continued through life),[1] not over fond of work, and could never be persuaded to go to school. He had a habit of running away, and to prevent this, at the earnest entreaties of his mother, his leg was frequently fastened to the "Truant's Clog." This was a log of wood, weighing about two stones, with a short chain attached, having at the other end a clasp which encircled the ankle the same as a handcuff does the wrist, and which was closed by a padlock. The clasp was fastened to one of Ned's legs, and he was either bound to carry the clog, or drag it after him He oft wore it whilst breaking stones in High Bondgate, and, it is needless to say, it answered its purpose admirably. This article was kept at the Workhouse, and was used as a cure for many other runaways besides poor Ned.
The population introduced into this neighbourhood by the opening of the Auckland Coal-field, was composed of two distinct classes, viz., the coal-miners of North Durham and the lead-miners of Weardale. The last mentioned came in great numbers, lead mining at that time being very unremunerative. It was no uncommon thing to see cart-loads of furniture standing in the streets of the town, attended by women and children, whilst their husbands and fathers went in quest of some stable or out-house in which to put their heads until some more suitable place of abode could be procured. Such was then the demand for houses that every available place was pressed into requisition, to give shelter to the strangers. The Weardale men were at first looked upon by the Northern men with considerable jealousy, being deemed interlopers in the trade. This spirit at one time waxed strong, and many party fights took place amongst the more intemperate. The ill-feeling, however, subsided as they gradually became better acquainted with each other, and many families of respectability and thrifty habits came from both quarters to reside in the neighbourhood. Their manners, as well as their dialect, were different; and the guttural pronunciation of the Northern men's words, and the blunt idiom of the Dalesmen, fell strangely on the Aucklander's ears. At the time to which we are alluding, our whole constabulaiy force only consisted of the three worthies before mentioned, viz., Messrs. Waller, Hedley, and Borrowdale—men of the real Dogberry type—who were then pretty far advanced in years, and who were more frequently seen beating a retreat, with their batons flying after them, than attempting to quell the oft-occurring disturbances. Who that lived in Auckland at that time, we might ask, does not remember old Hedley, with his club-headed stick under his arm, and his quick crab-like gait—his keen full eye—his hollow, but yet not immusical voice (which was then as familiar to the inhabitants as the sound of the old clock bell at the castle), calling together the hounds in the early winter morning? for he
- ↑ Ned was once asked, by some one passing in the street, if he had any work? "No" (said he in reply) "nor want nayne."
Poor homeless wanderer, "Neddy Oley !"
Thou'st gone at last to poor old Polly :
Thy poor rough, matted, unshorn chin
Hath grinn'd its last wild famish'd grin :
Thy long, lean, feeble, sprawling shanks
Are done with all life's zig-zag pranks ;
And thy poor weary, hard-hack'd feet
Have left their last prints on the street,
Where thou stood'st shivering day by day,
As pamper'd crowds were passing gay.The stocks were on one occasion honoured by a very different occupant to poor Ned. Surtees, the historian, once came to Auckland for the purpose of calling at the Castle. He first went to the shop of the late Peter Fair, who had promised to accompany him, and whom he found engaged. He proposed taking a stroll into the Market-place, towards the Castle, and that Peter should follow when disengaged, which he did in a short while; and when crossing the Market-place, to his surprise and amusement, he discovered Surtees sitting upon the stocks enjoying his sandwich. Another characteristic anecdote is related by George Taylor, in his memoir of the great Durham historian, Olustrative of his quiet humour, and amiability of disposition:—"Solomon Onsdale, curate of Merrington, who was very poor, and had a numerous family, lost his only cow. Mr. Surtees determined to raise a subscription for another cow, and waited upon the Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry (the late Marquis Comwallis}, then Dean of Durham, and owner of the great tithes of Merrinston, to ask what he would give. 'Give!' said his Lordship, 'why, a cow, to be sure. Go, Mr. Surtees, to Woodifield, my steward, and tell him to give yon as much money as will buy the beet cow you can find!' Mr. Surtees, who had not expected above a five-pound note at most exclaimed, 'My Lord, I hope you'll ride to heaven upon the back of a cow!' A while auerwards, he was saluted in the College, "by the late Lord Barrington, with— 'Surtees, what is the absurd speech that I hear you have been making to the Dean? 'I see nothing absurd in it,' was the reply: 'when the Dean rides to heaven on the back of the cow, many of you prebendaries will be glad to lay hold of her tail."
