YORKSHIRE is the largest county in England. Indeed it is
like a separate country, with its own mountains and its
own rivers rising in them and flowing into the German
Ocean, which washes the whole of its eastern side. The
great western moors with their mountain peaks shut it in
on the west; the Tees divides it from Durham; the Humber,
The whole of the west of the county is filled with the
wide moors of the Pennine Range; the Vale of York occupies
the centre; east of the vale lies another rounded
swelling moorland, the North York Moors and a chalk
ridge, the Yorkshire Wolds, runs north from the Humber:
between the Wolds and the North York Moors is the Vale of
Pickering. Holderness, low and level, lies between the
Wolds and the sea.
Yorkshire is divided into three Ridings, or thirdings as
the word probably means. In the North and East Ridings,
corn is grown and cattle are reared; but the West Riding,
the beautiful mountain country, is one of the busiest
manufacturing districts in England.
II. THE DALES AND THE WESTERN MOORS
THE Yorkshire moors are so high that they are really wide
mountains, upon which a man may stand and gaze round, and
see nothing but moors between him
 and the far horizon; bleak, desolate moors, with crags,
and huge boulders, and deep clefts in the limestone
rock, upon which little will grow but ling and the
hardy bilberry; and where there are wide morasses in
which the mountain streams gather their waters. Here
and there, the moors rise into mountain summits; of
these, Mickle Fell, Ingleborough, and Whernside, all
over 2300 feet, are the highest.
Like other limestone mountains, these have deep caverns
in their recesses; there is a cave in Ingleborough
more than half-a-mile deep. Whernside, too, has wide
and lofty chambers. Hanging from the roofs of these
caves, and growing up from their floors, are numberless
strange forms, made by the constant dropping of water
which contains atoms of lime.
There is a precious substance in this limestone
country; a wide bed of coal stretches, below the
surface, from Leeds to Nottingham, a great natural
coal-cellar on the spot to feed the fires whose smoke
issues from the tall factory chimneys rising on all
The dales of the West Riding are its great beauty. The
rivers issue from the moors between mountain spurs
which stretch eastward, each river between its own two
spurs. The dales in which these rivers run are full of
wild beauty, soft and green, bright, and musical with
running water, and flanked by rugged mountain walls
with overhanging crags and trees.
Beginning at the north, there is Swaledale, with the
pleasant town of Richmond, among hills and woods, upon
the river Swale, and near it is Easby Abbey, one of the
numerous ruined monasteries of Yorkshire. There is
hardly a river valley in the West Riding but has the
ruins of at least one abbey.
 Wensleydale, the valley of the Ure, the river which
joins with the Swale to form the Yorkshire Ouse,
contains the beautiful ruins of two abbeys, Jervaux
and Fountains. The old city of Ripon, with its
cathedral, also stands in the Ure Valley.
The Nidd, the Wharfe, the Aire with the Calder, and the
Don, each flows through its own bonny dale to join the
Ouse. Harrogate, a fashionable place where people go to
drink the mineral waters, is in Niddsdale; near
Harrogate is Knaresborough, a town almost as
beautifully placed as Richmond, among cliffs and woods
The beautiful Wharfedale is the next in order, with
Otley and Ilkley, and Ben Rhydding, a large
establishment where people take baths and drink
mineral waters. Higher up, where the river is a narrow
torrent flowing through a rocky gorge, are the ruins of
Bolton Abbey. Half-a-mile from the abbey the ledges of
rock on either side of the river come so close that it
is easy to stride across:—
"This striding place is called The Strid,
A name which it took of yore:
A thousand years hath it borne that name,
And shall a thousand more.
"And hither is young Romilly come,
And what may now forbid
That he, perhaps for the hundredth time,
Shall bound across the Strid?
"He sprang in glee, for what cared he
That the river was strong, and the rocks were steep?
But the greyhound in his leash hung back,
And checked him in his leap.
"The boy is in the arms of Wharfe,
And strangled by a merciless force;
For never more was young Romilly seen,
Till he rose a lifeless corse.
"Now there is stillness in the vale,
And long, unspeaking sorrow:
Wharfe shall be to pitying hearts
A name more sad than Yarrow."
The boy's mother, the Lady Alice, gave the riches which
should have been her son's to build and endow the fair
abbey of Bolton.
