[illustration: cover] lakeland once more mere under mountain lone, like a moat under lowering ramparts; garrulous petulant beck, sinister laughterless tarn; haunt of the vagabond feet of my fancy for ever reverting, haunt of this vagabond heart, cumbrian valleys and fells; you that enchant all ears with the manifold tones of silence, you that around me, in youth, magical filaments wove; you were my earliest possession, and when shall its fealty falter? ah, when helvellyn is low! ah, when winander is dry! william watson. [frontispiece: windermere from wansfell.] quotation & picture series the english lake district edited by j. b. reynolds, b.a a. & c. black, ltd. , & soho square, london my thanks are due to the following authors and publishers who have kindly granted permission for the inclusion of copyright poems and extracts: to mr william watson, for extracts from "wordsworth's grave" and "lakeland once more"; to messrs macmillan & co., ltd., for lines by matthew arnold on "wordsworth's grave" and an extract from his poem entitled "resignation"; to the ruskin literary trustees and their publishers, messrs george allen & unwin, ltd., for two extracts from "modern painters"; to mrs w. g. collingwood and messrs methuen & co., ltd., for an extract from "the life of john ruskin"; to mrs f. w. h. myers and messrs longmans, green & co., for a poem from "fragments of prose and poetry" by f. w. h. myers; and also to messrs longmans, green & co., for an extract from the "life and correspondence of robert southey" by the rev. c. southey. j. b. r. list of pictures windermere from wansfell . . . . . . _frontispiece_ dove cottage, grasmere grasmere--evening sun grasmere church stepping stones, far easedale, grasmere dungeon ghyll force blea tarn and langdale pikes brantwood, coniston lake ullswater from gowbarrow park thirlmere and helvellyn raven crag, thirlmere derwentwater from castle head lodore and derwentwater derwentwater and bassenthwaite lake wastwater and scawfell silvery duddon dove cottage this was the home of wordsworth and his sister dorothy from december to may . when wordsworth left the cottage for two months in on the occasion of his honeymoon he wrote "a farewell," which begins:-- "farewell, thou little nook of mountain ground, thou rocky corner in the lowest stair of that magnificent temple which doth bound one side of our whole vale with grandeur rare; sweet garden-orchard, eminently fair, the lovliest spot that man hath ever found, farewell!--we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care, thee, and the cottage which thou dost surround. de quincey also lived at dove cottage from - . he has described it as follows:-- let the cottage be a real cottage, in fact (for i must abide by the actual scene), a white cottage, embowered with flowering shrubs, so chosen as to unfold a succession of flowers upon the walls, and clustering round the windows through all months of spring, summer, and autumn--beginning, in fact, with may roses, and ending with jasmine. [illustration: dove cottage, grasmere] grasmere there are many descriptions in dorothy wordsworth's journal of grasmere and rydal waters of which the following extracts are typical:-- saturday, th (december ).... we walked to rydale. grasmere lake a beautiful image of stillness, clear as glass, reflecting all things. the wind was up, and the waters sounding. the lake of a rich purple, the fields a soft yellow, the island yellowish-green, the copses red-brown, the mountains purple, the church and buildings how quiet they were! sunday, st (january ).... we walked round the two lakes. grasmere was very soft, and rydale was extremely beautiful from the western side. nab scar was just topped by a cloud which, cutting it off as high as it could be cut off, made the mountain look uncommonly lofty. we sate down a long time with different plans. i always love to walk that way, because it is the way i first came to rydale and grasmere, and because our dear coleridge did also. when i came with wm., and ½ years ago, it was just at sunset. there was a rich yellow light on the waters, and the islands were reflected there. to-day it was grave and soft but not perfectly calm. [illustration: grasmere--evening sun.] grasmere church in the churchyard are the graves of wordsworth, his wife, son, daughter, and two children who died in infancy, as well as of his sister dorothy. the old rude church, with bare, bald tower, is here; beneath its shadow high-born rotha flows; rotha, remembering well who slumbers near, and with cool murmur lulling his repose. rotha, remembering well who slumbers near. his hills, his lakes, his streams are with him yet. surely the heart that reads her own heart clear nature forgets not soon: 'tis we forget. _wordsworth's grave_, william watson. keep fresh the grass upon his grave, o rotha, with thy living wave, sing him thy best! for few or none hear thy voice right, now he is gone. _memorial verses_, matthew arnold. [illustration: grasmere church.] a lakeland walk a gate swings to! our tide hath flow'd already from the silent road. the valley-pastures, one by one, are threaded, quiet in the sun; and now beyond the rude stone bridge slopes gracious up the western ridge. its woody border, and the last of its dark upland farms is past-- cool farms, with open-lying stores, under their burnish'd sycamores; all past! and through the trees we glide, emerging on the green hill-side. there climbing hangs, a far-seen sign, our wavering, many-colour'd line; there winds, upstreaming slowly still over the summit of the hill and now, in front, behold outspread those upper regions we must tread! mid hollows, and clear heathy swells, the cheerful silence of the fells. some two hours' march with serious air, through the deep noontide heats we fare; the red-grouse, springing at our sound, skims, now and then, the shining ground; no life, save his and ours, intrudes upon these breathless solitudes. _resignation_, matthew arnold. [illustration: stepping stones, far easedale, grasmere.] dungeon ghyll force this spot is the scene of the lamb's rescue described by wordsworth in the "idle shepherd-boys." it was a spot which you may see if ever you to langdale go; into a chasm a mighty block hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock: the gulf is deep below; and, in a basin black and small, receives a lofty waterfall. with staff in hand across the cleft the challenger pursued his march; and now, all eyes and feet, hath gained the middle of the arch. when list! he hears a piteous moan-- again!--his heart within him dies-- his pulse is stopped, his breath is lost, he totters, pallid as a ghost, and, looking down, espies a lamb, that in the pool is pent within that black and frightful rent. * * * * * when he had learnt what thing it was, that sent this rueful cry; i ween the boy recovered heart, and told the sight which he had seen. * * * * * and there the helpless lamb he found by those huge rocks encompassed round. [illustration: dungeon ghyll force.] mountain tarns there is a power to bless in hill-side loneliness, in tarns and dreary places, a virtue in the brook, a freshness in the look of mountain's joyless faces. * * * * * and so when life is dull, or when my heart is full because coy dreams have frowned, i wander up the rills to stones and tarns and hills,-- i go there to be crowned. f. w. faber. ye mountains and ye lakes, and sounding cataracts, ye mists and winds that dwell among the hills where i was born, if in my youth i have been pure in heart, if, mingling with the world i am content with my own modest pleasures, and have lived with god and nature communing, removed from little enmities and low desires-- the gift is yours. _the prelude_, wordsworth. [illustration: blea tarn and langdale pikes.] brantwood brantwood was the home of john ruskin during the latter years of his life. mr w. g. collingwood in his life of ruskin has described the journey to brantwood, as it was in ruskin's time, as follows:-- after changing and changing trains, and stopping at many a roadside station, at last you see suddenly, over the wild undulating country, the coniston old man--maen, stone: a survival of celtic cumbria--and its crags, abrupt on the left, and the lake, long and narrow, on the right. across the water, tiny in the distance and quite alone amongst forests and moors, there is brantwood; and beyond it everything seems uncultivated, uninhabited, except for one grey farmhouse high on the fell, where gaps in the ragged larches show how bleak and storm-swept a spot it is.... you drive up and down a narrow, hilly lane, catching peeps of mountains and sunset through thick, overhanging trees; you turn sharp up through a gate under dark firs and larches; and the carriage stops in what seems in the twilight a sort of court--a gravelled space, one side formed by a rough stone wall crowned with laurels and almost precipitous coppice, the brant (or steep) wood above, and the rest is brantwood with a capital b. chapter vi. vol. ii. _the life and work of john ruskin_. w. g. collingwood. [illustration: brantwood, coniston lake.] ullswater on april th, , wordsworth and his sister dorothy visited this lake, and, near gowbarrow park, saw the daffodils which he has described in the following poem, and she in her diary. i wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once i saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils; beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze. continuous as the stars that shine and twinkle on the milky way, they stretched in never-ending line along the margin of the bay: ten thousand saw i at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance. the waves beside them danced, but they out-did the sparkling waves in glee: a poet could not but be gay, in such a jocund company: i gazed--and gazed--but little thought what wealth the show to me had brought: for oft, when on my couch i lie in vacant or in pensive mood, they flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude; and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils. [illustration: ullswater from gowbarrow park.] helvellyn in the spring of a gentleman perished by losing his way on helvellyn. his remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by his dog. sir w. scott visited the lake district later on in the same year and composed the following poem:-- i climb'd the dark brow of mighty helvellyn, lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide; all was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, and starting around me the echoes replied. on the right, striden-edge round the red-tarn was bending, and catchedicam its left verge was defending, one huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, when i mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died. dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather, where the pilgrim of nature lay stretch'd in decay, like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather, till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. not yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, for, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, the much-loved remains of her master defended, and chased the hill-fox and the raven away. _helvellyn_, scott. [illustration: thirlmere and helvellyn.] the mountain glory they seem to have been built for the human race, as at once their schools and cathedrals; full of treasures of illuminated manuscript for the scholar, kindly in simple lessons to the worker, quiet in pale cloisters for the thinker, glorious in holiness for the worshipper. _modern painters, vol. iv.,_ ruskin. o rock and torrent, lake and hill, halls of a home austerely still, remote and solemn view! o valley, where the wanderer sees beyond the towering arch of trees helvellyn and the blue! great nature! on our love was shed from thine abiding goodlihead majestic fostering; we wondered, half afraid to own in hardly-conscious hearts upgrown so infinite a thing. within, without, whate'er hath been, in cosmic deeps the immortal scene is mirrored, and shall last:-- live the long looks, the woodland ways, that twilight of enchanted days,-- the imperishable past. frederick w. myers [illustration: raven crag, thirlmere.] derwentwater once more, o derwent! to thy awful shores i come, insatiate of the accustomed sight, and, listening as the eternal torrent roars, drink in with eye and ear a fresh delight; for i have wandered far by land and sea, in all my wanderings still remembering thee. southey. friar's crag the first thing which i remember, as an event in life, was being taken by my nurse to the brow of friar's crag on derwentwater; the intense joy mingled with awe, that i had in looking through the hollows in the mossy roots, over the crag, into the dark lake, has associated itself more or less with all twining roots of trees ever since. _modern painters, volume iii.,_ ruskin. [illustration: derwentwater from castle head. this view is taken looking up borrowdale, with lodore in the centre of the picture. friar's crag is just outside the view to the right of the foreground.] the falls of lodore described in rhymes for the nursery. how does the water come down at lodore? my little boy ask'd me thus, once on a time; and moreover he task'd me to tell him in rhyme. * * * * * retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, delaying and straying and playing and spraying, recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, and gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, and rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, and flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, and curling and whirling and purling and twirling, and thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, and dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing; and so never ending, but always descending, sounds and motions for ever and ever are blending, all at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar, and this way the water comes down at lodore. southey. [illustration: lodore and derwentwater.] derwentwater and bassenthwaite greta hall, which was the residence of s. t. coleridge from to and for a short time in , as well as of r. southey from sept. to his death in march , commands a view of both these lakes. coleridge in a letter to southey from greta hall, dated th april , describes the situation of the house as follows:-- behind the house is an orchard, and a small wood on a steep slope, at the foot of which flows the river greta, which winds round and catches the evening lights in the front of the house. in front we have a giant's camp--an encamped army of tent-like mountains, which, by an inverted arch, gives a view of another vale. on our right the lovely vale and the wedge-shaped lake of bassenthwaite; and on our left derwentwater and lodore in view, and the fantastic mountains of borrowdale. behind us the massy skiddaw, smooth, green, high, with two chasms and a tent-like ridge in the larger. a fairer scene you have not seen in all your wanderings. _life and correspondence of robert southey_, by the rev. c. southey. [illustration: derwentwater and bassenthwaite lake.] wastwater there is a lake hid far among the hills, that raves around the throne of solitude, not fed by gentle streams, or playful rills, but headlong cataract and rushing flood. there gleam no lovely hues of hanging wood, no spot of sunshine lights her sullen side; for horror shaped the wild in wrathful mood, and o'er the tempest heaved the mountains' pride. written, on the banks of wastwater during a storm, by christopher north (professor wilson). scawfell i stood upon the mountain, whose vast brow looks down his four concentrate vales below; here esk smiles coyly thro' his woody glade; there wastdale's chaos flings its length of shade; next in bright contrast with that gloomy vale, the life and loveliness of borrowdale; and last, that wild and deep and swampy dell, where langdale's summits frown upon bowfell. _storm on scawfell_, t. e. hankinson. [illustration: wastwater and scawfell.] the river duddon return content! for fondly i pursued, even when a child, the streams--unheard, unseen; through tangled woods, impending rocks between; or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed the sullen reservoirs whence their bold brood-- pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen, green as the salt-sea billows, white and green-- poured down the hills, a choral multitude! * * * * * still glides the stream, and shall for ever glide; the form remains, the function never dies; while we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, we men, who in our morn of youth defied the elements, must vanish;--be it so! enough if something from our hands have power to live, and act, and serve the future hour; and if, as toward the silent tomb we go, through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, we feel that we are greater than we know. _the river duddon_, wordsworth. [illustration: silvery duddon.] lays and legends of the english lake country. lays and legends of the english lake country. _with copious notes._ by john pagen white, f.r.c.s. "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, or sing a sang at least." london: john russell smith. carlisle: g. & t. coward. mdccclxxiii. introduction. 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 prevented the final revision which he still contemplated. 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 st, ._ preface. 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 ; 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 begins." 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." contents page the past the banner of broughton tower giltstone rock crier of claife cuckoo of borrodale king eveling sir lancelot threlkeld pan on kirkstone saint bega harts-horn tree bekan's ghyll the chimes of kirk-sunken the raven on kernal crag lord derwentwater's lights laurels on lingmoor vale of st. john the luck of edenhall hob-thross the abbot of calder the armboth banquet britta in the temple of druids the lady of workington hall altar upon cross fell willie o' scales ermengarde gunilda the shield of flandrensis the rooks of furness king dunmail the bridals of dacre threlkeld tarn robin the devil the lay of lord lucy of egremond sölvar how the church among the mountains the past. (in sight of dacre castle.) 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 banner of broughton tower. 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!" notes to "the banner of broughton tower." 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 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 th of june, . 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 , 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 furness. 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 , says--"in , 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. ). 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. giltstone rock; or, the slaver in the solway. 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! note. the rock thus named, lies off the harbour at harrington, on the coast of cumberland, and is only visible at low water during spring tides. 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 duddon. 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? crier of claife. 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!" notes to "crier of claife." 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 th 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 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 th 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 , 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 covering. 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 hour. 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. the cuckoo in borrodale. 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. notes to "the cuckoo in borrodale." 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 inches, and sometimes does not even reach that amount. the mean rain fall for england is inches. kendal and keswick have been considered the wettest places known in england; and the annual average at the former place is inches. it was found by experiments made in , that while inches were measured on scawfell pike; at great gable; at sty head; 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 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 inches; for the rest of england it was inches. king eveling. 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. notes to "king eveling." 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 , 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 £ . 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 yards long, from east to west; and 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 , 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." sir lancelot threlkeld. 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. notes to "sir lancelot threlkeld." 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 . 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 th of december, , 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, . 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 . 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 . 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 nd of may, , 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 th december, . 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 th of february, . 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 th of march, . 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.[ ] 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 , 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 therein." 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 , 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 rd, , aged about ; 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 . 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,[ ] 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 , 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 , , and , 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 , 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 live." 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 follows: "on the rd of june (qu. ?), 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 phenomenon. "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 nearer." this account is attested by the signatures of william lancaster and daniel stricket, and dated the st day of july . "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 th 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 ; in harrogate, on june th, ; and near st. neot's, in huntingdonshire, in . 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 , 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 generals. 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. . 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." footnotes: [ ] 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, edw. iv. [ ] 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. . 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 th 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. pan on kirkstone. 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! notes to "pan on kirkstone." 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 yards in perpendicular height, the other 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. st. bega and the snow miracle. 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,[ ] 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." notes to "st. bega and the snow miracle." 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 , 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, york." 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 mother-church. 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 oblations."[ ] 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 opinion. 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 predecessors." 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 , 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 , 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 , at which time the town is said to have had only six houses. in 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 , 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 , 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 , a grant of all the "derelict land at this place," which yet remained in the crown; and in , all the lands for two miles northward, between high and low water mark, the latter grant containing about 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 town. 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 . 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. crewl-work. _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. footnotes: [ ] see note on page . [ ] 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. . hart's-horn tree. 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." notes to "hart's-horn tree." 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 ; and the remainder in , 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 likewise:-- 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 or , 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 , 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." bekan's ghyll. 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. notes to "bekan's ghyll." 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 , 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 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 england. 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 , 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 rd of february . 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 deserted. singularly enough, the inheritance of this long line also has been broken in its passage through the house of suffolk. sir michael, the rd in succession from richard, married, in the latter part of the last century, diana only child of thomas howard, th 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 , restored the ancient orthography, and incorporated the article _le_ with the family name at the baptism of his son and heir. 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 ( car. ) 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. the chimes of kirk-sunken. 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. notes to "chimes of kirk-sunken." 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. the raven on kernal crag. 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. notes to "the raven on kernal crag." 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." lord derwentwater's lights. . 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. notes to "lord derwentwater's lights." 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 , 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 , 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 th of july , when he had completed his rd 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 , 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 th year of his pontificate ( ), 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 service. 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 th 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 th of october they surrendered at discretion to the forces sent to oppose them. being assembled in the market place to the number of , they delivered up their arms, and became prisoners. the young earl was sent to london, which he reached on the th 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 th 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,[ ] 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, , 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 th of august, , 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 th, . "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, "derwentwater." "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 th of october following. a man named cuthbert swinburn, then 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 th of february, ; 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 th of october, , 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, , which may therefore be presumed to have been of a crimson or rosy hue. footnote: [ ] 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. the laurels on lingmoor. 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. notes to "the laurels on lingmoor." 