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Title: Lays and Legends of the English Lake Country - With Copious Notes
Author: White, John Pagen
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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                        "In early date,
  When I was beardless, young, and blate,
  E'en then a wish, I mind its power,
  A wish that to my latest hour
      Shall strongly heave my breast;
  That I for poor auld _Cumbria's_ sake,
  Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,



In submitting this Book to the Public, I have thought it best to
give it precisely as it was left in manuscript by my late Brother.
His sudden death in 1868 prevented the final revision which he still

The Notes may by some be thought unnecessarily long, and in many
instances they undoubtedly are very discursive. Much labour, however,
was expended in their composition, in the hope, not merely of giving
a new interest to localities and incidents already familiar to the
resident, but also of affording the numerous visitors to the charming
region which forms the theme of the Volume, an amount of information
supplementary to the mere outline which, only, it is the province of a
Guide Book, however excellent, to supply.

The Work occupied for years the leisure hours of a busy professional
life; and the feelings with which the Author entered upon and continued
it, are best expressed in those lines of Burns chosen by himself for
the motto.

  B. J.
  _July 1st, 1873._


The English Lake District may be said, in general terms, to extend from
Cross-Fell and the Solway Firth, on the east and north, to the waters
of Morecambe and the Irish Sea; or, more accurately, to be comprised
within an irregular circle, varying from forty to fifty miles in
diameter, of which the centre is the mountain Helvellyn, and within
which are included a great portion of Cumberland and Westmorland and
the northern extremity of Lancashire.

After the conquest of England by the Normans, the counties of
Cumberland and Westmorland, the ancient inheritance of the Scottish
Kings, as well as the county of Northumberland, were placed by William
under the English crown. But the regions thus alienated were not
allowed to remain in the undisturbed possession of the strangers. For
a long period they were disquieted by the attempts which from time to
time were made by successive kings of Scotland to re-establish their
supremacy over them. Supporting their pretensions by force of arms,
they carried war into the disputed territory, and conducted it with a
rancour and cruelty which spared neither age or sex. The two nations
maintained their cause, just or unjust, with unfaltering resolution;
or if they seemed to hesitate for a moment, and a period of settlement
to be at hand, their frequent compromises only ended in a renewal of
their differences. Thus these northern counties continued to pass
alternately under the rule of both the contending nations, until the
Scottish dominion over them was finally terminated by agreement in the
year 1237; Alexander of Scotland accepting in lieu lands of a certain
yearly value, to be holden of the King of England by the annual render
of a falcon to the Constable of the Castle of Carlisle, on the Festival
of the Assumption.

The resumption, at no distant period, of the manors which had been
granted to Alexander, renewed in all their strength the feelings of
animosity with which the Scots had been accustomed to regard their
southern neighbours, and the feuds between the two kingdoms continued
with unabated violence for more than three centuries longer. The
dwellers in the unsettled districts lying along the English and
Scottish borders, being originally derived from the same Celtic stock,
had been gradually and progressively influenced as a race by the
admixture of Saxon and Danish blood into the population; and although
much of the Celtic character was thereby lost, they seem to have
retained in their mountains and forests much of the spirit, and many
of the laws and manners, of the ancient Britons. They continued to
form themselves into various septs, or clans, according to the Celtic
custom; sometimes banded together for the attainment of a common
end; and as often at feud, one clan with another, when some act of
personal wrong had to be revenged upon a neighbouring community. Thus
a state of continual restlessness, springing out of mutual hatred and
jealousies, existed among the borderers of either nation. The same
feelings of enmity were fostered, and the same system of petty warfare
was carried on, between the borderers of the two kingdoms. Cumberland
and Westmorland, from their position, were subject to the frequent
inroads of the Scots; by whom great outrages were committed upon the
inhabitants. They drove their cattle, burned their dwellings, plundered
their monasteries, and even destroyed whole towns and villages. A
barbarous system of vengeance and retaliation ensued. Every act of
violence and bloodshed was perpetrated; whilst the most nefarious
practices of free-booting became the common occupation of the marauding
clans; and a _raid_ into a neighbouring district had for them the
same sort of charm and excitement which their descendants find in a
modern fox chase. Even after the union of the two kingdoms under one
sovereign, when the term "Borders" had been changed to "Middle Shires,"
as being more suitable to a locality which was now nearly in the
centre of his dominions, the long cherished distinctions and prejudices
of the inhabitants were maintained in all their vigour; and it required
a long period of conflict with these to be persevered in, before the
extinction of the border feuds could be completely effected. These
distractions have now been at an end for more than two centuries. The
mountains look down upon a peaceful domain; the valleys, everywhere the
abode of quiet and security, yield their rich pasturage to the herds,
or their corn-fields redden, though coyly, to the harvest; and the
population, much of it rooted in the soil, and attached by hereditary
ties to the same plots of ancestral ground in many instances for six or
seven hundred years, is independent, prosperous, and happy.

Some evidences of the old troublous times remain, in the dismantled
Border Towers, and moated or fortified houses called Peles, which
lie on the more exposed parts of the district; in the ruins of the
conventual retreats; and in the crumbling strongholds of the chiefs,
which still retain something of a past existence in the names which
even yet cling about their walls, as if the spirits of their former
possessors were reluctant to depart entirely from them. Whilst a few
traditions and recollections survive of those stirring periods which
have left their mark upon the nation's history, and are associated for
ever with images of those illustrious persons whose familiar haunts
were within the shadows of the hills.

But the great charm of this region, which is not without attractions
also of a superstitious and romantic character, lies in the variety of
the aspects of nature which it presents; exhibiting, on a diminutive
scale, combinations of the choicest features of the scenery of all
those lands which have a name and fame for beauty and magnificence. Mr.
West, a Roman Catholic clergyman, long resident in the district, and
the author of one of the earliest Guides to the Lakes, thus expresses
himself: "They who intend to make the continental tour should begin
here; as it will give in miniature, an idea of what they are to meet
with there, in traversing the Alps and Appenines: to which our northern
mountains are not inferior in beauty of line, or variety of summit,
number of lakes, and transparency of water; not in colouring of rock or
softness of turf; but in height and extent only. The mountains here are
all accessible to the summit, and furnish prospects no less surprising,
and with more variety than the Alps themselves." Wordsworth also, who
could well judge of this fact, and none better; he who for fifty years

  "Murmured near _these_ running brooks
    A music sweeter than their own,"

and looked on all their changing phases with a superstitious eye of
love; after he had become acquainted with the mountain scenery of
Wales, Scotland, Switzerland, and Italy, gave his judgment that, as a
whole, the English Lake District within its narrow limits is preeminent
above them all. He thus speaks: "A happy proportion of component parts
is indeed noticeable among the landscapes of the North of England;
and, in this characteristic essential to a perfect picture, they
surpass the scenes of Scotland, and, in a still greater degree, those
of Switzerland.... On the score even of sublimity, the superiority
of the Alps is by no means so great as might hastily be inferred;
and, as to the _beauty_ of the lower regions of the Swiss mountains,
their surface has nothing of the mellow tone and variety of hues by
which our mountain turf is distinguished.... The Lakes are much more
interesting than those of the Alps; first, as is implied above by being
more happily proportioned to the other features of the landscape; and
next, as being infinitely more pellucid, and less subject to agitation
from the winds." And again, "The water of the English Lakes being of
a crystalline clearness, the reflections of the surrounding hills are
frequently so lively, that it is scarcely possible to distinguish the
point where the real object terminates, and its unsubstantial duplicate

It is therefore not to be wondered at, that during the greater part
of a century, where the old Border _raids_ of violence have ceased,
excursions of a very different character should have taken their
place. Every summer brings down upon the valleys clouds of visitors
from every corner of our island, and from many countries of Europe
and America, eager to enjoy their freshness and beauty, and breathe
a new life in the companionship of the lakes and hills. And if in
a spirit somewhat more akin to the moss-trooping Borderer of an
earlier time, an occasional intruder has scoured the vales in search
of their traditions; and in the pursuit of these has ransacked their
annals, plundered their guides, and levied a sort of black-mail upon
even casual and anonymous contributors to their history; it may in
some degree extenuate the offence to remember that such literary
free-booting makes no one poorer for what it takes away; and that
the _opima spolia_ of the adventurer are only so much gathered to be
distributed again. More especially to the Notes which constitute so
large a portion of the present Volume may this remark be applied.
Scenery long outlasts all traditional and historical associations. To
revive these among their ancient haunts, and to awaken yet another
interest in this land of beauty, has been the aim and end of this
modern _Raid_ into the valleys of the North, and the regions that own
the sovereignty of the "mighty Helvellyn."


  The Past                              1
  The Banner of Broughton Tower         3
  Giltstone Rock                       15
  Crier of Claife                      19
  Cuckoo of Borrodale                  29
  King Eveling                         38
  Sir Lancelot Threlkeld               44
  Pan on Kirkstone                     66
  Saint Bega                           73
  Harts-Horn Tree                      81
  Bekan's Ghyll                        88
  The Chimes of Kirk-Sunken           102
  The Raven on Kernal Crag            106
  Lord Derwentwater's Lights          110
  Laurels on Lingmoor                 124
  Vale of St. John                    136
  The Luck of Edenhall                143
  Hob-Thross                          153
  The Abbot of Calder                 162
  The Armboth Banquet                 170
  Britta in the Temple of Druids      179
  The Lady of Workington Hall         191
  Altar upon Cross Fell               199
  Willie o' Scales                    209
  Ermengarde                          217
  Gunilda                             227
  The Shield of Flandrensis           234
  The Rooks of Furness                242
  King Dunmail                        255
  The Bridals of Dacre                266
  Threlkeld Tarn                      279
  Robin the Devil                     284
  The Lay of Lord Lucy of Egremond    295
  Sölvar How                          312
  The Church among the Mountains      323


  Through yon old archway grey and broken
    Rides forth a belted knight;
  Upon his breast his true-love's token
    And armour glittering bright.

  His arm a fond adieu is waving,
    And answering waves a hand
  From one whose love her grief is braving--
    The fairest of the land.

  The trumpet calls, and plain and valley
    Give forth their armed men;
  And round the red-cross flag they rally,
    From every dale and glen.

  And she walks forth in silent sorrow,
    Who was so blest to-day,
  And thinks on many a lone to-morrow
    In those old towers of grey.

  From many a piping throat so mellow
    The joyful song bursts forth:
  On many a field the corn so yellow
    Makes golden bright the earth.

  And mountains o'er the green woods frowning
    Close round the banner'd walls;
  While mid-day sunshine, all things crowning,
    In summer splendour falls.

  But ours is not the age they walk in;
    It is the years of yore:
  And ours is not the tongue they talk in;
    'Tis language used no more.

  Yet many an eye in silence bending
    O'er this unmurmur'd lay,
  Beholds that knight the vale descending,
    And feels that summer's day.

  Lives it then not? Yes; and when hoary
    Beneath our years we stand,
  That scene of summer, love, and glory,
    Shall still be on the land.

  Truth from the earth itself shall perish
    Ere that shall be no more;
  The heart in song will ever cherish
    What has been life of yore.


  The knight looked out from Broughton Tower;
    The stars hung high o'er Broughton Town;
  "There should be tidings by this hour,
    From Fouldrey Pile or Urswick Down!"

  Far out the Duddon roll'd its tide
    Beneath; and on the verge afar,
  The Warder through the night descried
    The beacon, like a rising star.

  It told that Fouldrey by the sea
    Was signall'd from the ships that bore,
  With Swart's Burgundian chivalry,
    The false King from the Irish shore.

  And Lincoln's Earl, and Broughton's Knight,
    And brave Lord Lovel, wait the sign
  To march their hosts to Urswick's height,
    To hail him King, of Edward's line.

  Brave men as ever swerv'd aside!
    But faithful to their ancient fame,
  The white Rose wooed them in her pride
    Once more; and foremost forth they came.

  The Knight looked out beneath his hand;
    The Warder pointed to the glow;
  "Now droop my banner, that my band
    May each embrace it! then we'll go.

  "And if we fall, as fall we may,
    Thus resolute the wronged to raise,
  The banner that we bear to-day,
    Shall be our monument and praise!"

  One look into his lady's bower;
    One step into his ancient hall;
  And then adieu to Broughton Tower,
    Till blooms the white Rose over all!

  High o'er the surge of many a fight,
    That banner, for the Rose, had led
  The liegemen of the Broughton knight
    To victory's smiles, or glory's bed.

  And 'twas a glorious sight to see
    That break of day, from tower and town,
  Pour forth his martial tenantry,
    To swell the array on Urswick Down:

  To see the glancing pennons wave
    Above them, and the banner borne
  All joyously by warriors, brave
    As ever hailed a battle morn.

  And 'twas a stirring sound to hear,
    Uprolling from the camp,--the drum,
  The music, and the martial cheer,
    That told the chiefs, "We come, we come!"

  Then in that sunny time of June,
    When green leaves burdened every spray,
  With all the merry birds in tune,
    They marched upon their southward way.

  And, as through channel'd sands afar
    The tides with steady onward force
  Push inland, roll'd their wave of war
    To Trent, its unresisted course.

  And spreading wide its crest where Stoke
    O'erlook'd the Royal lines below,
  Spent its long gathering strength, and broke,
    And plung'd in fury on the foe.

  For three long hours that summer morn
    King Henry by his standard rode,
  Through onset and repulse upborne,
    A tower of strength where'er it glowed.

  For three long hours the fated band
    Of chiefs, that summer morning waged
  A desperate battle, hand to hand,
    Where'er the thickest carnage raged,

  Till midst four thousand liegemen slain,
    The flower of that misguided host,
  Borne down upon the fatal plain,
    Fame, honour, life, and cause were lost.

  Turn ye, who high in hall and tower
    Sit waiting for your lords, and burn
  To wrest the tidings of that hour
    From lips that never may return:

  Turn inwards from the news that flies
    Through England's summer groves, and close
  The circlets of your asking eyes
    Against the coming cloud of woes!

  Wild rumour, like the wind that wings,
    None knows or how or whence, its way,
  Storm-like on Broughton's turret rings
    The dire disaster of that day.

  Storm-like through his dislorded halls
    And farmsteads lone, the rumour breaks;
  And far by Witherslack's grey walls,
    And hamlet cots, despair awakes.

  And all old things meet shock and change,
    Since Broughton, down-borne in his pride
  On that red field, no more shall range
    By Duddon's rocks, or Winster's side.

  And while the hills around rejoiced,
    And in the triumph of their King
  Old strains of peace sang trumpet-voiced,
    And bade the landscapes smile and sing;

  Far stretching o'er the land, his sign
    The King from Broughton's charters tore;
  And the old honours of his line
    In his old tower were known no more.

  His halls, his manors, his fair lands,
    Pass'd from his name; round all he'd loved,
  And all that loved him, power's dread hands
    In shadow through the noontide moved:

  E'en to those cottage homes apart,
    His poor men's huts by lonely ways--
  To crush from out the humblest heart
    Each pulse that dared to throb his praise!

  But when old feuds had all been healed,
    And England's long lost smiling years
  Returned, and tales of Stoke's red field
    Fair eyes had ceased to flood with tears;

  'Twas whispered 'mid the fields and farms,
    That once were Broughton's free domain,--
  His _banner_, saved from strife of arms,
    Was somewhere 'mid those homes again.

  That o'er the hills afar, where lies
    Lone Witherslack by moorland roads,
  His own old liegemen true the prize
    Held fast within their safe abodes.

  Thrice honour'd in that matchless zeal
    To brave proscription, death and shame;
  Thus rescued by their hearths to feel
    The symbol of his ancient fame!

  So for old faithfulness renowned,
    The tenants of that knightly race
  Their age-long acts of service crowned
    With that last deed of loyal grace.

  Last? Nay! for on one Sabbath morn,
    An old man, blanch'd by years and cares,
  Gave up his spirit, tired and worn,
    Amidst those humble liegemen's prayers.

  Gave up a long secreted life
    'Mid hinds and herds, by peasant maids
  Nurtured and soothed, while shadows rife
    With death's stern edicts, stalked the glades.

  He pass'd while Cartmel's monks sang dole,
    As for a brave man gone to rest;
  And men sighed, "Glory to his soul!"
    And wrapt the banner round his breast:

  And placed the tassell'd bridle reins
    And spurs that, by his lattice, led
  His thoughts so oft to far off plains,
    Beside him in his narrow bed:

  And borne on high their arms above,
    As hinds are borne to churchyard cells,
  With kindly speech of truth and love,
    Mix'd with the sound of mournful bells,

  They laid him in a tomb, engraved
    With no memorial, date, or name;
  But one dear relic round him, saved
    To whisper in the earth his fame.

  And when that age had all gone down
    To mingle with its native dust,
  And time his deeds had overgrown,
    His banner yielded up its trust;

  And told from one low chancel's shade
    Where good men sang on holy days--
  "Here Broughton's Knight in earth was laid.
    Peace! To his tenants, endless praise!"


    Broughton Tower, the ancient part of which is all that remains
    of the residence of the unfortunate Sir Thomas Broughton, stands
    a little to the eastward of the town of that name, upon the neck
    of a wooded spur of land, which projects from the high ground
    above the houses towards the river Duddon, about a mile distant.
    The towered portion, as it rises from the wood, has much of the
    appearance of a church; but is in reality part of the ancient
    building, now connected with a modern mansion. It has a southern
    aspect, with a slope down to the river, being well sheltered in
    the opposite direction. "It commands an extensive view, comprising
    in a wonderful variety hill and dale, water, wooded grounds, and
    buildings; whilst fertility around is gradually diminished, being
    lost in the superior heights of Black Comb, in Cumberland, the high
    lands between Kirkby and Ulverston, and the estuary of the Duddon
    expanding into the sands and waters of the Irish sea."

    The Broughtons were an Anglo-Saxon family of high antiquity, in
    whose possession the manor of Broughton had remained from time
    immemorial, and whose chief seat was at Broughton, until the second
    year of the reign of Henry the Seventh. At this period the power
    and interest of Sir Thomas Broughton were so considerable, that
    the Duchess of Burgundy, sister to the late King and the Duke of
    Clarence, relied on him as one of the principal confederates in the
    attempt to subvert the government of Henry by the pretensions of
    Lambert Simnel.

    Ireland was zealously attached to the house of York, and held
    in affectionate regard the memory of the Duke of Clarence, the
    Earl of Warwick's father, who had been its lieutenant. No sooner,
    therefore, did the impostor Simnel present himself to Thomas
    Fitz-Gerald, Earl of Kildare, and claim his protection as the
    unfortunate Warwick, than that credulous nobleman paved the way for
    his reception, and furthered his design upon the throne, till the
    people in Dublin with one consent tendered their allegiance to him
    as the true Plantagenet. They paid the pretended Prince attendance
    as their sovereign, lodged him in the Castle of Dublin, crowned
    him with a diadem taken from a statue of the Virgin, and publicly
    proclaimed him King, by the appellation of Edward the Sixth.

    In the year 1487 Lambert, with about two thousand Flemish troops
    under the command of Colonel Martin Swart, a man of noble family
    in Germany, an experienced and valiant soldier, whom the Duchess
    of Burgundy had chosen to support the pretended title of Simnel to
    the crown of England, and a number of Irish, conducted by Thomas
    Gerardine their captain from Ireland, landed in Furness at the Pile
    of Fouldrey. The army encamped in the neighbourhood of Ulverston,
    at a place now known by the name of Swart-Moor. Sir Thomas
    Broughton joined the rebels with a small body of English. The army,
    at this time about eight thousand strong, proceeded to join the
    Earl of Lincoln, Lord Lovel, and the rest of the confederates,
    passing on through Cartmel to Stoke field, near Newark-upon-Trent,
    where they met and encountered the King's forces on the 5th of
    June, 1487.

    The day being far advanced before the King arrived at Stoke, he
    pitched his camp and deferred the battle till the day following.
    The forces of the Earl of Lincoln also encamped at a little
    distance from those of the King, and undismayed by the superior
    numbers they had to encounter, bravely entered the field the
    next day, and arranged themselves for battle, according to the
    directions of Colonel Swart and other superior officers. The
    charge being sounded, a desperate conflict was maintained with
    equal valour on both sides for three hours. The Germans were in
    every respect equal to the English, and none surpassed the bravery
    of Swart their commander. For three hours each side contended
    for victory, and the fate of the battle remained doubtful. The
    Irish soldiers, however, being badly armed, and the Germans being
    overpowered by numbers, the Lambertines were at length defeated,
    but not before their principal officers, the Earl of Lincoln,
    Lord Lovel, _Sir Thomas Broughton_, Colonel Swart, and Sir Thomas
    Gerardine captain of the Irish, and upwards of four thousand of
    their soldiers were slain.

    Young Lambert and his tutor were both taken prisoners. The latter,
    being a priest, was punished with perpetual imprisonment; Simnel
    was too contemptible to be an object either of apprehension or
    resentment to Henry. He was pardoned, and made a scullion in the
    King's kitchen, whence he was afterwards advanced to the rank of
    falconer, in which employment he ended his days.

    Sir Thomas Broughton is said to have fallen on the field of
    battle: but there remains a tradition, that he returned and lived
    many years amongst his tenants in Witherslack, in Westmorland; and
    was interred in the Chapel there; but of this nothing is known
    for certain at present, or whether he returned or where he died.
    Dr. Burn, speaking of the grant of Witherslack to Sir Thomas, on
    the attainder of the Harringtons in the first year of Henry's
    reign for siding with the house of York, and of its subsequent
    grant to Thomas Lord Stanley, the first Earl of Derby, on the
    attainder of Sir Thomas for having been concerned in this affair
    of Lambert Simnel, goes on to say--"And here it may not be amiss
    to rectify a mistake in Lord Bacon's history of that King, (Henry
    VII.) who saith that this Sir Thomas Broughton was slain at Stoke,
    near Newark, on the part of the counterfeit Plantagenet, Lambert
    Simnell; whereas Sir Thomas Broughton escaped from that battle
    hither into Witherslack, where he lived a good while _incognito_,
    amongst those who had been his tenants, who were so kind unto him
    as privately to keep and maintain him, and who dying amongst them
    was buried by them, whose grave Sir Daniel Fleming says in his time
    was to be seen there."

    The erection of the new chapel of Witherslack by Dean Barwick, in
    1664, at a considerable distance from where the ancient chapel
    stood, has obliterated the memory of his once well-known grave.
    With this unhappy gentleman the family of Broughton, which had
    flourished for many centuries and had contracted alliances with
    most of the principal families in these parts, was extinguished in

    After these affairs the King had leisure to revenge himself on his
    enemies, and made a progress into the northern parts of England,
    where he gave many proofs of his rigorous disposition. A strict
    inquiry was made after those who had assisted or favoured the
    rebels, and heavy fines and even sanguinary punishments, were
    imposed upon the delinquents in a very arbitrary manner. The
    fidelity therefore of Sir Thomas Broughton's tenants to their
    fallen master was not without its dangers, and is a pleasing
    instance of attachment to the person of a leader in a rude and
    perilous age.

    In the wars of the Roses the Broughtons had always strenuously
    supported the House of York. It is however remarkable that, the
    manor of Witherslack having been granted to Sir Thomas by Henry the
    Seventh in the first year of his reign, he should have joined the
    Pretender in arms against that monarch in the following year.

    Methop and Ulva, though distinctly named in the title and
    description of this manor, yet make but a small part of it. They
    are all included within a peninsula, as it were, between Winster
    Beck, Bryster Moss, and Lancaster Sands.

    The fate of Lord Lovel, another of the chiefs in this disastrous
    enterprise, is also shrouded in mystery. It has often been told
    that he was never seen, living or dead, after the battle.

    The dead bodies of the Earl of Lincoln and most of the other
    principal leaders, it was said, were found where they had fallen,
    sword-in-hand, on the fatal field; but not that of Lord Lovel. Some
    assert that he was drowned when endeavouring to escape across the
    river Trent, the weight of his armour preventing the subsequent
    discovery of his body. Other reports apply to him the circumstances
    similar to those which have been related above as referring to Sir
    Thomas Broughton; namely, that he fled to the north where, under
    the guise of a peasant, he ended his days in peace. Lord Bacon, in
    his History of Henry the Seventh, says "that he lived long after
    in a cave or vault." And his account has been partly corroborated
    in modern times. William Cowper, Esquire, Clerk of the House of
    Commons, writing from Hertingfordbury Park in 1738, says--"In 1708,
    upon the occasion of new laying a chimney at Minster Lovel, there
    was discovered a large vault or room underground in which was the
    entire skeleton of a man, as having been sitting at a table which
    was before him, with a book, paper, pen, etc.; in another part
    of the room lay a cap, all much mouldered and decayed; which the
    family and others judged to be this Lord Lovel, whose exit has
    hitherto been so uncertain."

    A tradition was rife in the village in the last century to the
    effect that, in this hiding place, which could only be opened from
    the exterior, the insurgent chief had confided himself to the
    care of a female servant, was forgotten or neglected by her, and
    consequently died of starvation.

    The ancient Castle or Pile of Fouldrey, (formerly called Pele of
    Foudra, or Futher,) stands upon a small island near the southern
    extremity of the isle of Walney; and is said by Camden to have been
    built by an Abbot of Furness, in the first year of King Edward the
    Third (A. D. 1327). It was probably intended for an occasional
    retreat from hostility; a depository for the valuable articles
    of the Monastery of Furness; and for a fortress to protect the
    adjoining harbour; all which intentions its situation and structure
    were well calculated to answer at the time of its erection.

    It seems to have been the custom in the northern parts of the
    kingdom, for the monasteries to have a fortress of this kind, in
    which they might lodge with security their treasure and records
    on the approach of an enemy; of this the Castle on Holy Island,
    in Northumberland, and Wulstey Castle, near the Abbey of Holm
    Cultram, in Cumberland, are examples. It has even been said that
    an underground communication existed between Furness Abbey and the
    Pele of Fouldrey.

    The harbour alluded to, appears to have been of considerable
    importance to the shipping of that period, when the relations of
    Ireland with the monks had become established. In the reign of
    Henry the Sixth, it is mentioned as being found a convenient spot
    for the woollen merchants to ship their goods to Ernemouth, in
    Zealand, without paying the duty; and in Elizabeth's days as "the
    only good haven for great shippes to londe or ryde in" between
    Scotland and Milford Haven, in Wales.

    It was apprehended that the Spanish Armada would try to effect a
    landing in this harbour.


  The Betsey-Jane sailed out of the Firth,
  As the Waits sang "Christ is born on earth"--
  The Betsey-Jane sailed out of the Firth,
      On Christmas-day in the morning.
  The wind was East, the moon was high,
  Of a frosty blue was the spangled sky,
  And the bells were ringing, and dawn was nigh,
      And the day was Christmas morning.

  In village and town woke up from sleep,
  From peaceful visions and slumbers deep--
  In village and town woke up from sleep,
      On Christmas-day in the morning,
  The many that thought on Christ the King,
  And rose betimes their gifts to bring,
  And "peace on earth and good will" to sing,
      As is meet upon Christmas morning.

  The Betsey-Jane pass'd village and town,
  As the Gleemen sang, and the stars went down--
  The Betsey-Jane pass'd village and town,
      That Christmas-day in the morning;

  And the Skipper by good and by evil swore,
  The bells might ring and the Gleemen roar,
  But the chink of his gold would chime him o'er
      Those waves, next Christmas morning.

  And out of the Firth with his reckless crew,
  All ready his will and his work to do--
  Out of the Firth with his reckless crew
      He sailed on a Christmas morning!
  He steer'd his way to Gambia's coast;
  And dealt for slaves; and Westward cross'd;
  And sold their lives, and made his boast
      As he thought upon Christmas morning.

  And again and again from shore to shore,
  With his human freight for the golden ore--
  Again and again from shore to shore,
      Ere Christmas-day in the morning,
  He cross'd that deep with never a thought
  Of the sorrow, or wrong, or suffering wrought
  On souls and bodies thus sold and bought
      For gold, against Christmas morning!

  And at length, with his gold and ivory rare,
  When the sun was low and the breeze was fair--
  At length with his gold and ivory rare
      He sailed, that on Christmas morning
  He might pass both village and town again
  When the bells were ringing, as they rung then,
  When he pass'd them by in the Betsey-Jane,
      On that last bright Christmas morning.

  The Betsey-Jane sailed into the Firth,
  As the bells rang "Christ is born on earth"--
  The Betsey-Jane sailed into the Firth,
      And it _was_ upon Christmas morning!
  The wind was west, the moon was high,
  Of a hazy blue was the spangled sky,
  And the bells were ringing, and dawn was nigh,
      Just breaking on Christmas morning.

  The Gleemen singing of Christ the King,
  Of Christ the King, of Christ the King--
  The Gleemen singing of Christ the King,
      Hailed Christmas-day in the morning;
  When the Betsey-Jane with a thundering shock
  Went ripping along on the Giltstone Rock,
  In sound of the bells which seemed to mock
      Her doom on that Christmas morning.

  With curse and shriek and fearful groan,
  On the foundering ship, in the waters lone--
  With curse and shriek and fearful groan,
      They sank on that Christmas morning!
  The Skipper with arms around his gold,
  Scared by dark spirits that loosed his hold,
  Was down the deep sea plunged and roll'd
      In the dawn of that Christmas morning:--

  While village and town woke up from sleep,
  From peaceful visions and slumbers deep--
  While village and town woke up from sleep,
      That Christmas-day in the morning!

  And many that thought on Christ the King,
  Rose up betimes their gifts to bring,
  And, "peace on earth and good will to sing,"
      Went forth in the Christmas morning!


    The rock thus named, lies off the harbour at Harrington, on the
    coast of Cumberland, and is only visible at low water during spring

    The Gleemen, or Waits, as the Christmas minstrels are called, still
    keep up their annual rounds, with song and salutation, and with a
    heartiness and zeal, which have been well described by the great
    Poet of the Lake district in those feeling and admirable verses to
    his brother, Dr. Wordsworth, prefixed to his Sonnets on the River

    In the parish of Muncaster, on the eve of the new year, the
    children go from house to house, singing a ditty, which craves the
    bounty, "_they were wont to have, in old king Edward's days_."
    There is no tradition whence this custom arose; the donation is
    two-pence or a pie at every house. Mr. Jefferson suggests, may
    not the name have been altered from Henry to Edward? and may it
    not have an allusion to the time when King Henry the sixth was
    entertained at Muncaster Castle in his flight from his enemies?


  A wild holloa on Wynander's shore,
  'Mid the loud waves' splash and the night-wind's roar!
  Who cries so late with desperate note,
  Far over the water, to hail the boat?

  'Tis night's mid gloom; the strong rain beats fast:
  Is there one at this hour will face the blast,
  And the darkness traverse with arm and oar,
  To ferry the Crier from yonder shore?

  A mile to cross, and the skies so dread;
  With a storm around that would wake the dead;
  And fathoms of boiling depths below;
  The ferry is hailed, and the boat must go.

  Snug under that cliff, whence over the Mere,
  When summer is merry and skies are clear,
  In holiday times hearts light and gay
  Look over the hills and far away--

  At the Ferry-house Inn, sat warm beside
  The bright wood-fire and hearthstone wide,
  A rollicking band of jovial souls
  With tinkling cans and full brown bowls.

  Without, the sycamores' branches rode
  The storm, as if fiends the roof bestrode;
  Yet stout of heart, to that wild holloa
  The ferryman smiled--"The boat must go."

  His comrades followed out into the dark,
  As the young man strode to the tumbling bark;
  And, wishing him luck in the perilous storm,
  With a shudder went back to the fireside warm.

  An hour is gone! against wind and wave
  Well struggled and strove that heart so brave.
  Another! they crowd to the whistling door,
  To welcome the guide and his freight to shore.

  But pallid, and stunn'd, aghast, alone,
  He stood in the boat, and speech had none:
  His lips were locked, and his eyes astare,
  And blanched with terror his manly hair.

  What thing he had seen, what utterance heard,
  What horror that night his senses stirr'd,
  Was frozen within him, and choked his breath,
  And laid him, ere morning, cold in death.

  But what that night of horror revealed,
  And what that night of horror concealed
  Of spirits and powers in storms that roam,
  Lies hid with the monk in St. Mary's Holm.

  Still, under the cliff--whence over the Mere,
  When summer was merry and skies were clear,
  In holiday times hearts light and gay
  Looked over the hills and far away--

  When the rough winds blew amid rain and cold,
  The Ferry-house gathered its hearts of old,
  Who sat at the hearth and o'er the brown ale,
  Oft talked of that night and its dismal tale.

  And often the Crier was heard to wake
  The night's foul echoes across the lake;
  But never again would a hand unmoor
  The boat, to venture by night from shore:

  Till they sought the good monk of St. Mary's Holm,
  With relics of saints and beads from Rome,
  To row to the Nab on Hallowmas night,
  And bury the Crier by morning's light.

  With Aves muttered, and spells unknown,
  The monk rows over the Mere alone;
  Like a feather his bark floats light and fast;
  When the Crier's loud hail sweeps down the blast.

  Speed on, bold heart, with gifts of grace!
  He is nearing the wild fiend-blighted place.
  Now heed thee, foul spirit! the priest has power
  To bind thee on earth till the morning hour.

  He rests his oars; and the faint blue gleam
  From a marsh-light sheds on the ground its beam.
  There's a stir in the grass; and there's ONE on a knoll,
  Unearthly and horrid to sight and soul.

  That horrible cry rings through the dark,
  As the monk steps out of the grounding bark;
  And he charms a circle around the knoll,
  Wherein he must sit till the mass bell toll.

  Then over the lake, with the fiend in tow,
  To the quarry beyond the monk will go,
  And bury the Crier with book and bell,
  While the birds of morning sing him farewell.

  The morn awoke. As the breezy smile
  Of dawn played over St. Mary's Isle,
  The tinkling sound of the mass-bell rose,
  And startled the valleys from brief repose.

  Then, like a speck from afar descried,
  The monk row'd out on the waters wide--
  From the Nab row'd out, with the fiend in his wake,
  To lay him in quiet, across the lake.

  And fear-struck men, and women that bore
  Their babes, beheld from height and shore,
  How he reached the wood that hid the dell,
  Where he laid the Crier with book and bell.

  "For the ivy green" the spell was told;
  "For the ivy green" his knell was knoll'd;
  That as long as by wall and greenwood tree
  The ivy flourished, his rest might be.

  So did the good monk; and thus was laid
  The Crier in ground by greenwood shade.
  In the quarry of Claife the wretched ghost
  To human ear for ever was lost.

  And country folk in peace again
  Went forth by night through field and lane,
  Nor dreaded to hear that terrible note
  Cry over the water, and hail the boat.

  And still on that cliff, high over the Mere,
  When summer is merry, and skies are clear,
  In holiday times hearts light and gay
  Look over the hills and far away.

  But what that night of horror revealed,
  And what that night and morrow concealed,
  Of spirits so wicked and given to roam,
  Lies hid with the monk in St. Mary's Holm.

  Peace be with him, peaceful soul!
  Long his bell has ceased to toll.
  Green the Isle that folds his breast;
  Clear the Lake that lull'd his rest.

  Though the many ages gone
  Long have left his place unknown;
  Yet where once he kneel'd and pray'd,
  By his altar long decay'd,
  Stranger to this Island led!
  Humbly speak and softly tread;
  Catching from the ages dim
  This, the burden of his hymn:--

  "Ave, Thou before whose name
    Wrath and shadows swiftly flee!
  Arm Thy faithful bands with flame,
    Earth from foulest foes to free.

  "Peace on all these valleys round,
    Breathe from out this Islet's breast;
  Wafting from this holy ground
    Seeds of Thy eternal rest.

  "Wrath and Evil, then no more
    Here molesting, all shall cease.
  Peace around! From shore to shore--
    Peace! On all Thy waters--peace!"


    The little rocky tree-decked islet in Windermere, called St.
    Mary's, or the Ladye's Holme, hitherto reputed to have formed part
    of the conventual domains of the Abbey at Furness, had its name
    from a chantry dedicated to the Virgin Mary, which was standing
    up to the reign of King Henry the Eighth, but of which no traces
    are now remaining. "When," says an anonymous writer, "at the
    Reformation, that day of desolation came, which saw the attendant
    priests driven forth, and silenced for ever the sweet chant of
    orison and litany within its walls; the isle and revenues of the
    institution were sold to the Philipsons of Calgarth. By them the
    building was suffered to fall into so utter a state of ruin,
    that no trace even of its foundations is left to proclaim to the
    stranger who meditates upon the fleeting change of time and creed,
    that here, for more than three centuries, stood a hallowed fane,
    from whence at eventide and prime prayers were wafted through the
    dewy air, where now are only heard the festal sounds of life's
    more jocund hours." Lately renewed antiquarian investigation has,
    however, disclosed the erroneousness of the generally received
    statement respecting the early ownership of this tiny spot; as in
    Dodsworth's celebrated collection of ancient evidences there is
    contained an Inquisition, or the copy of one, taken at Kendal, so
    far back as the Monday after the feast of the Annunciation, in
    the 28th Edward the Third, which shews that this retreat, amid
    the waters of our English Como, appertained not to Furness Abbey,
    but to the house of Segden, in Scotland, which was bound always
    to provide two resident chaplains for the service of our Ladye's
    Chapel in this island solitude. For the maintenance and support of
    those priests, certain lands were given by the founder, who was
    either one of that chivalrous race, descended from the Scottish
    Lyndseys "light and gay," whose immediate ancestor in the early
    part of the thirteenth century had married Alice, second daughter
    and co-heiress of William de Lancaster, eighth Lord of Kendal;
    and with her obtained that moiety of the Barony of Kendal, whose
    numerous manors are collectively known as the Richmond Fee; or the
    chantry may have owed its foundation to the pious impulses of
    Ingelram de Guignes, Sire de Courci, one of the grand old Peers of
    France, whose house, so renowned in history and romance, proclaimed
    its independence and its pride in this haughty motto:--

        "Je ne suis Roy ni Prince aussi,
         Je suis Le Seignhor de Courci."

    And which Ingelram in 1285 married Christiana, heiress of the last
    de Lyndsey, and in her right, besides figuring on innumerable
    occasions as a feudal potentate, both in England and Scotland, he
    became Lord of the Fee, within which lies St. Mary's Isle.

    On an Inquisition taken after the death of Johanna de Coupland,
    in the 49th Edward the Third, it was found that she held the
    advowson of the Chapel of Saint Mary's Holme, within the lake of
    Wynandermere, but that it was worth nothing, because the land
    which the said Chapel enjoyed of old time had been seized into
    the hands of the King, and lay within the park of Calgarth. It is
    on record, however, that in 1492, an annual sum of six pounds was
    paid out of the revenues of the Richmond Fee, towards the support
    of the Chaplains; and in the returns made by the ecclesiastical
    Commissioners in Edward the Sixth's reign, "the free Chapel of
    Holme and Wynandermere" is mentioned, shortly after which it was
    granted, as aforesaid, to the owners of Calgarth.

    The singular name of the "Crier of Claife" is now applied to an
    extensive slate or flag quarry, long disused, and overgrown with
    wood, on the wildest and most lonely part of the height called
    Latter-barrow, which divides the vales of Esthwaite and Windermere,
    above the Ferry. In this desolate spot, by the sanctity and skill
    of holy men, had been exorcised and laid the apparition who had
    come to be known throughout the country by that title; and the
    place itself has ever since borne the same name. None of the
    country people will go near it after night fall, and few care to
    approach it even in daylight. Desperate men driven from their homes
    by domestic discord, have been seen going in its direction, and
    never known to return. It is said the Crier is allowed to emerge
    occasionally from his lonely prison, and is still heard on very
    stormy nights sending his wild entreaty for a boat, howling across
    Windermere. Mr. Craig Gibson, in one of his graphic sketches of
    the Lake country, says that he is qualified to speak to this, for
    he himself has heard him. "At least," says he, "I have heard what
    I was solemnly assured by an old lady at Cunsey must have been
    the Crier of Claife. Riding down the woods a little south of the
    Ferry, on a wild January evening, I was strongly impressed by a
    sound made by the wind as, after gathering behind the hill called
    Gummershow for short periods of comparative calm, it came rushing
    up and across the lake with a sound startlingly suggestive of
    the cry of a human being in extremity, wailing for succour. This
    sound lasted till the squall it always preceded struck the western
    shore, when it was lost in the louder rush of the wind through the
    leafless woods. I am induced to relate this," he continues, "by
    the belief I entertain that the phenomenon described thus briefly
    and imperfectly, may account for much of the legend, and that the
    origin of many similar traditional superstitions may be found in
    something equally simple."

    The late Mr. John Briggs, in his notes upon "Westmorland as it
    was," by the Rev. Mr. Hodgson, has furnished his readers with some
    curious information upon the "philosophy of spirits," which he
    collected from those ancient sages of the dales who were supposed
    to be best acquainted with the subject. Many of these superstitions
    are now exploded: but the marvellous tales at one time currently
    believed, still furnish conversation for the cottage fireside.
    According to the gravest authorities, he says, no spirit could
    appear before twilight had vanished in the evening, or after it
    had appeared in the morning. On this account, the winter nights
    were peculiarly dangerous, owing to the long revels which ghosts,
    or dobbies, as they were called, could keep at that season. There
    was one exception to this. If a man had murdered a woman who was
    with child by him, she had power to haunt him at all hours; and the
    Romish priests (who alone had the power of laying spirits,) could
    not lay a spirit of this kind with any certainty, as she generally
    contrived to break loose long before her stipulated time. A culprit
    might hope to escape the gallows, but there was no hope of escaping
    being haunted. In common cases, however, the priest could "lay"
    the ghosts; "while ivy was green," was the usual term. But in
    very desperate cases, they were laid in the "Red Sea," which was
    accomplished with great difficulty and even danger to the exorcist.
    In this country, the most usual place to confine spirits was under
    Haws Bridge, a few miles below Kendal. Many a grim ghost has been
    chained in that dismal trough!

    According to the laws to which they were subject, ghosts could
    seldom appear to more than one person at a time. When they appeared
    to the eyes, they had not the power of making a noise; and when
    they saluted the ear, they could not greet the eyes. To this,
    however, there was an exception, when a human being spoke to them
    in the name of the Blessed Trinity. For it was an acknowledged
    truth, that however wicked the individual might have been in this
    world, or however light he might have made of the Almighty's name,
    he would tremble at its very sound, when separated from his earthly

    The causes of spirits appearing after death were generally three.
    Murdered persons came again to haunt their murderers, or to obtain
    justice by appearing to other persons likely to see them avenged.
    Persons who had hid any treasure, were doomed to haunt the place
    where that treasure was hid; as they had made a god of their wealth
    in this world, the place where their treasure lay was to be their
    heaven after death. If any person could speak to them, and give
    them an opportunity of confessing where their treasure was hid,
    they could then rest in peace, but not otherwise. Those who died
    with any heavy crimes on their consciences, which they had not
    confessed, were also doomed to wander on the earth at the midnight

    Spirits had no power over those who did not molest them; but if
    insulted, they seem to have been extremely vindictive, and to have
    felt little compunction in killing the insulter. They had power to
    assume any form, and to change it as often as they pleased; but
    they could neither vanish nor change, while a human eye was fixed
    upon them.

    Midway on Windermere, below the range of islands which intersect
    the lake, extends the track along which ply the Ferry boats between
    the little inn on the western side and the wooded promontory on
    the opposite shore. The Ferry House, with its lawn in front and
    few branching sycamores, occupies a jutting area between the base
    of a perpendicular cliff and the lake. Few finer prospects can be
    desired than that afforded from the summit which overhangs the
    Mere at this point. The summer house, which has been built for the
    sake of the views it commands of the surrounding country, is a
    favourite resort of lovers of the beautiful in nature, whence they
    may witness, in its many aspects afar, the grandeur of the mountain
    world; and near and below, the beauty of the curving shores and
    wooded isles of this queen of English lakes. From the Ferry House
    to the Ferry Nab, as the promontory is called, on the western
    shore, is barely half a mile. It was from thence that in the dark
    stormy night the Evil voice cried "Boat!" which the poor ferryman
    obeyed so fatally. No passenger was there, but a sight which sent
    him back with bloodless face and dumb, to die on the morrow.


  Far within those rocky regions
  Where old Scawfell's hoary legions,
    Robed and capped with storms and snow,
  Here like rugged Vikings towering,
  There like giants grimly cowering,
    Look into the vales below;

  Once where Borrhy wild and fearless,
  Once where Oller brave and peerless,
    Hew'd the forest, cleared the vale,
  Gave their names to cling for ever
  Round thy dells by crag and river,
    Dark and wintry Borrodale!

  In that dreariest of the valleys,
  Strifes for evermore, and malice
    Without end the dalesmen vexed.
  Neighbour had no heart for neighbour.
  Never side by side to labour
    Went or came they unperplex'd.

  Cheerless were the fields and houses.
  Gloomily the sullen spouses
    Moved about the hearths and floors.
  Sunshine was an alms from Heaven
  That not one day out of seven
    God's bright beams brought to their doors.

  And 'mid discontent and anguish
  Every virtue seem'd to languish;
    Every soul groan'd with its load.
  Lingering in his walks beside them,
  Oft their friendly Pastor eyed them,
    And his heart with pity glow'd.

  "Ah!" he thought, "that looks of kindness
  Could but enter here! the blindness
    Of this life, could it but seem
  To them the death it is!--but listen!"--
  And his eyes began to glisten:
    Spring was round him like a dream.

  "'Tis the Cuckoo!"--In the hollow
  Up the valley seem'd to follow
    Spring's fair footsteps that sweet throat.
  All the fields put off their sadness;
  Trees and hills and skies with gladness
    Answering to the Cuckoo's note.

  Then on that still Sabbath-morrow,
  Spake the Pastor--"Let us borrow
    Gladness from this new-born Spring.
  Hark, the bird that brings the blossoms!
  Brings the sunshine to our bosoms!
    Makes with joy the valleys ring!

  "Coming from afar to cheer us,
  Could we always keep him near us,
    All these heavenly skies from far,
  All this blessed morn discovers,
  All this Spring that round us hovers,
    Would be still what now they are!

  "Let us all go forth and labour,
  Sire, and son, and wife, and neighbour,
    First the bread, the life, to win:
  Then by yonder stream we'll rally,
  Build a wall across the valley,
    And we'll close the Cuckoo in.

  "So this Spring time, never failing,
  While it hears his music hailing
    From the wood and by the rill.
  Shall, its new born life retaining,
  Till our mortal hours are waning,
    Warm and light and cheer us still."--

  Flush'd the morn; and all were ready.
  Sowers sowed with paces steady;
    Plough'd the ploughers in the field;
  Delved the gardeners; planters planted;
  Then to their great work, undaunted
    Forth they fared their wall to build.

  Stone by stone, the wall beside them
  Rose. Their Pastor came to guide them,
    Day by day, and spake to cheer;
  While each labouring hand the others
  Helped, and one and all like brothers
    Wrought along the ripening year.

  Then they gathered in their houses,
  Men and maidens, sires and spouses,
    Talking of their wall. And when
  Soon the long bright day returning
  Called them, every heart was yearning
    To resume its task again.

  And on every eve they parted
  At their thresholds, kindlier-hearted,
    Looking forth again to meet.
  All had something good or gladdening
  On their lips; the only saddening
    Sounds were those of parting feet.

  So their wall, extending ever,
  Spann'd at length the vale and river;
    Grasp'd the mountains there and here:
  Reached towards the blue of heaven;
  Touched the light cloud o'er it driven;
    And the end at length was near.

  June had come; and all was vernal:
  Seemed secure their Spring eternal:
    Eyes were bright, and skies were blue:
  When--at Nature's call--unguided--
  Out the voice above them glided,
    "Cuckoo!"--far away, "Cuckoo!"

  "Gone!" a hundred tongues in chorus
  Shouted; "Gone! the bird that bore us
    Spring with all things bright and good!"
  While, in stupor and amazement,
  Vacantly from cope to basement
    Glowering at their wall, they stood.--

  But though all forgot, while building
  Up their wall, that months were yielding
    Each in turn to others' sway,
  With their leaves and landscapes changing;
  And, to skies more constant ranging,
    Fled the Cuckoo far away!

  Winter from their hearts had perished;
  Spring in every heart was cherished;
    Every charm of life and love--
  Love for wife and home and neighbour--
  Sprang from out that genial labour;
    Peace around, and Heaven above.

  Faith into their lives had entered;
  Joy and fellowship were centred
    Wheresoe'er a hearth was found.
  While the calm bright hope before them
  Temper'd even the rains, and o'er them
    Charmed to rest the tempests' sound.


    If the traditions of the past, and the estimate formed of them by
    their distant neighbours, bear rather hardly upon the people of
    Borrodale, it must be remembered that the relations of that dale to
    the world without were very different a hundred years ago from what
    they are now. It was a recess, approached by a long and winding
    valley, from the vale of Keswick, with the lake extending between
    its entrance and the town. The highest mountains of the district
    closed round its head. Its entrance was guarded by a woody hill,
    on which had formerly stood a Roman fortress, afterwards occupied
    by the Saxons, and which in later times was maintained in its
    military capacity by the monks of Furness. For here one of their
    principal magazines was established, and the holy fathers had great
    possessions to defend from the frequent irruptions of the Scots
    in those days. Besides their tithe corn, they amassed here the
    valuable minerals of the country; among which salt, produced from a
    spring in the valley, was no inconsiderable article.

    In this deep retreat the inhabitants of the villages of Rosthwaite
    and Seathwaite, having at all times little intercourse with the
    country, during half the year were almost totally excluded from all
    human commerce. The surrounding hills attract the vapours, and rain
    falls abundantly; snow lies long in the valleys; and the clouds
    frequently obscure the sky. Upon the latter village, in the depth
    of winter, the sun never shines. As the spring advances, his rays
    begin to shoot over the southern mountains; and at high noon to
    tip the chimney tops with their light. That radiant sign shows the
    cheerless winter to be now over; and rouses the hardy peasants to
    the labours of the coming year. Their scanty patches of arable land
    they cultivated with difficulty; and their crops late in ripening,
    and often a prey to autumnal rains, which are violent in this
    country, just gave them bread to eat. Their herds afforded them
    milk; and their flocks supplied them with clothes: the shepherd
    himself being often the manufacturer also. No dye was necessary to
    tinge their wool: it was naturally a russet brown; and sheep and
    shepherds were clothed alike, both in the simple livery of nature.
    The procuring of fuel was among their greatest hardships. Here the
    inhabitants were obliged to get on the tops of the mountains; which
    abounding with mossy grounds, seldom found in the valleys below,
    supplied them with peat. This, made into bundles, and fastened upon
    sledges, they guided down the precipitous sides of the mountains,
    and stored in their outbuildings. At the period to which we refer,
    a hundred years ago, the roads were of the rudest construction,
    scarcely passable even for horses. A cart or any kind of wheeled
    carriage was totally unknown in Borrodale. They carried their hay
    home upon their horses, in bundles, one on each side: they made no
    stacks. Their manure they carried in the same manner, as also the
    smaller wood for firing: the larger logs they trailed. Their food
    in summer consisted of fish and small mutton; in winter, of bacon
    and hung mutton. Nor was their method of drying their mutton less
    rude: they hung the sheep up by the hinder legs, and took away only
    the head and entrails. In this situation, I myself, says Clarke,
    have seen seven sheep hanging in one chimney.

    The inhabitants of Borrodale were a proverb, even among their
    unpolished neighbours, for ignorance; and a thousand absurd
    and improbable stories are related of their stupidity; such as
    mistaking a red-deer, seen upon one of their mountains, for a
    horned horse; at the sight of which they assembled in considerable
    numbers, and provided themselves with ropes, thinking to take him
    by the same means as they did their horses when wild in the field,
    by running them into a strait, and then tripping them up with a
    cord. A chase of several hours proved fruitless; when they returned
    thoroughly convinced they had been chasing a witch. Such like is
    the story of the mule, which, being ridden into the dale by a
    stranger bound for the mountains, was left in the care of his host
    at the foot of a pass. The neighbours assembled to see the curious
    animal, and consulted the wise man of the dale as to what it could
    be. With his book, and his thoughts in serious deliberation, he was
    enabled to announce authoritatively that the brute was a peacock!
    So when a new light broke into Borrodale, and lime was first sent
    for from beyond Keswick; the carrier was an old dalesman with horse
    and sacks. Rain falling, it began to smoke: some water from the
    river was procured by him to extinguish the unnatural fire; but the
    evil was increased, and the smoke grew worse. Assured at length
    that he had got the devil in his sacks, as he must be in any fire
    which was aggravated by water, he tossed the whole load over into
    the river. The tale of the stirrups is perhaps a little too absurd
    even for Borrodale. A "'statesman" brought home from a distant fair
    or sale, what had never before been seen in the dale, a pair of
    stirrups. Riding home in them, when he reached his own door, his
    feet had become so fastened in them, that they could not be got
    out; so as there was no help for it, he patiently sat his horse
    in the pasture for a day or two, his family bringing him food,
    then it was proposed to bring them both into the stable, which
    was done; his family bringing him food as before. At length it
    occurred to some one that he might be lifted with the saddle from
    the horse, and carried thereupon into the house. There the mounted
    man sat spinning wool in a corner of the kitchen, till the return
    of one of his sons from St. Bees school, whose learning, after
    due consideration of the case, suggested that the good man should
    draw his feet out of his shoes: when to the joy of his family he
    was restored to his occupation and to liberty. But the story of
    the Cuckoo has made its local name the "Gowk" synonymous with an
    inhabitant of the vale. There the Spring was very charming, and the
    voice of the bird rare and gladsome. It occurred to the natives
    that a wall built across the entrance of their valley, at Grange,
    if made high enough, would keep the cuckoo among them, and make
    the cheerful Spring-days last for ever. The plan was tried, and
    failed only because, according to popular belief from generation to
    generation, the wall was not built one course higher.

    The wetness of the weather in Borrodale is something more than
    an occasional inconvenience. It may be judged of by observations
    which show the following results. The average quantity of rain
    in many parts of the south of England does not exceed 20 inches,
    and sometimes does not even reach that amount. The mean rain fall
    for England is 30 inches. Kendal and Keswick have been considered
    the wettest places known in England; and the annual average at
    the former place is 52 inches. It was found by experiments made
    in 1852, that while 81 inches were measured on Scawfell Pike; 86
    at Great Gable; 124 at Sty Head; 156 were measured at Seathwaite
    in Borrodale; shewing, with the exception of that at Sprinkling
    Tarn, between Scawfell, and Langdale Pikes, and Great Gable, where
    it measured 168 inches nearly, the greatest rainfall in the Lake
    District to be at the head of Borrodale. Taking a period of ten
    years, the average annual rainfall at Seathwaite in that dale was
    over 126 inches; for the rest of England it was 29 inches.


  King Eveling stood by the Azure River,
    When the tide-wave landward began to flow;
  And over the sea in the sunlight's shiver,
    He watch'd one white sail northward go.

  "Twice has it pass'd; and I linger, weary:
    How I long for its coming, my life to close!
  My lands forget me, my halls are dreary,
    And my age is lonely; I want repose.

  "If rightly I read the signs within me,
    The tides may lessen, the moon may wane,
  And then the Powers I have serv'd will win me
    A pathway over yon shining plain.

  "It befits a King, who has wisely spoken,
    Whose rule was just, and whose deeds were brave,
  To depart alone, and to leave no token
    On earth but of glory--not even a grave.

  "And now I am going. No more to know me,
    My banners fall round me with age outworn.
  I have buried my crown in the sands below me;
    And I vanish, a King, into night forlorn.

  "What of mine is good will endure for ever,
    Growing into the ages on earth to be,
  When--Eveling dwelt by the Azure River,
    A King--shall be all that is told of me."

  For days the tides with ebbing and flowing
    Grew full with the moon; and out of the dim,
  On the ocean's verge came the white sail growing,
    And anchor'd below on the shoreward rim.

  His people slept. For to them descended,
    In that good time of the King, their rest,
  While the lengthening shades of the eve yet blended
    With the golden sunbeams low in the west.

  No banded host on his footsteps waited,
    No child nor vassal from bower or hall:
  He look'd around him like one belated
    On a lonely wild; and he went from all.

  Slowly he strode to the ship; and for ever
    Sailed out from the land he had ruled so well;
  And the name of the King by the Azure River
    Is all that is left for the bards to tell.


    The ancient, but now insignificant town and seaport of Ravenglass,
    six miles from Bootle and about sixteen from Whitehaven, is
    situated on a small creek, at the confluence of the rivers Esk,
    Mite, and Irt, which form a large sandy harbour. Of this place the
    Editor of Camden, Bishop Gibson, says--"The shore, wheeling to the
    north, comes to Ravenglass, a harbour for ships, and commodiously
    surrounded with two rivers; where, as I am told, there have been
    found Roman inscriptions. Some will have it to have been formerly
    called Aven-glass, i.e. (Coeruleus) an azure sky-coloured river;
    and tell you abundance of stories about King Eveling, who had his
    palace here."

    Ravenglass appears from Mr. Sandford's M.S. to have been of old
    of some importance as a fishing town. He says--"Here were some
    salmons and all sorts of fish in plenty; but the greatest plenty of
    herrings, (it) is a daintye fish of a foot long; and so plenteous
    a fishing thereof and in the sea betwixt and the ile of man, as
    they lie in sholes together so thike in the sea at spawning, about
    August, _as a ship cannot pass thorow_: and the fishers go from all
    the coast to catch them."

    There was also formerly a considerable pearl-fishery at this place:
    and Camden speaks of the shell-fish in the Irt producing pearls.
    Sir John Hawkins obtained from government the right of fishing for
    pearls in that river. The pearls were obtained from mussels, by the
    inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who sought for them at low water,
    and afterwards sold them to the jewellers. About the year 1695, a
    patent was granted to some gentlemen, for pearl-fishing in the Irt;
    but how the undertaking prospered is uncertain. The pearl-mussels
    do not appear to have been very plentiful for many years. Nicolson
    and Burn observe, that Mr. Thomas Patrickson, of How in this
    County, is said to have obtained as many from divers poor people,
    whom he employed to gather them, as he afterwards sold in London
    for £800.

    Tacitus in the "Agricola" describes the pearls found in Britain
    as being of a dark and livid hue. Pliny also:--"In Britain some
    pearls do grow, but they are small and dim, not clear and bright."
    And again:--"Julius Cæsar did not deny, that the breast-plate
    which he dedicated to Venus Genitrix, within the temple, was made
    of British pearls." So that it is not at all improbable that our
    little northern stream even may have contributed in some degree to
    the splendour of the imperial offering.

    The manor in which Ravenglass is included is dependent on the
    barony of Egremont; and King John granted to Richard Lucy, as
    lord paramount, a yearly fair to be held here on St. James's day,
    and a weekly market every Saturday; and at the present time the
    successor to the Earls of Egremont, Lord Leconfield, holds the
    fair of Ravenglass, on the eve, day, and morrow of St. James.
    Hutchinson thus describes it:--"There are singular circumstances
    and ceremonies attending the proclamation of this fair, as being
    anciently held under the maintenance and protection of the Castle
    of Egremont. On the first day, the lord's steward is attended by
    the sargeant of the Borough of Egremont, with the insignia (called
    the bow of Egremont), the foresters, with their bows and horns,
    and all the tenants of the forest of Copeland, whose special
    service is to attend the lord and his representative at Ravenglass
    fair, and abide there during its continuance; anciently, for the
    protection of a free-trade, and to defend the merchandise against
    free-booters, and a foreign enemy: such was the wretched state of
    this country in former times, that all such protection was scarce
    sufficient. For the maintenance of the horses of those who attend
    the ceremony, they have by custom, a portion of land assigned in
    the meadow, called, or distinguished, by the name of two Swaiths
    of grass in the common field of Ravenglass. On the third day at
    noon, the earl's officers, and tenants of the forest depart, after
    proclamation; and Lord Muncaster (as mesne lord) and his tenants
    take a formal repossession of the place; and the day is concluded
    with horse races and rural diversions."

    A genuine specimen of feudal observances is preserved in the
    custom of riding the boundaries of manors, which, in the mountain
    district, where the line of division is not very distinct,
    is performed perhaps once during each generation, by the
    representatives of the lord of the manor, accompanied by an immense
    straggling procession of all ages,--the old men being made useful
    in pointing out important or disputed portions of the boundary,
    and the young in having it impressed on their memories, so that
    their evidence or recollection may be made available in future
    peregrinations. In older times, when the interests of the lords
    outweighed farther than in our own day the rights of the peasantry,
    certain youthful members of the retinue, in order to deepen the
    impression and make it more enduring, were severely whipped at all
    those points which the stewards were most anxious to have held in
    remembrance. The occasions always wind up with a banquet, provided
    on a most liberal scale by the lord of the manor, and open to all
    who take part in the business of the day.

