressed the two hedges together. But the higher part of it surprised me most, and brought directly to my remembrance those places of mount Vesuvius where the solid stony lava has been strongly worked by repeated earthquakes, for the hard beaten gravel that formed the surface of the road was broken every way into huge masses, partly detached from each other, with deep apertures between them exactly like the shattered lava. This striking likeness of circumstances made me conclude that the similar effect might proceed from the same cause, namely, a strong convulsion on the surface if not in the bowels of the earth. Going a little farther towards Buildwas I found that the road was again totally lost for a considerable space, having been overturned, absorbed, or tumbled with the hedges that bounded it to a considerable distance towards the river; this part of the desolation appeared then to me inexpressibly dreadful. Between a shattered field and the river there was that morning a bank on which besides a great deal of underwood grew twenty fine large oaks, this wood shot with such violence into the Severn before it that it forced the water in great columns a considerable height like mighty fountains, and gave the overflowing river a retrograde motion. This is not the only accident that happened to the Severn; for near the Grove, the channel which was chiefly of a soft blue rock burst in ten thousand pieces, and rose perpendicularly about ten yards, heaving up the immense quantity of water and the shoals of fishes that were therein. Among the rubbish at the bottom of the river, which was very deep in that place, there were one or two huge stones and a large piece of timber, or an oak tree, which from time immemorial had lain partly buried in the mud I suppose in consequence of some flood; the stones and tree were thrown up as if they had been only a pebble and a stick, and are now at some distance from the river, many feet higher than the surface of it. Ascending from the ruins of the road I came to those of a barn, which after travelling many yards towards the river had been absorbed in a chasm where the shattered roof was yet visible. Next to those remains of the barn, and partly parallel with the river, was a long edge which had been torn from a part of it yet adjoining to the garden hedge, and had been removed above forty yards downward together with some large trees that were in it and the land that it enclosed. The tossing, tearing, and shifting of so many acres of land below, was attended with the formation of stupendous chasms above. At some distance above, near the wood which crowns the desolated spot, another chasm, or rather a complication of chasms excited my admiration; it is an assemblage of chasms, one of which that seems to terminate the desolation to the north-east, runs some hundred yards towards the river and Madeley wood; it looked like the deep channel of some great serpentine river dried up, whose little islands, fords, and hollows appear without a watery veil. This long chasm at the top seems to be made up of two or three that run into each other, and their conjunction when it is viewed from a particular point exhibits the appearance of a ruined fortress whose ramparts have been blown up by mines that have done dreadful execution, and yet have spared here and there a pyramid of earth, or a shattered tower by which the spectators can judge of the nature and solidity of the demolished bulwark. Fortunately there was on the devoted spot but one house, inhabited by two poor countrymen and their families; it stands yet, though it has removed about a yard from its former situation. The morning in which the desolation happened, Samuel Wilcocks, one of those countrymen, got up about four o’clock, and opening the window to see if the weather was fair he took notice of a small crack in the earth about four or five inches wide, and observed the above mentioned field of corn heaving up and rolling about like the waves of the sea; the trees by the motion of the ground waved also, as if they had been blown with the wind, though the air was calm and serene; the river Severn, which for some days had overflowed its banks, was also very much agitated and seemed to turn back to its source. The man being astonished at such a sight, rubbed his eyes, supposing himself not quite awake, and being soon convinced that destruction stalked about, he alarmed his wife, and taking children in their arms they went out of the house as fast as they could, accompanied by the other man and his wife. A kind Providence directed their flight, for instead of running eastward across the fields that were just going to be overthrown, they fled westward into a wood that had little share in the destruction. When they were about twenty yards from the house they perceived a great crack run very quick up the ground from the river; immediately the land behind them with the trees and hedges moved towards the Severn with great swiftness and an uncommon noise, which Samuel Wilcocks compared to a large flock of sheep running swiftly by him. It was then chiefly that desolation expanded her wings over the devoted spot and the Birches saw a momentary representation of a partial chaos! then nature seemed to have forgotten her laws: trees commenced itinerant!