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 th 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 , 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 , 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 anno regni regine elizabethe . proper nots worth keeping as followethe. floden feild was in anno dni .... comotion in these north parts . st. george day dyd fall on good friday. queene elizabethe begene her rainge . plague was in penrith and kendal . 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 & the th day of november. a sore plague was in london, notinghome derbie & lincolne in the year . a sore plague in new castle, durrome & dernton in the year of our lord god . a sore plague in richmond kendal penrith carliell apulbie and other places in westmorland and cumberland in the year of our lord god 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 singular:-- ad mdxcviii ex gravi peste quæ regionibus hisce incubuit, obierunt apud penrith kendal richmond carlisle posteri avertite vos et vivite ezek. th ---- ---- 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:-- " . d 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 th, , 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 persons dying in the same year, of the plague, in that village. some centuries previous to this, in , 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 vale of saint john. 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. notes to "the vale 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 , 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. john's_." 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 luck of edenhall. 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! notes to "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 th 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 , the luck of muncaster." it is probable that the king was here on two occasions; the first being after the battle of towton, in , 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 th of may, . 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 forest. the forest, or swainmote, court, for the seigniory, is held yearly, on the feast of st. barnabas the apostle (june .) 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 , there was an old oak on wragmire moss, well known as _the last tree of inglewood forest_, which had survived the blasts of or 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 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 th of june, . 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 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 , died at irthington, at the extraordinary age of years and 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 , used occasionally to assist his family at their harvest work. the last forty years of his life were spent at irthington, and in his th year he walked to and from carlisle, being 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 th of march, . from that time till , 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 , 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 . at the time of his decease he must have been years of age. the rev. george braithwaite, who died, curate of st. mary's carlisle, in , at the age of , 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 and inclusive, and gives the date, name, parish, and age of each individual. in that space of years, the list comprises individuals ranging from to years of age. seventy were males, seventy-four were females. the number of persons in cumberland who have reached from to years inclusive, since the ages have been noted in the parish registers is above : of these about one fourth have attained or exceeded the age of years. hob-thross. 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. notes to "hob-thross." 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 . 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 , 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 , 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 £ s. d. according to dugdale, or £ s. d. 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 £ 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[ ] 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, , and died the second day of marche, in the yere of our lord god, ." 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. footnote: [ ] qu. had a grant of? the abbot of calder. 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. notes to "the abbot of calder." 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 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, , 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 annum. 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 dissolution." sir john le fleming, of beckermet, ancestor of the flemings of rydal hall, westmorland, gave lands in great beckermet to this abbey, in the th year of henry iii, a. d. . 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., ( ) and which came into his family, in , 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. , 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 , 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 monasteries:-- "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." the armboth banquet. 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. notes to "the armboth banquet." 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 , 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. the. zz. dece mbar 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 , 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 tradition. 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 th 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. britta in the temple of druids. (the last human sacrifice.) 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,[ ] 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." notes to "britta in the temple of the druids." 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 , 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, , 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 nd 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. footnote: [ ] birth of christ. the lady of workington hall. 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. notes to "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 , 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 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 another."[ ] 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 £ 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 , 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 , 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 , 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 th, ; 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 , 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 yards long and 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 yorkshire." 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. footnote: [ ] "john preston of the manor in furness, esquire, married margaret daughter of sir thos. curwen, of workington, and had issue, tempore henry viii." the altar on cross-fell. (formerly fiends'-fell.) 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. notes to "the altar on cross-fell." 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 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. willie o' scales. 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. notes to "willie o' scales." 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 . 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 , "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 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 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. ermengarde. 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. notes to "ermengarde." 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 th 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 th day of march: other authors the th day of may, a. d., ; and by a record given in bishop appleby's register, it would appear that the th day of april was observed as the solemn anniversary. but, however, in the year , 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 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.[ ] from some lines of martial (lib. iv. ) 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 master:-- "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 grizedale." footnote: [ ] vide notes to sir lancelot threlkeld, for a notice of lord clifford the shepherd. gunilda; or, the woeful chase. 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. notes to "gunilda; or, the woeful chase." 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 , 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 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 £ _s._ _d._; or, by speed's valuation, £ _s._ _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. . 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 . 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, , before x^t mas. "the said gyant was buried yards deep in the ground, w^{ch} is now a corn feild. "he was 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 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 yards long. "his teeth were inches long, and inches broad; his forehead was more than spans and a half broad. "his chine bone could containe 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 shield of flandrensis. 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. notes to "the shield of flandrensis." 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 fears. 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 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 edward the third ( ) shews a fret hung cornerwise, the crest, on a helmet a fern, or something like it. the seal annexed to another deed dated henry v. ( ) is the same as above described; the motto, _s. thome flemin_, in saxon characters. 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. the rooks of furness. "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. notes to "the rooks of furness." 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, , 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 of the roman indiction, and the th and th 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[ ], and soc[ ], tol[ ], and team[ ], infangenetheof[ ], 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 th 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 , 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 , 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_,[ ] 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 th day of april, , 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 £ s. d. 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[ ] 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:"[ ] and one of the number remains unaccounted for. footnotes: [ ] _saccum._--the power of imposing fines upon tenants and vassals within the lordship. [ ] _soccum._--the power and authority of administering justice. [ ] _tollum._--a duty paid for buying and selling, &c. [ ] _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. [ ] _infangenetheof._--the power of judging of thefts committed within the liberty of furness. [ ] _clibanus_, a portable oven: the term probably represents the quantity of bread contained in it at one baking. [ ] this sum is stated by west to be £ , 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 , which would be about sixteen years after their dissolution, continued to receive annuities of £ s. d.; one, £ ; seven, £ s. d. each: and one, £ . the other canons were dead, or otherwise provided for. [ ] 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. king dunmail. 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. notes to "king dunmail." 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 , 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. , 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. , not of any exploit which he performed. on the death of ecgfrith, a. d. , 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. , 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. . to donal, who was slain by the danes, a. d. , 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 , 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 retreat. 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. , 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. , at which time it is represented by henry of huntingdon as the principal rendezvous of the marauding danes. in the year , 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 , 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 , 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 goslar. 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 bridals of dacre. 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. notes to "the bridals of dacre." 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 , 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[ ] 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,[ ] 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 th year of king edward the rd; and in the th 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 th 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 . being garrisoned for charles i., it was destroyed by a detachment of the parliamentary army in june, , 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 . in the night of the rd and th of may, , 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 th, , 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 st, . 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 . 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 th of september, , 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 th, , 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.[ ] 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."[ ] 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, , 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 and , 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 , 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. footnotes: [ ] cross-legs have been proved of late not to indicate crusaders always. [ ] 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 by the marriage which consummated this act of daring chivalry, the barony was transferred to the dacre family. [ ] 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._ [ ] 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 . 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 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." threlkeld tarn: or, truth from the deeps. 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." notes to "threlkeld tarn; or truth from the deeps." 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." robin the devil's courtesy. 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." notes to "robin the devil's courtesy." 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 , 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 devil_. 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 unhorsed. 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 ground. 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 o'clock. 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. 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, ," 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 , 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 , 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 th 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 , 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. the lay of lord lucy of egremond. 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[ ] 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;[ ] kiss'd him; and the convent shaded one more spirit into rest. notes to "the lay of lord lucy of egremond." 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 th 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.[ ] 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 enjoyed. 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 three. 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 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 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 account. "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 family. "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 of the canons of the priory of embsay, founded in by william de meschines and cecilia de romili his wife. besides, as the boy of egremond was alive in , 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 . 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. footnotes: [ ] the scalp with the hair attached. [ ] 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 classics. [ ] dr. whitaker. vide notes to the "bridals of dacre," for instances. sÖlvar-how. 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. notes to "sÖlvar how." 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 forefathers. 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 ; 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 norwegian. 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 and , that his descents must have taken place somewhere about the year . 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. the church among the mountains. 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. notes to "the church among the mountains." 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 £ . 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 maker. 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 £ ., being the interest of £ . 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. .) 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 bargain. 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 £ . _s._ _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 years by a mr. richard birket. the ancient endowment was only £ . _s._ _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 £ with his wife; to whom he left at his decease the sum of £ . 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 th 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 ). 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 £ 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 , 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 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 . 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 . 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 ½d. per sunday. here is a copy of an old receipt:--"received of the chapelmen of wythop the sum of s. d. 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 £ per annum. 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 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 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 obtain. 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. . obiit anno . 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 ( ) 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 wyne. "which is ye grace yt cannot be seene?--the bodie and bloode of christe." 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." g. and t. coward, printers, carlisle. second edition. _small crown vo. in neat cloth binding, price s. d._ 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._ carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _small crown vo. in neat cloth binding, price s. d._ "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._ carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _f. cap vo. price s. d._ songs and ballads by john james lonsdale, author of "the ship boy's letter," "robin's return," &c. with a brief memoir. _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. _from the westminster review._ 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. _from notes and queries._ 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. carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _small crown vo. price s. d. 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 news._ carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _price s. d. in cloth; or s. in extra gilt binding._ poems. by peter burn. a new and complete edition. 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 advertiser._ * * * * * the songs and ballads of cumberland and the lake country; with biographical sketches, notes, and glossary. edited by sidney gilpin. (_a new and revised edition in preparation._) carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _f. cap vo. price s. d., 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, ._ 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 vo. price s., in neat cloth binding._ robert anderson's cumberland ballads. 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._ carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _small crown vo. 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 vo. price s. d._ poems by mrs. wilson twentyman of evening hill. dedicated, by permission, to h. w. longfellow. _f. cap vo. price s. d._ rough notes of seven campaigns in spain, france, and america, from to . by john spencer cooper, late sergeant in the th royal fusileers. carlisle: g. and t. coward. london: j. russell smith. _crown vo. price s. in extra cloth binding: or d. in neat paper cover._ 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. the songs and ballads of cumberland with music by william metcalfe. . d'ye ken john peel? words by john woodcock graves. price s. . lal dinah grayson ("m'appen i may"). words by alex. craig gibson. price s. . reed robin. words by robert anderson. price s. d. . "welcome into cumberland." words by the rev. t. ellwood. price s. . the waefu' heart. words by miss blamire. price s. d. the welcome into cumberland quadrille. price s. the john peel march. price s. (_to be continued._) _the above at half-price._ carlisle: g. and t. coward. transcriber's notes obvious punctuation errors repaired. hyphen removed: wicker[-]work (p. ), extra[-]ordinary (p. ), eye[-]balls (p. ), ferry[-]man (p. ), hearth[-]stone (pp. (twice), ), high[-]road (p. ), loop[-]hole (p. ), noon[-]day (p. ), out[-]buildings (p. ), out[-]worn (p. ), pre[-]eminent (ad for miss blamire's songs and poems), two[-]pence (p. ). space removed: water[ ]spout (p. ), wicker[ ]work (p. ). spelling normalized to "souther fell[-side]". p. : herlingfordbury park -> hertingfordbury park. p. : sire de couci -> sire de courci. p. : darwentwater -> derwentwater. p. : of brighest laurels -> of brightest laurels. p. : gave lands in leakly -> gave lands in leakley. pp. , : phillipson -> philipson. p. : the story is old -> the story is told. p. : that that through which he had entered -> than that through which he had entered. p. : 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. [illustration: cover] [frontispiece: grasmere--evening sun.] english lakes water-colours by a. heaton cooper [illustration: logo] a. & c. black, ltd. , & soho square, london, w. list of volumes in black's "water-colour" series cambridge. by william matthison channel islands. by henry b. wimbush chester. by e. harrison compton cornwall. by g. f. nicholls english lakes. by a. heaton cooper essex. by burleigh bruhl eton. by e. d. brinton galloway. by j. faed, junr. hampshire. by wilfred ball isle of wight. by a. heaton cooper kent. by biscombe gardner liverpool. by j. hamilton hay london. by various artists oxford. by john fulleylove surrey. by sutton palmer sussex. by wilfred ball warwickshire. by fred whitehead worcestershire. by thomas tyndale published by a. & c. black. ltd., , & . soho square. london. w. .. _first published, autumn,_ list of water-colours by a. heaton cooper . grasmere--evening sun. _frontispiece_ . grasmere church. . dove cottage, grasmere. . stepping-stones, far easedale, grasmere. . rydal water. . brantwood, coniston lake. . stepping-stones, seathwaite . silvery duddon. . wastwater and scawfell. . head of buttermere. . derwentwater and bassenthwaite. . grange in barrodale. . raven crag, thirlmere. . lodore and derwentwater. . derwentwater from castle head. . thirlmere and helvellyn. . ullswater from gowborrow park. . blea tarn and langdale pikes. . dungeon ghyll force. . windermere from wansfell. _on the cover_ [illustration: grasmere church.] [illustration: dove cottage, grasmere.] [illustration: stepping stones, far easedale, grasmere.] [illustration: rydal water.] [illustration: brantwood, coniston lake.] [illustration: stepping-stones, southwaite.] [illustration: silvery duddon.] [illustration: wastwater and scawfell.] [illustration: head of buttermere.] [illustration: derwentwater and bassenthwaite lake.] [illustration: grange in borrowdale.] [illustration: raven crag, thirlmere.] [illustration: lodore and derwentwater.] [illustration: derwentwater from castle head. this view is taken looking up borrowdale, with lodore in the centre of the picture. friar's crag is just outside the view to the right of the foreground.] [illustration: thirlmere and helvellyn.] [illustration: ullswater from gowbarrow park.] [illustration: blea tarn and langdale pikes.] [illustration: dungeon ghyll force.] [illustration: windermere from orrest head] the english lakes described by a. g. bradley pictured by e. w. haslehust [illustration] blackie and son limited london glasgow and bombay beautiful england _volumes ready_: oxford the english lakes canterbury shakespeare-land the thames windsor castle list of illustrations page windermere from orrest head _frontispiece_ coniston lake rydalmere grasmere from loughrigg thirlmere and helvellyn kirkstone pass and brothers water ullswater bassenthwaite lake and skiddaw derwentwater from friars crag honister pass--dawn head of buttermere and honister crag scale force, crummock water [illustration: the english lakes] windermere and coniston the luxuriance of windermere is of course its dominant note, a quality infinitely enhanced by that noble array of mountains which from kirkstone to scafell trail across the northern sky beyond the broad shimmer of its waters. the upward view from various points in the neighbourhood of bowness, for obvious reasons of railroad transportation, has been the first glimpse of the lake district for a majority of two or three generations of visitors, and this alone gives some further significance to a scene in any case so beautiful. orrest head, a few hundred feet above the village of windermere, is the point to which the pilgrim upon the first opportunity usually betakes himself; for from this modest altitude the entire lake with its abounding beauty of detail, and half the mountain kingdom of lakeland, are spread out before him. on the slopes of orrest, too, is the house of elleray, successor to that older one in which professor wilson, by no means the least one of the wordsworthian band, led his breezy, strenuous life. son of a wealthy glasgow merchant, winner of the newdigate and a first classman at oxford, and scarcely less conspicuous for his athletic feats and sporting wagers, young wilson bought the land at elleray while an undergraduate and built a house on it later, after the passing of an unsatisfactory love affair. as "christopher north" every lover of the rod with any sense of its literature knows him yet. nor would all this be worthy of record were it not that the brilliant little band who did none of these things held wilson of elleray as one of themselves. losing his fortune ten years later through a defaulting trustee, he became the brilliant supporter of _blackwood_ and professor of moral philosophy in edinburgh university, though always retaining his connection with windermere. in fact, when scott made his memorable visit to the lake district, and with lockhart and canning stayed with the then owner of storrs hall, now a hotel on the lake shore, we find wilson doing the honours of windermere as commodore of its large fleet of yachts. country houses, villas, and rich woods cluster thickly up and down either shore; here and there perhaps a little too thickly. but the general prospect up to ambleside on the one hand, and down past curwen island--named after one of the oldest of cumbrian families--to newby bridge on the other, is no whit blemished. one feels it to be a region rather of delightful residence, which indeed it is, than of temporary sojourn for the tourist, with the mountains beckoning him into the deeper heart of lakeland and to more primitive forms of nature. shapely yachts flit hither and thither, less alluring steamboats plough white furrows, while the irresponsible pleasure boat is in frequent evidence. occasionally, too, there are winters when the great lake glistens with thick glassy ice from end to