    Another local usage connected with the landed interest, and long
    observed with notable regularity, was the following. When salmon
    was plentiful in the Cumberland rivers, and formed a very important
    element in the ordinary living of the occupants of adjoining lands,
    the tenants of the manor of Ennerdale and Kinniside claimed "a
    free stream" in the river Ehen, from Ennerdale lake to the sea,
    and assembled once a year to "ride the stream." If obstructions
    were found, such as weirs and dams, they were at once destroyed.
    Refreshments were levied or provided at certain places on the river
    for the cavalcade. This custom has long ceased to be observed.

    About a quarter of a mile to the south east of this place is
    an old ivy-mantled ruin, designated Wall Castle. It is said to
    have been the original residence of the Penningtons, but in all
    probability it dates from a much remoter period. Stone battle-axes
    and arrow-heads have been found around it, and coins of different
    people, principally Roman and Saxon. The building is strongly
    cemented with run lime.

    This old castle stands at no great distance from the second cutting
    through which the railroad passes after leaving Ravenglass:
    adjoining to which, a little below the surface of the ground, an
    ancient fosse and several foundations of walls have been laid
    bare by the owner of the estate, and large quantities of building
    stone removed from them at various times. In making this cutting,
    the workmen laid open an ancient burial place, which was of great
    depth, and contained a quantity of human remains, with several
    bones of animals. The sides were secured by strong timber and
    stone work. The buried bodies were very numerous, and the place
    was evidently of very great antiquity. From the presence of oak
    leaves and acorns, charred wood, etc., it has been supposed to have
    been the tomb of the victims in some Druidical sacrifice: it being
    known that the Druids immolated their criminals, by placing them
    collectively in the interior of a large image of wickerwork, and
    then setting fire to it; and that various animals were sacrificed
    along with them by way of expiation.

    About five miles to the east of Ravenglass is the small lake
    of Devoke Water, near the foot of which, on the summit of a
    considerable hill, stand the ruins of another interesting piece of
    antiquity, the so-called city of Barnscar or Bardscar. Its site is
    so elevated, as to command a wide extent of country, and an ancient
    road from Ulpha to Ravenglass passes through it. The name is purely
    Scandinavian, and tradition ascribes it to the Danes. A well known
    popular saying in the locality refers to the manner in which this
    city is said to have been peopled by its founders, who gathered
    for inhabitants the men of Drigg and the women of Beckermet. The
    original helpmates of the latter place are supposed to have fallen
    in battle: what had become of the wives and daughters of the former
    place is not averred. But the saying continues--"Let us gang
    togidder like t' lads o' Drigg, an' t' lasses o' Beckermet."

    The description of this place given by Hutchinson at the latter
    end of last century is as follows:--"This place is about 300 yards
    long, from east to west; and 100 yards broad, from north to south;
    now walled round, save at the east end, near three feet in height;
    there appears to have been a long street, with several cross
    ones: the remains of housesteads, within the walls, are not very
    numerous, but on the outside of the walls they are innumerable,
    especially on the south side and west end; the circumference of the
    city and suburbs is near three computed miles; the figure an oblong
    square." It is added that about the year 1730, a considerable
    quantity of silver coin was found in the ruins of one of the
    houses, concealed in a cavity, formed in a beam; none of which
    unfortunately has been preserved, to throw light upon the name, the
    race, or character and habits of its possessors.

    From the Pow to the Duddon innumerable objects of interest lie
    scattered between the mountains and the sea coast, of which
    little more can be said than was stated, as above, by Camden's
    editor--"Some tell you abundance of stories about them"--as well as
    "about King Eveling, who had his palace here."


  The widows were sitting in Threlkeld Hall;
    The corn stood green on Midsummer-day;
  Their little grand-children were tossing the ball;
  And the farmers leaned over the garden wall;
    And the widows were spinning the eve away.

  They busily talk'd of the days long gone,
    While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day;
  How old Sir Lancelot's armour had shone
  On the panels of oak by the broad hearthstone,
    Where the widows sat spinning that eve away.

  For, Threlkeld Hall of his mansions three--
    Where the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
  Was his noblest house; and a stately tree
  Was the good old Knight, and of high degree;
    And a braver rode never in battle array.

  Now peaceful farmers think of their corn--
    The corn so green on Midsummer-day--
  Where once, at the blast of Sir Lancelot's horn,
  His horsemen all mustered, his banner was borne;
    And he went like a Chief in his pride to the fray.

  And there the good Clifford, the Shepherd-Lord,
    When the corn stood green on Midsummer-day,
  Sat, humbly clad, at Sir Lancelot's board;
  And tended the flocks, while rusted his sword
    In the hall where the widows were spinning away;

  Till the new King called him back to his own--
    When the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
  To his honours and name of high renown;
  When Sir Lancelot old and feeble had grown;
    From his rude shepherd-life called Lord Clifford away.

  And sad was that morrow in Threlkeld Hall--
    And the corn was green on that Midsummer-day--
  When the Clifford stood ready to part from all;
  And his shepherd's staff was hung up on the wall,
    In that room where the widows sat spinning away.

  And Sir Lancelot mounted, and called his men--
    While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
  And he gazed on Lord Clifford again and again;
  And Sir Lancelot rode with him over the plain;
    And at length with strong effort his silence gave way.

  "I am old," Sir Lancelot said; "and I know--
    When the corn stands green on Midsummer-day--
  There will wars arise, and I shall be low,
  Who ever was ready to arm and go!"--
    For he loved the war tramp and the martial array.

  "If ever a Knight might revisit this earth--
    While the corn stands green on Midsummer-day"--
  Said the Clifford--"When troubles and wars have birth,
  Thou never shalt fail from Threlkeld's hearth!"
    From that hearth where the widows were spinning away.

  And so, along Souther Fell-side they press'd--
    While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day,--
  And then they parted--to east and to west--
  And Sir Lancelot came and was laid to his rest.
    Said the widows there spinning the eve away.

  And the Shepherd had power in unwritten lore:
    The corn stands green on Midsummer-day:
  And although the Knight's coffin his banner hangs o'er,
  Sir Lancelot yet can tread this floor;
    Said the widows there spinning the eve away.--

  Thus gossip'd the widows in Threlkeld Hall,
    While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day:
  When the sound of a footstep was heard to fall,
  And an arm'd shadow pass'd over the wall--
    Of a Knight with his plume and in martial array.

  With a growl the fierce dogs slunk behind the huge chair,
    While the corn stood green on that Midsummer-day;
  And the widows stopt spinning; and each was aware
  Of a tread to the porch, and Sir Lancelot there--
    And a stir as of horsemen all riding away.

  They turned their dim eyes to the lattice to gaze--
    While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
  But before their old limbs they could feebly raise,
  The horsemen and horses were far on the ways--
    From the Hall, where the widows were spinning away.

  And far along Souter Fell-side they strode,
    While the corn stood green on that Midsummer-day.
  And the brave old Knight on his charger rode,
  As he wont to ride from his old abode,
    With his sword by his side and in martial array.

  Like a chief he galloped before and behind--
    While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day--
  To the marshalled ranks he waved, and signed;
  And his banner streamed out on the evening wind,
    As they rode along Souter Fell-side away.

  And to many an eye was revealed the sight,
    While the corn stood green that Midsummer-day;
  As Sir Lancelot Threlkeld the ancient Knight
  With all his horsemen went over the height:
    O'er the steep mountain summit went riding away.

  And then as the twilight closed over the dell--
    Where the corn stood green that Midsummer-day--
  Came the farmers and peasants all flocking to tell
  How Sir Lancelot's troop had gone over the fell!
    And the widows sat listening, and spinning away.

  And the widows looked mournfully round the old hall;
    And the corn stood green on Midsummer-day;
  "He is come at the good Lord Clifford's call!
  He is up for the King, with his warriors all!"--
    Said the widows there spinning the eve away.

  "There is evil to happen, and war is at hand--
    Where the corn stands green this Midsummer-day--
  Or rebels are plotting to waste the land;
  Or he never would come with his armed band"--
    Said the widows there spinning the eve away.

  "Our old men sleep in the grave. They cease:
    While the corn stands green on Midsummer-day--
  They rest, though troubles on earth increase;
  And soon may Sir Lancelot's soul have peace!"
    Sighed the widows while spinning the eve away.

  "But this was the Promise the Shepherd-Lord--
    When the corn stood green that Midsummer-day--
  Gave, parting from Threlkeld's hearth and board,
  To the brave old Knight--and he keeps his word!"
    Said the widows all putting their spinning away.


    The little village of Threlkeld is situated at the foot of
    Blencathra about four miles from Keswick, on the highroad from
    that town to Penrith. The old hall has long been in a state of
    dilapidation, the only habitable part having been for years
    converted into a farm house. Some faint traces of the moat are
    said to be yet discernible. This was one of the residences of Sir
    Lancelot Threlkeld, a powerful knight in the reign of Henry the
    Seventh, step-father to the Shepherd Lord. His son, the last Sir
    Lancelot, was wont to say that he had "three noble houses--one for
    pleasure, Crosby in Westmorland, where he had a park full of deer;
    one for profit and warmth, wherein to reside during winter, namely,
    Yanwath, near Penrith; and the third, Threlkeld, on the edge of
    the vale of Keswick, well stocked with tenants to go with him to
    the wars." Sir Lancelot is said to have been a man of a kind and
    generous disposition, who had either taken the side of the White
    Rose in the great national quarrel, or at least had not compromised
    himself to a ruinous extent on the other side; and has long had
    the reputation of having afforded a retreat to the Shepherd Lord
    Clifford, on the utter ruin of his house, after the crushing of the
    Red Rose at Towton, when the Baron (his late father) was attained
    in parliament, and all his lands were seized by the crown.

    The Cliffords, Lords of Westmorland, afterwards Earls of
    Cumberland, were a family of great power and princely possessions,
    who for many generations occupied a position in the North West
    of England, similar to that held by the Percies, Earls of
    Northumberland, in the north-east.

    Their blood was perhaps the most illustrious in the land. Descended
    from Rollo first Duke of Normandy, by alliances in marriage it
    intermingled with that of William the Lion, King of Scotland, and
    with that of several of the Sovereigns of England.

    Their territorial possessions corresponded with their illustrious
    birth. These comprised their most ancient stronghold, Clifford
    Castle, on the Wye, in Herefordshire; the lordship of the barony of
    Westmorland, including the seigniories and Castles of Brougham and
    Appleby; Skipton Castle in the West Riding of Yorkshire, with its
    numerous townships, and important forest and manorial rights, their
    most princely, and apparently favourite residence; and the Hall and
    estates of Lonsborrow in the same County.

    The Cliffords are said to be sprung from an uncle of William the
    Conqueror. The father of William had a younger brother, whose
    third son, Richard Fitz-Pontz, married the daughter and heiress
    of Ralph de Toni, of Clifford Castle, in Herefordshire. Their
    second son, Walter, succeeding to his mother's estates, assumed
    the name of Clifford, and was the father of the Fair Rosamond, the
    famous mistress of King Henry the Second. He died in 1176. His
    great-grandson, Roger de Clifford acquired the inheritance of the
    Veteriponts or Viponts, Lords of Brougham Castle in Westmorland, by
    his marriage with one of the co-heiresses of Robert de Vipont, the
    last of that race. It was their son Robert who was first summoned
    to sit in parliament, by a writ dated the 29th of December, 1299,
    as the Lord Clifford.

    The Cliffords were a warlike race, and engaged in all the contests
    of the time. For many generations the chiefs of their house figure
    as distinguished soldiers and captains; and most of them died on
    the field of battle.

    Roger, the father of the first lord, was renowned in the wars of
    Henry III. and of Edward I., and was killed in a skirmish with the
    Welsh in the Isle of Anglesey, on St. Leonard's day, 1283.

    His son Robert, the first Lord Clifford, a favourite and companion
    in arms of Edward I., was one of the guardians of Edward II. when
    a minor, and Lord High Admiral in that monarch's reign. He fell at
    the battle of Bannockburn, in 1314.

    Roger, his son, the second lord, was engaged in the Earl of
    Lancaster's insurrection, and had done much to deserve political
    martyrdom in that rebellious age: but a feeling of humanity, such
    as is seldom read of in civil wars, and especially in those times,
    saved him from execution, when he was taken prisoner with Lancaster
    and the rest of his associates. He had received so many wounds in
    the battle (of Borough bridge), that he could not be brought before
    the judge for the summary trial, which would have sent him to the
    hurdle and the gallows. Being looked upon, therefore, as a dying
    man, he was respited from the course of law: time enough elapsed,
    while he continued in this state, for the heat of resentment to
    abate, and Edward of Carnarvon, who, though a weak and most
    misguided prince, was not a cruel one, spared his life; an act of
    mercy which was the more graceful, because Clifford had insulted
    the royal authority in a manner less likely to be forgiven than his
    braving it in arms. A pursuivant had served a writ upon him in the
    Barons' Chamber, and he made the man eat the wax wherewith the writ
    was signed, "in contempt, as it were, of the said King."

    He was the first Lord Clifford that was attainted of treason.
    His lands and honours were restored in the first year of Edward
    III., but he survived the restoration only a few weeks, dying in
    the flower of his age, unmarried; but leaving "some base children
    behind him, whom he had by a mean woman who was called Julian of
    the Bower, for whom he built a little house hard by Whinfell, and
    called it Julian's Bower, the lower foundation of which standeth,
    and is yet to be seen," said the compiler of the family records,
    an hundred and fifty years ago, "though all the walls be down long
    since. And it is thought that the love which this Roger bore to
    this Julian kept him from marrying any other woman."

    Roger de Clifford was succeeded in his titles and estates by his
    brother Robert, the third baron, who married Isabella de Berkeley,
    sister to Thomas, Lord Berkeley, of Berkeley Castle; in which
    Castle, two years after it had rung with "shrieks of death," when
    the tragedy of Edward II. was brought to its dreadful catastrophe
    there, the marriage was performed.

    This Robert lived a country life, and "nothing is mentioned of
    him in the wars," except that he once accompanied an army into
    Scotland. It is, however, related of him, that when Edward Baliol
    was driven from Scotland, the exiled king was "right honourably
    received by him in Westmorland, and entertained in his Castles of
    Brougham, Appleby, and Pendragon;" in acknowledgement for which
    hospitality Baliol, if he might at any time recover the kingdom of
    Scotland out of his adversaries' hands, made him a grant of Douglas
    Dale, which had been granted to his grandfather who fell in Wales.
    The Hart's Horn Tree in Whinfell Park, well known in tradition, and
    in hunters' tales, owes its celebrity to this visit. He died in

    Robert, his son, fourth lord, fought by the side of Edward the
    Black Prince at the memorable battles of Cressy and Poictiers.

    Roger, his brother, the fifth lord, styled "one of the wisest and
    gallantest of the Cliffords," also served in the wars in France and
    Scotland, in the reign of Edward III.

    Thomas, his son, sixth lord Clifford, one of the most chivalrous
    knights of his time, overcame, in a memorable passage of arms, the
    famous French knight, "le Sire de Burjisande," and, at the age of
    thirty, was killed in the battle at Spruce in Germany.

    John, his son, the seventh lord, a Knight of the Garter, carried
    with him to the French wars three knights, forty-seven esquires,
    and one hundred and fifty archers. He fought under the banner of
    Henry V. at the battle of Agincourt, attended him at the sieges
    Harfleur and Cherbourg, and was eventually slain, at the age of
    thirty-three, at the siege of Meaux in France.

    Thomas, his son, eighth lord Clifford, described as "a chief
    commander in France," was grandson on his mother's side to the
    celebrated Hotspur, Harry Percy, and gained renown by the daring
    and ingenious stratagem which he planned and successfully executed
    for taking the town of Pontoise, near Paris, in 1438. The English
    had lain for some time before the town, with little prospect of
    reducing it, when a heavy fall of snow suggested to Lord Clifford
    the means of effecting its capture. Arraying himself and his
    followers with white tunics over their armour, he concealed
    them during the night close to the walls of the town, which at
    daybreak he surprised and carried by storm. Two years afterwards
    he valiantly defended the town of Pontoise against the armies of
    France, headed by Charles VII. in person.

    In the Wars of the Roses they were not less prominent. The last
    mentioned Thomas, though nearly allied by blood to the house of
    York, took part with his unfortunate sovereign, Henry VI., and
    fell on the 22nd of May, 1455, at the first battle of St. Albans,
    receiving his death-blow from the hands of Richard Duke of York, at
    the age of forty.

    John, his son, the next and ninth lord, called from his complexion
    the Black-faced Clifford, thirsting to revenge the fate of his
    father, perpetrated that memorable act of cruelty, which for
    centuries has excited indignation and tears, the murder of the
    young Earl of Rutland, brother of Edward IV., in the pursuit after
    the battle of Wakefield, on the 30th December, 1460. The latter,
    whilst being withdrawn from the field by his attendant chaplain
    and schoolmaster, a priest, called Sir Robert Aspall, was espied
    by Lord Clifford; and being recognised by means of his apparel,
    "dismayed, had not a word to speak, but kneeled on his knees
    imploring mercy and desiring grace, both with holding up his hands
    and making dolorous countenance, for his speech was gone for fear.
    'Save him,' said his chaplain, 'for he is a prince's son, and
    peradventure may do you good hereafter.' With that word, the Lord
    Clifford marked him and said, 'By God's blood, thy father slew
    mine, and so will I do thee and all thy kin;' and with that word
    stuck the earl to the heart with his dagger, and bade his chaplain
    bear the earl's mother and brother word what he had done and said."

    The murder in cold blood of this unarmed boy, for he was only
    twelve or at most seventeen years old, while supplicating for his
    life, was not the only atrocity committed by Lord Clifford on
    that eventful day. "This cruel Clifford and deadly blood-supper,"
    writes the old chronicler, "not content with this homicide or
    child-killing, came to the place where the dead corpse of the Duke
    of York lay, and caused his head to be stricken off, and set on it
    a crown of paper, and so fixed it on a pole and presented it to
    the queen, not lying far from the field, in great spite and much
    derision, saying, 'Madam, your war is done; here is your king's
    ransom;' at which present was much joy and great rejoicing."

    Lord Clifford fought at the second battle of St. Albans, on the
    17th of February, 1461. It was in his tent, after the Lancastrians
    had won the victory, that the unfortunate Henry VI. once more
    embraced his consort Margaret of Anjou, and their beloved child.

    Lord Clifford is usually represented as having been slain at the
    battle of Towton. He fell, however, in a hard fought conflict
    which preceded that engagement by a few hours, at a spot called
    Dittingale, situated in a small valley between Towton and
    Scarthingwell, struck in the throat by a headless arrow, discharged
    from behind a hedge.

    A small chapel on the banks of the Aire formerly marked the spot
    where lay the remains of John Lord Clifford, as well as those of
    his cousin, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, who perished later
    in the day upon Towton Field, on the 29th of March, 1461.

    For nearly a quarter of a century from this time, the name of
    Clifford remained an attainted one; their castles and seigniories
    passed into the hands of strangers and enemies. The barony of
    Westmorland was conferred by Edward IV. upon his brother Richard
    Duke of Gloucester; the castle and manor of Skipton he bestowed, in
    the first instance, upon Sir William Stanley; but in the fifteenth
    year of his reign he transferred them to his "dear brother," which
    lordly appanage he retained till his death on Bosworth Field.[1]

    The young widow left by the Black-faced Clifford, was Margaret
    daughter and sole heiress of Henry de Bromflete, Baron de Vesci.
    She had borne her husband three children, two sons and a daughter,
    now attainted by parliament, deprived of their honours and
    inheritance, and their persons and lives in hourly jeopardy from
    the strict search which was being made for them. The seat of her
    father at Lonsborrow in Yorkshire, surrounded by a wild district,
    offered a retreat from their enemies; and thither, as soon as the
    fate of her lord was communicated to her, driven from the stately
    halls of Skipton and Appleby, of which she had ceased to be
    mistress, flew the young widow with her hunted children, and saved
    them from the rage of the victorious party by concealment.

    Henry, the elder son, at the period of their flight to Lonsborrow
    was only seven years old. He was there placed by his mother, in the
    neighbourhood where she lived, with a shepherd who had married one
    of her inferior servants, an attendant on his nurse, to be brought
    up in no better condition than the shepherd's own children. The
    strict inquiry which had been made after them, and the subsequent
    examination of their mother respecting them, at length led to the
    conclusion that they had been conveyed beyond the sea, whither in
    truth the younger boy had been sent, into the Netherlands, and
    not long after died there. The daughter grew up to womanhood, and
    became the wife of Sir Robert Aske, from whom descended the Askes
    of Yorkshire, and the Lord Fairfax of Denton in the same county.

    When the high born shepherd boy was about his fourteenth year,
    his grandfather, Lord de Vesci being dead, and his mother having
    become the wife of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, a rumour again arose and
    reached the court that the young Lord Clifford was alive; whereupon
    his mother, with the connivance and assistance of her husband, had
    the shepherd with whom she had placed her son, removed with his
    wife and family from Yorkshire to the more mountainous country
    of Cumberland. In that wild and remote region, the persecuted
    boy was "kept as a shepherd sometimes at Threlkeld amongst his
    step-father's kindred, and sometimes upon the borders of Scotland,
    where they took land purposely for those shepherds who had the
    custody of him, where many times his step-father came purposely to
    visit him, and sometimes his mother, though very secretly."

    In this obscurity the heir of the Cliffords passed the remainder
    of his boyhood, all his youth, and his early manhood; haunting, in
    the pursuit of pastoral occupations, the lofty moorland wastes at
    the foot of Blencathra, or musing in the solitude of the stupendous
    heights of that "Peak of Witches;" at other times, ranging amid the
    lonesome glens of Skiddaw Forest, or on the bleak heath-clad hills
    of Caldbeck and Carrock.

    Thus being of necessity nurtured much in solitude, and, habited in
    rustic garb, bred up to man's estate among the simple dalesmen, to
    whom, as well as to himself, his rank and station were unknown, he
    was reared in so great ignorance that he could neither read nor
    write; for his parents durst not have him instructed in any kind
    of learning, lest by it his birth should be discovered; and when
    subsequently he was restored to his title and estates, and took his
    place among his peers, he never attained to higher proficiency in
    the art of writing than barely enabled him to sign his name.

    One of the first acts of Henry VII. was to restore the lowly
    Clifford to his birthright and to all that had been possessed by
    his noble ancestors. And his mother, who did not die till the year
    1493, lived to see him thus suddenly exalted from a poor shepherd
    into a rich and powerful lord, at the age of one and thirty.

    In his retirement he had acquired great astronomical knowledge,
    watching, like the Chaldeans of old time, the stars by night
    upon the mountains, as is current from tradition in the village
    and neighbourhood of Threlkeld at this day. And when, on his
    restoration to his estates and honours, he had become a great
    builder and repaired several of his castles, he resided chiefly at
    Barden Tower, in Yorkshire, to be near the Priory of Bolton; "to
    the end that he might have opportunity to converse with some of
    the canons of that house, as it is said, who were well versed in
    astronomy; unto which study having a singular affection (perhaps
    in regard to his solitary shepherd's life, which gave him time for
    contemplation,) he fitted himself with diverse instruments for use

    Whitaker, in like manner, represents the restored lord as having
    brought to his new position "the manners and education of a
    shepherd," and as being "at this time, almost, if not altogether,
    illiterate." But it is added that he was "far from deficient in
    natural understanding, and, what strongly marks an ingenuous mind
    in a state of recent elevation, depressed by a consciousness of
    his own deficiencies." If it was on this account, as we are also
    told, that he retired to the solitude of Barden, where he seems to
    have enlarged the tower out of a common keeper's lodge, he found
    in it a retreat equally favourable to taste, to instruction, and
    to devotion. The narrow limits of his residence show that he had
    learned to despise the pomp of greatness, and that a small train of
    servants could suffice him, who had lived to the age of thirty a
    servant himself.

    Whitaker suspects Lord Clifford, however, "to have been sometimes
    occupied in a more visionary pursuit, and probably in the same
    company," namely, the canons of Bolton, from having found among the
    family evidences two manuscripts on the subject of Alchemy, which
    may almost certainly be referred to the age in which he lived. If
    these were originally deposited with the MSS. of the Cliffords, it
    might have been for the use of this nobleman. If they were brought
    from Bolton at the Dissolution, they must have been the work of
    those canons with whom he almost exclusively conversed.

    In these peaceful employments Lord Clifford spent the whole
    reign of Henry VII., and the first years of that of his son. His
    descendant the Countess of Pembroke describes him as a plain man,
    who lived for the most part a country life, and came seldom either
    to court or London, excepting when called to Parliament, on which
    occasion he behaved himself like a wise and good English nobleman.
    But in the year 1513, when almost sixty years old, he was appointed
    to a principal command over the army which fought at Flodden, and
    showed that the military genius of the family had neither been
    chilled in him by age, nor extinguished by habits of peace.

    He survived the battle of Flodden ten years, and died April 23rd,
    1523, aged about 70; having by his last will appointed his body
    to be interred at Shap, if he died in Westmorland; or at Bolton,
    if he died in Yorkshire. "I shall endeavour," says Whitaker, "to
    appropriate to him a tomb, vault, and chantry, in the choir of
    the Church of Bolton, as I should be sorry to believe that he was
    deposited, when dead, at a distance from the place which in his
    life time he loved so well." There exists no memorial of his
    place of burial. The broken floors and desecrated vaults of Shap
    and Bolton afford no trace or record of his tomb. It is probable,
    however, that in one of these sanctuaries he was laid to rest among
    the ashes of his illustrious kindred.

    The vault at Skipton Church was prepared for the remains of his
    immediate descendants. Thither, with three of their wives, and a
    youthful scion of their house, the boy Lord Francis, were borne
    in succession the five Earls of Cumberland of his name; when this
    their tomb finally closed over the line of Clifford: the lady
    Anne choosing rather to lie beside "her beloved mother," in the
    sepulchre which she had erected for herself at Appleby, than with
    her martial ancestors at Skipton.

    Having thus been wonderfully preserved--says a writer whose
    words have often been quoted in these pages--and after twenty
    years of secretness and seclusion, having been restored in blood
    and honours, to his barony, his lands, and his castles; he, the
    Shepherd Lord, came forth upon the world with a mind in advance of
    the age, a spirit of knowledge, of goodness, and of light, such as
    was rarely seen in that time of ignorance and superstition; averse
    to courtly pomp, delighting himself chiefly in country pursuits,
    in repairing his castles, and in learned intercourse with such
    literate persons as he could find. He was the wisest of his race,
    and falling upon more peaceful times, was enabled to indulge in the
    studies and thoughtful dispositions which his early misfortunes
    had induced and cultured. Throughout a long life he remained one,
    whose precious example, though it had but few imitators, and even
    exposed him to be regarded with dread, as dealing in the occult
    sciences, and leagued with beings that mortal man ought not to
    know, was nevertheless so far appreciated by his less enlightened
    countrymen, that his image was always linked in their memories and
    affections with whatever was great and ennobling, and caused him to
    be recorded to this, our day, by the endearing appellation of the
    "Good Lord Clifford."

    This nobleman was twice married,--first to Anne, daughter of
    Sir John St. John of Bletsoe, cousin-germain to King Henry the
    Seventh, by whom he had two sons and five daughters. Lady Clifford
    was a woman of great goodness and piety, who lived for the most
    part a country life in her husband's castles in the North, during
    the twenty-one years she remained his wife. His second wife was
    Florence, daughter of Henry Pudsey, of Bolton, in Yorkshire,
    Esquire, grandson of Sir Ralph Pudsey, the faithful protector
    of Henry the Sixth after the overthrow of the Lancastrian cause
    at Hexham. By her he had two or three sons, and one daughter,
    Dorothy, who became the wife of Sir Hugh Lowther, of Lowther, in
    Westmorland, and from whom the Earls of Lonsdale are descended.

    It is said that, towards the end of the first Lady Clifford's
    life, her husband was unkind to her, and he had two or three base
    children by another woman.

    Lord Clifford was unfortunate in having great unkindness and
    estrangement between himself and his oldest son Henry. Early habits
    of friendship, on the part of the latter, with King Henry VIII.
    and a strong passion for parade and greatness, seem to have robbed
    his heart of filial affection. The pure simplicity and unequivocal
    openness of his father's manners had long been an offence to his
    pride; but the old man's alliance with Florence Pudsey provoked his
    irreconcilable aversion. By his follies and vices, also, the latter
    years of his father were sorely disturbed. That wild and dissolute
    young nobleman, attaching himself to a troop of roystering
    followers, led a bandit's life, oppressed the lieges, harassed the
    religious houses, beat the tenants, and forced the inhabitants of
    whole villages to take sanctuary in their churches. He afterwards
    reformed, and was employed in all the armies sent into Scotland by
    Henry the Seventh and his successor, where he ever behaved himself
    nobly and valiantly; and subsequently became one of the most
    eminent men of his time, and within two years after his father's
    death, having been through life a personal friend and favourite
    of Henry the Eighth, was elevated by that partial monarch to the
    dignity of Earl of Cumberland, which title he held till his decease
    in 1542. It has been conjectured, but on no sufficient grounds,
    that he was the hero of the ballad of "The Nut-Brown Maid."

    In addition to the members of this distinguished family who have
    already been enumerated as attaining to great personal distinction,
    may be named George, the third of the five Earls of Cumberland, the
    favourite of Queen Elizabeth, called the "Great Sea-faring Lord
    Clifford," an accomplished courtier as well as naval hero,[2] one
    of those to whom England is indebted for her proud title of "the
    Ocean Queen." And lastly, his daughter, the Lady Anne Clifford,
    Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery, of famous memory, one
    of the most celebrated women of her time.

    About three miles from Threlkeld, the ancient home of Sir Lancelot
    Threlkeld and his noble step-son, stands as the eastern barrier of
    the Blencathra group of mountains, that part of it which is known
    as Souter Fell; whose irregular and precipitous summit, everywhere
    difficult of access, rises to a height of about 2,500 feet. It is
    on the south of Bowscale Fell, leaning westward from the Hesketh
    and Carlisle road, by which its eastern base is skirted. This
    mountain is celebrated in local history as having several times
    been the scene of those singular aerial phenomena known as mirages.
    A tradition of a spectral army having been seen marching over these
    mountains had long been current in the neighbourhood, and this
    remarkable exhibition was actually witnessed in the years 1735,
    1737, and 1745, by several independent parties of the dalesmen;
    and, as may well be supposed, excited much attention in the north
    of England, and long formed a subject of superstitious fear and
    wonder in the surrounding district. A sight so strange as that of
    the whole side of the mountain appearing covered with troops, both
    infantry and cavalry, who after going through regular military
    evolutions for more than an hour, defiled off in good order, and
    disappeared over a precipitous ridge on the summit, was sure to
    be the subject of much speculation and enquiry. Many persons at
    a distance hearing of the phenomenon, proceeded to the places
    where it was witnessed, purposely to examine the spectators who
    asserted the fact, and who continued positive in their assertions
    as to the appearances. Amongst others, one of the contributors
    to Hutchinson's History of Cumberland went to inquire into the
    subject; and the following is the account of the information he
    obtained, given in his own words.

    "On Midsummer Eve 1735, William Lancaster's servant related that
    he saw the east side of Souter Fell, towards the top, covered with
    a regular marching army for above an hour together; he said they
    consisted of distinct bodies of troops, which appeared to proceed
    from an eminence in the north end, and marched over a nitch in the
    top, but as no other person in the neighbourhood had seen the like,
    he was discredited and laughed at.

    "Two years after, on Midsummer Eve also, betwixt the hours of
    eight and nine, William Lancaster himself imagined that several
    gentlemen were following their horses at a distance, as if they had
    been hunting, and taking them for such, paid no regard to it, till
    about ten minutes after, again turning his head to the place, they
    appeared to be mounted, and a vast army following, five in rank,
    crowding over at the same place, where the servant said he saw them
    two years before. He then called his family, who all agreed in
    the same opinion; and what was most extraordinary, he frequently
    observed that some one of the five would quit the rank, and seem to
    stand in a fronting posture, as if he was observing and regulating
    the order of their march, or taking account of the numbers, and
    after some time appeared to return full gallop to the station he
    had left, which they never failed to do as often as they quitted
    their lines, and the figure that did so was one of the middlemost
    men in the rank. As it grew later they seemed more regardless of
    discipline, and rather had the appearance of people riding from
    a market, than an army, though they continued crowding on, and
    marching off, as long as they had light to see them.

    "This phenomenon was no more seen till the Midsummer Eve, which
    preceded the rebellion, when they were determined to call more
    families to witness this sight, and accordingly went to Wiltonhill
    and Souther Fell-side, till they convened about twenty-six persons,
    who all affirm that they saw the same appearance, but not conducted
    with the usual regularity as the preceding ones, having the
    likeness of carriages interspersed; however it did not appear to be
    less real, for some of the company were so affected with it as in
    the morning to climb the mountain, through an idle expectation of
    finding horse shoes, after so numerous an army, but they saw not a
    vestige or print of a foot.

    "William Lancaster, indeed, told me, that he never concluded they
    were real beings, because of the impracticability of a march over
    the precipices, where they seemed to come on; that the night was
    extremely serene; that horse and man, upon strict looking at,
    appeared to be but one being, rather than two distinct ones; that
    they were nothing like any clouds or vapours, which he had ever
    perceived elsewhere; that their number was incredible, for they
    filled lengthways near half a mile, and continued so in a swift
    march for above an hour, and much longer he thinks if night had
    kept off."

    The writer adds,--"This whole story has so much the air of a
    romance, that it seemed fitter for _Amadis de Gaul_, or _Glenvilles
    System of Witches_, than the repository of the learned; but as the
    country was full of it, I only give it verbatim from the original
    relation of a people, that could have no end in imposing upon their
    fellow-creatures, and are of good repute in the place where they

    Not less circumstantial is the account of this remarkable
    phenomenon gathered from the same sources by Mr. James Clarke,
    the intelligent author of the Survey of the Lakes; and which
    account, he says, "perhaps can scarcely be paralleled by history,
    or reconciled to probability; such, however, is the evidence we
    have of it," he continues, "that I cannot help relating it, and
    then my readers must judge for themselves. I shall give it nearly
    in the words of Mr. Lancaster of _Blakehills_, from whom I had the
    account; and whose veracity, even were it not supported by many
    concurrent testimonies, I could fully rely upon. The story is as

    "On the 23rd of June 1744 (Qu. 45?), his father's servant, Daniel
    Stricket (who now lives under Skiddaw, and is an auctioneer),
    about half past seven in the evening was walking a little above
    the house. Looking round him he saw a troop of men on horseback
    riding on _Souther Fell-side_, (a place so steep that an horse
    can scarcely travel on it at all,) in pretty close ranks and at a
    brisk walk. Stricket looked earnestly at them some time before he
    durst venture to acquaint any one with what he saw, as he had the
    year before made himself ridiculous by a visionary story, which I
    beg leave here also to relate: He was at that time servant to John
    Wren of _Wiltonhill_, the next house to _Blakehills_, and sitting
    one evening after supper at the door along with his master, they
    saw a man with a dog pursuing some horses along Souther Fell-side;
    and they seemed to run at an amazing pace, till they got out of
    sight at the low end of the Fell. This made them resolve to go
    next morning to the place to pick up the shoes which they thought
    these horses must have lost in galloping at such a furious rate;
    they expected likewise to see prodigious grazes from the feet of
    these horses on the steep side of the mountain, and to find the
    man lying dead, as they were sure he run so fast that he must
    kill himself. Accordingly they went, but, to their great surprise,
    found not a shoe, nor even a single vestige of any horse having
    been there, much less did they find the man lying dead as they
    had expected. This story they some time concealed; at length,
    however, they ventured to tell it, and were (as might be expected)
    heartily laughed at. Stricket, conscious of his former ridiculous
    error, observed these aerial troops some time before he ventured to
    mention what he saw; at length, fully satisfied that what he saw
    was real, he went into the house, and told Mr. Lancaster he had
    something curious to show him. Mr. Lancaster asked him what it was,
    adding, "I suppose some bonefire," (for it was then, and still is
    a custom, for the shepherds, on the evening before St. John's day,
    to light bonefires, and vie with each other in having the largest.)
    Stricket told him, if he would walk with him to the end of the
    house he would show him what it was. They then went together,
    and before Stricket spoke or pointed to the place, Mr. Lancaster
    himself discovered the phenomenon, and said to Stricket, "Is that
    what thou hast to show me?" "Yes, Master," replied Stricket: "Do
    you think you see as I do?" They found they did see alike, so they
    went and alarmed the family, who all came, and all saw this strange

    "These visionary horsemen seemed to come from the lowest part of
    Souther Fell, and became visible first at a place called KNOTT:
    they then moved in regular troops along the side of the Fell, till
    they came opposite _Blakehills_, when they went over the mountain:
    thus they described a kind of curvilineal path upon the side of the
    Fell, and both their first and last appearance were bounded by the
    top of the mountain.

    "Frequently the last, or last but one, in a troop, (always either
    the one or the other,) would leave his place, gallop to the front,
    and then take the same pace with the rest, a _regular, swift
    walk_: these changes happened to every troop, (for many troops
    appeared,) and oftener than once or twice, yet not at all times
    alike. The spectators saw, _all alike_, the same changes, and at
    the same time, as they discovered by asking each other questions
    as any change took place. Nor was this wonderful phenomenon seen
    at Blakehills only, it was seen by _every_ person at _every
    cottage_ within the distance of a mile; neither was it confined to
    a momentary view, for from the time that Stricket first observed
    it, the appearance must have lasted at least two hours and a half,
    viz. from half past seven, till the night coming on prevented the
    farther view; nor yet was the distance such as could impose rude
    resemblances on the eyes of credulity: _Blakehills_ lay not half
    a mile from the place where this astonishing appearance _seemed_
    to be, and many other places where it was likewise seen are still

    This account is attested by the signatures of William Lancaster and
    Daniel Stricket, and dated the 21st day of July 1785.

    "Thus I have given," continues Mr. Clark, "the best account I can
    procure of this wonderful appearance; let others determine what
    it was. This country, like every other where cultivation has been
    lately introduced, abounds in the _aniles fabellæ_ of fairies,
    ghosts, and apparitions; but these are never even _fabled_ to
    have been seen by more than one or two persons at a time, and the
    view is always said to be momentary. Speed tells of something
    indeed similar to this as preceding a dreadful intestine war. Can
    something of this nature have given rise to Ossian's grand and
    awful mythology? or, finally, Is there any impiety in supposing, as
    this happened immediately before that rebellion which was intended
    to subvert the liberty, the law, and the religion of England; that
    though immediate prophecies have ceased, these visionary beings
    might be directed to warn mankind of approaching _tumults_? In
    short, it is difficult to say what it was, or what it was not."

    Sir David Brewster, in his work on _Natural Magic_, after quoting
    this narrative from Mr. James Clark, which he describes as "one of
    the most interesting accounts of aerial spectres with which we are
    acquainted," continues--"These extraordinary sights were received
    not only with distrust, but with absolute incredulity. They were
    not even honoured with a place in the records of natural phenomena,
    and the philosophers of the day were neither in possession of
    analagous facts, nor were they acquainted with those principles
    of atmospherical refraction upon which they depend. The strange
    phenomena, indeed, of the _Fata Morgana_, or the _Castles of the
    Fairy Mor-Morgana_, had been long before observed, and had been
    described by Kircher, in the 17th century, but they presented
    nothing so mysterious as the aerial troopers of Souter Fell; and
    the general characters of the two phenomena were so unlike, that
    even a philosopher might have been excused for ascribing them to
    different causes."

    The accepted explanation of this appearance now is, that on the
    evenings in question, the rebel Scotch troops were performing their
    military evolutions on the west coast of Scotland, and that by
    some peculiar refraction of the atmosphere their movements were
    reflected on this mountain. Phenomena similar to these were seen
    near Stockton-on-the-Forest, in Yorkshire, in 1792; in Harrogate,
    on June 28th, 1812; and near St. Neot's, in Huntingdonshire, in
    1820. Tradition also records the tramp of armies over Helvellyn, on
    the eve of the battle of Marston Moor. To these may be added the
    appearance of the Spectre of the Brocken in the Hartz Mountains;
    and an instance mentioned by Hutchinson, that in the spring of the
    year 1707, early on a serene still morning, two persons who were
    walking from one village to another in Leicestershire, observed a
    like appearance of an army marching along, till, going behind a
    great hill, it disappeared. The forms of pikes and carbines were
    distinguishable, the march was not entirely in one direction, but
    was at first like the junction of two armies, and the meeting of

    Aerial phenomena of a like nature are recorded by Livy, Josephus,
    and Suetonius; and a passage in Sacred History seems to refer to a
    similar circumstance. See Judges ix. 36.

    Many in this country considered these appearances as ominous of the
    great waste of blood spilt by Britain in her wars with America and
    France. Shakespeare says, in _Julius Cæsar_,

              "When these prodigies
      Do so conjointly meet, let not men say,
      ---- ----they are natural;
      For, I believe, they are portentous things
      Unto the climate that they point upon."


[1] Whitaker gives the terms of this grant: "The king, in cons'on of
ye laudable and commendable service of his dere b'r Richard Duke of
Gloucester, as _for the encouragement of piety and virtue_ in the said
duke, did give and grant, etc., the honor, castle, manors, and demesnes
of Skipton, with the manor of Marton, etc., etc." Pat: Rolls, 15 Edw.

[2] A notable example of the piety of our ancestors is recorded in a
MS. Journal of a Voyage to India, still preserved in Skipton Castle,
made under the auspices of this Earl of Cumberland. It gives an account
of the proceedings of the Expedition on a Saturday and Sunday.

"Nov. 5. Our men went on shor and fet rys abord, and burnt the rest
of the houses in the negers towne; and our bot went downe to the
outermoste pointe of the ryver, and burnt a towne, and brout away all
the rys that was in the towne. The 6th day we servyd God, being Sunday."

In what manner they served God on the Sunday, after plundering and
burning two towns on the Saturday, the writer has not thought it
necessary to relate.


  Not always in fair Grecian bowers
  Piped ancient Pan, to charm the hours.
  Once in a thousand years he stray'd
  Round earth, and all his realms survey'd.

  And fairer in the world were none
  Than those bright scenes he look'd upon,
  Where Ulph's sweet lake her valleys woo'd,
  And Windar all her isles renew'd.

  For, long ere Kirkstone's rugged brow
  Was worn by mortal feet as now,
  Great Pan himself the Pass had trod,
  And rested on the heights, a God!

  Who climbs from Ulph's fair valley sees,
  Still midway couched on Kirkstone-Screes,
  Old as the hills, his Dog on high,
  At gaze athwart the southern sky.

  A rock, upon that rocky lair,
  It lives from out the times that were,
  When hairy Pan his soul to cheer
  Look'd from those heights on Windermere.

  There piped he on his reed sweet lays,
  Piped his great heart's delight and praise;
  While Nature, answering back each tone,
  Joy'd the glad fame to find her own.

  "Could I, while men at distance keep,"
  Said Pan, "in yon bright waters peep,
  And watch their ripples come and go,
  And see what treasures hide below!

  "Rivall'd is my fair Greece's store,
  My own Parnassian fields and shore!
  I will delight me, and behold
  Myself in yon bright Mere of gold."

  Like thought, his Dog sprang to yon lair
  To watch the heights and sniff the air:
  Like thought, on Helm a Lion frown'd,
  To guard the northern Pass's bound:

  And with his mate a mighty Pard
  On Langdale-head, kept watchful ward:--
  That great God Pan his soul might cheer,
  Glass'd in the depths of Windermere.

  Then down the dell from steep to steep,
  With many a wild and wayward leap,
  The God descending stood beside
  His image on the golden tide.

  His shaggy sides in full content
  He sunn'd, and o'er the waters bent;
  Then hugg'd himself the reeds among,
  And piped his best Arcadian song.

  What was it, as he knelt and drew
  The wave to sip, that pierced him through?
  What whispered sound, what stifled roar,
  Has reached him listening on the shore?

  He shivers on the old lake stones;
  He leans, aghast, to catch the groans
  Which come like voices uttering woe
  Up all the streams, and bid him go.

  Onward the looming troubles roll,
  All centring towards his mighty soul.
  He shriek'd! and in a moment's flight,
  Stunn'd, through the thickets plunged from sight.

  Plunged he, his unking'd head to hide
  With goats and herds in forests wide?
  Or down beneath the rocks to lie,
  Shut in from leaves, and fields, and sky?

  Gone was the great God out from earth!
  Gone, with his pipe of tuneful mirth!
  Whither, and wherefore, men may say
  Who stood where Pilate mused that day.

  And with that breath that crisp'd the rills,
  And with that shock that smote the hills,
  A moment Nature sobb'd and mourn'd,
  And things of life to rocks were turned.

  Stricken to stone in heart and limb,
  Like all things else that followed him,
  Yonder his Dog lies watching still
  For Pan's lost step to climb the hill.

  And those twin Pards, huge, worn with time,
  Stretch still their rocky lengths sublime,
  Where once they watched to guard from man
  The sportive mood of great God Pan.

  And craggy Helm's grey Lion rears
  The mane he shook in those old years,
  In changeless stone, from morn to morn
  Awaiting still great Pan's return.

  Could he come back again, to range
  The earth, how much must all things change!
  Not Nature's self, even rock and stone,
  Would deign her perished God to own.

  The former life all fled away--
  No custom'd haunt to bid him stay--
  No flower on earth, no orb on high,
  No place, to know him--Pan must die.

  Down with his age he went to rest;
  His great heart, stricken in his breast
  By tidings from that far-off shore,
  Burst--and great Pan was King no more!


    The sudden trouble and annihilation of Pan have reference to a
    passage in Plutarch, in his _Treatise on Oracles_, in which he
    relates that at the time of the Crucifixion, a voice was heard by
    certain mariners, sweeping over the Egean Sea, and crying "Pan is
    dead"; and the Oracles ceased. This idea, so beautifully expressing
    the overthrow of Paganism, and the flight of the old gods, at the
    inauguration of Christianity, Milton has finely elaborated in his
    sublime "Hymn on the Morning of the Nativity."

    Many of the mountains in the North of England derive their name
    from some peculiarity of form: as _Helm-Crag_ in Grasmere,
    _Saddle-Back_ near Keswick, _Great Gable_ at the head of
    Wast-Water, _The Pillar_ in Ennerdale, _The Hay Stacks_, _The
    Haycocks_, _High Stile_, _Steeple_, &c.

    There are also very marked resemblances to animate objects, well
    known to those familiar with the Lake District, as the _Lion and
    the Lamb_ on the summit of Helm-Crag; the _Astrologer_, or _Old
    woman cowering_, on the same spot when seen from another quarter;
    the rude similitude of a female colossal statue, which gives the
    name of _Eve's Crag_ to a cliff in the vale of Derwentwater. An
    interesting and but little known Arthurian reminiscence is found
    in the old legend that the recumbent effigy of that great king may
    be traced from some parts of the neighbourhood of Penrith in the
    outlines of the mountain range of which the peaks of Saddleback
    form the most prominent points. From the little hill of Castle
    Head or Castlet, the royal face of George the Third with its
    double chin, short nose, and receding forehead, can be quite
    made out in the crowning knob of Causey Pike. From under Barf,
    near Bassenthwaite Water, is seen the form which gives name to
    the _Apostle's Crag_. At a particular spot, the solemn shrouded
    figure comes out with bowed head and reverent mien, as if actually
    detaching itself from the rock--a vision seen by the passer by
    only for a few yards, when the magic ceases, and the Apostle goes
    back to stone. The massy forms of the Langdale Pikes, as seen from
    the south east, with the sweeping curve of Pavey Ark behind, are
    strikingly suggestive of two gigantic lions or pards, crouching
    side by side, with their breasts half turned towards the spectator.
    And a remarkable figure of a shepherd's dog, but of no great size,
    may be seen stretched out on a jutting crag, about half way up the
    precipice which overhangs the road, as the summit of Kirkstone Pass
    is approached from Brother's Water. It is not strictly, as stated
    in the foregoing verses, on the part of Kirkstone Fell called Red
    Screes, but some distance below it on the Patterdale side.

    Among the freaks of Nature occasionally to be found in these hilly
    regions, is the print of the heifer's foot in Borrowdale, shown
    by the guides; and on a stone near Buck-Crag in Eskdale, the
    impressions of the foot of a man, a boy, and a dog, without any
    marks of tooling or instrument; and the remarkable precipices of
    Doe-Crag and Earn-Crag, whose fronts are polished as marble, the
    one 160 yards in perpendicular height, the other 120 yards.

    On the top of the Screes, above Wastwater, stood for ages a very
    large stone called Wilson's Horse; which about a century ago fell
    down into the lake, when a cleft was made one hundred yards long,
    four feet wide, and of incredible depth.


  The seas will rise though saints on board
  Commend their frail skiff to the Lord.
  And Bega and her holy band
  Are shipwrecked on the Cumbrian strand.

  "Give me," she asked, "for me and mine,
  O Lady of high Bretwalda's line!
  Give, for His sake who succoured thee,
  A shelter for these maids and me."--

  Then sew'd, and spun, and crewl-work wrought,[3]
  And served the poor they meekly taught,
  These virgins good; and show'd the road
  By blameless lives to Heaven and God.

  They won from rude men love and praise;
  They lived unmoved through evil days;
  And only longed for a home to rise
  To store up treasures for the skies.

  That pious wish the Lady's bower
  Has reached; and forth she paced the tower:--
  "My gracious Lord! of thy free hand
  Grant this good Saint three roods of land.

  "Three roods, where she may rear a pile,
  To sing God's praise through porch and aisle;
  And, serving Him, us too may bless
  For sheltering goodness in distress."

  The Earl he turned him gaily near,
  Laughed lightly in his Lady's ear--
  "By this bright Eve of blessed St. John!
  I'll give--what the snow to-morrow lies on."

  His Lady roused him at dawn with smiles--
  "The snow lies white for miles and miles!"
  From loophole and turret he stares on the sight
  Of Midsummer-morning clothed in white.

  "--Well done, good Saint! the lands are thine.
  Go, build thy church, and deck thy shrine.
  I 'bate no jot of my plighted word,
  Though lightly spoken and lightly heard.

  "If mirth and my sweet Lady's grace
  Have lost me many a farm and chace,
  I know that power unseen belongs
  To holy ways and Christian songs.

  "And He, who thee from wind and wave
  Deliverance and a refuge gave,
  When we must brave a gloomier sea,
  May hear thy prayers for mine and me."


    The remains of the Monastery of St. Bees, about four miles south
    of Whitehaven, stand in a low situation, with marshy lands to the
    east, and on the west exposed to storms from the Irish Channel.

    In respect to this religious foundation, Tanner says, "Bega, an
    holy woman from Ireland is said to have founded, about the year
    650, a small monastery in Copeland, where afterwards a church was
    built in memory of her. This religious house being destroyed by the
    Danes, was restored by William, brother to Ranulph de Meschines,
    Earl of Cumberland, in the time of King Henry I., and made a cell
    for a prior and six Benedictine monks, to the Abbey of St. Mary,

    The earliest documents connected with this place call it
    _Kirkby-Begogh_, the market town of St. Bega; and _St. Bee_, or
    _St. Bees_, the Saint's house or houses, names given to it _after_
    the Irish Saint resided there.

    St. Bega is said to have been the daughter of an Irish king, "who
    was a Christian, and an earnest man, to boot." He wished to marry
    his daughter to a Norwegian prince; but she, having determined
    to be a nun, ran away from her father's house, and joining some
    strange sailors, took ship, and sailed to the coast of Cumberland.

    The accounts given of the first foundation of the nunnery of
    St. Bees are very contradictory, the common version being the
    traditionary account in Mr. Sandford's MS., namely, that the extent
    of the territories was originally designated by a preternatural
    fall of snow, through the prayers of the Saint, on the eve of St.
    John's or Midsummer day. From this MS. it would appear that a
    ship, containing a lady abbess and her sisters, being "driven in
    by stormy weather at Whitehaven," the abbess applied for relief to
    the lady of Egremont, who, taking compassion on her destitution,
    obtained of her lord a dwelling place for them, "at the now St.
    Bees;" where they "sewed and spinned, and wrought carpets and other
    work and lived very godly lives, as got them much love." It goes on
    to say that the lady of Egremont, at the request of the abbess,
    spoke to her lord to give them some land "to lay up treasure in
    heaven," and that "he laughed and said he would give them as much
    as snow fell upon the next morning, being Midsummer day; and on the
    morrow as he looked out of his castle window, all was white with
    snow for three miles together. And thereupon builded this St. Bees
    Abbie, and gave all those lands was snowen unto it, and the town
    and haven of Whitehaven, &c."

    The "Life of Sancta Bega," however, a latin chronicle of the Middle
    Ages, in which are recorded the acts of the Saint, gives the Snow
    Miracle somewhat differently, and places it many years after the
    death of the mild recluse, in the time of Ranulph de Meschines. The
    monkish historian relates that certain persons had instilled into
    the ears of that nobleman, that the monks had unduly extended their
    possessions. A dispute arose on this subject, for the settlement of
    which, by the prayers of the religious, "invoking most earnestly
    the intercession of their advocate the blessed Bega," the whole
    land became white with snow, except the territories of the church
    which stood forth dry.

    It is certain that the name of _Sancta Bega_ is inseparably
    connected with the Snow Miracle; but the anachronism which refers
    the former of the accounts just given to the period of William de
    Meschines would seem to show that the narrator has mixed up the
    circumstances attending its foundation in the middle of the seventh
    century with its restoration in the twelfth; for, says Denton, "the
    said Lord William de Meschines seated himself at Egremont, where
    he built a castle upon a sharp topped hill, and thereupon called
    the same _Egremont_." This writer elsewhere says, "The bounders of
    William Meschines aforesaid, which he gave the priory are in these
    words: 'Totam terram et vis totum feodum inter has divisas, viz. a
    pede de Whit of Haven ad Kekel, et per Kekel donec cadit in Eyre
    et per Eyre quousque in mare.' Kekel runneth off from Whillymore
    by Cleator and Egremont, and so into Eyne; at Egremont Eyre is the
    foot of Eyne, which falleth out of Eynerdale."

    The monkish version of the legend, therefore, refers to William
    de Meschines, as the Lord of Egremont, and to the lands which
    were given by him at the restoration of the Priory in the twelfth
    century: whilst that related by Sandford alludes to some other
    powerful chief, who, in the life time of the Saint in the seventh
    century had his seat at Egremont, which, as has been stated
    elsewhere, "was probably a place of strength during the Heptarchy,
    and in the time of the Danes."

    It might almost seem as if some such legend as that of the Snow
    Miracle were necessary to account for the singular form of this
    extensive and populous parish: which includes the large and
    opulent town of Whitehaven; the five chapelries of Hensingham,
    Ennerdale, Eskdale, Wastdale-Head, and Nether-Wastdale; and the
    townships of St. Bees, Ennerdale, Ennerdale High End, Eskdale and
    Wastdale, Hensingham, Kinneyside, Lowside-Quarter, Nether-Wastdale,
    Preston-Quarter, Rottington, Sandwith, Weddicar, and Whitehaven.
    It extends ten miles along the coast, and reaches far inland, so
    that some of its chapelries are ten and fourteen miles from the

    In the monkish chronicle of the Life and Miracles of Sancta Bega
    occurs the following passage:--

    "A certain celebration had come round by annual revolution which
    the men of that land use to solemnise by a most holy Sabbath on
    the eve of Pentecost, on account of certain tokens of the sanctity
    of the holy virgin then found there, which they commemorate, and
    they honor her church by visiting it with offerings of prayers and

    In allusion to which, Mr. Tomlinson the editor and translator of
    the MS. observes that "this is another of those marks of dependence
    of the surrounding chapelries which formerly existed; a mark the
    more interesting because to this day some traces of it remain.
    Communicants still annually resort to the church of St. Bees at the
    festival of Easter from considerable distances; and the village
    presents an unusual appearance from their influx; and at the church
    the eucharist is administered as early as eight in the morning,
    in addition to the celebration of it at the usual time. There can
    be no doubt but that Whitsuntide, and perhaps Christmas, as well
    as Easter, were formerly seasons when the church of St. Bees was
    resorted to by numbers who appeared within it at no other time,
    save perhaps at the burial of their friends. The great festivals
    of the church appear in the middle ages to have been considered
    by the English as peculiarly auspicious for the solemnization of
    marriages. At these seasons then, from concurring causes, the
    long-drawn solemn processions of priests and people would be
    chiefly seen, and then also, the accustomed oblations of the latter
    to the mother church of St. Bees would be discharged."

    As to the "town and haven of Whitehaven" included in the gift to
    "St. Bees Abbie," its eligibility as a fishing ground, when the
    tides ran nearer the meadows than at present, would doubtless
    attract the attention of the monks of St. Bees; and the fact of
    its being denominated _Whittofthaven_, _Quitofthaven_, _Wythoven_,
    _Whyttothaven_, _Whitten_, &c., in the register of St. Bees and
    other ancient records, evidently shows that it is a place of
    greater antiquity than has generally been ascribed to it; and some
    fragments of tradition, still extant, seem to countenance this

    Denton (MS.) speaking of Whitehaven or White-Toft Haven, says
    "It was belonging to St. Beghs of antient time, for the Abbot
    of York, in Edward I.'s time was impleaded for wreck, and his
    liberties there, by the King, which he claimed from the foundation,
    to be confirmed by Richard Lucy, in King John's time, to his

    That Whitehaven was anciently a place of resort for shipping
    appears from some particulars respecting it mentioned in those
    remarkable Irish documents, called the _Annals of the Four
    Masters_, much of which was written at the Abbey of Monesterboice,
    in the county of Louth--nearly opposite, on the Irish shore. In the
    account of the domestic habits and manufactures of the Irish, it
    is stated that their _coracles_, or _Wicker Boats_, their Noggins,
    and other domestic utensils, were made of wood called _Wythe_ or
    _Withey_, brought from the opposite shore of _Baruch_ (i.e. rocky
    coast) and that a small colony was placed there for the purpose
    of collecting this wood. That Barach mouth, or Barrow mouth, and
    Barrow mouth wood is the same as that alluded to by the Four
    Masters, is evident from the legend of St. Bega, which places it
    in the same locality; and that the colony of Celts resided in the
    neighbourhood of the now _Celts_, or _Kell's Pit_, in the same
    locality also, is manifest from the name. About the year 930, it
    appears that one of the Irish princes or chiefs, accompanied an
    expedition to this place for wood (for that a great portion of
    the site of the present town and the neighbouring heights were
    formerly covered with forest trees there can be no doubt) and that
    the inhabitants who were met at _Whitten_, or _Wittenagemote_, fell
    upon and look the chief and several of the accompanying expedition
    prisoners from a jealousy of their sanctuary being invaded. Many
    of the Irish utensils were imported hither, particularly the
    _noggin_, or small water pail, which was made of closely woven
    wickerwork, and covered inside with skin, having a projecting
    handle for the purpose of dipping into a river or well. The same
    article, in its primitive shape, though made of a different
    material, called a _geggin_, is still used by some of the farmers
    in that neighbourhood. When _Adam de Harris_ gave lands at Bransty
    Beck to the church of Holm Cultram, he also gave privilege to the
    monks to cut wood for making geggins or noggins.

    From an old history of the county of Durham, Whitehaven appears
    to have been a resort for shipping in the tenth century; and when
    the Nevills of Raby were called upon to furnish their quota of
    men to accompany Henry in his expedition to Ireland in 1172, they
    were brought to _Wythop-haven_, or _Witten-haven_, and transported
    thence in ships to the Irish coast. When Edward was advancing
    against Scotland, in the fourteenth century, he found a ship
    belonging to this place, in which he sent a cargo of oats, to be
    ground by the monks of St. Bees.