Airedale, too, has its ruined abbey; Kirkstall, with
ivied walls and carpet of grass, stands in the midst of
chimneys, near enough to Leeds to be within a holiday
walk for the factory "hands."
III. THE CLOTHING TOWNS
AIREDALE, with the valley of the Calder, beautiful as
any in Yorkshire, is the centre of the great woollen
manufacture. The hills feed the streams, and the
streams supply the water employed in preparing the wool
and in finishing the cloth. Underlying the whole
district is a great coal-field, which supplies fuel to
work the many thousand engines employed in this
manufacture; right and left are two great ports,
Liverpool and Hull, which send away the woollen goods
and bring in the raw wool; and there are canals and
railways to carry the goods between all the clothing
towns and these ports.
Leeds, Bradford, Halifax, Huddersfield, Wakefield,
 Dewsbury, and Keighley, are the clothing towns on the
banks of the Aire and the Calder.
The forest of tall chimneys which rises above Leeds
shows it to be a busy manufacturing town; more than a
hundred chimneys mark as many mills where fully 10,000
"hands" are employed. Tall as the chimneys are, the
town is smoky enough; and at noon, when the mill-people
pour out to their dinners, there is much bustle and
noise. The factories are near the Aire, which flows
through the town.
All these mills are employed in making broadcloth, for
which the wool, besides being spun and woven, is felted
or fulled, to produce the cloth surface; that is, the
cloth is beaten, or else passed between heavy rollers,
until the fibres of the wool become so locked into each
other as to hide the warp and weft threads.
Huddersfield and Halifax are also great clothing or
cloth-making towns; there are many woollen factories in
both—open quadrangles, or squares of ground surrounded
by buildings. The sorting, preparing, spinning,
weaving, dressing, and finishing, are each done in a
distinct part of the building.
Bradford, which stands where three valleys meet, is in
the very heart of the district which makes worsted
goods—that is, all woollen goods which are not fulled
after being woven. All round it are busy towns and
villages occupied by the makers of cloth or stuff.
Merinos, alpacas, coburgs, cords—all kinds of
stuff—are made in Bradford, which is also the great wool
market of England.
Dewsbury makes blankets, and also shoddy, that is
woollen rags torn up, fibre from fibre, and made into
new cloth; a little new wool is mixed in, and the whole
is woven into very coarse fabrics.
 There is a large flax mill on the Aire, at Holbeck,
near Leeds, where more than 2000 persons are employed.
Barnsley also is a linen-making place.
IV. KNIVES AND FORKS
SHEFFIELD, which stands in a hollow surrounded by hills
between which five small rivers flow to unite in the
hollow, has been called "the metropolis of steel."
Nearly all the steel goods made in England bear the
Sheffield mark; indeed, there is hardly a country in
the world where you may not find knives with
"Sheffield" on the blade. Not only table-knives and
forks, but pen-knives, lancets, razors, scythes, saws,
scissors, shears, spades, and shovels—every kind of
steel implement, is made in Sheffield, and in the
villages round it; generally in large manufactories,
but many a cottage has its own forge, where some
particular kind of knife or edge-tool is made.
Much coal is used in the preparation of steel, and
Sheffield stands upon the Yorkshire coal-field. Water,
too, is needful in some of the processes, and Sheffield
has plenty; and for these reasons Sheffield has become
the centre of the steel manufacture; but the iron out
of which the steel is made is all brought from abroad.
There is a mine in Sweden which furnishes better iron
for this purpose than any other in the world; and many
shiploads of it are brought every year to Hull, and
carried thence to Sheffield.
 To change iron into steel, a certain quantity of carbon
must be got into the iron: (burn a stick until it is
soft and black, and you will see charcoal, one of the
most common forms which carbon assumes). To effect
this, a huge oven, or pit, is filled with, first, a
layer of charcoal, then a layer of iron bars, then a
layer of charcoal, and so on, until the layers are
about thirty deep. Then the surface is covered with a
kind of clay, and a fire of Sheffield coal is kindled
underneath and kept up fiercely for many days. The iron
is in a red-hot, or, perhaps, a white-hot state; the
charcoal also is highly heated, and the iron seems
gradually to absorb a portion of charcoal into the very
heart of every bar. When the bars are removed from the
furnace they are in a blistered state; then they are
known as blister steel, and are not yet fit for use. To
make common steel, the metal is heated again and
hammered with an enormous hammer to make it tough.