end beneath snow-peaked mountains, and the glories of such a brief period--glories of scene and of physical exhilaration--shine out in the memory yet more luminously than the unfailing pageants of summer; even the pageants of early june when the lake is quiet, and in sequestered bays the angler, like his neighbour of derwentwater, celebrates the festival of the may-fly, the only one seriously observed by the lusty and wily trout of these two waters. the personal associations of these opulent shores of windermere are too crowded for us here; but dr. arnold of rugby had, of course, his holiday home of foxhowe near the ambleside end, which is still occupied by his daughter. calgarth and its fine woods, just under orrest, is the oldest and perhaps the most notable place on the lake, partly because in ancient times the well-known family of phillipson lived there, though in a former house, a dare-devil race in the civil war period, one of whom, known as robert the devil, did all sorts of heady things. the _skulls of calgarth_, too, which occupied niches in the old hall and could never be got rid of, wherever flung to, always returning to their place on the wall, are a treasured legend of the district. but the present mansion and woods of calgarth are little more than a century old, and are the work of another lakeland luminary of the wordsworthian period. bishop watson, officially of llandaff but otherwise of calgarth, is famous in ecclesiastical history and of immortal memory in wales, not for the things he did, but rather for the things he left undone. for he was bishop of llandaff for about thirty years, and only once visited his diocese in that period, preferring the life of a country gentleman at windermere. [illustration: coniston lake] precisely parallel to windermere, a little more than half its length and half its breadth, and four miles to the westward, lies coniston, its head in the mountains, its foot almost trenching on another, and virtually lowland, country. there can be no doubt whatever about the presiding genii of coniston, the "old man" in the substance and ruskin in the shadow, if one may put it that way, having no rivals. the hills crowd finely around their leader, the "allt-maen" (lofty rock), at the lake-head, as our artist well shows. as the lake shoots southward, however, in a straight line, without any conspicuous curves or headlands, and no heights comparable to those it leaves behind, one feels upon thus looking down it that coniston lacks something of the fascination which never flags at any part of the other lakes. if windermere, too, trails away from the mountains, it does so in glorious bends and headlands, curves and islands, and has an opulence of detail and colouring all its own. but if coniston, with its straight unbroken stretch all fully displayed, and framed in a fashion less winsome than windermere, and less imposing than ullswater, "lets you down" a little on arriving at its head, looking upward from its centre it assuredly lacks nothing, while the view from ruskin's old home of brantwood, perched high among woods upon the eastern shore, commands all that is best of it. after thirty years of intermittent residence here, ruskin was buried in the churchyard at coniston, exactly half a century after wordsworth had been laid to rest at grasmere. a generation later than his great predecessor he has coniston to himself. and if the points of divergence between the two seers have been more than sufficiently insisted upon, it is from the very fact, perhaps, that in intellect and temperament they had so much in common. the heart of lakeland rydal and grasmere those delectable little sister lakes of rydal and grasmere probably suggest themselves to most of us as the heart of lakeland. if we took a map and measuring rule we might possibly be surprised to find, as we should do, this vague intuition geometrically verified. how singularly felicitous, then, one may surely deem it, that wordsworth lived and died here, and that the shrine of the sage and all thereby implied should be thus planted in the very innermost sanctuary of the hills. the intrinsic charm of these two little lakes and all that pertains to them lies in the delightful variety exhibited within a small compass of wood and water, of rugged crag and fern-clad slope, of velvety park-like meadow and stately timber. the blithesome rothay unites the upper and larger lake of grasmere with rydal water by a short half-mile display in meadow and ravine of every winsome mood that a mountain stream has at command. the broken, straggling heights and skirts of loughrigg fell fill most of the western side of either lake, and on a minor scale, like the stream below, show every type of form and colouring, of drapery primeval or man-made, from naked crag to bowery lawn, all within the compass of three miles and the modest altitude of a thousand feet. rydal water has almost the air of being designed for the embellishment of man's immediate haunts. with its occasionally reedy fringe, it breathes the spirit of quiet, almost domestic beauty, and of the spirit of solitude scarcely anything. of grasmere as much and as little might be said. the atmosphere of seclusion that wraps at normal times so many of the lakes seems here frankly absent. nothing, indeed, is lost by this sense of human propinquity; for all is exquisite. but the sign of appreciative humanity, residential or transient, is more than commonly strong. yet grasmere is a favourite haunt, too, of the serious pedestrian, not merely because it is beautiful, but because it is central. the lake tourist might be reasonably classified under four heads: the crag climbers, the strenuous walkers, the saunterers, and the roadsters. the first are a mere handful, for obvious reasons, and greatly affect wastdale head. the second are not very numerous, and seem on the decline. the third include a substantial number, whose limitations are dictated either by lack of physical strength or an indifference to the strenuous life; by a preference for the tennis court, or croquet lawn, or a pair of sculls, with a further company, always numerous among britons, who have an unconquerable aversion to missing a single one of the four conventional meals. of the roadsters, the cyclist may get a great deal out of the lake country, and is nowadays quite innocuous to others. as for the motor, it has proved for all true lovers of this region an unmitigated curse. it is truly pitiable to see these green vales half buried at times under dense volumes of driving dust, or the same noisome clouds falling in heavy masses on the fair surface and flowery banks of rydal or ullswater. the roads, too, are often tortuous and narrow. there was a talk at one time of prohibition within lakeland, and there would seem in equity no justification in this glorious holiday preserve for unlimited vehicles roaring through it at twenty to thirty miles an hour. it lies on no main highway. and for touring use within the district the motor has no single point of sanity. one might almost as well thrash up and down grasmere in a steam yacht. their exclusion, with a few exceptions for local purposes or for genuine residents, would be an enormous gain, and any counter plea ridiculously inadequate. i have here pictured rydal water as a winsome summer lake, for this i am sure, before most of us who know it, its image rises. [illustration: rydalmere] but upon a spring day some years ago i watched it raging with abnormal frenzy under the influence of a helm wind, cleaving diligently myself in the meantime to a stone wall, lest peradventure i should be blown into its seething waters. these hurricanes are idiosyncrasies of the lake country, and are formed by the contact of winds from the north sea with the warmer temperature they meet as they leap over the pennine range, like a wave breaking over a sea wall. the disturbance thus created drives them down in narrow tornadoes upon lakeland. i have never experienced anything else like it in these islands. the waters of rydal on this occasion, now here and now there, were lifted high into the air in the fashion of successive waterspouts and hurled in hissing volumes of sleet at a great elevation against the woody foot of loughrigg fell. the sun, too, was shining brilliantly, and every hurtling cloud of spray glittered in prismatic colours. but above all are these two lakes bound up with the name and fame of wordsworth. from one or other of the banks of them for nearly half a century the great nature poet--the prophet, sage, and interpreter of lakeland--of whose fruits the world will pluck as long as these hills endure, set forth on his almost daily ramble. whether this or that generation decide that wordsworth is among the elect of their fleeting day is an altogether trumpery question. didactic and complaisant youth have tilted against many a classic and passed into oblivion while the subject of their convincing satire remains immovable as a granite rock. wordsworth has struck roots so deep into this glorious country, has so identified it with his own personality, that even if he were a much lesser poet, immortal fame would be as surely his as the endurance of skiddaw or helvellyn. but wordsworth has a firmer grip than that of mere atmosphere on unborn generations, though this almost alone would endear him to all those with any sense of feeling who love the lake country, and of such it is inconceivable that future generations will not each supply their ample store. it is pedantry to hector every man or woman who feels the spirit of our british highlands so perfectly expressed as they are in this lake country into wordsworthian enthusiasm. but let them alone, and as the lakeland fever begins to develop more strongly with each visitation, and as spring and summer come round, if they have the sense of song at all within them they will put their wordsworth at any rate within reach, and the process thenceforward to some measure of intimacy and delight is merely an affair of time. rydal mount, standing embowered in foliage above the road which afterwards skirts both lakes, is not accessible, but dove cottage on grasmere, where the poet, with his gifted sister and for a time with s. t. coleridge, spent the years preceding his long married life at rydal mount, is open to the pilgrim, be he a devout or an indifferent one. it will be hardly less interesting as the residence for twenty years of that strange genius, stylist, and laudanum drinker, de quincey. apart from the great literary obligations under which he has laid posterity, the autobiographical volume which deals with this lake country, and the brilliant circle of which he was a member, is a book of extraordinary interest. he married a local yeoman's daughter, and the domestic side of his life, including a devoted and successful family, infinitely alleviates the tragedy of his own long and indifferently successful struggle with the fatal drug. the weak-willed but lovable and brilliant hartley coleridge, too, who would dash off a sonnet in ten minutes, lived at nab cottage, on rydal water, till he was laid in grasmere churchyard, to be followed there by wordsworth in the succeeding year of . wordsworth himself was never really in touch with his humbler neighbours. he had not the temperament for that kind of thing, and remained a continual mystery to most of them. "well, john, what's the news?" said the rather too sociable hartley coleridge one morning to an old stone-breaker. "why, nowte varry particlar, only ald wudsworth's brocken lowce ageean." this had reference to the poet's habit of spouting his productions as he walked along the roads, which was taken by the country folk as a sign of mental aberration. on another occasion a stranger resting at a cottage in rydal enquired of the housewife as to wordsworth's neighbourly qualities. "well," said she, "he sometimes goes booin' his pottery about t' rooads an' t' fields an' takes na nooatish o' neabody; but at udder times he'll say 'good morning, dolly,' as sensible as oyder you or me." thirlmere and helvellyn lying beside the familiar and continuously beautiful road from grasmere to keswick, thirlmere has happily lost nothing of its pristine beauty in becoming the source of manchester's water supply. an engine house at one point and the big dam, only visible at the far end, are more than counterbalanced in the raising for many feet of a lake that is three miles long and only a quarter of a mile wide. that first delicious view of it which greets the pilgrim on the downward winding road from the pass of dunmaile raise, deep channelled between the rugged wall of armboth crags and the northern shoulders of helvellyn, with the pale cone of skiddaw rising over the hidden interval beyond, will be among the most familiar memories of the lake tourist. these grey armboth steeps, falling from the wild moorish table-land above so abruptly to the water's edge, and planting everywhere their knotted pine-feathered toes in the deep clear water, with the little promontories and islands wooded in the like fashion, give a character all its own to the narrow but beautiful lake. as a road now skirts both shores, those denied the physical joy of walking this country can get all that the banks, at any rate, of thirlmere have to offer. the best of this, no doubt, is the prospect here depicted from the lower end, with old helvellyn looming so near and filling up the vista to the southward. [illustration: grasmere from loughrigg] the little inn at wythburn on the highway near the lake-head where the coaches halt, unpretending tavern in outward appearance though it is, might yet be almost accounted as classic ground for the number of men of note, from scott and the lake poets onward, its modest walls have sheltered. for it has not only been for all time a halfway resting-place between ambleside and keswick, but for many either a starting, or a finishing, point in the ascent of helvellyn. it was in the little parlour of this inn a century ago that professor wilson, the athletic and breezy scottish intellectual, played an almost brutal practical joke on his hyper-sensitive friends--the two coleridges and de quincey--as they all sat resting here by the fire after a long walk one winter night. seeing a loaded gun in the corner, the professor introduced it stealthily into the group, and, pointing it up the chimney, pulled the trigger. in the then diminutive bar parlour, hung about with glass and crockery, the unexpected explosion on the drug-weakened nerves of two, at any rate, of the brilliant trio must have been almost more than the most hardened practical joker could have wished for. this is, of course, the smooth side of helvellyn, and you may ascend it from virtually any point. roughly speaking, it represents a huge mound cloven half down the middle and the refuse carted away. after climbing the steep smooth slope from the thirlmere side to the top, you find yourself suddenly standing on the edge of a precipice, almost of a crater, with the farther side of course wanting, and in its stead beautiful sweeps of glen and crag dipping gradually to the vale where the blue coils of ullswater lie sleeping. needless to add, this is but a fraction of the prospect from helvellyn, and to relate what can be seen from it on a reasonably clear day would merely be to compile a chart of the entire mountain system of lakeland, and for an exceptionally clear one it would be necessary to make many and remoter additions. to anyone in touch with these things, the summit of helvellyn is an inspiring spot, commanding in a single glance the entire dominion of a race not merely homogeneous in breed, but till recently unique in situation. here were a people, ranging as individuals from peasant to yeomen, to put it roughly; four hundred square miles, say, of freehold farmers, who had never known a landlord since the crown in the sixteenth century held them as tenants on border service; a complete democracy among themselves, into whose lives the influence of an aristocracy, as exerted everywhere else without exception in great britain, never entered. for there was no such thing within all these wide bounds. these primitive conditions passed away by degrees during the last century. but it was such that bred the lakelander much as you see him now, though inevitably modified by the influx of large landlords who have bought him out, of villa residents and countless tourists. but here he is still, a type who till recently had virtually no experience of what social grades and distinctions meant in his own daily life, though he dispatched from his rugged stone homestead a steady stream of raw lads who rose to power, wealth, and influence in the world. the lakelander, too, like his immediate neighbours, is of more definitely scandinavian origin than any other community in england. his country bristles with norse place-names; his genuine tongue is so full of it, that an expert in old cumbrian, it is said, can almost read the norse bible. his traditions give him an easy and independent bearing. for two or three generations of more or less contact with the outer world and its complications can only modify, not efface, such things. he still remains a cheery, independent soul, but absolutely one of nature's gentlemen. [illustration: thirlmere and helvellyn] now from helvellyn you can see the pennines, and across the pennines lies northumberland. we have nothing to do here with the northumbrian, but as an immediate neighbour of these others it is interesting to note that he has less norse blood in him, and together with his lothian and berwickshire neighbours is accounted the purest saxon of any englishman. his place-names have the saxon flavour. here in lakeland we have _fells_ and _becks_ and _garths_ and _ghylls_; beyond the pennines and the cheviots they are all _burns_ and _laws_ and _tons_. the lakelanders proper were not border fighters as the word applies to their low country neighbours and the northumbrians. they were liable to service, and frequently took a hand against the scots, but their savage country was not tempting to the scottish freebooter nor worth the risk. nor when the tide set the other way were they accounted as actually of the following of the great border houses. when james i. ascended the throne of a united kingdom, and fondly fancied border troubles were at an end, that canny monarch thought to make some money by commuting the feudal service nature of the lakeland statesmen's holding to a money rent. these military tenants of the crown met to the number of two thousand between windermere and kendal and swore that they would yield up their lives rather than their title-deeds, which settled the matter. it remained for the growth of national wealth, luxury, and what we call the march of civilization to destroy by individual land purchase, assisted by local conditions too complex to mention, the greater number of the lakeland freeholders or "statesmen". there are still some few left in possession, but otherwise the man himself, though now a tenant, has by no means parted with his qualities because his father or his grandfather parted with his freehold. kirkstone and ullswater kirkstone pass looms always large in one's lakeland memories. for one thing, it is the ladder over which all traffic laboriously climbs from the comparatively populous shores of windermere into the long sequestered trough of ullswater, while for the walker it links the eastern block of mountains to the helvellyn and central group. it is, i think, the highest road pass in england, touching the line of feet where a lonely inn claims, by a natural inference, the uncomfortable distinction of being the highest habitation in the kingdom. but whatever may be the measure of its winter solitude, the cheery turmoil of the shepherds' meeting in november, attended by some three hundred more or less interested persons, must put heart into its occupants for the ordeal. for on that great day, crowned by a gargantuan feast, the stray sheep that have wandered from their rightful ranges and mingled with a neighbouring flock are handed over, accompanied by ceremonies of immemorial use. then, too, a hundred or so of collie dogs settle such disputes among themselves as may be of old standing, or more often perhaps excited thereto by such unparalleled opportunities. a hound trail usually completes the long day which begins betimes, for every man upon these mountains is an enthusiast on the chase in its literal sense, and knows as much of hounds and foxes as many an m.f.h. elsewhere. the steep descent into the narrow, verdant, stone-walled, thinly peopled floor of the head of patterdale, with its sprinkling of little white-washed, scyamore-shaded homesteads, is not a theme for words but for the brush; above all for the eye itself. caudale moor and hartshope dodd loom largest above our right shoulder, shutting out the lofty solitudes behind, while on the left redscrees, raven crag, and harts crag, and a fine confusion of rugged summits culminate in helvellyn, which upon this eastern side shows its nobler and precipitous front. brotherswater, though but a quarter of a mile in diameter, fills the vale, and like a jewel catches every humour of these ever-restless skies; gleaming betimes like molten gold, or on windless noons reflecting the greys and greens of the overhanging steeps so vividly on its glassy surface as almost to efface itself in its own shadows; at other times, torn by the tempests that pour down from kirkstone, into a sheet of seething foam. for it is incredible to what a fury even a little lake like this can lash itself, when exposed to the concentrated volleys of two or three mountain glens. the memory of one of these spectacles on hayswater, but a mile or so distant, is suggested by the little hamlet of low hartsop at the mouth of a lateral glen that comes in just where the valley widens somewhat, bringing with it hayswater beck to join the goldrill, which last has run through brotherswater. hartsop hall is a plain, rugged old manor house overhung with trees on the kirkstone shore of the lake, long the abode of sheep farmers, but possessed of the inconvenient disability of a public right-of-way through the centre, now presumably lapsed. but till a few years ago a venerable champion of popular rights, or perhaps merely a humorist with plenty of spare time, used to make an annual pilgrimage here, and walk in at the front door and out at the back without any ceremony. low hartshope itself is a group of some half-dozen mellow and mossy homesteads, planted irregularly above the beck at any time within the last five centuries. fine old trees of sycamore, ash, and oak spread a protecting mantle of foliage over this snug and ancient haunt of dalesmen--a little patch of leafy opulence between the stern walls of fell that rise sharply on either hand. one or two houses of the group, representing, one might fancy, the proportionate decline of population in the dales, are falling or have long ago fallen into ruins. moss and ferns, stone-crop and saxifrage, have seized alike upon both the abandoned and the fallen, upon the sagging flagstone roof which covers neither more nor less of the exposed weather-stained oak rafters than it did ten years ago, upon the fallen stones of a more completed ruin slowly sinking into the ground. here may be seen, too, the deep, oldfashioned spinning galleries thrust out from the upper story and covered by an extension of the roof, invaluable not merely for the summer air, but for the lack of winter daylight in those massive, low-browed, small-windowed fortresses where the thrifty dalesmen dwelt. wordsworth has celebrated a pretty old tradition that the spindles ran truer after the sheep had mounted the hill for their night's rest. now beneath the starry sky crouch the widely scattered sheep, ply the pleasant labour, ply, for the spindle while they sleep runs with motion smooth and fine, gathering up a trustier line. a mile or so up the glen, the higher part a steep climb, down which a beck comes leaping in successive cataracts over black rocks feathered with fern and rowan trees, lies entrenched between mountain walls which rise some fifteen hundred feet above its three sides, the lonely lake of hayswater. scarce a mile in length and narrow in proportion, the scene is one in fair weather of delightful and impressive solitude, in wild weather awesome to a degree bordering on the uncanny. the mountain ridges all round are grey, stern, and rugged, while their green, rock-strewn lower slopes fall for the most part sharply to the water's edge. there is nowhere even a suggestion of humanity, but a rude boat half full of water chained to a rock. so lonely a sheet of water of this size, and thus nobly encompassed about and shut off from the world, there is not in all lakeland. on a tempestuous may day some two years since the writer, underrating the measure of ferocity that the extra elevation of a thousand feet adds to a storm, found himself a solitary angler, beside these gloomy shores, amid as fine a prospect of the kind as the somberer side of one's soul might wish for. the south-west gale had found its way over the screes of the high street ridge that closes the head of the narrow valley of which kidsty and grey crag form the sides. enraged apparently by opposition, it was coming down the full length of the lake in intermittent bursts of rain-laden fury that made even keeping one's feet no simple matter, and life altogether for the moment a moderate sort of entertainment. the fact that in the brief pauses, while the storm drew fresh breath, i could just keep my flies on the water in the shelter of rocky points, and at the same time not unprofitably, must be quoted in explanation of what might otherwise seem a quite superfluous attendance at such a dismal pandemonium of the elements. but these fortuitous encounters with nature in her most savage mood, and in her grimmest haunts, are among the memories that for myself i would ill spare, and none the less so because they so often belong to the unexpected and the unsought. [illustration: kirkstone pass and brothers water] the upper and more rugged half of the valley walls on this sombre occasion opened and shut in veils of scudding mist, while their steep green flanks, littered with black crags fallen in long ages past from above, made a fitting frame for the white hissing waters that filled the long and stormy trough. but the crowning feature of this particular scene was at the foot of the lake, where it draws to a narrow point between high rocky banks, and the out-going beck leaps towards the gorge below through a gap in a stone dyke which otherwise closes the entrance. for into this funnel the storm seemed to concentrate its fury, lashing the waters after the fashion of a helm wind high into the air, and hurling them far down into the ravine below. but i do not wish to keep the reader out in the wind and rain for the whole of our sojourn in patterdale, and i should be an ingrate indeed to do so, for in many visits to this delightful haven in the lake country i am only too rejoiced to remember that sunshine has far outbalanced cloud. and under such conditions the three miles of verdant vale from hartsop to ullswater, by way of the hamlet and church of patterdale (named from st. patrick) to glenridding on the lake shore, is as characteristic and charming a pastoral valley as there is in all the lake country. cottages and homesteads, with their sheltering tufts of foliage, have still even this much-visited country almost to themselves, as they had it a century ago. the goldrill, now a lusty stream, curves and sparkles from farm to farm. the bordering fields terminate in pleasant strips of woodland, or in bosky knolls of fern and rock, while far above upon either side rise steep and high the everlasting hills. and crowding round the head of ullswater, which now spreads wide its bright island-studded waters and ends the vale, are mountains piled up everywhere. place fell and birk fell, lifting their untamed steeps of crag and scree sheer up from the water along four miles of the eastern shore, give that exceptional touch of wildness to the great lake which, together with the fine grouping of helvellyn and her satellites upon the other side, justifies in the opinion of many its claim to pre-eminence among its sisters. for myself, i frankly admit that the head of ullswater, and, for choice, a lodgment upon the glenridding shore near the edge of the lake, holds me more tenaciously when i get there than any part of lakeland. there was once a king in patterdale. his name was mounsey, and he died in , and the _gentleman's magazine_ for that year in its