    In nearly all histories of Cumberland, the name of Whitehaven has
    been attributed either to some imaginary whiteness of the rocks
    on the east side of the harbour, or to the cognomen of an old
    fisherman who resided there about the year 1566, at which time the
    town is said to have had only six houses. In 1633 it consisted of
    only nine thatched cottages. Sir Christopher Lowther, second son
    of Sir John Lowther, purchased Whitehaven and the lands lying in
    its neighbourhood, and built a mansion on the west end of the haven
    at the foot of a rock. He died in 1644, and was succeeded by his
    son, Sir John Lowther, who erected a new mansion on the site of the
    present castle, described by Mr. Denton, in 1688, as a "stately
    new pile of building, called the Flatt," and having conceived the
    project of working the coal mines, and improving the harbour, he
    obtained from Charles the Second, about the year 1666, a grant
    of all the "derelict land at this place," which yet remained in
    the crown; and in 1678, all the lands for two miles northward,
    between high and low water mark, the latter grant containing about
    150 acres. Sir John having thus laid the foundation of the future
    importance of Whitehaven, commenced his great work, and lived to
    see a small obscure village grow up into a thriving and populous

    There is a traditionary account of the existence of an ancient ruin
    where the castle stands (probably Druidical; or, where at a later
    period, the Whitten, or Wittenagemote, was held) the remains of
    which were broken up about the year 1628. Respecting these real or
    imaginary stones it has been related, that the inhabitants believed
    them to be enchanted warriors, and gave them the appellation
    of "_Dread Ring_, or _Circle_," and occasionally "_Corpse
    Circle_"--corrupted into the word _Corkickle_, the name which the
    locality now bears.

    A reminiscence of the old mansion of the Lowthers is preserved by
    the road which skirts the precincts of the castle. This is still
    called, by the older townspeople, the Flatt Walk.


    _Krull_, or _Crewel_, is a word evidently derived from the old
    Norse _Krulla_, signifying to blend, to mix, and also to curl; in
    fact, "crewel" work is embroidery, the Berlin wool work of modern
    days; but the word is generally applied, in this locality, to the
    covering of a hand ball with worsted work of various colours and
    devices, the tribute of mothers and sisters in our boyhood.


[3] See Note on page 80.

[4] Advenerat annua revolutione quædam celebritas quam sacro sancto
sabbato in vigilia pentecosten homines illius terræ ob quædam insignia
sanctitatis sanctæ virginis tunc illic inventa, et signa ibidem
perpetrata solent solempnizare; et ecclesiam illius visitando orationum
et oblationum hostiis honorare.

Vita S. Begæ, et de Miraculis Ejusdem, p. 73.


  When wild deer ranged the forest free,
  Mid Whinfell oaks stood Hart's-Horn Tree;
  Which, for three hundred years and more,
  Upon its stem the antlers bore
  Of that thrice-famous Hart-of-Grease
  That ran the race with Hercules.

  The King of Scots, to hunt the game
  With brave de Clifford southward came:
  Pendragon, Appleby, and Brough'm,
  Gave all his bold retainers room;
  And all came gathering to the chase
  Which ended in that matchless race.

  Beneath a mighty oak at morn
  The stag was roused with bugle horn;
  Unleashed, de Clifford's noblest Hound
  Rushed to the chase with strenuous bound;
  And stretching forth, the Hart-of-Grease
  Led off with famous Hercules.

  They ran, and northward held their way;
  They ran till dusk, from dawning grey;
  O'er Cumbrian waste, and Border moor,
  Till England's line was speeded o'er;
  And Red-kirk on the Scottish ground
  Mark'd of their chase the farthest bound.

  Then turned they southward, stretching on,
  They ran till day was almost gone;
  Till Eamont came again in view;
  Till Whinfell oaks again they knew;
  They ran, and reached at eve the place
  Where first began their desperate race.

  They panted on, till almost broke
  Each beast's strong heart with its own stroke!
  They panted on, both well nigh blind,
  The Hart before, the Hound behind!
  And now will strength the Hart sustain
  To take him o'er the pale again?

  He sprang his best; that leap has won
  His triumph, but his chase is done!
  He lies stone dead beyond the bound;
  And stretched on this side lies the Hound!
  His last bold spring to clear the wall
  Was vain; and life closed with his fall.

  The steeds had fail'd, squires', knights', and king's,
  Long ere the chase reached Solway's springs!
  But on the morrow news came in
  To Brough'm, amidst the festive din,
  How held the chase, how far, how wide
  It swerved and swept, and where they died.

  Ah! gallant pair! such chase before
  Was never seen, nor shall be more:
  And Scotland's King and England's Knight
  Looked, mutely wondering, on the sight,
  Where with that wall of stone between
  Lay Hart and Hound stretched on the green.

  Then spoke the King--"For equal praise
  This hand their monument shall raise!
  These antlers from this Oak shall spread;
  And evermore shall here be said,
  That Hercules killed Hart-of-Grease,
  And Hart-of-Grease killed Hercules.

  "From Whinfell woods to Red-kirk plain,
  And back to Whinfell Oaks again,
  Not fourscore English miles would tell!
  But"--said the King--"they spann'd it well.
  And by my kingdom, I will say
  They ran a noble race that day!"--

  Then said de Clifford to the King--
  "Through many an age this feat shall ring!
  But of your Majesty I crave
  That Hercules may have his grave
  In ground beneath these branches free,
  From this day forth called Hart's-Horn Tree."

  And there where both were 'reft of life,
  And both were victors in the strife,
  Survives this saying on that chase,
  In memory of their famous race--
  "Here Hercules killed Hart-of-Grease,
  And Hart-of-Grease killed Hercules."


    I.--The memorable Westmorland Forest, or Park of Whinfell,
    anciently written Qwynnefel, was a grant to Robert de Veteripont
    from King John. This grant restrained him from committing waste in
    the woods, and from suffering his servants to hunt there in his
    absence during the king's life. Till the beginning of last century
    it was famous for its prodigious oaks; a trio of them, called The
    Three Brothers, were the giants of the forest; and a part of the
    skeleton of one of them, called _The Three Brothers' Tree_, which
    was thirteen yards in girth, at a considerable distance from the
    root, was remaining until within a very recent period.

    On the east side of this park is Julian's Bower, famous for its
    being the residence of Gillian, or Julian, the peerless mistress of
    Roger de Clifford, about the beginning of the reign of Edward III.
    The Pembroke memoirs call it "a little house hard by Whinfell-park,
    the lower foundations of which standeth still, though all the wall
    be down long since." This record also mentions the Three Brother
    Tree and Julian's Bower, as curiosities visited by strangers in
    the Countess of Pembroke's time, prior to which a shooting seat
    had been erected near these ruins, for she tells us, that her
    grandson, Mr. John Tufton, and others at one time, "alighted on
    their way over _Whinfield_ park at Julian's Bower, to see all the
    rooms and places about it." Its hall was spacious, wainscotted,
    and hung round with prodigious stags' horns, and other trophies of
    the field. One of the rooms was hung with very elegant tapestry;
    but since it was converted into a farm-house all these relics of
    ancient times have been destroyed.

    A large portion of the park was divided into farms in 1767; and
    the remainder in 1801, when its deer were finally destroyed. It
    was thus stripped of its giant trees, and consigned to its present
    unsheltered condition.

    II.--A fine oak formerly stood by the way side, near Hornby Hall,
    about four miles from Penrith on the road to Appleby, which, from
    a pair of stag's horns being hung up in it, bore the name of
    Hart's-Horn Tree. It grew within the district which to this day is
    called Whinfell Forest. Concerning this tree there is a tradition,
    confirmed by Anne, Countess of Pembroke in her memoirs, that a
    hart was run by a single greyhound (as the ancient deer hound was
    called) from this place to Red-Kirk in Scotland, and back again.
    When they came near this tree the hart leaped the park paling, but,
    being worn out with fatigue, instantly died; and the dog, equally
    exhausted, in attempting to clear it, fell backwards and expired.
    In this situation they were found by the hunters, the dog dead on
    one side of the paling, and the deer on the other. In memory of
    this remarkable chase, the hart's horns were nailed upon the tree,
    whence it obtained its name. And as all extraordinary events were
    in those days recorded in rhymes, we find the following popular
    one on this occasion, from which we learn the name of the dog

      Hercules killed Hart-o-Grease,
      And Hart-o-Grease killed Hercules.

    This story appears to have been literally true, as the Scots
    preserve it without any variation, and add that it happened in the
    year 1333 or 1334, when Edward Baliol King of Scotland came to hunt
    with Robert de Clifford in his domains at Appleby and Brougham, and
    stayed some time with him at his castles in Westmorland. In course
    of time, it is stated, the horns of the deer became grafted, as it
    were, upon the tree, by reason of its bark growing over their root,
    and there they remained more than three centuries, till, in the
    year 1648, one of the branches was broken off by some of the army,
    and ten years afterwards the remainder was secretly taken down by
    some mischievous people in the night. "So now," says Lady Anne
    Clifford in her Diary, "there is no part thereof remaining, the
    tree itself being so decayed, and the bark so peeled off, that it
    cannot last long; whereby we may see time brings to forgetfulness
    many memorable things in this world, be they ever so carefully
    preserved--for this tree, with the hart's horn in it, was a thing
    of much note in these parts."

    The tree itself has now disappeared; but Mr. Wordsworth, "well
    remembered its imposing appearance as it stood, in a decayed state
    by the side of the high road leading from Penrith to Appleby."

    This remarkable chase must have been upwards of eighty miles, even
    supposing the deer to have taken the direct road.

    Nicolson and Burn remark, when they tell the story, "So say the
    Countess of Pembroke's Memoirs, and other historical anecdotes. But
    from the improbable length of the course, we would rather suppose,
    that they ran to Nine Kirks, that is the Church of Ninian the
    Scottish Saint, and back again, which from some parts of the park
    might be far enough for a greyhound to run." These writers have
    overlooked the circumstance, that the animal which in those days
    was called a greyhound was the ancient deerhound, a large species
    of dog having the form of the modern greyhound, but with shaggy
    hair and a more powerful frame. The breed is not yet extinct: Sir
    Walter Scott's Maida was of the species.

    Dr. Burn deals another blow at the tradition; for he goes on
    to say, "And _before_ this time there was a place in the park
    denominated from the _Hart's horns_; which seem therefore to have
    been put up on some former occasion, perhaps for their remarkable
    largeness. For one of the bounder marks of the partition aforesaid
    between the two daughters of the last Robert de Veteripont is
    called _Hart-horn sike_".

    III.--Dr. Percy, referring to the expression _hart-o-greece_ in a
    verse given below from the old ballad of "Adam Bell," explains it
    to mean a fat hart, from the French word _graisse_.

      "Then went they down into a lawnde,
        These noble archarrs thre;
      Eche of them slew a hart of greece,
        The best that they cold se."

    Clarke, in an appendix to his "Survey of the Lakes," speaking
    of the Red Deer which is bred upon the tops of the mountains in
    Martindale, gives _Hart of Grease_ as the proper name of the male
    in the eighth year.

    In Black's "Picturesque Guide to the English Lakes," it is
    stated in a note upon this subject, that there is an ancient
    broadside proclamation of a Lord Mayor of London, preserved in the
    Archiepiscopal Library at Lambeth, in which, after denouncing "the
    excessyve and unreasonable pryses of all kyndes of vytayles," it is
    ordered that "no citizen or freman of the saide citie shall sell or
    cause to be solde," amongst other things, "Capons of grece above
    XXd. or Hennes of grece above VIId."


  Dim shadows tread with elfin pace
    The nightshade-skirted road,
  Where once the sons of Odin's race
    In Bekan's vale abode;
  Where, long ere rose Saint Mary's pile,
    The vanquish'd horsemen laid
  Their idol Wodin, stained and vile,
    Beneath the forest's shade.

  There hid--while clash of clubs and swords
    Resounded in the dell,
  To save it from the Briton's hordes
    When Odin's warriors fell--
  It lay with Bekan's mightiest charms
    Of magic on its breast;
  While Sorcery, with its hundred arms,
    Had sealed the vale in rest.

  It woke when fell with sturdy stroke
    The Norman axe around,
  And builders' hands in fragments broke
    The Idol from the ground;

  And hewed therefrom that corner stone
    Which yet yon tower sustains,
  Where Wodin's Moth sits, grim and lone,
    And holds the dell in chains.

  There youth at love's sweet call oft glides
    By cloister, aisle, and nave,
  To stop above the stone that hides
    The beauteous Fleming's grave:--
  Fair flower of Aldingham--the child
    Of old Sir William's days,--
  Low where the Bekan straggling wild
    Its deadly arms displays.

  There in the quiet more profound
    Than sleep, than death more drear,
  Her shadow walks the silent ground
    When leaves are green or sere;
  When autumn with its cheerless sky
    Or winter with its pall,
  Puts all the year's fair promise by
    With fruits that fade and fall.

  And where the Bekan by the rill
    So bitter once, now sweet,
  Its lurid purples ripens still
    While ages onward fleet,
  She tastes the deadly flower by night,--
    If yet its juices flow
  Sweet as of yore; for then to light
    And rest her soul shall go.

  Ah, blessed forth from far beyond
    The Jordan once he came,--
  Her Red-cross Knight,--the marriage bond
    To twine with love and fame:
  His meed of valour, Beauty's charms,
    Pledged with one silvery word,
  Beneath the forest's branching arms
    And by the breezes stirred.

  Another week! and she would stand
    In Urswick's halls a bride:
  Another week! the marriage band
    Had round her life been tied:
  When wild with joyfulness of heart
    That beat not with a care,
  She carolled forth alone, to start
    The grim Moth from its lair.

  She bounded from his heart elate!
    But Urswick's halls of light,
  And Aldingham's embattled gate
    No more shall meet her sight.
  For her no happy bridal crowd
    Press out into the road,
  But Furness monks with dirges loud
    Bend round her last abode.

  To chase the moth that guards the flower
    That makes the dell its own,
  Flew forth the maid from hall and tower
    Through wood and glen alone.

  Where Odin's men had left their god
    In earth, long overgrown
  With tangled bushes rude, she trod
    Enchanted ground unknown.

  The abbey walls before her gaze
    At distance rising fair,
  While deep within the magic maze
    She wandered unaware:
  She loitered with the song untired
    Upon her lips, nor thought
  What foes against her peace conspired,
    While love his lost one sought!

  They found her with close-lidded eyes,
    Watched by that Moth unblest,
  Perched high between her and the skies,
    And nightshade on her breast.
  There lay she with her lips apart
    In peace; by Wodin's power
  Stilled into death her truest heart
    With Bekan's lurid flower.

  Woe was it when Sir William's hall
    Received the mournful train:
  No more her voice with sweetest call
    His morns to wake again!
  No more her merry step to cheer
    The days when clouds were wild!
  No more her form on palfrey near
    When sport his noons beguiled!

  Worse woe when Furness monks with dole--
    While gentle hands conveyed
  Her body--for a parted soul
    The solemn ritual said;
  And laid her where the waving leaves
    Breathed low amidst the calm,
  When loud upon the fading eves
    Rolled organ-chant and psalm.

  With Urswick's hand in fondest grasp
    Said Fleming--"Vainly rise
  My days for me: my heart must clasp
    Her image, or it dies!
  Through mass and prayer I hear her voice;
    I know the fiends have power--
  That chant and dole and choral noise
    Can purge not--o'er that flower!"

  They wandered where Engaddi's palms
    And Sharon's roses wave;
  Where Hebrew virgins chant their psalms
    By many a mountain cave:
  Mid rock-hewn chambers by the Nile,
    Where Magian fathers lay;--
  The secret of the spell-struck pile
    To drag to realms of day.

  In vain! His gallant heart sleeps well,
    Beneath the Lybian air;
  And still the enchantment holds the dell,
    And her so sweet and fair.

  Still on yon loop hole stretched by night,
    The tyrant-moth is laid:
  While circling in their ceaseless flight
    The ages rise and fade.

  There sometimes as in nights of yore,
    Heard faint and sweet, a sound
  Peals from yon tower, while o'er and o'e
    The vale repeats it round.
  And down the glen the muffled tone
    Floats slowly, long upborne;
  Answered as if far off were blown
    A warrior's bugle-horn.

  Yet one day, with unconscious art,
    May some rude hand unfold
  Great Wodin's breast, and rend apart
    The fragment from its hold.
  Then, while the deadly nightshade's veins
    In bitter streams shall pour
  Their juices, his usurped domains
    Shall own the Moth no more.

  Then him a milk white swallow's power
    Shall timely overthrow.
  And fair, as from a beauteous bower,
    In raiment like the snow,
  The Flower of Aldingham--the child
    Of old Sir William's days--
  Shall break the bondage round her piled;
    But not to meet his gaze.

  Nor forth beneath the dewy dawn,
    All radiant like the morn,
  Shall Urswick's Knight lead up the lawn
    Beside the scented thorn,
  His bride into the blighted halls
    Whence once she wildly strayed
  In ages past, by Furness walls,
    And with the Bekan played.

  The sea-snake through the chambers roves
    Of old Sir William's home--
  Fair Aldingham, its bowers, and groves,
    And fields she loved to roam:
  And where the gallant Urswick graced
    His own ancestral board,
  Now ferns and wild weeds crowd the waste,
    The creeping fox is lord.

  But gracious spirits of the light
    Shall call a welcome down
  On her, the beauteous lady bright,
    And lead her to her own.
  Not to that home o'er which the tide
    Unceasing heaves and rolls;
  But through that porch which opens wide
    Into the land of souls.


    In the Chartulary of Furness Abbey, some rude Latin verses, written
    by John Stell a monk, refer to a plant called _Bekan_, which at
    some remote period grew in the valley in great abundance, whence
    the name of Bekansghyll was anciently derived. The etymology is
    thus metrically rendered:

      "Hæc vallis, tenuit olim sibi nomen ab herba
      Bekan, qua viruit; dulcis nunc tunc sed acerba,
      Inde domus nomen Bekanes-gill claruit ante."

    This plant "whose juice is now sweet, but was then bitter," is
    assumed to be one of the species of Nightshade which are indigenous
    in the dell and flourish there in great luxuriance; probably the
    Solanum Dulcamara, the bitter-sweet or woody nightshade, although
    the Atropa Belladonna, the deadly nightshade, also grows among the
    ruins of the Abbey. This "lurid offspring of Flora," as Mr. Beck
    calls it, the emblem of sorcery and witchcraft, might well give the
    name of Nightshade to that enchanting spot. But what authority the
    monks may have had for their derivation it is now impossible to
    ascertain. Various glossaries and lexicons are said to have been
    consulted for _bekan_, as signifying the deadly nightshade but
    without effect; "and after all," says Mr. Beck, "I am inclined to
    believe that Beckansgill is a creation of the monastic fancy."

    Bekan is Scandinavian, and a proper name: and has probably been
    localised in this district by the Northmen from the period of its
    colonisation. It is said to have been quite in accordance with
    the practice of these rovers to give the name of their chiefs not
    only to the mounds in which they were buried, but also in many
    cases to the valley or plain in which these were situated, or in
    which was their place of residence; or to those ghylls or small
    ravines, which, with the rivers or brooks, were most frequently the
    boundaries of property. Bekan's gill may be associated in some way
    with one of the northern settlers whose name has thus far outlived
    his memory in the district.

    An interesting passage in Mr. Ferguson's "Northmen in Cumberland
    and Westmorland" bears upon this subject. It refers to the opening
    of an ancient barrow at a place called Beacon Hill, near Aspatria
    in Cumberland, in 1790, by its proprietor. Speaking of the barrow,
    Mr. Ferguson says:-- "From its name and its commanding situation
    has arisen the very natural belief that this hill must have been
    the site of a beacon. But there is no other evidence of this fact,
    and as Bekan is a Scandinavian proper name found also in other
    instances in the district, and as this was evidently a Scandinavian
    grave, while the commanding nature of the situation would be a
    point equally desired in the one case as the other, there can
    hardly be a doubt that the place takes its name from the mighty
    chief whose grave it was. On levelling the artificial mound, which
    was about 90 feet in circumference at the base, the workmen removed
    six feet of earth before they came to the natural soil, three feet
    below which they found a vault formed with two large round stones
    at each side, and one at each end. In this lay the skeleton of
    a man measuring seven feet from the head to the ankle bone--the
    feet having decayed away. By his side lay a straight two-edged
    sword corresponding with the gigantic proportions of its owner,
    being about five feet in length, and having a guard elegantly
    ornamented with inlaid silver flowers. The tomb also contained
    a dagger, the hilt of which appeared to have been studded with
    silver, a two-edged Danish battle-axe, part of a gold brooch of
    semi-circular form, an ornament apparently of a belt, part of a
    spur, and a bit shaped like a modern snaffle. Fragments of a shield
    were also picked up, but in a state too much decayed to admit of
    its shape being made out. Upon the stones composing the sides of
    the vault were carved some curious figures, which were probably
    magical runes. This gigantic Northman, who must have stood about
    eight feet high, was evidently, from his accoutrements, a person of
    considerable importance."

    The situation of Furness Abbey, in Bekan's Ghyll, justifies the
    choice of its first settlers. The approach from the north is such
    that the ruins are concealed by the windings of the glen, and the
    groves of forest trees which cover the banks and knolls with their
    varied foliage: but unluckily it has been thought necessary to
    disturb the solitude of the place by driving a railway through
    it, within a few feet of the ruins, and erecting a station upon
    the very site of the Abbot's Lodge. A commodious road from Dalton
    enters this vale, and crossing a small stream which glides along
    the side of a fine meadow, branches into a shaded lane which leads
    directly to the ruins of the sacred pile. The trees which shade
    the bottom of the lane on one side, spread their bending branches
    over an ancient Gothic arch, adorned with picturesque appendages
    of ivy. This is the principal entrance into the spacious enclosure
    which contains the Monastery. The building appertaining to it took
    up the whole breadth of the vale; and the rock from whence the
    stones were taken, in some parts made place for and overtopped
    the edifice. Hence it was so secreted, by the high grounds and
    eminences which surround it, as not to be discovered at any
    distance. The Western Tower must have originally been carried to
    a very considerable height, if we judge from its remains, which
    present a ponderous mass of walls, eleven feet in thickness,
    and sixty feet in elevation. These walls have been additionally
    strengthened with six staged buttresses, eight feet broad, and
    projecting nine feet and a half from the face of the wall; each
    stage of which has probably been ornamented like the lower one now
    remaining, with a canopied niche and pedestal. The interior of the
    tower, which measures twenty-four feet by nineteen feet, has been
    lighted by a fine graceful window of about thirty feet in height,
    by eleven and a half in width; the arch of which must have been
    beautifully proportioned. A series of grotesque heads, alternating
    with flowers, is introduced in the hollow of the jambs, and the
    label terminates in heads. On the right side of the window is a
    loophole, admitting light to a winding staircase in the south-west
    angle of the tower, by which its upper stories might be ascended,
    the entrance to the stairs being by a door, having a Tudor arch,
    placed in an angle of the interior. The stairs are yet passable,
    and the view from the top is worth the trouble of an ascent.

    The workmen employed by the late Lord G. Cavendish, state that
    the rubbish in this tower, accumulated by the fall of the
    superstructure, which filled up the interior to the window sill,
    was rendered so compact by its fall, so tenacious by the rains, and
    was composed of such strongly cemented materials, as to require
    blasting with gunpowder into manageable pieces for its removal.
    Prior to its clearance, it was the scene of some marvellous tales
    disseminated and credited by many, who alleged that this heap
    covered a vault to which the staircase led, containing the bells
    and treasure of the abbey, with the usual accompaniments of the
    White Lady, at whose appearance the lights were extinguished, the
    impenetrable iron-grated door, and the grim guardian genius. Though
    many essayed, none were known to have succeeded in the discovery
    of this concealed treasure house, much less of its contents. The
    inhabitants of the manor house, on one occasion, were roused
    from their slumbers by a noise proceeding from the ruins, and on
    hastening to the spot, discovered that it was made by some scholars
    from the neighbouring town of Dalton, digging among the ruins at
    midnight, in quest of the buried spoils.

    Within the inner enclosure, on the north side of the Church at St.
    Mary's Abbey in Furness, a few tombstones lie scattered about in
    what has formerly been a part of the cemetery. One of these bears
    the inscription, partly defaced,
      HIC JACET ANA F.. ... ......TI FLANDREN...,
    and commemorates one of the ancient family of Le Fleming.

    Michael Le Fleming, the first of the name, called also Flemengar,
    and in some old writings Flandrensis, was kinsman to Baldwin,
    Earl of Flanders, father-in-law to the Conqueror; by whom he was
    sent with some forces to assist William in his enterprise against

    After the Conquest was completed, and William was seated on the
    throne of England, the valiant Sir Michael, for his fidelity,
    and good services against the Saxons and Scots, received from
    his master many noble estates in Lancashire; Gleaston, and the
    manor of Aldingham, with other lands in Furness. William de
    Meschines also granted him Beckermet Castle, vulgarly at that time
    called Caernarvon Castle, with the several contiguous manors of
    Frizington, Rottington, Weddaker, and Arloghden, all in Cumberland.

    Sir Michael and his heirs first settled at Aldingham. By a singular
    accident, the time of which cannot now be ascertained, the sea
    swallowed up their seat at this place, with the village, leaving
    only the church at the east end of the town, and the mote at
    the west end, which serve to show what the extent of Aldingham
    has been. About the same time, it is supposed, the villages of
    Crimilton and Ross, which the first Sir Michael exchanged with
    the monks for Bardsea and Urswick, were also swallowed up. After
    this, they fixed their residence at Gleaston Castle; and it has
    been conjectured, from the nature of the building, that the castle
    was built on the occasion, and in such haste, as obliged them to
    substitute mud mortar instead of lime, in a site that abounds with
    limestone. Sir Michael, is said, to have also resided at Beckermet.

    The little knowledge that we are now able to gather of the first Le
    Fleming exhibits him in a very favourable light. He was undoubtedly
    a valiant man; and was acknowledged as such by his renowned master,
    when, with other Norman chiefs, he was dispatched into the north to
    oppose the Scots, and awe the partisans of Edwin and Morcar, two
    powerful Saxons who opposed themselves to the Conqueror for some
    time after the nation had submitted itself to the Norman yoke, and
    whose power William dreaded the most. His regard for the memory
    of his sovereign he expressed in the name conferred upon his son
    and heir, William. We have glimpses too that in his household
    there was harmony and kindness between him and his children.
    To the Abbey of Furness he was a great benefactor. There is an
    affecting earnestness in the language with which in the evening
    of his long life he declares in one of his charters--"In the name
    of the Father, &c. Be it known to all men present and to come,
    That I, Michael Le Fleming, consulting with God, and providing
    for the safety of my soul, and the souls of my father and mother,
    wife and children, in the year of our Lord 1153, give and grant to
    St. Mary of Furness, to the abbot of that place, and to all the
    convent there serving God, Fordeboc, with all its appurtenances,
    in perpetual alms; which alms I give free from all claims of any
    one, with quiet and free possession, as an oblation offered to
    God"--_saltim vespertinum_, he pathetically adds, in allusion to
    his great age--"at least an evening one." He adds, "signed by me
    with consent of William my son and heir, and with the consent of
    all my children. Signed by William my son, Gregory my grandson, and
    Hugh." Few gifts of this kind show greater domestic harmony. That
    Michael lived to a very advanced age is evident from this charter
    signed eighty-seven years after the Conquest; supposing him to be
    the same Michael Le Fleming who came over with the Conqueror. He
    was buried with his two sons within the walls of the Abbey Church.
    His arms, a fret, strongly expressed in stone over the second
    chapel in the northern aisle indicate the spot where he found a
    resting place; not the least worthy among the many of the nobility
    and gentry who in those days were interred within the sacred
    precincts of St. Mary's Abbey in Furness.

    The lands in Furness, belonging to Sir Michael, were excepted in
    the foundation charter of Stephen to the Abbey. This exception,
    and the circumstance of his living in Furness, occasioned his
    lands to be called Michael's lands, to distinguish them from the
    Abbey lands; and now they are called Muchlands, from a corruption
    of the word Michael. In like manner Urswick is called Much-Urswick
    for Michael's Urswick; and what was originally called the manor of
    Aldingham, is now called the manor of Muchland.

    From Baldwin's kinsman, the first Le Fleming, the founder of the
    family in England, two branches issued. William, the eldest son of
    Sir Michael, inherited Aldingham Castle and his Lancashire estates.
    His descendants, after carrying the name for a few generations,
    passed with their manors into the female line; and their blood
    mingling first with the de Cancefields, and successively with the
    baronial families of Harrington, de Bonville, and Grey, spent
    itself on the steps of the throne in the person of Henry Grey, King
    Edward the Sixth's Duke of Suffolk, who was beheaded by Queen Mary
    on the 23rd of February 1554. This nobleman being father to Lady
    Jane Grey, his too near alliance with the blood royal gave the
    occasion, and his supposed ambition of being father to a Queen of
    England was the cause of his violent death. By his attainder the
    manors of Muchland, the possessions of the le Flemings in Furness,
    were forfeited to the Crown.

    Richard le Fleming, second son of the first Sir Michael, having
    inherited the estates in Cumberland which William le Meschines had
    granted to his father for his military services, seated himself at
    Caernarvon Castle, Beckermet, in Copeland. After two descents his
    posterity, having acquired by marriage with the de Urswicks the
    manor of Coniston and other considerable possessions in Furness,
    returned to reside in that district. The Castle of Caernarvon
    was abandoned, then erased, and Coniston Hall became the family
    seat for seven descents. About the tenth year of Henry IV. Sir
    Thomas le Fleming married Isabella, one of the four daughters and
    co-heiresses of Sir John de Lancaster, and acquired with her the
    lordship and manor of Rydal. The manor of Coniston was settled upon
    the issue of this marriage; and for seven generations more Rydal
    and Coniston vied with each other which should hold the family
    seat, to fix it in Westmorland or Lancashire. Sir Daniel le Fleming
    came, and gave his decision against the latter, about the middle of
    the seventeenth century. Since that event, the hall of Coniston,
    pleasantly situated on the banks of the lake of that name, has been

    Singularly enough, the inheritance of this long line also has been
    broken in its passage through the house of Suffolk. Sir Michael,
    the 23rd in succession from Richard, married, in the latter part
    of the last century, Diana only child of Thomas Howard, 14th Earl
    of Suffolk and Berkshire, by whom he had one daughter, afterwards
    married to her cousin Daniel le Fleming, who succeeded her father
    in the title. This marriage being without issue, on the demise
    of Lady le Fleming, the estates passed under her will to Andrew
    Huddleston of Hutton-John, Esq., and at his decease, which occurred
    shortly after, in succession to General Hughes, who assumed the
    name of Fleming; both these gentlemen being near of kin to the
    family at Rydal. The title descended to the brother of Sir Daniel,
    the late Rev. Sir Richard le Fleming, Rector of Grasmere and
    Windermere; and from him to his son, the present Sir Michael, the
    twenty-sixth in succession from Richard, the second son of Michael,
    Flandrensis, _the_ Fleming, who came over with the Conqueror, and
    founded the family in England.

    In this family there have been since the Conquest twelve knights
    and seven baronets.

    The article _le_ is sometimes omitted in the family writings before
    the time of Edward IV., and again assumed. Sir William Fleming, who
    died in 1756, restored the ancient orthography, and incorporated
    the article _le_ with the family name at the baptism of his son and

    Rydal Hall suffered much from the parliamentary party: the le
    Flemings remaining Catholic to the reign of James II. For their
    adherence to the royal cause in the reign of Charles I., they
    were forced to submit to the most exorbitant demands of the
    Commissioners at Goldsmiths' Hall, in London (23 Car. 1) and pay a
    very great sum of money for their loyalty and allegiance. They were
    very obnoxious to Oliver Cromwell's sequestrators, and subjected to
    very high annual payments and compositions, for their attachment to
    regal government.


  Twelve sunken ships in Selker's Bay
    Rose up; and, righting soon,
  With mast and sail stretched far away
    Beneath the midnight moon.

  They sailed right out to Bethlehem;
    And soon they reached the shore.
  They steered right home from Bethlehem;
    And these the freights they bore.

  The first one bore the frankincense;
    The second bore the myrrh;
  The third the gifts and tribute pence
    The Eastern Kings did bear.

  The fourth ship bore a little palm
    Meet for an infant's hands;
  The fifth the spikenard and the balm;
    The sixth the swathing bands.

  The seventh ship bore without a speck,
    A mantle fair and clean;
  The eighth the shepherds on her deck
    With heavenward eyes serene.

  One bore the announcing Angel's song;
    One Simeon's glad record;
  And one the bright seraphic throng
    Whose tongues good tidings poured.

  And midst them all, one, favoured more,
    Whereon a couch was piled,
  The blessed Hebrew infant bore,
    On whom the Virgin smiled.

  They sailed right into Selker's Bay:
    And when the night was worn
  To dawning grey, far down they lay,
    Again that Christmas morn.

  But through the brushwood low and clear
    Came chimes and songs of glee,
  That Christmas morning, to my ear
    Beneath Kirk-sunken Tree.

  Not from the frosty air above,
    But from the ground below,
  Sweet voices carolled songs of love,
    And merry bells did go.

  From out a City great and fair
    The joyous life up-flow'd,
  Which once had breathed the living air,
    And on the earth abode.

  A City far beneath my feet
    By passing ages laid;
  Or buried while the busy street
    Its round of life convey'd.

  So to the ground I bent an ear,
    That heard, as from the grave,
  The blessed Feast-time of the year
    Tell out the joy it gave;

  The gladness of the Christmas morn.
    O fair Kirk-Sunken Tree!
  One day in every year's return
    Those sounds flow up by thee.

  They chime up to the living earth
    The joy of them below,
  At tidings of the Saviour's birth
    In Bethlehem long ago.


    In the parish of Bootle is a small inlet of the sea, called
    Selker's Bay, where the neighbouring people say, that in calm
    weather the sunken remains of several small vessels or galleys can
    be seen, which are traditionally stated to have been sunk and left
    there on some great invasion of the northern parts of this island,
    by the Romans, or the colonizing Northmen.

    Various circles of standing stones, or what are generally called
    Druidical remains, lie scattered about the vicinity of Black
    Combe near the sea shore: several indicating by their name the
    popular tradition associated with them, to which the inhabitants
    around attach implicit credence, the spot beneath which lie the
    ruins of a church that sank on a sudden, with the minister and
    all the congregation within its walls. Hence, they say, the name
    Kirk-Sank-ton, Kirk-Sunken, Kirk-Sinking, and Sunken Kirks.


  A Raven alighted on Kernal Rock
  Amid thunder's roar and earthquake's shock.
  O'er the tumbling crags he rolled his eye
  Round valley and lake, and hills and sky.
  'Twas a gloomy world. He settled his head
  Close into his shoulders and meekly said--
                            "Poor Raven!"

  The Raven on Kernal Crag grew old:
  A human voice up the valley rolled.
  Bel was worshipp'd on mountain brows:
  Men made huts of the forest boughs:
  And wrapt in skins in ambush lay
  At the base of his crag, and seized their prey.
                            An old Raven.

  The Raven sat in his purple cloke.
  A Roman column the silence broke.
  He had watched the eagles around him fly:
  He saw them perched on spears go by.
  The legions marched from hill to hill.
  He settled his feathers; and all was still--
                            Still was the Raven.

  The Raven was thinking, on Kernal Stone.
  The hammers of Thor he heard them groan:
  Regin, and Korni, and Lodinn, and Bor,
  Clearing the forests from fell to shore;
  With Odin's bird on their banner upraised.
  And he quietly said as he downward gazed--
                            "A Raven!"

  The Raven on Kernal was musing still.
  King Dunmail's hosts went up the hill,
  In the narrow Pass, to their final fall.
  With an iron gaze he followed them all;
  Till, piled the cairn of mighty stones,
  Was heaped the Raise o'er Dunmail's bones.
                            Ha! hungry Raven!

  The Raven on Kernal saw, in a trance,
  Knights with gorgeous banner and lance,
  Castles, and towers, and ladies fair.
  Music floating high on the air
  Reached his nest on Kernal's Steep,
  And broke the spell of his solemn sleep.
                            A lonely Raven.

  That Raven is sitting on Kernal Rock;
  Counting the lambs in a mountain flock.
  Pleasant their bleat is, pleasant to hear,
  Pleasant to think of; but shepherds are near.
  Cattle are calling below in the vale,
  Maidens singing a true-love tale.
                            List to them, Raven.

  That Raven will sit upon Kernal Rock
  Till the mountains reel in the world's last shock.
  Till the new things come to end like old,
  He will roll his eye, and his wings unfold,
  And settle again; and his solemn brow
  Draw close to his shoulders, and muse as now.
                            That Raven.


    Kernal Crag is a huge mass of solid rock, with a face of broken
    precipice, on the side of Coniston Old Man. In that unique and
    admirable Guide Book entitled "The Old Man; or Ravings and
    Ramblings round Conistone," it is said; "on this Crag, probably for
    ages, a pair of ravens have annually had their nest, and though
    their young have again and again been destroyed by the shepherds,
    they always return to this favourite spot; and frequently when
    one of the parents has been shot in the brooding season, the
    survivor has immediately been provided with another helpmate; and,
    what is still more extraordinary, and beautifully and literally
    illustrative of a certain impressive scripture passage--it happened
    a year or two since, that both the parent birds were shot, whilst
    the nest was full of unfledged young, and their duties were
    immediately undertaken by a couple of strange ravens, who attended
    assiduously to the wants of the orphan brood, until they were fit
    to forage for themselves."


  You yet in groves round Dilston Hall
  May hear the chiding cushat's call;
  Its true-love burden for the mate
  That lingers far and wanders late.

  But who in Dilston Hall shall gaze
  On all its twenty hearths ablaze;
  Its courteous hosts, its welcome free,
  And all its hospitality;

  The grace from courtly splendour, won
  By Royal Seine, that round it shone;
  Or feel again the pride or power
  Of Radcliffe's name in hall and bower;--

  As when the cause of exiled James
  Filled northern hearts with loyal flames,
  And summers wore their sweetest smile
  Round Dilston's Courts and Derwent's Isle;

  Ere Mar his standard wide unrolled,
  And tower to tower the rising told,
  And Southwards on the gathering came,
  All kindling at the Prince's name?--

  The glory and the pomp are shorn;
  The banners rent, the charters torn;
  The loved, the loving, dust alone;
  Their honours, titles carved in stone.

         *       *       *       *       *

  On Witches' Peak the winds were laid:
  Crept Glenderamakin mute in shade:
  El-Velin's old mysterious reign
  Hung stifling over field and plain.

  Around on all the hills afar
  Had died the sounds foreboding war.
  Only a dull and sullen roar
  Reached up the valley from Lodore.

  Through all the arches of the sky
  The Northern Lights streamed broad and high.
  Wide o'er the realm their shields of light
  Flung reddening tumults on the night.

  Then dalesmen hoar and matrons old
  Look'd out in fear from farm and fold:
  Look'd out o'er Derwent, mere and isle,
  On Skiddaw's mounds, Blencathra's pile.

  They saw the vast ensanguined scroll
  Across the stars the streamers roll:
  The Derwent stain'd with crimson dyes:
  And portents wandering through the skies.

  And prophet-like the bodings came--
  "The good Earl dies the death of fame;
  For him the Prince that came in vain,
  A King, to enjoy his own again."--

  The sightless crone cried from her bed--
  "'Tis blood that makes this midnight red.
  I dreamed the young Earl heavenward rode;
  His armour flashed, his standard glow'd."

  The fearful maiden trembling spoke--
  "The good Earl blessed me, and I woke.
  The white and red cockade he wore;
  He bade adieu for evermore."--

  Far show'd huge Walla's craggy wall
  The 'Lady's Kerchief' white and small,
  Dropt when, pursued like doe from brake,
  She scaled its rampart from the lake.

  "I served my Lady when a bride:
  I was her page:"--A stripling cried.
  "I served her well on bended knee,
  And many a smile she bent on me."--

  --"Upon this breast, but twenty years
  Are pass'd"--a matron spoke with tears--
  "I nursed her; and in all her ways,
  She was my constant theme of praise."--

  Like flaming swords, that round them threw
  Their radiance on the star-lit blue,
  Flash'd and re-flash'd with dazzling ray
  The splendours of that fiery fray.

  --"When spies and foes watch'd Dilston Hall,
  To seize him ere the trumpet-call"--
  A yeoman spake that loved him well--
  "I brought him mid our huts to dwell.

  "We shelter'd him in farm and bield,
  Till all was ready for the field,
  Till all the northern bands around
  Were arm'd, and for the battle bound.

  "Then came he forth, and if he stay'd
  A few short hours, and still delay'd,
  'Twas for those priceless treasures near,
  My lady and her children dear.

  "I heard reproaches at his side!
  --'Or take this jewelled fan'--she cried,
  With high-born scornful look and word--
  And I will bear the warrior's sword!'

  "He called, 'To horse!'--his dapple grey
  He welcomed forth, and rode away.
  The white and red unstained he wore:
  His heart was stainless evermore!"--

  And thus the night was filled with moan.
  And was the good Earl slain and gone?
  For him the Prince that came in vain,
  A King, to enjoy his own again.

  From Derwent's Island-Castle gate,
  In robe and coronet of state,
  A phantom on the vapours borne,
  Passed in the shadows of the morn.

  Pale hollow forms in suits of woe
  Appear'd like gleams to come and go.
  And wreathed in mists was seen to rest
  A 'scutcheon on Blencathra's breast.--

  Full soon the speeding tidings came.
  The Earl had died the death of fame,
  By axe and block, on bended knee,
  For true-love, faith, and loyalty.

  And still, when o'er the Isles return
  The Northern lights to blaze and burn;
  The vales and hills repeat the moan
  For him the good Earl slain and gone.


    Lord's Island, in Keswick Lake, is memorable as having been the
    home of James Radcliffe, third and last Earl of Derwentwater,
    whose life and great possessions were forfeited in 1716, in the
    attempt to restore the royal line of Stuart to the throne, and
    whose memory is affectionately cherished in the north of England.
    An eminence upon its shores, called Castle-Rigg, which overlooks
    the vale of Keswick, was formerly occupied by a Roman fort, and
    afterwards by the stronghold of the Norman lords, who were called,
    from the locality of this their chief residence, de Derwentwater.
    Their early history is wrapt in obscurity; but their inheritance
    comprised the greater part of the parish of Crosthwaite, in
    addition to possessions in other parts of Cumberland, and in other
    counties. These became vested in the Radcliffe family in the reign
    of Henry the Fifth, by the marriage of Margaret daughter and
    heiress of Sir John de Derwentwater, with Sir Nicholas Radcliffe,
    of lineage not less ancient than that of his wife, he being of
    Saxon origin, and of a family which derived its name from a
    village near Bury in Lancashire. In later time the Norman tower on
    Castle-Rigg was abandoned, and its materials are said to have been
    employed in building the house upon that one of the three wooded
    islands in the lake, which is called Lord's Island, and upon which
    the Radcliffe family had a residence. This island was originally
    part of a peninsula; but when the house was built, it was separated
    from the main land by a ditch or moat, over which there was a
    draw-bridge, and the approaches to this may still be seen. Of
    the house itself, little more than the moss-covered foundations
    remain. The stones, successively, of the Roman Castrum, of the
    Norman Tower, and of the lord's residence, are said to have been
    subsequently used in building the town-hall of Keswick.

    The estate of the Derwentwater family seems to have originally
    extended along the shores of the lake for nearly two miles, and
    for a mile eastward of the shore. On one side of it lies the
    present road from Keswick to Ambleside, on the other its boundary
    approached Lodore, whilst the crest of Walla Crag, divided it
    from the common. There, surrounded by a combination of grandeur
    and beauty which is almost unrivalled in this country, the
    Knightly ancestors of James Radcliffe, the third and last Earl of
    Derwentwater, whose virtues and whose fate have encircled his name
    with traditional veneration, had their paternal seat.

    This chivalrous and amiable young nobleman was closely allied by
    blood to the Prince Edward, afterwards called "the Pretender," in
    whose cause he fell a sacrifice; his mother, the Lady Mary Tudor,
    a natural daughter of King Charles II. and Mrs. Davis, being first
    cousin to the Prince. He was nearly the same age as the Prince,
    being one year younger: and in his early childhood was taken to
    France to be educated, when James the Second and his consort were
    living in exile at St. Germain's, surrounded, however, by the noble
    English, Scottish, and Irish emigrant royalists, who followed the
    fortunes of their dethroned monarch. The sympathies of his parents
    having also led them thither, the youthful heir of Derwentwater
    was brought up with the little Prince, at St. Germain's, sharing
    his infantine pleasures and pastimes, and occasionally joining his
    studies under his governess the Countess of Powis. A friendship
    thus formed in youth, nurtured by consanguinity, strengthened by
    ripening age, and cemented by the extraordinary good qualities of
    the young nobleman, and his power to win affection and esteem,
    culminated in that attachment and devotion to the cause of his
    Prince and friend, which terminated only with his life.

    The Earl appears to have visited Dilston, his ancestral home in
    Northumberland, for the first time in 1710, when he was in his
    twenty-first year; and in the spring of the same year he spent
    some time on the Isle of Derwent, where the ancient mansion of the
    Radcliffes was then standing. During a considerable portion of the
    two next succeeding years, his chief residence appears to have been
    at Dilston, where he lived in the constant exercise of hospitality,
    and in the practice of active benevolence towards not only the
    peasantry on his wide estates, but all who needed his assistance,
    whether known to him or not, and whether Papist or Protestant. He
    seems to have taken great delight in rural pursuits, and in the
    pleasures of the chase, and in the charms of nature by which he
    was surrounded.

    On the 10th of July 1712, when he had completed his 23rd year, he
    espoused Anna Maria, eldest daughter of Sir John Webb, of Canford,
    in the county of Dorset, Bart. His acquaintance with this charming
    young lady began in the early springtime of their lives, when
    both were receiving their education in the French capital. The
    lady had been placed in the convent of Ursuline Nuns in Paris for
    instruction: and they had frequent opportunities of seeing each
    other at the Chateau of St. Germain's, where the exiled monarch
    took pleasure in being surrounded by the scions of his noble
    English and Scottish adherents, who were then living at Paris.

    On the rising of the adherents of the house of Stuart under
    the Earl of Mar in August 1715, it was very well known to the
    government, that the Earl's religion, his affections, and
    sympathies, were all on the side of the exiled heir of that
    family, and that his influence in the north of England was not
    less than his constancy and devotion. A warrant was issued for the
    apprehension of the Earl and his brother, the government hoping
    by thus, as it were, gaining the move in the game, to prevent the
    exercise of the Earl's influence against King George. A friendly
    warning of the attentions which were being paid to him at Whitehall
    reached the Earl in time; and on hearing that the government
    messengers had arrived at Durham, on their way to arrest him and
    his brother, they withdrew from their home, and proceeded to the
    house of Sir Marmaduke Constable, where they stayed some days.
    The Earl afterwards took refuge in the home of a humble cottager
    near Newbiggin House, where he lay hidden some time. He remained
    in concealment through the latter part of August, and the whole of
    September. During this time of anxiety and surveillance, all the
    money, and even all the jewels of the Countess, are said by local
    tradition to have become exhausted: and to such straits was she
    reduced, that a silver medal of Pope Clement XI. struck in the 14th
    year of his Pontificate (1713), for want of money is said to have
    been given by her, when encompassed by the Earl's enemies, to a
    peasant girl, for selling poultry, or rendering some such trifling

    Early in October it was represented to the Earl that the adherents
    of the exiled Prince were ready to appear in arms, and to be only
    waiting for him and his brother to join them. It would appear
    that at this critical moment, the Earl, influenced by many
    considerations, personal and domestic, as well as prudential,
    wavered in his resolution; and tradition avers that, on stealthily
    revisiting Dilston Hall, his Countess reproached him for continuing
    to hide his head in hovels from the light of day, when the gentry
    were in arms for their rightful sovereign; and throwing down her
    fan before her lord, told him in cruel raillery to take it, and
    give his sword to her. Something of this feeling is attributed to
    her in the old ballad poem entitled "Lord Derwentwater's Farewell,"
    wherein the following lines are put into his mouth:--

      "Farewell, farewell, my lady dear:
        Ill, ill thou counselled'st me:
      I never more may see the babe
        That smiles upon thy knee."

    The popular notion that the Earl was driven into his fatal
    enterprise by the persuasions of his lady is evidently here
    referred to. But the amiable and gentle character of the Countess,
    that affectionate and devoted wife, whom the Earl in his latest
    moments declared to be all tenderness and virtue, and to have
    loved him constantly, is a sufficient refutation of the popular
    opinion, which does so much injustice to her memory. Nevertheless
    there is historical reason for believing that the Earl did suddenly
    decide on joining the Prince's friends, who were then in arms;
    and his lady's persuasions may have contributed to that fatal
    precipitation. On the 6th of October, the little force of horse
    and men, consisting of his own domestic levy, was assembled in the
    courtyard of his castle; arms were supplied to them; the Earl, his
    brother, and the company, crossed the Devil's Water at Nunsburgh
    Ford; and the fatal step was irrevocably taken. Old ladies of the
    last century used to tell of occurrences of evil omen which marked
    the departure of the devoted young nobleman from the home of his
    fathers, to which he was destined never to return; how on quitting
    the courtyard, his favourite dog howled lamentably; how his horse,
    the well-known white or dapple gray, associated with his figure
    in history and poetry, became restive, and could with difficulty
    be urged forward; and how he soon afterwards found that he had
    lost from his finger a highly prized ring, the gift of his revered
    grandmother, which he constantly wore.

    It is not necessary to dwell upon the details of this unfortunate
    and ill-conducted enterprise, in the course of which James III.
    was proclaimed in town and village, in Warkworth and Alnwick, in
    Penrith and Appleby, Kendal and Lancaster, to the final catastrophe
    of the little band at Preston. There, hemmed in by the government
    troops, the brave and devoted friends of the royal exiles, who
    had been led into this premature effort contrary to their better
    judgments, and went forth with a determined loyalty which good or
    bad report could not subdue, saw reason to regret, when too late,
    their misplaced confidence in their leaders. Already they saw
    themselves about to be sacrificed to the divided counsels of their
    comrades and the incapacity of Foster, their general. Defensive
    means imperfectly planned, and hastily carried out, enabled them
    to hold the approaches to the town for three or four days against
    the Brunswickers, whom they gallantly repulsed, in a determined
    attack upon their barricades. But overmatched by disciplined
    troops; out-generalled, and out-numbered; and finding resistance
    to be unavailing; on the morning of Monday the 14th of October
    they surrendered at discretion to the forces sent to oppose them.
    Being assembled in the market place to the number of 1700, they
    delivered up their arms, and became prisoners. The young Earl was
    sent to London, which he reached on the 9th of December, and was
    conducted to the Tower on the capital charge of high treason.
    Unavailing efforts were made by his wife and friends to save him.
    It appears that on the 20th of February his life was offered to him
    by two noblemen who came to him in the tower, in the name of the
    King, if he would acknowledge the title of George I. and conform to
    the Protestant religion: but these terms were refused by him. The
    offer of his life and fortune was repeated on the scaffold, but he
    answered that the terms "would be too dear a purchase." The means
    proposed to him, he looked upon as "inconsistent with honour and
    conscience, and therefore I rejected them." He went to the block
    with firmness and composure: and his behaviour was resolute and
    sedate. In an address which he delivered on the scaffold, he said
    "If that Prince who now governs had given me my life, I should have
    thought myself obliged never more to have taken up arms against
    him." And the axe closed, by a "violent and vengeful infliction,"
    the brief career of the beloved, devoted, and generous Earl of
    Derwentwater. He was twenty-seven years of age.

    Lady Derwentwater, who had been unceasing in her efforts to save
    her husband, and solaced him in his confinement by her society
    and tender care, after his death succeeded eventually in having
    his last request in the Tower fulfilled. She had his body borne
    to its last resting place in the peaceful chapel at Dilston to be
    interred with his ancestors. She made a short sojourn at Dilston
    before leaving it for ever; and then repaired with her little son
    and daughter to Canford, under the roof of her parents.

    Before leaving the North, the Countess visited the house and
    estates at Derwentwater; and while there her life seems to have
    been in some danger; for the rude peasantry of the neighbourhood,
    to whom her southern birth and foreign education, as well as the
    principles and attachments in which she was brought up, were
    doubtless uncongenial, blamed her, in the unreasoning vehemence
    of their grief, for the tragic fate of their beloved lord and
    benefactor. Accordingly, not far from the fall of Lodore, a hollow
    in the wild heights of Walla Crag is pointed out by the name of
    Lady's Rake,[5] in which the noble widow is said to have escaped
    from their vengeance. Her misfortunes needed not to be thus
    undeservedly augmented. A more pleasing version of the story of her
    flight is, that the Countess escaped through the Lady's Rake with
    the family jewels, when the officers of the crown took possession
    of the mansion on Lord's Island. No doubt this loving woman did her
    utmost for the release of her lord. And this steep and dangerous
    way has a human interest associated with it which has given a
    special hold upon the hearts of the Keswick people. In old times
    a large white stone in among the boulders used to be pointed out
    as the Lady's Pockethandkerchief, and that it still hung among the
    crags, where no one could get at it.

    In June, 1716, the Countess was living at Kensington Gravel Pits,
    near London: whence she soon afterwards went to Hatherhope; and
    subsequently made a brief sojourn under the roof of her parents at
    Canford Manor; after which she took up her residence at Louvaine.
    Here she died on the 30th of August, 1723, at the early age of
    thirty; having survived her noble husband little more than seven
    years; and was interred there in the Church of the English regular
    Canonesses of St. Augustine.

    The white or gray horse of the Earl is historical. Shortly before
    the rising, and when he was in danger of apprehension, the
    following short note was written by him:--

      "Dilston, July 27th, 1715.
      "Mr. Hunter,

    "As I know nobody is more ready to serve a friend than yourself,
    I desire the favour you will keep my gray horse for me, till we
    see what will be done relating to horses. I believe they will be
    troublesome, for it is said the D. of Ormond is gone from his
    house. God send us peace and good neighbourhood,--unknown blessings
    since I was born. Pray ride my horse about the fields, or any where
    you think he will not be known, and you will oblige, Sir, your
    humble servant,


    "He is at grass."

In the first sentence the reference is made to the jealous penal
regulation, which forbade a Roman Catholic to possess a noble animal of
height and qualities suited to military equipment.

From tradition preserved in the family of Mr. Hunter of Medomsley,
the person addressed, there is every reason to believe that the gray
horse mentioned in the above letter, was the identical steed which was
brought by the son of Mr. Hunter to Bywell, and taken thence by Lord
Derwentwater's servant to Hexham for his lordship's use; and upon which
the devoted Earl rode from Hexham, with the gallant champions of the
Prince's right, on the 19th of October following.

A man named Cuthbert Swinburn, then 90 years of age, who was born at
Upper Dilston, and whose family resided there for some generations,
related to a correspondent of W. S. Gibson, Esq., the author of Memoirs
of the Earl of Derwentwater, that he remembered the young Earl, and
saw him pass their house riding on a white horse, and accompanied by
several retainers, on the morning when he joined his neighbours in the
Prince's cause.

In a ballad relating to that fatal expedition it is said--

  "Lord Derwentwater rode away
  Well mounted on his dapple gray."

And in the touching verses well known as "Derwentwater's Farewell," his
"own gray steed" is one of the earthly objects of his regard to which
he is supposed to bid adieu.

Of the house on Lord's Island, itself, only some low walls now remain.
A few relics of the mansion are preserved in the neighbourhood. The
ponderous lock and key of the outer door, the former weighing eleven
pounds, are preserved in Crosthwaite's museum. The door itself, which
was of oak studded with knobs and rivets, was sold to a person named
Wilson, of Under Mozzer, a place thirteen miles from Keswick. A bell,
probably the dinner bell of the mansion, is in the town hall of
Keswick, and is of fine tone. A fine old carved chair is preserved in
the Radcliffe Room at Corby Castle, and known as "My Lady's Chair."
In Crosthwaite's museum is preserved another ancient one of oak,
which came from Lord Derwentwater's house, and has the Radcliffe arms
carved upon it. And a stately and most elaborately carved oak bedstead
which belonged to Lord Derwentwater was purchased at the sale of the
contents of his house on Lord's Island, by an ancestor of Mr. Wood, of
Cockermouth, in whose family it has remained, highly valued, ever since

Many articles of furniture, some family portraits, and other property,
that once belonged to Dilston Hall, still linger in the vicinity of
that place, where they are greatly treasured.

The Northumbrian and Cumbrian peasantry believed that miraculous
appearances marked the fatal day on which the Earl of Derwentwater was
beheaded. It was affirmed that the "Divel's Water" acquired a crimson
hue, as if his fair domains were sprinkled with the blood of their
gallant possessor; and that at night the sky glowed ominously with
ensanguined streams. "The red streamers of the north" are recorded
to have been seen for the first time in that part of England, on
the night of the fatal 24th of February, 1716; and in the meteor's
fiery hue, the astonished spectators beheld a dreadful omen of the
vengeance of heaven. The phenomenon has ever since been known as "Lord
Derwentwater's Lights." On the 18th of October, 1848, a magnificent
and very remarkable display of aurora borealis was witnessed in the
northern counties. The crimson streamers rose and spread from the
horizon in the form of an expanded fan, and the peasantry in Cumberland
and elsewhere said at the time, that nothing like that display had been
seen since the appearance of "Lord Derwentwater's Lights," in February,
1716, which may therefore be presumed to have been of a crimson or rosy


[5] This hollow, in the summit of Walla Crag, is visible from the road
below. Rake, the term applied in this country to openings in the hills
like this, is an old Norse word, signifying a journey or excursion. It
is now commonly applied to the scene of an excursion as the Lady's Rake
in Walla Crag, and the Scot's Rake at the head of Troutbeck, by which a
band of Scottish marauders is said to have descended upon the vale.


  High over Langdale, vale and hill,
    The swans had winged their annual way;
  By Brathay pools and Dungeon-Ghyll
    The lambs as now were wild at play;
  The mighty monarchs of the vale,
    Twins in their grandeur, towered on high;
  And brawling brooks to many a tale
    Of lowly life and love went by.

  There cheerful on the lonely wild
    One happy bower through shine and storm,
  Amidst the mountains round it piled,
    Preserved its hearth-stone bright and warm;
  Where now a mother and her boy
    Stood parting in one fond embrace;
  The shadow of their faded joy,
    Between them, darkening either face.

  "I'll think, when that great city's folds
    Enclose me like a restless sea,
  Of all this northern valley holds
    In its warm cottage walls for me.
  I'll think amidst its ceaseless roar,
    Within these little bounds how blest
  Was here our life, and long the more
    For that far-off return and rest."--

  Forth sped the youth: the valley closed
    Behind him: adamantine hills,
  Like giants round the gates reposed
    Of his lost Eden, frowned; the rills
  With fainter murmurs far away
    Died in the distance; and at length
  He stood amidst the proud array
    Of London in his youth and strength.

  He came when mid the moving life
    The Terror and the Plague went by.
  He walked where Panic fled the strife
    Of Strength with Death the Shadow nigh.
  The shaft that flew unseen by night,
    The deadly plague-breath, striking down
  Thousands on thousands in its flight,
    Made soon the widow's boy its own.

  Ah! woe for her! in that far vale
    The sorrow reached her; for there came
  Dread tidings and the mournful tale,
    Dear relics and the fatal Name.
  All in the brightness of the noon
    She bent above those relics dear;
  And ere the glimmering of the moon
    The Shadow from his side was near.

  And forth from out her home there stalked
    The Terror with the name so dread;
  It pass'd the dalesman as he walked;
    It dogg'd the lonely shepherd's tread;
  It breathed into the farms; it smote
    The homesteads on the loneliest moor;
  And shuddering Nature cowered remote;
    All fled the plague-struck widow's door.

  Alone, in all the vale profound:
    Alone, on Lingmoor's mosses wide:
  Alone, with all the hills around
    From Langdale head to Loughrigg's side;
  Alone, beneath the cloud of night,
    The morning's mist, the evening's ray;
  The hearthstone cold, and quenched its light;
    The Shadow wrestled with its prey.

  And day by day, while went and came
    The sunlight in the cheerless vale,
  Her hearth no more its wonted flame
    Renewed, the opening morns to hail:
  Glow'd not, though beating blasts and rain
    Drove in beneath her mournful eaves,
  Through Springs that brought the buds again,
    And Autumns strew'd with fading leaves.

  No human foot its timorous falls
    Led near it, venturing to unfold
  The scene within those mouldering walls,
    The mystery in that lonely hold.
  Nor on that mountain side did morn
    Or noon show how, or where, for rest
  That Earth to kindlier earth was borne--
    The kinless to the kindred breast.

  Only the huntsman on the height,
    The herdsman on the mountain way,
  Looked sometimes on the far-off site
    How desolate and lone it lay.
  Till when the years had rolled, their eyes
    Saw wondering, where that home decay'd,
  A little plot of green arise
    Contiguous to the ruined shade.

  A little grove of half a score
    Of laurels, intertwining round
  One nameless centre, blossomed o'er
    That homestead's desolated bound;
  And where their leaves hang green above--
    A lowly circling fence of stone
  Sprang, reared by Powers that build to Love
    When man, too weak, forsakes his own.