When we see "shear steel" on our table-knives, we
must not suppose they have been cut with a pair of
shears. This kind of steel is so named because it was
found suitable for making shears. It is made by heating
several bars red-hot, and hammering them one upon
another until they are all welded together into a very
close, tough mass.
The most beautiful kind of steel is cast steel, to make
which, a fiercer heat tban is used for any other
purpose whatever must be employed; and the furnaces and
melting-pots must be made so as to endure this great
At last, the steel is ready for the forge. All the
Sheffield forges are much alike. They have a forge
fire, and a block of stone, with steel anvils and
hammers and some other implements. The piece of steel
 heated, placed on the anvil, and hammered into
whatever shape the workman wishes to produce,
knife-blade or scissors. The blade is heated red-hot,
and plunged into cold water to harden it, and then it
is heated gradually, to make it elastic, or temper it;
after which it is carried to the grinding wheels, and
ground all over on a large revolving stone. There are
generally many wheels together in a large mill, worked
by a steam engine. In one room of the mill men grind
table-knives, in another scissors, or forks, or razors,
or saws; the man who makes the goods hiring the room
from the millowner.
The grinding of forks is a most unhealthy trade. They
are ground upon a stone formed of sharp, white grit;
the grinder sits on a stool and bends over the stone to
hold the fork against it. If the stone were wetted, as
in most other cases, the grinder would not be injured ;
but as it is kept quite dry, quantities of spark are
given off, and the face and head of the grinder are
always in a cloud of small particles of steel and
gritstone, some of which he draws into his lungs with
Plated goods, that is, forks and spoons, jugs and
teapots, made of some cheaper metal coated over with
silver, are largely made in Sheffield. There are both
steel and iron works at Kotherham, which is a prettily
placed town near Sheffield.
The Wharncliffe Woods are near the town of Sheffield;
these woods are a bit of the old Sherwood Forest
which at one time stretched for 100 miles, between
Nottingham and the sea.
V. THE VALE OF YORK
 THE rivers on the map of Yorkshire do not look unlike
the pattern made by the veins of a leaf. The Ouse
itself is the mid rib; the Nidd, Wharfe, Aire, and Don,
on which the pleasant town of Doncaster stands, all
bring water to it from the western moors. The Der-went
collects, by many little streams, the waters of the
eastern moorlands. When Mother Ouse has thus gathered
all the waste waters of the county, she flows out into
the wide estuary of the Humber, there to mingle with
Trent river. We say the waste water, because that is
exactly what fills the rivers. Living things use what
they need of the water that comes from the clouds, and
much of the rest flows off by the river channels away
to the open sea.
The land which is drained by a river in this way is
called its basin. The basin takes in every bit of land
from which water flows to join the river. If you draw a
line round the Ouse so as to take in the sources of the
Swale and Ure—which unite to form the Ouse—and the
beginnings of all its tributaries, and of all the
little streams which join them, you will have the edge
of your leaf, and will see exactly what is the basin of
Water, as you know, finds for itself the lowest
place it can reach, and rivers always flow in valleys;
sometimes in a narrow, rocky valley, called a glen;
sometimes in the lowest part of a great valley,
hundreds of miles wide. The Vale of York, through which
the Ouse flows, is between forty and fifty miles wide,
and is the largest vale in England. It is shut in
between the Pennine Moors and the eastern moors and
 A pleasant vale it is, well covered with cornfields and
flowery meadows, and having comfortable farmhouses and
pretty villages dotted over it, for Yorkshire is a
Jn the very heart of this wide vale rises the most
beautiful building, perhaps, in our land of
England—the glorious York Minster.
It would take many pages to tell of its stone carvings
and wood carvings and beautiful painted windows,
through which purple and golden light streams in upon
the pillars that hold up the great arched roof far
overhead—long lines of pillars, which seem to draw
together in the distance like trees in forest glades.
The Minster stands in the old city of York, which still
has some narrow streets and ancient buildings, and some
remains of its old walls and towers, to tell us of its
changeful history. If some old citizen of York could
have gone on with his quiet life in a by-street until
he was even older than Methusaleh, what strange
histories would he have to tell! Let us fancy we are
listening to some of them, paying great heed to the
feeble voice of one so very aged.
