To posterity, Who saved KING CHARLES THE FIRST as Lieutenant-Colonel at Edge-hill Battle, After raising Regiments of Horse, Foot, and Dragoons; And for The desperate storming of Burton-upon-Trent, over a bridge of 36 arches, RECEIVED THE HONOUR OF KNIGHTHOOD. He afterwards served in all the wars, in great command, Was Governor of Lichfield, And followed the fortune of the Crown through the Three Kingdoms, And never compounded with the Rebels, though strongly invested; And on the 25th August, A.D. 1651, was here slain, Commanding as Major-General under the EARL OF DERBY, To whom the grateful Erector, ALEXANDER RIGBY, ESQ., was Cornet And when he was High Sheriff of this County, (A.D. 1679,) Placed this high obligation on the whole FAMILY of the TYLDESLEYS. THE WITCHES OF FURNESS. In a small recess, still deeper in shade than the neighbouring valley where the ruins of Furness Abbey lie, there once arose a well-proportioned mansion, of which, not a vestige is left. And yet, the wand of no magician had summoned it to appear, as a tenant of the retreat, without any materials, and then to depart without a wreck,--for much toil, and many precious coins had been spent in building and adorning it, by the first owners; and on its decay, as much sighing, and as many lamentations, had been wasted by their successors. Tradition says, that it was erected in the reign of Henry the Eighth, by an Englishman of rank, whose name was Morden. Against his earnest entreaties, his daughter had secluded herself from the world, and taken the veil as a nun in Furness Abbey; but when that religious house was broken up, by royal act, so much attached was she to the spot of her vows, that to gratify her, a family mansion was erected in the vicinity. To this, a considerable extent of ground was added, as territorial possession. The owner became enamoured of the pleasant solitude of such an abode, and so did all his successors, whose feelings were in harmony with the simplicity of the district, and the quiet beauties of its scenery. Time destroys not the works of God, and the brook which trickled beside the porch, still murmured dreams of happiness amidst the nightshade which grew on its banks, or the lillies, which, in its channel, courted its stream, in all their meekness and purity. But time destroys the works of man, and the noble building, towards the end of the sixteenth century, was but a decayed wreck of its former self.