—those that were at a distance from the river advanced towards it, while the submerged oak broke out of its watery confinements and by rising many feet recovered a place on dry land; the solid road was swept away as its dust had been on a stormy day;—then probably the rocky bottom of the Severn emerged, pushing towards heaven astonished shoals of fishes and hogsheads of water innumerable;—the wood like an embattled body of vegetable combatants stormed the bed of the overflowing river, and triumphantly waved its green colours over its recoiling flood;—fields became moveable,—nay, they fled when none pursued, and as they fled they rent the green carpets that covered them in a thousand pieces;—in a word, dry land exhibited the dreadful appearance of a sea-storm. Solid earth as if it had acquired the fluidity of water tossed itself into massy waves, which rose or sunk at the beck of him who raised the tempest; and what is most astonishing, the stupendous hollow of one of those waves ran for nearly a quarter of a mile through rooks and a stony soil with as much ease as if dry earth, stones, and rocks had been a part of the liquid element. Soon after the river was stopt, Samuel Cookson, a farmer who lives a quarter of a mile below the Birches, on the same side of the river, was much terrified by a dust of wind that beat against his windows as if shot had been thrown against it, but his fright greatly increased when getting up to see if the flood that was over his ground had abated he perceived that all the water was from his fields, and that scarce any remained in the Severn. He called up his family, ran to the river, and finding that it was dammed up, he made the best of his way to alarm the inhabitants of Buildwas, the next village above, which he supposed would soon be under water. He was happily mistaken, providence just prepared a way for their escape; the Severn, notwithstanding a considerable flood which at that time rendered it doubly rapid and powerful, having met with two dreadful shocks, the one from her rising bed and the other from the intruding wood, could do nothing but foam and turn back with impetuosity. The ascending and descending streams conflicted about Buildwas bridge; the river sensibly rose for some miles back, and continued rising till just as it was near entering into the houses at Buildwas it got a vent through the fields on the right, and after spreading far and near over them collected all its might to assault its powerful aggressor, I mean the grove, that had so unexpectedly turned it out of the bed which it had enjoyed for countless ages. Sharp was the attack, but the resistance was yet more vigorous, and the Severn repelled again and again was obliged to seek its old empty bed, by going the shortest way to the right, and the moment it found it again it precipitated therein with a dreadful roar, and for a time formed a considerable cataract with inconceivable fury, as if it wanted to be revenged on the first thing that came in its way, began to tear and wash away a fine rich meadow opposite to the grove, and there in a few hours worked itself a new channel about three hundred yards long, through which a barge from Shrewsbury ventured three or four day after, all wonder at the strangement of the overthrow. Some ascribe it to an earthquake, others to a slip of the ground, and not a few remain neuter, confessing that providence has conducted this phenomenon in such a manner as to confound the wisdom of the wise, and force even philosophers to adore in silence the God of nature whose ways are past finding out, who giveth not always account of his matters, and who perhaps strikes an ambiguous blow to convince us that the how of his vengeance has more than one string, and that, to say nothing of the other elements, our mother earth may afford us an untimely grave, either by the slipping of her back or the convulsion of her bowels. My employment and taste leading me more to search out the mysteries of heaven than to scrutinize the phenomena of the earth, and to point at the wonders of grace than those of nature; I leave the decision of the question about the slip and the earthquake to some abler philosopher.”
Post Office—At Mr. Jeremiah Ashwood’s. Letters arrive at 8 A.M., and are despatched 5.35 P.M.
Marked 1 are in Cape or King street; 2 Church street; 3 High street; 4 Queen street; 5 Barratt’s hill; 6 Broseley Wood; 7 Jackfield and neighbourhood; 8 Barber’s row; and 9 Duke street.
2 Amphlet Susannah, vict., The Dog
3 Ashwood Jeremiah, corn miller, maltster, and postmaster
3 Bartlam Edward Glover, Esq., surgeon, and coroner for borough of Wenlock
5 Bathurst Henry Martyn, schoolmaster (national)