obituary tells us all about him, facts confirmed, if such were necessary, by local tradition. this was in the days of the "statesmen", before outsiders came in and bought property and broke in upon the old lakeland democracy. patterdale hall has now this long time been a large country house with a large estate attached to it. in the modest original homestead, however, reigned the mounseys, who from time immemorial had been regarded as "kings" of the dale before the reign of the undesirable and eccentric monarch who proved to be the last but one of them. this john mounsey had an income of £ a year, and the chief efforts of his life, which lasted over ninety years, were directed to keeping his expenses down to £ . in short, he was a miser of the most unabashed type. he was endowed with immense physical strength, of which, unlike his money, he grudged no expenditure in the pursuit of the over-mastering passion of his life. he rowed his own slate and timber down the lake to market, and toiled all day at the hardest manual tasks. when compelled to visit penrith or elsewhere on business, he slept in neighbouring barns to save a hotel bill. he had his stockings shod with leather, and always wore wooden shoes. he is reported on one occasion, while riding by the lake, to have dismounted, stripped, and dived into it after an old stocking that caught his eye. rather than buy a respectable suit for funerals, markets, and the like, he used to force the loan of them from his tenants, who were also under agreement to furnish him with so many free meals a year. ever fearful of being robbed, he used to secrete his money in walls and holes in the ground, a practice which occasioned many exhilarating hunts for treasure-trove among the idle. his last luxury was putting out to the lowest tender the drawing of his will. the patterdale schoolmaster, with a bid of ten-pence, obtained the contract. his son, however, closed the dynasty with honour, when the forbear of the present owner bought the royal domain and a good deal more beside, and planted those beautiful wild woods along the western margin of ullswater that are the delight of every visitor, and above all of those for whom mountain and lake offer too strenuous adventure. various glens of infinite beauty wind up to the heart and shoulders of helvellyn and fairfield, which mountains display to the people of ullswater by far their finest qualities. across the lake a fine solitude of moor and fell, rising to feet, spreads far away eastward to shap, including martindale, boredale, mardale, and the high street range, which carries the old roman road to carlisle (whence comes its name, ystrad) along its summit. the wild red deer still roam over this wilderness as far as the shores of ullswater, while as regards foxes they are almost too plentiful everywhere. nor is there any part of england, no not leicestershire, though in far different fashion, where they fill a bigger place in the public eye. of the four or five packs of foxhounds hunted and followed on foot over the fells of lakeland, one kennelled at ullswater is among the most notable, if only for its famous huntsman. every soul in lakeland as far east as crossfell, and every frequenter of ullswater, knows "joe bowman", who has just now completed thirty years of such severe service as hunting a pack of fell hounds on foot means. the mantle of john peel (who hunted a lower country, however, and rode to his hounds) has almost fallen upon him. his stalwart form may even be seen, like that of john peel's, outside the cover of hunting songs in the windows of carlisle music shops. if the songs are not sung like the others round the world, the memory of their subject will live among the dalesmen, i'll warrant, to their children's children. for hunting here is actually, not theoretically, democratic. when hounds throw off soon after daylight on a mountain side, and hunt a slow drag for an hour or two till they move their fox, and the field have to follow on foot as best they may, there is not much scope for the dashing and the decorative side of the chase. the fell farmers are all devoted followers, are on familiar terms with all the foxes, their domestic arrangements, and their families, and their probable line of action when pursued. they mostly know the hounds, and can recall their fathers and their mothers and their grandparents, and are steeped in hound lore. the very children about the head of ullswater know many of the "dogs" personally, and have played with them as puppies. for they are mostly "walked" on the surrounding farms in summer, and when they play truant, which is pretty often, and come trotting through the village after a hunt upon their own account, it is quaint to hear them affectionately invoked by name from window or doorstep as familiar public characters. the necessity for keeping down the foxes gives, of course, an extra zest to the chase in these mountains. there being nothing to prevent and much to stimulate it in this country of late lambs, hunting is carried on vigorously till the middle of may; april, as a matter of fact, being for many reasons irrelevant here the most active month, and the best for seeing the sport. it is glorious, indeed, on an early spring morning to be perched, let us say, on one of the lower shoulders of helvellyn, with the joyous crash of hounds upon a warming scent echoing from cliff to cliff. [illustration: ullswater] but let us turn to gentler themes, noting for a moment stybarrow, the foot of which is the subject of our artist's skill. there is very little of the border foray tradition in the heart of the lake country. it was obviously unprofitable as well as risky to the aggressor. but a body of scots did once, at least, make a dash on patterdale and on stybarrow, which is in a sense its gateway, and met their fate. if the eastern shore of the upper half of ullswater is inspiring from its solitary grandeur of overhanging mountain, its feathered cliffs and promontories, its indented rocky coves, its western shore holds one's affections by its gentler and more sylvan beauties. for after the picturesque confusion of mossy crag and forest glade around stybarrow, beneath which the lake lies deep and dark, the two large demesnes--"chases" would best describe them--of glencoin and gowbarrow slope gently down from the back-lying mountains to the curving shore. here are pleasant silvery strands overhung with tall sycamores and oaks; there are rocky shores fringed with hazel and alder, where the crystal waters of this most pellucid of large lakes breaks sonorously when a gale is blowing. the little becks come tumbling in too over the sloping meadows from the fells--that of glencoin of familiar name, and that of aira of greater fame for its waterfall, whose hoarse voice can be heard on still evenings on the lake, and for the legend embodied in wordsworth's well-known poem. here, too, behind the long grassy promontory with pebbly shore that roughly marks the entry to this upper and more beautiful four miles of lake, is lyulph's tower. not a very ancient fabric, to be sure, but marking the site of that shadowy keep where dwelt the sleep-walking, love-lorn maiden, who perished in the pool below aira force in the arms of her errant knight, as he arrived only just in time to drag her expiring to the shore. list ye who pass by lyulph's tower at eve how softly then doth aira force, that torrent hoarse, speak from the woody glen. bassenthwaite and derwentwater what was the great parnassus' self to thee mount skiddaw? in his natural sovereignty our british hill is fairer far; he shrouds his double front among atlantic clouds, and pours forth streams more sweet than castally. --_wordsworth._ mercifully it is not our province here to pass a pious opinion on the comparative beauties of ullswater and derwentwater. it is tolerably certain that the one which held you the longer and the most often in its welcome toils would have your verdict. the lake of ulpho is a thought wilder and grander and withal less accessible. save on occasions, it wears generally a more isolated and aloof demeanour. the other, too, is much smaller and quite differently formed; its length, three miles and odd, being little more than twice its breadth, but picturesquely indented, and virtually surrounded by mountainous heights. keswick town almost adjoins, though nowhere trenching, on its lower end, and behind keswick the great cone of skiddaw fills the north. though of no distinction in itself, not a country town in all england is so felicitously placed. within five minutes' walk of its extremity its fortunate burghers can pace the shores of derwentwater, or, better still, the fir-clad promontory of friars crag, and look straight up the mountain-bordered lake to the yet sterner heights looming at its farther end, known as the jaws of borrowdale. behind and to the north skiddaw, as related, joining hands to the eastward with more precipitous blencathara, otherwise saddleback, lifts its shapely bulk. through a fair green vale between, the derwent, joined by keswick's own bewitching stream, the greta, urges a bold and rapid course to bassenthwaite, which completes the picture two miles below. though not geographically central, keswick is nevertheless an admirable base from whence to adventure the lake country for such as trust to wheels of any kind, and have no great length of time at their disposal. the _genius loci_ of keswick is of course southey, and the plain red house where that kind-hearted and industrious poet and brilliant essayist lived for most of his life still stands above the greta. different in every personal characteristic, as de quincey their mutual friend so lucidly sets forth, was southey from wordsworth, his successor in the laureateship. the one, elegant, reserved, modest, fastidious, business-like, a methodical and indefatigable worker, but essentially a man of books; the other, sprawly, almost uncouth in minor habits, self-centred to the verge of arrogancy in social intercourse. southey at keswick earned by the _quarterly_ and other sources a quite substantial income, out of which he maintained not merely his own family, but for long that of poor s. t. coleridge, whose haphazard existence consisted very largely of a succession of extended visits to generous and admiring friends. wordsworth, on the other hand, ridiculed by most of the critics, made very little out of his poems till quite late in life. but for once in a way providence, as represented by pounds sterling, seemed to recognize a dreamy genius, with no capacity for earning bread and butter, and showered upon him from all sides legacies, annuities, and sinecures that made him probably a richer man than southey, even apart from his belated earnings. [illustration: bassenthwaite lake and skiddaw] a striking picture, too, is this ancient church of st. kentigern planted in the level vale--the derwent chanting in its rocky bed upon the one hand, and skiddaw lifting its three thousand feet upon the other, with bassenthwaite opening not far below its broad and shining breast. fate has laid the bones of many a man and woman of some modest fame in their day beneath the heaving turf of this picturesque crowded graveyard, caught unawares, some of them, while temporary sojourners in a country, whose beauty drew hither two or three generations of pilgrims, before facilities of transport made the achievement the simple one it is for us. within the church, however, a monument to john radcliffe, the second earl of derwentwater, father of that ill-fated young man who lost his head and the vast estates of the family in the 'fifteen, husband, too, of charles the second's daughter by the duchess of cleveland, strikes an earlier and more genuinely local note. the original nest of the radcliffes was on lord's island, one of those near the foot of the lake, and its foundations may still be traced; but they acquired their chief consequence through wealthy northumbrian heiresses. the keswick property remained with them till the confiscation; but it is with the ruined towers of dilston, near hexham, rather than the land of their origin and their title that the memory of the radcliffes will be chiefly associated. so one must not linger here over the story, rather a pathetic one, in fact, how the young peer of , admirable in every relation of life, with youth, a happy marriage, and an immense property all to his credit, was drawn into the rising against his better judgment, to become its chief victim. forced by a train of circumstances and by an almost morbid sense of honour, as a near relative of the exiled house, to join the ill-concerted scheme, in which he had not even been consulted, since his name only was wanted, his fate was a hard one, and he was duly mourned on both the western and the eastern march. "o derwentwater's a bonny lord, fu' yellow is his hair, and glinting is his hawky 'ee wi' kind love dwalling there." another historical character intimately associated with the keswick country was that "shepherd lord" celebrated by wordsworth. this was the only surviving son of the black clifford, whom, in the ruthless feuds of the roses, his mother, dreading the vengeance which might pursue the son of such a father, sent to be reared as a shepherd's son on the slopes of saddleback. nor till he was thirty did he emerge from this humble role to take his place as a peer of the realm, to marry twice, and to acquit himself reasonably well when called to public duties from the seclusion of borden tower, still standing on the yorkshire moors above the wharfe, where he lived a studious life. indeed he marched to flodden field, which must have irked such a peaceful soul, one might fancy, not a little. it is at the head of derwentwater that the lodore beck makes that sonorous descent into the vale, which, by a famous poet's frolic, as it were, achieved a notoriety it only merits in a wet season. the mouth of borrowdale, however, down which the derwent hurls its beautiful limpid streams through resounding gorges to an ultimately peaceful journey to the lake, is a place to linger in, not merely to admire in passing, and two well-known hotels of old standing are evidence that the public are of that opinion. if the heights of borrowdale make an inspiring background for the lake, as viewed from the keswick end, skiddaw, as seen from borrowdale, serves as noble a purpose. then there is that long array of heights right across the lake, and those behind them, spreading away to buttermere. the view from skiddaw is well worth the long but easy climb. derwentwater and bassenthwaite, linked by the silver coil of the river in the green vale, make a perfect foreground to a prospect which, like that of helvellyn, covers not only the whole of lakeland, but the sea coast and much more beyond. skiddaw, however, stands sentinel, as it were, at this northern gateway into the lake country, and looks right over cumberland, with carlisle in the centre of the picture, the solway gleaming beyond, and behind that again the dim rolling forms of the scottish hills. we have nothing to do with carlisle, or the eden, or solway moss, with eskdale or liddesdale, or any of this classic borderland here laid open to the view. but one may be pardoned, when perched thus in fancy upon skiddaw's aerial cone, for a brief reflection of how different was the past and how strangely different the associations of this rugged romantic lake country with its simple, uneventful peasant story, quite obscured what there is of it by its more recent literary associations, from that classic soil of border story spreading to the northward. "happy is the land", says the old saw, "that has no history"; and no part of england has so little, in the ordinary sense of the word, as that which one looks back upon from the top of skiddaw. none, upon the other hand, has more than that once blood-stained region, now spreading so fair and green and fertile to the dim hills of scotland, which share its stirring tale. [illustration: derwentwater from friars crag] immediately below and behind the mountain skiddaw forest spreads--an unusual sight in lakeland--its heather-clad undulations, and beyond and all around it is the green up-lying country, where john peel of immortal memory hunted those no less immortal hounds. a majority of persons, i am quite sure, still think he is a mythical person, the burden of a fancy song, a legendary hero. but, on the contrary, he lived down yonder in caldbeck, and only died in . you may see his tombstone at any time with his obituary, and a hound, whip, and spur carved on its face in the village churchyard. plenty of people still living remember him well. the late sir wilfrid lawson, whose home, and that of his forbears, is easily visible from here, knew him well, and in his youth had hunted with him. the last time i was at caldbeck, ten years ago, two of his daughters, old married ladies, were still alive in the neighbourhood, and i spent several hours myself in company with his nephew, who, when a boy, used to help him with his hounds. peel was, in fact, a well-to-do yeoman who kept a small pack of hounds, which he hunted when and where he pleased for his own entertainment, and, incidentally, for that of a few of his neighbours, one of whom, woodcock graves, the whilom owner of a bobbin mill and his most constant companion, wrote the song, never dreaming of it as more than a passing joke. afterwards, when graves, having failed in business, went to tasmania, where he died in the 'seventies, mr. metcalf, of the carlisle publishing house, arranged the song, which fortuitously caught on in cumbrian hunting circles, and has now gone round the world. graves has told us all about the writing of it--tossed hastily off one evening in peel's little house at caldbeck, which anyone may see to-day. the village is full of his relatives and connections, and i have no doubt that the famous sportsman spoke an archaic and forcible cumbrian, that strangers who can understand the ordinary fell farmer or peasant of to-day without difficulty would make mighty little of. at any rate, his nephew robert did! peel was not a fell hunter of the ullswater pattern, but worked altogether a lower country and rode to his hounds. he was an exact contemporary of the lake poets, this other lion, and there is a spice of humour in the thought! "when he wasn't huntin'," remarked his venerable relative to me, in a heartfelt, reminiscent sort of tone, "he was aye drinkin'." his view holloa, though said by those who remember him to have been the most tremendous and piercing ever let out of mortal throat, obviously never penetrated the barrier of skiddaw and saddleback and reached the ears of the lake poets "in the morning". buttermere all nature welcomes her whose sway tempers the year's extremes; who scattereth lustres o'er noonday, like morning's dewy gleams. while mellow warble, sprightly trill the tremulous heart excite, and hums the balmy air to still the balance of delight. --_wordsworth (ode to may)._ buttermere in may or early june! the may of the poet, that is to say, which smiles upon us twice or thrice in a decade, not the may of actuality which is spent in overcoats and blighted hopes, and bad tempers and east winds. but there are mays even yet like those of the invincible tradition, and just enough of them to save the face of the poet. and buttermere in the full flush of one of them stands always out for me conspicuous in that long gallery of bygone summer pageants, which are not the least of those pleasant fancies kindled by the cheery glow of the winter fireside. ullswater and wastwater can turn almost any atmosphere to account. they can grasp the glories of high june and diffuse their radiance over shore and mountain to as much purpose as any, or can turn savage in the storms and clouds of autumn with infinite grandeur. [illustration: honister pass--dawn] honister, too, though surmounted in many moods, i almost prefer to recall in some such one as this, when the replenished ghylls are spouting like silver threads down the dark mountain sides to the right and left as you draw up from seatoller, and the sombre crag itself is thrusting up a rugged head against a background of whirling clouds. but down in the long secluded vale of buttermere, its narrowed trough for most of the five miles it winds its beauteous length, filled with the waters of two pellucid lakes, i would have it always june, or rather that ideal, precocious may which has planted it irrevocably in the chambers of my soul. of all the better-known lakes or haunts in lakeland, this one is perhaps the most secluded. a dozen miles by steep roads and some fearsome hills are made light of, it is true, by the coaches of the holiday season; but at other times the valley is cut off from the travelling world dependent on public transport, and its two or three small hostelries are then apt to become very empty havens of peace amid the hills. lying amid bosky knolls upon the half-mile meadowy interval, through which the cocker sparkles from the foot of buttermere to the head of crummock, with the steep green wall of mountain, cloven here and there by the white trail of falling streams, rising sharply for two thousand feet above it, the pose of this little group of cottages and homesteads scattered around their diminutive church is perfection itself. the sense of snug seclusion from a noisy and ever noisier world, and that, too, in a spot familiar by name at least wherever the english language obtains, is everywhere eloquent, and holds one's fancy above the common. and along the steep western shore of buttermere itself, following a sheep track on the rough mountain side, amid the scent of thyme and freshly blooming gorse, the hum of bees, with the flowers of the upland showing their shy heads among the ragged moorland grasses, what a picture at such time as i have in mind is this mile and a half of limpid water, fringed upon its farther shore by mantling woods! for though only one residence of any kind trenches upon the margin of either lake, this one of hasness upon buttermere has been enfolded by time and taste in groves of larch and beech and sycamore that extend half along the lake shore, and flaunt their earliest foliage of summer upon the glassy water. while on the rugged oaks mingled among them, self-sown, perhaps, some of them by hardy stunted forbears, there still flares that golden tint in which its bursting leaf so curiously forestalls the radiant decay of autumn. and when the woods cease, what delightful natural lawns of crisp turf sweep in little curving bays to the mere edge, where gently shelving beaches of silvery gravel dip into the shallow waters, and show far out into the lake their clean white bottom beneath its crystal depths! at the head of the lake the cocker comes prattling down through the meadows of gatesgarth, a typical mountain sheep farm, whose herdwicks, running to many thousands, count every mountain within sight as their own traditional domain, to the summit of honister and the haystacks--a noble pair of sentinels closing the gateway to the vale. most notable valleys in the lake country have their _genius loci_, as is only natural in a region till quite recent times utterly removed from the world's life. and they are often simple folk whose sorrows or humours have acquired immortality from the very seclusion, the normally unruffled calm of their environment. mary of buttermere and her harrowing story, for instance, would long ago have been forgotten in hampshire. but no one reasonably versed in lakeland lore ever, i trust, crosses the threshold of the old fish inn without taking off his hat, so to speak, to the memory of that ill-used maiden. her trials, however, were after all comparative; well-looking barmaids suffer much worse things, and men lose their lives over them in various ways once or twice a year. but the sentiment attaching to the personality of this mountain beauty, whom, like phyllis, all the shepherd swains adored, and yet further celebrated by such visitors as penetrated to this romantic spot, including the lake poets, made a stir in the world when the villain was hung as high as haman. the press rang with it, which meant more in those days than in these, and the "beauty of buttermere" appeared in various forms upon the stage of london theatres. the old fish inn still stands a little way down the meadow from the village, as it stood over a century ago, when the yeoman father of mary robinson, the heroine, presided over it, and she herself ministered to the hunger and thirst of his varied guests. the gentlemen visitors no doubt turned her head a little, though wordsworth, who had evidently taken a social glass there with coleridge, reminds him how they had both been stricken with the modest mien of this artless daughter of the hills. but one may safely hazard the belief that wordsworth was more artless in this kind of divination than the most rustic young woman who ever poured out a glass of beer. de quincey, who also knew her, bears witness to the admiration the two poets had for her, and has a sly hit at their romantic assumption of her ingenuousness. [illustration: head of buttermere and honister crag] but if mary broke rustic hearts and held her head a little high, she was at least a young woman of irreproachable character, and it was in that the distinguished stranger who gave her such fortuitous immortality arrived in keswick in a handsome turnout and took up his abode at its chief hotel, entering his name as the honourable augustus hope, m.p., a brother by assumption, modestly admitted by the stranger himself, of lord hopetown. one must endeavour, if it costs a mental effort, to imagine the aloofness of this country and all such regions in the year of trafalgar, when one finds a very poor imitation of a fine gentleman posing as the brother of a well-known peer, taking local society with a big s by storm, and the "county" within reach of keswick tumbling over one another to do him honour. there was a sceptic here and there, to be sure. he overdid his affability, and coleridge even hints that his grammar was shaky, which nowadays would possibly be a point in his favour. but as he franked his letters, and forgery then meant death, the unbelieving minority were temporarily silenced, and the honourable augustus continued to enjoy himself very much indeed. perhaps so experienced a gentleman knew precisely when to stop, for in due course he betook himself to buttermere and to the fish inn, ostensibly to catch char or trout, but the only record of his sport we have is the capture of the heart, or at any rate the hand--for he wooed her openly and honourably--of his landlord's daughter. what society in the vale of keswick, a member of whom had even christened a recently arrived son and heir _augustus hope_, particularly matrons with marriageable daughters, thought of the escapade of the honourable augustus, history does not say. it has no occasion; we may be quite certain without being told. the happy day was fixed. it arrived, and the smallest church in england tinkled out the marriage peals with its single bell. the hopetown family were not represented at the wedding for one excellent reason, and the aristocracy of the vale of keswick for quite another one. the absence of the former was easily explained away to so artless a gathering as was here collected. that of the latter was only natural, and must have provided even a spice of triumph for the victorious beauty of buttermere. the honeymoon, of which london with the brotherly welcome of a noble family and the smiles of a court was to be the culmination, extended very little farther than keswick, when the minions of the law swooped down upon augustus and tore him from mary's arms on a charge of forgery, which proved the least of his many heinous crimes. in brief, the man's name was hatfield, son of a devonshire tradesman, and mary was only the last of many victims, most of them her superiors in station, whom with marvellous skill and cunning this accomplished ruffian had deceived, abandoning them one after another in conditions of distress, and some of them with children. he was hung at carlisle, and mary returned to her father's inn and resumed her former position. she had no child and bore no reproach, among her simple neighbours the most fortunate, probably, but the most celebrated of the villain's many victims. she eventually married a farmer from caldbeck, and her grave may be seen to-day, near by that one distinguished by the curiously sporting tombstone beneath which lies the dust of john peel of immortal memory. crummock is just twice the length of buttermere, with about the same average width of