TALES OF OLD YORK
VI. THE ROMAN CITY
I CAN scarce call to mind the early days before the
Eomans came. Our people had a town here, but their
towns were poor things—just wicker huts, with a bank
of earth round to keep off other tribes, for we were
 always at war with one another. You see the Wolds
yonder, to the east,—there is to this day many a mound
upon them which marks the graves of our people,
warriors slain in the wars.
Then the Romans came. What a people they were! They
could do anything they set their minds on. We Britons
held out for a long time, but who could stand up
against men made of iron? They conquered us, and, for
three hundred years, York was the great Roman city in
Britain. The city has never seen the like of those
days. Why, we have had the Caesars living here, the
great emperors of the world! There was Hadrian; and the
old man, Severus, who, when he was too sick to ride,
was carried up north in a litter before his army, to
bring the wild Picts to order, and who only got back to
York to die. Then there was the emperor who took one of
our own people, the Lady Helena, to be his wife. That
was a grand day for Britain. To say truth, we were
getting used to the Romans by this time: they were a
hard people, but they were fair in a way; and some of
us were proud to have anything to do with the masters
of the world.
What a splendid place they made of our city, with their
palaces and theatres within, and their grand villas
outside the walls! Parts of the very walls you see
round the city now were built by them. And their baths!
Why, there's no building in England now as big and
grand as those Roman baths were, with their beautiful
pavements and couches, and hot and cold water, and
slaves to wait on you—all that heart could wish for
ease and pleasure; and all kept up by the emperor,
too—nothing to pay.
They were a pleasure more to my mind, somehow, than the
circuses. The Romans would turn men into
 these to fight the wild beasts of the forest, and all
the town would go to see the sport; little children,
even,. and fair ladies in their beautiful dresses; and
they didn't care, not they, if the beast killed the man
or the-man killed the beast. They were a hard
But this was before they had learned the faith of
Christ—when there were heathen temples at every corner.
The Lady Helena was a Christian; and in the days of her
son, Constantine, who was first called Caesar at York,
there were Christian churches in the city, and we even
had a bishop. There are many stories* as to who first
brought the good faith to Britain. Perhaps it was some
soldier who had seen St. Paul when he was a prisoner in
But the Romans had to leave Britain to fight a foe in
their own land. You may still see traces of them in the
city walls, and in the Icknield Street, which went up
to Tynemouth. Some of their statues and altars, gold
ornaments, and other things have been dug up from time
to time; but there is little now left to show that York
was once a great Roman city.
VII. THE SAXONS
MY old head turns when I think of the times that came
after the Romans had left the land. We had got used to
quiet ways—building, and growing corn, and following
useful crafts; but we were not much of soldiers, for
the Romans did the fighting for us.
Then the Saxons came from over the sea. I think I see
them now, with their long fair hair and blue eyes,
 and the terrible knives which slew and slew until there
seemed scarce any left to slay. They wanted none of us;
they wanted the land for themselves; and they got it,
driving most of us Britains into Wales, or some other
Were they pleased, you say, with all the beautiful
houses and other buildings, palaces, and even churches
left by the Romans? Not they, fierce pagans that they
were. All they did with these great works was to burn
and destroy them.
But they learnt better in time. A king named Edwin
arose in Northumbria, who tried to bring back something
of the grandeur of the old Roman days. I have seen him
many a time riding about the country, with a great
banner, purple and gold, the imperial colours, carried
He took the daughter of the Kentish king, Ethelred, for
his wife. She was a Christian lady, and brought
Paulinus, one of the Roman missionaries who had settled
in Kent, to her northern home. He had black hair and a
dark skin, like many of the old Romans, but he stooped
like a man used to books, and did not carry himself as
did the straight soldiers of the old days.
Edwin listened to the teaching of Paulinus and his
wife; a little wooden church was raised in York; and,
one Easter morning, the king was baptized.
His wise men met to consider whether they would give up
Odin and Thor, and take Christ for their God. After
much talk, they decided to become Christians; they were
baptized, and thousands of the people followed their
Edwin was slain in fight with the pagan Penda, king of
Middle England; so was Oswald, the king that followed
him—the same that went up and down the
 country on foot with the Bishop, Aidan, teaching the
people about Christ.
But I cannot remember all the Saxon princes and their
wars; I am an old man, very old. The last great fight
when a Saxon king was in the battle I mind well enough.