  And there where all lies wild and bare--
    Where mountains rise and waters flow,
  From Langdale's summits high in air,
    To Brathay pools that sleep below--
  A green that never fades, one grove
    Of brightest laurels rears its boughs;
  While o'er that home's foundations rove
    The wild cats, and the asses browse.

  There, if the song birds come, their notes
    Are hushed, that nowhere else are still:
  And when the winds pipe loud, and floats
    The mist-cloud down from Dungeon-Ghyll,
  Again the cottage-eaves arise
    Within it, as of old, serene,--
  Its lights shine forth, its smoke up flies,
    And fades the grove of laurels green.

  But dimly falls the gleam of morn
    Around it; on the ferns the shade
  Of evening leaves a look forlorn
    That elsewhere Nature has not laid.
  So, lonely on its height, so, drear,
    It stands, while seasons wax and fail,
  Unchanged amid the changing year,
    The voiceless mystery of the vale.


    There seems to have been a long hereditary emulation among the
    inhabitants of these districts to raise their sons beyond the
    situation of their birth; a laudable practice, but one which
    until recent times was clouded by a comparative neglect of their
    daughters, whose education at the best was very indifferent. Hence
    many of these youths have risen to be respectable merchants, whose
    early circumstances compelled them to toil for their daily bread,
    and to be educated in night schools taught during the winter by a
    village schoolmaster, a parish clerk, or some industrious mechanic.
    Dr. Todd states, that in his time it was reported that Sir Richard
    Whittington, knight, thrice Lord Mayor of London, was born of
    poor parents in the parish of Great Salkeld, in East Cumberland;
    that he built the church and tower from the foundation; and that
    he intended to present three large bells to the parish, which by
    some mischance stopped at Kirkby-Stephen on their way to Salkeld.
    And a similar tradition is yet current in the neighbourhood. Less
    apocryphal, perhaps, is the instance of Richard Bateman, a native
    of the township of Staveley, near Windermere; who, being a clever
    lad, was sent by the inhabitants to London, and there by his
    diligence and industry raised himself from a very humble situation
    in his master's house to be a partner in his business, and amassed
    a considerable fortune. For some years he resided at Leghorn; but
    his end was tragical. It is said, that in his voyage to England,
    the captain of the vessel in which he was sailing, poisoned him
    and seized the ship and cargo. The pretty little Chapel of Ings,
    in the vicinity where he was born, was erected at his expense, and
    the slabs of marble with which it is floored were sent by him from
    Leghorn. Hodgson states, that he gave twelve pounds a year to the
    Chapel, and a thousand pounds more to be applied in purchasing an
    estate, and building eight cottages in the Chapelry for the use of
    its poor.

    In Westmorland and Cumberland, thanks to the piety and local
    attachments of our ancestors, endowed, or, as they are more
    commonly called, free, schools abound. Grammar schools were
    established on the verge of, and even within, the lake district,
    prior to the dissolution of monasteries. From these institutions
    a host of learned and valuable men were distributed over England;
    many of them rose to great eminence in the literary world; and
    contributed to the establishment of Schools in the villages
    where they were born. Before the conclusion of the 17th century,
    seminaries of this kind were commenced in every parish, and in
    almost every considerable village; and education to learned
    professions, especially to the pulpit, continued the favourite
    method of the yeomanry of bringing up their younger sons, till
    about the year 1760, when commerce became the high road to wealth,
    and Greek and Latin began reluctantly, and by slow gradation, to
    give way to an education consisting chiefly in reading, writing,
    and arithmetic. Many of this new species of scholars were annually
    taken into the employment of merchants and bankers in London, and
    several of them into the Excise. The clergyman generally found
    preferment at a distance from home, where he settled and died; but
    the merchant brought his riches and new manners and habits among
    his kindred.

    The predilection for ancient literature and the learned
    professions seems to have been a kind of instinctive propensity
    among the people of these secluded vales. In the grammar schools
    the discipline was severe, and the instruction imparted was
    respectable. In addition to the endowment, the master's industry
    was usually rewarded at Shrovetide with a gift in money or
    provisions, proportioned to his desert, and the circumstances of
    the donor. This present was called Cock-penny, a name derived from
    the master being obliged by ancient usage and the "barring-out"
    rules, to give the boys a prize to fight cocks for; which
    cock-fighting was held either at Shrovetide or Easter. Indeed this
    custom seems to have originated in the care which was taken to
    instil into youth a martial and enterprising spirit. This appears
    from the founders, in many of the schools, having made half of the
    master's salary to depend on the cock-pennies; and if the master
    refused to give the customary prize, the scholars withheld the
    present. The vacations were at Christmas and Pentecost, for about a
    fortnight; and all red-letter days were half-holidays. But between
    the former seasons the Barring-out occurred; which consisted in the
    boys taking possession of the schoolroom early in the morning,
    and refusing the master admittance until he had signed certain
    rules for the regulation of the holidays, and a general pardon for
    all past offences, demanding a bondsman to the instrument. Then
    followed a feast and a day of idleness.

    The youths of a neighbourhood, rich and poor, were all educated
    together; a circumstance which diffused and kept alive a plain
    familiarity of intercourse among all ranks of people, which
    inspired the lowest with independence of sentiment, and infused
    no insolent or unreal consequence into the wealthy. Thus it was
    no unusual thing for the yeoman and the shepherd to enliven their
    employments or festivities with recitations from the bucolics of
    Virgil, the idyls of Theocrites, or the wars of Troy. A story is
    told of the late Mr. John Gunson, a worthy miller, who formerly
    kept the Plough Inn, a small public-house near the Church at Ulpha.
    Two or three young fellows from a neighbouring town, or, as some
    say, a party of students from St. Bees School, being out on a
    holiday excursion, called at John's, and after regaling themselves
    with his ale, and indulging in a good deal of quizzing and banter
    at the landlord's expense, demanded their bill. John in his homely
    country dialect, said, "Nay, we niver mak' any bills here, ye hev
    so much to pay"--mentioning the sum. "O," replied one of the wags,
    "you cannot write: that is the cause of your excuse." John, who had
    quietly suffered them to proceed in their remarks, retired, and
    in a short time brought them in a bill written out in the Hebrew
    language, which it need scarcely be said quite puzzled them. He
    then sent them one in Greek, and afterwards in Latin, neither of
    which they could make out. They then begged that he would tell
    them in plain English what they had to pay. John laughed heartily
    at their ignorance, which on this occasion shone as conspicuous as
    their impertinence to their learned and unassuming host.

    If such was the level upon which the yeomanry stood in an
    educational sense, their favourite plan of bringing up their
    younger sons to the learned professions, and especially the pulpit,
    may account for a saying which is almost proverbial in Cumberland,
    "Owt 'll mak' a parson!" meaning thereby that if one of their
    sons proved more stupid than another, the church was the proper
    destination for him.

    In the more secluded valleys the scholars were taught in the
    church; the curate, who was also schoolmaster, sitting within the
    communion rails, and using the table as a desk, while the children
    occupied the pews or the open space beside him.

    In the parish register of the last named chapelry is a notice, that
    a youth who had quitted the valley, and died in one of the towns
    on the coast of Cumberland, had requested that his body should be
    brought and interred at the foot of the pillar by which he had been
    accustomed to sit while a school-boy.

    Teachers of writing and arithmetic also wandered from village to
    village, being remunerated by a whittle gate. The churches and
    chapels have mostly a little school-house adjoining. In some places
    the school-house was a sort of antichapel to the place of worship,
    being under the same roof, an arrangement which was abandoned as
    irreverent. It continues however to this day in Borrowdale and some
    other chapelries.

    Superstitious fears were sometimes entertained lest a boy should
    _learn too far_. It was usual to consider all schoolmasters as
    _wise men_ or conjurors. Wise men were such as had spent their
    lives in the pursuit of science, and had _learned too much_.
    For conjuration was supposed to be a science which as naturally
    followed other parts of learning as compound addition followed
    simple addition. The wise man possessed wonderful power. He could
    recover stolen goods, either by fetching back the articles,
    showing the thief in a black mirror, or making him walk round the
    cross on a market day, with the stolen goods on his shoulders.
    The last, however, he could not do, if the culprit wore a piece
    of _green sod_ upon his head. When any person applied to the
    wise man for information, it was necessary for him to reach home
    before midnight, as a storm was the certain consequence of the
    application, and the applicant ran great risk of being tormented
    by the devil all the way home. The wise men were supposed to have
    made a compact with the devil, that he was to serve them for a
    certain number of years, and then have them, body and soul, after
    death. They were compelled to give the devil some living animal
    whenever he called upon them, as a pledge that they intended to
    give themselves at last. Instances are recorded of boys, in the
    master's absence, having got to his books, and raised the devil.
    The difficulty was to lay him again. He must be kept employed,
    or have one of the boys for the trouble given to him. The broken
    flag through which he rose is no doubt shown to this day. Such
    superstitions are not so completely exploded in the country, but
    that many equally improbable tales are told and believed.

    The old register-book of the parish of Penrith, which appears to
    have been commenced about the year 1599, contains some entries
    of an earlier date, which have been either copied from a former
    register, or inserted from memory. The following entries occur:--

    "Liber Registerii de Penrith scriptus in anno dni 1599 anno regni
    regine Elizabethe 41.

    Proper nots worth keeping as followethe.

    Floden feild was in anno dni 15....

    Comotion in these north parts 1536.

    St. George day dyd fall on good friday.

    Queene Elizabethe begene her rainge 1558.

    Plague was in Penrith and Kendal 1554.

    Sollome Mose was in the yere....

    Rebellion in the North Partes by the two earls of Northumberland &
    Westmorland & leonard Dacres in the year of our lord god 1569 & the
    9th day of November.

    A sore plague was in London, notinghome Derbie & lincolne in the
    year 1593.

    A sore plague in new castle, durrome & Dernton in the year of our
    lord god 1597.

    A sore plague in Richmond Kendal Penrith Carliell Apulbie and other
    places in Westmorland and Cumberland in the year of our lord god
    1598 of this plague there dyed at Kendal"--a few words more, now
    very indistinct, follow, and the remainder of the page is cut or
    torn off.

    Several records of the ravages committed by the plague in
    Cumberland and Westmorland are preserved in the more populous
    parts. The following inscription on the wall in Penrith Church is

      Ex gravi peste quæ regionibus hisce
      incubuit, obierunt apud
      Penrith 2260
      Kendal 2500
      Richmond 2200
      Carlisle 1196
      Avertite vos et vivite
      Ezek. 18th ---- 32 ----

    From the Register it appears that William Wallis was vicar at the
    time; the following entries noting the beginning and end of the
    calamity are interesting:--

    "1597. 22d of September, Andrew Hodgson, a foreigner, was buried."

    "Here begonne the plague (God's punismet in Perith.)"

    "All those that are noted with the ltre P. dyed of the infection;
    and those noted with F. were buried on the Fell."

    "December 13th, 1598, Here ended the visitation."

    The fear of infection prevented the continuance of the usual
    markets; and places without the town were appointed for purchasing
    the provisions brought by the country people.

    The Church register in the neighbouring parish of Edenhall takes
    notice of 42 persons dying in the same year, of the plague, in that

    Some centuries previous to this, in 1380, when the Scots made an
    inroad into Cumberland, under the Earl of Douglas, Penrith was
    suffering from a visitation of the same nature; they surprised the
    place at the time of a fair, and returned with immense booty; but
    they introduced into their country the plague contracted in this
    town, which swept away one-third of the inhabitants of Scotland.

    It is not at all likely that these calamitous visitations were
    confined to the towns and villages. Although few traces may be
    found of this frightful disease having invaded the more remote and
    scattered population of the dales. Records of isolated cases might
    easily be lost in the course of ages; and, as mere memorials of
    domestic affliction, were not likely to be preserved in families.
    Yet tradition has its utterances where purer history fails. On the
    side of Lingmoor in Great Langdale, a small stone-fenced enclosure,
    a few feet across, of green and shining laurels, indicates a spot
    which the pestilence had reached. This bright circular patch of
    evergreens is very conspicuous amid the ferns, from the heights
    on the opposite side of the valley. On a near approach, the
    foundations of what appear to be the remains of an ancient dwelling
    may be traced at a little distance from it. Still more distant are
    the ruins of one or two deserted cottages, where the sheep pasture
    along the base of the mountain. What has been gathered from the
    dalespeople about the laurels, so singular in such a spot, is, that
    in the time of the great plague in England a woman and her son
    occupied a cottage near the place. The youth went from this remote
    district, in the spirit of enterprise, to push his fortunes in
    London, was smitten by the pestilence, and died. After a time some
    clothes and other things belonging to him were sent to his home
    among the hills, infected the mother, and spread terror throughout
    the neighbourhood. The woman having fallen a victim to the disease,
    so great was the dread of the pestilence that the ordinary rites
    of burial could not be obtained for her. The body could not be
    borne for interment in consecrated ground. It mouldered away, it
    is supposed, on the spot which to this day is marked by the little
    enclosure of evergreens, a memorial of the fearful visitation in
    the lonely dale.

    One of the most pleasing characteristics of manners in secluded
    and thinly-peopled districts, is a sense of the degree in which
    human happiness and comfort are dependent on the contingency of
    neighbourhood. This is implied by a rhyming adage common here,
    "_Friends are far, when neighbours are nar_" (near). This mutual
    helpfulness is not confined to out-of-doors work; but is ready
    upon all occasions. Formerly, if a person became sick, especially
    the mistress of a family, it was usual for those of the neighbours
    who were more particularly connected with the party by amicable
    offices, to visit the house, carrying a present; this practice,
    which is by no means obsolete, is called _owning_ the family,
    and is regarded as a pledge of a disposition to be otherwise
    serviceable in a time of disability and distress.


  The morn was fresh; and ere we won
  The famous Valley of Saint John,
  For many a rood our thoughts had plann'd
  The scenery of that magic land.
  We pictured bowers where ladies fair
  Had breathed of old enchanted air;
  Groves where Sir Knights had uttered vows
  To Genii through the silvery boughs;
  Piles of the pride of ages gone
  Cleft between night and morning's sun,
  Or veiled by mighty Merlin's power;
  And her, too, Britain's peerless flower--
  Her, chained in slumbering beauty fast
  While generations rose and pass'd,
  Gyneth 'mid the Wizard's dens,
  King Arthur's child and Guendolen's!
  So, led by many a wandering gleam
  From youth and poetry's sweet dream,
  We climbed the old created hills,
  And cross'd the everlasting rills,
  Which lay between us and the unwon
  But glorious Valley of Saint John.

  The morn was fresh, and bright the sun
  Burst o'er the drowsy mountains dun.
  A moment's pause for strength renewed,
  And we our pleasant march pursued.
  Blythely we scaled the steep, surpass'd
  By steeps each loftier than the last;
  O'er rocks and heaths and wilds we follow
  The vapoury path from height to hollow;
  And through the winding vale below,
  Where yellowing fields with plenty glow;
  And, scattered wide and far between,
  Lay white-walled farms and orchards green;
  The hedge-rows with their verdure crowned
  Hemming the little plots of ground;
  The happy kine for pastures lowing;
  The rivulets through the meadows flowing;
  The sunshine glittering on the slopes;
  The white lambs on the mountain tops;
  No vision and no gleam to call
  Enchantment from her airy hall;
  But beauty through all seasons won
  From Nature and her parent sun,
  There brightening as through ages gone,
  Lay round us as our hearts sped on
  To reach the Valley of Saint John.

  The noon was past; the sun's bright ray
  Sloped slowly down his westering way
  With mellower light; the sobering gleams
  Touched Glenderamakin's farthest streams;
  Flung all the richness of their charms
  Round lonely Threlkeld's wastes and farms:
  And high beyond fired with their glow
  Blencathra's steep and lofty brow;
  When suddenly--as if by power
  Of Magic wrought in that bright hour--
  Shone out, with all the circumstance
  And splendour of restored Romance,
  Southwards afar behind us spread,
  With its grey fortress at its head,
  The Valley, spell-bound as of old,
  In all its mingling green and gold;
  In all the glory of the time
  When Uther's son was in his prime,
  And chivalry ranged every clime;
  And peaceful as when Gyneth, kept
  In Merlin's halls, beneath it slept.
  There had we roamed the live-long day
  Saint John's fair fields and winding way,
  With hearts unconsciously beguiled
  By witcheries and enchantment wild!
  And not till steps that toiled no more
  It's utmost bound had vanish'd o'er,
  Knew youth's wild thought our hearts had won,
  And thrid the Valley of Saint John.


    Near the village of Threlkeld, the road from Keswick to Penrith,
    branching off on the right, discloses obliquely to the view, the
    Vale of St. John. The well known description of this beautiful
    dell by Mr. Hutchinson, who visited it in the year 1773, conferred
    upon it a reputation which was greatly increased when the genius
    of Scott made it the scene of his tale of enchantment "The Bridal
    of Triermain." The interest which it derives from its traditional
    connection with the wiles of Merlin, whose magic fortress continues
    to attract and elude the gaze of the traveller, is well given in
    the words of the former writer.

    "We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a very narrow
    dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a small brook makes
    many meanderings, washing little enclosures of grass ground,
    which stretch up the risings of the hills. In the widest part of
    the dale you are struck with the appearance of an ancient ruined
    castle, which seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount,
    the mountains around forming an amphitheatre. This massive bulwark
    shews a front of various towers, and makes an awful, rude, and
    Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and rugged battlements:
    we traced the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The
    greatest antiquity stands characterized in its architecture; the
    inhabitants near it assert it is an antidiluvian structure.

    "The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he prepares to make a
    nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the rack, by his
    being assured that, if he advances, certain genii, who govern
    the place, by virtue of their supernatural arts and necromancy
    will strip it of all its beauties, and by enchantment transform
    the magic walls. The vale seems adapted for the habitation of
    such beings; its gloomy recesses and retirements look like the
    haunts of evil spirits. There was no delusion in the report; we
    were soon convinced of its truth; for this piece of antiquity, so
    venerable and noble in its aspect, as we drew near, changed its
    figure, and proved no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks,
    which stand in the midst of this little vale, disunited from the
    adjoining mountains, and have so much the real form and resemblance
    of a castle, that they bear the name of _The Castle Rocks of St.

    The more familiar appellation of this rocky pile among the dalesmen
    is _Green Crag_. The approach into the valley from Threlkeld
    displays it in the most poetical point of view, and under some
    states of atmosphere it requires no stretch of the imagination to
    transform its grey perpendicular masses into an impregnable castle,
    whose walls and turrets waving with ivy and other parasitical
    plants, form the prison of the immortal Merlin.

    Other atmospheric effects, which occasionally occur in this
    District, have been alluded to elsewhere in these notes; as the
    aerial armies seen on Souter Fell, and the Helm Cloud and Bar, with
    their accompanying wind, generated upon Cross Fell.

    Phenomena of a singular character, which may be ascribed to
    reflections from pure and still water in the lakes, have also
    attracted observation. Mr. Wordsworth has described two of which
    he was an eye-witness. "Walking by the side of Ulswater," says he,
    "upon a calm September morning, I saw deep within the bosom of the
    lake, a magnificent Castle, with towers and battlements; nothing
    could be more distinct than the whole edifice;--after gazing with
    delight upon it for some time, as upon a work of enchantment,
    I could not but regret that my previous knowledge of the place
    enabled me to account for the appearance. It was in fact the
    reflection of a pleasure house called Lyulph's Tower--the towers
    and battlements magnified and so much changed in shape as not to be
    immediately recognised. In the meanwhile, the pleasure house itself
    was altogether hidden from my view by a body of vapour stretching
    over it and along the hill-side on which it extends, but not so as
    to have intercepted its communication with the lake; and hence this
    novel and most impressive object, which, if I had been a stranger
    to the spot, would, from its being inexplicable, have long detained
    the mind in a state of pleasing astonishment. Appearances of this
    kind, acting upon the credulity of early ages, may have given birth
    to, and favoured the belief in, stories of sub-aqueous palaces,
    gardens, and pleasure-grounds--the brilliant ornaments of Romance.

    "With this inverted scene," he continues, "I will couple a much
    more extraordinary phenomenon, which will shew how other elegant
    fancies may have had their origin, less in invention than in the
    actual process of nature.

    "About eleven o'clock on the forenoon of a winter's day, coming
    suddenly, in company of a friend, into view of the Lake of
    Grasmere, we were alarmed by the sight of a newly created Island;
    the transitory thought of the moment was, that it had been produced
    by an earthquake or some convulsion of nature. Recovering from the
    alarm, which was greater than the reader can possibly sympathize
    with, but which was shared to its full extent by my companion,
    we proceeded to examine the object before us. The elevation of
    this new island exceeded considerably that of the old one, its
    neighbour; it was likewise larger in circumference, comprehending a
    space of about five acres; its surface rocky, speckled with snow,
    and sprinkled over with birch trees; it was divided towards the
    south from the other island by a firth, and in like manner from the
    northern shore of the lake; on the east and west it was separated
    from the shore by a much larger space of smooth water.

    "Marvellous was the illusion! comparing the new with the old
    Island, the surface of which is soft, green, and unvaried, I do
    not scruple to say that, as an object of sight, it was much the
    more distinct. 'How little faith,' we exclaimed, 'is due to one
    sense, unless its evidence be confirmed by some of its fellows!
    What stranger could possibly be persuaded that this, which we know
    to be an unsubstantial mockery, is _really_ so; and that there
    exists only a single Island on this beautiful Lake?' At length
    the appearance underwent a gradual transmutation; it lost its
    prominence and passed into a glimmering and dim _inversion_, and
    then totally disappeared;--leaving behind it a clear open area of
    ice of the same dimensions. We now perceived that this bed of ice,
    which was thinly suffused with water, had produced the illusion, by
    reflecting and refracting (as persons skilled in optics would no
    doubt easily explain,) a rocky and woody section of the opposite
    mountain named Silver-how."

    Southey describes a scene that he had witnessed on Derwent Lake,
    as "a sight more dreamy and wonderful than any scenery that fancy
    ever yet devised for Faery-land. We had walked down," he writes,
    "to the lake side, it was a delightful day, the sun shining, and
    a few white clouds hanging motionless in the sky. The opposite
    shore of Derwentwater consists of one long mountain, which suddenly
    terminates in an arch, thus [arch symbol], and through that
    opening you see a long valley between mountains, and bounded by
    mountain beyond mountain; to the right of the arch the heights
    are more varied and of greater elevation. Now, as there was not a
    breath of air stirring, the surface of the lake was so perfectly
    still, that it became one great mirror, and all its waters
    disappeared; the whole line of shore was represented as vividly
    and steadily as it existed in its actual being--the arch, the vale
    within, the single houses far within the vale, the smoke from the
    chimneys, the farthest hills, and the shadow and substance joined
    at their bases so indivisibly, that you could make no separation
    even in your judgment. As I stood on the shore, heaven and the
    clouds seemed lying under me; I was looking down into the sky, and
    the whole range of mountains, having the line of summits under my
    feet, and another above me, seemed to be suspended between the
    firmaments. Shut your eyes and dream of a scene so unnatural and so
    beautiful. What I have said is most strictly and scrupulously true;
    but it was one of those happy moments that can seldom occur, for
    the least breath stirring would have shaken the whole vision, and
    at once unrealised it. I have before seen a partial appearance, but
    never before did, and perhaps never again may, lose sight of the
    lake entirely; for it literally seemed like an abyss of sky before
    me, not fog and clouds from a mountain, but the blue heaven spotted
    with a few fleecy pillows of cloud, that looked placed there for
    angels to rest upon them."


  The martial Musgraves sheathed the sword,
    And held in peace sweet Edenhall.
  For never that house or that house's lord
    May evil luck or mischance befal,
  While their crystal chalice can soundly ring,
  Or sparkle brim-full at St. Cuthbert's spring.

  Rude warlike men were the race of old:
    And seldom with priest of holy rood
  Or penance discoursed their knights so bold,
    Who won them the Forest of Inglewood.
  For better lov'd they to grasp the spear,
  Than beads to count or masses to hear.

  There came a bright Lady from over the sea,
    Once to look on their youthful heir.
  Saintly and like a spirit was she;
    And sweetest words did her tongue declare;
  When filling a beautiful glass to the brim
  At St. Cuthbert's Well, she gave it to him.

  Radiant and rare--from her garment's hem
    To her shining forehead, all dazzling o'er,
  As of crystal and gold and enamel the gem
    Of sparkling light from the fount she bore--
  Her snow-white fingers unringed she spread
  On the gallant young Musgrave's lordly head.

  With his ruby lips he touch'd the glass,
    And quaff'd off the crystal draught within.
  "From thee and from thine if ever shall pass
    The pledge of this hour, shall their doom begin.
  Whenever that cup shall break or fall,
  Farewell the luck of Edenhall!"

  While marvelling much at so fair a sight,
    And wooing a vision so sweet to stay,
  Like a vanishing dream of the closing night
    Within the dark Forest she pass'd away;
  And left him musing, with senses dim,
  On the gifts the bright chalice had brought to him.

  He clasped it close, and he turn'd it o'er;
    Within and without its form survey'd;
  Till the deeds and thoughts of his sires of yore
    Seem'd to him like rust on a goodly blade.
  And the more the glass in his hands he turned,
  The more for a nobler life he yearned.

  And there on the verge of the Forest, where stood
    The Hall for ages, he vow'd to be
  The servant of Him who died on the Rood,
    And lay in the Tomb of Arimathee;
  And to drink of that cup at the Holy Well.
  So wrought within him the Lady's spell.

  And down the twilight came on his thought;
    And sleep fell on him beneath the trees;
  When an errand for water the butler brought
    To the spot, where around the slumberer's knees
  The envious fairies, a glittering band,
  Were loosing the cup from his slackening hand.

  He scared them forth: and in fierce despite
    They mocked, and mowed, and sang in his ear,--
  "See you yon horsemen along the height?
    They had harried the Hall had'st thou not come near.
  Whenever that cup shall break or fall,
  Farewell the luck of Edenhall."

  And the martial lords of Edenhall
    They kept their cup with enamel and gold
  Where never the goblet could break or fall,
    Or fail its measure of luck to hold;
  That birth or bridal, beneath its sway,
  Might never befal on an evil day;

  And land and lordship stretching wide,
    And honour and worship might still be theirs;
  As long as that cup, preserved with pride,
    Should be honoured and prized by Musgrave's heirs:
  The goblet the Lady from over the wave
  To their sire in the Forest of Inglewood gave.

  It has sparkled high o'er the cradled babe:
    It has pledged the bride on her nuptial day:
  It has bless'd their lips at life's last ebb,
    With its sacred juice to cleanse the clay.
  For the touch the bright Lady left on its brim
  Can give light to the soul when all else is dim.

  Long prosper the luck of that noble line.
    May never the Musgrave's name decay.
  And to crown their board, when the goblets shine,
    May the crystal chalice be found alway!
  For Whenever that cup shall break or fall,
  Farewell the luck of Edenhall!


    The curious ancient drinking glass, called the Luck of Edenhall,
    on the preservation of which, according to popular superstition,
    the prosperity of the Musgrave family depends, is well known from
    the humourous parody on the old ballad of Chevy Chase, commonly
    attributed to the Duke of Wharton, but in reality composed by
    Lloyd, one of his jovial companions, which begins,

      "God prosper long from being broke
      The Luck of Edenhall."

    The Duke, after taking a draught, had nearly terminated "the Luck
    of Edenhall;" but fortunately the butler caught the cup in a napkin
    as it dropped from his grace's hands. It is understood that it is
    no longer subjected to such risks. It is now generally shown with
    a damask cloth securely held by the four corners beneath it, which
    for this purpose is deposited along with the vessel in a safe place
    where important family documents are preserved.

    Not without good reason do the Musgraves look with superstitious
    regard to its careful preservation amongst them. The present
    generation could, it is said, tell of disasters following swift
    and sure upon its fall, in fulfilment of the omen embodied in the
    legend attached to it.

    The vessel is of a green coloured glass of Venice manufacture of
    the 10th century, ornamented with foliage of different colours
    in enamel and gold; it is about seven inches in height and about
    two in diameter at the base, from which it increases in width and
    terminates in a gradual curve at the brim where it measures about
    four inches. It is carefully preserved in a stamped leather case,
    ornamented with scrolls of vine leaves, and having on the top, in
    old English characters, the letters I. H. C.; from which it seems
    probable that this vessel was originally designed for sacred uses.
    The covering is said to be of the time of Henry VI. or Edward IV.
    The glass is probably one of the oldest in England.

    The tradition respecting this vessel is connected with the still
    current belief, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy
    festival, and snatch from them their drinking cup or horn, shall
    find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune or plenty, if
    he can bear it safely across a running stream. The goblet still
    carefully preserved in Edenhall is supposed to have been seized at
    a banquet of the elves, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave;
    or, as others say, the butler, going to fetch water from St.
    Cuthbert's Well, which is near the hall, surprised a company of
    fairies who were dancing on the green, near the spring, where they
    had left this vessel, which the butler seized, and on his refusal
    to restore it, they uttered the ominous words,--

      "Whenever this cup shall break or fall,
      Farewell the luck of Edenhall."

    The name of the goblet was taken from the prophecy. There is
    no writing to shew how it came into the family, nor any record
    concerning it. Its history rests solely on the tradition. Dr.
    Todd supposes it to have been a chalice, when it was unsafe to
    have those sacred vessels made of costlier metals, on account
    of the predatory habits which prevailed on the borders. He also
    says, that the bishops of this diocese permitted not only the
    parochial or secular, but also the monastic or regular clergy, to
    celebrate the eucharist in chalices of that clear and transparent
    metal. The following was one of the canons made in the reign of
    king Athelstan:--_Sacer calix fusilis sit, non ligneus_--_Let the
    holy chalice be fusile, and not of wood, which might imbibe the
    consecrated wine._

    William of Newbridge relates how one of these drinking-vessels,
    called elfin goblets, came into the possession of King Henry
    the First. A country-man belonging to a village near his own
    birthplace, returning home late at night, and tipsy, from a visit
    to a friend in a neighbouring village, heard a sound of merriment
    and singing within a hill; and peeping through an open door in the
    side of the hill, he saw a numerous company of both sexes feasting
    in a large and finely lighted hall. A cup being handed to him by
    one of the attendants, he took it, threw out the contents, and made
    off with his booty, pursued by the whole party of revellers, from
    whom he escaped by the speed of his mare, and reached his home in
    safety. The cup, which was of unknown material and of unusual form
    and colour was presented to the king.

    At Muncaster Castle there is preserved an ancient glass vessel
    of the basin form, about seven inches in diameter, ornamented
    with some white enamelled mouldings; which, according to family
    tradition, was presented by King Henry VI. to Sir John Pennington,
    Knight, who was steadily attached to that unfortunate monarch, and
    whom he had the honour of entertaining at Muncaster Castle, in
    his flight from the Yorkists. In acknowledgment of the protection
    he had received, the King is said to have presented his host with
    this curious glass cup with a prayer that the family should ever
    prosper, and never want a male heir, so long as they preserved it
    unbroken: hence the cup was called "the luck of Muncaster." The
    Hall contains, among other family pictures, one representing "King
    Henry VI. giving to Sir John Pennington, on his leaving the Castle
    1461, the luck of Muncaster."

    It is probable that the king was here on two occasions; the first
    being after the battle of Towton, in 1461, when accompanied by his
    queen and their young son, with the dukes of Exeter and Somerset,
    he fled with great precipitation into Scotland: the second, after
    the battle of Hexham, which was fought on the 15th of May, 1463. On
    his defeat at Hexham, some friends of the fugitive king took him
    under their protection, and conveyed him into Lancashire. During
    the period that he remained in concealment, which was about twelve
    months, the king visited Muncaster. On this occasion the royal
    visit appears to have been attended with very little of regal pomp
    or ceremony. Henry, having made his way into Cumberland, with only
    one companion arrived at Irton Hall soon after midnight; but his
    quality being unknown, or the inmates afraid to receive him, he
    was denied admittance. He then passed over the mountains towards
    Muncaster, where he was accidentally met by some shepherds at three
    o'clock in the morning, and was conducted by them to Muncaster
    Castle. The spot where the meeting took place is still indicated by
    a tall steeple-like monument on an eminence at some distance from
    the castle.

    The "luck of Burrell Green," at the house of Mr. Lamb, yeoman,
    in Great Salkeld, Cumberland, is less fragile in structure, is
    not less venerated for its traditional alliance with the fortunes
    of its possessors than the lordly cups of the Penningtons and
    Musgraves. It is an _ancient_ brass dish resembling a shield, with
    an inscription round it, now nearly effaced. Like the celebrated
    glass of Edenhall, this too has its legend and couplet, the latter
    of which runs thus:--

      "If this dish be sold or gi'en,
      Farewell the luck of Burrell Green."

    When Ranulph de Meschines had received the grant of Cumberland from
    William the Conqueror, he made a survey of the whole county, and
    gave to his followers all the frontiers bordering on Scotland and
    Northumberland, retaining to himself the central part between the
    east and west mountains, "a goodly great forest, full of woods,
    red deer and fallow, wild swine, and all manner of wild beasts."
    This Forest of Inglewood comprehends all that large and now fertile
    tract of country, extending westward from Carlisle to Westward,
    thence in a direct line through Castle Sowerby and Penrith to the
    confluence of the Eamont and the Eden, which latter river then
    forms its eastern boundary all the way northward to Carlisle,
    forming a sort of triangle, each side of which is more than twenty
    miles in length. The Duke of Devonshire, as lord of the Honour of
    Penrith, has now paramount authority over the manors of Inglewood

    The Forest, or Swainmote, court, for the seigniory, is held
    yearly, on the feast of St. Barnabas the apostle (June 11.) in
    the parish of Hesket-in-the-Forest, in the open air, on the great
    north road to Carlisle; and the place is marked by a stone placed
    before an ancient thorn, called _Court-Thorn_. The tenants of
    more than twenty mesne manors attend here, from whom a jury for
    the whole district is empanelled and sworn; and Dr. Todd says,
    that the chamberlain of Carlisle was anciently foreman. Here are
    paid the annual dues to the lord of the forest, compositions for
    improvements, purprestures, agistments, and puture of the foresters.

    Until the year 1823, there was an old oak on Wragmire Moss, well
    known as _the last tree of Inglewood Forest_, which had survived
    the blasts of 700 or 800 winters. This "time-honored" oak was
    remarkable, not only for the beauty of the wood, which was marked
    in a similar manner to satin-wood, but as being a boundary mark
    between the manors of the Duke of Devonshire and the Dean and
    Chapter of Carlisle, as also between the parishes of Hesket and St.
    Cuthbert's, Carlisle; and was noticed as such for upwards of 600
    years. This oak, which had weathered so many hundred stormy winters
    was become considerably decayed in its trunk. It fell not, however,
    by the tempest or the axe, but from sheer old age on the 13th of
    June, 1823. It was an object of great interest, being the veritable
    last tree of Inglewood Forest: under whose spreading branches may
    have reposed victorious Edward I., who is said to have killed 200
    bucks in this ancient forest; and, perhaps at a later period, "John
    de Corbrig, the poor hermit of Wragmire," has counted his beads
    beneath its shade.

    On the same day on which this tree fell, Mr. Robert Bowman, who was
    born at Hayton, in 1705, died at Irthington, at the extraordinary
    age of 117 years and 8 months, retaining his faculties till about
    three months before his death. He lived very abstemiously, was
    never intoxicated but once in his life, and at the age of 111, used
    occasionally to assist his family at their harvest work. The last
    forty years of his life were spent at Irthington, and in his 109th
    year he walked to and from Carlisle, being 14 miles, in one day.

    The most remarkable instance of longevity in a native of Cumberland
    is that of John Taylor, born at Garragill in the parish of Aldston
    moor. He went underground to work in the lead mines at eleven years
    of age. He was fourteen or fifteen at the time of the great solar
    eclipse, called in the North _mirk Monday_, which happened 29th of
    March, 1652. From that time till 1752, except for two years, during
    which he was employed in the mint at Edinburgh, he wrought in the
    mines at Aldston, at Blackhall in the Bishoprick of Durham, and in
    various parts of Scotland. His death happened sometime in the year
    1772, in the neighbourhood of Moffat, near the Leadhills mines, in
    which he had been employed several years. He worked in the mines
    till he was about 115. At the time of his decease he must have been
    135 years of age.

    The Rev. George Braithwaite, who died, curate of St. Mary's
    Carlisle, in 1753, at the age of 110, is said to have been a member
    of the Cathedral, upwards of one hundred years, having first become
    connected with the establishment as a chorister.

    In Cumberland the prevalence of longevity seems to be confined to
    no particular district: the parishes which border on the fells
    on the east side of the county, are rather more remarkable for
    longevity than those on the Western coast: but there is little
    difference except in the large towns.

    A list of remarkable instances of longevity, chiefly taken from
    the registers of burials in the several parishes in Cumberland, is
    given in Lyson's Magna Britannia. It embraces the period between
    1664 and 1814 inclusive, and gives the date, name, parish, and age
    of each individual. In that space of 150 years, the list comprises
    144 individuals ranging from 100 to 113 years of age. Seventy were
    males, seventy-four were females.

    The number of persons in Cumberland who have reached from 90 to
    99 years inclusive, since the ages have been noted in the parish
    registers is above 1120: of these about one fourth have attained or
    exceeded the age of 95 years.


  Millom's bold lords and knights of old
  Quaff'd their mead from cups of gold.
  A lordly life was theirs, and free,
  With revel and joust and minstrelsy.
  Their fields were full, and their waters flow'd;
  On a hundred steeds their warriors rode:
  And glorious still as their line began,
  It broaden'd out as it onward ran.

  Millom's proud courts had page and groom,
  To serve in hall, to wait in room;
  Maid and squire in fair array:
  But better than these, at close of day--
  Better than groom or page in hall,
  Than maid and squire, that came at a call,
  Was the Goblin Fiend, that shunn'd their sight,
  And wrought for the lords of Millom by night.

  When sleepy maidens left their fires,
  Hob-Thross forth from barns and byres
  Came tumbling in, and stretching his form
  Out over the hearthstone bright and warm,
  He folded his stunted thumbs, to dream
  For an idle hour ere he sipp'd his cream;
  Or smoothed his wrinkled visage to gaze
  On his hairy length at the kindly blaze.

  His snipp'd brown bowl of creamy store
  Set nightly--nothing Hob wanted more.
  He scoured, and delved, and groom'd, and churned;
  But favour or hire he scorned and spurned.
  Leave him alone to will and to do,
  Never were hand and heart so true.
  Tempt him with gift, or lay out his hire--
  Farewell Hob to farm and fire.

  Blest the manor, and blest the lord,
  That had Hob to work by field and board!
  Blest the field, and blest the farm,
  That Hob would keep from waste and harm!
  Or ever a wish was fairly thought,
  Hob was ready, and all was wrought;
  Was grain to be cut, or housed the corn,
  All was finish'd 'twixt night and morn.

  Millom's great lords rode round their land
  With courteous speech and bounteous hand.
  Hob-Thross too went forth to roam;
  Made every hearth in Millom his home.
  He thresh'd the oats, he churn'd the cream,
  He comb'd the manes of the stabled team,
  And fodder'd them well with corn and hay,
  When the lads were laggards at peep of day.

  Millom's good lord said--"Nights are cool;
  Weave Hob a coat of the finest wool.
  Service long he has tender'd free:
  Of the finest wool his hood shall be."--
  For his service good, in that ancient hold,
  To them and to theirs for ages told,
  They wove him a coat of the finest wool,
  And a hood to wrap him when nights were cool.

  It broke his peace, and he could not stay.
  Hob took the clothes and went his way.
  He wrapp'd him round and he felt him warm:
  But his life at Millom lost all its charm.
  Night and day there was heard a wail
  In his ancient haunts, through wind and hail,--
  "Hob has got a new coat and new hood,
  And Hob no more will do any good."

  Blight and change pass'd over the place.
  Came to end that ancient race.
  Millom's great lords were found alone
  Stretch'd in chancels, carved in stone.
  Gone to dust was all their power;
  Spiders wove in my lady's bower.
  While Hob in his coat and hood of green
  Went wooing by night the Elfin Queen.

  Call him to field, or wish him in stall,
  Hob-Thross answers no one's call.
  The snipp'd brown bowls of cream in vain
  On the hearths he loved are placed again.
  The old and glorious days are flown.
  Hob is too proud or lazy grown;
  Or he goes in his coat and his hood of green
  By night a-wooing the Elfin Queen.


    The lords of Millom are connected with an ancient legend of
    Egremont Castle, which is given elsewhere, and which especially
    alludes to the horn and hatterell which they bore on their helmets.
    This crest is said to have been assumed in the time of Henry I., on
    the occasion of the grant of this seignory by the Lord of Egremont
    to Godard de Boyvill or Boisville, whose descendants retained
    possession of the greater part of it for about one hundred years
    when it became vested by marriage in Sir John Hudleston, whose
    pedigree is alleged to be traceable for five generations before
    the Conquest. In this family it remained for about five hundred
    years, when, for failure of male issue it was sold to Sir James
    Lowther, nearly a century ago. The names of the first possessors
    are now almost forgotten in their own lands. The castle is of
    great antiquity. It is uncertain at what date it was originally
    built; but it was fortified and embattled by Sir John Hudleston,
    in 1335. In ancient times it was surrounded by a fine park, of
    which there are some scanty remains on a ridge to the north. The
    great square tower is still habitable, though its old battlements
    are gone. The castle was invested during the parliamentary war,
    and the old vicarage house was pulled down at the same time, "lest
    the rebels should take refuge there." There are traces of the
    ancient moat still visible. Between the broken pillars of an old
    gateway, an avenue leads to the front of the ruin, which, though
    not of great extent, presents a fine specimen of the decayed pomp
    of early times. The walls of the court yard are all weather-stained
    and worn; and, here and there, delicate beds of moss have crept
    over them, year after year, so long, that the moist old stones are
    now matted with hues of great beauty. The front of the castle is
    roofless, and some parts of the massive walls are thickly clothed
    with ivy. A fine flight of worn steps leads up through the archway,
    to the great tower, in the inner court. Above the archway a stone
    shield bears the decayed heraldries of the Hudleston family; and
    these arms appear, also, on a slab in the garden wall, and in other
    parts of the buildings. The front entrance of the great tower,
    from the inner court, when open, shews within a fine old carved
    staircase, which leads one to suppose that the interior may retain
    many of its ancient characteristics.

    The church is a venerable building, with its quaint little turret,
    containing two bells. The edifice consists of a nave and chancel, a
    south aisle, and a modern porch on the same side. The aisle was the
    burial place of the Hudlestons. Here is an altar-tomb, ornamented
    with Gothic tracery and figures bearing shields of arms, on which
    recline the figures of a knight and his lady, in alabaster, very
    much mutilated. The knight is in plate armour, his head resting on
    a helmet, and having a collar of S.S.; the lady is dressed in a
    long gown and mantle, with a veil. They appear to have originally
    been painted and gilt, but the greater part of the colouring has
    been rubbed off. Near the altar-tomb are the very mutilated remains
    of a knight, carved in wood, apparently of the fourteenth century.
    A few years ago there was a lion at his feet. A mural marble tablet
    to the memory of the Hudleston family is on the wall of the aisle.

    The lordship of Millom is the largest seignory within the barony
    of Egremont; its ancient boundaries being described as the river
    Duddon on the east, the islands of Walney and Piel de Foudray
    on the south, the Irish Sea on the west, and the river Esk and
    the mountains Hardknot and Wrynose on the north. It anciently
    enjoyed great privileges: it was a special jurisdiction into which
    the sheriff of the county could not enter: its lords had the
    power of life and death, and enjoyed _jura regalia_ in the six
    parishes forming their seignory, namely, Millom, Bootle, Whicham,
    Whitbeck, Corney, and Waberthwaite. Mr. Denton, writing in 1688,
    says that the gallows stood on a hill near the Castle, on which
    criminals had been executed within the memory of persons then
    living. To commemorate the power anciently possessed by the lords
    of this seignory, a stone has recently been erected with this
    inscription--"Here the Lords of Millom exercised Jura Regalia."

    This lordship still retains its own coroner.

    A small nunnery of Benedictines formerly existed within this
    seignory, at Lekely in Seaton, which lies westward from Bootle,
    near the sea. The precise date of its foundation cannot be
    ascertained: but it appears to have taken place on or before the
    time of Henry Boyvill, the fourth lord of Millom, who lived about
    the commencement of the thirteenth century; and who "gave lands
    in Leakley, now called Seaton, to the nuns;" and who in the deed
    of feofment of the manor of Leakley made by the said Henry to
    Goynhild, his daughter, on her marriage with Henry Fitz-William,
    excepts "the land in Leakley which I gave to the holy nuns serving
    God and Saint Mary in Leakley."

    The nunnery was dedicated to St. Leonard; and was so poor that it
    could not sufficiently maintain the prioress and nuns. Wherefore
    the Duke of Lancaster, afterwards Henry IV., by his charter, in
    1357, granted to them in aid the hospital of St. Leonard, at
    Lancaster, with power to appoint the chantry priest to officiate in
    the said hospital. At the dissolution the possessions of the priory
    were only of the annual value of £12 12s. 6d. according to Dugdale,
    or £13 17s. 4d. by Speed's valuation.

    When at the suppression of Abbeys it came to the crown, Henry VIII.
    gave the site and lands at Seaton to his servant Sir Hugh Askew,
    and his heirs. This Knight was descended from Thurston de Bosco,
    who lived in the days of King John at a place then called the
    Aikskeugh, or Oakwood, near Millom, and afterwards at Graymains,
    near Muncaster; and from a poor estate was raised to great honour
    and preferment, by his service to King Henry VIII. in his house
    and in the field. Anne Askew, whose name stands so eminent in the
    annals of martyrology, was one of his descendants.

    There are few remains of the convent now left: some part of the
    priory-chapel is still standing, particularly a fine window with
    lancets, in the style of the thirteenth century. Seton-Hall,
    formerly a part of the conventual buildings, and subsequently the
    residence of Sir Hugh Askew, is now occupied as a farm house.

    Of Seton and Sir Hugh Askew, we have the following quaint story in
    Sandford's M.S. account of Cumberland:--

    "Ffour miles southward stands Seaton, an estate of £500 per annum,
    sometimes a religious house, got by one Sir Hugo Askew, yeoman of
    the sellar to Queen Catherine in Henry Eight's time, and born in
    this contry. And when that Queen was divorced from her husband,
    this yeoman was destitute. And he applied for help to (the) Lo.
    Chamberlain for some place or other in the King's service. The Lord
    Steward knew him well, because he had helpt to a cup (of) wine
    ther before, but told him he had no place for him but a charcoal
    carrier. 'Well' quoth this monsir Askew, 'help me in with one
    foot, and let me gett in the other as I can.' And upon a great
    holiday, the king looking out at some sports, Askew got a courtier,
    a friend of his, to stand before the king; and Askew gott on his
    velvet cassock and his gold chine, and basket of chercole on his
    back, and marched in the king's sight with it. 'O,' saith the
    king, 'now I like yonder fellow well, that disdains not to do his
    dirty office in his dainty clothes: what is he?' Says his friend
    that stood by on purpose, 'It is Mr Askew, that was yeoman of the
    sellar to the late Queen's M^{tie}, and now glad of this poor
    place to keep him in your ma^{tie's} service, which he will not
    forsake for all the world.' The king says, 'I had the best wine
    when he was i'th cellar. He is a gallant wine-taster: let him have
    his place againe;' and after knighted him; and he sold his place,
    and married the daughter of Sir John Hudleston; (and purchased[6]
    this religious place of Seaton, nye wher he was borne, of an
    ancient freehold family,) and settled this Seaton upon her, and she
    afterwards married monsir Penengton, Lo: of Muncaster, and had Mr.
    Joseph and a younger son with Penington, and gave him this Seaton."

    A brass plate on the south wall of the chancel of Bootle Church,
    bears the effigies of a knight in armour, with the following
    inscription in old English characters, indicating his tomb. "Here
    lieth Sir Hughe Askew, knyght. late of the seller to Kynge Edward
    the VI. which Sir Hughe was made knyght, at Musselborough felde, in
    ye yeare of our Lord, 1547, and died the second day of Marche, in
    the yere of our Lord God, 1562."

    Among the local spirits of Cumberland, whose existence is believed
    in by the vulgar, is one named Hob-Thross, whom the old gossips
    report to have been frequently seen in the shape of a "Body aw
    ower rough," lying by the fire side at midnight. He was one of
    the class of creatures called Brownies, and according to popular
    superstition, had especially attached himself to the family at
    Millom Castle. He was a solitary being, meagre, flat-nosed,
    shaggy and wild in his appearance, and resembled the "lubbar
    fiend," so admirably described by Milton in L'Allegro. Gervase of
    Tilbury speaks of him as one of the "dæmones, senile vultu, facie
    corrugata, statura pusilli, dimidium pollicis non habentes." In
    the day time he lurked in remote recesses of the old houses which
    he delighted to haunt; and, in the night, sedulously employed
    himself in discharging any laborious task which he thought might
    be acceptable to the family, to whose service he had devoted
    himself. He loved to stretch himself by the kitchen fire when the
    menials had taken their departure. Before the glimpse of morn he
    would execute more work than could be done by a man in ten days.
    He did not drudge from the hope of recompense: on the contrary,
    so delicate was his attachment, that the offer of reward, but
    particularly of food, infallibly would occasion his disappearance
    for ever. He would receive, however, if placed for him in a
    _snipped pot_, a quart of cream, or a mess of milk-porridge. He
    had his regular range of farm houses; and seems to have been a
    kind spirit, and willing to do any thing he was required to do.
    The servant girls would frequently put the cream in the churn, and
    say, "I wish Hob would churn that," and they always found it done.
    Hob's readiness to fulfil the wishes of his friends was sometimes
    productive of ludicrous incidents. One evening there was every
    prospect of rain next day, and a farmer had all his grain out. "I
    wish," said he, "I had that grain housed." Next morning Hob had
    housed every sheaf, but a fine stag which had helped him was lying
    dead at the barn door. The day however became extremely fine, and
    the farmer thought his grain would have been better in the field:
    "I wish," said he, "that Hob-Thross was in the mill-dam;" next
    morning all the farmer's grain was in the mill-dam. Such were
    the tales which were constantly told of the Millom Brownie, and
    as constantly believed. He left the country at last, through the
    mistaken kindness of some one, who made him a coat and hood to keep
    him warm during the winter. He was heard at night singing at his
    favourite haunts for a while about his apparel, and "occupation
    gone," and at length left the country.

    The Cumberland tradition affirms that those persons who on
    Fasting's-Even, as Shrove Tuesday is vulgarly called in the North
    of England, do not eat heartily, are crammed with barley chaff by
    Hob-Thross: and so careful are the villagers to set the goblin
    at defiance, that scarcely a single hind retires to rest without
    previously partaking of a hot supper.

    Sir Walter Scott tells us that the last Brownie known in Ettrick
    Forest, resided in Bodsbeck, a wild and solitary spot, near the
    head of Moffat Water, where he exercised his functions undisturbed,
    till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady induced her _to hire
    him away_, as it was termed, by placing in his haunt a porringer
    of milk and a piece of money. After receiving this hint to depart,
    he was heard the whole night to howl and cry, "Farewell to bonnie
    Bodsbeck!" which he was compelled to abandon for ever.


[6] Qu. Had a grant of?


  The Abbot of Calder rode out from his gate
  To the town, saying, "Sorrow lies, early and late,
  In this wretched wide world upon every degree;
  And each child of the Church must have comfort from me!
  So on palfrey I wend to Lord Lucy's strong hold:
  For this life must press hard on these barons so bold."

  The Abbot was welcome to Lucy's proud hall.
  And he sat down with knights, and with ladies, and all,
  High at feast, joyous-hearted, light, gallant, and fair:
  Where to speak upon woe were but jesting with care.
  So his palfrey re-mounting at evening, he troll'd,
  "The world goes not ill with these barons so bold."

  Ambling on by the forge, he drew up by the flame,
  "Well, my son! how is all with the children and dame?
  Toiling on!"--"Yes! but, father, not badly we speed;
  We have health; and for wealth, we lack nought that we need."
  Then at least, thought the Monk, here no text I need urge,
  For the world passes well with my friend at the forge!

  Turning off by the stream at the foot of the hill,
  All were busy, as bees in a hive, at the mill.
  "Benedicite!" cried he to women and wives,
  Where they sang at their labour as if for their lives,
  All so fat, fair, and fruitful. The Abbot jogg'd on,
  Humming, "Sweet, too, is rest when the labour is done."

  As he pass'd by the lane that leads up to the stile,
  Pretty Lillie came down with her curtsey and smile,--
  "Well, my daughter!" the Abbot said, chucking her chin;
  "How is Robin?--or Reuben? which--which is to win?"
  "--Thank you!--Robin," she said, as she blushed in her sleeve;
  While the Monk, spurring on, laughed a joyous "good eve!"

  On the verge of the chase rode the falconer by:
  With a song on his lip and a laugh in his eye,
  All the day o'er the moors he had gallop'd, and now
  He was off to the quintain-match over the brow;
  Then to crown with good cheer all the sports of the day.
  And the Abbot sighed, "Springtime, and beautiful May!"

  And at length in the hollow he came, as he rode,
  To the forester Robin's trim cottage abode.
  And there stood the youth, ruddy, stalwart, and curled:--
  "--Ha, Robin! this looks not like strife with the world!"--
  "No! and please you, good father, _she's_ coming to-morrow!"
  "--Well! a blessing on both of you!--keep you from sorrow."

  So he reached his fair Abbey by Calder's sweet stream,
  Well believing all troubles in life are a dream;
  Looked around on his park and his fertile domain,
  With a thought to his cellars, a glance at his grain;
  While the stream through his meadow-lands rippled and purled;
  And exclaimed, "What a place is a sorrowful world!"

  And the Abbot of Calder that night o'er his bowl
  Felt a peace passing speech in the depths of his soul.
  And he dreamt mid the noise and the merry uproar
  Of the brethren beneath--all his fasting was o'er;
  That earth's many woes had to darkness been driven;
  And the sweet woods of Calder were gardens in Heaven.


    On the northern bank of the river Calder, in a deeply secluded
    vale, sheltered by majestic forest trees, which rise from
    the skirts of level and luxuriant meadows to the tops of the
    surrounding hills, stands the ruined Abbey and home of that little
    colony of Monks, who, with their Abbot Gerold at their head, were
    detached from the mother Abbey of Furness in 1134 to begin their
    fortunes under the auspices of Ranulph de Meschines (the second of
    the name) their powerful neighbour and founder. Here they contrived
    to live "in some discomfort and great poverty for four years, when
    an army of Scots under King David despoiled the lately begun Abbey
    and carried away all its possessions. Finding they could get no
    help elsewhere, the hapless thirteen resolved to return to the
    maternal monastery" for refuge. This happened about the third year
    of King Stephen.

    The Abbot of Furness refused to receive Gerold and his companions,
    reproaching them with cowardice for abandoning their monastery, and
    alleging that it was rather the love of that ease and plenty which
    they expected in Furness, than the devastation of the Scottish
    army, that forced them from Calder. Some writers say that the
    Abbot of Furness insisted that Gerold should divest himself of his
    authority, and absolve the monks from their obedience to him, as
    a condition of their receiving any relief. This, Gerold and his
    companions refused to do, and turning their faces from Furness,
    they, with the remains of their broken fortune, which consisted of
    little more than some clothes and a few books, with one cart and
    eight oxen, taking providence for their guide, went in quest of
    better hospitality.

    The result of the next day's resolution was to address themselves
    to Thurstan, Archbishop of York, and beg his advice and relief.
    The reception they met with from him, answered their wishes; the
    Archbishop graciously received them, and charitably entertained
    them for some time, then recommended them to Gundrede de Aubigny,
    who sent them to Robert de Alneto, her brother, a hermit, at Hode,
    in the East Riding of Yorkshire, where for a period she supplied
    them with necessaries. They afterwards obtained a monastery of
    their own called Byland, when they voluntarily made themselves
    dependant upon Savigny, in order that Furness should exercise no
    right of paternity over them.

    In the same year, 1142, the Abbot of Furness understanding that
    Gerold had obtained a settlement, sent another colony, with
    Hardred, a Furness monk, for their Abbot, to take possession of
    ravaged Calder, which the Lord of Egremont, William Fitz-Duncan,
    nephew of David, King of Scots, had refounded. Their endowments
    and revenues were chiefly from the founder's munificence, and were
    small, being valued, at the suppression, at about sixty pounds per

    The ruins of this Abbey are approached from Calder-Bridge by
    a pleasant walk for about a mile on the banks of the river,
    presenting several glimpses of the tower rising out of the foliage
    of the forest trees by which it is surrounded.

    The Abbey Church was in the form of a cross, and small, the width
    of the chancel being only twenty five feet, and that of the
    transepts twenty two. Of the western front little more than the
    Norman doorway remains. The five pointed arches of the north side
    of the nave, dividing it from the aisle; the choir; the transepts,
    with a side chapel on the south; the square tower supported by four
    lofty pointed arches; the walls and windows of a small cloister
    running south; with the remains of upper chambers, showing a range
    of eight windows to the west and seven to the east, beautiful
    specimens of early English Architecture, terminated by a modern
    mansion, occupying the site of the conventual buildings, but built
    in a style altogether unsuited to the locality; these, with the
    porter's lodge at a short distance from the west end, and a large
    oven by the side of a rapid stream in the meadow on the east, all
    so changed since the times of Gerold and Hardred, constitute in our
    days the Abbey of Calder.

    Against the walls of the Abbey are fragments of various sepulchral
    figures, which from the mutilated sculptures and devices on the
    shields, would seem to have belonged to the tombs of eminent
    persons. One of them is represented in a coat of mail, with his
    hand upon his sword; another bears a shield reversed, as a mark
    of disgrace for cowardice or treachery; "but," says Hutchinson,
    "the virtues of the one, and the errors of the other, are alike
    given to oblivion by the hand of time and by the scourging angel

    Sir John le Fleming, of Beckermet, ancestor of the Flemings of
    Rydal Hall, Westmorland, gave lands in Great Beckermet to this
    abbey, in the 26th year of Henry III, A. D. 1242. He died during
    that long reign, and was buried in the abbey. One of the effigies
    above alluded to, with the shield charged fretty, is probably that
    mentioned by Sir Daniel Fleming, who says that in his time (in the
    seventeenth century) here was "a very ancient statue of a man in
    armour, with a frett (of six pieces) upon his shield, lying upon
    his back, with his sword by his side, his hands elevated in a
    posture of prayer, and legs across; being so placed probably from
    his taking upon him the cross, and being engaged in the holy war.
    Which statue was placed there most probably in memory of this Sir
    John le Fleming."

    Among some ancient charters and documents in the possession
    of William John Charlton, of Hesleyside, Esq., (1830) and
    which came into his family, in 1680, by the marriage of his
    great-great-grandfather, with Mary, daughter of Francis Salkeld,
    in the parish of All-Hallows, in Cumberland, Esq., is one that is
    very curious. It is an assignment made in A. D. 1291, by John, son
    of John de Hudleston, of William, son of Richard de Loftscales,
    formerly his native, with all his retinue and chattels, to the
    Abbot and Monks of Caldra. The deed is witnessed by "Willmo.
    Wailburthuait. Willmo. Thuaites. Johe de Mordling. Johe Corbet.
    Johe de Halle et aliis:" and is alluded to in the following
    passages quoted by Mr. Jefferson from _Archælogia Æliana_. "It
    is, in fact, that species of grant of freedom to a slave, which
    is called manumission implied, in which the lord yields up all
    obligation to bondage, on condition of the native agreeing to an
    annual payment of money on a certain day. The clause, 'so that
    from this time they may be free, and exempt from all servitude and
    reproach of villainage from me and my heirs,' is very curious,
    especially to persons of our times, on which there has been so much
    said about the pomp of Eastern lords, and the reproachful slavery
    in which their dependents are still kept. Here the Monks of Caldra
    redeemed a man, his family, and property from slavery, on condition
    of his paying them the small sum of two pence a-year. The Hudleston
    family were seated at Millum, in the time of Henry the Third, when
    they acquired that estate, by the marriage of John de Hudleston
    with the Lady Joan, the heiress of the Boisville family."

    "Slavery continued to thrive on the soil of Northumberland long
    after the time of Edward the First; for in 1470, Sir Roger
    Widdrington manumitted his native, William Atkinson, for the
    purpose of making him his bailiff of Woodhorn."