half a mile. like the other, it is pressed between the feet of steep mountains, and has the same charm at the open and upper end of silvery strand shelving from meadowy banks, with the same clusters of fir, alder, or gnarled oak grouped gracefully about the grassy shore. here, too, on still summer days the same crystal water shows far out into the lake the clean, white, gravelly bottom on which it lies. there are two or three boats, moreover, available on crummock, and it is out on the bosom of the lake that this whole beautiful vale, above and below it, is displayed perhaps to the best advantage. the now remoter heights of honister and its companions fill the head. the steeps of high stile and red pike dip to the gorge near by, whence issues the hoarse murmur of scale force making its sheer leap of a hundred and twenty feet, and spraying with perennial moisture the ferns, mosses, and feathery saplings that cling to its shaggy cliffs. above the lower heights upon the eastern shores rise the higher fells of whiteside and grassmoor, the latter bearing the strange unhealed red scars where its whole front was shaved away a century and a half ago by a tremendous waterspout. a may morning out on crummock, the fly rod laid aside in despair for the moment with its capricious little trout, though the compensations forbid so untoward a word; the boat drifting idly with gently gurgling keel upon the faint ripples stirred by the very softest of zephyrs; the distant murmur of the cocker splashing toward the lake head; the faint dull roar of scale force, and, above all, the silent throng of overhanging mountains fairly pealing with the cuckoo's note, is a memory always to be treasured. another such morning, too, comes back to me, when splashes of brilliant blue lay here and there upon the eastern shore of the lake, disclosing to a nearer view great beds of bluebells at the height of their glory. a moonlight night again, the sequel of the same or another such effulgent day, is before me as, idly trolling for the bigger trout, those prowlers of the night, one felt the awesome black shapes of the mountains piled up on every hand, while the slow, measured stroke of the oar struck molten silver as we crossed and recrossed the moon's shining path. [illustration: scale force, crummock water] stern and wild enough under the shadow of night or beneath stormy skies, crummock thrusts its gradually narrowing point deep into richer scenes of woody foot-hill, and radiant meadow, overlooked by the picturesquely perched old hostelry of scale hill, familiar to generations of lakeland tourists. and here the cocker leaps rejoicing and in fuller volume to sparkle down the long, lovely vale of lorton towards its junction with the derwent at wordsworth's birthplace. a mile or so to the westward loweswater lies bewitchingly in the lap of fells, but overhung upon one bank for its entire length by the opulent foliage of holm wood, and lacking the more rugged features which dominate the others, seems to lie somewhat aloof from them in quality as it does in fact. but one privilege of a sojourn in the valley is its easy access, over the single ridge that divides them, to the famous but secluded trough of ennerdale, lying parallel to that of buttermere. the prospect from scarth cap before descending into one of the wildest valleys in all lakeland has a peculiar grimness, for the long array of precipitous steeps and crags that confront one above the twisting thread of the beck hurrying down to ennerdale lake turn their savage fronts so uncompromisingly to the north. the more radiant the summer morn, the brighter the summer day, the darker by contrast with the interludes of spring verdure that no north aspect can quench are the impenetrable shadows which mask all detail, and make fearsome precipices out of rugged but accessible steeps. for above them the pillar mountain almost touches feet, and the far-famed pillar rock springing from its outskirts, whose naked walls need no black shadows for their enhancement. but this is wandering from our immediate subject, and involving us in the group of big mountains that cluster round scafell. far down the valley the lake of ennerdale, in size and shape resembling crummock, glistens at the fringe of civilization. if local genii count for aught, that of this valley, though not nearly so familiar, should surely be "t'girt dog of ennerdale". the first notice of his appearance was in may, , when carcasses of three or four sheep killed and as many mangled were found in lower ennerdale. such mishaps were common enough, but the usual sequel, the destruction of the dog within a few days, utterly failed here. every device known was futile before this formidable vampire. for a long time no trace could be found of him, but in the increasing toll of victims that greeted the shepherd's eye in ever-changing and unexpected quarters. he never visited the same place twice within an ordinary space of time, and the scene of some of his raids were twenty miles apart. he worked entirely at night, laying low through the day in woods and ditches. his bi-weekly or tri-weekly toll increased with his rage for blood, and the hue and cry raised everywhere brought him into view occasionally in the early mornings. but while men with guns were lying for him in one place, he would be enjoying himself on some unsuspected hillside ten miles away. the toll of victims mounted into the hundreds; june and july passed away, and "t'girt dog" was still master of the situation, the growing grain crops giving him ampler refuge. half the men in the country spent the night afield with guns, and were worn out with watching. many idlers, tempted by the large reward offered, seized the chance to join the chase, and the statesmen's wives waxed weary of cooking meals for all and sundry by day and night. the children were afraid to tread their often lonely paths to school, and screamed in their sleep that "t'girt dog" was after them. the mountain foxhounds were brought up and laid on. but the girt dog with his greyhound blood ran away from them all, carrying the line on one occasion from ennerdale to st. bees on the coast, and on another to cockermouth. the following, on this occasion, consisted of two hundred souls. it was a sunday, and passing ennerdale church during service in full cry had added to the field the males of the congregation as one man, including the parson. the humours of some of these exhilarating hunts as told by a contemporary pen are delightful. once, when surrounded by guns in a cornfield, the ingenious quarry singled out the least efficient sportsman, will rothbury, who, as the sanguinary beast broke cover and ran past him within easy shot, leaped up in the air instead of firing and cried out, "skerse, what a dog!" the latter, shaken for a moment out of his presence of mind, bolted between the notoriously bandy legs of a deaf old man who was gathering faggots, unconscious of the excitement. not till the middle of september did the girt dog succumb after a long chase. he was set up in keswick museum with a collar round his neck describing his exploits. such, in brief, for much more might be told, is the story of "t'girt dog of ennerdale". * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious punctuation errors corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. available at google books) the english lakes a sketch book by gordon home a & c black ltd. soho square·london w. sketches langdale pikes from a garden on windermere [title] windermere from bowness dove cottage--grasmere stone circle near keswick derwentwater from near friar's crag derwentwater from borrowdale buttermere scale force among the summits of the fells ennerdale water from pillar fell wastwater & the screes clouds on scafell styhead pass mickleden & rossett gill ullswater from the summit of helvellyn hawes water & harter fell [illustration: langdale pikes from a garden on windermere [title]] [illustration: windermere from bowness] [illustration: dove cottage--grasmere] [illustration: stone circle near keswick] [illustration: derwentwater from near friar's crag] [illustration: derwentwater from borrowdale] [illustration: buttermere] [illustration: scale force] [illustration: among the summits of the fells] [illustration: ennerdale water from pillar fell] [illustration: wastwater & the screes] [illustration: clouds on scafell] [illustration: styhead pass] [illustration: mickleden & rossett gill] [illustration: ullswater from the summit of helvellyn] [illustration: hawes water & harter fell] other volumes in this series edited by martin hardie, a.r.e. volumes ready. square demy vo.., with artistic cover bearing a label designed by the artist. containing or more reproductions from pencil drawings. price _s_. _d_. net each (by post, _s_. _d_.). ampleforth college. by j.c.m. pike |london at night. by f. carter | bath and wells by d. s. andrews |malta. by gordon home | bournemouth. by d. e. g. woollard |newcastle-upon-tyne. by robert j. s. bertram | brighton. by h. g. hampton and d. e. g. woollard |norwich. by e. v. cole | bristol. by d. e. g. woollard |oxford. by fred richards | bruges. by j. c. m. pike |riverside london. by p. n. boxer and d. e. g. woollard | cambridge. by walter m. keesey |rochester. by k. kimball | canterbury. by walter m. keesey |rome. by fred richards | cardiff. by douglas s. andrews |scarborough and whitby. by f. greenwood | | chester. by j. c. m. pike |stratford-on-avon. by gordon home | durham. by robert j. s. bertram. |surrey. by robert s. austin | edinburgh. by lester g. hornby |the thames. by r. sharpley | english lakes. by gordon home |venice. by fred richards | florence. by fred richards |warwick, leamington and kenilworth. by r. s. austin | | glasgow. by john nisbet |winchester. by gordon home | harrogate. by r. sharpley |windsor and eton. by fred richards | harrow. by walter m. keesey |york. by gordon home | hastings. by herbert g. hampton |zoo, the. by a. w. peters isle of wight. by d. e. g. woollard liverpool. by sam j. brown london. by lester g. hornby published by a. & c. black, ltd., soho square, london, w. i. transcriber's notes: ( ) italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=. ( ) obvious punctuation, spelling and typographical errors have been corrected. [illustration: _photo by green bros., grasmere._ dove cottage, grasmere. as it was when the home of the wordsworths ( - ) and de quincey ( - ). _frontispiece._] literary celebrities of the english lake-district by frederick sessions, f.r.g.s. author of 'isaiah, poet-prophet and reformer' _with illustrations_ 'there is scarcely anything so interesting to man as his brother man; because there is nothing else which so acts on his sympathies; and sympathy is perhaps the most powerful of forces. we may feel much interest in a thing, more in a truth, but most of all only in a man.' myers' 'lectures on great men' london elliot stock, , paternoster row, e.c. preface this is neither a handbook nor a guide to the haunts of our lake celebrities. yet it may, perhaps, serve in some sort the purposes of both. it is not the result of any fresh or original research. i claim only to have condensed many biographies, and to have provided an index to the literary status of the men and women of whom i treat, some of whose works are scarce, and some too voluminous for ordinary readers. these essays were written during leisure hours towards the close of a busy life. they were published first in two different newspapers. this will account for their form, and for the absence of either alphabetical or chronological sequence. the earlier ones were written for friends in my old home in the south; the later ones for my new friends in the north. in bringing them together into book form i have remembered the increasing number of tourists who require food for the mind as well as for the body, and i have remembered my own want, in years past, of some concise account of those whose names were perpetually before me while moving from place to place in these attractive regions. to such tourists especially i respectfully dedicate my biographic sketches, though not without a hope that they may reach, and be of use to, a still wider circle of readers. frederick sessions. the brant, kendal. contents page author's preface iii i. the english opium eater: thomas de quincey: .--the man .--his books ii. a pioneer of political reform: harriet martineau iii. a lover of beauty: gerald massey iv. a poet engraver: william james linton: .--the man .--his books and his art v. a successful novelist: eliza lynn linton: .--the woman .--her books vi. the philosopher of brantwood: john ruskin: .--the man .--his art-teaching and his books vii. a great life marred: samuel taylor coleridge viii. a life to pity: hartley coleridge ix. george the fourth's laureate: robert southey x. victoria's first laureate: william wordsworth xi. a friend of great poets: charles lloyd xii.'christopher north': john wilson xiii. the champion of lord bacon: james spedding xiv. two beautiful lives: william and lucy smith xv. two broad thinkers: frederic and f. w. h. meyer (father and son) xvi. a religious medievalist: frederick william faber: .--the man .--his books xvii. john ruskin's friends: the sisters of the thwaite, and their brother xviii. a learned young lady: elizabeth smith xix. a country doctor and his stories (folk-speech): dr. alexander craig gibson xx. two pioneer educationists: thomas and matthew arnold xxi. 'drunken barnaby': richard braithwaite xxii. last words about our celebrities list of illustrations dove cottage, grasmere _frontispiece_ thomas de quincey _facing page_ the knoll, ambleside " brantwood, coniston lake " john ruskin in old age " the house at herne hill in which ruskin was born in " medallion on the ruskin memorial, derwentwater " samuel taylor coleridge " nab cottage, rydal " wine street, bristol " southey's monument in crosthwaite church, keswick " joseph cottle, of bristol " old brathay " charles lloyd and his wife " elleray, windermere " view of windermere " yewdale " hawkeshead, from esthwaite water " fox how, ambleside " burneside hall, near kendal " swarthmore hall, ulverstone " grasmere and dove cottage 'once i absolutely went forwards from coniston to the very verge of hammerscar, from which the whole vale of grasmere suddenly breaks upon the view in a style of almost theatrical surprise, with its lovely valley stretching before the eye in the distance, the lake lying immediately below, with its solemn ark-like island of four and a half acres in size seemingly floating on its surface, and its exquisite outline on the opposite shore, revealing all its little bays and wild sylvan margins, feathered to the edge with wild flowers and ferns. in one quarter, a little wood, stretching for about half a mile towards the outlet of the lake; more directly in opposition to the spectator, a few green fields; and beyond them, just two bowshots from the water, a little white cottage gleaming from the midst of trees, with a vast and seemingly never-ending series of ascents, rising above it to the height of more than three thousand feet. that little cottage was wordsworth's from the time of his marriage, and earlier; in fact, from the beginning of the century to the year . afterwards, for many a year it was mine.'--thomas de quincey: _autobiographic sketches_. [illustration: thomas de quincey. by a. c. lucchesi.] the english opium eater thomas de quincey i.--the man 'oh! mr. de quinshy--sir, but you're a pleasant cretur--and were i ask't to gie a notion o' your mainners to them that had never seen you, i should just use twa words, urbanity and amenity.'--the ettrick shepherd in _noctes ambrosianæ_. had you been in edinburgh on a certain day of the early spring in the year , you might have met a little, undersized, slight-framed man, with a somewhat stealthy tread, and shy, furtive glances--like one who dreads being watched and overtaken--stepping quickly along the streets. he is dressed in an overcoat, buttoned close to the chin, beneath which is no other coat. at first sight you think him a youth. on a nearer approach you notice his hair is turning gray, and that his fair-complexioned face and massive brow are mapped all over with the finest of fine wrinkles, denoting his age, which is actually almost sixty-five. let us see where he goes. presently he reaches the publishing office of _hogg's instructor_, and the weird little man is shown into the editor's office, and as he seems tired out with the ten miles' walk he says he has taken from his village home, he is kindly told to seat himself. no sooner has he done so, than he produces from one of his pockets a packet of manuscript sheets and a small handbrush from another. he tells the astonished editor that he is thomas de quincey, whose name by that time was known all over the english-speaking world, and that he wishes to contribute to the new periodical. as he talks, he unfolds each separate sheet, and, carefully wiping it with his brush, lays it on the desk. editor hogg goes to his safe and places a sufficient sum in the hands of the shy stranger, and thus begins a fast friendship and a literary connection which results in the publication of some fourteen volumes of scattered essays--essays the like of which are not to be found elsewhere in our mother tongue either for learning or for inimitable force and elegance of style. the friendship only ended with the death of de quincey nine years later. now let us follow him to his home. his wife has been dead some years. on her death the eldest daughter, still a mere girl, took upon herself the care of the other children and their loving and famous, but most eccentric, father. she removed the household to the village of lasswade, and their cottage made for them and all their visitors a bright and happy centre of attraction. it is night ere he reaches his home, but that is no matter, for he is in the habit of taking long and lonely rambles far into the night and early morning, flitting about so silently as to startle benighted travellers as if they had seen a ghost. this night he has walked enough, and retires to his own room--a room crowded with a confused mass of books, which leave only a narrow passage along which he can just screw himself into his chair by the fire. a wineglassful of laudanum is poured out by him from a decanter close at hand, and he drinks it off, though it is of strength sufficient to kill two or three ordinary people. now, for a while, is his season of recuperation and brilliant writing, till, as daylight approaches, he turns into his simple bedroom and sleeps. next day, probably, and for many days thereafter we should seek him in vain at these his headquarters, for he has other lodgings, two or three of them, in the city, each simply running over with books. into one of these hiding-places we are introduced by one of his own essays, wherein he amusingly describes his efforts, aided by his daughters, to discover a manuscript which he desired to publish, and which was found at last at the bottom of a metal bath crammed with papers, receipts, letters, and folios of his own neat handwriting. he has left some other bundles of valuable books and essays at some booksellers, whose very name and address he has forgotten, for he has literally no memory at all for such mundane things, and no kind of idea of the value of money. he would sue for the loan of a few shillings _in forma pauperis_ when scores of pounds were due to him from publishers who would have been only too glad to settle with him promptly. a bank bill or a large note would lie inside some book till its hiding-place was forgotten, simply because he had not the remotest idea how to turn it into cash. on the other hand, when it was cashed he was lavishly generous to every beggar and impostor whom he came across, being one of the most genuinely sympathetic of men, ready to talk with the unfortunates of the pavements, with no thought of sin or shame in his heart, and to do them a good turn; and so fond of little children that one of his greatest griefs--the death of wordsworth's infant daughter--was undoubtedly amongst the acutest pains of his life. earning money, after his early struggles were over, more freely than most literary men of the day, so careless and so simple-minded was he that he had to fly for sanctuary from his creditors within the precincts of holyrood, from whence he was only free to come forth on sundays, and if perchance he was decoyed into some friend's house, and stayed late unwittingly, entrancing the company with his torrents of living eloquence and unexampled knowledge, there he had to lie _perdu_ till sunday came round again. loving, and beloved of all who knew him, unsophisticated and child-like as he was in middle and later manhood, he had had as rough an experience of the dark and troublous side of the world as any man of his century. he was born in manchester, where his father, who died early of consumption, was a well-to-do manufacturer. his mother, who was of a socially higher grade, and of a rigid puritan character, never understood her sensitive son, and never took him to her heart or entered his. very touching are the autobiographic accounts he gives of his sensations on the death of a little sister; how he stole into the silent chamber and kissed the cold lips, and fell apparently into a kind of trance, which, young as he was, made his eyes fill 'with the golden fulness of life'; 'a vault,' he says, 'seemed to open in the zenith of the far blue sky, a shaft which ran up for ever. i, in spirit, rose as if on billows that also ran up the shaft for ever; and the billows seemed to pursue the throne of god; but that also ran before us and fled away for ever,' and so he goes on, 'till,' says he, 'i slept ... and when i awoke i found myself standing, as before, close to my sister's bed.' later, too, in church, the organ music awoke within him the deep mysticism of his nature, and he beheld with inner vision, as the solemn notes pealed and sobbed, dreams and visions, and heard oracles, and had with god, as he supposed, 'communion undisturbed.' these dream-echoes haunted him more or less all his life. and it was this delicate, refined nature which was terrorized and domineered over by a rough, fighting elder brother, who forced him into conflict with town boys and victimized him incessantly at home. it was this quick-learning, preternaturally intelligent boy--who could beat all his schoolmates at greek and other book-knowledge--who was sent to dull and cruel masters, who misused him and drove him in the end to run away and hide himself in wales, and afterwards in london. in the great metropolis, in a desolate old house at the corner of greek street and soho square, with only a little waif of a girl to share his misery and solitude, he spent many months, his only other acquaintances a hard old lawyer, who made him a tool, and a girl of the streets, whom he calls 'poor ann of oxford street,' who had rescued him from death when he lay famishing on a doorstep. how he was discovered by his family; how he was sent to oxford, and how when there his sensitiveness led him to shirk the examinations for his degree; how he went to the lakes of westmorland to live, edited a kendal newspaper, associated with wordsworth, coleridge, southey, professor wilson, and many another celebrity of the day; how he married a farmer's daughter, who made him an exemplary wife; how he had contracted the terrific opium habit, and how he fought it, conquered it, and fell again before it; how he filled, even in the days of his poverty and struggling life, one cottage after another with precious volumes of ancient and modern lore; and how he migrated northward, and lived in and near edinburgh, as he was doing when we first met him--all these things you must read for yourselves in his 'english opium eater,' and in his entrancing 'autobiographic sketches,' or else in a life of him by dr. japp or by professor masson. his death came not unawares to terminate a period of helpless weariness with some delirium, the after-effects of opium doses. but even in delirium his dreams, though they greatly tried him, revealed the gentle spirit of the man. telling his daughter one of them, he said: 'you know i and the children were invited to the great supper--the great supper of jesus christ. so, wishing the children to have suitable dresses for such an occasion, i had them all dressed in white. they were dressed from head to foot in white. but some rough men in the streets of edinburgh, as we passed on our way to the supper, seeing the little things in complete white, laughed and jeered at us, and made the children much ashamed.' his daughter records: 'as the waves of death rolled faster and faster over him, suddenly out of the abyss we saw him throw up his arms, which to the last retained their strength, and he said distinctly, and as if in great surprise, "sister, sister, sister!"' so he fell on sleep. of books and conversation 'a great scholar, in the highest sense of the term, is not one who depends simply on an infinite memory, but also on an infinite and electrical power of combination, bringing together from the four winds, like the angel of the resurrection, what else were dust from dead men's bones, into the unity of breathing life. 'and of this let everyone be assured--that he owes to the impassioned books which he has read, many a thousand more of emotions than he can consciously trace back to them. dim by their origination, these emotions yet arise in him, and mould him through life like the forgotten incidents of childhood. 'books teach by one machinery, conversation by another; and if these resources were trained into correspondence to their own separate ideals, they might become reciprocally the complements of each other.'--thomas de quincey: _essay on pope_. the english opium eater thomas de quincey ii.