That was at Stamford Brig, close by York city. The king
was Harold, the last of the Saxon kings, and a fine
brave prince he was. He was only king for a few weeks,
though. William the Norman came over sea to take his
crown away; and, at the same time, his own brother,
Tostig, a worthless nithing, as men used to call him,
who was angered with him, brought Hardraada, the king
of Norway, with many ships and men, to fight against
Harold. They marched against our city and took it, and
we might have fared badly; but Harold the king heard
the news, brought an army up from the south, drove the
invaders out of the city, and fought them in a great
battle by Stamford Brig.
From seven in the forenoon till three, afternoon, did
the battle rage, and the great army of Hardraada and
Tostig was destroyed.
The good Harold liked not to fight his brother, and,
before the battle, promised him lands and riches if he
would send his men away. "What for my friend?" said
Tostig. "Eight feet of English ground, or, as he is a
tall man, ten feet," said Harold, meaning that a grave
was all he could give Hardraada. So the fight went on,
and Harold conquered; but, poor king, no sooner was it
over than he learned that William the Norman had
landed; and three weeks after Haruld lay dead on the
field of Hastings.
VIII. HARD TIMES AGAIN
 SURE no land ever had so hard a master as William the
Norman was to us. The north-country folk were brave,
and would not give in to be conquered after the
Hastings fight. The King of the Danes brought over an
army to help, and all the men north of Humber rose;
they marched upon York, took it, and slew the Normans
who were guarding the walls. William, full of wrath,
marched north with a great army; he vowed we should
never forget his anger. Aire waters rose in flood to
keep him out, but he brought his men into York, and
from Humber to Tees, from sea to sea, did the fierce
king and his army go. They tore up the crops, they slew
the cattle, they killed man, woman, and child, and set
fire to every town and village they came to. The whole
north country was a desert; for sixty miles north of
York they scarce left a roof to cover a man's head. A
hard winter followed; the snow lay knee-deep on the
ground, and any who had found a hole to hide them in
from the Norman fell before the hunger and cold of that
winter. May York city never more see such a terrible
After this, the king and his knights fell to
building castles to keep the country folk from rising
again. You may see many of these old Norman keeps at
this day up and down the country. After all, when the
conquest was made, there were only a few of
these Normans in the land—the knights who lived in
the castles and their men; the Saxons were never driven
out, so you English people are mostly Saxons to this.
 Hard as they were to their foes, and that was the way
of men in those days, these Normans wished to serve
God, and for the next two hundred years or more they
were busy building grand cathedrals. Their own homes
were plain enough; they cared only to have them strong,
so their castles were built with stone walls six or
eight feet thick; and light and air got in only by
narrow chinks through which archers might shoot. But no
such churches have ever been built in England as in the
centuries after the Normans first settled here; you may
see what they could do by our own grand Minster.
They borrowed a good deal of the money for these fine
buildings from the Jews, who were the only rich people
IX. THE ROSES.
See the account of St. Albans, Herts, for an explanation of "The Roses."
DON'T think we had nothing but wars and troubles and
hard times in York city. The parliaments, which always
meet now in the fine new Parliament Houses at
Westminster, used very often to be held at York. Those
were times of gay doings in the old city, feastings
and tourneys. But I scarce remember any time more
joyful than when King Edward III. married his fair
Queen Philippa here. It was from York, too, that she
marched with the Lords Neville and Percy to fight the
battle of Neville's Cross.
Speaking of Philippa reminds me of another queen
 whom York city has cause to remember; Margaret, queen
of Henry VI., she that had the head of the Duke of York
stuck on the city gates, with a paper crown to mock him
for his pains, for he had thought to wear the crown* of
England. The king was a prisoner, but Margaret was
free, and, with the help of the barons of the north,
she raised an army and met the Duke of York at
Wakefield, where was fought one of the twelve bloody
battles of the Roses. The queen conquered, but small
was the glory, for she had four times as many men as
the duke. He fell in the fight, and cruel Lord Clifford
came upon the body and struck off the head; he set on
it a crown of paper, and so fixed it on a pole and
presented it to his queen, at which present was much
joy; but many laughed then that soon lamented after.
The queen had the head fixed upon the city gates.
Three months after, this same Clifford was slain upon
Towton field near Tadcaster, struck in the throat by a
A terrible battle was that of Towton, such as had not
been fought on English ground since tbe fight of
Hastings. It began at break of day, and for six hours
did the fight go on, and neither side would give in,
the snow falling thick all the time, and laying a white
cover over the slain.