    The inmates of Calder were probably neither better nor worse than
    other cowled fraternities. A certain Brother Beesley, a Benedictine
    Monk, of Pershore, in Worcestershire, speaks very boldly of
    certain shortcomings, in his own experience of "relygyus men."
    The following passage occurs in a petition addressed by him to
    the Vicar-General Cromwell, at the time of the visitation of the

    "Now y wyll ynstrux your grace sumwatt of relygyus men----. Monckes
    drynke an bowll after collatyon tyll ten or twelve of the clok, and
    cum to matyns as dronck as myss (mice)--and sum at cardys, sum at
    dyes, and at tabulles; sum cum to mattyns begenying at the mydes,
    and sum wen yt ys almost dun, and wold not cum there so only for
    boddly punyshment, nothyng for Goddes sayck."


  To Calgarth Hall in the midnight cold
  Two headless skeletons cross'd the fold,
  Undid the bars, unlatched the door,
  And over the step pass'd down the floor
            Where the jolly round porter sat sleeping.

  With a patter their feet on the pavement fall;
  And they traverse the stairs to that window'd wall,
  Where out of a niche, at the witch-hour dark,
  Each lifts a skull all grinning and stark,
            And fits it on with a creaking.

  Then forth they go with a ghostly march;
  And bending low at the portal arch,
  Through Calgarth woods, o'er Rydal braes,
  And over the Pass by Dunmail-Raise
            The Two their course are keeping.

  Now Wytheburn's lowly pile in sight
  Gleams faintly beneath the new-moon's light;
  And farther along dim forms appear,
  All hurrying down to the darksome Mere,
            The drunken ferryman seeking.

  From old Helvellyn's domain they come,
  A spectral band demure and dumb;
  By twos, and threes, and fours, and more,
  They beckon the man to ferry them o'er,
            To where yon lights are breaking.

  And thither the twain are wending fast;
  For there from many a casement cast,
  The festal blaze is burning high
  In Armboth Hall; the hills thereby
            In uttermost darkness sleeping.

  In Wytheburn City there wakes not one
  To see those dim forms hastening on;
  But at Wytheburn Ferry may travellers wait,
  For busy with guests for Armboth gate,
            The boatman's sinews are aching.

  They've reached the shore, they've cross'd the sward
  To where the old portal stands unbarr'd.
  With courteous steps and bearing high
  They pass the hollow-eyed porter by,
            With his torch high over him sweeping.

  Then might the owls that move by night
  Have seen thin shadows flit through the light,
  Where the windows glared along the wall
  In every chamber of Armboth Hall,
            And the guests high revel were keeping.

  Then too from cold and weary ways
  A traveller's eyes had caught the rays:
  And wandering on to the silent door
  He knocked aloud--he knew no more;
            But the lights went out like winking.

  A wreath of mist rushed over the Mere,
  And reached Helvellyn as dawn grew near;
  And two thin streaks went down the wind
  O'er Dunmail-Raise with a storm behind,
            The leaves in Grasmere raking.

  On Rydal isles the herons awoke;
  A pattering cloud by Wansfell broke;
  And the grey cock stretched his neck to crow
  In Calgarth roost, that ghosts might know
            It was time for maids to be waking.

  The skeletons two rushed through the yard,
  They pushed the door they left unbarr'd,
  Laid by their skulls in the niched wall,
  And flew like wind from Calgarth Hall
            Where still the round porter sat sleeping.

  As out they rattled, the wind rushed in
  And slamm'd the doors with a terrible din;
  The grey cock crew; the dogs were raised;
  And the old porter rubb'd his eyes amazed
            At the dawn so coldly breaking.

  And lying at morn by Armboth gate
  Was found the form that knocked so late;
  A traveller footworn, mired, and grey,
  Who, led by marsh lights lost his way,
            And coldly in death was sleeping.


    The Old Hall of Calgarth, whose history, it has been said, belongs
    to the world of shadows, but whose remains still form an object
    of interest from their picturesqueness and antiquity, is situated
    within a short distance of the water, upon the narrowest part of
    a small and pleasant plain on the eastern shore of Windermere.
    The house has been so much injured and curtailed of its original
    proportions, that it is impossible to make out what has been
    its precise form: many parts having gone entirely to decay, and
    others being much out of repair; the materials having been used in
    the erection of offices and outbuildings, for the accommodation
    of farmers, in whose occupation it has been for a long period.
    Its original character has been quite lost in the additions
    and alterations of later days. It is however said to have been
    constructed much after the style of those venerable Westmorland
    mansions, the Halls of Sizergh and Levens. But there are few traces
    of the "fair old building," which even so late as the year 1774,
    Dr. Burn described it to be; and the destruction of this ancient
    home of the Philipsons has well nigh been complete. What is now
    called the kitchen, and the room over it, are the only portions of
    the interior remaining, from which a judgment may be formed of the
    care and finish that have been applied to its internal decoration.
    In the former, which appears to have been one of the principal
    apartments, though now divided, and appropriated to humble uses,
    the armorial achievements of the Philipsons, crested with the five
    ostrich plumes of their house, and surmounted by their motto,
    "Fide non fraude," together with the bearings of Wyvill impaling
    Carus, into which families the owners of Calgarth intermarried, are
    coarsely represented in stucco over the hearth, and still serve to
    connect their name with the house. The large old open fireplace has
    been filled up by an insignificant modern invention. The window
    still retains some fragments of its former display of heraldic
    honours; the arms of the early owners, impaling those of Wyvill,
    and the device of Briggs, another Westmorland family, with whom the
    Philipsons were also matrimonially connected, yet appear in their
    proper blazon. And in the same window, underneath the emblazonry,
    is this legend, likewise in painted glass:--

      Robart. Phillison.
      and. Jennet. Laibor
      ne. his. wife. he. die
      d. in. anno. 1539
      the. ZZ. Dece
      mbar 1579

    The old dining table of black oak, reduced in its dimensions,
    occupies one side of this apartment. The room over the kitchen,
    to which a steep stair rises from the threshold of the porch,
    and which looks over the lake, has been nobly ornamented after
    the fashion of the day, by cunning artists, and it still retains
    in its dilapidated oak work, and richly adorned ceiling, choice,
    though rude remnants of its former splendour. It has a dark
    polished oak floor, and is wainscotted on three sides, with the
    same tough wood, which, bleached with age, is elaborately carved in
    regular intersecting panels, inlaid with scroll-work and tracery,
    enriched by pilasters, and surmounted by an embattled cornice.
    In this wainscot two or three doors indicate the entrances to
    other rooms, whose approaches are walled up, the rooms themselves
    having been long since destroyed. The ceiling is flat, and formed
    into compartments by heavy square intersecting moulded ribs,
    the intermediate spaces of which are excessively adorned with
    cumbrous ornamental work of the most grotesque figures and designs
    imaginable, amidst which festoons of flowers, fruits, and other
    products of the earth, mingled with heraldic achievements, moulded
    in stucco, yet exist, to tell how many times the fruitage and the
    leaves outside have come and gone, have ripened and decayed, whilst
    they endure unchanged.

    In the window of the staircase leading to this chamber tradition
    has localized the famous legend of the skulls of Old Calgarth. The
    dilapidated, and somewhat melancholy appearance of the dwelling,
    in concurrence with the superstitious notions which have ever been
    common in country places, have probably given rise to a report,
    which has long prevailed, that the house is haunted. Many stories
    are current of the frightful visions and mischievous deeds, which
    the goblins of the place are said to have performed, to terrify
    and distress the harmless neighbourhood; and these fables are not
    yet entirely disbelieved. Spectres yet are occasionally to be seen
    within its precincts. And the two human skulls, whose history and
    reputed properties are too singular not to have contributed greatly
    to the story of the house being haunted, are, although out of
    sight, still within it, and as indestructible as ever.

    These were wont to occupy a niche beneath the window of the
    staircase: and in 1775, when Mr. West visited the Hall, they still
    remained in the place where they had lain from time immemorial. All
    attempts, it is said, to dispossess them of the station they had
    chosen to occupy, have invariably proved fruitless. As the report
    goes, they have been buried, burnt, reduced to powder and dispersed
    in the wind, sunk in the well, and thrown into the lake, several
    times, to no purpose as to their permanent removal or destruction.
    Till at length, so persistent was found to be their attachment to
    the niche which they had selected for their abiding place, they are
    said to have been, as a last resource to keep them out of sight,
    walled up within it; and there they remain. Of course, many persons
    now living in the neighbourhood can bear testimony to the fact
    that the skulls did really occupy the place assigned to them by

    A popular tale of immemorial standing relates that the skulls were
    those of an aged man and his wife, who lived on their own property
    adjoining the lands of the Philipsons, whose head regarded it
    with a covetous eye, and had long desired to number it among his
    extensive domains. The owners however not being willing to part
    with it, he determined in evil hour to have it at any cost.

    The old people, as the story runs, were in the habit of going
    frequently to the Hall, to share in the viands which fell from
    the lord's table, for he was a bounteous man to the poor; and it
    happened once that a pie was given to them, into which had been
    put some articles of plate. After their return home, the valuables
    were missed, and the cottage being searched, the things were found
    therein. The result was as the author of the mischief had plotted.
    They were accused of theft, tried, convicted, and sentenced to be
    executed, and their persecutor ultimately got their inheritance.
    When brought up for execution, the condemned persons requested the
    chaplain in attendance to read the 109th psalm; for under their
    circumstances, there was an awful significance in the imprecatory
    verses, which denounced the conduct of evil doers like Philipson;
    and in the solemn malison prophesied against the cruel, they
    pronounced a curse upon the owners of Calgarth, which the gossips
    of the neighbourhood say has ever since cast its blight upon the
    proprietorship of the estate; and that, notwithstanding whatever
    authentic records may prove to the contrary, the traditionary
    malediction has been regularly fulfilled down to the present
    time. After the death of his victims, the oppressor was greatly
    tormented; for, as if to perpetuate the memory of such injustice,
    and as a memento of their innocence, their skulls came and took
    up a position in the window of one of the rooms in the Hall, from
    whence they could not by any means be effectually removed, the
    common belief being that they were for that end indestructible, and
    it was stoutly asserted that to whatever place they were taken, or
    however used, they invariably reappeared in their old station by
    the window.

    The property of Calgarth came by purchase into the possession of
    the late Dr. Watson, Lord Bishop of Llandaff, who built a mansion
    upon the estate, where he passed much of the later period of
    his life: and who lies buried in the neighbouring churchyard of
    Bowness. The Bishop's grandson, Richard Luther Watson, Esquire, is
    the present possessor.

    It is believed that anciently a burial ground was attached to the
    buildings of Old Calgarth; as when the ground has been trenched
    thereabouts, quantities of human bones have frequently been turned
    over and re-buried. There are now in the dairy of the Old Hall
    two flat tombstones, with the name of Philipson inscribed upon
    them, which not very many years ago were dug up in the garden
    near the house; their present use being a desecration quite in
    accordance with the associations which hang around the place. This
    circumstance may afford a clue to the re-appearance of the skulls
    so frequently, after every art of destruction had been tried upon
    them, in the mysterious chambers of Old Calgarth Hall.

    The old house at Armboth, on Thirlmere, has also the reputation of
    being occasionally at midnight supernaturally lighted up for the
    reception of spectres, which cross the lake from Helvellyn for some
    mysterious purpose within its walls. The long low white edifice
    lying close under the fells which rise abruptly behind it, with
    the black waters of the lake in front, has something very gloomy
    and weird-like about its aspect, which does not ill accord with
    those superstitious ideas with which it is sometimes associated.
    As Miss Martineau has said, "there is really something remarkable,
    and like witchery, about the house. On a bright moonlight night,
    the spectator who looks towards it from a distance of two or three
    miles, sees the light reflected from its windows into the lake; and
    when a slight fog gives a reddish hue to the light, the whole might
    easily be taken for an illumination of a great mansion. And this
    mansion seems to vanish as you approach,--being no mansion, but a
    small house lying in a nook, and overshadowed by a hill."

    The City of Wytheburn is the name given to a few houses, some of
    them graced by native trees, and others by grotesquely cut yew
    trees, distant about half a mile from the head of Thirlmere.


  Blencathra from his loftiest peak
  Had often heard the victims' shriek,
        When lapp'd by wreathing fire,
  Their limbs in wicker bondage caged,
  Dying, the draught and plague assuaged,
        And calmed the Immortals' ire.

  There came a Rumour,[7] strayed from far.
  Helvellyn's bale-fire paled its star:
        Hoarse Glenderaterra moaned.
  The dark destroying angel fled:
  And from Blencathra's topmost head
        Old demons shrunk dethroned.

  He saw beneath his rugged brow
  The temple on the plain below,
        By sacred Druids trod:
  Mountains on mountains piled around;
  Forests of oak with acorns crowned:
        And distant, man's abode.

  Where men had hewn by stream and dell
  An opening in the woods to dwell,
        The pestilence by night
  Had fallen amidst their little throng;
  Had changed, and stricken down the strong;
        And put the weak to flight.

  Who may the angry god appease?--
  The oracle that all things sees,
        And knows all laws divine,
  Spake from the awful forest bower--
  "A maiden in her virgin flower
        Must her young life resign."--

  Fallen is the lot on thee, so late
  Betrothed to love, and now to fate.
        Sweet Britta!--Forth she fares,
  Led by the Druids to her doom,
  Within that circle's ample room,
        For which the rite prepares.

  Fire cleanses: she must cleanse by fire.
  With oaken garland, white attire,
        Bearing the mistletoe,
  Beside the wicker hut her feet
  Pause--till her eyes her lover greet,
        And cheer him as they go.

  These two had heard of what had been
  In Judah--of the Nazarene--
        And talked of new things born
  To them, that in their fathers' place
  They might not speak of to their race,
        But thought on eve and morn.

  Now when the sound is given to pile
  The branches each one--friends-erewhile,
        Strangers, yea sisters, sire,
  And brethren--all from far and near,--
  Must furnish for the victim's bier;
        His they in vain require.

  No might of Druid, lord, or king,
  Could move that hand one leaf to bring--
        No, though they throng to slay.
  Calmly beyond the crowd he stood,
  Holding on high two staves of wood
        Cross'd--till she turned away.

  Then hoary Chief, Arch Druid, came
  Thy hands to minister the flame,
        Wrought from the quick-rubb'd pine.
  It touch'd: it leapt: the branches blazed!
  When to the hills they looked amazed,
        And owned the wrath divine.

  Bellowed the mountains, and cast forth
  Their waters, east, south, west, and north.
        Rivers and mighty streams
  Down from their raging sides out-poured
  Their cataracts, and in thunders roared
        Along earth's opening seams.

  They rolled o'er all the temple's bound,
  Quenching the angry fire around
        The hut unscathed by flame:
  Then backward to their source retired.
  While like a seraph's form inspired
        The white-robed maiden came.

  Upon her fair head garlanded
  No brightest leaflet withered--
        No berry from her hand
  Dropt, of the branching mistletoe--
  With crossing palms and paces slow
        She mov'd across the land.

  Then loud the hoary Druid cried,
  "The god we serve is satisfied!
        His are the unbidden powers.
  A human sacrifice no more
  He needs, our dwellings to restore,
        And devastated bowers.

  For thee, a maiden fair and pure,
  Thou hast a treasure made secure
        In heaven: depart in peace.
  Earth's voices witness of a faith
  In thee serene and sure, that saith
        Here we too soon must cease."


    Traces of the Celts are clearly distinguishable in the names of
    some of the more prominent mountains within a few miles of Keswick,
    Skiddaw, Blencathra, Glaramara, Cat-Bells, Helvellyn. The first
    is derived from the name of the solar god, Ska-da, one of the
    appellations of the chief deity of Celtic Britain, to whom Skiddaw
    was consecrated. The second has been supposed to be a corruption
    of blen-y-cathern, the "peak of witches"; the fourth to signify
    "the groves of Baal"; and the last El-Velin, "the hill of Baal or
    Veli." The worship of the Assyrian deity was celebrated amongst the
    Celtic inhabitants of our island with the greatest importance and
    solemnity. The stone circles are still remaining in many places
    where the bloody sacrifices to his honour were performed: and one
    of the most important of these is near Keswick. In the immediate
    vicinity is also a gloomy valley, Glenderaterra, the name of which
    is sufficiently indicative of the purpose for which, like Tophet of
    old, it was ordained; Glyn-dera taran signifying in Celtic, "the
    valley of the angel or demon of execution."

    It is a curious fact that till the last few years, a trace also
    of the ancient worship still lingered around two temples in this
    county, where it was once habitually performed. Both at Keswick,
    and at Cumwhitton where there is a similar druidical circle,
    the festival of the Beltein, or the fire of Baal, was till very
    recently celebrated on the first of May. As the Jews had by their
    "prophets of the groves," made their children "pass through the
    fire to Baal"; so the Britons, taught by their Druids, were
    accustomed once a year to drive their flocks and herds through the
    fire, to preserve them from evil during the remainder of the year.
    Indeed the custom still prevails. If the cows are distempered,
    it is actually a practice in many of the dales to light "the
    Need-fire"; notice being given throughout the neighbouring valleys,
    that the charm may be sent for if wanted. "Need-fire" is said to
    mean cattle-fire, and to be derived from the Danish _nod_, whence
    also is the northern word nolt or nowte. The Need-fire is produced
    by rubbing two slicks together. A great pile of combustible stuff
    is prepared, to give as much smoke as possible. When lighted,
    the neighbours snatch some of the fire, hurry home with it,
    and light their respective piles; and the cattle, diseased and
    sound, are then driven through the flame. Mr. Gibson says, that
    in 1841, when the cattle-murrain prevailed in Cumberland, he had
    many opportunities of witnessing the application of this charm to
    animals both diseased and sound. And he tells us, that to ensure
    its efficacy it was necessary to observe certain conditions. The
    fire had to be produced at first by friction, the domestic fires
    in the neighbourhood being all previously extinguished; then it
    had to be brought spontaneously to each farm by some neighbour
    unsolicited: and neither the fire so brought, nor any part of the
    fuel used, must ever have been under a roof. These conditions being
    observed, a great fire was made, and the cattle driven to and fro
    in the smoke. One honest farmer who had an ailing wife and delicate
    children passed _them_ through this ordeal, as was averred with
    most beneficial effect. Another inadvertently carried the fire
    just brought to him into his house to save it from extinction by a
    sudden shower: and it was declared that in his case the need-fire
    would be inoperative. "It is interesting," says Mr. Ferguson, "to
    see how men cling to the performance of ancient religious rites,
    when the significance of the ceremony has long been forgotten; and
    what a hold must that worship have held over the minds of men,
    which Thor and Odin have not supplanted, nor the Christianity of a
    thousand years."

    The tribe of ancient Britons who occupied Cumberland previous
    to the Roman conquest, the Brigantes, who were as wild and
    uncultivated as their native hills, subsisting principally by
    hunting and the spontaneous fruits of the earth; wearing for their
    clothing the skins of animals, and dwelling in habitations formed
    by the pillars of the forest rooted in the earth, and enclosed by
    interwoven branches, or in caves; have left one undoubted specimen
    of their race behind them. In the parish of Scaleby, in Cumberland,
    the land on the north end is barren, and large quantities of peat
    are cut and sent to Carlisle and other places for sale. At the
    depth of nine feet in this peat moss, has been found the skeleton
    of an ancient Briton, enclosed in the skin of some wild animal, and
    carefully bound up with thongs of tanned leather. It is conjectured
    that the body must have lain in the moss since the invasion of
    Julius Cæsar, and from the position in which the skeleton was
    found, grasping a stick about three feet long and twelve inches in
    circumference, it is supposed he must have perished accidentally on
    the spot. The remains were not long ago in the possession of the
    rector and Dr. Graham of Netherhouse.

    In this part of the island the Britons were not in the worst
    state of mental darkness; these were not ignorant of a Deity,
    and they were not idolators. Their druids and bards possessed
    all the learning of the age. And it is believed that some of the
    Chief Druids had their station in Cumberland, where many of their
    monuments still remain, and of these one of the most noble and
    extensive of any in the island is the circle near Keswick. It
    stands on an eminence, about a mile and a half on the old road
    to Penrith, in a field on the right hand. The spot is the most
    commanding which could be chosen in that part of the country,
    without climbing a mountain. Derwentwater and the vale of Keswick
    are not seen from it, only the mountains that enclose them on the
    south and west. Latrigg and the huge side of Skiddaw are on the
    north: to the east is the open country towards Penrith, with Mell
    fell in the distance, where it rises alone like a huge tumulus on
    the right, and Blencathra on the left, rent into deep ravines. On
    the south east is the range of Helvellyn, from its termination
    at Wanthwaite Craggs to its loftiest summits, and to Dunmail
    Raise. The lower range of Nathdale Fells lies nearer in a line
    parallel with Helvellyn. The heights above Leathes Water, with the
    Borrowdale mountains complete the panorama.

    This circle is formed of stones of various forms, natural and
    unhewn, of a species of granite; of a kind, according to Clarke,
    not to be found within many miles of this place. The largest is
    nearly eight feet high, and fifteen feet in circumference; most of
    them are still erect, but some are fallen. They are set in a form
    not exactly circular; the diameter being thirty paces from east
    to west, and thirty-two from north to south. At the eastern end a
    small enclosure is formed within the circle by ten stones, making
    an oblong square in conjunction with the stones on that side of the
    circle, seven paces in length, and three in width within. At the
    opposite side a single square stone is placed at the distance of
    three paces from the circle.

    Concerning this, like all similar monuments in great Britain, the
    popular superstition prevails, that no two persons can number the
    stones alike, and that no person will ever find a second count
    confirm the first. This notion is curiously illustrated by the
    various writers who have described it. According to Gough, Stukely
    states the number to be forty; Gray says they are fifty; Hutchinson
    makes them fifty; Clarke made them out to be fifty-two; others,
    more correctly, forty-eight. Southey says, the number of stones
    which compose the circle is thirty-eight, and besides these there
    are ten which form three sides of a little square within, on the
    eastern side, three stones of the circle itself forming the fourth;
    this being evidently the place where the Druids who presided had
    their station; or where the more sacred and important part of the
    rites and ceremonies (whatever they may have been) were performed.

    The singularity noticed in this monument, and what distinguishes it
    from all other druidical remains of this nature, is the recess on
    the eastern side of the area. Mr. Pennant supposes it to have been
    allotted for the Druids, the priests of the place, as a peculiar
    sanctuary, a sort of holy of holies, where they met, separated
    from the vulgar, to perform their rites, their divinations, or to
    sit in council to determine on controversies, to compromise all
    differences about limits of land, or about inheritances, or for
    the trial of greater criminals. The cause that this recess was on
    the east side, seems to arise from the respect paid by the ancient
    Britons to Baal or the Sun; not originally an idolatrous respect,
    but merely as a symbol of the Creator.

    The rude workmanship, or rather arrangement, of these structures,
    for it cannot be called architecture, indicates the great barbarity
    of the times of the Druids; and furnishes strong proof of the
    savage nature of these heathen priests. Within this magical circle
    we may conceive any incantations to have been performed, and
    any rites of superstition to have been celebrated; their human
    executions, their imposing sacrifices; and their inhuman method of
    offering up their victims, by enclosing them in a gigantic figure
    of Hercules (the emblem of human virtue) made of wicker work, and
    burning them alive in sacrifice to the divine attribute of Justice.

    This impressive monument of former times (the Keswick circle) is
    carefully preserved: the soil within the enclosure is not broken; a
    path from the road is left, and a stepping style has been placed,
    to accommodate visitors with an easy access to it. The old legend
    about the last human sacrifice of the Druids belongs to this
    monument. Gilpin says, "a romantic place seldom wants a romantic
    story to adorn it." And here certainly, amidst unmistakeable
    evidences of the worship of Baal: within sight of the vale (St.
    John's) which reveals the isolated rock, once the enchanted
    fortress of the powerful Merlin: within sound of the Greta, "the
    mourner," "the loud lamenter," in whose torrents are heard voices
    complaining among the stones: within range of Souter Fell with its
    shadowy armies and spectres marching in military array, why and
    whence and whither we know not; here, if anywhere, the very realm
    of mystery and superstition is made manifest to us, with almost
    awful significance; overlying the fairest scenes of nature, and
    investing them with all the charms of a region of romance.

    The neighbourhood of this temple, too, is not without a certain
    notoriety on account of the violent floods with which it has been
    visited even in modern times. Hutchinson speaks of a remarkable
    one caused by impetuous rains, which happened on the twenty-second
    of August, 1749, in the vale of St. John's. "The clouds discharged
    their torrents like a waterspout; the streams from the mountains
    uniting, at length became so powerful a body, as to rend up the
    soil, gravel, and stones to a prodigious depth, and bear with them
    mighty fragments of rocks; several cottages were swept away from
    the declivities where they had stood in safety for a century; the
    vale was deluged, and many of the inhabitants with their cattle
    were lost. A singular providence protected many lives, a little
    school, where all the youths of the neighbourhood were educated,
    at the instant crowded with its flock, stood in the very line of
    one of these torrents, but the hand of God, in a miraculous manner,
    stayed a rolling rock, in the midst of its dreadful course, which
    would have crushed the whole tenement with its innocents; and by
    its stand, the floods divided, and passed on this hand and on
    that, insulating the school-house, and leaving the pupils with
    their master, trembling at once for the dangers escaped and as
    spectators of the horrid havock in the valley, and the tremendous
    floods which encompassed them on every side." He received this
    account from one of the people then at school: and also gives the
    following description of that inundation, which he had met with.
    "It began with most terrible thunder and incessant lightning, the
    preceding day having been extremely hot and sultry; the inhabitants
    for two hours before the breaking of the cloud, heard a strange
    noise, like the wind blowing in the tops of high trees. It is
    thought to have been a spout or a large body of water, by which
    the lightning incessantly rarifying the air, broke at once on the
    tops of the mountains, and descended upon the valley below, which
    is about three miles long, half a mile broad, and lies nearly east
    and west, being closed on the south and north sides with prodigious
    high, steep, and rocky mountains. Legbert Fells on the north side,
    received almost the whole cataract, for the spout did not extend
    above a mile in length; it chiefly swelled four small brooks, but
    to so amazing a degree, that the largest of them, called Catchertz
    Ghyll, swept away a mill and other edifices in five minutes,
    leaving the place where they stood covered with fragments of rocks
    and rubbish three or four yards deep, insomuch that one of the mill
    stones could not be found. During the violence of the storm, the
    fragments of rock which rolled down the mountain, choked up the
    old course of this brook; but the water forcing its way through a
    shivery rock, formed a chasm four yards wide and about eight or
    nine deep. The brooks lodged such quantities of gravel and sand
    on the meadows, that they were irrecoverably lost. Many large
    pieces of rocks were carried a considerable way into the fields;
    some larger than a team of ten horses could move, and one of them
    measuring nineteen yards about." Clarke says, "Many falsehoods are
    related of this inundation: for instance, the insulation of the
    school-house with its assembled master and scholars, which, though
    commonly told and believed, is not supported by any tradition
    of the kind preserved in the neighbourhood." No doubt, the
    circumstances are exaggerated: but even his own narrative shows it
    to have been one of the most dreadful and destructive inundations
    ever remembered in this country. He relates that "all the evening
    of that 22nd day of August, horrid, tumultuous noises were heard in
    the air; sometimes a puff of wind would blow with great violence,
    then in a moment all was calm again. The inhabitants, used to
    bosom-winds, whirlwinds, and the howling of distant tempests among
    the rocks, went to bed as usual, and from the fatigues of the day
    were in a sound sleep when the inundation awoke them. About one
    in the morning the rain began to fall, and before four such a
    quantity fell as covered the whole face of the country below with
    a sheet of water many feet deep; several houses were filled with
    sand to the first story, many more driven down; and among the rest
    Legberthwaite mill, of which not one stone was left upon another;
    even the heavy millstones were washed away; one was found at a
    considerable distance, but the other was never discovered. Several
    persons were obliged to climb to the tops of the houses, to escape
    instantaneous death; and there many were obliged to remain, in a
    situation of the most dreadful suspense, till the waters abated.
    Mr. Mounsey of Wallthwaite says, that when he came down stairs in
    the morning, the first sight he saw was a gander belonging to one
    of his neighbours, and several planks and kitchen utensils, which
    were floating about his lower apartments, the violence of the
    waters having forced open the doors on both sides of the house. The
    most dreadful vestiges of this inundation, or waterspout, are at a
    place called Lob-Wath, a little above Wallthwaite; here thousands
    of prodigious stones are piled upon each other, to the height of
    eleven yards; many of these stones are upwards of twenty tons
    weight each, and are thrown together in such a manner as to be at
    once the object of curiosity and horror.

    "The quantity of water which had fallen here is truly astonishing;
    more particularly considering the small space it had to collect
    in. The distance from Lob-Wath to Wolf-Crag, is not more than a
    mile and a half, and there could none collect much above Wolf-Crag;
    nor did the rain extend more than eight miles in any direction. At
    Melfell only three miles distant, the farmers were leading corn all
    night (as is customary when they fear ill weather,) and no rain
    fell there; yet such was the fury of the descending torrent, that
    the fields at Fornside exhibited nothing but devastation. Here a
    large tree broken in two, there one torn up by the root, and the
    ground everywhere covered with sand and stones." The rivulet called
    Mosedale Beck, which has its source between the mountains Dodd and
    Wolf-Crag, was by its sudden and continuous overflow the chief
    contributory of the inundation.


[7] Birth of Christ.


  In her neat country kirtle and kerchief array'd,
  A wild little maiden tripp'd through the green shade;
  With her pitcher, just filled from the rill, at her side,
  And a song on her lip of the Solway's rude tide;
  When a rider came by, gallant, youthful, and gay--
  "Pretty Maid, let me drink! and good luck to your lay!"

  As he glanced o'er the brim, arch and sweet was her smile;
  Then "Adieu!" passing on, he sang gaily the while--
  "Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
  I may be----" something she could not recall:
  For the tramp of his steed mingled in with the tone,
  And the burden ceased, broken--the singer was gone.

  There are words, notes, and whisperings, broken and few,
  That from depths in the soul will oft start up anew,
  Like a dream voice, unconsciously, early or late,
  Mid all changes of circumstance, fortune, and fate,
  Unappealed to, unsought for, unreck'd of, and brought
  From afar to the tongue without effort or thought.

  And 'twas thus the few notes which she caught of that strain
  Often stirr'd on the lips of the Maiden again.
  When a child at the school or a maid at the Hall--
  "Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
  I may be--" lilted she low, as she sate
  At her finger-work meekly, or stroll'd by the gate.

  So it chanced as she robed on one morning her bloom
  With a mantle of state, in her lost Lady's room;
  While the mirror gave back to her sight all her charms;
  Came that strain to her lip as she folded her arms--
  "Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
  I may be--Lady of Workington Hall!"

  Thus the wild-hearted Maid ended gaily the song.
  Like a flash from the mirror it glanced from her tongue,
  Void of meaning or thought of the future; but lo!
  There's a witness beside her the glass does not show.
  From a distance unseen are displayed to the eyes
  Of her Lord all her pranks in that courtly disguise.

  He charged the proud Butler, that evening to call
  To high feast all the maidens and grooms of the Hall;
  To send round the bowl, and when mirth flowing high
  Brought the heart to the lip, the bright soul to the eye,
  At the sound of his footstep to crown their good cheer
  With a round to the toast he has breathed in his ear.

  Bold and stern, on that evening arose mid the crowd
  The bold Butler, and called for a bumper aloud:
  Look'd around on the bevy of maidens and men:
  Glanced his eye past the Beauty, and spoke out again--
  "Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
  Let us drink to the Lady of Workington Hall."

  How they stared at each other, how glanced at their Lord,
  As he entered that moment and stood by the board,
  How they trembled to witness his eye's flashing ray,
  Was a sight to be seen that no art can portray.
  But the one conscious Maid who could read it alone,
  With a shriek, like a vanishing spirit was gone.

  But in vain! What the fates have determined will come!
  And in time, tired of clangour of trumpet, and drum,
  Came the Heir to the Hall of his ancestry old;
  Met the Maid of the pitcher once more as he stroll'd;
  Woo'd and won her, in spite of whate'er might befall;
  And made her the Lady of Workington Hall.


    The ancient family of the Curwens of Workington can trace their
    descent to Ivo de Tailbois and Elgiva daughter of Ethelred, King
    of England. Ivo came to England with the Conqueror, was the
    first lord of the barony of Kendal, and brother of Fulk, Earl of
    Anjou and King of Jerusalem. Ketel, the grandson of Ivo, had two
    sons;--Gilbert, the father of William de Lancaster, from whom
    descended, in a direct line, the barons of Kendal; and Orme, from
    whom descended the Curwens. These took their surname by agreement
    from Culwen, a family of Galloway, whose heir they married. It
    is said, that Culwen, which is on the seacoast of Galloway, had
    its name from a neighbouring rock, which was thought to resemble
    a white monk; that being the meaning of the word in the Irish
    language. It is also said, that the family name was changed to
    Curwen, by a corruption, which first appeared in the public records
    in the reign of King Henry VI. Orme having espoused Gunilda,
    sister of Waldieve, first lord of Allerdale, received in marriage
    with her the manor of Seaton below Derwent, and took up his abode
    there. Their son, Gospatrick, received the manors of Workington and
    Lamplugh from William de Lancaster in exchange for Middleton, in
    Westmorland. He was succeeded by his son Thomas, who became lord of
    Culwen in Galloway, and died in 1152, and was buried in the Abbey
    of Shap, to which he had been a benefactor; his estates descending
    to his second son, Patric de Culwen, who removed his residence from
    Seaton to Workington, where his descendants have since remained.

    Sir Thomas Curwen, the seventh in descent from Patric, died in
    the thirty fourth year of Henry VIII. In reference to this member
    of the family, Sandford in his M.S. History of Cumberland relates
    an instance of the pleasant manner in which conventual property
    at the dissolution was dealt with, and disposed of, among that
    monarch's favourites and friends. It is thus given:--"Sir Tho.
    Curwen Knight in Henry the Eight's time, an excellent archer at
    twelve score merks: And went up with his men to shoote with that
    reknowned King at the dissolution of abbeis: And the King says
    to him, Curwen, why doth thee begg none of thes Abbeis: I wold
    gratifie the some way: Quoth the other, thank yow, and afterward
    said he wold desire of him the Abbie of ffurness (nye unto him)
    for 20 ty one years: Sayes the King, take it for ever: Quoth the
    other, its long enough, for youle set them up againe in that time:
    But they not likely to be set up againe, this Sir Tho. Curwen sent
    Mr. Preston who had married his daughter to renew the lease for
    him; and he even renneued in his owne name; which when his father
    in law questioned, quoth Mr. Preston, yow shall have it as long as
    yow live: and I thinke I may as well have it with your daughter as

    There is probably some truth in the anecdote, related by Sandford.
    For it is said by West, that not long after the dissolution of
    Monasteries, Thomas Preston, of Preston-Patrick and Levens,
    purchased the site and immediate grounds of Furness Abbey from the
    trustees of the crown, with other considerable estates to the value
    of £3000 a year: after which he removed from Preston-Patrick, and
    resided at the Abbey, in a manor house built on the spot where the
    Abbot's apartments stood. Of his two sons, John the elder married
    the daughter of Curwen. His descendants were called Prestons of the
    Abbey, and of the Manor; and continued for four generations, when
    the two great grandsons of the purchaser died without issue. The
    family of Christopher, his second son, were known as the Prestons
    of Holker. Of these, Catharine, the fifth in the direct line from
    Christopher, was the mother of Sir Thomas Lowther, Baronet, of
    Yorkshire, to whom on the failure of the elder branch, the property
    of the Prestons in Furness was granted by George the First. This
    gentleman, by his marriage with the Lady Elizabeth Cavendish,
    daughter of the Duke of Devonshire, had an only son and heir, Sir
    William Lowther, Baronet, the last descendant of the Prestons of
    Preston-Patrick, who died unmarried in 1756, bequeathing all his
    estates in Furness and Cartmel to his cousin Lord George Augustus
    Cavendish, through whom they passed by inheritance to the present
    Duke of Devonshire.

    In a report to the government of Queen Elizabeth, of the date of
    1588, inserted among the Burghley Papers, the son and heir of
    this sharp-handed son-in-law of Curwen is mentioned in somewhat
    detractory terms, in a passage which describes "the Pylle of
    Folder," or Pile of Fouldrey. "The same Pylle is an old decayed
    castell of 'the dowchie of Lancaster, in Furness Felles, where
    one Thomas Preestone (a Papyshe Atheiste) is depute steward, and
    comaunders the menrede and lands ther, which were sometime members
    appertayninge to the Abbeye of Furnes.'"

    Workington Hall, the seat of the Curwens, is a large quadrangular
    building, with battlemented parapets, situated on a woody acclivity
    over looking the river Derwent, at the east end of the town. It has
    been almost entirely rebuilt within the present century. The old
    mansion was castellated pursuant to the royal license granted by
    Richard II., in 1379, to Sir Gilbert de Culwen. It is remarkable
    for having been the first prison-house of the unfortunate Mary of
    Scotland, after she had landed within the dominions of her rival.
    Having left the Scottish shore in a small fishing boat, she landed
    with about twenty attendants near the Hall on Sunday, May 16th,
    1568; and was received by Sir Henry Curwen as became her rank and
    misfortunes, and hospitably entertained by him, till she removed to
    Cockermouth, on her route to Carlisle. The apartment in which the
    Queen had slept was long preserved, out of respect to her memory,
    as she had left it. But some recent alterations of the mansion
    having become necessary, it was found that these could not be
    effected without the destruction of that portion which had been so
    long distinguished as the Queen's Chamber.

    Mr. Denton, who wrote about the year 1676, says, "I do not know any
    seat in all Britain so commodiously situated for beauty, plenty,
    and pleasure as this is." And Mr. Sandford, who wrote about the
    same time, has the following rapturous description, "And a very
    fair mansion-house and pallace-like; a court of above 60 yards long
    and 40 yards broad, built round about; garretted turret-wise, and
    toors in the corner; a gate house, and most wainscot and gallery
    roomes; and the brave prospect of seas and ships almost to the
    house, the tides flowing up. Brave orchards, gardens, dovecoats,
    and woods and grounds in the bank about, and brave corn fields and
    meadows below, as like as Chelsay fields. And now the habitation
    of a brave young Sq. his father Monsir Edward Curwen, and his
    mother the grandchild of Sir Michael Wharton o' th' Wolds in

    Even Mr. Gilpin, a century later, was struck with "its hanging
    woods and sloping lawns," and speaks of its situation as "one of
    the grandest and most beautiful in the country."

    The anecdote upon which the poem is founded was related by a person
    who about fifty years ago was much acquainted with what was current
    in some of the principal families in the West of Cumberland. She
    stated that it was commonly repeated among the servants of the
    different houses, and was quite credited by them: and that she
    herself had not any doubt as to the truth of the story, but could
    not give the period to which the circumstances refer.

    One of the domestics of the Hall was said to have been surprised by
    her master in the manner described, and to have been overheard by
    him, uttering the words,--

      "Who knows what may happen, or what may befall?
      I may be Lady of Workington Hall!"

    The butler was instructed to repeat the words publicly in the
    presence of the Maid, who fled from the mansion, overwhelmed with
    confusion. She subsequently formed a matrimonial alliance with a
    principal member of the family; and thus in a manner her prediction
    was verified.

    Such was the story, and such the narrator. It may be added, that
    the published notices of the family are devoid of anything to
    give confirmation to the story; but as it was related in the
    neighbourhood in the spirit alluded to, a place has been given to
    it among the traditions of Cumberland.


[8] "John Preston of the Manor in Furness, Esquire, married Margaret
daughter of Sir Thos. Curwen, of Workington, and had issue, tempore
Henry VIII."


  Come listen and hear of the Fiends'-Fell dread;
  And the helm of storm that shrouds its head,
  When the imps and cubs of Evil that tread
      Its summit, their strifes are waging:
  Who made their haunt on its topmost height,
  And down the valleys came often by night,
  To affright the Shepherds, the herds to blight,
      And set the strong winds raging.

  Ah, dwellers in peaceful vales afar!
  The cloudy Helm and the dismal Bar--
  You know whose work on the Fell they are;
      And you know whose wort they are brewing.
  And you wish that the saintly Augustine
  A warier man on his errand had been,
  When the lizard crept into his chalice unseen,
      The power of his spells undoing.

  For he came, by good men sought, they say,
  To the Fiends'-Fell foot, a weary way,
  To chase the fiends from the cloud that lay
      On its summit, as if to hide it.
  At an hour unmarked, by paths unknown,
  He climbed up the mountain side alone,
  And built on the top an altar of stone,
      And reared the cross beside it.

  And there within that mighty cloud,
  Where wrathful spirits were raging loud,
  The old good man, with mind unbow'd,
      But body so oft-times bending,
  Moved to and fro on the haunted top,
  And gathered the stones from off the slope,
  Nor bated a jot of heart or hope
      While the Altar pile was ascending.

  Then while the sun made bright below
  And warmed the vales with its cheerful glow,
  The mighty cloud began to blow,
      And deafening cries flew round him.
  But still the altar on high begun
  With heart and will, from his labours done
  The crowning recompence now has won
      For him, to that end who bound him.

  There stands the Altar the saint before.
  The long laborious task is o'er.
  The Cross which once the victim bore,
      It too spreads wide its arms.
  The Chalice is there with the juice divine;
  The wafer that bares the sacred sign;
  And the tapers beside the Cross to shine;
      To work out the counter-charms.

  All ready beside the holy man
  Stood--when for a moment his eyes began
  To droop, and a feeling of slumber ran
      Through his veins oppress'd and weary.
  For toil an old man's limbs will shake:
  And toil an old man's frame will break:
  But, that instant past, he stands awake
      Within that cloud so dreary.

  It was enough: No counter-charm
  Might work that day the fiend-cubs harm.
  The Chalice he offers with outstretched arm
      Has a reptile form within it!
  And neither the saint nor the wine has power
  To banish one fiend from the Fell, that hour:
  For a lizard the edge of the chalice crept o'er,
      While he slept but that tithe of a minute.

  Then blew the fiends, as if they would blow
  The mountain itself to the plain below.
  And when the saint turned round to go,
      Down tumbled the Altar behind him:
  And boiled and seethed the Helm and Bar,
  And the winds rushed down on the valleys afar;
  While the Saint emerged, like a shining star,
      From the cloud where they could not bind him.

  And he went his way; and the fiends prevailed.
  And still is the mountain by fiends assailed.
  And the dismal Helm from afar is hailed
      As a tempest surely growing.
  The herdsman shudders, and hies away
  To his hut on the hills at close of day,
  For he knows whose cubs are abroad at play
      And setting the Helm wind blowing.

  His children mourn at the dolorous roar,
  And rush to his arms from hearth and floor.
  But the good man thinks of his stacks and store,
      His fields and his farmstead wasting.
  The housewife prays that the rain may fall:
  But the stars are shining high over all:
  And the Bar extends like a pitchy wall
      In the West, where the storm is hasting.

  The long loud roar, it deepens amain;
  And down from the Helm along valley and plain
  Goes the wind with invisible hosts in its train,
      And they mount the black Bar-cloud appalling;
  And they heave it and row it, those mariners dread,
  For days, till it anchors on Fiends'-Fell head:
  Then the big drops pour from the skies o'er spread,
      And the torrents to torrents are calling.


    The Editor of Camden (Bishop Gibson), speaking of huge stones found
    together on the top of steep and high mountains, thought they might
    possibly be the ruins of Churches or Chapels which had been built
    there. "For," says he, "it was thought an extraordinary piece of
    devotion, upon the planting of Christianity in these parts, to
    erect crosses, and build chapels on the most eminent places, as
    being both nearer heaven and more conspicuous: they were commonly
    dedicated to St. Michael. That large tract of mountains on the east
    side of the county (of Cumberland), called Cross-Fells, had the
    name given them upon that account; for before, they were called
    Fiends'-Fell, or Devil's Fell; and Dilston, a small town under
    them, is contracted from Devil's-town."

    Among the several monuments on the pavement in the cross-aisle in
    Hexham Cathedral, is one ornamented with a crosier, and inscribed,
    "Hic Jacet Thomas de Devilston."

    The mountain, Cross-Fell, which is remarkable for the phenomenon
    of the Helm-Cloud upon its summit, and the Helm-wind, as it is
    called, generated within it, which is sometimes productive of such
    destructive effects in the valleys below, is said to have been
    formerly designated Fiends'-Fell, from the common belief that evil
    spirits had their haunt upon it; until St. Augustine, to whom and
    his forty followers, when travelling on their missionary labours in
    these parts, a legendary tradition ascribes the expulsion of the
    demons of the storms, erected a _Cross_, and built an altar on the
    summit, where he offered the holy eucharist, and thus was supposed
    to have counter-charmed the demons. Since that time it has borne
    the name of Cross-Fell; and the people of the neighbourhood style a
    heap of stones lying there, the Altar upon Cross-Fell.

    The common saying, "Its brewing a storm," or "A storm is brewing,"
    is one of the many phrases in which we only repeat the thought of
    our primeval Scandinavian ancestors; amongst whom the beverage
    quaffed in the halls of Valhalla, the drink of the Gods, was
    conceived to be a product of the storm, and had more or less
    identity with the Cloud-Water. In Germany, the mists that gather
    about the mountain tops before a storm are said to be accounted for
    in like manner, as if they were steam from the brewing or boiling
    in which dwarfs, elves, or witches were engaged. Such modes of
    expression, according to the dictionary of the brothers Grimm, are
    of extreme antiquity.

    Some such ideas seem to have been popularly associated with that
    enormous cloud, which is often seen, like a helmet, to cover the
    summit of Cross-Fell, and in which the Helm-Wind is generated.

    In speaking of the Helm-Wind, it may be necessary to premise that
    Cross-Fell is one continued ridge, stretching without any branches,
    or even subject mountains, except two or three conical hills called
    Pikes, from the N.N.W. to the S.S.E., from the neighbourhood of
    Gilsland almost to Kirkby-Stephen, that is about forty miles.
    Its direction is nearly in a right line, and the height of its
    different parts not very unequal; but is in general such, that some
    of its more eminent parts are exceeded in altitude by few hills in
    Britain, being 2901 feet above the level of the sea. The slope to
    the summit from the east is gradual, and extends over perhaps fifty
    miles of country; whilst on the west it is abrupt, and has at five
    miles from its base the river Eden running parallel to the mountain.

    Upon the upper part of this lofty ridge, there often rests, in dry
    and sunny weather, a prodigious wreath of clouds, extending from
    three or four to sixteen or eighteen miles each way, north and
    south, from the highest point; it is at times above the mountain,
    sometimes it rests upon its top, but most frequently descends a
    considerable way down its side. This mighty collection of vapour,
    from which so much commotion issues, exhibits an appearance
    uncommonly grand and solemn; and is named from a Saxon word, which
    in our language implies a covering, the Helm. The western front of
    this enormous cloud is clearly defined, and quite separated from
    any other cloud on that side. Opposite to this, and at a variable
    distance towards the west, and at the same elevation, is another
    cloud with its eastern edge as clearly defined as the Helm; this
    is called the Bar or Bur. It is said to have the appearance of
    being in continual motion, as if boiling, or at least agitated by a
    violent wind.

    The distance between the Helm and the Bar varies as the Bar
    advances towards, or recedes from, the Helm; this is sometimes
    not more than half a mile, sometimes three or four miles, and
    occasionally the Bar seems to coincide with the western horizon; or
    it disperses and there is no Bar, and then there is a general east
    wind extending over all the country westward.

    The description of this remarkable phenomenon, the Helm-Wind,
    we will give from observations made by the Rev. John Watson, of
    Cumrew, and others. The places most subject to it are Milburn,
    Kirkland, Ousby, Melmerby, and Gamblesby. Sometimes when the
    atmosphere is quite settled, hardly a cloud to be seen, and not
    a breath of wind stirring, a small cloud appears on the summit
    of the mountain, and extends itself to the north and south; the
    Helm is then said to be on, and in a few minutes the wind is
    blowing so violently as to break down trees, overthrow stacks,
    occasionally blow a person from his horse, or overturn a horse and
    cart. When the wind blows, the Helm seems violently agitated; and
    on descending the fell and entering it, there is not much wind.
    Sometimes a Helm forms and goes off without a wind; and there are
    easterly winds without a Helm. The open space between the Helm and
    Bar varies from eight or ten to thirty or forty miles in length,
    and from half a mile to four or six miles in breadth; it is of an
    elliptical form, as the Helm and Bar are united at the ends. A
    representation of the Helm, Bar, and space between, may be made by
    opening the forefinger and thumb of each hand, and placing their
    tips to each other; the thumbs will then represent the Helm on the
    top of the fell, the forefingers the Bar, and the space between,
    the variable limits of the wind.

    The open space is clear of clouds with the exception of small
    pieces breaking off now and then from the Helm, and either
    disappearing or being driven rapidly over the Bar; but through
    this open space is often seen a high stratum of clouds quite at
    rest. Within the space described the wind blows continually; it has
    been known to do so for nine days together, the Bar advancing or
    receding to different distances. When heard or felt for the first
    time it does not seem so very extraordinary; but when heard or felt
    for days together, it gives a strong impression of sublimity. Its
    sound is peculiar, and when once known is easily distinguished from
    that of ordinary winds; it cannot be heard more than three or four
    miles, but in the wind or near it, it is grand and awful, and has
    been compared to the noise made by the sea in a violent storm.

    Its first effect on the spirits is exhilarating, and it gives a
    buoyancy to the body. The country subject to it is very healthy,
    but it does great injury to vegetation by beating grain, grass, and
    leaves of trees, till quite black.

    It may further be remarked of this wind, that it is very irregular,
    rarely occurring in the summer months, and more frequent from the
    end of September to May. It generally blows from Cross-Fell longest
    in the spring, when the sun has somewhat warmed the earth beneath,
    and does not cease till it has effectually cooled it; thus it
    sometimes continues, according to Mr. Ritson, for a fortnight or
    three weeks, which he considers a peculiarity of the Helm wind of
    Cross-Fell. The wind itself is very chill, and is almost always
    terminated by a rain, which restores, or to which succeeds, a
    general warmth, and into which the Helm seems to resolve itself.

    The best explanation of this very interesting and remarkable
    phenomenon is given in the following observations of Dr. T. Barnes
    of Carlisle.

    The air or wind from the east ascends the gradual slope of the
    eastern side of the Penine chain or Cross-Fell range of mountains,
    to the summit of Cross-Fell, where it enters the Helm or cap, and
    is cooled to a low temperature; it then rushes forcibly down the
    abrupt declivity of the western side of the mountain into the
    valley beneath, in consequence of the valley being of a warmer
    temperature, and this constitutes the Helm wind.

    The sudden and violent rushing of the wind down the ravines and
    crevices of the mountains occasions the loud noise that is heard.

    At a varying distance from the base of the mountain the Helm wind
    is rarified by the warmth of the low ground, and meets with the
    wind from the west, which resists its further course. The higher
    temperature it has acquired in the valley, and the meeting of the
    contrary current, occasion it to rebound and ascend into the upper
    region of the atmosphere. When the air or wind has reached the
    height of the Helm, it is again cooled to the low temperature of
    this cold region, and is consequently unable to support the same
    quantity of vapour it had in the valley; the water or moisture
    contained in the air, is therefore condensed by the cold, and forms
    the cloud called the Helm-Bar.

    The meeting of the opposing currents beneath,--where there are
    frequently strong gusts of wind from all quarters, and the sudden
    condensation of the air and moisture in the Bar-cloud, give rise
    to its agitation or commotion, as if "struggling with contrary
    blasts." The Bar is therefore not the cause of the limit of the
    Helm wind, but is the consequence of it. It is absurd to suppose
    that the Bar, which is a light cloud, can impede or resist the
    Helm wind; but if it even possessed a sufficient resisting power,
    it could have no influence on the wind which is blowing near the
    surface of the earth, and which might pass under the Bar.

    The variable distance of the Bar from the Helm is owing to the
    changing situation of the opposing and conflicting currents, and
    the difference of temperature of different parts of the low ground
    near the base of the mountain.

    When there is a break or opening in the Bar, the wind is said to
    rush through with great violence, and to extend over the country.
    Here again, the effect is mistaken for the cause. In this case,
    the Helm-Wind, which blows always from the east, has, in some
    places underneath the observed opening, overcome the resistance
    of the air, or of the wind from the west, and of course does not
    rebound and ascend into the higher regions to form the Bar. The
    supply being cut off, a break or opening in that part of the Bar
    necessarily takes place.

    When the temperature of the lower region has fallen and become
    nearly uniform with that of the mountain range, the Helm wind
    ceases; the Bar and the Helm approach and join each other, and rain
    not unfrequently follows.

    When the Helm-Wind has overcome all the resistance of the lower
    atmosphere, or of the opposing current from the west, and the
    temperature of the valley and of the mountain is more nearly
    equalized, there is no rebound or ascent of the wind, consequently
    the Bar ceases to be formed, the one already existing is
    dissipated, and a general east wind prevails.

    There is little wind in the Helm-cloud, because the air is colder
    in it than in the valley, and the moisture which the air contains
    is more condensed and is deposited in the cloud upon the summit of
    the mountain.

    There is rarely either a Helm, Helm-wind, or Bar, during the
    summer, on account of the higher temperature of the summit of the
    Cross-Fell range, and the upper regions of the atmosphere, at that
    season of the year.

    The different situations of the Helm, on the side, on the summit,
    and above the mountain, will depend on the temperature of these
    places: when the summit is not cold enough to condense the vapour,
    the Helm is situated higher in a colder region, and will descend
    down the side of the mountains if the temperature be sufficiently
    low to produce that effect.

    The sky is clear between the Helm and Bar, because the air below
    is warmer and can support a greater quantity of vapour rising from
    the surface of the earth, and this vapour is driven forward by the
    Helm-Wind, and ascends up in the rebound to the Bar. In short,
    the Helm is merely a cloud or cap upon the mountain, the cold air
    descends from the Helm to the valley, and constitutes the Helm
    Wind, and when warmed and rarified in the valley, ascends and forms
    the Bar.


  Said Willie o' Scales, at break of day,
  "The hunt's up! I must busk and away!
  Steed, good wife? and saddle? I trow,
  Willie o' Scales is steed enow."

  --Scotland's King is a hunting gone:
  Willie o' Scales, he runs alone:
  Knights and Nobles many a score:
  Hounds full twenty tongues and more.

  Through the covert the deer he sprang:
  Over the heather the music rang.
  Dogs and steeds well speeded they:
  But Willie o' Scales, he show'd the way.

  For speed of foot had Willie no peer.
  He outstripp'd the horses, dogs, and deer.
  He left the Nobles far behind.
  He pass'd the King like a puff of wind.

  At the close of day, with a greenwood bough,
  Beside the deer he fann'd his brow.
  And "There, my liege!" to the Monarch he said,
  "Is as gallant a stag as ever lay dead.

  "I count him fleet, for a stag of ten!"--
  --"And I count thee chief of my Border men.
  No gallanter heart, I dare be sworn,
  Ever drew the shaft or wound the horn.

  "No trustier hand than thine was found
  When foes to Scotland hemm'd us round.
  Now swifter of foot than our fleetest deer--
  We'll try thy hold upon land and gear.

  "For his speed in sport, for his might in fray,
  Write, 'GILL'S broad lands' to 'Willie, THE RAE!'
  And for ever a Willie the Rae be here,
  When the King comes by to hunt the deer."--

  Thus spoke King William, where he stood,
  The Lion of Scotland, fierce of mood.
  And musing turned, and look'd again
  On his Border vassal; and cross'd the plain.

  Centuries long have rolled away:
  The Monarch is dust, his Nobles clay:
  Old lines are changed, are changing still:
  But Willie the Rae is lord of Gill.


    The long and scattered hamlet of High and Low Scales, is on the
    west side of Crummock Beck, near Bromfield, and a few miles from
    Wigton in Cumberland. Skells or scales, from a Saxon or Gothic word
    signifying a cover, was the name given to those slight temporary
    huts made of turf or sods which in the mountainous district of
    this county and Scotland are called Bields. They were erected
    most commonly for the shelter of shepherds; and during the later
    periods, in the border wars to protect the persons who were
    appointed to watch the cattle of the neighbourhood. Few estates in
    the kingdom have belonged to one family longer than this of THE
    GILL, which was formerly, however, much more extensive, comprising
    most probably the neighbouring hamlet of Scales. Another somewhat
    uncommon circumstance belonging to it is, that, to the close of
    last century, and for anything we know to the contrary, to a much
    later date, the owner had always lived on and occupied it himself;
    it had never been in the hands of a farmer.

    The Reays of Gill, however variously their name has been spelled
    and pronounced by different branches of the family, derived it from
    one on whom it was undoubtedly bestowed as being characteristical
    and descriptive of himself. The active hunter, the companion and
    the friend of William the Lion, was called in the commoner Saxon
    language of his time Ra, or Raa, a Roe, from his unparalleled
    swiftness. In Scotland and Germany a roe is still pronounced rae,
    as it was formerly in England.

      "When the deer and the rae
        Lightly bounding together,
      Sport the lang simmer day
        On the braes of Balquhither."

    The tradition is that the head, or chief, of this family had a grant
    of the lands of Gill to him, and his heirs for ever, from William
    the Lion, King of Scotland, whose eventful reign lasted nearly half
    a century; and who died in 1214. This grant is said to have been
    made, not only as a reward for his fidelity to his prince, but as
    a memorial of his extraordinary swiftness of foot in pursuing the
    deer, outstripping in fleetness most of the horses and dogs. The
    conditions of the grants were, that he should pay a pepper corn
    yearly, as an acknowledgment, and that the name of William should,
    if possible, be perpetuated in the family. "And this is certain,"
    says a writer in the Gentleman's Magazine about the year 1794,
    "That ever since, till now, a William Reay has been owner of the
    Gill. There is every reason to believe that the present John Reay
    is the first instance of a deviation." It is said that even in that
    instance the deviation was not made without deliberation; William
    the father having first consulted an eminent lawyer, whether he
    might safely call his son John. It was replied that mere length of
    occupancy would quiet the possession and make the title good.

    The great military tenure of lands in this district was by HOMAGE,
    FEALTY and CORNAGE. This last (cornage) drew after it _wardship_,
    _marriage_, and _relief_. And the service of this tenure was
    _knight's service_. HOMAGE was the most honourable service, and
    the most humble service of reverence, that a free tenant can do
    to his lord. For when he was to do homage to his lord, he was to
    appear ungirt, bareheaded, without his sword, and, kneeling on both
    knees, his hands held out and clasped between his lord's, was to
    say--"I become your man from this day forward of life, and limb,
    and earthly honour, and unto you will be true and faithful, and
    faith unto you will bear for the tenements that I claim to hold of
    you, saving the faith that I owe to our Sovereign Lord the King."
    And then the lord so sitting was to kiss him; by which kiss he was
    bound to be his vassal for ever.

    When a free tenant was to do FEALTY to his lord, he was to hold
    his right hand upon a book, and say thus--"Know ye this, my lord,
    that I will be faithful and true to you, and faith to you will bear
    for the tenements which I claim to hold of you, and that I will
    lawfully do to you the customs and services which I ought to do at
    the terms assigned; so help me God and his Saints." But he was not
    to kneel, nor make such humble reverence as in homage; and fealty
    might be done before the steward of the court, but homage could
    only be done to the lord himself.

    CORNAGE, called also HORNGELD, and NOWTEGELD or (cow-tax) seems
    early to have been converted into a pecuniary fine, being a
    stipulated payment in the first instance for the finding of
    scouts or horners to procure intelligence. It was first paid in
    cattle. The tenants who held by cornage were bound to be always
    ready to serve the King and lord of the manor on horseback, or on
    foot, at their own charge; and when the King's army marched into
    Scotland, their post was in the vanguard as they advanced, and in
    the vanguard on their return. Because they best knew the passes
    and defiles, and the way and manner of the enemy's attacking
    and retreating. _Wardship_ and _marriage_ were included in this
    tenure. When the tenant died, and the heir male was within the
    age of twenty one years, the lord was to have the land holden of
    him until the heir should attain that age; because the heir by
    intendment of law was not able to do knight's service before his
    age of twenty-one years. And if such heir was not married at the
    time of the death of his ancestor, then the lord was to have the
    wardship and marriage of him. But if the tenant died leaving an
    heir female, which heir female was of the age of fourteen years or
    upwards, then the lord was not to have the wardship of the land,
    nor of the body; because a woman of that age might have a husband
    to do knight's service. But if such heir female was under the age
    of fourteen years, and unmarried at the time of the death of her
    ancestor, the lord was to have the wardship of the land holden of
    him until the age of such heir female of fourteen years; within
    which time the lord might tender unto her convenable marriage
    without disparagement; and if the lord did not tender such marriage
    within the said age, she might have entered into the lands, and
    ousted the lord.