--his books 'de quincey! farewell! many pleasing hours have we spent in the perusal of thy eloquent page, and not a few in listening to thy piercing words. not a few tears have we given to thy early sorrows. with no little emotion have we followed the current of thy romantic narrative.' --gilfillan's _literary portraits_. we have already seen that de quincey's collected essays filled, in the edition prepared by himself, as many as fourteen volumes. how many there are in the more recent edition by professor masson i do not at the moment remember, but they are in most public libraries, and can be heartily commended both for their careful annotation and the excellence of their typography. this latter point is a great one for the book-lover, who believes that everything he reads should be pleasant to handle and a delight to the eyes, provided always that its price is within reach of a moderately-filled purse. of the quality of the contents of the fourteen volumes there are diverse critical opinions. let me appraise a few of them before offering my own. dr. traill ('social england'), while speaking highly of our author's remarkable powers of literary expression, his wit, pathos, and humour, considers him 'unequal' in merit, and is almost absurdly wrong when he talks of de quincey dividing a certain portion of his life 'between bohemianizing in london and lion-hunting in the lake district.' two more utterly unsuitable words could hardly have been found with which to describe the early experiences of our quaint, little, oversensitive 'thomas paperverius,' as hill burton calls him in 'the book hunter,' than 'bohemianizing' and 'lion-hunting.' we will, however, forgive dr. traill, since one who was by nature an unsympathetic critic could not possibly rise above his own customary level, and also because he gives de quincey a place of honour as the originator of the modern school of 'prose poets,' represented by professor wilson, his contemporary, and in later years by john ruskin. the professor wilson here named is, of course, he who is still known by his _nom de plume_ of 'christopher north.' close friends were these two great walkers, great talkers, and great writers. at first sight an ill-assorted pair must they have seemed to anyone who met them together on the hills above windermere, the celtic giant striding along, like one of ossian's heroes, with 'his yellow hair streaming upon the wind,' and his undersized comrade half running by his side. as they climbed the mountain they were fain to discourse of all things in heaven and on earth, for they were both eclectics of a high order, both deeply versed in german literature and metaphysics, both keenly observant of nature and of current events, and both excellent classical and english scholars. the more wilson knew of de quincey the better he liked and appreciated him, even though an occasional little breeze ruffled the calmness of their intercourse. the latter owed to 'kit' his introduction to _blackwood's magazine_, of which he was then editor-in-chief. you will also remember--you, at any rate, who are familiar with the charming 'noctes ambrosianæ' (though, i fear, you are in a sad minority in these days of scrappy periodicals and flimsy popular fiction)--but you of the elect few will remember the genial fun which wilson pokes at 'the opium eater,' and how cleverly he imitates his all but inimitable style, and banters him on his out-of-the way bits of attic or teutonic lore, as well as on his habits of tagging on one idea to another till he bids fair to lay the whole universe under contribution to his analytical and illuminative conversation. you will remember, further, that he puts into the mouth of 'the ettrick shepherd' many such passages as the following, professing to tease pleasantly the subject of them: 'as for "the opium eater," he lives in a world o' his ain, where there are nae magazines o' ony sort, but o' hail and sleet, and thunder, and lichtnin', and pyramids, and babylonian terraces, covering wi' their fallen gardens, that are now naething but roots and trunks o' trees, and bricks o' pleasure houses, the unknown tombs o' them that belonged once to the beasts o' the revelation,' and much more of the same sort of chaff, running into a paragraph three times the length of this quotation. crabbe robinson, in his 'diary,' that wonderful repertoire of chit-chat about the celebrities of his day, says 'all that de quincey wrote is curious if not valuable; commencing with his best-known "confessions of an english opium eater," and ending with his scandalous but painfully-interesting autobiography in _tait's magazine_.' scandalous quotha! this most 'valuable' production has passed into our choicest literature, while mr. robinson's own memoranda are barely known, if at all, beyond a small circle of bookworms. the 'diary' has become a mere quarry in which historians and biographers dig for their building materials, while de quincey's life is a more enduring monument to his fame than if it had been of marble. george gilfillan has far more nearly hit the mark when he pens this critique: 'in all his writings we find a lavish display of learning. you see it bursting out, whether he will or no; never dragged in as by cart-ropes; and his allusions, glancing in all directions, show even more than his direct quotations that his learning is encyclopædic. his book of reference is the brain. nor must we forget his style. it is massive, masculine, and energetic; ponderous in its construction, slow in its motion, thoroughly english, yet thickly sprinkled with archaisms and big words, peppered to just the proper degree with the condiments of simile, metaphor, and poetic quotation; select, without being fastidious; strong, without being harsh; elaborate, without being starched into formal and false precision.' we will pass now from these critical estimates to our own mere likings and preferences among de quincey's very voluminous 'selections grave and gay.' i give the first place--the place of vantage and of honour--to the autobiography already alluded to above, for it burns and scintillates with the fire of genius, kindled by the action of unique experiences upon a unique temperament. next must come, of course, the 'confessions,' which made him famous in the first instance. this is a volume from which, in my limited space, i can make no typical extracts, meandering as the pages do among golden visions and uncanny dreams begotten by the hideous narcotic drug, and lingering lovingly among picturesque sketches of the men and maidens of the villages and country towns he strayed to during his flight from school and home, giving us glimpses now of 'elaborate and pompous sunsets hanging over the mountains of wales,' and anon plunging us into the profoundest depths of german philosophy and theology. sometimes he makes us smile at a curious and unexpected phrase, or some simile that is apt, and yet at first sight seems incongruous, with a spice of exaggeration, such as the statement that the shoulders of the porter who carried away his trunk were 'broad as salisbury plain.' one of the most characteristic of his tales is that of 'the spanish military nun,' a true narrative, unearthed by him from the authentic lore of spain, of an episode in the conquest of south america, and relating to a certain catarina (prettily called by him 'our dear kate') who escaped from a convent in the mother country, donned armour, fought battles and duels, was beloved by marriageable girls, forced a passage across the andes, and finally was drowned in the western atlantic. the story is told with humour and much feeling, and has no counterpart, except in the narrative similarly discovered and freely translated by southey, called 'the expedition of orsua, and the crimes of aguirre.' perhaps the most celebrated of his essays, though, i fancy, better known by its title than actually read, is that 'on murder considered as one of the fine arts.' it is an elaborate _jeu d'esprit_, of which the grave introduction, brimming over with fun, not a muscle of the author's face moving in the telling, commences thus: 'most of us who read books have probably heard of a society for the promotion of vice, of the hell-fire club, founded in the last century by sir francis dashwood. at brighton, i think it was, that a society was formed for the suppression of virtue. that society was itself suppressed; but i am sorry to say that another exists in london of a character still more atrocious. in tendency it may be denominated a society for the encouragement of murder, but according to their own delicate euphemismos is styled "the society of connoisseurs in murder." they profess to be curious in homicide; amateurs and dilettante in the various modes of carnage, and, in short, murder-fanciers.' probably to the majority of his readers his 'english mail-coach,' with its sub-chapters on 'the glory of motion,' 'the vision of sudden death,' and 'dream fugue,' will be the most attractive of all his pieces. we who are old enough to remember 'the arrow,' 'the rival,' 'the tally-ho,' and other four-horse mail-coaches, on which we rode seventy miles to and from boarding-school, or to visit far-off country relatives, can enter into the spirit of these sketches _con amore_. the young folk, who have ridden only in hansom-cabs and excursion trains, have little idea of the perils and pains, and the pleasures, of old coaching days, on the old coaching roads, or at the old coaching inns, in weary winter rides, or glorious sunny jaunts in summer time. they should certainly read these essays, and learn how their parents and grandparents travelled in days antecedent to steam and electricity. if sterner qualities are needed by more laborious readers, let me commend to their attention that marvel of historic picture-writing, 'the revolt of the tartars'; or 'the essenes' may suit them, if they be biblical students, even though they may not agree with de quincey's conclusions; or there is that painstaking, minutely-descriptive chapter on 'the toilet of a hebrew lady.' if they inquire for political knowledge--and, indeed, this is sadly lacking, not only among working men, but even more by professional men, who live outside the contact and struggle with the hardships and necessities of business life--where will you find anything more convincing, anywhere any severer logic, than that in the dissertations on political economy? i say nothing of his other historical, philosophical, and theological writings--his theories, speculations, and researches--for i would advise none to begin the systematic study of de quincey with these. i would recommend beginners to taste first his sketches of contemporary writers and his lighter papers, and then, if they find they acquire a liking for these, to pass on to the more recondite. i confess that, however fascinating his literary style may be, it requires some little culture to appreciate it at the outset. if a first attempt prove no success, let the 'miscellanies' be laid aside for a while, till the man himself has become well known and companionable. then a second attempt can hardly be a failure. let me finish this article by inviting my readers' perusal of that masterpiece of jean paul richter's, so ably translated by our 'old man eloquent,' and forming the appendix to his essay on the system of the heavens. it begins, 'and god called up from dreams a man into the vestibule of heaven, saying, "come thou hither, and see the glory of my house." and to his angels he said, "take him and undress him from his robes of flesh, and put a new breath into his nostrils, and arm him with sail-broad wings for flight. only touch not with any change his human heart--the heart that weeps and trembles." it was done, and with a mighty angel for his guide, the man stood ready for his infinite voyage, and from the terraces of heaven, without sound or farewell, at once they wheeled away into endless space.' the brathay valley, ambleside 'it is the place for the earliest flowers of the spring, and distinguished by the broom growing thickly on the bank of the river, and yellow globe-ranunculus flourishing on the rocks at the brink, or in the midst of the stream. in the autumn, the side of loughrigg, which overhangs the valley, is splendid with flowering heather. the opposite character of this and the sister valley is striking, and led to the remark of a resident of ambleside that if one wants a meditative walk in winter, one goes round the brathay valley--sure to meet nobody but the postman, whereas, if one needs recreation after a morning of study, the walk should be round the rothay valley, where one is sure to meet all one's acquaintances. the finest view in this valley, one of the finest in the whole district, is from skelwith fold.... the stranger will hardly aver that he ever saw a more perfect picture than this, with the fall (skelwith force) in the centre, closed in by rock and wood on either hand, and by langdale pikes behind.'--harriet martineau: _guide to the lakes_. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ the knoll, ambleside. the home of harriet martineau ( - ).] ii a pioneer of political reform harriet martineau 'she was born to be a destroyer of slavery, in whatever form, in whatever place, all over the world, wherever she saw or thought of it ... in the degraded offspring of former english poor-law ... in english serfdom forty years ago ... in the fruits of any abuse--social, legislative, or administrative--or in actual slavery.'--florence nightingale. perhaps the most instructive and reliable book ever written about the actual condition of england, and about her people's struggles for light, liberty, and better conditions of life during the first half of the nineteenth century is miss martineau's 'history of the thirty years' peace.' it is emphatically a citizen's history as distinguished from a partizan politician's, and it ought to be read, together with her 'introduction' to it, by every young man who desires to possess an intelligent acquaintance with the social problems of his age and country. the ignorance of the present generation of youthful electors, when compared with the knowledge of their parents at a similar time of life, often astounds me. it is probably due to two causes--first, to the fact that their fathers were, forty or fifty years ago, only just emerging from the dust and smoke of hard-fought political battles, and so had the causes of them well engrained into their minds, while they of this generation have not yet so much as 'smelt powder' in the struggle against still-existing grievances; and, secondly, that the present-day education in elementary schools practically ignores the teaching of history, while ordinary secondary schools teach english history only in 'samples,' and those seldom of the most modern periods. no other of harriet martineau's works will take rank with her 'thirty years' peace,' yet they all had a great reputation when she was reckoned the greatest living english woman, and they nearly all had a wide sale, though, having been written for passing purposes, they naturally died out of the popular memory when their purposes were accomplished, and fresh interests had come into view. they were mostly stories--novelettes--written to illustrate such questions as the then burning ones of free trade, colonization by emigration of the pauper and the criminal, the incidence and amendment of the poor laws, the repression and punishment of crime, actual and ideal systems of taxation, the relationships of capital and labour, and the like. in addition to these, she wrote a few volumes of pure fiction, some reminiscences of travel in the east--through egypt, across the sinaitic desert, and northwards past jerusalem to damascus--and some others respecting her stay in the united states of america in the troublous anti-slavery times preceding the civil war. in her earlier days she also wrote some religious and theological essays and sketches for unitarian magazines. of her fictions, two may be mentioned--'deerbrook,' which she considered her masterpiece, and 'feats on the fjord.' the latter was favourite reading of my own boyhood. i took it to norway with me in later days, and found it in every way a most accurate description of scandinavian farm life, as well as of coast and mountain scenery--in fact, quite as much so as the stories of björnstjerne björnson himself. the extraordinary thing about this is that the authoress had never been in norway, and took all the settings of her hero's adventures from narratives of other people's travels. her autobiography--written when, in advancing age, heart-disease had marked her for its victim at no distant date--with the appendix thereto, compiled by her devoted friend, mrs. chapman--furnishes us with all the available materials for a sketch of her life; and, indeed, it is the most valuable of all her multitudinous productions, with the exception already noted. it is the story of a noble and unceasing struggle, successfully carried through, against internal difficulties, both mental and physical of no ordinary character, and against external ones that would have beaten any commonplace person. it is, however, also a revelation of spiritual processes and of gradual abandonment of once-cherished beliefs that does not fascinate us, and leaves us with grave doubts as to the acuteness of her philosophical insight, and of her grasp of real christian teaching. perhaps, too, it was natural that her independence of character, and her constant overwork and overstrain, should lead her into impatience of the frailties of others, and quicken her contempt for many of the celebrities she knew personally. born in of unitarian parents, in norwich, she grew to be a shy, sensitive, but quietly-observant and clever girl. her upbringing was on the repressive lines of a conscientious but narrow-minded mother, who was without sympathy for, or knowledge of, her 'ugly duckling's' yearnings or capacity. the last thing the mother dreamed of was that the 'ugly duckling' was in truth a cygnet, whose swan-plumage the world would one day recognise. the daughter longed inexpressibly for words and deeds of parental love which never came to her, and so she grew silent, introspective, and morbid. in mature age she became morbidly ashamed of her childhood's, perhaps inevitable, morbidness. when her literary instincts were bound to find a vent, her first venture in magazine articles had to be made in secret, and, when they were discovered, efforts were made to repress any continuation of them, and she was sternly told to stick to her sewing-needle. she was fortunate in being sent to a good day-school, which counteracted by its learned and genial atmosphere the influences of home. it was, too, a blessing in disguise when, her never robust health failing, her parents sent her to relatives in bristol, whose joyous spirits and cultured tastes were an inspiration to her. a tendency to deafness, which became chronic, and at last compelled the habitual use of an ear-trumpet, did not, till she conquered the disadvantage by her brave fortitude, make her desirous of company or help her to make much way in it. the one trusted friend of her youth was her beloved younger brother james, afterwards the eminent unitarian minister and theologian. to him she confided her secret aspirations, and he encouraged her finally to proceed to london and try and find a publisher for the series of political economy stories she projected writing. her heroic efforts to find someone who would risk putting them on the market is one of the romances of literary biography. her father was dead. the manufacturing firm in which her mother's monies were invested had failed. she was alone in london, and without knowledge or influence. how she 'trudged many miles through the clay of the streets, and the fog of the gloomiest december,' only to be rejected, sometimes politely, and sometimes rudely, by everyone to whom she showed her mss. and explained her scheme; and how at last she despairingly accepted what seemed almost impossible, and certainly were unreasonable, terms, offered by a young bookseller without business connections; how a wealthy relative unexpectedly stepped in to guarantee a portion of her personal risk; and how she suddenly sprang into fame--are not all these things faithfully set forth in her autobiographical chapter headed 'aged twenty-nine'? from depths of discouragement that would have effectually damped most aspiring authors she at once became a 'society lion,' or rather, to retain our former metaphor, she was hailed as one of the swans of literature, and, as was said of the royal bird in andersen's parable, 'the most beautiful of them all.' she endured a long and terrible strain, while for several years producing a story a month, which broke down her health seriously, yet she attended nearly every evening some social function, which brought her into intimacy with the most celebrated men and women of her generation. it is in her records of this period that the most unpleasant traits in her disposition become apparent. almost every page betokens a spirit of captious criticism of her acquaintances, and almost every one is belittled by her. about this time, too, unitarianism lost altogether its slackening hold of her. she saw that its dogmas were entirely contrary to scripture revelation and teaching, but instead of rectifying her faith to the christian standard, she abandoned the standard itself, and became an avowed positivist. she writes herself down as a convinced 'necessitarian,' though if anyone's life and conduct effectually belied such a creed it was hers. no one ever gave stronger proofs of a self-determined will, free from all external or internal compulsion, than she. money as well as fame became now her well-earned portion, and she found herself able to purchase an annuity, spend some time abroad, and buy land and build a house thereon at ambleside, by the shores of beautiful winander. in this charming home she spent her declining years, following her favourite pursuits, advocating mesmerism, which she considered had raised her up from a long-endured nervous prostration, and playing with success the part of the lady bountiful to the neighbourhood. it was whilst at this place that she translated the works of comte, and lost thereby, what she valued most in the world--the intimacy of her beloved brother james, who, like herself, a model of conscientiousness, publicly reviewed her introductions and comments with some severity. both brother and sister had opinions, held them tenaciously, and expressed them fearlessly. on her side no sign of change from positivism was ever given. the same dauntless spirit which bore her through the anti-slavery campaign, when in america she was threatened by the slave-owners with personal violence, upheld her now in her championship of the philosophy of altruism without a divine fatherhood. we believe her mistaken, but admire her unflinching adhesion to what she deemed the truth. it was in her beautiful house, the knoll, that she passed behind the veil, and entered into the clear seeing of eternity. she died, says her closest friend and biographer, 'in the summer sunset of her home amid the westmorland mountains, on june , , after twenty-one years of diligent, devoted, suffering, joyful years there, attended by the family friends she most loved, and in possession of all her mental powers up till the last expiring day, aged seventy-four years.' she lies among her kindred, descendants of french refugees, in the old cemetery at birmingham. in her maidenhood she had once loved, and been beloved by one of the other sex, but events occurred to prevent the consummation of her love by marriage, and it proved a happy escape. thenceforward she lived only to endure 'many a lofty struggle for the sake of duties, sternly, faithfully fulfilled, for which the anxious mind must watch and wake, and the strong feelings of the heart be stilled.' the true poet 'who wears a singing-robe is richly dight; the poet, he is richer than a king. he plucks the veil from hidden loveliness; his gusts of music stir the shadowing boughs, to let in glory on the darkened soul. upon the hills of light he plants his feet to lure the people up with heart and voice; at humblest human hearths drops dews divine to feed the violet virtues nestling there. his hands adorn the poorest house of life with rare abiding shapes of loveliness. all things obey his soul's creative eye; for him earth ripens fruit-like in the light; green april comes to him with smiling tears, like some sweet maiden who transfigured stands in dewy light of first love's rosy dawn, and yields all secret preciousness, his bride. he reaps the autumn without scythe or sickle; and in the sweet low singing of the corn hears plenty hush the pining poor.' gerald massey. [illustration: brantwood, coniston lake. successively the home of gerald massey, william j. and eliza lynn linton, and john ruskin.] iii a lover of beauty gerald massey 'like the norseman of whom he sings, he is everywhere true, brave, generous, and free. he is before all things a patriot. he has an intense belief in the genius of england as the champion of liberty, and the pioneer of freedom.'--_the poets and the poetry of the century._ he is still living, some seventy-five years of age, and it is difficult to write anything of the nature of a biography of one still amongst us. there are a few facts, however, patent to all the world, which may be fitly reproduced. perhaps the most striking of these is that, like 'festus bailey,' he did his best poetical work in his young manhood, and the early promise of ripening in power and of richer fruit-bearing has not been fulfilled. massey, writing some sweet and inspiring lyrics, and giving evidence of acute appreciation of the masters of literature in his once well-known lectures, seems to have lost himself in a maze of egyptian and anti-christian pseudo-philosophies even less edifying than the science evolved from the 'inner consciousness' of such holy men as jacob behmen, peter sterry, or swedenborg, and as incomprehensible to the ordinary mind as the strange mysticism of william blake. he has, as a poet, which was his true function in life, committed intellectual suicide, and his resurrection into mythical regions and pamphleteering on 'luniolatry,' 'the seven souls of man,' 'the coming religion,' and other such subjects, will not only fail to add to his fame, but in the future will be remembered merely by curiosity-hunters as the vagaries of a capable but erratic genius. like his own atle the fur-hunter in chasing the squirrel, he has lost his sledge-load of treasures. i know that he does not personally think so, and that some, at least, of his friends agree with him. he found verse-making insufficient for subsistence--as, indeed, might have been expected--and it has been written of him that in turning to his final career he began to 'dredge the old sea-bottoms of the past, lover of beauty who gave up all for truth.' still, we shall ever regret the change. some of his best life-work was done by massey at brantwood, on the shores of coniston water, including 'the ballad of babe christabel,' 'craig-crook castle,' and 'war-waits.' he had come here after a period of stress necessitated by his outward circumstances, which had been of the poorest. his father was a canal-boatman of tring, in hertfordshire, and for him, as for all of the wage-earners of those evil days of the corn laws and other oppressions, there was virtually no education. he was sent to work in a mill when eight years of age, for twelve hours a day, at d. to s. d. per week. it was the sorrows and sufferings of such little ones as he which inspired mrs. browning's never-to-be-forgotten 'cry of the children.' possessed of a resolute will and an inquiring spirit, he taught himself all he could from the very few books accessible to him. while passing through years of poverty and hardship, engaged in straw-plaiting, he associated himself with like-minded youths of his own and a somewhat better social class, threw himself ardently into the progressive movements of the day, and soon found his way into print in some of the restricted and government-worried local newspapers. when but twenty-one years old he was actually editing a serial called _the spirit of the age_. a year later he became one of the secretaries of the christian democratic movement headed by maurice and kingsley, wrote verses for various publications, and by-and-by mustered courage to issue his 'voices of freedom and lyrics of love.' this little book and his next brought him into contact or correspondence with hepworth dixon, w. savage landor, 'george eliot,' and tennyson. tennyson writes him respecting the 'fine lyrical impulse, and the rich, half-oriental imagination' he found in his poems. 'george eliot' is said to have taken him for her model of 'felix holt the radical.' she describes her hero as a somewhat eccentric-mannered young man, shaggy-headed, large-eyed, and strong-limbed, wearing neither waistcoat nor cravat, and in abrupt sentences denouncing unreality and humbug, though amenable to softening social and intellectual influences. this, at any rate, is her introduction of him to her readers. massey's first love-story (he was happily married) was, at least, as much an idyll, it would appear, as that of holt, and the deep home love, the consecrated affection of the wedded life, were the inspirations of some of his sweetest lyrics, just as his intense yearnings for the betterment of the common people were that of his patriotic ones. later in life, after he had left coniston, we find him an accepted essayist in some leading literary magazines, and a lecturer on literary subjects, living in edinburgh. another volume or two, with war songs and ballads among them, evoked by what england has long ago become ashamed of--the crimean war--completed the first stage of his career, and the only one that concerns us here. he has collected into a volume--adopting a description of himself as 'the most unpublished of authors'--a few of his best poems, which one critic thinks contains everything of his worth preserving. i do not agree with this dictum. some of his best are omitted, though we have to thank this self-same critic for preserving them for us. now comes for me the ungrateful task of selecting from his garden of delights, not posies, but a few blossoms and a few typical petals that may serve to show the form and hue of the blossoms. in doing so, many of the best must of necessity be passed over. do you know 'babe christabel'? is it not pathetically true to experience? has it not set many a chord of many a mother's riven heart vibrating as she reads of 'a merry may morn, all in the prime of that sweet time when daisies whiten, woodbines climb, when the dear babe christabel was born'? and how, coming through the 'golden gates of morn' to what seemed a glorious destiny, and touching the earth with a fresh romance for the happy parents, she grew in loveliness only to be caught away, ere reaching womanhood, by angels who gathered her 'delighted as the children do the primrose that is first in spring.' and do you know 'cousin winnie'? it is almost as pathetic, and quite as true, only in a different way. it narrates a lad's love for a cousin, married, when she reached maturity, to a friend of his, who brought trouble upon her, and for whom he suffered as she suffered, unable to help, and never telling out his affection for fear of causing division and dissension. his songs are far from being all sad. they are mostly redolent of bright fancy. 