Forest of Rossendale. 259 



and the creations of these masters in the empire of Harmony find 

 ready interpreters and strongly-appreciative minds. Neither of 

 late years has the renown of the " Rossendale Players " diminished. 

 This is the more gratifying, when it is remembered— as an old 

 admirer of theirs remarked— that "they are nearly a' working 

 lads." 



In no part of England has the musical art been more cultivated, 

 or even at the present day is music more appreciated, than in the 

 two northern counties of Yorkshire and Lancashire. The 

 interpretation of musical thought and expression, it is true, is now 

 left more to the professional singer and performer, and people 

 crowd to the concert hall to listen to the strains as rendered by the 

 cultured exponent of musical language. In former days the practice 

 of music was more of a subjective pursuit. The people themselves 

 were to a greater extent than now the exponents of the art in 

 which they delighted. Like the woven fabrics of the time, much 

 of their music was home-made, and nearly all their power of 

 interpreting the compositions of the great masters was of home 

 growth and nurture ; and if in those the superficial gloss of the 

 later day was wanting, there was generally more of verve and 

 earnestness in the singer, and of substance in the music, with a 

 blessed freedom from adulteration. 



The inhabitants of the Dean Valley have long been celebrated 

 for their excellence as musicians, both vocal and instrumental; 

 and it is from this fact that their appellation of " Deighn Layrocks" 

 has arisen, (a) From records nearly two centuries old, we learn 



(a) The following truthful picture is from the pen of Edwin Waugh :— "Up 

 in the forest of Rossendale, between Derplay Moor and the wild hill called 

 Swinshaw, there is a little lone valley, a green cup in the mountains, called 

 ' Dean.' The inhabitants of this valley are so notable for their love of music, 

 that they are known all through the vales of Rossendale as ' Th' Deighn 

 Layrocks,' or ' The Larks of Dean.' In the twilight of a glorious Sunday 

 evening, in the height of summer, I was roaming over the heathery waste of 

 Swinshaw towards Dean, in company with a musical friend of mine, who 

 lived in the neighbouring clough, when we saw a little crowd of people 