    Thus the consent of a superior lord was requisite for the marriage
    of a female vassal; and this power was distorted into the right of
    disposing of the ward in marriage. When the King or lord was in
    want of money it was by no means unusual to offer the wards, male
    or female, with their lands, in a sense to the highest bidder. If
    the ward refused to fulfil the marriage so made, then a sum was due
    from the estates equal to what they would have fetched.

    _Relief_ was a certain sum of money, that the heir, on coming of
    age, paid unto the lord, on taking possession of the inheritance of
    his ancestor.

    A _Knight's fee_ was estimated, not according to the quality but
    the quantity of the land, about 640 acres; and the relief was
    after the rate of one fourth part of the yearly value of the fee.

    The _lord's rent_ was called _white money_, or _white rent_, from
    its being paid in silver.

    SCUTAGE or service of the shield, was another compensation in
    money, instead of personal service against the Scots.

    The DRENGAGE tenure, which prevailed about Brougham and Clifton,
    was extremely servile. The tenants seem to have been drudges to
    perform the most laborious and servile offices. Dr. Burn quotes
    authority to prove that Sir Hugh de Morville in Westmorland changed
    drengage into free service; and that Gilbert de Brougham gave one
    half of the village of Brougham to Robert de Veteripont to make
    the other half free of drengage. One of the de Threlkelds also,
    who lived at Yanwath Hall, in the time of Edward I., relieved his
    tenants at Threlkeld of servile burdens at four pence a head. The
    services were half a draught for one day's ploughing; one day's
    mowing; one of shearing; one of clipping; one of salving sheep; one
    carriage load in two years, not to go above ten miles; to dig and
    load two loads of peat every year--the tenants to have their crowdy
    (a coarse mess of meal, dripping and hot water) while they worked;
    the cottagers the same, only they found a horse and harrow instead
    of the half plough, and a footman's load, not a carriage load.

    Many of these have long been lost sight of; and now most of the
    lands, whether held on customary or arbitrary tenures, merely pay
    an almost nominal rent, besides certain fines, to the lord of the
    manor. Nevertheless there is much truth in what Blackstone says:
    that "copy holders are only villeins improved."

    Lands of arbitrary tenure pay, with certain deductions, fines of
    two years value on the death of lord or tenant, or of both, and
    on alienation. Some pay dower to the widow; others do not. Some
    pay a live heriot, which means the best animal in the tenant's
    possession; others, a dead heriot, that is, the most valuable
    implement, or piece of furniture. In Catholic times, the Church
    also, on some manors, claimed as heriot the second best animal
    the tenant might die possessed of, and on others the best. In
    some instances a heriot is only payable when a widow remains in
    possession of the tenement, and in these cases the original object
    of the impost was to recompense the lord of the manor for the
    loss of a man's military service during the widow's occupancy. In
    some joint manors where two, or perhaps three, lords have claims
    for heriots, very discreditable, and, to a dying tenant's family,
    very distressing scenes are enacted; for, when it becomes known
    that the holder of a tenement so burdened is on his death-bed, the
    stewards of the several manors place watches round the premises,
    who ascertain what and where the best animal may be, and, as soon
    as the demise of the tenant is announced, a rush ensues, and an
    unseemly contest for possession.

    In arbitrary lands some lords claim all the timber; others only the
    oak; others the oak and yew; others oak and white thorn; and so on.
    In some the tenant is bound to plant two trees of the same kind for
    every one he fells; but tenants have a right to timber for repairs,
    rebuilding, or implements, though they must not cut down without
    license. Many lands are bound to carry their grain to the manorial
    mill to be ground and _multured_; but this custom has fallen into
    disuse. Most lords retain the minerals and game if they enfranchise
    the soil, as many have done.

    Many lands used to pay boons of various kinds; and some of these
    services are still enforced. By these were demanded so many men or
    boys, horses, carts, &c., in peat cutting time, hay time, harvest,
    wood-cutting and carting, and so on. In Martindale Chace, near
    Ulswater, where Mr. Hasell has a herd of that now rare species, the
    Red Deer, the tenants are bound to attend the lord's hunt once a
    year, which is called on their court roll a _Boon Hunt_. On this
    occasion, they each held their district allotted on the boundaries
    of the Chace, where they are stationed, to prevent the stag flying
    beyond the liberty. In the east of Cumberland, the tenants were
    obliged to send horses and sacks to St. Bees, for salt for the
    lord's use; some had to bring their own provisions when engaged in
    these services: some were entitled to a cake of a stated size for
    each man, and a smaller for a boy, on assembling in the morning
    at a fixed hour, under a certain tree, as was the custom at Irton
    Hall. Breach of punctuality forfeited this cake, but the work was
    always exacted. Certain farms in some manors were bound to maintain
    male animals for the use of all the tenants, subject to various
    conditions and regulations. Formerly many tenants paid a pound of
    pepper at the lord's court; others only a pepper-corn; and some
    lands are still held by this custom.

    Many other peculiar customs connected with the tenure of land
    formerly existed.

    Curious individual exemptions from certain burthens are to be
    met with occasionally. In the parish of Renwick a copyholder
    is released from payment of the prescription in lieu of tithe,
    paid by all his neighbours, because one of his ancestors slew "a
    cock-a-trice." This monster is alleged to have been nothing more
    than a bat of extraordinary size, which terrified the people in
    church one evening, so that all fled save the clerk, who valiantly
    giving battle, succeeded in striking it down with his staff. For
    this exploit, which is stated to have taken place about 260 years
    ago, he was rewarded with the exemption mentioned, which is still
    claimed by his successors.

    In the parish of Castle-Sowerby, the ten principal estates were
    anciently called _Red Spears_, on account of the singular service
    by which the tenants held them, viz:--that of riding through
    the town of Penrith on Whit-Tuesday, brandishing their spears.
    Those who held by this tenure were of the order of Red Knights,
    mentioned in our law books; a name derived from the Saxon, who held
    their lands by serving the lord on horseback. _Delient equitare
    cum domino suo de manerio in manerium, vel cum domini uxore._ In
    times of peace, it is presumed they held the annual service above
    noted as a challenge to the enemies of their country, or those
    who might dispute the title of their lord, similar to the parade
    of the Champion of England at a coronation. The spears were about
    nine feet in length, and till within the last century, some of
    them remained in the proprietors' houses, where they were usually
    deposited; and were sureties to the sheriff for the peaceable
    behaviour of the rest of the inhabitants.

    The ancient owners of the Red Spears estates annually served as
    jurors at the forest court held near Hesket, on St. Barnabas Day,
    by which they were exempted from all parish offices.


  It was the early summer time,
    When Maidens stint their praying
  To wander forth at morning's prime,
    With happy hearts, a maying;
  To wash their rosy cheeks with dew,
    And roam the meadows over:
  And ask the winds to tell them true
    Of some far distant lover.

  Then little Ermengarde, the while
    To graver thoughts awaking,
  Look'd sadly on St. Herbert's Isle
    As morn was brightly breaking.
  Some tapestry for his altar wrought
    Beside her bed was lying;
  Her beads, and little scroll for thought,
    No conscious look descrying.

  And now when might the gentle Saint
    Be at his service bending;
  His earnest life, without a taint
    Of earth still heavenwards tending--
  His silver voice, oft heard in prayer,
    Or in direction pleading--
  His manhood's bright angelic air--
    Her thought too fond were feeding.

  In little Ermengarde her love
    With God the Saint divided.
  Unknown even to herself she wove
    The threads her passion guided.
  And when she trembled on her knees
    Confessing faith before him--
  Ah! can this be but Man she sees,
    So heart and soul adore him!

  So little Ermengarde with pale
    And thoughtful cheek sat sighing,
  When rode an Elf-man down the vale
    Her open lattice eyeing.
  "Good morrow! May my Lady's thought,
    This happy May-day, blossom;
  And tenfold blessedness be wrought
    Within that gentle bosom!"

  "My tongue no thought or wish express'd"--
  --"Yet, trust me, fairest Lady!"
  "In Bowscale tarn, for thy behest,
    The undying twain are ready.
  Ask from their breasts two tiny scales
    Of gold and pearly whiteness.
  These on thy heart--fulfill'd prevails
    Thy wish in all its brightness!"--

  The stranger pass'd. Away she hies,
    The mountain pathway keeping,
  Where deep amid the silence lies
    The gloomy water sleeping.
  "Come, faithful fishes! give to me
    Two little scales"--she chanted--
  That in my bosom peace may be,
    And all my wishes granted."--

  They gave her from their pearly sides
    Two little scales. She bore them
  Down from the hill the Tarn that hides,
    And in her bosom wore them.
  The simple Cross her mother gave
    Was on her neck, a token
  Of that pure faith to which she clave;
    But lo! the link was broken!

  Down Greta's side with wild delight
    The little Maiden wandered;
  And on the Saint before her sight,
    Her inmost sight, she pondered;
  Now thinking--O that wed with mine
    His holy heart were moving!
  How shall we soar in thoughts divine,
    How walk in pathways loving!

  It was a festal day, and bands
    Of youths and maids were trooping
  With flowers and offerings in their hands,
    And round the altar grouping.
  And hark the little bell! it calls
    To every heart how sweetly!
  But most on Ermengarde's it falls
    With joy that brings her fleetly.

  But on the stony river's brim
    A moment's space delaying,
  To gaze--before she look'd on him--
    On her own features playing
  Within the mirror'd pool below--
    Its broken link dissevering,
  Her little Cross fell sinking slow
    Beyond her vain endeavouring.

  And from the stream two fin-like arms
    Leapt up and snatch'd her wailing,
  And dragg'd her down with all her charms
    In anguish unavailing.
  And down the rocks they bore her fast
    With struggles unrelenting:
  And Greta's roar mix'd in the blast
    With Ermengarde's lamenting.

  And far adown the rushing tide
    Was dragg'd and whirled the Maiden;
  And wildly mid the pools she cried
    In accents horror-laden.
  The streams dash'd on with furious roar;
    No aid the rude rocks lent her;
  Wild and more wild they gather'd o'er
    The loud and lost lamenter.

  So she whom Magic's wiles had driven,
    And her own heart persuaded,
  To tempt a Saint to turn from heaven,
    Fell, snatch'd from life unaided.
  Yet, not for ever lost, she roves
    Amid the winding currents,
  And utters to the hills and groves
    Her wail above the torrents.

  For yet some bard shall wander by
    With harp and song so holy,
  That they shall wrench the caves where lie
    Her limbs in anguish lowly.
  And free her for the blessed light
    And air again to greet her
  Awhile, before she takes her flight
    To where the Saint shall meet her.

  Even I, for little Ermengarde,
    Would harp a life-long morrow,
  But to reverse that doom so hard,
    And lead her back from sorrow;
  Mid happy thoughts again to beam,
    All joyousness partaking;
  But never more of Saints to dream
    When summer morns are breaking.


    I.--St. Herbert's Isle, placed nearly in the centre of Derwent
    Lake, derives its name from a hermit who lived there in the seventh
    century, and had his cell on this island.

    It contains about four acres of ground, is planted with firs
    and other trees, and has a curious octagonal cottage built with
    unhewn stones, and artificially mossed over and thatched. This
    was erected many years ago by the late Sir Wilfred Lawson, to
    whose representative the island at present belongs. A few yards
    from its site are the ruins of the hermitage formerly occupied by
    the recluse. These vestiges, being of stone and mortar, give the
    appearance of its having consisted of two apartments; an outer one,
    about twenty feet long and sixteen feet broad, which has probably
    been his chapel, and another, of narrower dimensions, his cell,
    with a little garden adjoining.

    The scene around was well adapted to excite the most solemn
    emotions, and was in unison with the severity of his religious
    life. His plot of ground and the waters around him supplied his
    scanty fare; while the rocks and mountains inspired his meditations
    with the most sublime ideas of the might and majesty of the
    Creator. It is no wonder that "St. Herbert, a priest and confessor,
    to avoid the intercourse of man, and that nothing might withdraw
    his attention from unceasing meditation and prayer, chose this
    island for his abode."

    There is no history of St. Herbert's life and actions to be met
    with, or any tradition of his works of piety or miracles, preserved
    by the inhabitants of the country. His contemporary existence with
    St. Cuthbert, and his equo-temporary death with him obtained by the
    prayers of the saint, at the time and in the manner related below,
    according to the old legends, is all that is known of him.

    Bede, in his History of the Church of England, writes thus of the
    saint:--"There was a certain priest, revered for his uprightness
    and perfect life and manners, named Herberte, who had a long time
    been in union with the man of God (St. Cuthbert of Farn Isle) in
    the bond of spiritual love and friendship; for living a solitary
    life in the isle of that great and extended lake from whence
    proceeds the river Derwent, he used to visit St. Cuthbert every
    year, to receive from his lips the doctrines of eternal life. When
    this holy priest heard of St. Cuthbert's coming to Luguballea
    (Carlisle), he came, after his usual manner, desiring to be
    comforted more and more with the hopes of everlasting bliss by his
    divine exhortations. As they sat together, and enjoyed the hopes
    of heaven, among other things the Bishop said, 'Remember, brother
    Herberte, that whatsoever ye have to say and ask of me, you do it
    now, for after we depart hence, we shall not meet again, and see
    one another corporeally in this world, for I know well the time of
    my dissolution is at hand, and the laying aside of this earthly
    tabernacle draweth on apace.' When Herberte heard this, he fell
    down at his feet, and, with many sighs and tears, beseeched him,
    for the love of the Lord, that he would not forsake him, but to
    remember his faithful brother and associate, and make intercession
    with the gracious God, that they might depart hence into heaven
    together, to behold his grace and glory whom they had in unity
    of spirit served on earth; for you know I have ever studied and
    laboured to live according to your pious and virtuous instructions;
    and in whatsoever I offended through ignorance or frailty, I
    straightway used my earnest efforts to amend after your ghostly
    counsel, will, and judgment.'--At this earnest and affectionate
    request of Herberte's, the Bishop went to prayer, presently
    being certified in spirit that this petition to heaven would be
    granted--'Arise,' said he, 'my dear brother; weep not, but let your
    rejoicing be with exceeding gladness, for the great mercy of God
    hath granted to us our prayer.'--The truth of which promise and
    prophecy was well proved in that which ensued; for their separation
    was the last that befell them on earth; on the same day, which was
    the 19th day of March, their souls departed from their bodies, and
    were straight in union in the beatific sight and vision--and were
    transported hence to the kingdom of heaven by the service and hands
    of angels."

    It is probable that the hermit's little oratory, or chapel, might
    be kept in repair after his death, as a particular veneration seems
    to have been paid by the religious of after ages to this retreat,
    and the memory of the Saint.

    There is some variation in the account given by authors of the
    day of the Saint's death; Bede says the 19th day of March: other
    authors the 20th day of May, A. D., 687; and by a record given in
    Bishop Appleby's Register, it would appear that the 13th day of
    April was observed as the solemn anniversary.

    But, however, in the year 1374, at the distance of almost seven
    centuries, we find this place resorted to in holy services and
    procession, and the hermit's memory celebrated in religious
    offices. The Vicar of Crosthwaite went to celebrate mass in his
    chapel on the island, on the day above mentioned, to the joint
    honour of St. Herbert and St. Cuthbert; to every attendant at which
    forty days' indulgence was granted as a reward for his devotion.
    "What a happy holiday must that have been for all these vales,"
    says Southey; "and how joyous on a fine spring day must the lake
    have appeared, with the boats and banners from every chapelry; and
    how must the chapel have adorned that little isle, giving a human
    and religious character to the solitude!"

    In the little church of St. John's in the Vale, which is one of the
    dependent chapelries of the church of Crosthwaite, is an old seat,
    with the date 1001 carved on the back of it, to which tradition
    assigns, that it was formerly in St. Herbert's Chapel, on the
    island in Derwent Lake.

    These figures correspond with those on the bell in the Town Hall at
    Keswick, said to have been brought from Lord's Island.

    II.--Bowscale Tarn is a small mountain lake, lying to the
    north-east of Blencathra. It is supposed by the country people
    in the neighbourhood, with whom it has long been a tradition, to
    contain two immortal fish; the same which held familiar intercourse
    with, and long did the bidding of, the Shepherd Lord when he
    studied the stars upon these mountains, and gathered that more
    mysterious knowledge, which, matured in the solitude of Barden
    Tower, has till this day associated his name with something of
    supernatural interest in this district, where he so long resided.[9]

    From some lines of Martial (lib. iv. 30) it appears that there were
    some fishes in a lake at Baiæ in Campania consecrated to Domitian,
    and like the undying ones of Bowscale Tarn, they knew their

      "Sacris piscibus hæ natantur undæ,
      Qui norunt dominum, manumque lambunt;
      ---- ---- ---- et ad magistri
      Vocem quisquis sui venet citatus."

    III.--It has been stated with reference to the river Greta,
    that its channel was formerly remarkable for the immense stones
    it contained; and that by their concussion in high floods were
    caused those loud and mournful noises which not inappropriately
    have gained for it the characteristic title of "Mourner."
    Mr. Southey has given the following description of it in his
    "Colloquies";--"Our Cumberland river Greta has a shorter course
    than even its Yorkshire namesake. St. John's Beck and the
    Glenderamakin take this name at their confluence, close by the
    bridge three miles east of Keswick on the Penrith road. The former
    issues from Leathes Water, in a beautiful sylvan spot, and proceeds
    by a not less beautiful course for some five miles through the
    vale from which it is called, to the place of junction. The latter
    receiving the stream from Bowscale and Threlkeld Tarns, brings
    with it the waters from the south side of Blencathra. The Greta
    then flows toward Keswick; receives first the small stream from
    Nathdale; next the Glenderaterra, which brings down the western
    waters of Blencathra and those from Skiddaw Forest, and making a
    wide sweep behind the town, joins the Derwent under Derwent Hill,
    about a quarter of a mile from the town, and perhaps half that
    distance from the place where that river flows out of the lake, but
    when swollen above its banks, it takes a shorter line, and enters
    Derwent Water.

    "The Yorkshire stream was a favourite resort of Mason's, and
    has been celebrated by Sir Walter Scott. Nothing can be more
    picturesque, nothing more beautiful, than its course through the
    grounds at Rokeby, and its junction with the Tees;--and there is a
    satisfaction in knowing that the possessor of that beautiful place
    fully appreciates and feels its beauties, and is worthy to possess
    it. Our Greta is of a different character, and less known; no poet
    has brought it into notice, and the greater number of tourists
    seldom allow themselves time for seeing anything out of the beaten
    track. Yet the scenery upon this river, where it passes under the
    sunny side of Latrigg, is of the finest and most rememberable kind:

      --Ambiguo lapsu, refluitque fluitque,
      Occurrensque sibi venturas aspicit undas.

    There is no English stream to which this truly Ovidian description
    can more accurately be applied. From a jutting isthmus, round which
    the tortuous river twists, you look over its manifold windings, up
    the water to Blencathra; down it, over a high and wooded middle
    ground, to the distant mountains of Newlands, Cawsey Pike, and


[9] Vide Notes to Sir Lancelot Threlkeld, for a notice of Lord Clifford
the Shepherd.


  A joyful train left Lucy's halls
  At morning, cheer'd with bugle calls,
  That long ere eve, a mournful train,
  Returned to Lucy's halls again.

  They went with hound and spear and bow,
  To lay the prowling wild-wolf low.
  They came with hound and bow and spear--
  And one fair daughter on her bier.

  Her prancing palfrey starting wide,
  She gallop'd from Lord Lucy's side,
  A shining huntress, gay, and bold,
  And fair as Dian's self of old.

  The quarry cross'd her lover's view;
  He led the chace with shrill halloo,
  Through brake and furze, by stream and dell,
  Nor stopp'd until the quarry fell.

  Far off aloud rang out his horn
  The triumph on the echoes borne,
  Long ere the listening maid drew rein
  To woo it to her ear in vain.

  Bright as a phantom, far astray,
  She stood where broad before her lay
  Wilton's high wastes and forest rude,
  And all the Copeland solitude.

  Far off, and farther, rang the horn:
  Farther the echoes seem'd to mourn.
  "Now, my good Bay, thy frolic o'er,
  Thy swiftest and thy best once more!"

  By Hole of Haile she turned her steed:
  Coursed gaily on by Yeorton Mead;
  Glanced where St. Bridget's hamlet show'd;
  And down into the coppice rode.

  And singing on in gladness there,
  She pass'd beside the she-wolf's lair;
  When furious from her startled young
  The wild brute on Gunilda sprung.

  From frighted steed dragg'd low to ground,
  The she-wolf, with her cubs around,
  Made havoc of that peerless form,
  And heart with bounding life so warm.

  Clearer rang out their horn, to cheer
  Their lost one; and proclaim'd them near.
  Proudly they said--"Gunilda's eyes
  Will brighten when she sees our prize!"--

  They found her; but their words were "Woe!"
  "Woe to the bank where thou liest low!
  Woe to the hunting of this day,
  That left thy limbs to beasts, a prey!"

  With downcast faces, eyeballs dim,
  They bore her up that mount--to him
  A Mount of Sorrow evermore,
  Too faithful to the name it bore.

  They made in Bega's aisle her tomb,
  And laid her in the convent gloom;
  And carved her effigy in stone,
  And hew'd the she-wolf's form thereon--

  In pity to this hour to wake
  The pilgrim's sorrow for her sake,
  And his who blew the lively horn,
  Expecting her--and came to mourn.


    A traditional story in the neighbourhood of Egremont relates the
    circumstance of a lady of the Lucy family being devoured by a wolf.
    According to one version this catastrophe occurred on an evening
    walk near the Castle; whilst, a more popular rendering of the
    legend ascribes it to an occasion on which the lord of the manor,
    with his lady and servants, were hunting in the forest; when the
    lady having been lost in the ardour of the chase, was after a long
    search and heart-rending suspense, found lying on a bank slain by
    a wolf which was in the act of tearing her to pieces. The place is
    distinguished by a mound of earth, near the village of Beckermet,
    on the banks of the Ehen, about a mile below Egremont. The name of
    Woto Bank, or Wodow Bank as the modern mansion erected near the
    spot is called, is said to be derived by traditionary etymology,
    from the expression to which in the first transports of his grief
    the distracted husband gave utterance--"Woe to this bank."

    Hutchinson is inclined to believe "that this place has been witness
    to many bloody conflicts, as appears by the monuments scattered on
    all hands in its neighbourhood; and by some the story is supposed
    to be no more than an emblematic allusion to such conflicts during
    the invasion of the Danes. It is asserted that no such relation is
    to be found in the history of the Lucy family; so that it must be
    fabulous, or figurative of some other event."

    There are, however, yet to be seen in the burial ground attached to
    the Abbey Church of St. Bees, the remaining parts of two monumental
    figures which may reasonably be presumed to have reference to some
    such event as that recorded by tradition. The fragments, which are
    much mutilated, are of stone; and the sculpture appears to be of
    great antiquity. Common report has assigned to these remains the
    names of Lord and Lady Lucy.

    In their original state, the figures were of gigantic size. The
    features and legs are now destroyed. The Lord is represented with
    his sword sheathed. There is a shield on his arm, which appears to
    have been quartered, but the bearings upon it are entirely defaced.
    On the breast of the Lady is an unshapely protuberance. This was
    originally the roughly sculptured limb of a wolf, which even so
    lately as the year 1806, might be distinctly ascertained. These
    figures were formerly placed in an horizontal position, at the top
    of two raised altar tombs within the church. The tomb of the Lady
    was at the foot of her Lord, and a wolf was represented as standing
    over it. The protuberance above mentioned, on the breast of the
    Lady, the paw of the wolf, is all that now remains of the animal.
    About a century since, the figure of the wolf wanted but one leg,
    as many of the inhabitants, whose immediate ancestors remembered it
    nearly entire, can testify. The horizontal position of the figures
    rendered them peculiarly liable to injuries, from the silent and
    irresistible ravages of time. Their present state is, however,
    principally to be attributed to the falling in of the outer walls
    of the priory, and more particularly to their having been used,
    many years since, by the boys of the Free Grammar School, as a mark
    to fire at. There can be little doubt that the limb of the wolf has
    reference to the story of one of the Ladies Lucy related above.

    It may not however be unworthy of remark, that the Lucies were
    connected, through the family of Meschines, with Hugh d' Abrincis,
    Earl of Chester, who in the year 1070 is said to have borne azure a
    wolf's head erased argent, and who had the surname of Lupus.

    The wife of Hugh Lupus was sister to Ranulph de Meschin.

    The family of Meschines has been said to be descended from that
    at Rome called by the name Mæcenas, from which the former one is
    corrupted. "Certainly," says a recent writer, "it has proved itself
    the Mæcenas of the Priory of St. Bees, not merely in the foundation
    of that religious house, but also in the charters for a long course
    of years, which have been granted by persons of different names,
    indeed, but descended from, or connected with, the same beneficent
    stock." This is shown in the following extract from a MS. in the
    Harleian Collection:--

    "Be y^t notid that Wyllyam Myschen son of Ranolf Lord of Egermond
    founded the monastery of Saint Beysse of blake monks, and heyres to
    the said Meschyn y^s the Lords Fitzwal, the Lord Haryngton, and the
    Lord Lucy, and so restyth founders of the said monastery therle of
    Sussex the Lord Marques Dorset, therle of Northumberland as heyres
    to the Lords aforesaid."

    The religious house thus restored, consisting of a prior and six
    Benedictine monks, was made a cell to the mitred Abbey of Saint
    Mary, at York. And under this cell, Bishop Tanner says, there was a
    small nunnery situated at Rottington, about a mile from St. Bees.

    At the dissolution, the annual revenues of this priory, according
    to Dugdale, were £143 17_s._ 2_d._; or, by Speed's valuation, £149
    19_s._ 6_d._; from which it appears there were only two religious
    houses in the county more amply endowed, viz. the priory of
    Holme-Cultram, and the Priory of St. Mary, Carlisle; which latter
    was constituted a cathedral church at the Reformation.

    The conventual church of St. Bees is in the usual form of a cross,
    and consists of a nave with aisles, a choir, and transepts, with a
    massive tower, at the intersection, which until lately terminated
    in an embattled parapet. This part of the building is now
    disfigured by an addition to enable it to carry some more bells.
    The rest of the edifice is in the early English style, and has been
    thoroughly restored with great taste and feeling. On the south
    side of the nave there was formerly a recumbent wooden figure, in
    mail armour, supposed to have been the effigy of Anthony, the last
    Lord Lucy of Egremont, who died A. D. 1368. The Lady Chapel, which
    had been a roofless ruin for two centuries, was fitted up as a
    lecture-room for the College established by Bishop Law in 1817.

    The priors of this religious house ranked as barons of the Isle of
    Man; as the Abbot of the superior house, St. Mary's, at York, was
    entitled to a seat amongst the parliamentary barons of England.
    As such he was obliged to give his attendance upon the kings and
    lords of Man, whensoever they required it, or at least, upon every
    new succession in the government. The neglect of this important
    privilege would probably involve the loss of the tithes and lands
    in that island, which the devotion of the kings had conferred upon
    the priory of St. Bees.

    In the library of the Dean and Chapter of Carlisle is the following
    curious account of the discovery of a giant at St. Bees:--

    "A true report of Hugh Hodson, of Thorneway, in Cumberland, to S^r
    Rob Cewell (qy. Sewell) of a Gyant found at S. Bees, in Cumb'land,
    1601, before X^t mas.

    "The said Gyant was buried 4 yards deep in the ground, w^{ch} is
    now a corn feild.

    "He was 4 yards and an half long, and was in complete armour: his
    sword and battle-axe lying by him.

    "His sword was two spans broad and more than 2 yards long.

    "The head of his battle axe a yard long, and the shaft of it all of
    iron, as thick as a man's thigh, and more than 2 yards long.

    "His teeth were 6 inches long, and 2 inches broad; his forehead was
    more than 2 spans and a half broad.

    "His chine bone could containe 3 pecks of oatmeale.

    "His armour, sword, and battle-axe, are at Mr. Sand's of Redington,
    (Rottington) and at Mr. Wyber's, at St. Bees."--

    Machel MSS. Vol. vi.


  The Knight sat lone in Old Rydal Hall,
  Of the line of Flandrensis burly and tall.
  His book lay open upon the board:
  His elbow rested on his good sword:
  His knightly sires and many a dame
  Look'd on him from panel and dusky frame.
  High over the hearth was their ancient shield,
  An argent fret on a blood-red field--
  "Peace, Plenty, Wisdom."--"Peace?" he said:
  "Peace there is none for living or dead."

  The Autumnal day had died away:
  The reapers deep in their slumbers lay:
  The harvest moon through the blazoned panes
  From Scandale Brow poured in the stains:
  His household train, and his folk at rest,
  And most the child that he loved best:
  His startled ear caught up the swell
  Of distant sounds he knew too well.
  By his golden lamp to the shield he said,
  "Peace? Peace there is none for living or dead."

  The Knight he came of high degree,
  None better or braver in arms than he:
  Worthy of old Flandrensis' fame,
  Whose soul not battle nor broil could tame.
  That neighing and trampling of horses late,
  That hubbub of voices round his gate,
  That sound of hurry along the floors,
  That dirge-like wail through distant doors,
  Tempestuous in the calm, he heard:
  And he looked on the shield, nor spoke, nor stirr'd.

  From inmost chambers far remote
  Responsive flow'd one dirge-like note:
  Loud through the arches deep and wide
  One little voice did sweetly glide;
  Its sad accords along the gloom
  Swelled on towards that lordly room--
  "We wait not long, our watch we keep,
  We all are singing, and none may sleep:
  When stone on stone nor roof remain,
  The unresting shall have rest again."

  The Knight turned listening to the door.
  His little maid came up the floor.
  Her nightly robe of purest white
  Gleamed purer in the faded light.
  The blazoned moonbeams slowly swept
  The spaces round, as on she stept.
  And lo! in his armour from head to toe,
  With his beard of a hundred winters' snow,
  Stood old Flandrensis burly and tall,
  With his breast to the shield, and his back to the wall.

  The six score winters in his eyes
  Unfroze, as on through the blazoned dyes,
  Sable, and azure, and gules, she came.
  Through his heaving beard low fluttered her name.
  But slowly and solemnly, leading or led
  By phantoms chanting for living or dead,
  Pass'd on the little voice so sweet--
  "We all are singing: we all must meet"--
  And into the gloom like a fading ray:
  And the form of Flandrensis vanished away.

  The Knight, alone, in his ancient hold,
  Sat still as a stone: his blood ran cold.
  For his little maiden was his delight.
  Then forth he strode in the face of the night.
  His dogs were in kennel, his steeds in stall:
  His deer were lying about his hall:
  His swans beneath the Lord's Oak Tree:
  The silvery Rotha was flowing free.
  He set his brow towards Scandale hill:
  The vale was breathing, but all was still.

  He thought of the spirits the snow-winds rouse,
  The Piping Spirits of Sweden Hows,
  That wail to the Rydal Chiefs their fate--
  That pipe as they whirl around lattice and gate,
  With their grey gaunt misty forms: but now,
  There was not a stir in the lightest bough:
  The winds in the mountain gorge were laid;
  No sound through all the moonlight stray'd.
  He turned again to his ancient Keep:
  There all was silence, and calm, and sleep.

  But all grew changed in the gloomy pile.
  His little maiden lost her smile.
  The menials fled: that knightly race
  Was left alone in its ancient place:
  The pride of its line of warriors quailed--
  Those sworded knights once peerless hailed:
  To the earth broke down from its hold their shield.
  With its argent fret and its blood-red field:
  And they fled from the might of the powers that strode
  In the darkness through their old abode.

  And Sir Michael brooded an autumn day,
  As he looked on the slope at his child at play,
  On the green by the sounding water's fall:
  And often those words did he recall--
  "We wait not long, our watch we keep;
  We all are singing, and none may sleep.
  When stone on stone nor roof remain,
  The unresting shall have rest again."
  And the Knight ordained, as he brooded alone--
  "There shall not be left of it roof or stone."

  And Sir Michael said--"I will build my hall
  On the green by the sounding waterfall:
  And an arbour cool at its foot, beside.
  And I'll bury my shield in the crystal tide,
  To cleanse it from blood perchance, that so
  Peace, Plenty, and Wisdom again may flow
  Round old Flandrensis' honours and name."
  And the pile arose: and the sun's bright flame
  Was pleasant around it: and morn and even
  It lay in the light and the hues of heaven.

  And Sir Michael sat in the arbour cool,
  Where the waters leapt in the crystal pool;
  Saying--"Gone is yon keep to a grim decay.
  And now, my little one, loved alway!
  Whence came thy singing so wild and deep?"--
  --"We all were singing, and none might sleep,
  Till all the Unmerciful heard their strain.
  But now the unresting have rest again."--

  So the keep went down to the dust and mould.
  And the new pile bore the blazon of old--
  The pride of the old ancestral shield--
  The argent fret on the blood-red field;
            "Peace, Plenty, Wisdom"
             Beneath enscrolled.


    The ancient Manor house at Rydal stood in the Low Park, on the top
    of a round hill, on the south side of the road leading from Keswick
    to Kendal. But on the building of the new mansion on the north side
    of the highway, in what is called the High Park, the manor house
    became ruinous, and got the name of the Old Hall, which, says Dr.
    Burn, in his time, "it still beareth." Even then there was nothing
    to be seen but ruinous buildings, walks, and fish ponds, and other
    marks of its ancient consequence; the place where the orchard stood
    was then a large enclosure without a fruit tree in it, and called
    the Old Orchard. At the present day few indications of its site
    remain. Tradition asserts that it was deserted from superstitious

    The present mansion was erected by Sir Michael le Fleming in the
    last century. It stands on the north side of the road, on a slope
    facing the south, is a large old fashioned building, and commands a
    fine view of Windermere. Behind it rises Rydal Head, and Nab-Scar
    a craggy mountain 1030 feet above the level of the sea. The Park
    is interspersed with abundance of old oaks, and several rocky
    protuberances in the lawn are covered with fine elms and other
    forest trees. The Lord's Oak, a magnificent specimen, is built
    into the wall on the lower side of the Rydal Road over which it
    majestically towers. "The sylvan, or rather forest scenery of Rydal
    Park," says Professor Wilson, "was, in the memory of living men,
    magnificent, and it still contains a treasure of old trees."

    The two waterfalls, the cascades of the rivulet which runs through
    the lawn, are situated in the grounds. The way leads through the
    park meadow and outer gardens by a path of singular beauty and
    richness. They are in the opinion of Gilpin and other tourists
    unparalleled in their kind. The upper fall is the finest, in the
    eyes of those who prefer the natural accessories of a cascade: but
    the lower one, which is below the Hall, is beheld from the window
    of an old summer house. This affords a fine picture frame; the
    basin of rock and the bridge above, with the shadowy pool, and the
    overhanging verdure, constituting a perfect picture.

    The heraldic distinction, the fret, is found more than once in
    Furness Abbey, and is undoubtedly the ancient arms of le Fleming.
    An entire seal appended to a deed from Sir Richard le Fleming
    of Furness dated 44 Edward the Third (1371) shews a fret hung
    cornerwise, the crest, on a helmet a fern, or something like it.
    The seal annexed to another deed dated 6 Henry V. (1419) is the
    same as above described; the motto, _S. Thome Flemin_, in Saxon

    The present crest and motto are of modern date, and explain each
    other: the serpent is the emblem of wisdom, as the olive and
    the vine are of peace and plenty. But upon what occasion this
    distinction was taken does not appear.


  "Caw! Caw!" the rooks of Furness cry.
  "Caw! Caw!" the Furness rooks reply.
  In and about the saintly pile,
  Over refectory, porch, and aisle,
  Perching on archway, window, and tower,
  Hopping and cawing hour by hour.
  Saint Mary of Furness knows them well!
  They are souls of her Monks laid under a spell.
  They were once White Monks; ere the altars fell,
  And the vigils ceased, and the Abbey bell
  Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

  "Caw! Caw!" for ever, from morn
  Till night they trouble the ruins forlorn:
  Roger the Abbot, parading in black,
  Briand the Prior, and scores at his back
  Of those old fathers cawing amain,
  All robed in rooks' black feathers, in vain
  Waiting again for the Abbey to rise,
  For matins to waken the morning skies,
  And themselves to chant the litanies.

  "Caw! Caw!" No wonder they caw!
  To see--where their vigorous rule was law--
  Fair Love with his troops of youths and maids,
  With holiday hearts, through greenwood shades
  Come forth, and in every Muse's name,
  With songs, a joyful time proclaim;
  And to hear the car-borne Demon's yell,
  The Steam-Ghoul screeching the fatal knell
  Of peace in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

  "Caw! Caw!" still over the walls
  You wheel and flutter, with ceaseless calls;
  Thinking, no doubt, of your cells and holes,
  You poor old Monks' translated souls!
  Sad change for you to be cawing here,
  And black, for many a hundred year!
  But haunt as you may your ancient pile,
  You will never more chant in the holy aisle;
  You never will kneel as you knelt of yore;
  Nor the censer swing, nor the anthem pour;
  And your souls shall never shake off the spell
  That binds you to all you loved so well,
  Ere the altars fell, and the Abbey bell
  Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.

  "Caw! Caw!" In the ages gone,
  When the mountains with oak were overgrown,
  Up the glen the Norskmen came,
  Lines of warriors, chiefs of fame--
  With Bekan the Sorcerer, earthward borne,
  By toil, and battle, and tempest worn--
  Crowding along the dell forlorn.
  Over the rill, high on the steep,
  There in his barrow wide and deep,
  With axe and hoe those armed men
  Buried him down, by the narrow glen,
  With the flower, at his feet, of wondrous spell:
  Buried him down, and covered him well,
  And left him hid by the lonely Dell.

  "Caw! Caw!" O would the wise Monks had known
  Who slept his sleep in that barrow alone,
  When they gathered the bekan he made to grow,
  And bore it to bloom in the dell below.
  For they pulled at the heart of the mighty Dead;
  And they broke his peace in his narrow bed;
  And on fibre and root the Sorcerer's power
  Fasten'd the spell that changed the flower;
  From sweet to bitter its juices pass'd;
  And the deadly fruit on the poisoned blast
  Scattered its sorcery ages down.
  And where once with cowl and gown,
  Hymning the Imperial Queen of Light,
  Went forth the Monks--the shade of night
  Was spread more deadly than tongue can tell.
  Witchery walked where all had been well:
  Well with all that hymned and prayed;
  Well with Monk, and well with maid
  That sought the Abbey for solace and aid.
  But the lethal juices wrought their spell:
  One by one was rung their knell:
  One by one from choir and cell
  They floated up with a hoarse farewell;
  And the altars fell, and the Abbey bell
  Was hush'd in the Deadly Nightshade Dell.


    In the southern extremity of Furness, about half a mile to the west
    of Dalton, a deep narrow vale stretches itself from the north, and
    opens to the south with an agreeable aspect to the noonday sun; it
    is well watered with a rivulet of fine water collected from the
    adjacent springs, and has many convenient places for mills and
    fish-ponds. This romantic spot is the Vale of Deadly Nightshade,
    or, as it is sometimes called, Bekangs-Gill.

    The solitary and private situation of this dell being so well
    formed and commodious for religious retreat had attracted the
    attention of Evanus, or Ewanus, a monk, originally belonging to
    the monastery of Savigny in Normandy, from which he and a few
    associates had migrated, and had recently seated themselves at
    Tulket, near Preston in Amounderness, where Evanus was chosen to
    be their first abbot. Accordingly, they were induced to change
    their residence; and exactly three years and three days after their
    settling at Tulket on the fourth of the nones of July, 1124, they
    removed to the sequestered shades of Bekangs-Gill, and there began
    the foundation of the magnificent Abbey of St. Mary in Furness,
    in magnitude only second of those in England belonging to the
    Cistercian Monks, and the next in opulence after Fountains Abbey in
    Yorkshire, being endowed with princely wealth and almost princely
    authority, and not unworthy of the style in which its charter
    records the gifts and grants, with all their privileges, of its
    Royal founder, "to God and St. Mary," in the following words:--

    "In the name of the Blessed Trinity, and in honour of St. Mary
    of Furness, I Stephen, earl of Bulloign and Mortaign, consulting
    God, and providing for the safety of my own soul, the soul of my
    wife the countess Matilda, the soul of my lord and uncle Henry
    king of England and duke of Normandy, and for the souls of all the
    faithful, living as well as dead, in the year of our Lord 1127 of
    the Roman indiction, and the 5th and 18th of the epact:

    "Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses and
    flowers of kings, emperors, and dukes, and the crowns and palms
    of all the great, wither and decay; and that all things, with an
    uninterrupted course, tend to dissolution and death:

    "I therefore return, give and grant, to God and St. Mary of
    Furness, all Furness and Walney, with the privilege of hunting;
    with Dalton, and all my lordship in Furness, with the men
    and everything thereto belonging, that is, in woods and in
    open grounds, in land and in water; and Ulverston, and Roger
    Braithwaite, with all that belongs to him; my fisheries at
    Lancaster, and Little Guoring, with all the land thereof; with
    sac[10], and soc[11], tol[12], and team[13], infangenetheof[14],
    and every thing within Furness, except the lands of Michael Le
    Fleming; with this view, and upon this condition, That in Furness
    an order of regular monks be by divine permission established:
    which gift and offering I by supreme authority appoint to be for
    ever observed: and that it may remain firm and inviolate for ever,
    I subscribe this charter with my hand; and confirm it with the sign
    of the Holy Cross.

    "Signed by

      Henry, King of England and Duke of Normandy.
      Thurstan, Archbishop of York.
      Audin, } Bishops.
      Boces, }

      Robert, Keeper of the Seal.
      Robert, Earl of Gloster."

    The magnitude of the Abbey may be known from the dimensions
    of the ruins; and enough is standing to show the style of the
    architecture, which breathes the same simplicity of taste which
    is found in most houses belonging to the Cistercian monks, which
    were erected about the same time with Furness Abbey. The round and
    pointed arches occur in the doors and windows. The fine clustered
    Gothic and the heavy plain Saxon pillars stand contrasted. The
    walls shew excellent masonry, are in many places counter-arched,
    and the ruins discover a strong cement. But all is plain: had the
    monks even intended, the stone would not admit of such work as has
    been executed at Fountains and Rieval Abbeys. The stone of which
    the buildings have been composed is of a pale red colour, dug from
    the neighbouring rocks, now changed by time and weather to a tint
    of dusky brown, which accords well with the hues of plants and
    shrubs that everywhere emboss the mouldering arches.

    The church and cloisters were encompassed with a wall, which
    commenced at the east side of the great northern door, and formed
    the strait enclosure; and a space of ground, to the amount of
    sixty-five acres, was surrounded with a strong stone wall, which
    enclosed the porter's lodge, the mills, granaries, ovens, kilns,
    and fish-ponds belonging to the Abbey, the ruins of which are
    still visible. This last was the great enclosure, now called the
    deer-park, within which, placed on the crown of an eminence that
    rises immediately from the Abbey, and seen over all low Furness,
    are the remains of a beacon or watch-tower, raised by the society
    for their further security, and commanding a magnificent prospect.
    The door leading to it is still remaining in the enclosure wall, on
    the eastern side.

    During the residence of the monks at Tulket, and until the election
    of their fifth Abbot (Richard de Bajocis) they were of the order
    of Savigny under the rule of St. Benedict; and from their habit
    or dress were called Grey Monks; but at the time of the general
    matriculation of the Savignian monasteries with that of Citeaux,
    the monks of Furness also accepted of the reform, exchanged their
    patron St. Benedict for St. Bernard, changed their dress from grey
    to white, and so became White Monks, Bernardins, or Cistercians,
    the rule of which order they religiously observed until the
    dissolution of the monasteries.

    The Cistercian order in its origin was devoted to the practice
    of penance, silence, assiduous contemplation, and the angelical
    functions (as Mr. West expresses it) of singing the divine praises;
    wherefore it did not admit of the ordinary dissipation which
    attends scholastic enquiries. St. Bernard who was himself a man of
    learning, well knowing how far reading was necessary to improve
    the mind even of a recluse, took great care to furnish his monks
    with good libraries. Such of them as were best qualified were
    employed in taking copies of books in every branch of literature,
    many of which, beautifully written on vellum, and elegantly
    illuminated, are at this time to be seen in their libraries. They
    used neither furs nor linen, and never eat any flesh, except in
    time of dangerous sickness; they abstained even from eggs, butter,
    milk, and cheese, unless upon extraordinary occasions, and when
    given to them in alms. They had belonging to them certain religious
    lay brethren, whose office was to cultivate their lands, and attend
    to their secular affairs: these lived at their granges and farms,
    and were treated in like manner with the monks, but were never
    indulged with the use of wine. The monks who attended the choir
    slept in their habits upon straw; they rose at midnight, and spent
    the rest of the night in singing the divine office. After prime
    and the first mass, having accused themselves of their faults in
    public chapter, the rest of the day was spent in a variety of
    spiritual exercises with uninterrupted silence. From the Feast of
    the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (the 14th of September) until
    Easter they observed a strict fast: and flesh was banished from
    their infirmaries from Septuagesima until Easter. This latter
    class of monks was confined to the boundary wall, except that on
    some particular days the members of it were allowed to walk in
    parties beyond it, for exercise and amusement; but they were very
    seldom permitted either to receive or pay visits. Much of these
    rigorous observances was mitigated by a bull of Pope Sixtus IV.,
    in the year 1485, when among other indulgencies the whole order
    was allowed to eat flesh three times in every week; for which
    purpose a particular dining-room, separate and distinct from the
    usual refectory, was fitted up in every monastery. They were
    distinguished for extensive charities and liberal hospitality; for
    travellers were so sumptuously entertained at the Abbey, that it
    was not till the dissolution that an inn was thought necessary in
    this part of Furness, when one was opened for their accommodation,
    expressly because the Monastery could no longer receive them. With
    the rules of St. Bernard the monks had adopted the white cassock,
    with a white caul and scapulary. Their choral dress was either
    white or grey, with caul and scapulary of the same, and a girdle
    of black wool; over that a hood and a rocket, the front part of
    which descended to the girdle, where it ended in a round, and the
    back part reached down to the middle of the leg behind: when they
    appeared abroad, they wore a caul and full black hood.

    The privileges and immunities granted to the Cistercian order in
    general were very numerous: and those to the Abbey of Furness were
    proportioned to its vast endowments. The Abbot held his secular
    court in the neighbouring castle of Dalton, where he presided,
    with the power of administering not only justice, but injustice,
    since the lives and property of the villain tenants of the lordship
    of Furness were consigned by a grant of King Stephen to the
    disposal of the lordly Abbot! The monks also could be arraigned,
    for whatever crime, only by him. The military establishment of
    Furness likewise depended upon the Abbot. Every mesne lord and free
    homager, as well as the customary tenants, took an oath of fealty
    to the Abbot, to be true to him against all men, except the king.
    Every mesne lord obeyed the summons of the Abbot, or his steward,
    in raising his quota of armed men; and every tenant of a whole
    tenement furnished a man and a horse of war for guarding the coast,
    for the border service, or any expedition against the common enemy
    of the king and kingdom. The habiliments of war were a steel coat,
    or coat of mail, a falce, or falchion, a jack, the bow, the byll,
    the crossbow, and spear.

    What wonder, says a lively writer, that Abbot Pele, or any other
    man, owning such vast possessions and having such temporal and
    spiritual privileges as the following, should have grown proud and
    gross, and contumacious! Within the limits of his own district
    he was little short of omnipotent. The same oath of fealty was
    taken to him as to the king himself; he had no less than twelve
    hundred and fifty-eight able men armed with coats of mail, spears,
    and bows and arrows, upon the possessions of the Monastery, ready
    for active service, four hundred of whom were cavalry; besides
    manorial rights, he had extended feudal privileges, appointment of
    sheriff, coroner, and constable, wreck of the sea, freedom from
    suit of county; a free market and fair at Dalton, with a court of
    criminal jurisdiction; lands and tenements exempt from all toll
    and tax whatever; the emoluments incidental to wardship, such as
    the fining of young ladies who married against his will, &c. He
    had the patronage of all the churches save one; no bailiff could
    come into his territories under any pretence whatever; and no man
    was to presume in any way to molest or disturb him on pain of
    forfeiting ten pounds to the king. In addition to its rich home
    territory in the North Lonsdale, the Abbey possessed the manor
    of Beaumont in the south; land and houses at Bolton, and in many
    other places near Lancaster; five villages in Yorkshire, with much
    land and pasturage; and a mansion for the abbot, in York itself;
    all beautiful Borrowdale in Cumberland was their property; houses
    at Boston in Lincolnshire; land in the Isle of Man; and houses
    in Drogheda and two other towns in Ireland. The home lordship
    comprehended the rich district of Low Furness and all the district
    included between the river Duddon on the one side, and the Elter
    (beginning at the Shire Stones on the top of Wrynose), Lake
    Windermere and the Leven on the other; with the isles of Walney and
    Foulney, and the Pile of Fouldrey. They had an excellent harbour
    of refuge fitted to accommodate the largest vessels of that era at
    any time of tide, and they had four good iron mines in their near
    neighbourhood, the ore of which, however, they do not seem to have
    exported. The total income of the society appears, at the time of
    its dissolution in 1537, to have been more than nine hundred pounds
    a-year; which would be represented by about ten times that value in
    our time, or _nine thousand a-year_.

    But in the reign of Edward the First, its revenues seem to have
    been nearly as large again. According to the late Mr. Beck, the
    author of _Annales Furnesienses_, to which we are indebted for much
    of these particulars, the tenants of the Abbey paid great part of
    their rents by provisioning the monks with grain, lambs, calves,
    &c., or bartered them for beer, bread, iron, wood, and manure. More
    than two hundred gallons of beer were distributed weekly among
    these tenants upon tunning days, accompanied with about three score
    of loaves of bread; the expenditure in this particular alone, per
    annum, must have been at least one thousand pounds of our present
    money: one ton of malleable iron was also given to the same people
    for the repair of their ploughs, and wood for that of their houses
    and fences. They might take, too, all the manure--amounting yearly
    to four or five hundred cartloads--with the exception of that from
    the Abbot's and high stables. The tenants paid by way of fine, or
    admission to their tenements, but one penny, called "God's Penny,"
    and were sworn to be true to the king and to the convent. What alms
    were distributed amongst the poor by this wealthy and pious society
    we have no means of discovering. It was bound, upon the anniversary
    of Saints Crispin and Crispinian, to distribute two oxen, two cows,
    and one bull among the poor folks who assembled for that purpose
    at the Porter's Lodge. At the same place, ninety-nine shillings'
    worth of bread, and six maze of _fresh_ herrings, valued at forty
    shillings, were also given in alms every Monday and Tuesday; the
    convent maintained from its very commencement thirteen poor men,
    allowing each of them thirty-three shillings and fourpence yearly:
    and eight widows received a similar allowance of provisions to that
    allowed for the same number of monks. They had five flagons of ale
    weekly, and each of them a _clibanus_,[15] which it is supposed
    must have been a certain quantity of bread. Lastly, there were two
    schools held in some part of the monastery, where the children
    of those tenants who paid their rent in provisions, and who it
    is probable lived in the neighbourhood, received their education
    gratuitously, and dined in the hall during their attendance as
    well. If one of these showed symptoms of superior intelligence, he
    had the privilege of being elected into the society in preference
    to all others, by which step he might rise by good fortune or
    _finesse_ even to be Lord of Furness.

    The society numbered three and thirty monks at the time of its
    dissolution, and about one hundred converts and servants, and
    no convert was admitted who could not pay for the labour of an
    hireling. To have been head of such a colony at home, and to have
    wielded such a power abroad, must have made even the most pious of
    abbots "draw too proud a breath;" and yet with all the faults and
    all the vices of that cowled priesthood, we cannot now forbear to
    pity their sad fate, when bidden by the remorseless king to leave
    their grand old residences and quiet ways of life wherein they had
    lived so long!

    It must be added, that to so much power and so great prosperity,
    with all the beneficence and usefulness of the society there
    had come to be allied an amount of profligacy and irreligion
    proportionate to the many advantages which it had enjoyed.

    The early part of the sixteenth century found the morality of the
    monastery represented in many instances by social arrangements
    in direct violation of the injunctions laid upon all monastic
    institutions, "in the king's behalf;" amongst others, of that
    one which especially enjoins that "women of what state or degree
    soever they be, be utterly excluded from entering into the limit
    or circuit of this monastery or place, unless they first obtain
    license of the King's Highness, or his visitor." It was stated,
    and apparently well authenticated, that Rogerus Pele (abbot) had
    two wives, or what amounted to the same thing, two concubines;
    and amongst his subordinate monks, Johannes Groyn had one, whilst
    Thomas Hornsby had five. Thus, evil days in one sense had already
    come; and others were fast drawing nigh. The mandate, moreover, had
    been prepared for their destruction independently of these and such
    like shortcomings; but they afforded a powerful handle by which to
    wrest them to destruction.

    First came the commissioners appointed by the King for visiting
    the monasteries in the North of England, with their searching
    examination into everything connected with each separate society:
    next, the list of crimes charged on the monks at the time of the
    visitation: then the devices of the Earl of Sussex "advertised" in
    his letter to the King, wherein "I, the said erle, devising with
    myselfe, yf one way would not serve, how, and by what other means,
    the said monks might be ryd from the said abbey;" the summons to
    Whalley of the unhappy Abbot to make his proposal, in his own
    handwriting, according to the "ded enrolled, which A. Fitzherbert
    hath drawn" for the surrender of his monastery to the King: and
    then the final consummation of all. For come it must. On the 7th
    day of April, 1537, in spite of prayers to the "kynge," in spite
    of many a "shillinge in golde" given to the "right honerable and
    our singler goode Mr. Mayster Thomas Cromwell, secretarie to the
    Kynge's highness," the royal commissioners came down upon their
    prey. After hanging the Abbot of Whalley, and the royal injunction
    that "all monks and chanons, that be in any wise faultie, are _to
    be tyed uppe without further delay or ceremonie_," the Abbot of
    Furnesse is found "to be of a very facile and ready minde," and
    all hope of averting his doom being over, and his sense of peril
    hastening his submission, "it coming freely of himself and without
    enforcement," he signed the fatal deed of surrender, confessing
    with contrition "the mysorder and evil lyfe both to God and our
    prynce of the brethren of this monasterie;" the pen passed from the
    hand of the Superior to each monk in succession, and the "lamp on
    the altar of St. Mary of Furness was extinguished for ever."

    With forty shillings given to them by the King, and clad in
    "secular wedes" (that is, lay garments), without which they were
    not permitted to depart, they turned their faces from their
    magnificent home in the Nightshade Dell. To the degraded Abbot was
    given the Rectory of Dalton, valued at £33 6s. 9d. yearly, obtained
    with difficulty, and even of which he was not allowed undisturbed
    possession. But no traces of his associates at the Abbey appear to
    have survived their departure from it, unless we dimly discern them
    in the miserable record which relates that sixteen years after the
    period of their dissolution, fifteen pounds[16] were still paid in
    annuities out of the revenues of the late monastery; that noble
    possession which the hapless Thirty surrendered to the King.

    Of the three and thirty monks of which the society at Furness was
    composed, the names of the Abbot, the Prior, and twenty-eight of
    the brethren, were appended to the deed: two had been committed to
    ward and sure custody in the King's castle of Lancaster, for being
    "found faultye:"[17] and one of the number remains unaccounted for.


[10] _Saccum._--The power of imposing fines upon tenants and vassals
within the lordship.

[11] _Soccum._--The power and authority of administering justice.

[12] _Tollum._--A duty paid for buying and selling, &c.

[13] _Theam, Team._--A royalty granted for trying bondmen and villains,
with a sovereign power over their villain tenants, their wives,
children, and goods, to dispose of them at pleasure.

[14] _Infangenetheof._--The power of judging of thefts committed within
the liberty of Furness.

[15] _Clibanus_, a portable oven: the term probably represents the
quantity of bread contained in it at one baking.

[16] This sum is stated by West to be £151, which Mr. Beck says is
a mistake. The deed of surrender of Bolton Priory was signed by the
Prior and fourteen canons. Of the subscribers to this instrument, two,
in 1553, which would be about sixteen years after their dissolution,
continued to receive annuities of £6 13s. 4d.; one, £6; seven, £5
6s. 8d. each: and one, £4. The other canons were dead, or otherwise
provided for.

[17] For treason. One of them, Henry Talley, had said that no secular
knave should be head of the Church; and the other had declared that the
king was not the true king, and no rightful heir to the crown.


  They buried on the mountain's side
  King Dunmail, where he fought and died.
  But mount, and mere, and moor again
  Shall see King Dunmail come to reign.

  Mantled and mailed repose his bones
  Twelve cubits deep beneath the stones;
  But many a fathom deeper down
  In Grisedale Mere lies Dunmail's crown.

  Climb thou the rugged pass, and see
  High midst those mighty mountains three,
  How in their joint embrace they hold
  The Mere that hides his crown of gold.

  There in that lone and lofty dell
  Keeps silent watch the sentinel.
  A thousand years his lonely rounds
  Have traced unseen that water's bounds.

  His challenge shocks the startled waste,
  Still answered from the hills with haste,
  As passing pilgrims come and go
  From heights above or vales below.

  When waning moons have filled their year,
  A stone from out that lonely Mere
  Down to the rocky Raise is borne,
  By martial shades with spear and horn.

  As crashes on the pile the stone,
  The echoes to the King make known
  How still their faithful watch they hold
  In Grisedale o'er his crown of gold.

  And when the Raise has reached its sum,
  Again will brave King Dunmail come;
  And all his Warriors marching down
  The dell, bear back his golden crown.

  And Dunmail, mantled, crowned, and mailed,
  Again shall Cumbria's King be hailed;
  And o'er his hills and valleys reign
  When Eildon's heights are field and plain.


    The heroic king Dunmail was the last of a succession of native
    princes, who up to the tenth century ruled over those mountainous
    provinces in the north-western region of England which were chiefly
    peopled by the earliest masters of Britain, the Celtic tribes of
    Cymri, or Picts. The territories of Dunmail, as king of Cumbria,
    included the entire tract of country from the western limits of
    the Lothians in Scotland to the borders of Lancashire, and from
    Northumberland to the Irish Sea.

    The several British kingdoms which were originally comprised within
    this area maintained a long and resolute resistance against the
    power of the first Saxon monarchs; and although in the course
    of time most of them were brought under the supremacy of those
    strangers, as tributary provinces, they still continued a sort of
    independent existence, electing their own kings and obeying their
    own laws.

    On the establishment of the Heptarchy, several of these provinces
    were included within the Saxon kingdom of Northumbria; but although
    they were claimed by the Northumbrian monarchs, there was even then
    little admixture of their people with the fair-haired followers of
    Hengist and Horsa, and each continued to be governed by its own
    chieftain or king until the Norman conquest, and existed under what
    was called the Danish law. So long as the native chieftains were
    allowed to exercise a subordinate authority, the Northumbrian kings
    had no occasion to interfere with the internal government of the
    subject provinces. If the tribute was duly rendered, they remained
    unmolested; if it was withheld, payment was enforced by arms; or,
    in extreme cases, the refractory state (to use a modern phrase) was
    "annexed," and the domestic government extinguished.

    Of the petty rulers of these British kingdoms no notices have been
    transmitted to us. These are confined to the kings of Strathclyde,
    or, as they are designated by our earliest informers, of Alclyde;
    the latter being the name of their capital, which stood on a rocky
    eminence, adjacent to the modern town of Dumbarton; whilst the
    former significantly describes the position of their territory
    in the great strath or valley of the Clyde. This little district
    (of Strathclyde), which must not be confounded with the larger
    territory of Cumbria, that as yet had no existence under any
    general government or common name, comprised the modern counties of
    Lanark, Ayr, and Renfrew, on the south of the Clyde, and, probably,
    Dumbartonshire on the north. In the series of Strathclydian kings,
    tradition has placed the name of the celebrated King Arthur;
    and the local nomenclature is said to afford many traces of his
    fame, especially in the case of their citadel of Alclyde, or
    Dumbarton, which is styled "Castrum Arthuri," in a record of the
    reign of David the Second. Ryderic, the successor of Arthur, died
    in 601, in the eighth year of the reign of Ethelfrith, king of
    Northumberland; and from that time onward, during the remainder
    of this and the succeeding reigns of Edwin and Oswald, we hear
    nothing of the independent existence of this people, nor do we
    even know the names of their chieftains; it is probable that they
    had been reduced to subjection. But in the very year of Oswald's
    disastrous death, A. D. 642, we find the Britons carrying on
    important military operations on their own account, in which Owen
    their king distinguished himself, by slaying on the battle-field
    of Strath-carmaic, Donal Break, king of the Scots. During the
    long reign of Oswi in Northumberland, we read of one king of
    Strathclyde, Guinet, but the record is only of his death, A.
    D. 657, not of any exploit which he performed. On the death of
    Ecgfrith, A. D. 670, the Britons of Strathclyde appear to have
    recovered their liberty; and thenceforward we have a tolerably
    complete list of their kings during the two succeeding centuries.