'pleasant it is, wee wife of mine, as by my side thou art, to sit and see thy dear eyes shine with bonfires of the heart! and young love smiles so sweet and shy from warm and balmy deeps, as under-leaf the fruit may try to hide, yet archly peeps; gliding along in our fairy boat, with prospering skies above, over the sea of time we float to another new world of love.' this lake-poet is not the laureate of the love of courtship, but of wedded bliss. 'oh, lay thy hand in mine, dear! we're growing old, we're growing old! but time hath brought no sign, dear! that hearts grow cold, that hearts grow cold!' begins another of what may be called the 'darby and joan' type. of the liberty songs, many are familiar to progressive politicians, or were till we got our terrible set-back at the late 'khaki' election. they need reissuing in a popular form. most people who read anything of this nature will remember the stanzas with the refrain: 'this world is full of beauty, as other worlds above, and if we did our duty it might be as full of love.' such another is 'the people's advent,' and the best of them 'the earth for all,' two lines in which were often quoted in former days of agitation: 'your mother earth, that gave you birth, you only own her for a grave.' massey's longer poems i dare not even begin to quote from, only giving a few solitary gems of thought by way of conclusion: 'i heard faith's low sweet singing in the night. and groping through the darkness touch'd god's hand.' 'ye sometimes lead my feet on the angel-side of life.' 'nature at heart is very pitiful, how gentle is the hand doth gently pull the coverlet of flowers o'er the face of death! and light up his dark dwelling-place!' 'creeds, empires, systems rot with age, but the great people's ever youthful: and it shall write the future's page to our humanity more truthful.' says gilfillan (a half-forgotten author himself): 'probably since burns there has been no such instance of a strong, untaught poet rising up from the ranks by a few strides, grasping eminence by the very mane, and vaulting into a seat so commanding with such ease and perfect mastery.' a night ramble 'i can recall ... our delight in the moonlight walk from the windermere station by the lakeside to ambleside, that loveliest five miles in all england; our next day's climb (the track missed) over the stake pass, after bathing under the fells in a pool at the head of langdale; how we lingered, dallying with our joy, on the mountain tops till night came on, a cloudy night of late september, after a day of autumn glory, overtaking us before we could reach the borrowdale road; how, unable even to grope our way, we lay down together on the stones to sleep, and awakened by rain, crept under an overhanging rock, and cold and hungry, smoked our pipes and talked till the dawning light enabled us to find a path to stonethwaite; how we sat in a cottage porch to await the rising of the inmates and welcome a breakfast of bad coffee and mutton-ham so salt that it scarified our mouths. no grave-minded man was either of the pair who went laughing and singing, if somewhat limping, on their way.'--william james linton: _memories_. iv a poet engraver william james linton i.--the man 'i would build up in my own mind a temple unto truth, and on its shrine an offering bind-- my age and youth.' w. j. linton. mr. linton succeeded gerald massey as occupant of brantwood. he came there from a home at miteside, on the west coast of cumberland, to which he had retired from london with his first wife and their family. he had been a member of an eminent wood-engraving firm, doing virtually all the earlier pictorial work for the _illustrated london news_, and when the proprietors of that journal commenced a block-making department of their own, he withdrew from his hatton garden business and sought to bring his other connection with him to the north. he had fallen in love with our beautiful mountain-land, he tells us, while on a walking tour with a once well-known and promising young poet--the late ebenezer jones--too soon cut off by consumption. of this friend linton afterwards wrote an affectionate appreciation, extolling his 'joyous and most passionate nature'--joyous under happy influences, passionate when his quick intuitions of right and wrong were outraged by injustice. perhaps it was due to this excursion that jones learned to love the rain. 'more than the wind, more than the snow, more than the sunshine, i love rain; whether it droppeth soft and low, whether it rusheth amain.' at miteside, near the confluence of two becks that flowed from wast water screes, and in which aforetime the romans fished for pearl-mussels, and under a line of fells, linton lived in full enjoyment of the wild beauty of the country, till the owner needing the house, he had to quit it. just at that moment brantwood came into the market, and, with a little of his own and some mortgage money, he purchased it. shortly after removing into it his wife died. she was the sister of another of his many poetic and republican friends--thomas wade--a man who, according to his brother-in-law, should have made a great name in literature, but missed doing so! they were a nest of singing-birds those vigorous young radicals of three-quarters of a century ago, singing not only of the better day they worked to bring in, but, as wade did, of the circling hills and wave-swept shores and 'all the amplitude of air and sea brooding in starry vastness.' what sort of a life mrs. linton had lived with her husband i do not know. that he must have often tried her patience and upset her domestic arrangements and felicities goes almost without saying. he was of an ardent and impulsive nature, deeply committed to european republicanism and its leaders, such as mazzini, the inspired conspirator, who loved god as he loved liberty and italian unity; such as the abbé lamennais, that noble french soul athirst for love, who shook off the papacy and the priesthood, and died, 'believing in god, loving the people'; such as the wealthy, university-trained russian aristocrat, herzen, who was imprisoned, sent to siberia, and finally exiled under the old 'drill sergeant,' czar nicholas. for meeting with these in public or in private her husband would leave her continually alone with her children, after his day's work was done, and spend in feeding the poorer outlaws the money he had toiled for, and very frequently would bring some hunted refugee home to live, or even to prepare to die, in his house. charles stolzman, the pole, he sheltered at brantwood, tended through his last sad hours, sent to millom to recruit, and when he finished his earthly career, in the little churchyard beneath the shadow of the lake mountains, linton laid to rest the body of the one whom he revered as a true, manly, upright patriot. the very appearance of linton while at coniston suggests, according to the portraits preserved of him, a man of penetrating intellect, erratic and versatile genius, impulsive generosity, and little common-sense. his head was a noble one, with long, white hair and beard, belonging either to an artist or a model, as might be preferred. in his eccentricity he not only brought to brantwood his engraving work and his friends from many nations, but printers, also, for the printing and publishing of his advanced newspaper--printers full of comradeship with their master, and getting paid when and how they could, or not at all, as things prospered or otherwise. and all this happened while the restless energy of the man set him sketching and engraving charming vignettes of this romantic district--some of the choicest we have among the thousand and one volumes about the lakes--collecting and writing about the local ferns, tramping the mountains, often having forgotten to take either food or money, and writing verses or translating them from his favourite french poets. one would have liked immensely to know the man, but certainly not to have lived with him. after the death of his wife--the miss wade spoken of--he was left with young children on his hands, and shortly afterwards he married eliza lynn, the novelist, better known as mrs. lynn linton, whose birthplace was crosthwaite rectory, at keswick. this marriage was anything but satisfactory, as any onlooker would have foretold in regard to a union between two such unusual and pronounced characters. after a while, brantwood being let, london was tried, the wife mingling in intellectual and sparkling society, and trying to induce her husband to appreciate it, the husband working fitfully at his art--in which he excelled--and living uneconomically among his beloved european republicans, editing magazines and papers that did not pay, and getting his letters opened with mazzini's and others by the british post office, under the orders of sir james graham, m.p. for carlisle, and home secretary. men of my age remember well the storm of indignation that raged through the country at this flagrant violation of english liberties, and the 'anti-graham' wafers we fastened our envelopes with by way of 'passive resistance' to the outrage. 'incompatibility of temperament' is, i believe, in some of the united states considered a just ground for divorce. it led to separation, by mutual consent, between the lintons, their selling brantwood to ruskin, w. j. going to america, where he ended his days, and eliza residing mostly in london, the centre of an attached circle, and making herself notorious for essays we shall have to speak of in another article. yet husband and wife continued to correspond on most affectionate terms till death separated them finally. linton maintained himself by his craft to which he had been apprenticed, and which he loved too well to abandon, and occupied much of his time in literary pursuits, becoming, like carlyle, kingsley, and many another youthful reformer, timid in old age, and desiring, as john bright said of earl russell, to 'rest and be thankful'--and as john bright himself did when such new movements as irish self-government in irish affairs came inevitably to the front. he was born in london in . a biographer wrote of him, after he was eighty years of age: 'mr. linton is one of those who never grow old. his notes are sweeter and clearer to-day than they were fifty years ago.' he died at eighty-six, in ; i can say nothing of his latter end. he, like his second wife, held 'advanced,' or--as some of us hold--retrogressive views on religion. yet, to judge by expressions in his works, god and another world still kept a hold upon his thoughts. few men succeed, after all, in making themselves atheists or believers in soullessness or annihilation. latent thoughts will out, in some way or other, in imaginative literature, or in passionate, profane swearing, or in ejaculatory prayer wrung from the heart by adversity. victor hugo closes a song translated by linton with: 'the tomb said-- "of the souls come in my power i fashion the angels fair."' the silenced singer 'the nest is built, the song hath ceased: the minstrel joineth in the feast, so singeth not. the poet's verse, crippled by hymen's household curse, follows no more its hungry quest. well if love's feathers line the nest. 'yet blame not that beside the fire love hangeth up his unstrung lyre! how sing of hope when hope hath fled, joy whispering lip to lip instead? or how repeat the tuneful moan when the obdurate's all my own? 'love, like the lark, while soaring sings: wouldst have him spread again his wings? what careth he for higher skies who on the heart of harvest lies, and finds both sun and firmament closed in the round of his content?' william james linton. a poet engraver william james linton ii.--his books and his art 'poets are all who love, who feel, great truths, and tell them;--and the truth of truths is love.' bailey's _festus_. we have seen how various were linton's tastes and sympathies. drawing and engraving, poetry, nature-study to some small extent, biography, magazine editing, and extreme politics--extreme for the age--relating not only to england, but to most of europe: all these occupied his attention, not in turn, but continuously. dealing with his published volumes, we must give first place to his autobiographical 'memories.' they are of ever-increasing value to the student of the evolution of the nineteenth century, for they are crammed with recollections and estimations of its makers, and with illustrations of the old 'condition of england' question. one of the earliest things that impressed him was the tolling of george iii.'s 'passing bell.' another was the trial of queen caroline and the popular excitement consequent thereon, and somewhat later the sordid funeral permitted her, 'the shabbiest notable funeral i ever saw,' he says. 'the demoralizing craze for state lotteries,' the wild debauchery of the court, press-gangs and fights between these and butchers armed with long knives, government terrorism over the press and the right of public speech, riots in wales for the purpose of demolishing turnpikes, and many more such things are recorded; and they unquestionably impelled him to take the side of the people against their despotic rulers. concurrently with these, however, he records the progressive movements and struggles of the working-classes for social and political emancipation, and for education and for such equality of opportunity as wise laws can secure. in the course of his narrative we meet, in addition to the continental agitators and ultra-radicals and chartists of england, and the duffys, mitchells, o'connells, o'connors, and o'briens of ireland, galaxies of literary celebrities, and men in the foremost ranks of art and science. he shows himself to have had strong prejudices for or against people, and he never scruples to record his opinions quite frankly. of thornton hunt and his relations to the pretty wife of g. h. lewes and to lewes himself, he remarks that the legal husband 'asserted his belief in communistic principles,' the two men only quarrelling over the expense of the double family! this lewes is that historian of philosophy, be it remembered, with whom 'george eliot' lived, though he was undivorced. for some reason or other, samuel carter hall, author and editor of the _art journal_, was linton's pet aversion. he asserts--i know not with what truth--that charles dickens made him sit for the portrait of 'pecksniff.' robert owen, the founder of 'new harmony' and of other socialistic and co-operative enterprises, he stigmatizes as impracticable, and 'a dry and unimaginative creature.' on the other hand, he has many pleasant and generous things to say about ruskin, 'the poet beyond all verse-makers of his time,' and 'a man of the noblest nature'; derwent coleridge, with whom he rambled around keswick, and who appeared to him to be 'a sensible, well-informed, genial and liberal clergyman'; harriet martineau, who lived near enough to be on visiting terms, 'a good-looking, comely, interesting old lady, very deaf, but cheerful and eager for news which she did not always catch correctly'; and many another, including the americans, whittier (of whom he wrote a life), longfellow, and emerson. linton's biographies of 'european republicans'--mostly reprints of magazine articles--are graphic and sympathetic. his sketch of mazzini's career i cannot say is the best extant, but it is good, and is the result of a warm and life-long personal friendship. his great work--for such it truly is--'the masters of wood-engraving,' is not only the best of a series of publications he issued on the history and technique of his own art, but is, and always will be, the text-book of the subject. wood-engraving is now almost entirely superseded by the various photographic 'processes.' his other purely literary productions ranged from a volume of children's stories, 'the flower and the star,' to 'poems and translations.' the children of days of long ago, when really good books for them were scarce, must have hung delighted over the apparently impromptu fairy-tales about the flowers of the sky and the stars of the earth commingling; and how the dear little boy dreamy eyes, and his sisters softcheek and brightface, sought and found them 'under the golden oak-buds of the great oak,' and under the bushes clothed with delicate young leaves of the honeysuckle, or in the evening glow, where the great red sun went down, like a ball of fire, behind the sea. linton was a true poet. his muse was a lyric rather than an epic or dramatic one. 'youth came: i lay at beauty's feet; she smiled, and said my song was sweet.' his first volume of poetry was entitled 'the plaint of freedom,' and one of its themes evoked a tribute in verse from w. s. landor. 'claribel,' seldom quoted now, was his second venture. 'grenville's last fight,' published in this collection, is a spirited ballad of a sea-fight in the western main, when the spanish fleet attacked the solitary english man-of-war, 'drove on us like so many hornets' nests, thinking their multitudes would bear us down,' and yet failed to conquer her, because her captain sank her rather than surrender. other pieces, too long to include here, are short enough to be set to music, and would be worth more than the sentimental or garish theatre stuff too many young ladies indulge in nowadays; such as-- 'oh, happy days of innocence and song, when love was ever welcome, never wrong, when words were from the heart, when folk were fain to answer truth with truthfulness again; oh, happy days of innocence and song.' and again, 'the silenced singer'--silenced on account of the consummation of his hope in the winning of his mate, when the nest was built, and he had 'closed in the round of his content.' and, once again, 'mind your knitting,' after the style of beranger, relating how the blind old mother heard the soft footfall of a lover, and noted the cessation of her daughter's clicking needles' task. 'tis the cat that you hear moving!' 'you speak false to me; i'd like robert better, loving you more openly. lucy! mind your knitting.' it is right to say a few words about linton as an artist. he was engaged upon much better work than the illustrated weekly papers which were at first his sheet-anchor. he was, for instance, employed by alexander gilchrist to reproduce the quaint and exquisitely-coloured designs of william blake. these beautiful reproductions are before me as i write, and they have not only the necessary accuracy of copied design, but also delicacy of touch sufficient to make them virtually indistinguishable from the master's own work. his own etchings adorn the fine volume on the lake country, written by his wife, mrs. lynn linton. there are few such drawings done nowadays. photography has, in some respects, greater accuracy, yet there is accuracy of insight illuminated by the artist-mind in linton's wood-cuts, whether these be of some pouring torrent on the river duddon, a view of the 'old man' from brantwood, a group of castellated boulders on the 'sad seashore,' a jutting crag upon great gable, or only a fallen pine on the fell-side, or a banner-like mist clinging to a mountain peak. he had a pretty fashion of illustrating his own writings, which has increased their value in the eyes of collectors. 'claribel' is thus brightened, and some may even prefer the pencilled pictures to the written drama. 'the flower and the star' has its landscapes, too, and its representations of jack climbing the beanstalk in the full moonlight, of the three people who cooked an egg, and of other items that make the stories what they are. even his 'ferns of the english lake country' have his own copies of the fronds he gathered. my edition is coloured by hand, though whether by himself or not i cannot say. 'he is a wood-engraver first, and a poet afterwards,' says one friendly critic. the same critic adds, 'as a translator, mr. linton has few equals'; and yet, on the whole, heretical as it may seem, i prefer his own utterances to his translations, and like best to have them decorated by his own pencil, for his draughtmanship and his poetic fancies are as the two edges of one sword with which he fought his way to a place in our literary valhalla. they both belonged to his love-service of humanity as he understood that service. his own prayer may be appropriately quoted: 'i am not worthy, love! to claim a place in thy close sanctuary; but of thy grace admit me to the outer courts, and so in time that inner worship i may learn, and on thy altar burn the sacrifice of woe!' he loved his race--too often at the cost of his own home happiness--and most of what trials and troubles he had were the fruits of his unselfishness. coniston 'coniston lake, that long and narrow sheet of water stretching its six miles of blue between the fells, deserves a more generous appreciation than what it has met with, and a more popular acceptance. and now that it has a railroad probing its very heart, it is likely that lovers will come round it as thickly as round windermere and derwentwater. take the circuit round the lake, beginning at the waterhead on the west side, and going southwards towards furness, past the islands and by brantwood on the east, as one example of the sweetness and the richness of the place. there is first that grand old man, at the foot of which you reverently walk, overshadowed by his huge crags as you pass through the ancient village of church coniston--one of those quaint villages with the flavour of old times about them, and the generous beautifying of nature around, so characteristic of our lake country. the old deer-park, where once the lord held his high days of sport and revelry, and which has still the inheritance of richer foliage and nobler growth than belong elsewhere, is one of those flavourings; so is that ivied and venerable house, coniston hall, where the flemings used to live, and which was the residence for a time of the countess of pembroke--"sidney's sister, pembroke's mother"--but which is now only a farmhouse famous for its sheep-clipping.'--eliza lynn linton; _the lake country_. v a successful novelist liza lynn linton i.--the woman 'she was one of the bravest of the morally brave, for she suffered from that kind of local ostracism, consequent on her unorthodox opinions, which in a manner isolated her and reduced her society to a few--fit, if you will, but few all the same--yet she never relaxed her propagandism.'--e. lynn linton: _free shooting_. 'the little dare-devil girl,' as canon rawnsley, not without justification, calls her, was born in , at crosthwaite vicarage, keswick. all that remains of her on earth lies beneath the shadow of crosthwaite church--'the lake cathedral,' as she herself has styled it--an edifice oft 'restored' since st. kentigern from his wattled preaching-house sounded forth the gospel of christ among the pagan dalesmen thirteen centuries ago. her father was the vicar. he was left with a large family of children on his hands at the death of his wife, five months after eliza was born. mr. lynn was an educated man, and, according to his lights, a respectable minister. by contrast with the carousing, wrestling, boxing parsons of cumberland in his day--as they are so graphically described by our authoress in more than one of her novels--he was a gentleman and a christian. when his father-in-law (the bishop of carlisle) asked him what he would do about the serious charge of so many motherless sons and daughters, his reply was, 'i shall sit in my study and smoke my pipe, and commit them to providence.' this he did, breaking the monotony of his secluded life by wielding the rod among his rude tribe of passionate lads and high-spirited girls, and spending the nights in prayer for them. the topsy-turveyest book that ever was written is mrs. linton's 'christopher kirkland.' it must be alluded to--somewhat out of place--because it is autobiographical, and is used as such by mr. layard, her historian. it is her life-story, with the sexes of the characters transposed. this transformation of men into women and women into men makes the book most grotesque in places, and quite incomprehensible to readers who have not the key. read it, however, inside out, or upside down, as it were, and it is then not only understandable, but interesting and informing. it is, in reality, the mine from which almost all important facts about her have been quarried. she seems to have been a 'naughty boy' kind of girl, holding her own bravely in a household which she likens to 'a farmyard full of cockerels and pullets for ever pecking and sparring at one another.' yet she had her fits of moodiness and day-dreaming. her short sight helped to make her enjoy solitariness, and induced a habit of lonely study and thought. from such books as she could get hold of she taught herself languages, and obtained a fair knowledge of literature. unable, however, to accommodate herself to the strange government of her father and the waywardness of her brothers and sisters, she (twenty-three years of age, with a twelvemonth's allowance in her pocket) went up to london to try her fortunes. henceforth we may unite her lively and interesting booklet,'my literary life,' with 'christopher kirkland.' she obtained work on the _morning chronicle_, just purchased by the 'peelite' party, and edited by the redoubtable john douglas cook. her description of her first introduction to the terrible presence of her impatient, irascible commander-in-chief is graphic. 'so you are the little girl who has written that queer book, and you want to be one of the press-gang, do you?' was his salutation. 'yes, i am the woman.' 'woman you call yourself?' and more rough-mannered, but not unkindly, words of the same sort followed. for two years she was 'handy man' on the paper--the first woman on a newspaper staff to draw a salary. then she visited italy, and afterwards lived in paris as correspondent for an english paper. her london home was near the british museum, where she kept up her reading. during her studies and her press employment she had found time to write and publish several novels, and contributed to _all the year round_, edited by charles dickens. her first story brought forth a sonnet in her praise from walter savage landor, and her association with dickens introduced her to many other well-known literary men and women. she had inherited gad's hill, kent, from her father, and this property she sold to charles dickens. dickens had fallen in love with the place when a boy, and had even then resolved to buy it if ever he was able. thackeray she knew, too, and he called upon her while she was in paris, climbing five toilsome flights of stairs to reach the little rooms she shared with another young anglo-french woman--bed and sitting-rooms combined. landor she first met in bath, where he then lived, and she was visiting. she was in a shop, 'when in there came an old man, still sturdy, vigorous, upright, alert,' dressed in brown, but negligently, and unbrushed. the keen eyes, lofty brow, and sweet smile attracted her. when she heard his name--she knew some of his 'imaginary conversations' by heart--she expressed her joy. 'and who is this little girl who is so glad to see an old man?' the question and answer made them friends on the spot, and they remained so for many years afterwards, she paying long visits to his house, and becoming his 'dear daughter,' while she always spoke and wrote to the old lion as 'father.' it was in that her marriage with w. j. linton took place. she had had a love episode in earlier life which probably left its mark upon her character; but this marriage can hardly claim any romance as its inspiration. it is even said that she agreed to wed the artist partly from pity and partly to test her educational theories upon his six children. the secluded life at brantwood became irksome to her, and the lintons moved to leinster square, bayswater, where the city life became equally irksome to her husband. then came the separation, and linton's departure for america, mrs. lynn linton occupying various quarters in london, working on the _saturday review_, writing more novels, patronizing and generously helping young lady aspirants for literary successes, and making herself the centre of charming circles of friends and guests. in the lofty queen anne's mansions, rising like a hill-summit above the flat plains and lake of st. james's park, she had an upper chamber--airy, quiet, and virtually inaccessible to all except the privileged and welcomed of her choice. she had her turn, as so many of her generation had, at the fashionable spiritualism of home and other tricksters, and with theosophists like sinnett, but was not entrapped by either, for, though her views were 'free' and 'advanced,' her struggles and her environments secured her the saving grace of common-sense. she was more nearly allied in thought to voysey and professor clifford than to the more mystical unbelievers. she was a hard worker, and lived comfortably by her pen. idleness for her would have meant 'suicidal vacancy.' failing somewhat in health, she tried change of air at malvern with little avail, and her eyesight failed her, so that writing became difficult. she realized that the end was approaching. it arrived in , when she was seventy-six years old. 