The Earl of Warwick, the mighty baron, the kingmaker,
he that could raise armies at his call from his own
earldoms, wore the white rose of York and led the army.
At last, they of Lancaster slowly gave way, and soon
every man fled for his life. All through the night they
fled, hotly chased by the men of the Yorkist army, who
slew all they came upon. In the morning was a woful
reckoning of dead bodies; nigh forty thousand
 slain—forty thousand! and among them our bravest and
noblest. Aye, it was a dark day for the land, the day
of Towton fight! And. a dark and evil war for England
was this war of the Roses, which left scarce a brave
baron or a prince in the land, and laid our bold
archers by thousands upon many a battle-field.
Margaret and Henry waited here, in York, while the
battle raged, and when the news reached them, they
fled north to Scotland.
I cannot remember to tell you of all that happened
betwixt this quarrel of the Roses and the next great
Civil War, when King Charles I. and his people fought,
army to army, up and down the land. Close by here, on
Marston Moor, was one of those fights. Prince Rupert,
the king's wild kinsman, after breaking the siege of
Lathom House, burst over the moors and into York; and
as evening came on, he drew up his men to face
Cromwell's Ironsides on Marston Moor. What men the
Ironsides were! England has had no such soldiers since
the Eoman days. The fight was fierce, but at nightfall
all was over, and Rupert rode away with hardly a man at
I can tell no more; if ye would know more about
York city, ye must . . . . .
X. THE SEA-BOARD
THE coast of York makes a curve from Tees mouth, where
is the busy, iron-working town of Middles-borough, to
Flamborough Head, north of which it is bold and rocky.
 The ruins of Whitby Abbey, where,
"In the convent cell,
A Saxon princess once did dwell,
The lovely Ethelfled,"
stands on a high cliff, 250 feet above the sea,
overlooking the narrow streets of this old sea-port
town. Jet brooches and earrings are made here, jet
being found about Whitby.
Scarborough, farther south, is a fashionable bathing
place. It stands within a bay, its piers sweeping round
the harbour; and the town creeps, step by step, street
by street, up a high and steep cliff, on the top of
which are the ruins of a castle. It is an old town;
Tostig and Hardraada landed here before the battle of
Stamford Brig, and nearly destroyed Scarborough.
There is scarcely a promontory in England that stands
more boldly out to sea than Flamborough Head. The name
means "headland of the flames," for the Danes kept a
beacon fire alight there to guide their ships upon the
sea. The brilliantly white chalk cliffs which form it
are part of a range nearly six miles in length.
South of this Head, the shores are tame, consisting of
low cliffs of clay or chalk, flat marshy lands, and
sands and sandhills. This is the coast of Holderness,
which is bordered a few miles inland by the Wolds;
these are hills with a smooth bold front, from which a
glorious view may be had.
From Spurn Point to Bridlington Bay, a distance of
about thirty miles, the ocean is gradually gaining on
the land, and half-a-dozen towns and villages have been
submerged. At Hornsea, a road has disappeared bodily;
Kilnsea has lost its old church; while of Ravenspur,
 once a large sea-port town, which stood by Spurn Point,
with churches, streets, and houses many, the very name
has disappeared from the map. It is not that the sea
comes in with a sudden burst and sweeps off village or
town all at once; it works away steadily by day and by
night. Bit by bit the land is carried off with
whatever stands upon it—church or village street; the
very rate at which it gains upon the land is
calculated—two yards in a year in some places, six or
seven in others. Spurn Point is a low, barren ridge of
sand and shingle.
The sea does not carry its spoil far; the tide rushes
up the Humber, bearing with it the waste from the
cliffs of Holderness; when the tidal wave goes out
again, it leaves the mud and stones behind. So they
remain, mud-banks and shoals in the bed of the Humber,
too heavy for the river to sweep out; wherefore, only
pilots who know it well can navigate this estuary.
Hull, or Kingston-upon-Hull, is named after the river
it stands on. It is an old town and a great seaport at
the mouth of the Humber. Hull trades with the whole
world, chiefly with Holland, the Baltic, Sweden, and
Norway. It exports the cottons of Manchester, the
woollens and linens of Yorkshire, the lace and net of
Nottingham. It imports large quantities of foreign
wool, flax, iron, timber, tallow, grain, and other
things. This port has three large docks.
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