    Ethelfrith, who had effected the conquest of the central and
    western portion of Northumbria, and may be regarded as the founder
    of the Northumbrian kingdom, "conquered," as we read in Beda, "more
    territories from the Britons than any other king or tribune;" but
    although he was thus able to overrun a vast district of country,
    his followers were not sufficiently numerous to colonise it. In
    some places, indeed, "he expelled the inhabitants, and placed
    Angles in their stead," but "in others," and doubtless to a
    much greater extent, "he allowed the vanquished to retain their
    lands, on payment of tribute." In the reign of Edwine, too, the
    Anglo-Saxon population were under his immediate government; the
    petty British States were still ruled by tributary princes. And no
    doubt their political condition continued more or less the same
    during the century and half which preceded the dissolution of the
    Heptarchy, and after the reconstruction of its several parts under
    one crown.

    On Northumbria being overrun by the renowned Danish Viking
    Healfdene, A. D. 875, fifty years after the Heptarchal kingdoms
    had been dissolved, it is recorded that the indigenous inhabitants
    of the part called Cymriland, the Cumbrians, or Britons, being
    too weak to defend themselves from the hateful aggressions of
    the Danes, and deprived of the protection of the Saxon kings of
    Northumbria, who had themselves succumbed to the common enemy,
    turned for aid to the only neighbours who seemed sufficiently
    powerful to resist the invaders. They therefore implored the
    aid of Grig or Gregory, king of Scotland, by whose assistance
    in the following year the Scandinavian ravagers were expelled.
    These Indigenoe, or British inhabitants, must have been the
    people of Galloway, and of the district around Carlisle; for the
    Strathclyde Britons were already under the authority of Gregory,
    as the guardian of Eocha, a minor, who, as the son of Hu king
    of Strathclyde, and nephew of the second Constantine, king of
    Scotland, succeeded to the crowns of both these realms. Whether
    the Britons subsequently quarrelled with their powerful ally, and
    being defeated in battle, were obliged to cede to the victor their
    rocky highlands and adjacent places; or they voluntarily submitted
    themselves to Gregory, with their lands and possessions, thinking
    it preferable to be subject to the Scots, who, although enemies,
    were Christians, than to infidel pagans, there does not appear to
    be any evidence to determine.

    The vigour of Gregory king of Scotland having been found,
    notwithstanding his prowess and the success of his arms, inadequate
    to support an authority which had been usurped by him as regent
    during the minority of Eocha, after holding the reins of government
    in Scotland and Strathclyde during eleven years, was expelled,
    together with Eocha, by Donal, son of the late King Constantine
    II., A. D. 893.

    To Donal, who was slain by the Danes, A. D. 904, succeeded his
    cousin Constantine III., the son of Aodh, who had been slain by
    Gregory. Another Donal, brother to Constantine III., had been
    "elected" king of the Strathclyde Britons four years before the
    elevation of that monarch to the throne of Scotland. During the
    life of this Donal, the districts of Carlisle and Galloway were
    not united to Strathclyde, but remained attached to Scotland; from
    which, however, they were separated after his decease, and given to
    his son and successor, Eugenius.

    To the new kingdom, thus founded by Constantine in favour of his
    nephew and presumptive heir, by the union of Carlisle and Galloway
    with Strathclyde, was given the name of Cumbria, derived from the
    common appellation of its inhabitants. Its extent is precisely
    defined in a return made by the prior and convent of Carlisle
    to a writ of Edward the First, requiring them, as well as other
    religious houses, to furnish, from chronicles or other documents
    in their possession, any information bearing upon the alleged
    right of supremacy over Scotland vested in the English crown. The
    return sets forth, "That district was called Cumbria, which is now
    included in the bishoprics of Carlisle, Glasgow, and Whitherne,
    together with the country lying between Carlisle and the river
    Duddon:" in other words, the entire tract from the Clyde to the
    confines of Lancashire. In the "Inquisitio Davidis," which does
    indeed extend to all parts of Cumbria which remained in David's
    possession, we are expressly told that "he had not then within
    his dominion the whole Cumbrian region," the present county of
    Cumberland, or, as it was then called, Earldom of Carlisle, having
    been severed from it soon after the Norman Conquest. Although
    Fordun is the only author who narrates the cession of Carlisle and
    Galloway to Gregory, and the subsequent grant of these districts
    to Eugenius, whereby they were united to Strathclyde, and the
    whole merged into a single government, we have abundant evidence
    of the existence of Cumbria and the intimate union of Constantine
    and Eugenius at this period. In the year 938, these princes, in
    conjunction with the Danes and Welsh, attempted to wrest the
    sovereign power out of the vigorous hands of Athelstane. The
    combined forces were signally defeated by the Anglo-Saxon monarch
    at Brunanburgh (supposed by some to be Bromborough, near Chester);
    Eugenius was slain, and Constantine escaped only by a precipitate

    It is at this period that Dunmail, the second and last _sole_
    "king of rocky Cumberland," appears upon the historic stage. It
    has been thought not improbable that he was the son of Eugenius or
    Owen, the preceding king, and the same person who is described as
    Dunwallon, "the son of Owen," and who died at Rome thirty years
    after his memorable engagement with Edmund of England and Leoline
    of South Wales, in the mountain pass which is distinguished by
    his name. "In the annals of Ulster, indeed," say the supporters
    of this supposition, "this Dunwallon is described as king of
    Wales, but Caradoc calls him prince of Strathclyde, and his
    patronymic designation seems to identify him with Dunmail, if, as
    we assume, the latter was the son of the first king of Cumberland."
    But by whatever means Dunmail obtained the crown; whether by
    inheritance as the son of Eugenius, or by "election" as one of
    the native Cumbrian princes, and according to the ancient custom
    of the Britons; we soon find him supporting the Northumbrians in
    hostilities against the Saxon monarch, Edmund the First. That
    monarch, although victorious, was so weakened that he dared not
    pursue Dunmail without the assistance of the Scots. And the
    condition upon which Malcolm, king of Scotland, joined Edmund with
    his forces, was, that if they were successful, Malcolm should
    possess Cumbria by paying homage to Edmund and his successors. The
    subjection of this wild race of mountaineers was then determined
    upon as a necessary step towards the pacification of the kingdom;
    and the last record which history affords us of the Cumbrian
    Britons, is that of their defeat, A. D. 945, in the heart of their
    native mountains, between Grasmere and Keswick, and their final
    dispersion or emigration into Wales.

    The place where Dunmail determined to hazard the battle which
    proved fatal to him was the famous Pass which bears his name.
    Edmund slew his vanquished enemy upon the spot which is still
    commemorated by the rude pile of stones so well known as his
    cairn; and, in conformity with the barbarous customs of that age,
    put out the eyes of his two sons; after which, having completely
    ravaged and laid waste the territories of Dunmail, he bestowed
    them on his ally Malcolm; the latter undertaking to preserve in
    peace the Northern parts of England, and to pay the required
    fealty and homage to Edmund. Upon the same conditions they were
    afterwards confirmed to him by one of Edmund's successors, Edgar;
    which monarch also divided what at that time remained of the
    ancient kingdom of Northumbria into Baronies, and constituted it an
    Earldom. Thenceforward these north western regions were held as a
    military benefice subject to the English sceptre by the heir to the
    crown of Scotland, under the title of the Principality of Cymriland
    or Cumbria. This Principality, which included Westmorland,
    continued in possession of the heirs to the Scottish crown during
    the reigns of Harold and Hardicanute, the last Danish Kings, and of
    Edward the Confessor and Harold the Second, the last Saxon monarchs
    of England.

    The only circumstance which is recorded of it during the century
    which followed the defeat of Dunmail, is its total devastation
    by Ethelred, king of England, A. D. 1000, at which time it is
    represented by Henry of Huntingdon as the principal rendezvous of
    the marauding Danes.

    In the year 1052, Macbeth held the Scottish throne, whilst Malcolm,
    the son of his predecessor, the murdered Duncan, sat on that of
    Cumbria. Siward, earl of Northumberland, was commissioned by
    Edward the Confessor to invade Scotland, and avenge the "murder"
    of Duncan. In this he succeeded, defeated and slew Macbeth, and
    placed the king of Cumbria, or, as some historians assert, his son,
    on the throne of Scotland. This Malcolm, surnamed Canmore, held at
    the time of the Conquest, Cumbria and Lothian, in addition to the
    ancient kingdom of Scotland.

    In the year 1072, the Earldom of Carlisle, containing the present
    County of Cumberland, with the Barony of Westmorland, was wrested
    from Malcolm Canmore by William the Conqueror, who granted it
    to his powerful noble, Ranulph de Meschin, one of that numerous
    train of military adventurers, amongst whom he had distributed
    all the fair territory of Britain, to hold, with a sort of royal
    power, by the sword, as he himself held the kingdom by virtue of
    the crown,--_tenere ita libere ad gladium, sicut ipse rex tenebat
    Angliam per coronam_.

    Thus the existing limits were established between England and
    Scotland. The kingdom of Cumbria was reduced to the dimensions
    indicated by the "Inquisitio Davidis," and was held as a
    principality dependent on the crown of Scotland; until it at length
    became formally attached to the Scottish dominions.

    Meanwhile the Barony of Westmorland having been separated from the
    Earldom of Carlisle, there remained the district comprised within
    the present limits of the County of Cumberland, to which alone that
    name was thenceforward applied.

    The circular heap of stones which forms the pile called
    Dunmail-Raise, and gives its name to the mountain Pass between the
    vales of Grasmere and Wytheburn, is seen adjoining the highroad,
    where it is crossed by the wall which there marks the boundaries
    of Westmorland and Cumberland. The stones constituting this rude
    monument are thrown loosely together on each side of an earthen
    mound in a huge cairn or _raise_, the history of which is little
    known, and concerning which antiquarians are by no means agreed.
    It measures twenty-four yards in diameter, and rises gradually to
    an elevation of six feet, being flat at the top, and the centre
    indicated by a well defined space in rather larger stones.

    Mr. Gilpin conjectures that the pile was probably intended to
    mark a division not between the two Counties of Cumberland and
    Westmorland, but rather between the two kingdoms of England and
    Scotland, in elder times, when the Scottish border extended beyond
    its present bounds. The generally received tradition, however,
    concerning this cairn is, that it was raised to commemorate the
    name and defeat of Dunmail, the last king of Cumbria, in the year
    945, in his conflict with the Saxon Edmund, on the occasion above
    related. "But," says Mr. Gilpin, "for whatever purpose this rude
    pile was fabricated, it hath yet suffered little change in its
    dimensions; and is one of those monuments of antiquity, which may
    be characterized by the scriptural phrase of _remaining to this
    very day_."

    The legend of the Cumbrian hero and his host, awaiting the
    completion of their rocky pile beneath the lonely mountain pass;
    from which they are to issue in their appointed time to join "in
    that great battle which will be fought before the end of the
    world;" is but one of the beliefs which seem to have been left
    behind them by our Scandinavian ancestors. It is in fact another
    version of the story of Woden and his host, whose winter trance
    is enacted by various popular heroes; and which has not only
    been localised amongst ourselves, but has almost overspread all
    christendom. The original nature of Woden or Odin was represented
    as that of a storm god, who swept through the air in roaring winds,
    either alone or with a great retinue consisting of souls of the
    dead which have become winds. The whirlwind, which precedes the
    tempest, and has ravaged the woods and fields, is pursued to its
    death in the last storms of autumn. Sometimes the god is pictured
    as a hunter, and the winds have taken the shapes of men, dogs,
    etc., whilst the whirlwind figures as a boar. The achievement of
    its death is soon followed by that of the hunter Woden himself; who
    during the winter is dead, or asleep, or enchanted in the cloud
    mountain. From this beautiful fiction of a twilight age, the winter
    trance of Woden, has grown up the story of those caverned warriors,
    which, under whatever name they are known, and wherever they
    repose, are all representations of Odin and his host.

    Arthur, the vanished king, our own Arthur, whose return is expected
    by the Britons, according to mediæval Germany, is said to dwell
    with his men at arms in a mountain; all well provided with food,
    drink, horses, and clothes.

    Charlemagne slumbers with his enchanted army in many places; in the
    Desenberg near Warburg, in the Castle of Herstella on the Weser, in
    the Karlsburg on the Spessart, the Frausberg and the Donnersberg on
    the Pfalz, etc.

    The Emperor Henry the Fowler is entranced in the Sudernerberg, near

    The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa is in a cavern in the Kyffhaüser
    mountain, in the old palatinate of the Saxon imperial house. There
    with all his knights around him, he sits to this day, leaning his
    head upon his arm, at a table through which his beard has grown,
    or round which, according to other accounts, it has grown twice.
    When it has thrice encircled the table he will wake up to battle.
    The cavern glitters with gold and jewels, and is as bright as
    the sunniest day. Thousands of horses stand at mangers filled
    with thorn bushes instead of hay, and make a prodigious noise as
    they stamp on the ground and rattle their chains. The old Kaiser
    sometimes wakes up for a moment and speaks to his visitors. He once
    asked a herdsman who had found his way into the Kyffhaüser, "Are
    the ravens (Odin's birds) still flying about the mountain?" The man
    replied that they were. "Then," said Barbarossa, "I must sleep a
    hundred years longer."

    The Eildon Hills, which witnessed of old the magical exploits of
    Michael Scott, are three in number. These were originally one:
    their present formation being the work of a demon, for whom the
    wizard, in fulfilment of some infernal contract, was obliged to
    find employment, and by whom the mighty task was achieved in a
    single night. They are nearly of the same height, changing greatly
    their appearance, and, as it were, their attitude, with the point
    of view; at one time one of them only being visible, at another
    time two, and again all three. They form a peculiar and romantic
    feature in the scenery of the Tweed: and are still to the eye of
    the imagination what they once were in the common belief,--wizard
    hills, the subjects of wild traditions and unearthly adventures.
    In them lay for centuries those "caverned warriors," which Thomas
    the Rhymer showed at night to the daring horse jockey, who went by
    appointment to the Lucken Hare to receive the price of the black
    horse which he had sold to the venerable favourite of the Fairy
    Queen. His money having been paid to him, in ancient coin; on the
    invitation of his customer to view his residence, he followed his
    guide in the deepest astonishment through long ranges of stalls,
    in each of which a horse stood motionless, while an armed warrior
    lay equally still at the charger's feet. "All these men," said the
    prophet in a whisper, "will awaken at the battle of Sheriffmuir."

    The small mountain lake, called Grisedale Tarn, is situated at
    a very considerable elevation above the surrounding vales, in a
    depression formed at a point where the shoulders of Helvellyn,
    Seat-Sandal, and Fairfield touch each other; and just below the
    summit of the "hause" or pass through which winds the mountain
    track that leads from Grasmere into Patterdale.


  The Baron of Greystoke is laid in the quire.
  Who is she that sits lone in her mourning attire?
  Her maids all in silence stand weeping apart:
  Or but whisper the woe that is big at her heart.

  From her guardian the King the dread summons has come;
  And Greystoke's sweet orphan must quit her lone home:
  With the proudest of Barons to wait on her word--
  His domain for her pleasaunce, her safeguard his sword.

  But what is to her all their homage and state,
  Since the youthful Lord Dacre may pass not their gate?
  Even now he forgets her, she thinks in her gloom;
  And the Cliffords to-morrow will bear her to Brough'm.

  "With him, O with him," in her sorrow she cried,
  "With the gallant Lord Dacre to run by my side
  "In the fields, as of old, with his hand on my rein,
  "I would give all the wealth the wide world can contain."--

  Lord Dacre forget her? No! sooner the might
  Of Helvellyn shall bend to the storm on its height;
  He has vow'd--"Let them woo! but in spite of the King
  "The wide north with her bridal at Dacre shall ring."

  As the Cliffords rode hard on that morrow to claim
  The fair ward of the King, by Lord Dacre's they came.
  And they cast out their words in derision and scorn,
  As they pass'd by his tower in the prime of the morn.

  "Shall we greet the bright heiress of Greystock for thee?
  "Or await thee at Brough'm her rich bridal to see?"
  --"In our annals," he cried, "we've a story of old,
  "A fit tale for a bridal, that _twice_ shall be told.

  "In your Skipton's high hall, in your stateliest room
  "Of Pendragon, and high through the arches of Brough'm,
  "Have your bridals been sung, but not one to the lay
  "That I'll ring through old Brough'm for the bride on that day.

  "Your meats may be scant, and unbrimm'd the bright bowl;
  "But the notes of that tale through your fortress shall roll!
  "Here I pledge me, proud Cliffords! come friend, or come foe,
  "With that tale of old times to her bridal I'll go!"--

  Loud laugh'd they in scorn as hard onward they rode:
  And the horsemen and horses all gallantly show'd.
  With bright silver and gold, too, her harness did ring,
  As they rode back to Brough'm with the Ward of the King.

  And proud was the welcome, and courtly the grace,
  And warm was the clasp of that stately embrace,
  When the Lady of Brough'm took her home to her breast,
  Like a lamb to the fold, a lone dove to its nest.

  But in still hours of night, and mid pastimes by day,
  To the wild woods of Greystoke her heart fled away,
  To the fields where, as once with _his_ hand on her rein,
  She would give all the world to ride child-like again.

  It was night; when the moon through her circle had worn;
  And back into darkness her crescent was borne;
  Not in fancy nor dreams came a voice to her side--
  "Sweet, awake thee, Lord Dacre is come for his bride."

  Through the lattice he bore her, and fast did he fold
  In his arms the sweet prize from the wind and the cold;
  Sprang the wall to his steed, and o'er moorland and plain
  Bore her off to his Tower by the Dacor again.

  And the Cliffords that morn in their banquetting hall
  Read the legend his dagger had traced on the wall--
  "In the annals of Dacre the story is told
  Of Matilda the Fair and Lord Ranulph the Bold!

  "The bride-meats unbaked, and the bride-cup unbrew'd,
  Not by bridesmaid for bride even a rose to be strew'd,
  Was the way with our sire in that story of old
  Of Matilda the Fair and Lord Ranulph the Bold!

  "But they woke up to fury in Warwick that morn.
  For a bride from their Fortress by night had been borne.
  And your annals in Brough'm of its sluggards shall ring,
  That have lost for the Cliffords the Ward of their King."

  The beard of that Baron curled fiercely with ire,
  And the blood through his veins raged--a torrent of fire,
  As he glanced from the panel by turns to his sword;
  And then strode from the hall without deigning a word.

  They sought her through turret, by bush, and by stone;
  But the bower had been broken, the Beauty was gone;
  And the joy-bells of Dacre from Greystock to Brough'm
  Pealed the news through the vales that the bride was brought home.


    Dacre Castle, one of the outermost of a chain of border fortresses
    stretching down the valleys of the Eamont and the Eden in
    Cumberland, is a plain quadrangular building, with battlemented
    parapets, and four square turrets, one at each corner; it is now
    converted into a farm house. The moat is filled up, although the
    site is still to be traced, and the outworks are destroyed. There
    are two entrances--one at the west tower, and another between
    the towers in the east front. The walls are about seven feet in
    thickness. There are two arched dungeons communicating by steps
    with the ground floor; and access was obtained to the roof by means
    of four circular staircases, one in each tower; some of which are
    now closed up. The staircases, however, did not conduct to the top
    of the towers; this was gained by means of stone steps from the
    roof of the Castle.

    Bede mentions a monastery, which being built near the river Dacor,
    took its name from it, over which the religious man Suidbert
    presided. It was probably destroyed by the Danes, and never
    restored; and there are no vestiges of it remaining: the present
    church is supposed to have been built from the ruins.

    William of Malmesbury speaks of a Congress held at Dacre in the
    year 934, when Constantine, king of Scotland, and his nephew
    Eugenius, king of Cumberland, met king Athelstan, and did homage to
    him at Dacre. This fact is singularly corroborated by there being
    in the Castle a room called to this day the "room of the three
    kings," while the historical fact itself is entirely forgotten
    in the country. This proves the antiquity of the tradition,
    which has survived the original building and attached itself to
    the present, no part of which dates from an earlier period than
    the fourteenth century. That Dacre was in those remote times a
    place of some importance is evident from the meeting aforesaid.
    The occasion appears to have been the defection of Guthred, with
    Anlaff his brother, and Inguld king of York, when Athelstan levied
    a great force, and entered Northumberland so unexpectedly, that
    the malcontents had scarcely time to secure themselves by flight.
    Guthred obtained protection under Constantine, king of Scotland,
    to whom Athelstan sent messengers, demanding his surrender, or
    upon refusal, he threatened to come in quest of him at the head of
    his army. Constantine, although greatly piqued at this message,
    yet afraid of the formidable arms of Athelstan, consented to meet
    him at Dacre; to which place he came, attended by the then king of
    Cumberland, where they did homage to Athelstan.

    After the Conquest, if not before, Dacre was a mesne manor held of
    the barons of Greystoke by military suit and service. The parish,
    manor, rivulet, and castle, were all blended with the name of
    the owners. Their arms, the pilgrim's scallop, may possibly have
    been taken from their being engaged in Palestine; but as the name
    of their place dates as far back as the time of Athelstan, the
    Dacres no doubt took their name, like most of the families of the
    district, from the place where they were settled, and with all
    deference to the cross-legged knight[18] in the church, who may
    or may not have battled at the siege of Acre, its present Norman
    spelling is more likely to have arisen from the manner in which
    it is entered in the Domesday Book than from any exploits of his
    before that famous fortress. That they were men of high spirit and
    enterprise, and favourites of the ladies, there exists convincing
    evidence. Matilda, the great heiress of Gilsland,[19] was by
    Randolph Dacre carried off from Warwick Castle, in the night-time,
    while she was Edward the Third's Ward, and under the custody and
    care of Thomas de Beauchamp, a stout Earl of Warwick; and Thomas
    Lord Dacre dashingly followed the example of his ancestor, nearly
    two centuries afterwards, by carrying off, also in the night time,
    from Brougham Castle, Elizabeth of Greystoke, the heiress of his
    superior lord, who was also the King's ward, and in custody of
    Henry Lord Clifford, who, says Mr. Howard, probably intended to
    marry her. Their vigour and ability displayed as wardens of the
    Marches must also add favourably to our estimate of them as men.

    Sandford in his MS. gives the following curious account, written
    apparently immediately after the repair of the Castle by the Earl
    of Sussex:--"And from Matterdale mountains comes Daker Bek; almost
    at the foot thereof stands Dacker Castle alone, and no more house
    about it, And I protest looks very sorrowfull, for the loss of its
    founders, in that huge battle of Touton feild: and that totall
    eclips of that great Lord Dacres, in that Grand Rebellion with
    lords Northumberland, and Westmorland in Queen Elizabeth's time,
    and in the north called _Dacre's Raide_.

    "----but it seems an heroyick Chivaleir, steeles the heir of Lord
    Moulton of Kirkoswald and Naward and Gilsland, forth of Warwick
    Castle, the 5th year of King Edward the 3rd; and in the 9th year of
    the same king had his pdon for marying her and Created Lord Dacres
    and Moulton. In King Henry the eight's time the yong Lord Dacres
    steels the female heir of the Lord Graistoke forth of Broham Castle
    besides Peareth: where the Lord Clifford had gott her of the king
    for his sons mariage: and thereupon was the statute made of felony
    to marry an heir. And thus became the Lord Dacres decorate with all
    the hono^{rs} and Lands of the Lord Graistok a very great Baron:
    but the now Earle of Sussex Ancesto^{re} had married the female
    heir of the Lord Dacres in King Edward the 4th time, before the
    Lands of Graistock came to the Lord Dacre's house."

    The Barony of Greystoke, which comprehends all that part of
    Cumberland, on the south side of the Forest of Inglewood, between
    the seignory of Penrith and the manor of Castlerigg near Keswick,
    and contains an area comprehending the parishes of Greystoke,
    Dacre, and part of Crosthwaite, and nearly twenty manors, was given
    by Ranulph de Meschines, Earl of Cumberland, to one Lyulph, whose
    posterity assumed the name of the place, and possessed it until
    the reign of Henry the Seventh, when their heiress conveyed it in
    marriage to Thomas Lord Dacre, of Gilsland, whose family ended in
    two daughters, who married the two sons of the Duke of Norfolk.
    Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel, the Duke's eldest son, had, with
    his wife, Lady Anne Dacre, the lands of Greystoke, which have since
    continued in his illustrious family.

    The original fortress of Greystock was built in the reign of Edward
    III. by Lord William de Greystock, that nobleman having obtained
    the king's license to castellate his manor-house of Greystock in
    the year 1353. Being garrisoned for Charles I., it was destroyed by
    a detachment of the Parliamentary army in June, 1648, except one
    tower and part of another. The Castle was almost entirely rebuilt
    about the middle of last century by the Hon. Charles Howard, and
    additional extensions were subsequently made by his great-grandson,
    the eleventh Duke of Norfolk, who bequeathed it to the present Mr.
    Howard, by whom the work of renovation was continued and completed
    in 1846. In the night of the 3rd and 4th of May, 1868, it was very
    seriously damaged by fire.

    Elizabeth Greystoke, Baroness Greystoke and Wemme, was a minor
    at the time of her father's death. She was the only daughter of
    Sir Robert Greystoke, knight, who died June 17th, 1483, in the
    lifetime of his father, Ralph, seventeenth Baron Greystoke. By an
    inquisition held after the death of that nobleman, it was found
    that he died on Friday next after the Feast of Pentecost, in the
    second year of King Henry VII., namely, June 1st, 1487. He was
    succeeded by Elizabeth, his grand-daughter and heiress, who during
    her minority was a ward of the crown, and had special livery of all
    her lands in 1506. This lady married Thomas, ninth Baron Dacre of
    Gillesland, and third Lord Dacre of the North; by which marriage
    the Barony of Greystoke became united with that of Gillesland.

    The nobleman in whose custody the King had placed his ward was
    Henry the tenth Baron Clifford, better known as Lord Clifford
    the Shepherd. He had married a cousin of Henry VII., and on the
    accession of that monarch had been restored, by the reversal of
    his father's attainder, to his honours and estates. Their sons had
    been educated together, and brought up in habits of intimacy; and
    the friendship thus formed in youth was continued after the one had
    succeeded to the crown as Henry VIII., and the other had ceased
    to be " Wild Henry Clifford," and had been advanced by his royal
    kinsman and associate to the dignity of Earl of Cumberland.

    Of the Lady Elizabeth it is stated that "lord Clifford gott her
    of the king for his son's marriage;" or for himself, "who probably
    intended to marry her." These suppositions lose something of their
    importance when we learn that a considerable disparity in years
    existed between Lord Clifford and the Lady, as well as between her
    and his son; the former being nearly thirty years her senior, and
    the latter almost a dozen years her junior; and during a great
    portion of her minority, the first Lady Clifford, though probably
    residing much apart from her husband, or unhappily with him, was
    yet alive. He was, however, a nobleman nearly allied to the king,
    of great power and influence in the north of England, and had been
    neighbour to the old Lord Greystoke, her grandfather. Under the
    circumstances, the selection made by the sovereign was a natural
    one. Her youth, her rank, and her rich inheritance, were a prize
    worthy of the aspiration of the noblest among her peers, whoever
    may have been the suitor intended for her by the king; and they
    were won by one who afterwards showed that he was as gallant in war
    as he had proved himself to be daring and loyal in love.

    Lord Dacre, after imitating the spirited bearing of his ancestor
    in his love affair, exhibited it in an equal degree in a more
    serious enterprise, when it was attended with equal success. He
    had a principal command in the English army in the battle of
    Flodden Field, which was gained on the 9th of September, 1514,
    over the Scots, who had invaded the kingdom during the absence of
    Henry VIII. at Tournay. He commanded the right wing of the army;
    and wheeling about during the action, he fell upon the rear of
    the enemy and put them to the sword without resistance, and thus
    contributed greatly to the complete victory which followed.

    The gratitude of his sovereign for his faithful services invested
    him with the dignity of the most noble Order of the Garter, and
    with the office of Lord Warden of the West Marches. He died
    October 24th, 1525, and was buried with his wife, under the rich
    altar-tomb, in the south aisle of the choir of Lanercost.

    Brougham Castle in the thirteenth century, the time of John de
    Veteripont, the most ancient owner that history points out, is
    called in instruments wherein his name is mentioned, the _house of
    Brougham_; from which it is inferred that license had not then been
    procured to embattle it. It came to the Cliffords by the marriage
    of his grand-daughter Isabella, the last of the Veteriponts,
    with Roger, son and heir of Roger Clifford, of Clifford Castle,
    Herts, whom the king had appointed guardian to her during her
    minority.[20] This Roger de Clifford built the greater part of the
    Castle, and had placed over its inner gateway the inscription--THIS
    MADE ROGER; "which," says Bishop Nicholson, "some would have to
    be understood not so much of _his_ raising the Castle, as of the
    Castle raising _him_, in allusion to his advancement of fortune by
    his marriage, this Castle being part of his wife's inheritance."
    On the death of Roger, who was slain in the Isle of Anglesey, in a
    skirmish with the Welsh, his widow, during her son's minority, sat
    as sheriffess in the county of Westmorland, upon the bench with the
    judges there, "concerning the legality of which," says the Countess
    of Pembroke, "I obtained Lord Hailes his opinion."[21]

    Her grandson Robert built the eastern parts of the Castle. During
    the subsequent centuries it fell several times into decay, having
    been destroyed by the Scots and by fire, and was as often restored.

    King James was magnificently entertained at Brougham Castle, on
    the sixth, seventh, and eighth days of August, 1617, on his return
    from his last journey out of Scotland. After this visit it appears
    to have been again injured by fire, and to have lain ruinous until
    1651 and 1652, when it was repaired for the last time, by Anne,
    Countess of Pembroke, who tells us, "After I had been there myself
    to direct the building of it, did I cause my old decayed Castle
    of Brougham to be repaired, and also the tower called the _Roman
    Tower_, in the said old castle, and the court house, for keeping
    my courts in, with some dozen or fourteen rooms to be built in it
    upon the old foundation." The _tower of leagues_ and the _Pagan
    tower_ are mentioned in her Memoirs; and also a state room called
    _Greystocke Chamber_. But the room in which her father was born,
    her "blessed mother" died, and King James lodged in 1617, she never
    fails to mention, as being that in which she lay, in all her visits
    to this place. After the death of the Countess, the Castle appears
    to have been neglected, and has gradually gone to decay.


[18] Cross-legs have been proved of late not to indicate Crusaders

[19] Matilda de Multon, the daughter and heir of Thomas de Multon, of
Gilsland, was only thirteen years of age at the time of her father's
death, when she became the ward of King Edward II.; but in 1317 by the
marriage which consummated this act of daring chivalry, the barony was
transferred to the Dacre family.

[20] The King committed these ladies (Isabella and Idonea de
Veteripont), being then young, to the guardianship of Roger de
Clifford, of Clifford Castle, Herefordshire, and Roger de Leybourne.
According to the custom of the times, and the real intent of the trust,
as soon as the heiresses were of proper age, they were married to the
sons of their guardians.--_Pennant._

[21] It has again and again been stated, that the Countess herself in
the seventeenth century repeated this exhibition of her ancestress
in the thirteenth: and not merely as an assertion of her right, but
frequently and habitually. No evidence has been found, that she ever
did so at all. She was, however, recognized as sheriff, and she
exercised the authority of the office by deputy. Thus we have her
recording that she appointed such a deputy sheriff in 1651. The office
appears to have been regarded as attached to the estate of Brougham
Castle, or the other lands which had originally belonged to the
Veteriponts; it descended with those estates to the Earls of Thanet:
but in 1850 a sheriff was appointed by the crown, under the authority
of an Act passed in the previous session of Parliament, entitled "An
Act to provide for the execution for one year of the Office of Sheriff
in the County of Westmorland."


  By doubts and darkest thoughts oppress'd,
    From cheerful hope out-driven,
  A sceptic laid him down to rest
    Mid regions earthquake-riven.

  And scanning Nature's awful face,
    And all the glorious sky,
  He cried--"To perish, and no trace
    Survive us when we die,--

  "This, spite of hope, is man's forlorn
    And unremitting lot;
  No realm awaits the heart outworn;
    Earth fades, and heaven is not.

  "For Reason's ray, like yon bright sun,
    Rebukes the feebler light
  Of hope from star-eyed Fable won,
    And old Tradition's night.

  "We shall no more to life arise,
    Nor reassume our breath,
  Nor light revisit these dim eyes
    Once closed in endless death.

  "As soon shall stars at noontide beam
    While burns the sun's bright ray,
  As stand before high Truth the dream
    That Thought survives the clay."--

  He turned: beside him yawning wide
    Lay Mountains hugely rent:
  Whence far within their depths espied,
    A little gleam was sent.

  One star the blackened pool below
    Reflected bright and clear,
  While earth was revelling in the glow
    And sunshine of the year.

  Then starting, cried he--"Heaven! thou art
    Above our powers to know.
  Take thou this blindness from my heart,
    And let me, trusting, go."


    Threlkeld or Scales Tarn is a small lake lying deeply secluded in
    a recess on the north eastern side of Saddleback, or Blencathra,
    between that mountain and Scales Fell. From the peculiarity of its
    situation it has excited considerable curiosity: but the supposed
    difficulty of access to it, its insignificant size, and the
    peculiar nature of its attractions, cause it to be seldom visited
    except by those who take it on their way to the top of Linethwaite
    Fell, the most elevated point of the Saddleback range.

    Having gained, by a toilsome and rugged ascent from the south-east,
    the margin of the cavity in which the Tarn is imbedded, let the
    traveller be supposed to stand directly facing the middle of the
    mountain, the form of which gives its name to Saddleback. From
    the high land between its two most elevated points before him,
    and jutting right out to the north-east, depends an enormous
    perpendicular rock called Tarn Crag; at the base of which,
    engulphed in an immense basin or cavity of steeps, above and on the
    left lofty and precipitous, and gradually diminishing as they curve
    on the right, lies Threlkeld Tarn, described as a beautiful piece
    of circular transparent water, covering a space of from thirty to
    thirty-five acres, and surrounded with a well defined shore. From
    the summit, elevated upwards of two hundred yards above it, its
    surface is black, though smooth as a mirror; and it lies so deeply
    imbedded, that it is said, the reflection of the stars may be seen
    therein at noonday. It is generally sunless; and when illuminated,
    it is in the morning, and chiefly through an aperture to the east,
    formed by the running waters in the direction of Penrith. "A wild
    spot it is," says Southey, "as ever was chosen by a cheerful party
    where to rest, and take their merry repast upon a summer's day.
    The green mountain, the dark pool, the crag under which it lies,
    and the little stream which steals from it, are the only objects;
    the gentle voice of that stream the only sound, unless a kite
    be wheeling above, or a sheep bleats on the fell side. A silent
    solitary place; and such solitude heightens social enjoyment, as
    much as it conduces to lonely meditation."

    Southey adds, in a note--"Absurd accounts have been published both
    of the place itself, and the difficulty of reaching it. The Tarn
    has been said to be so deep that the reflection of the stars may be
    seen in it at noonday--and that the sun never shines upon it. One
    of these assertions is as fabulous as the other--and the Tarn, like
    all Tarns, is shallow."

    Its claim to this singularity need not be wholly rejected, however,
    on the ground of shallowness, if, to be deeply imbedded, rather
    than to be deep, be the essential condition. Several of the most
    credible inhabitants thereabouts have affirmed that they frequently
    see stars in it at mid-day; but it is also stated that in order to
    discover that phenomenon, there must be a concurrence of several
    circumstances, viz: the firmament must be perfectly clear, the air
    and the water unagitated; and the spectator must be placed at a
    certain height above the lake, and as much below the summit of the
    partially surrounding ridge.

    The impression produced upon travellers a century ago by the
    features of Blencathra at a considerable elevation, will excite a
    smile in tourists of the present day. The _Southern_ face of the
    mountain is "furrowed with hideous chasms." One of these "though by
    far the least formidable," is described as "unconceivably horrid:"
    "its width is about two hundred yards, and its depth at least six
    hundred." Between two of these horrible abysses, and separated from
    the body of the mountain on all sides by deep ravines, a portion of
    the hill somewhat pyramidal in shape stands out like an enormous
    buttress. "I stood upon this," says the narrator, whose account is
    quoted, "and had on each side a gulf about two hundred yards wide,
    and at least eight hundred deep; their sides were rocky, bare, and
    rough, scarcely the appearance of vegetation upon them: and their
    bottoms were covered with pointed broken rocks." Again he "arrived
    where the mountain has every appearance of being split; and at the
    'bottom' he 'saw hills about forty yards high and a mile in length,
    which seem to have been raised from the rubbish that had fallen
    from the mountain.'" From the summit he "could not help observing
    that the back of this mountain is as remarkably smooth, as the
    front is horrid."

    Over this front of Blencathra, the bold and rugged brow which it
    presents when seen from the road to Matterdale, or from the Vale
    of St. John's, the view of the country to the south and east is
    most beautiful. The northern side is, as has been said, remarkably
    smooth, and in striking contrast to that so ruggedly and grandly
    broken down towards the south, where every thing around bears
    evident marks of some great and terrible convulsion of nature.

    Mr. Green with his companion, Mr. Otley, was among the early
    adventurers who stood on the highest ridge of Blencathra.
    This accurate observer, whose descriptions of this, and other
    unfrequented and unalterable places, will never be old, describes
    without exaggeration the difficulties of the ground about the upper
    part of this mountain. Describing the neighbourhood of the Tarn,
    he says, "From Linthwaite Pike on soft green turf, we descended
    steeply, first southward, and then in an easterly direction to the
    tarn,--a beautiful circular piece of transparent water, with a
    well defined shore. Here we found ourselves engulphed in a basin
    of steeps, having Tarn Crag on the north, the rocks falling from
    Sharp Edge on the east, and on the west, the soft turf on which we
    made our downward progress. These side grounds, in pleasant grassy
    banks, verge to the stream issuing from the lake, whence there is
    a charming opening to the town of Penrith; and Cross Fell seen in
    the extreme distance. Wishing to vary our line in returning to the
    place we had left, we crossed the stream, and commenced a steep
    ascent at the foot of Sharp Edge. We had not gone far before we
    were aware that our journey would be attended with perils; the
    passage gradually grew narrower, and the declivity on each hand
    awfully precipitous. From walking erect, we were reduced to the
    necessity either of bestriding the ridge or of moving on one of its
    sides, with our hands lying over the top, as a security against
    tumbling into the tarn on the left, or into a frightful gully on
    the right, both of immense depth. Sometimes we thought it prudent
    to return; but that seemed unmanly, and we proceeded; thinking with
    Shakespeare, that "dangers retreat when boldly they're confronted."
    Mr. Otley was the leader, who, on gaining steady footing, looked
    back on the writer, whom he perceived viewing at leisure from his
    saddle the remainder of his upward course."


  While the vales of the North keep the Philipsons' fame,
  Calgarth and Holm-Isle will exult at their name!
  Ever true to the rights of the King, and his throne,--
  Now hearken how Robin was true to his own!

  "Ride, brother! ride stoutly, ride in from Carlisle!
  For the Roundheads from Kendal beleaguer Holm-Isle.
  On land and on mere I have fifty at bay;
  And I speed on mine arrow this message away!"--

  The arrow struck truly the henchman's far door;
  And swift from the arrow that message he tore.
  Then, booted and spurr'd, over mountain and plain
  He rides as for life, and he rides not in vain.

  He has reached the fair City, has sought through the crowd
  The bold form of his master, and thus spoke aloud--
  "The Roundheads beleaguer my lord in his Isle,
  And he bids thee for life to ride in from Carlisle."--

  He rode with his men, and he came to the Mere,
  When a shout for the Philipsons burst on his ear;
  And his errand sped well; for the Whigs to a man,
  At the sight of his horsemen, all mounted and ran.

  "Now listen, my Brother!--I stay'd by the Isle,
  Whilst thou for the King wert array'd at Carlisle;
  I have stood by thy treasure; I've guarded thy store;
  I have kept our good name; and now this I'll do more!

  "Yon braggart, that thief-like came on in the dark,
  And thought to catch Robin--but miss'd his good mark!
  I'll repay him his visit; and, by the great King!
  I'll be straight with the varlet, and make his casque ring."--

  With a half-score of horsemen, next Sunday at morn,
  While the sound of the bells o'er the meadows was borne,
  To the Kent he rode easily--on to the town--
  And along the dull street--with clenched hand and dark frown.

  "Is there none of this Boaster's fanatical crew
  In all Kendal to give me the welcome that's due?
  Not a blade of old Noll's, or in street or in porch?
  By the Rood, then I'll look for such grace in the church!"

  He spurr'd his wild horse through the open church door;
  He spurr'd to the chancel, and scann'd it well o'er;
  Then turned by the Altar, and glanced at each one
  Of the Roundheads that leapt from their knees, and look'd on.

  But their Leader, the trooper, his foe at the Mere,
  His eye could not 'light on--"He cannot be here!"
  So he rushed at the portal; but not ere arose
  From the panic-loosed swordsmen harsh words and hard blows.

  He dashed at the doorway, unstooping; a stroke
  From the arch rent his helmet, his saddle-girths broke;
  Half-stunn'd from the ground he strove up to his steed,
  And ungirth'd has he mounted, and off with good speed.

  With his men at his back, that stood keeping true ward
  By each gate, when he entered alone the churchyard,
  Soon left he the rebel rout straggling behind;
  And was off to his Mere like a hawk on the wind.

  And there with his half-score of horsemen once more
  He cross'd to his calm little Isle, from the shore;
  And then said bold Robin--"I've miss'd him, tis true;
  But I paid back his visit--so much was his due!

  "Had I caught but a glance of the low canting knave,
  The next psalm that they sung had been over his grave!"--
  And they guess'd through all Westmorland whose was the hand
  That would dare such a deed with so feeble a band.

  Saying--"Robin the Devil, who man never fear'd,
  Would have dared to take Satan himself by the beard;
  Then why not a troublesome Whig at his prayers!
  --He'll not try to catch Robin again unawares."


    Holm Isle, Belle Isle, or Curwen's Island, as it is sometimes
    called from the name of its present proprietor, formerly belonged
    to the Philipsons of Calgarth, an ancient family in Westmorland.
    It is the largest island in Windermere, lying obliquely across
    the lake, just above its narrowest part called the Straits, and
    opposite to Bowness. It is of an oblong shape, distant on one side
    from the shore about half a mile, on the other considerably less,
    while at its northern and southern points there is a large sheet
    of water extending four or five miles. It is about one mile and
    three-quarters in circumference, and contains nearly thirty acres
    of land. Its shores are irregular, occasionally retiring into bays,
    or breaking into creeks. A circular structure surmounted by a
    dome-shaped roof was erected upon it in 1776, which is so planned
    as to command a prospect of the whole lake. The plantations,
    consisting of Weymouth pines, ash and other trees, are disposed so
    as to afford a complete shelter to the house, without intercepting
    the view. The grounds are tastefully laid out; and the island is
    surrounded by a gravel walk, which strangers are permitted to use.
    In the middle are a few clumps of trees; and a neat boat-house has
    been erected contiguous to the place of landing.

    When the ground underneath the site of the house was excavated,
    traces of an ancient building were discovered at a considerable
    depth below the surface; among which were a great number of old
    bricks, and a chimney-piece in its perfect state. Several pieces
    of old armour, weapons, and cannon balls were also found embedded
    in the soil. In levelling the ground on the north part of the
    building, a beautiful pavement formed of a small kind of pebbles,
    and several curious gravel walks were cut through. These were
    probably some remains of "the strong house on the island," in
    which Huddleston Philipson is said to have left the family treasure
    under the care of his brother "Robin," while he was absent in the
    Royal cause at the siege of Carlisle.

    During the civil wars these two members of the Philipson family
    served the king. Huddleston, the elder, who was the proprietor
    of this island, commanded a regiment. Robert held a commission
    as major in the same service. He was a man of great spirit and
    enterprise; and for his many feats of personal valour, had obtained
    among the Oliverians of those parts the appellation of _Robin the

    After the war had subsided, and the more direful effects of public
    opposition had ceased, revenge and private malice long kept alive
    the animosities of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a distant kinsman
    of the Philipsons, of whom, notwithstanding, he was a bitter enemy,
    and a steady friend to the usurpation, resided at this time at
    Kendal; and under the double character of a leading magistrate and
    an active commander, held the county in awe. This person having
    heard that Major Philipson was at his brother's house, on the
    island in Windermere, resolved, if possible, to seize and punish a
    man who had made himself so particularly obnoxious. With this view
    he mustered a party which he thought sufficient, and went himself
    on the enterprise. How it was conducted the narrator does not
    inform us--whether he got together the navigation of the lake, and
    blockaded the place by sea, or whether he landed, and carried on
    his approach in form. It is probable, as he was reduced to severe
    privation, that Briggs had seized all the boats upon the lake,
    and stopped the supplies. Neither do we learn the strength of the
    garrison within, nor of the works without, though every gentleman's
    house was at that time in some degree a fortress. All we learn is,
    that Major Philipson endured a siege of eight or ten days with
    great gallantry; till his brother the Colonel, hearing of his
    distress, raised a party, and relieved him; or, as another account
    says, till his brother returned from Carlisle, after the siege of
    that city was raised.

    It was now the Major's turn to make reprisals. He put himself
    therefore at the head of a little troop of horse, and rode to
    Kendal. Here being informed that Colonel Briggs was at prayers
    (for it was on a Sunday morning), he stationed his men properly in
    the avenues, and himself, armed, rode directly into the church. It
    is said he intended to seize the Colonel and carry him off; but
    as this seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather
    probable that his intention was to kill him on the spot; and in the
    midst of the confusion, to escape. Whatever his intention was, it
    was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be elsewhere.

    The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into great
    confusion on seeing an armed man, on horseback, make his
    appearance amongst them; and the Major, taking advantage of their
    astonishment, turned his horse round, and walked quietly out.
    But having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as he left
    the assembly; and, being seized, his girths were cut, and he was

    Another account says, that having dashed forward down the principal
    aisle of the church, and having discovered that his principal
    object could not be effected, he was making his escape by another
    aisle, when his head came violently in contact with the arch of
    the doorway, which was much lower than that through which he had
    entered; that his helmet was struck off by the blow, his saddle
    girth gave way, and he himself, much stunned, was thrown to the

    At this instant his party made a furious attack on the assailants,
    who taking advantage of his mishap, attempted to detain him; and
    the Major killed with his own hand the man who had seized him,
    clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon the horse, and
    vaulting into it, rode full speed through the streets of Kendal,
    calling his men to follow him, and with his whole party made a
    safe retreat to his asylum on the lake, which he reached about two

    The action marked the man. Many knew him; and they who did not,
    knew as well from the exploit, that it could be nobody but _Robin
    the Devil_.

    In the Bellingham Chapel, in Kendal Church, is suspended high over
    an ancient altar tomb, a battered helmet, through whose crust of
    whitewash the rust of ages is plainly to be discerned. Whether this
    antique casque belonged to Sir Roger Bellingham, who was interred
    A. D. 1557 in the tomb beneath, and was exalted as a token of
    the distinction he had received, when made a knight banneret by
    the hand of his sovereign on the field of battle, or was won by
    the puissant burgesses of Kendal from one of the Philipsons, and
    elevated to its present position as a trophy of their valour, it
    is, strangely enough, called the "Rebel's Cap," and forms the theme
    of the bold and sacreligious action recorded of Robert Philipson.

    As for "Robin" (who has also, though unjustly, been calumniated
    and accused of having murdered the persons to whom the skulls at
    Calgarth belonged, and who figures, it is said, in many other
    desperate adventures), after the final defeat at Worcester had,
    by depressing for a time the hopes of the royalists, in some
    degree restored a sort of subdued quiet to the kingdom, finding a
    pacific life irksome to his restless spirit, he passed over into
    the sister country, and there fell in some nameless rencontre in
    the Irish wars, sealing by a warrior's fate a course of long tried
    and devoted attachment to his king; in his death, as in his life,
    affording a memorable illustration of the fine sentiment embodied
    in these proud lines--

      "Master! lead on and I will follow thee
      To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty."

    During the Protectorate of Cromwell, Briggs ruled in the
    ascendancy; but on the accession of Charles the Second, he was
    obliged for a long period to hide in the wilds of Furness.

    Two hundred years have rolled away, since the generation that
    saw those events has vanished from the earth, and every tangible
    memorial of the island hero has been thought to have perished with
    him. Nevertheless, time has spared one fragile, though little
    noticed relic; for in the library of that most interesting of
    our northern English fanes, the Parish Church of Cartmel, whose
    age-stricken walls, so rich in examples of each style of Gothic
    architecture, rise but a few miles from the foot of the lake, in
    the centre of a vale of much beauty of a monastic character, there
    is retained upon the shelves a small volume in Latin, entitled
    "Vincentii Lirinensis hæres, Oxoniæ, 1631," on one of the blank
    leaves of which is this inscription in MS., the signature to which
    has been partly torn off:--

      "For Mr Rob. Philipson.
      Inveniam, spero, quamvis Peregrinus, amicos:
      Mite peto tecum cominus hospitium. R----"

    It is pleasing to dwell on this enduring testimony of regard for
    a man, whose portrait, as limned on the historic canvas, has
    hitherto been looked upon as that only of a bold unnurtured ruffler
    in an age of strife. Seen under the effect of this touch by the
    hand of friendship, a gentler grace illumes the air of one, whose
    unwavering principles and firm temper well fitted him to encounter
    the troubles of a stormy epoch, while, as long as the island itself
    shall endure, his heroic shadow rising over its groves, will cast
    the enthralling interest of a romantic episode upon a scene so
    captivating by its natural loveliness.

    That the individual so addressed, was our Robin of Satanic
    notoriety, there cannot reasonably be a doubt, as the pedigree of
    the Crook Hall Philipsons does not recognise any other member of
    the family of that name, living between the time of the publication
    of the book, and the death of their last male heir. Neither is the
    genealogical tree of the Calgarth branch enriched with the name
    between that and 1652, when Christopher Philipson (of the house of
    Calgarth) who, amid the bitter struggle of parties, seems to have
    been devoted to the cultivation of letters, and who is supposed
    to have presented the book, along with others, to the library at
    Cartmel, died. Therefore to the successful soldier, whose actions
    gave to himself and his cause so chivalrous a colouring, alone,
    must the inscription be applied, the evidence it affords furnishing
    another illustration of the saying that "the Devil is not always
    as black as he is painted." But whether it be questionable that
    it was directed to the royalist Robin, or not, the probability is
    sufficiently great to justify what has been said on the subject.

    Recent research through public archives has ascertained that the
    family of the Philipsons was established in Westmorland at least
    as far back as the reign of Edward III., for in an inquisition
    relative to the possessions of the chantry on Saint Mary's Holme,
    taken in 1355, the name of John Philipson is recorded as tenant to
    certain lands belonging to that religious foundation.

    This family owned not only Calgarth Hall and extensive domains
    which reached along the shores of Windermere, from Low Wood to
    Rayrigg, consisting of beautiful woods and rich pastures, but also
    Crook and Holling Halls, with much of the surrounding country, as
    well as the large island in the centre of the lake, opposite to
    Bowness, in documents of the 13th century especially designated
    "Le Holme," but the earliest name of which was Wynandermere
    Isle, afterwards changed to the "Long Holme," which latter word
    signifies, in the old vernacular, "an island or plain by the
    water side," and in which they had a mansion of the old fashioned
    Westmorland kind, strongly fortified, called the Holme House.

    Their alliances having connected them with many of the chief
    families of the county, they fixed their principal dwelling places
    at Holling, and at Crook or Thwatterden Halls; which latter abode
    in the time of Queen Elizabeth again became the seat of a younger
    branch of the house at Calgarth.

    With Sir Christopher Philipson, the last heir male of the family
    of Crook Hall, who, according to Mr. West, lived in the Holme in
    1705, and who died in that year, the race was extinguished. Their
    mouldered dust lies beneath the pavement in Windermere Church, and
    their homes, for the most part but grey and naked ruins, know them
    no more.


  On that Mount surnamed "of Sorrow"
    Glass'd in Enna's winding flood,
  Looking forth through many a morrow
    Both the warriors, Lucies, stood;
  Stood beside the ramparts hoary,
    Brothers, vow'd their brows to wreathe
  In the Holy Land with glory,
    Or its sands to rest beneath.

  Quietly the vale was lying,
    Farm and meadow, forge and mill,
  As the day-star faintly dying
    Paled above the eastern hill.
  But beneath the cullis'd portal
    Press'd the pent-up throng of war,
  Eager for the strife immortal
    With the Soldan's hosts afar.

  Fame has all his soul's embraces--
    Clasps Lord Lucy maid nor wife.
  As the warriors' vizor'd faces
    Turn towards the land of strife.
  Through the gate beneath the towering
    Pile they wind in shining mail.
  Soon afar the fortress lowering
    Sinks beneath them in the vale.

  Scawfell saw them take the billow,
    Man by man on Cumbria's shore;
  Carmel's foot was first their pillow
    When again to land they bore.
  And in holy fight they bound them
    To their Saviour's service true;
  Fought and bled, through hosts around them,
    Till their ranks were faint and few.

  Then beneath the foe contending,
    Faithful, fearless, but in vain,
  Lo, the brothers bound and bending
    Drag the hopeless captive's chain.
  In the Moslem dungeon wasting,
    England's bravest, both they lie;
  No sweet hope nor solace tasting,
    Only blank captivity.

  Months have rolled; and moons are waning;
    Then stood Lucy forth and said,--
  "Emir, over millions reigning!
    We are two in dungeon laid.
  I, who bore a noble's banner,
    I have halls and realms afar,
  Wealth which many a lordly manor
    Yields, beneath the western star.

  "Let the Emir's heart be gracious!
    Free my brother at my side;
  And a ransom rich and precious
    We will bring o'er ocean wide.
  So we two, whose arms avail'd not
    Here our freedom to sustain,
  But whose constant courage fail'd not,
    May be Freedom's sons again."

  Greed for gain o'er wrath prevailing
    Softened soon the tyrant's mind.
  Homewards one is swiftly sailing;
    Calmly one will wait behind.
  For a twelve-months thus they parted.
    Weary months, the year, went o'er.
  But that brother, evil-hearted,
    From the West return'd no more.

  Then the Emir's soul no longer
    Would its vengeance stern forego;
  All his rage suppress'd the stronger,
    Burn'd, and burst upon his foe.
  And he bade his hair be knotted
    Into cords around a beam,
  There to chain him till he rotted,
    Where no light of heaven could gleam.

  And in hunger sore he wasted;
    And his nails grew like a bird's;
  Day's sweet blesséd airs untasted,
    And no sound of human words!
  Changed in soul, and form, and feature,
    Ah! how changed from that fair mould.
  In which heaven had stamped its creature
    Man and warrior, mild as bold!

  Yet one heart whose daily gladness
    Once had been, from latticed bower
  To look down on him in sadness
    Walking forth at evening hour;
  She, the Emir's fairest daughter,
    Sees brave Lucy now no more,--
  Till unresting love has brought her
    Trembling to his dungeon's floor.

  There, with one mute form attending,
    Swift her arm the faulchion drew
  Through his locks; the hatterel rending[22]
    From him, as it cleaved them through.
  And with words of woman-kindness
    Whisper'd she--"To light and air,
  Life and love, from dungeon blindness,
    Are we come the brave to bear."

  And for love of him she bore him
    To a ship, wherein he rode
  Seaward till the bright sky o'er him
    Circled round his own abode.
  Then his castle-horn he sounded,
    Which none other's skill could sound,
  Where the traitor sat, confounded,
    With his bold retainers round.

  But brave Lucy's soul forgave him
    All that wrong so foully done;
  Him who went not back to save him
    With the ransom he had won.
  Yea, and more: "From Duddon's borders
    Far as Esk, and from the sea
  To where Hard-knott's ancient warders
    Sleep," he said, "I give to thee.

  "Here once more by vale and mountain,
    On these ramparts side by side,
  Wells up from my heart a fountain
    Wastes and dungeons have not dried."
  And his stately halls he entered,
    Borne mid cheers and warriors' clang;
  While a thousand welcomes, centred
    In one shout of triumph, rang.

  High the feast and great the story
    Then that fill'd his ancient halls.
  Healths to Lucy's House and glory
    Shook the banners on the walls.
  And their deep foundations hail'd him
    With such echoes as were born
  When his own true breath avail'd him
    On the faithful Castle-horn.

  And 'twas joy again to wander
    On his own fair fields, and chase
  There the wild wolf, and bring under
    The strong deer in deadly race.
  And if sometimes more the forest
    Won him, museful and alone;
  'Twas when secret thoughts were sorest.
    Turn'd upon the past and gone.

  But that lone and lordly bosom
    Sought no mate of high degree;
  Wooed no fair and beauteous blossom
    From a noble kindred tree,--
  As might have beseem'd, to wear her
    Throned within a warrior's breast;
  Evermore to bloom, the sharer
    Of its love, its life, its rest.

  So in field, and hall, and tourney,
    As he lived--upon a day,
  Wearied with a toilsome journey,
    Came a guest from far away;
  Feebly at his gate and humbly
    Asking, "Dwells Lord Lucy here?"
  But all question parried dumbly,
    Till the voice she sought was near.

  Then indeed the sorrow-laden,
    Travel-stricken form sunk down;
  Slow the hatterel forth the maiden
    Drew; he knew her! 'twas his own!
  Knew her, as she stood before him
    On that barren Syrian shore,
  When from wrath and death she bore him
    Where no wrong might touch him more.

  Bear her in! he tells them of her,
    Tells them all with eyeballs dim.
  Cannot be but he must love her,
    For she bears such love to him.
  She has left her father's mansion,
    Left her country, faith, and name,
  Travell'd o'er the sea's expansion,
    Him to find in life and fame.

  Was there ever like devotion?--
    Is he husband, father; she
  Who has braved the boundless ocean
    Will his serving maiden be.
  No! she shall abide in honour,
    One for ever at his side;
  Every gift and grace upon her
    That beseems a warrior's bride.

  Then again his days were gladden'd
    With more joys than e'er of yore.
  And if thought at times was sadden'd
    With the memories which it bore,
  Clasping oft his wife with true love,
    He would say with whispering breath--
  "Love is life indeed! for through love
    I am here, reprieved from death!"

  And his soul's allegiance fail'd not
    That fair consort, all his days.
  And their blissful love--avail'd not
    Chance or time to quench its rays.
  Love unto his gate had brought her
    O'er the seas from far beyond.
  And with love the Emir's daughter
    Ruled the halls of Egremond.

  But that kinsman, far divided
    From them by remorse and shame,
  Round his courts in secret glided
    Ghost-like--nevermore the same:
  Conscience-torn, repentant, weary,
    Burning, longing for the close
  Of that pilgrimage so dreary.
    Power had come, but not repose.

  Shadows the rebuked and chastened,
    Worn-out warrior lowly laid.
  And from Bega's cloisters hastened
    Thrice the prior with his aid:
  Thrice: And ere the leaves had faded,
    Brave Lord Lucy clasped his breast;[23]
  Kiss'd him; and the convent shaded
    One more spirit into rest.


    The name of Egremont seems to be derived from its ancient
    possessors, the Normans, and being changed by a trifling corruption
    of their language, carries the same meaning, and signifies the
    Mount of Sorrow.

    The charter of Richard de Lucy, granted to the burgesses in
    the time of King John, declares it to be given and confirmed
    "burgensibus meis de _Acrimonte_," &c.

