“To this place and family are attached the tradition and ballad given by Dr Percy, under the name of Isabella, but here applied to a Lord Thomas and faire Ellenor, father and daughter, whose figures are supposed to be graven on a slab in the church, which the common people, concluding, I suppose, from its whiteness, that it was meant as an emblem of the innocence it is said to cover, have mutilated by breaking off small fragments, as amulets for the prevention or cure of disorders.  Traditions, always erroneous in their circumstances, are yet rarely devoid of foundation; and though the pedigrees of Radcliffe exhibit no failure of the family by the premature death of an heiress; though the last Richard de Radcliffe, who had daughters only, certainly did not make ‘a scullion-boy the heir of all his land,’ when he settled it on Radcliffe Baron Fitzwalter; though the blood actually pointed out on the kitchen floor, where this Thyestsean banquet is said to have been prepared, deserves no more regard than many other stories and appearances of the same kind; yet we are not to discard as incredible the tradition of a barbarous age, merely because it asserts the sacrifice of a young and beautiful heiress to the jealousy or the avarice of a stepmother.  When this is granted, the story of the pie with all its horrors may safely be ascribed to the inventive genius of a minstrel.  On the whole, Radcliffe is a place which, not only from its antiquity and splendour, but from the great families which have branched out from it, and the romantic tradition attached to it, can scarcely be surveyed without enthusiasm, or quitted without regret.”

There is a story of its being haunted by a black dog; but as this apparition has never been seen by two persons in company, it may safely be ascribed to the genius of fear, quite as creative a power as any other faculty of the imagination.

We have thought it best to give the ballad entire, without any embellishments of our own.  Though not in the best style of these metrical romances, it is still of sufficient interest, from its connection, to claim a place in the “Traditions” of the county.

    There was a lord of worthy fame,
      And a hunting he would ride,
    Attended by a noble traine
      Of gentrye by his side.

    And while he did in chase remaine,
      To see both sport and playe,
    His ladye went, as she did feigne,
      Unto the church to praye.

    This lord he had a daughter deare,
      Whose beauty shone so bright,
    She was beloved both far and neare
      Of many a lord and knight.

    Fair Ellen was this damsel call’d,
      A creature faire was she;
    She was her father’s only joye,
      As you shall after see.

    Therefore her cruel stepmother
      Did envye her so much,
    That daye by daye she sought her life,
      Her malice it was such.