of the Ribble, in a field below Waddow Hall; Brunckerley
Stepping-stones not being far distant, where several lives have
been lost in attempting to cross, at times when the river was
swollen by a rapid rise, which even a day's rain will produce.
These calamities, along with any other fatal accidents which
happened in the neighbourhood, are usually attributed to the
malevolence of Peggy. The stepping-stones are alluded to in our
first volume as the place where King Henry VI was taken, after
escaping from Waddington Hall.

Some stones are still visible at low water; but whether these
are the original "Hippins," or the foundations of a wooden
bridge which succeeded them, and was borne down by the ice at
the breaking up of the frost in the year 1814, is not known.

The stone image by the well, depicted in our engraving, has
been the subject of many strange tales and apprehensions, being
placed there when turned out of the house at Waddow, to allay
the terrors of the domestics, who durst not continue under the
same roof with this misshapen figure. It was then broken,
either from accident or design, and the head, some time ago, we
have understood, was in one of the attic chambers at Waddow
Hall.

One loud, roaring, and tempestuous night--the last relics of the year
1660--some half-dozen boon companions were comforting themselves
beside a blazing fire, and a wassail-cup, at the ingle of a
well-ordered and well-accustomed tavern within the good borough of
Clitheroe, bearing on its gable front, over a grim and narrow porch, a
marvellous portraiture apparently of some four-footed animal, by
common usage and consent denominated "The Bull." What recked they of
the turmoil that was abroad, while good liquor lasted, and the troll
and merry tale went round? The yule-log was blazing on the hearth,
and their cups were bright and plenished.

[Illustration 10: PEG O'NELLY'S WELL, NEAR CLITHEROE.
_Drawn by G. Pickering._
_Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]

"'Ods bodikins, Nic--and that's a parson's oath," said a small waspish
figure from the farther chimney-corner, in a sort of husky wheezing
voice, "I'll lay thee a thimblefull of pins thou dar'na do it."

"And I'll lay thee a grey lapstone, an' a tachin-end to boot, that I
run ower t' hippin-stones to-night, and never a wet sole; but a buss
and a wet lip I'll bring fro' the bonniest