    William the Conqueror having established himself on the throne of
    England, and added the county of Cumberland, which he wrested from
    Malcolm, king of Scotland, to his northern possessions; he gave it,
    together with the barony of Westmorland, to Randolph or Ranulph
    du Briquesard, also surnamed le Meschin, Vicomte du Bessin, elder
    brother of William le Meschin. This nobleman was allied to the
    Conqueror by marriage with his niece, and was one of his numerous
    train of military adventurers. He was the first Norman paramount
    feudatory of Cumberland. When Ranulph granted out to his several
    retainers their respective allotments; reserving to himself the
    forest of Inglewood, he gave to his brother, William le Meschin,
    the great barony of Copeland, bounded by the rivers Duddon and
    Derwent, and the sea. The latter seated himself at Egremont and
    there erected a castle; and in distinction of this his baronial
    seat, he changed the name of the whole territory to that of the
    barony of Egremont. After possessing this estate with great power
    for several years, and dying without male issue, it devolved to
    his daughter Alice, married to Robert de Romili, Lord of Skipton.
    They having no male issue, these two great baronies descended
    to their only daughter Alice, who married William Fitz-Duncan,
    Earl of Murray, nephew to David, King of Scots. By this marriage
    there was issue a son, who died in infancy, and three daughters
    who divided the vast inheritance. To Amabil, the second daughter,
    the barony of Egremont came in partition; and by her marriage with
    Reginald Lucy, passed to that family. William Fitz-Duncan was Lord
    of the adjoining Cumbrian seigniory or honor of Cockermouth, and
    of the barony of Allerdale below Derwent, which large estates had
    descended to him from his mother Octreda, who inherited them from
    her grandfather Waldeof, first lord of Allerdale, to whom they
    had been granted by Ranulph de Meschin. Waldeof was the son of
    Gospatrick, Earl of Dunbar.

    Particular mention is made of two only of the name of Lucy in
    succession: Reginald de Lucy, who was governor of Nottingham for
    the King, in the rebellion of the Earl of Leicester, and who also
    attended the coronation of Richard I. among the other Barons; and
    Richard de Lucy, his son, who, in the reign of King John, paid a
    fine of three hundred marks for the livery of all his lands in
    Coupland and Canteberge, _and to have the liberty of marrying
    whom he pleased_, &c. He married Ada, one of the two daughters
    and co-heiresses of Hugh de Morville; and obtained a grant from
    King John, by which he claimed and held the whole property of his
    father-in-law, without partition to the other daughter, Joane.
    He died before or about the 15th year of King John, leaving two
    daughters, between whom the estates were divided, and who both
    married into the Multon family.

    At that time, and long after, it was a part of the King's
    prerogative to interfere in the marriages of his nobility.[24]

    The subsequent acts of the widowed Ada de Lucy afford us a fine
    illustration of the exercise of this prerogative on the part of
    the sovereign in the matters of widows and heiresses. Ada paid
    a fine of five hundred marks for livery of her inheritance; as
    also for dowry of her late husband's lands; and that she might
    not be compelled to marry again. She espoused, however, without
    compulsion, and without the king's licence, Thomas de Multon; in
    consequence of which, the Castle of Egremont, and her other lands,
    were seized by the Crown. But upon paying a compensation, they were
    restored, and she had livery of them again. Her second husband, on
    his payment of one thousand marks to the crown, was made guardian
    over the two daughters, and co-heiresses, of her first husband, de
    Lucy: and as a necessary consequence, and, in fact, in accordance
    with the permission implied by the arrangement, he married them to
    his two sons by his first wife.

    These two daughters and co-heiresses of Lucy having married the two
    sons of Thomas de Multon, the elder carried with her the lordship
    of Egremont; while the son of the younger assumed the surname
    of his maternal family, and was ancestor of the barons Lucy of
    Cockermouth. The infant daughter of Anthony, the third and last
    baron Lucy, dying in the year following his own demise, the barony
    was carried by the marriage of his sister Maude with the first Earl
    of Northumberland to the Percy family: thence to the Seymours,
    Dukes of Somerset; and through them to Wyndham, Earl of Egremont,
    by whose descendant, the first Lord Leconfield, it is at present

    Egremont was anciently a borough, sending two members to
    parliament; but was disfranchised on the petition of the burgesses,
    to avoid the expense of representation. The burgesses possessed
    several privileges, but all records of them are lost. The
    ordinances of Richard de Lucy for the government of the borough
    is a curious record, in which several singularities are to be
    observed, which point out to us the customs of that distant age.
    By this burgage tenure, the people of Egremont were obliged to
    find armed men, for the defence of the Castle, forty days at their
    own charge. The lord was entitled to forty days' credit for goods,
    and no more; and his burgesses might refuse to supply him, till
    the debt which had exceeded that date was paid. They were bound to
    aids for the redemption of the lord and his heir from captivity;
    for the knighthood of one of the lord's sons, and the marriage
    of one of his daughters. They were to find him twelve men for
    his military array. They were to hold watch and ward. They could
    not enter the forest with bow and arrow. They were relieved from
    cutting off the dogs' feet within the borough, as being a necessary
    and customary defence: on the borders, the dogs appointed to be
    kept for defence, were called _slough dogs_: this privilege points
    out, that within the limits of forests, the inhabitants keeping
    dogs for defence were to lop off one foot or more, to prevent their
    chasing the game; which did not spoil them for the defence of a
    dwelling. A singular privilege appears in the case of a burgess
    committing fornication with the daughter of a rustic, one who was
    not a burgess; that he should not be liable to the fine imposed in
    other cases for that offence, unless he had seduced by promise of
    marriage. The fine for seducing a woman belonging to the borough
    was three shillings to the lord. By the rule for inspecting dyers,
    weavers, and fullers, it seems those were the only trades at that
    time within the borough under the character of craftsmen. The
    burgesses who had ploughs were to till the lord's demesne one day
    in the year, and every burgess to find a reaper: their labour was
    from morning _ad nonam_, which was three o'clock, as from six to

    Egremont was probably a place of strength, and the seat of some
    powerful chief, during the Heptarchy, and in the time of the
    Danes. The ruins of the Castle, on the west of the town, stand on
    an eminence, the northern extremity of which forms a lofty mound,
    seventy-eight feet in perpendicular height above the ditch which
    surrounds the fortress. On the crown of this hill, it is believed,
    there formerly stood a Danish fortification. The mound is said to
    be artificial. Tradition goes so far as to assert that it is formed
    of soil brought by St. Bega from Ireland, as ballast for her ship.
    The miraculous power of the Saint must have been largely exercised
    to increase it to its present proportions. It still, however,
    retains the virtue given to Irish earth by the blessing of St.
    Patrick, and no reptile can live upon it.

    This fortress is not of very great extent, but bears singular marks
    of antiquity and strength. The approach and grand entrance from
    the south, has been kept by a draw-bridge over a deep moat. The
    entrance to the castle is by a gateway vaulted with semi-circular
    arches, and guarded by a strong tower. The architecture of this
    tower, which is the chief part of the fortress now standing, points
    out its antiquity to be at least coeval with the entry of the
    Normans. The outward wall has enclosed a considerable area of a
    square form; but it is now gone so much to decay, that no probable
    conjecture can be made as to the particular manner in which it
    was fortified. On the side next the town a postern remains. To
    the westward, from the area, there is an ascent to three narrow
    gates, standing close together, and on a straight line, which have
    communicated with the outworks: these are apparently of more modern
    architecture, and have each been defended with a portcullis. Beyond
    these gates is the lofty mount, which has already been referred to,
    and on which anciently stood a circular tower, the western side
    of which endured the rage of time till within the last century.
    The whole fortification is surrounded by a moat, more properly
    so called than a ditch, as it appears to have been walled on both
    sides. This is strengthened with an outward rampart of earth, which
    is five hundred paces in circumference. A small brook runs on the
    eastern side of the Castle, and it may be presumed, anciently
    filled the moat. The mode of building which appears in part of
    the walls, is rather uncommon, the construction being of large
    thin stones, placed in an inclined position, the courses lying in
    different directions, so as to form a kind of feathered work, the
    whole run together with lime and pebbles, impenetrably strong. It
    seems to have been copied from the filling parts of the Roman wall.

    An old tradition connects the lords of this Castle with the
    Crusades. One version of it given in the histories of Cumberland,
    for it is variously related, is to this effect:--"The Baron of
    Egremont being taken prisoner beyond the seas by the infidels,
    could not be redeemed without a great ransom, and being for
    England, entered his brother or kinsman for his surety, promising
    with all possible speed to send him money to set him free; but
    upon his return home to Egremont, he changed his mind, and most
    unnaturally and unthankfully suffered his brother to lie in prison,
    in great distress and extremity, until the hair was grown to an
    unusual length, like to a woman's hair. The Pagans being out of
    hopes of the ransom, in great rage most cruelly hanged up their
    pledge, binding the long hair of his head to a beam in the prison,
    and tied his hands so behind him, that he could not reach to the
    top where the knot was fastened to loose himself: during his
    imprisonment, the Paynim's daughter became enamoured of him, and
    sought all good means for his deliverance, but could not enlarge
    him: she understanding of this last cruelty, by means made to his
    keeper, entered the prison, and taking her knife to cut the hair,
    being hastened, she cut the skin of his head, so as, with the
    weight of his body, he rent away the rest, and fell down to the
    earth half dead; but she presently took him up, causing surgeons to
    attend him secretly, till he recovered his former health, beauty,
    and strength, and so entreated her father for him that he set him
    at liberty. Then, desirous to revenge his brother's ingratitude,
    he got leave to depart to his country, and took home with him the
    hatterell of his hair rent off as aforesaid, and a bugle-horn,
    which he commonly used to carry about him, when he was in England,
    where he shortly arrived, and coming to Egremont Castle about
    noontide of the day, where his brother was at dinner, he blew
    his bugle-horn, which (says the tradition) his brother the baron
    presently acknowledged, and thereby conjectured his brother's
    return; and then sending his friends and servants to learn his
    brother's mind to him, and how he had escaped, they brought back
    the report of all the miserable torment which he had endured
    for his unfaithful brother the baron, which so astonished the
    baron (half dead before with the shameful remembrance of his own
    disloyalty and breach of promise) that he abandoned all company and
    would not look on his brother, till his just wrath was pacified by
    diligent entreaty of their friends. And to be sure of his brother's
    future kindness, he gave the _lordship of Millum_ to him and his
    heirs for ever. Whereupon the first Lords of Millum gave for their
    arms _the horn and the hatterell_.

    Others relate that it was the baron who remained as hostage: and
    that on his release from captivity by the Paynim's daughter, and
    after his departure to his native country, urged by her love
    towards him, she found her way across the sea, and presenting
    herself at his castle-gate, with the hatterell of his hair which
    she had preserved as a token, was joyfully recognized by the Baron,
    who made her his wife and the mistress of his halls.

    It is, on various grounds, an anachronism to refer this tradition
    to the period when the Lucies were Lords of Egremont. For,
    according to Denton, the great seignory of Millom "in the time of
    King Henry I. was given by William Meschines, Lord of Egremont,
    to ... de Boyvill, father to Godard de Boyvill, named in ancient
    evidences Godardus Dapifer." This accords with the tradition, which
    is very old, and is given by both Denton and Sandford, and which
    makes, as we have seen, the Boyvills to be very near of kin to the
    Lords of Egremont. It also particularises the occasion upon which
    Millom was transferred to that family; who took their surname from
    the place, and were styled de-Millom.

    That some members of the family were engaged in the crusades, we
    learn from the record that Arthur Boyvill or de Millom, the third
    lord, and the son of Godardus Dapifer, granted to the Abbey of St.
    Mary in Furness the services of Kirksanton in Millom, which Robert
    de Boyvill, his cousin-german, then held of him; and soon after he
    mortgaged the same to the Abbot of Furness, until his return from
    the Holy Land.

    The crest of Huddleston of Hutton John is, Two arms, dexter and
    sinister embowed, vested, argent, holding in their hands a scalp
    proper, the inside gules. The tradition of the Horn of Egremont
    Castle, which could only be sounded by the rightful lord, and
    which forms the subject of a fine poem by Mr. Wordsworth, is
    said properly to belong to Hutton-John, an ancient manor of the
    Huddlestons, who were descended from the Boyvills in the female
    line; Joan, the daughter and heiress of the last of the de-Milloms,
    in the reign of Henry III., having married Sir John Hudleston, Kt.;
    and thus transferred the seignory into that family, with whom it
    continued for a period of about 500 years.

    The name of Egremont will remind the poetical reader of the story
    of the "Youthful Romili," celebrated by Wordsworth in his noble
    ballad "The Founding of Bolton Priory," and by Rogers in his less
    ambitious lines "The Boy of Egremond." It seems to be by no means
    certain to which generation of William le Meschines' descendants
    the tale belongs. Denton says, "Alice Romley, the third daughter
    and co-heir of William Fitz-Duncan, was the fourth lady of
    Allerdale: but having no children alive at her death, she gave
    away divers manors and lands to houses of religion, and to her
    friends and kinsmen. She had a son named William, who was drowned
    in Craven coming home from hunting or hawking. His hound or spaniel
    being tied to his girdle by a line, (as they crossed the water near
    Barden Tower, in Craven) pulled his master from off his horse and
    drowned him. When the report of his mischance came to his mother,
    she answered, "_Bootless bayl brings endless sorrow_." She had also
    three daughters, Alice, Avice, and Mavice, who all died unmarried,
    and without children; wherefore the inheritance was after her death
    parted between the house of Albemarl and Reginald Lucy, Baron of
    Egremont, descending to her sister's children and their posterity."

    This is Whitaker's statement:--"In the year 1121 William le
    Meschines and Cecilia his wife founded a Priory for canons regular,
    at Embsay, which was dedicated to St. Mary and St. Cuthbert, and
    continued there about thirty-three years, when it is said by
    tradition to have been translated to Bolton, on the following

    "The founders of Embsay were now dead, and had left a daughter,
    who adopted her mother's name, Romillé, and was married to William
    Fitz-Duncan. They had issue a son, commonly called the Boy of
    Egremond (one of his grandfather's baronies, where he was probably
    born), who, surviving an elder brother, became the last hope of the

    "In the deep solitude of the woods betwixt Bolton and Barden, the
    Wharf suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel little more
    than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with
    a rapidity proportionate to its confinement. This place was then,
    as it is yet, called the Strid, from a feat often exercised by
    persons of more agility than prudence, who stride from brink to
    brink, regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step.
    Such, according to tradition, was the fate of young Romillé, who
    inconsiderately bounding over the chasm with a greyhound in his
    leash, the animal hung back, and drew his unfortunate master into
    the torrent. The forester, who accompanied Romillé, and beheld
    his fate, returned to the Lady Aäliza, and, with despair in his
    countenance, enquired, 'What is good for a bootless Bene?' To which
    the mother, apprehending that some great calamity had befallen her
    son, instantly replied, 'Endless Sorrow.'

    "The language of this question, almost unintelligible at present,
    proves the antiquity of the story, which nearly amounts to proving
    its truth. But 'bootless Bene' is unavailing prayer; and the
    meaning, though imperfectly expressed, seems to have been, 'What
    remains when prayer is useless?'"

    The accuracy of this account, though admitted to be true so far as
    the death of a scion of Romili's house, is however doubted by Dr.
    Whitaker, who states that the son of the Lady Alice or Aäliza was a
    party and witness to the charter of translation to Bolton in 1154
    of the Canons of the Priory of Embsay, founded in 1121 by William
    de Meschines and Cecilia de Romili his wife. Besides, as the Boy
    of Egremond was alive in 1160, and a partaker in the rebellion of
    the Pictish Celts of Scotland, of which the object was to set him
    on the throne as the rightful heir, Dr. Whitaker is of opinion that
    the story refers to one of the sons (both of whom died young) of
    Cecilia le Meschines, grandmother of Lady Alice.

    There is however an oversight of some importance in Whitaker's
    statement. He altogether omits the second generation of the
    descendants of William le Meschines. Alice, the daughter of W. le
    Meschines, married Robert de Romili; Alice, her daughter, married
    Fitz-Duncan, who assumed the name of his wife, and was William le
    Romili. If their son was "the Boy of Egremond," he could not have
    been a witness to the charter of translation in 1154. If he was
    drowned in the Wharf, his death could not have been the occasion of
    the refounding of the Priory at Bolton. If the son of Cecilia le
    Meschines was "the Boy of Egremond"; as he might be so styled from
    his father's barony; he may have been drowned at the Strid, but
    his mother could not have been the second foundress of the Priory;
    for, as Whitaker says, the founders of Embsay were already dead.
    Tradition, moreover, clings to the name of the Lady Alice, as being
    that of the pious dispenser of her goods to sacred and religious
    uses. And however history may conflict with tradition, there will
    remain, that the Lady of Skipton, Cockermouth, and the Allerdales,
    bestowed her lands and goods most liberally upon the Abbeys of
    Fountains and Pomfret, and other religious confraternities;
    that she, the Lady Alice, seems always to have cherished those
    dispositions whose spiritual convictions moved in unison with
    the votive religious practices of the age; and although she, for
    the health of her dear son's soul (if he it were who perished in
    the Wharf) could not have founded near the scene of his untimely
    fate, the Priory before mentioned; its legendary history, which
    has so enshrined her affections and her sorrows, will continue to
    connect in the future, as in the past, the image of the youthful
    Romili with her griefs, and the stately Priory of Bolton with his
    imperishable name.


[22] The scalp with the hair attached.

[23] In the early and middle ages kissing was the common form of
salutation, and the _osculum pacis_ was a sign of reconciliation and
charity. Examples will occur to every reader of Scripture and the

[24] Dr. Whitaker. Vide notes to the "Bridals of Dacre," for instances.


  Up the valley of Brathay rode Dagmar the Dane.
  There was gold on her bit, there was silk on her rein.
  You might see her white steed in the distance afar,
  On the green-breasted hill, shining out like a star;
  Where beyond her on high in his barrow lay sleeping
  Old Sölvar the chief; and the shade, that sat keeping
  His fame, by his tomb sang the Norseland's wild strain.

  As the white steed of Dagmar shone, breasting the hill;
  To the mound where old Sölvar lies lonely and still,
  In the red light of evening, arresting her gaze,
  Flocked the meek mountain ewes and the steers up the ways,
  With the firstlings and yearlings, from hill top and hollow,
  Gathering far, the sweet voice of the Phantom to follow--
  To them sweeter than murmur of fountain and rill.

  There was joy in their looks, in their eyes the clear light
  Glistened searchingly forth on that mystical sight.
  And from far, too, the white steed of Dagmar the Dane
  Pricked his ears, stepping proudly, unheeding the rein;
  And aside to the summit turned joyfully pacing;
  While the steers and the ewes listened wistfully gazing,
  And the Phantom sat singing of Sölvar the Bright.

  O'er the pools of the Brathay, from Skelwith's lone tower
  The sire of the princess looked forth in that hour.
  He beheld the white steed of his child, like a star
  On the green-breasted hill, and he cried from afar--
  "She has heard his wild strains on the hill-top awaken,
  And I from this hour am alone and forsaken.
  --Not her voice nor her foot-fall, to come to me more!"

  For to Dagmar the fair, when the flocks of the field
  And the herds were in motion their homage to yield
  To the bright Norseland Boy--with the fire and the grace
  Of his sires in his limbs and their pride in his face--
  In the garb of his country, rehearsing the story
  Of chiefs and of kings and the Norseland's old glory--
  Was the Phantom in all his bright beauty revealed.

  There entranced in that vision, enchained by his tongue,
  As the strains through his harp-strings melodiously rung,
  Sat the maid on White Svend mid the yearlings; till now
  Far departing he turns from the hill's sunny brow;
  And the ewes at his feet awhile falteringly follow,
  Then range back bewildered to hill-top and hollow;
  While the Maid on his fast-fading accents still hung.

  Through the still light receding his loose tresses streamed;
  But to fly with him still was the dream she had dreamed;
  Side by side o'er the hills, through the valleys, and on
  To the Norseland to hear his wild songs all alone;
  And to chase from his lips every accent of sorrow,
  As they walked through the dawn of a brighter to-morrow
  Into sunlight that heaven upon earth never beamed.

  Springing down from White Svend, swiftly Dagmar the Dane
  Cast aside on his neck the rich silk-tassel'd rein;
  With her eyes fixed afar o'er the green mountain sward,
  Whence the bright Norseland Boy cast a backward regard.
  Call aloud from thy Tower, call aloud and implore her,
  Hapless sire! to return, ere the night gathers o'er her!
  She can hear but the voice of the Phantom's sweet strain.

  Light and fleet was her foot over hollow and hill;
  Till they reached the rude cleft of the deep-roaring Ghyll.
  On the black dungeon's brink not a moment he stay'd;
  O'er the black roaring Ghyll glided softly the Shade.
  Like a thin wreath of mist she descried him far over--
  And her cry pierced the night-boding hill tops above her;
  When down the loose rocks plunged, and bridged the dark Ghyll.

  Heard the eagle that shriek from his eyrie on high?
  Struck his wings the poised rocks as he rushed to the sky?
  Did the wild goat leap, startled, and press from their hold
  With his hoof the loose crags?--that they bounded and roll'd
  Far above, down, and on, soughing, plunging, and clashing,
  Till they reached the dark Ghyll, and fell, wedging and crashing,
  In the gulf's horrid jaws, there for ever to lie.

  The fleet foot of Dagmar sprang light to the stone,
  Where it bridged the dread gulf, in the twilight, alone.
  For one moment she stood with her eyes straining o'er
  Into space, for the bright one that answered no more.
  He was gone from the hand she stretched, vainly imploring;
  He was gone from the heart that beat, madly adoring:
  And a voice from the waters cried wailingly--"Gone."

  Roar thou on, Dungeon-Ghyll! there was mourning in vain
  In the fortress of Skelwith for Dagmar the Dane.
  From their tower on the cliff they looked, tearful and pale,
  On her riderless steed as it came down the vale.
  In her bower and in hall there was wailing and sorrow.
  And the hills shone renewed with each glorious to-morrow.
  But their bright star, their Dagmar, they knew not again.


    While many Celtic names of places remain to attest the prolonged
    sovereignty of the Britons in Cumbria, by far the greater number
    refer to a period when the enterprising Northmen, coming from
    various shores, but all included under the comprehensive title
    of Danes, had pushed their conquests into the mountain country
    of Cumberland and Westmorland and those portions of the north of
    Lancashire, which are comprised within the district of the English
    Lakes. This territory had become the exclusive possession of the
    Norwegian settlers. Every height and how, every lake and tarn,
    every swamp and fountain, every ravine and ghyll, every important
    habitation on the mountain side, the dwelling place amidst the
    cleared land in the forest, the narrow dell, the open valley,
    every one is associated with some fine old name that belonged to
    our Scandinavian forefathers. Silver How is the hill of Sölvar,
    and Butter-lip-how, the mound of Buthar, surnamed Lepr the Nimble;
    Windermere and Buttermere, and Elter-water are the meres and water
    called after the ancient Norsemen, Windar, and Buthar or Butar,
    and Eldir, Gunnerskeld, and Ironkeld, and Butter-eld-keld, are
    the spring or marsh of Gunnar, and Hiarn, and Buthar the Old, or
    Elder. Bekangs-Ghyll, and Staingill, and Thortillgill, indicate the
    ravines or fissures, which were probably at one time the boundaries
    respectively of the lands of Bekan, and Steini, and Thortil;
    Seatallau and Seatoller were once the dwelling places whence Elli
    and Oller looked on the plains below them; and in Ormthwaile, and
    Branthwaite, and Gillerthwaite we recognise the lands cleared amid
    the forests with the axe, whose several possessors were Ormr, and
    Biorn, and Geller; while Borrodale, and Ennerdale, and Riggindale,
    and Bordale recall the days when these remote valleys were subject
    to the lordly strangers Borrhy, and Einar, and Regin, and Bor. All
    these names are Scandinavian proper names, and are to be found in
    the language of that ancient race, of whose sojourn amongst our
    hills so many traces remain in the nomenclature of the district.

    Coming from the wildest and poorest part of the Norwegian coast,
    and mixing with the Celtic tribes of these regions, in the early
    ages; those hardy sons of the sea made extensive and permanent
    settlements among them. They penetrated into the remotest recesses
    of the mountains, carrying thither their wild belief in the old
    northern gods, and their rude ideas of a future life. Their warlike
    recollections, and their attachment to the scenes of their valorous
    exploits, fostered the notion which was not uncommon among them,
    that the spirits of chieftains could sometimes leave the halls
    of Valhalla, and, seated each on his own sepulchral hill, could
    look around him on the peaceful land over which in life he had
    held rule, or on that beloved sea which had borne him so often to
    war and conquest. It was this thought that induced them to select
    for their burial places high mountains, or elevated spots in the
    valleys and plains. As a natural result of their long continued
    dominion in the North of England, they came to be classed in the
    imagination of the people with invisible and mystic beings which
    haunted that district. The shadows of the remote old hills were
    the abodes of enchantment and superstition. And the spirits of the
    departed were supposed to be seen visiting the earth, sometimes in
    the guise of a Celtic warrior careering on the wind, and sometimes
    in the form of one of the old northern chieftains sitting solitary
    upon his barrow. It is related of one being permitted to do so for
    the purpose of comforting his disconsolate widow, and telling her
    how much her sorrow disquieted him. Hence also the dwellers among
    the hills, it is said, still fancy they hear on the evening breeze
    musical tones as of harp strings played upon, and melancholy lays
    in a foreign tongue; a beautiful concert, to which we owe the
    exquisite medieval legend of the cattle, in thraldom to the potent
    spirit of harmony that rings through the air, often when no musical
    sound is audible to the organ of man, pricking up their ears in
    astonishment, as they listen to the Danish or Norseland Boy, sadly
    singing the old bardic lays over the barrows of his once mighty

    It has been conjectured that the colonization of this district by
    the Northmen was effected at two distinct periods, by two separate
    streams of emigration, issuing from two different parts of the
    Scandinavian shore. The first recorded invasion of Cumberland by
    the Danes appears to have taken place about the year 875; when an
    army under the command of Halfdene, having entered Northumberland
    and made permanent settlements there, commenced a series of
    incursions into the adjacent countries lying on the north and
    west, and thereby reached the borders of the lake region, first
    plundering them and finally settling there. The indications of
    the presence of the northern adventurers in that quarter are
    found to be more purely of a Danish character than those which
    abound beyond the eastern line of the district, and which may with
    great probability be referred to a colonization more particularly

    Our own histories make no mention of anything bearing upon the
    subject, but there seem to be good reasons for concluding that
    Cumberland was also invaded from the sea coast. The Norwegian
    sea-rover Olaf, according to Snorro Sturlessen, had visited, among
    other countries, both Cumberland and Wales. And Mr. Ferguson
    supposes, from various circumstances, which concur to fix the date
    of the Norwegian settlements here in the interval between 945 and
    1000, that his descents must have taken place somewhere about the
    year 990. At that period the Cumbrian Britons had been for half
    a century in subjugation to the Saxons, and since the death of
    Dunmail their country had been handed over to Malcolm to be held in
    fealty by the Scottish crown. The scattered remnants of the Celtic
    tribes were for the most part shut up amongst their hills, or had
    retired into Wales. The plains of Westmorland and Cumberland on
    the north and east were probably chiefly occupied by a mixed Saxon
    and Danish population; for nearly a century had elapsed since the
    Danes from Northumberland had overrun them. In fifty years more the
    result of events was, as we are informed by Henry of Huntingdon,
    that one of the principal abodes of the "Danes," under which title
    old writers comprehend all Northmen, was in Cumberland. A stream of
    Northern emigrants, issuing, it may be supposed, from the districts
    of the Tellemark, and the Hardanger, a name signifying "a place of
    hunger and poverty," had descended along the north of Scotland,
    swept the western side of the island, fixed its head-quarters in
    the Isle of Man, and from thence succeeded in obtaining a firm
    footing upon the opposite shore of England; a land, like their
    own, of mountains and valleys, waiting for a people as they were
    for a settlement, a wild and untamed country, always thinly
    populated and never cultivated, a land of rocks and forests and of
    desolation. These protected by their ships, having command of the
    coast, and being unopposed except by the apparently impenetrable
    mountain barriers before them, these warlike settlers cleared for
    themselves homes amidst the woods, began to gather tribute from the
    mountain sides, and laid the foundations of those "thwaites" and
    "seats" and "gates" and "garths," which at the end of almost nine
    centuries of fluctuation and change still bear testimony to their
    wide-spread rule and are called by their Northern names.

    Not only do traces of them everywhere survive in names which
    indicate possession and location, or in words which particularise
    the multiform features of the country and describe the minor
    variations of its surface; but the sites of their legislative and
    judicial institutions, and their places of burial, as well as their
    towns and villages, are preserved in that local nomenclature which
    lives in the language spoken by their kinsmen in the mother-land
    at the present day. The old Norse element has penetrated, and
    diffused itself, and hardened into the dialect of the Cumberland
    and Westmorland "fell-siders," and emphatically pronounces from
    whom it came. And, lastly, the physical and moral characteristics,
    as well as the manners and customs of the people, are those of the
    hardy race, whose transmitted blood gave the larger nerve and more
    enduring vigour which characterise their frame. Tall, bony, and
    firmly knit; fair-haired, and of Sanguine complexion; possessing
    strong feelings of independance, and a large share of shrewdness
    and mother-wit; intolerant of oppression; cautious, resolute,
    astute and brave; these people, and the Cumbrians, especially,
    crown their list of claims to be of Norse descent with one more
    striking feature, a litigious spirit. Litigation appears to be
    almost as natural and necessary to their minds, as wrestling and
    other manly exercises are to their limbs: in respect to which, as
    well as to other amusements in which they are said to bear some
    resemblance to the old Icelanders, they bear away the palm from the
    rest of England.

    Dungeon Ghyll in Great Langdale is a deep chasm or fissure in the
    southern face of the first great buttress of the Pikes. It is
    formed by a considerable stream from Pike o' Stickle; which after
    making several fine leaps down the mountain side, tumbles at length
    over a lofty precipice about eighty feet between impending and
    perpendicular rocks into a deep and gloomy basin. A few slender
    branches are seen springing from the crevices in either face of
    the chasm near the top; and immediately above the basin, a natural
    arch, made by two large stones which have rolled from a higher
    part of the mountain, and got wedged together between the cheeks
    of rock. By scrambling over some rough stones in the bed of the
    stream, the largest and finest chamber may be reached; and the
    visitor stands underneath the arch, and in front of the waterfall.
    Over the bridge thus rudely formed, Wordsworth's "Idle Shepherd
    Boy" challenged his comrade to pass; and even ladies have had the
    intrepidity or temerity to cross it, undeterred by the narrowness
    and awkwardness of the footing, and the threatening aspect of the
    dismal gulf below.

    The station in the field adjoining the farm house called
    Skelwith-Fold, is the site where the Danish fortress is assumed to
    have stood.


  In this sweet vale where peace has found
    An undisturbed abode,
  The everlasting hills surround
    A temple reared to God;
  Where one pure stream, the Gospel's sound,
    Flows as it ever flow'd.

  Here never reach the angry jars
    Which break the Church's rest.
  The unity that strife debars
    Is on this Branch imprest;
  Her truths of old no discord mars;
    Here peace is in her breast.

  One Book reveals the living lore
    Of prophets, saints, and kings.
  One mild apostle here its store
    To every household brings;
  And on this temple's sacred floor
    The pure glad tidings sings.

  Race follows race from field and home,
    And all in earth are laid:
  But steadfast as the starry dome
    Above, the truth is spread
  Around their feet, howe'er they roam,
    Unquestioned, ungainsaid.

  How blest, to live and hope in peace
    Like these! nor hear the knell
  Of some sure promise, made to cease
    Beneath the mystic's spell,
  Or subtle casuist's caprice--
    And know that all is well.

  In vainest strifes we cast away
    Too much from life's fair page.
  The flock becomes the spoiler's prey,
    Because the shepherds rage.
  And while the life is but a day,
    The warfare lasts an age.

  But here may piety rejoice
    To tread the ancient ways:
  Still make the one true part the choice
    Of even the darkest days;
  And lift an undivided voice
    Of thankful prayer and praise.

  Guard, Sovereign of the heights and rills!
    These precincts of Thy fold;
  This little Church, which thus fulfils
    Thy purpose framed of old.
  And this Thy flock amidst these hills
    Still in Thy bosom hold.


    Wordsworth in his description of the Lake Country as it was, and
    had been through centuries, till within about one hundred years,
    thus alludes to the places of worship. "Towards the head of these
    Dales was found a perfect Republic of shepherds and agriculturists,
    among whom the plough of each man was confined to the maintenance
    of his own family, or to the occasional accommodation of his
    neighbour. Two or three cows furnished each family with milk and
    cheese. The Chapel was the only edifice that presided over these
    dwellings, the supreme head of this pure commonwealth: the members
    of which existed in the midst of a powerful empire, like an ideal
    society or an organised community, whose constitution had been
    imposed and regulated by the mountains which protected it.

    "The _religio loci_ is nowhere violated by these unstinted, yet
    unpretending works of human hands. They exhibit generally a well
    proportioned oblong, with a suitable porch, in some instances a
    steeple tower, and in others nothing more than a small belfry, in
    which one or two bells hang visibly. A man must be very insensible
    who would not have been touched with pleasure at the sight of
    the former Chapel of Buttermere, so strikingly expressing by its
    diminutive size, how small must have been the congregation there
    assembled, as it were, like one family; and proclaiming at the
    same time to the passenger, in connection with the surrounding
    mountains, the depth of that seclusion in which the people lived,
    that rendered necessary the building of a separate place of worship
    for so few. The edifice was scarcely larger than many of the
    single stones or fragments of rock which were scattered near it.
    The old Chapel was perhaps the most diminutive in all England,
    being incapable of receiving more than half a dozen families. The
    length of the outer wall was about seventeen feet. The curacy was
    'certified to the Governors of Queen Anne's Bounty at £1. paid by
    the contributions of the inhabitants,' and it was also certified,
    'this Chapel and Wythop were served by Readers, except that the
    Curate of Lorton officiated there three or four times in the year.'"

    Such cures were held in these northern counties by unordained
    persons, till about the middle of George II.'s reign; when the
    Bishops came to a resolution, that no one should officiate who was
    not in orders. But, because there would have been some injustice
    and some hardship in ejecting the existing incumbents, they were
    admitted to deacons' orders without undergoing any examination.
    The person who was then Reader as it was called, at the Chapel in
    the Vale of Newlands, and who received this kind of ordination,
    exercised the various trades of Clogger, Tailor, and Butter-print

    How otherwise than by following secular occupations were even
    Readers to exist? The Chapel of "Secmurthow" on the south side of
    the river Derwent, not far from the foot of Bassenthwaite lake,
    was certified to the Governors of Queen Anne's Bounty at £2.,
    being the interest of £40. raised by the inhabitants for a Reader.
    "Before its augmentation," says Hutchinson, "the Reader of divine
    service had a precarious income; but an actual custom existed for
    several years of allowing the poor minister a _whittle-gate_. He
    was privileged to go from house to house in the Chapelry, and stay
    a certain number of days at each place, where he was permitted to
    enter his _whittle_ or knife with the rest of the family. This
    custom," he adds, "has been abolished in such modern times, that it
    is in the memory of many now living." (i.e. 1794.)

    The inhabitants of many of the Chapelries in the north got by
    custom from the Rectors or Vicars the right of nominating and
    presenting the curate; for this reason: before the death of Queen
    Anne, many of the Chapelries were not worth above two or three
    pounds a year, and the donees could not get persons properly
    qualified to serve them; so they left them to the inhabitants,
    who raised voluntary contributions for them in addition to their
    salary, with clothes yearly and whittle-gate.

    Clothes yearly, were one new suit of clothes, two pairs of shoes,
    and one pair of clogs, shirts, stockings, etc., as they could

    Whittlegate is, to have two or three weeks' victuals at each house,
    according to the ability of the inhabitants, which was settled
    amongst them, so that he should go his course as regularly as the
    sun, and complete it annually. Few houses having more knives than
    one or two, the pastor was often obliged to buy his own; sometimes
    it was bought for him by the chapel-wardens. He marched from house
    to house with his whittle seeking fresh pasturage; and as master of
    the herd, he had the elbow chair at the table-head, which was often
    made of part of a hollow ash-tree, such as may be seen in those
    parts at this day.

    Buttermere was said to allow its priest whittle-gate, and twenty
    shillings yearly; by other accounts, "clogg-shoes, harden-sark,
    whittle-gate, and guse-gate"--that is, a pair of shoes clogged or
    iron-shod, a shirt of coarse linen or hemp once a year, free-living
    at each parishioner's house for a certain number of days, and the
    right to pasture a goose or geese on the common.

    The Wytheburn reader had sark, whittle-gate, and guse-gate.

    The Mungrisdale priest had £6. 0_s._ 9_d._ a year.

    Many worthies have appeared, nevertheless, among these unpretending
    ministers of the dales; most prominently so, Robert Walker, for
    a long period curate of Seathwaite, and surnamed for his many
    virtues and industry, the Wonderful: of whose life and actions
    an interesting and detailed account is given in the Notes in
    Wordsworth's Works.

    The Chapel of Martindale, a perpetual curacy under the vicarage
    of Barton, near Penrith, was served for 67 years by a Mr. Richard
    Birket. The ancient endowment was only £2. 15_s._ 4_d._ per annum,
    a small house, and about four acres of land. At his first coming,
    Birket's whole property consisted of two shirts and one suit of
    clothes; yet he amassed a considerable sum of money. Being the only
    man except one in the parish who could write, he transcribed most
    of the law papers of his parishioners. Whenever he lent money,
    he deducted at the time of lending, two shillings in the pound
    for interest, and the term of the loan never exceeded a year.
    He charged for writing a receipt twopence, and for a promissory
    note fourpence; and used other means of extortion. He likewise
    taught a school, and served as parish-clerk; and in both these
    offices he showed his wonderful turn for economy and gain; for
    his quarter-dues from his scholars being small, he had from the
    parents of each scholar a fortnight's board and lodging; and
    the Easter-dues being usually paid in eggs, he, at the time of
    collecting, carried with him a board, in which was a hole that
    served him as a gauge, and he positively refused to accept any
    which would pass through. He got a fortune of £60 with his wife; to
    whom he left at his decease the sum of £1200. Clark says, that on
    account of transacting most of the law affairs of his parishioners,
    he was called Sir Richard, or the Lawyer. But with reference to
    this title, Nicholson, Bishop of Carlisle, at the beginning of the
    18th century says, "Since I can remember, there was not a reader in
    any chapel who was not called 'Sir.'" The old designation of the
    clergy before the Reformation was always "Sir"; knight being added
    as the military or civil distinction. It has also been stated that
    the last curate of this parish, or of these parts at all, called
    "Sir," was the Reverend Richard Birket (apud 1689).

    On the death of Mr. Birket no one would undertake the cure, on
    account of the smallness of the stipend: those therefore of the
    parishioners who could read, performed the service by turns. Things
    remained in this situation for some time; at length a little
    decrepid man, named Brownrigg, to whom Mr. Birket had taught a
    little Latin and Greek, was by the parishioners appointed perpetual
    Reader. For this they allowed him, with the consent of the Donee,
    the church perquisites, then worth about £12 per annum. Brownrigg
    being a man of good character, and there being no clergyman within
    several miles to baptize their children, or bury their dead, the
    parishioners petitioned the Bishop to grant him deacon's orders;
    this was accordingly done, and he served the cure forty-eight years.

    Mr. Mattinson, the curate of Paterdale, who died about the year
    1770, was a singular character. For fifty-six years he officiated
    at the small "chapel with the yew tree," at the foot of St.
    Sunday's Crag. His ordinary income was generally twelve pounds a
    year, and never above eighteen. He married and lived comfortably,
    and had four children, all of whom he christened and married,
    educating his son to be a scholar, and sending him to College. He
    buried his mother; married his father and buried him; christened
    his wife, and published his own banns of marriage in the church. He
    lived to the age of ninety-six, and died worth a thousand pounds.
    It has been alleged that this provident curate assisted his wife
    to card and spin the tithe wool which fell to his lot, viz. one
    third; that he taught a school which brought him in about five
    pounds a year; that his wife was skilful and eminent as a midwife,
    performing her functions for the small sum of one shilling; but
    as according to ancient custom she was likewise cook at the
    christening dinner, she received some culinary perquisites which
    somewhat increased her profits. Clarke adds, "One thing more I must
    beg leave to mention concerning Mrs. Mattinson: On the day of her
    marriage, her father boasted that his two daughters were married to
    the two best men in Paterdale, the priest and the bag piper."

    In Langdale, in Clark's time, the poor Curate was obliged to sell
    ale to support himself and his family; and, he says, "At his house
    I have played _Barnaby_ with him on the Sabbath morning, when he
    left us with the good old song,

      'I'll but preach, and be with you again.'"

    Taking all their circumstances into consideration, it is not to be
    wondered at that the personal failings of these men were looked
    upon by their neighbours with a leniency which would hardly be
    intelligible elsewhere. Not very long ago an excellent old dame
    only recently deceased, who for her intelligence and goodness
    was respected and esteemed by the highest and the lowest, and
    was one of the finest specimens of nature's gentlewomen to be
    found anywhere, was heard warmly upholding the character of a
    neighbouring clergyman in these words,--"Well, I'll not say but he
    may have _slanted_ now and then, at a christenin' or a weddin'; but
    for buryin' a corp, he is undeniable!"

    In 1866 the Bishop of Carlisle consecrated a new church at Wythop
    on the shores of Bassenthwaite Lake. The old building which this
    edifice is intended to supersede is a decayed barn-like structure,
    supplied with a bell which hung from an adjoining tree. Some
    curious customs are associated with this Church. It was built in
    1473. For some hundreds of years the inhabitants of the Chapelry
    were in the habit of dividing it into four quarters, from each of
    which a representative was elected yearly; the functions of the
    four being set forth in a document dated 1623. They have to elect
    a parish minister or reader, who was generally the schoolmaster,
    a layman being eligible; they had to collect "devotion money,"
    supervise the repairs of the fabric, and look after the parish
    school. The stipend of the minister was 10½d. per Sunday. Here is a
    copy of an old receipt:--"Received of the chapelmen of Wythop the
    sum of 28s. 5d. for thirty-one weeks' reading wages, by me, John
    Fisher." The stipend was however supplemented by Whittlegate; he
    was boarded and lodged by the inhabitants of the four quarters in
    turn. The value of the living at the present day is only £51 per

    This old church which is to remain as a curiosity, stands high on
    a mountain side; and not many years ago nettles grew luxuriantly
    beneath the seats in the pews and along the middle of the passage.
    A narrow board on a moveable bracket constitutes the communion
    table, and the vessels employed in the celebration of the Lord's
    Supper are a pewter cheese-plate and pewter pot. There is no
    font provided for baptisms, the purpose was served by a common
    earthenware vessel; nor is any vestry room attached to the building.

    Vestries are seldom to be found in these remote chapels. And in the
    chapel at Matterdale, the sacramental wine used to be kept in a
    wooden keg, or small cask; perhaps is so still.

    It is said of Whitbeck Chapel, which lies on the base of Black
    Combe, near the sea shore, that smugglers frequenting that exposed
    part of the coast, on many occasions deposited their illegal
    cargoes within its walls, until a convenient opportunity arose
    for removing them unobserved. Sunday sometimes came round when
    the sacred edifice was not in the most suitable condition for
    celebrating divine service. The parish clerk had then to advise
    the minister that it would be inconvenient to officiate on that
    day. It was not politic to scrutinize too closely the nature of
    the difficulty that existed: it was sufficiently understood. A
    substantial sample of the intruding contraband element found its
    way to the house of the minister; and forthwith due notice was
    circulated among the parishioners that the usual service would
    not be held until the Sunday following. Meanwhile the stores were
    disposed of, and the wild and desperate adventurers were in full
    career again towards the Manx or Scottish shore.

    In 1300 the Lady of Allerdale, and of the Honour of Cockermouth,
    Isabel Countess of Albemarle was summoned to prove by what right
    she held a market at Crosthwaite (near Keswick). She denied
    that she held any market there, but said that the men of the
    neighbourhood met at the Church on Festival days, and there sold
    flesh and fish; and that she as lady of the Manor of Derwent Fells
    took no toll. This practice being persevered in, in 1306 the
    inhabitants of Cockermouth represented in a petition to parliament
    that there was a great concourse of people every Sunday at
    Crosthwaite Church, where corn, flour, beans, peas, linen, cloth,
    meat, fish, and other merchandise were bought and sold, which was
    so very injurious to the market at Cockermouth, that the persons
    of that place who farmed the tolls of the king were unable to pay
    their rent. Upon this a prohibitory proclamation was issued against
    the continuance of such an unseemly usage.

    Things had not got quite straight in this respect within the
    sanctuary at a much later period. The Rev. Thos. Warcup, incumbent
    of the parish church of Wigton, in the civil war was obliged to fly
    on account of his loyalty to the sovereign. After the restoration
    of Charles II. he returned to his cure; and tradition says, that
    the butcher-market was then held upon the Sunday, and the butchers
    hung up their carcasses even at the church door, to attract the
    notice of their customers as they went in and came out of church;
    and it was not an unfrequent thing to see people, who had made
    their bargains before prayer began, hang their joints of meat over
    the backs of the seats until the pious clergyman had finished the
    service. The zealous priest, after having long, but ineffectually,
    endeavoured to make his congregation sensible of the indecency of
    such practices, undertook a journey to London, on foot, for the
    purpose of petitioning the king to have the market-day established
    on the Tuesday; which favour it is said he had interest enough to

    This faithful priest long before his death caused his own monument
    to be erected in the churchyard, with this inscription in verse of
    his own composing:

      Thomas Warcup prepar'd this stone,
      To mind him of his best home.
      Little but sin and misery here,
      Till we be carried on our bier.
      Out of the grave and earth's dust,
      The Lord will raise me up, I trust;
      To live with Christe eternallie,
      Who, me to save, himself did die.

      Mihi est Christus et in vita et in morte lucrum. Phil. i. 21.
      Obiit anno 1653.

    Thus it appears his decease did not take place until some years
    after the date at which he records his death; probably a period
    marked by some important change in his life, or of unusual
    solemnity reminds us that only thirty-five years ago, at a very few
    miles from its base, one who served the pastoral office more than
    fifty years, eking out a wretched maintenance upon a small farm;
    while his sons were at the plough, was of necessity compelled to
    send his daughters with horses and carts for coals and lime, and to
    lead manure to the fields and distribute it over the land; whilst
    the Dean and Chapter of his diocese were the patrons of his cure.

    Such things can hardly be witnessed at this day. But a minister may
    be seen even now (1867) on the other side of the district, leading
    the choir in the aisle, in his surplice, with bow and fiddle in
    his hands, and then resuming his place at the desk, with becoming
    solemnity, until the course of the service requires his instrument
    again. His sense of harmony is acute; for in the middle of the
    psalm, his arms will fly apart, and the volume of sound be stopped,
    until an offensive note has been ejected, and the strain rectified,
    and renewed.

    A curious discovery has recently been made in the venerable
    parish church of Windermere. The plaster having come away over
    one of the arches, a band of red and black was revealed. On the
    removal of more of the thick layers of whitewash, a beautiful
    inscription in old English characters was found. Further search
    was instituted, and similar inscriptions have been discovered on
    all the walls between the arches in the nave. It is conjectured
    that these inscriptions were placed in the church at the time of
    the Reformation, as they are mostly directed against the dogma of
    transubstantiation, whilst they give plain instructions in the
    doctrine of the Sacraments.

    On the north side of the nave the following have been deciphered:--

    "Howe many sacramentes are their?--Two: baptisme and the supper of
    the Lord.

    "In baptisme which ys ye signe yt may be seene?--Water onelie.

    "Which is ye grace yt cannot be seene?--The washinge awaie of
    synnes by the bloode of Christe.

    "In the Lordes supper which is ye signe yt may be sene?--Breade and

    "Which is ye grace yt cannot be seene?--The bodie and bloode of

    On the south wall the inscriptions are as follow:--

    "In goinge to ye table of the Lord, what ought a man to consider or
    doe pryncipalie?--T examine him selfe.

    "Is the breade and wine turned into ye bodie and bloode of
    Christe?--No, for if you turne or take away ye signe that may be
    sene it is no sacrament.

    "For the strengthenynge of your faith, howe many things learne
    yow in ye Lordes Supper?--Two: as by ye hand and mouthe, my bodie
    receiuth breade and wine: so by faithe, my soule dothe feade of ye
    bodie and blood of Christ: secondlie all ye benefittes of Christ
    his passion and his righteousness, are as surelye sealled up to be
    mine as my selfe had wrought them.

    "To the strengthening of your faithe how many thinges learne you in
    baptisme?--Two: first, as water washeth away the filthines of ye
    fleshe: so ye bloode of Christ washeth awaie synne from my soull;
    secondly, I am taught to rise againe to neunes of life."



    _Small Crown 8vo. In neat Cloth binding, Price 3s. 6d._

    THE FOLK-SPEECH OF CUMBERLAND and some Districts Adjacent; being
    short Stories and Rhymes in the Dialects of the West Border
    Counties. By ALEX. CRAIG GIBSON, F.S.A.

The tales are remarkable for their spirit and humour. The poetry, too,
is marked by the same characteristics.--_Westminster Review._

The stories and rhymes have the freshness of nature about
them.--_Contemporary Review._

Brimful of humour, homely wit and sense, and reflect the character and
life and ways of thought of an honest sturdy people.--_Spectator._

The stories, or prose pieces, are wonderfully clever and well
done.--_Saturday Review._

This is an uncommon book, combining, as it does, in an extraordinary
degree, the recondite lore which throws antiquarians into ecstacies,
with the shrewd humour, the descriptive force, and the poetic charm
which, garbed in the old Norse-rooted vernacular which Cumbrians
love so well, will secure for it a cordial reception among all those
who claim "canny Cumberland" for their childhood's home.--_Eddowes's
Shrewsbury Journal._

His poems are pictures in very natural colours.--_Durham Chronicle._

Destined to an honourable place among the choicest productions of our
native literature.--_Carlisle Journal._

Besides being a learned antiquary, he has wit, humour, and a true vein
of poetry in him, and the literary skill, in addition to turn all these
to the best account.--_Carlisle Express._

In its way perfectly unique.--_Carlisle Examiner._


    _Small Crown 8vo. In neat Cloth binding, Price 3s.6d._

    "CUMMERLAND TALK;" being Short Tales and Rhymes in the Dialect of
    that County. By JOHN RICHARDSON, of Saint John's.

A very good specimen of its class. The ordinary subscriber to Mudie's
would not for a moment dream of ever looking into it, and yet Mr.
Richardson possesses far more ability than the generality of novelists
who are so popular.--_Westminster Review._

Good and pleasant.--_Saturday Review._

There are both pathos and humour in the various stories and ballads
furnished by Mr. Richardson. We congratulate Cumberland on having so
many able champions and admirers of her dialect.--_Athenæum._

Some of the rhymes are admirable. "It's nobbut me!" is a capital
specimen of a popular lyric poem.--_Notes and Queries._

He has seized on some of the most striking habits of thought, and
describes them simply and naturally, without any straining after
effect.--_Carlisle Patriot._

To all lovers of the dialect literature of this county the volume will
be heartily welcome.--_Whitehaven News._

A worthy companion to Dr. Gibson's "Folk Speech."--_Wigton Advertiser._

The sketches are quite equal to anything of the kind we have
seen.--_Kendal Mercury._

A very pleasant addition to the records of the dialect of
Cumberland.--_Westmorland Gazette._

The best and most comprehensive reflex of the folk-speech of Cumberland
that has been put into our hands.--_Soulby's Ulverston Advertiser._

There is plenty of variety in the volume.--_Ulverston Mirror._


    _F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d._

    Author of "The Ship Boy's Letter," "Robin's Return," &c.

_From the ATHENÆUM._

Mr. Lonsdale's songs have not only great merit, but they display the
very variety of which he himself was sceptical. His first lay, "Minna,"
might lay claim even to imagination; nevertheless, for completeness
and delicacy of execution, we prefer some of his shorter pieces. Of
most of these it may be said that they are the dramatic expressions of
emotional ideas. In many cases, however, these songs have the robust
interest of story, or that of character and picture. When it is borne
in mind that by far the greater portion of these lays were written for
music, no small praise must be awarded to the poet, not only for the
suitability of his themes to his purpose, but for the picturesqueness
and fancy with which he has invested them under difficult conditions.


Poetry seems now to flourish more in the north than in the south of
England. Not long ago we noticed an admirable collection of Cumberland
ballads, containing two songs by Miss Blamire, which are amongst the
most beautiful and pathetic in our language. We have now a small volume
by a Cumberland poet, which may be put on the same shelf with Kirke
White. Like Kirke White's, Mr. Lonsdale's life seems to have been
marked by pain and disappointment. Like Kirk White too, he died before
his powers were full developed. A delicate pathos and a vein of humour
characterize his best pieces.

_From the SPECTATOR._

"The Children's Kingdom" is really touching. The picture of the band of
children setting out in the morning bright and happy, lingering in the
forest at noon, and creeping to their journey's end at midnight with
tearful eyes, has a decided charm.


A volume containing some very pleasing poems by a young Cumberland
poet, who but for his early death, would probably have taken a foremost
place amongst the lyrists of our day.


    _Small Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. Cloth Limp._

    A GLOSSARY of the WORDS and PHRASES OF FURNESS (North Lancashire),
    with Illustrative Quotations, principally from the Old Northern
    Writers. By J. P. MORRIS, F.A.S.L.

We are thoroughly pleased with the creditable way in which Mr.
Morris has performed his task. We had marked a number of words, the
explanation of which struck us as being good and to the point, but
space unfortunately fails us. We commend the Furness Glossary to all
students of our dialects.--_Westminster Review._

The collection of words is remarkably good, and Mr. Morris has most
wisely and at considerable pains and trouble illustrated them with
extracts from old writers.--_The Reliquary Quarterly Review._

Mr. Morris is well known in the district, both as a writer and an
antiquarian. His labours in the work before us evince him to be a
zealous and untiring student. We trust his book will have the success
which we think it well deserves.--_Ulverston Advertiser._

The stranger who takes up his abode in Furness will find Mr. Morris's
little book a capital helpmate.--_Ulverston Mirror._

Apart from its etymological value the work is highly acceptable as a
contribution to local literature.--_Carlisle Journal._

We cordially recommend the glossary to admirers of the old writers, and
to all curious philologists.--_Carlisle Patriot._

Valuable as tracing to their source many good old forms of the Furness
dialect, and as explaining not a few archaisms which have been
stumbling-blocks to students of their mother tongue.--_Whitehaven


    _Price 3s. 6d. in Cloth; or 5s. in Extra Gilt Binding._


If Mr. Burn's genius does not soar very high, he leads us into many
a charming scene in country and town, and imparts moral truths and
homely lessons. In many points our author resembles Cowper, notably in
his humour and practical aim. One end of poetry is to give pleasure,
and wherever these poems find their way they will both teach and
delight.--_Literary World._

If Mr. Burn will confine himself to pieces as expressive and suggestive
as "The Leaves are Dying," or as sweet as "The Rivulet," he need not
despair of taking a good position amongst the ever-increasing host of
minor poets.--_The Scotsman._

Throughout the volume there is a healthy, vigorous tone, worthy of
the land of song from which the author hails. The book is a desirable
contribution to the already rich literature of Cumberland.--_Dundee

       *       *       *       *       *

    Biographical Sketches, Notes, and Glossary. Edited by SIDNEY GILPIN.

    (_A New and Revised Edition in preparation._)


    _F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s.6d., in neat Cloth binding._

    MISS BLAMIRE'S SONGS AND POEMS; together with Songs by her friend
    MISS GILPIN of Scaleby Castle. With Portrait of Miss Blamire.

She was an anomaly in literature. She had far too modest an opinion
of herself; an extreme seldom run into, and sometimes, as in this
case, attended like other extremes with disadvantages. We are
inclined, however, to think that if we have lost a great deal by
her ultra-modesty, we have gained something. Without it, it is
questionable whether she would have abandoned herself so entirely to
her inclination, and left us those exquisite lyrics which derive their
charms from the simple, undisguised thoughts which they contain. The
characteristic of her poetry is its simplicity. It is the simplicity
of genuine pathos. It enters into all her compositions, and is perhaps
preeminent in her Scottish songs.--_Carlisle Journal, 1842._

In her songs, whether in pure English, or in the Cumbrian or Scottish
dialect, she is animated, simple, and tender, often touching a chord
which thrills a sympathetic string deep in the reader's bosom. It may,
indeed, be confidently predicted of several of these lyrics, that they
will live with the best productions of their age, and longer than many
that were at first allowed to rank more highly.--_Chambers' Journal,

       *       *       *       *       *

    _F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s., in neat Cloth binding._


As a pourtrayer of rustic manners--as a relator of homely incident--as
a hander down of ancient customs, and of ways of life fast wearing or
worn out--as an exponent of the feelings, tastes, habits, and language
of the most interesting class in a most interesting district, and
in some other respects, we hold Anderson to be unequalled, not in
Cumberland only, but in England. As a description of a long, rapid,
and varied succession of scenes--every one a photograph--occurring at
a gathering of country people intent upon enjoying themselves in their
own uncouth roystering fashion, given in rattling, jingling, regularly
irregular rhymes, with a chorus that is of itself a concentration of
uproarious fun and revelry, we have never read or heard anything like
Anderson's "Worton Wedding."----Whitehaven Herald._


    _Small Crown 8vo. Price One Shilling._

    FORNESS FOLK, THE'R SAYIN'S AN' DEWIN'S: or Sketches of Life and
    Character in Lonsdale North of the Sands. BY ROGER PIKETAH.

We have been greatly entertained by these stories, which reveal to
us traits of a humoursome, shrewd, sturdy race, of whom from their
geographical isolation, very little has been communicated to us by the
compilers of guide books or by local sketchers.--_Carlisle Patriot._

We can honestly say the tales are not spoiled in serving up. They come
upon the reader with almost the full force of _viva voce_ recital, and
prove conclusively that Roger Piketah is a thorough master of the "mak
o' toak" which he has so cleverly manipulated.--_Whitehaven News._

Whoever Roger Piketah may be, he has succeeded in producing a good
reflex of some of our Furness traditions, idioms, and opinions; and we
venture to predict it will be a favorite at penny readings and other
places.--_Ulverston Advertiser._

    _F. Cap 8vo. Price 3s. 6d._

    POEMS BY MRS. WILSON TWENTYMAN of Evening Hill. Dedicated, by
    permission, to H. W. LONGFELLOW.

    _F. Cap 8vo. Price 2s. 6d._

    ROUGH NOTES OF SEVEN CAMPAIGNS in Spain, France, and America, from
    1809 to 1815. By JOHN SPENCER COOPER, late Sergeant in the 7th
    Royal Fusileers.


    _Crown 8vo. Price 1s. in extra Cloth Binding: or 6d. in neat Paper

    OLD CASTLES: Including Sketches of CARLISLE, CORBY, and LINSTOCK
    CASTLES; with a Poem on Carlisle. By M. S., Author of an "Essay on
    Shakspeare," &c.

    WISE WIFF. A Tale in the Cumberland Dialect By the Author of "Joe
    and the Geologist." Price Threepence.

    THREE FURNESS DIALECT TALES. Price Threepence. Contains:--Siege o'
    Brou'ton, Lebby Beck Dobby, Invasion o' U'ston.


    1. D'YE KEN JOHN PEEL? Words by John Woodcock Graves. Price 4s.

    2. LAL DINAH GRAYSON ("M'appen I may"). Words by Alex. Craig
    Gibson. Price 4s.

    3. REED ROBIN. Words by Robert Anderson. Price 2s. 6d.

    4. "WELCOME INTO CUMBERLAND." Words by the Rev. T. Ellwood. Price

    5. THE WAEFU' HEART. Words by Miss Blamire. Price 2s. 6d.


    THE JOHN PEEL MARCH. Price 4s.

    (_To be continued._) _The above at Half-Price._


Transcriber's Notes

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Hyphen removed: wicker[-]work (p. 42), extra[-]ordinary (p. 141),
eye[-]balls (p. 301), ferry[-]man (p. 171), hearth[-]stone (pp. 19
(twice), 44), high[-]road (p. 263), loop[-]hole (p. 74), noon[-]day (p.
282), out[-]buildings (p. 174), out[-]worn (p. 279), pre[-]eminent (ad
for Miss Blamire's Songs and Poems), two[-]pence (p. 18).

Space removed: water[ ]spout (p. 190), wicker[ ]work (p. 79).

Spelling normalized to "Souther Fell[-side]".

P. 13: Herlingfordbury Park -> Hertingfordbury Park.

P. 26: Sire de Couci -> Sire de Courci.

P. 122: Darwentwater -> Derwentwater.

P. 127: Of brighest laurels -> Of brightest laurels.

P. 159: gave lands in Leakly -> gave lands in Leakley.

Pp. 177, 292: Phillipson -> Philipson.

P. 269: the story is old -> the story is told.

P. 291: that that through which he had entered -> than that through
which he had entered.

P. 329: served him as a guage -> served him as a gauge.

Ad for Poems by Peter Burn: she leads us -> he leads us.

Ad for The Songs and Ballads of Cumberland: The abore at Half-Price ->
The above at Half-Price.

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