'she faced the inevitable' with more of the resignation of the stoic than the assurance of the christian. canon rawnsley preached her funeral sermon, and placed her mental attitude in the most favourable light, and 'with a sure and certain hope' in his own heart of her 'resurrection to eternal life.' so let us also leave her in god's all-just, all-merciful keeping. her own belief was in 'nirvana.' her remains were cremated, and the ashes conveyed to crosthwaite, where robert southey also is buried. landor concludes his ode to her with 'pure heart, and lofty soul, eliza lynn.' i think (let me say it reverently) that god himself might thus speak of her, for i find these words in one of her later letters: 'we are all, all, all his children, and he does not speak to us apart, but to us all in our own language, equally according to our age--that is, our knowledge and civilization. to him i live, and in him i believe, but all the rest is dark.' women and politics 'we do not find that european homes are made wretched, or that husbands are set at nought, because our women may choose their own religion, their own priest, and have unchecked intercourse with the family physician. 'is it impossible to imagine a woman sweet and yet strong, high-minded and yet modest, tender if self-reliant, womanly if well-educated? would a fine political conscience necessarily deaden-or depress the domestic one? surely not! a fine political conscience would be only so much added--it would take nothing away. if women thought worthily about politics, as about smuggling and other things of the same class, they would be all the grander in every relation, because having so much clearer perception of baseness, and so much higher standard of nobleness. 'at all events, the phase of women's rights has to be worked through to its ultimate. if found impracticable, delusive, subversive, in the working, it will have to be put down again. it is all a question of power, both in the getting and the using.'--eliza lynn linton: _ourselves_. a successful novelist eliza lynn linton ii.--her books 'my dear friend, mrs. lynn linton, had lived through a long and eventful career, known all the interesting people of her day, and carried on intimate correspondence with all sorts and conditions of minds and characters. her sympathies did not begin and end with literature; they strayed into many and wider regions of thought and activity.'--beatrice harraden. several of her novels were written at brantwood--'lizzie lorton,' 'sowing the wind,' and 'grasp your nettle,' certainly, and some others probably. i like to fancy the buxom, spectacled lady of strongly-defined, yet cheery, features sitting in the window of the study, and pausing in the midst of her composition to gaze at the magnificent prospect of woods, waters, and towering mountain summits. but to fancy her one must first dispossess the study of everything ruskinesque. ruskin's delia robbia treasure, his paintings from italy, and by burne jones, bookcases with illuminated missals, polished agates of rare striations and burning colours--all these must go, and plain furniture, worn and faded, replace them, with, perhaps, some examples of her husband's art and craft littered about. her enforced quietude made her literary output regular while living here. the extraordinary topsy-turvy autobiographical piece of 'fiction' called 'stephen kirkland'--already alluded to, and drawn upon for details of her life--belongs to a later date. so also does 'the second youth of theodora desanges,' another curious medley of impossibilities. it is the story of a woman who, at eighty years of age, had an illness which left her prostrate, but which led to her physical renewal--fresh, dark, rippling hair, blooming cheeks, rounded form and limbs, in fact, to ripe, desirable girlhood--while leaving her, of course, with the experience and world-wisdom of a knowing old grandmother. the metamorphosis brings her into a tissue of difficulties with those who were in the secret of it, and counted her as one of the most perverse and wilful of frauds, and into another tissue of another sort with those, especially young men, who, seeing only the goddess and worshipping her, thought she was playing upon them with wicked sarcasm when she tried seriously to explain what she really was. her social adventures have a certain coherency in the telling; but a sense of unreality, and, in fact, of ridiculous impossibility, haunts you all through the narrative. the real value of the book (published posthumously), according to her friend and editor, g. s. layard, lies in the fact that it contains her last message to the world--a gloomy gospel of humanity--'good news, if you will, to the race, but disaster for the individual.' her farewell words are like a mingled evening of sunshine and passing cloud. the whole book is full of petty 'isms,' and soured comments, of pessimism overlying golden truths, which, however, have to be dug for, and some deserved satire of undesirable men and things. to use a crude simile, the whole volume reminds one of the celebrated american road which began and continued for a while as a 'turnpike,' but finished in a 'coon-track' running up a tree! 'lizzie lorton' is a book of different character. the one link it has with most, if not all, mrs. linton's books is the vein of mingled passion and tragedy that traverses it. the one charm it has beyond most others is the fresh breeze from the hills that seems to blow through it when the authoress condescends to be simply descriptive of places and people in the region of wastwater and the langdales. her pen-pictures will do not only for her imaginary 'greyrigg,' but for a hundred other dales and hillsides, lakes, tarns, and waters, and her portraits for a score of other country-folk and rural parsons to be found hereaway half a century ago, besides those she names. it is, if a tragic, yet a common story of love misplaced and at cross-purposes. like many others of hers, this novel has been reproduced in the modern one-volume form--unfortunately in the badly-printed 'yellow-backs,' once the chief form in which light literature was obtainable at railway bookstalls. 'through the long night,' written later than the brantwood period, has, i cannot but feel convinced, been largely drawn from coniston surroundings and coniston society, as she knew the latter. it is not, i believe, considered one of her best productions. nevertheless, it seems to me that the plot is more carefully elaborated, the characters are much more powerfully and convincingly conceived, and the interest is better sustained than in any other i know, though i do not profess to have read every one of her novels. the tragic element is strongly present, and the intentionally humorous entirely absent. there are melodramatic incidents that were not needed, and there is something that 'puts one's back up' when the angelic lady elizabeth condescends at last to marry the selfish despot who had broken her rival's heart, after driving her from home by his complicity with falsehood and forgery. the book by which she is best known to many of our generation (published in a sixpenny paper edition) is 'joshua davidson.' issued at first anonymously, just after the close of the franco-german war, and while the doings of the paris communists were fresh in everybody's mind, it took mighty hold of a certain class of reader, and will continue to do so. it ventilates her peculiar views of some of the sayings of jesus our lord, 'great david's greater son.' the simple-souled cornish peasant is represented as taking the master's parabolic sayings as so many literal commands to be implicitly and literally obeyed by all men, reasonably and unreasonably. thus he prays for the removal of a mountain, and gets a shock to his religious sense when the mountain moves not. perhaps he was--or mrs. linton was, if she is recording any past experiences of her own--like the old lady who offered prayer for the same thing, and who, on awaking in the morning to find the hill she objected to still blotting out her view, cried: 'i never expected it would go!' or, if joshua is intended to have had faith, perhaps his literary creator might have corrected the absurd conclusions she lands him in had she read john bunyan's account of his own actual experiences as recorded in 'grace abounding.' this work, from the episode i thus criticise, to the implied parallel between the priests' gethsemane-mob of hired scoundrels and the poor blind 'common people' of paris, seems to me now, on re-perusing it, as it did decades ago--just a poor, catchy sort of playing up to the shallow wits in the gallery of popular literature, to whom christianity is not sufficiently exciting to be worth serious study. another of her writings which made much stir was her celebrated magazine article, 'the girl of the period,' which appeared in the _saturday review_ in its slashing days (_the saturday reviler_ john bright christened it). if unscrupulous, it was a power then--a poor, third-rate affair to-day, as little thought of as are the ancient lucubrations of the _quarterly_ or _old ebony_ of our fathers. how well we remember the sensation she made by this tirade on the younger members of her sex. she certainly had 'changed sides' on the woman question of the hour, and, rightly or wrongly, she suffered inevitably for doing so. such stinging phrases as she flung at her quondam friends--'sexless tribe,' 'shrieking sisterhood'--were expected from the _saturday_, but to find the hand that formed and hurled them was one of their own was too much for those by whom they were hit! when the modern mother was shown to be no better than she should be, and the modern virgin represented as envying the demi-monde, no wonder the feminine world was set on fire! there are many other of her writings remaining unnoticed. only two earlier ones--her first endeavours, the now quite forgotten 'azeth the egyptian' and 'anymone'--and her 'witch stories' can be alluded to. the last is still read by the curious in occult lore, and is a compilation made from researches in the british museum during the time of her girlhood, when she lodged near it, and was struggling to get her foot on the bottom rung of the ladder to literary fame. some degree of fame and emolument we have seen that she attained to. whether she will be known after the last of her readers of her own generation is dead is a very doubtful question. it is one that can be best answered by publishers. if they deem her worth republishing in cheap and creditable editions, she may hit the public taste a little longer, but only thus. a mountain crag at coniston 'the principal flank of yewdale is formed by a steep range of crag, thrown out from the greater mass of wetherlam, and known as yewdale crag. 'it is almost entirely composed of basalt, or hard volcanic ash, and is of supreme interest among the southern hills of the lake district, as being practically the first rise of the great mountains of england out of the lowlands of england. 'and it chances that my own study window being just opposite this crag, and not more than a mile from it as the bird flies, i have it always staring me, as it were, in the face, and asking again and again, when i look up from writing any of my books: "how did _i_ come here?" * * * * * 'but as i regain my collected thought, the mocking question ceases, and the divine one forms itself, in the voice of vale and streamlet, and in the shadowy lettering of the engraven rock. '"where wast _thou_ when i laid the foundation of the earth? declare, if thou hast understanding."'--john ruskin: _yewdale and its streamlets_. [illustration: _photo by hills & saunders, oxford._ john ruskin in old age.] vi the philosopher of brantwood john ruskin i.--the man 'alas! there was in john ruskin a strain of the knight of la mancha, and he, too, had to learn that in this world and in our age knight-errantry, however chivalrous in spirit, medieval romance, however beautiful as poetry, will not avail to reform the world with nothing but a rusty lance and a spavined charger. it is magnificent, it may be war, but it is not a real social philosophy, nor is it a possible religion.'--frederic harrison. to write of the lake celebrities without including the greatest of them all would be like mapping our mountains and omitting scawfell, or the waters and forgetting windermere. yet to add anything to the countless essays and biographies seems presumptuous. for the filling in of this merest outline of one aspect of a noble life readers must become diligent students of john ruskin, and his books, and his exponents. there are lives of him, appreciations of him and of his teachings, monographs on his personality, on his relation to the lake district, on his views about art, on his social politics and religion, on his bible references, and on every other light-reflecting facet of this many-sided soul. in fact, no other man has lived in recent years whose innermost being has been so extensively and so deeply probed, so exposed to the universal gaze, or who has been so worshipfully followed, and, at the same time, by another set, so resolutely opposed. when we turn to a bibliography we stand amazed, not only that any author should be so prolific, or even that he should possess so much first-hand knowledge of so many matters, but that he should have done so much about such a variety of things so marvellously well. a juvenile verse-maker of promise developing into an unrivalled prose-poet and word-painter; a draftsman of capacity from his youth up, if not naturally a colourist, and an insistent teacher of style, yet an art critic with sympathetic feelings, who knew what he was talking about (which, it is to be feared, the majority do not); a mineralogist who wrote about stones and dust and ores, both scientifically and poetically, as if he were in love with their intrinsic and extrinsic beauties, and no less so with the unseen rythmic dances of their molecules during crystallization; a geologist who sought to explain by ice-gougings and water-chisellings, and by the crushings and infoldings of volcanic pressure, the outlines of the vales and hills whose forms and many-hued draperies his cultured eye delighted in; the champion of a great artist who had been attacked without insight by _blackwood_, and in his championship evolving a classic--the classic for ages to come--on 'modern painters'; an investigator of the ultimate principles of architecture and sculpture, whose steps being led to venice, is impelled to write about her stones, thus to become nothing less than a historian of that wonderful oligarchy; an observer of all winged creatures about him, who sees in the swallow's circling flight, and in the robin's cheery presence, eternal laws of art and mechanism from which he can teach great truths to half-fledged undergraduates of oxford; a lover of the independent peasantry of lakeland, who for their sakes learns road-making, and sets them to cultivate home-industries, and who writes strange, and frequently unpractical, suggestions for the betterment of their condition, and for making the whole world sweeter; how can such a man, intellectual giant and gladiator though he be, remain always victor over so wide an area? he is often spoken of as 'the master.' doubtless most of us have so styled him in relation to one excursus of his or another that has specially captivated us. but it seems to me that mr. frederic harrison, his latest biographer and personal intimate, is right when he says: 'the author of more than eighty distinct works upon so miscellaneous a field, of masses of poetry, lectures, letters, as well as substantial treatises, was of necessity rather a stimulus than an authority, an influence rather than a master.' any claim on his behalf to speak the _mot d'ordre_ on any given topic challenges the thoughtful reader, and lays upon him the duty of closely looking at every emphatic statement, every unsupported opinion, every clever aphorism put forth as an axiom. the recognition that he is merely a force, though a mighty one, an impulsion and an inspiration rather than a revealer and spokesman of the final word, allows the mind to be swept along by the impetuous current of his eloquence, rejoicing and untrammelled, and suffers it to be braced and helped by him. the danger in this case may be, however, that the young and inexperienced, lost in admiration at the marvellous beauty of his language, and the obvious truth of so much that he says--intoxicated by the wine of the kingdom which he so unrestrainedly pours forth--are unable to notice how often the elixir tastes of the earthen amphora containing it. the dogmatism of his precocious boyhood never left him in after-life. indeed, disappointment at the non-acceptance of so many of his views by the world at large accentuated it. his delighted outlook on nature, his abiding joy in all things pure and lovely, his intense hatred of moral ugliness and deformity, caused him too often to forget that others had high and holy aspirations, and abhorrences of wrong, who did not see through glasses made after the pattern that suited his own peculiar vision. his complete, almost child-like, absorption in the humour of the passing moment sometimes made him mistake a swift impulse for the discovery of a new philosophic or scientific law, and placed him in inconsistent and contradictory positions, and made his arguments so full of inconsequences as to provoke no little amusement among logicians. so, then, let us be content to take him for just what he is, and no more--an erratic genius, but a genius of the very first order; a discursive preacher, but a preacher who arouses, and thrills, and sends you back into the world to live a better life; a prophet who exaggerates, and is often incoherent with needless fury, but exhibiting in his mission and messages to england a veritable commingling of carmel's prophet of fire, with jerusalem's 'evangelical' poet-prophet; a reformer who fails to see the standpoint of many whom he denounces in social politics and economics, but a reformer, nevertheless, who foreknows a bright to-morrow for the peoples, and who labours to hasten its coming. take him for all this, and you will accompany him a long way, cautiously, yet reverently and lovingly, and find in him a rare comrade, an unfailing and candid interpreter of your own soul, as well as of many old enigmas that confront it. john ruskin's connection with the lakes dates from his childhood, when he visited the locality with his parents. 'i remember friar's crag at derwentwater when i was four years old.' he received an inspiration for his muse from skiddaw when only nine: 'skiddaw, upon thy heights the sun shines bright, but only for a moment; then gives place unto a playful cloud, which on thy brow sports wantonly.' and again, a year later, he contrasts it with the egyptian pyramids: 'the touch of man, raised pigmy mountains, but gigantic tombs, the touch of nature raised the mountain's brow.' at twelve he saw scawfell 'so haughty and proud, while its battlements lofty looked down on the cloud.' frequent visits at later periods kept his heart aglow with the romance of these three counties vying so earnestly with each other for supremacy in the glory of mountain-fell, and garrulous beck, dale and dingle, and thunderous force. it was in , when he was nearly fifty-three years old, that he bought from w. j. linton, the engraver-poet, that coniston cottage, as it then was, so closely associated with his name for some thirty years thereafter. he gave £ , for the property, without seeing it, while lying ill at matlock. to everybody who knows english literature brantwood is a household name. on the steep slope of the eastern hills, wood-embowered, with moorland above, and a green field below the highroad, washed by the ripples of the lake on which his boats rocked--one of which, _the jumping jenny_, he had designed, painted 'a bright blue with a greek scroll pattern round the gunwale'--it is in all respects a true poet's paradise. the opinion of wordsworth was that it commanded the finest view of coniston 'old man' that was to be had anywhere. linton was not a very practical man, choosing his gardener, not for his skill, but for his shining blue eyes, and letting his demesne go wild, and his abode to rack and ruin. ruskin created order and beauty out of the wilderness, with a rose-garden and a garden for wild flowers, greatly enlarged the house, made a little harbour on the shore, and a water-works on the fell, all at considerable outlay, evidencing by the construction of his reservoir and conduits that hydraulics and engineering are not best done by untrained enthusiastic amateurs. in this exquisite retreat began what mr. harrison speaks of as the second period of his career--the period when, except for his slade professorship, he gave himself up, not to the study, for he never can be said to have studied them--the promulgation of theories about social economics. the slade professorship was an epoch in university life, and in the history of british art. his classes were crowded. 'that singular voice of his,' writes a pupil long afterwards, 'which would often hold all the theatre breathless, haunts me still.' his oxford lectures were reprinted as books by mr. george allen, formerly a scholar of his at the working man's college, and now become manager of his publishing business (which, by-the-by, mr. allen managed so well as to bring mr. ruskin in some £ , a year at a time it was greatly needed). during the intervals of his professorial duties, and especially after ill-health compelled their relinquishment, he wrote those invaluable autobiographic reminiscences contained in 'præterita' and 'fors clavigera'--books the world will never spare, albeit they are so full of petulant denunciations, and quaint extravagances, and inconsequent satires. we forgive all these for the value of the self-revelations of a unique soul, and for the literary gold-mine they present to the commonwealth of the english-speaking races. when retired altogether to this arcadia he would ramble along the lakeside path, and up the mountain, to the happy valley of tarn hows, or round the water-head to yewdale, 'my little nested dale of the yew,' with its streamlets wandering through the fern, and its deep water-pockets over which he would stand musing and questioning them--'how came you to be?' or perchance up tilberthwaite ghyll, with its zig-zagging wooden bridges after the fashion of a swiss river-gorge. as he strolled, he would stop to pet some children who, seeing him coming, would await his kindly greeting, or to chat with some ancient shepherd, or some housewife at her cottage door, or possibly he would enter a wayside school-house to puzzle the youngsters with a division sum respecting the sovereign he would leave for them in the schoolmaster's hand. the old 'professor,' as they called him, was beloved by all, and in his broken years was devotedly cared for and tended by his cousin and adopted daughter, mrs. arthur severn, who lived at brantwood, and who now with her husband owns the estate. we must remember what he had suffered during his long life, as well as what he had accomplished. 'as we pass beneath the hills,' says he in 'modern painters,' 'which have been shaken by earthquake and torn by convulsion, we find periods of perfect repose succeed those of destruction.' he had married unsuitably to satisfy his parents, and the marriage had been nullified. thrice he was passionately in love, and each disappointment left him sick and despondent, however tenderly remembered and naïvely talked of in old age. his generous money gifts to relatives, and to causes like the guild of st. george, which lay deep in his affections, as well as, doubtless, some serious lack of lawful 'world-wisdom,' had virtually dissipated the large fortune left him by his father. he was at bay, too, with the rest of the world as to his schemes for its reformation. he had had many serious illnesses, brain fevers included. at brantwood, the scenery from his study window, so imposing yet so tranquillizing, his art collections in every room, his admiring and sympathetic neighbours, his own inward assurance of right guidance, combined to give him peace. among his friends were the miss beevers, of the thwaite--the house at the far end of the lake, nearly opposite the one in which tennyson spent his honeymoon--with whom the good old man corresponded, and whom he loved with an old-world platonic love honourable to both sides. they must have an article to themselves, these 'sources and loadstones of all good to the village,' worthy as they are of remembrance, with their brother, among our literary celebrities. during the last ten years of his life he gradually grew more and more feeble, till at length, succumbing to influenza, 'he sank softly asleep,' when near his eighty-first birthday, with his dearest friends around him. he was buried in the god's acre of coniston, without funereal pomp of black. the pall was of crimson silk embroidered with wild roses, bearing the motto 'unto this last.' later the beautifully-artistic cross, designed by his secretary, friend, and authorized biographer, mr. collingwood, was erected over the grave. it has allegorical carvings on it of his book-titles. a medallion likeness in bronze by onslow ford, r.a., was placed in westminster abbey. i have said nothing of ruskin's ancestry, nothing even of the 'honourable and distinguished merchant,' his father, nor of his loving, pious, over-careful mother. neither have i spoken of his education, of his wanderings and residences in switzerland and italy, nor of his royal gifts of museums and the like for the benefit primarily of artizans. i have no space to tell of the impulse he gave to art, or to educating wage-earners through ruskin colleges and in other ways. his physical appearance, his personal habits, his daily dealings with his kind, must be discovered by my readers for themselves. mr. collingwood's life of him has recently been issued at s. d., and mr. harrison's in 'english men of letters' at s. acquaintance with these should be the duty and privilege of every educated man and woman. 'the woods, the blossoms, the gift-bearing grasses, have done their parts for a time, but these do service for ever. trees for the builder's yard, flowers for the bride's chamber, corn for the granary, moss for the grave. 'yet as in one sense the humblest, in another they are the most honoured of the earth-children. unfading, as motionless, the worm frets them not, and the autumn wastes not. strong in lowliness, they neither blanch in heat nor pine in frost. to them, slow-fingered, constant-hearted, is entrusted the weaving of the dark, eternal tapestries of the hills, to them, slow-pencilled, iris-dyed, the tender framing of their endless imagery. sharing the stillness of the unimpassioned rock, they share also its endurance; and while the winds of departing spring scatter the white hawthorn blossom like drifted snow, and summer dims on the parched meadow the drooping of its cowslip-gold, far above, among the mountains, the silver lichen-spots rest, star-like, on the stone, and the gathering orange-stain upon the edge of yonder western peak reflects the sunset of a thousand years.'--john ruskin: _modern painters_. [illustration: _photo by hills & saunders, oxford._ the house at herne hill in which ruskin was born in .] the philosopher of brantwood john ruskin ii.--his art-teaching and his books 'to crib, cabin, and confine in a dull array of formal propositions the rich exuberance of mr. ruskin's thought would be a needless injury.'--j. a. hobson. 'is there a gospel (of art) according to ruskin?' it is mr. e. t. cook, an art-pupil and disciple of his, who asks and answers this question. he, in 'studies in ruskin,' and another oxford pupil, mr. w. g. collingwood, in 'the art teaching of john ruskin,' agree that their great teacher did not formulate a creed, though he had definite fundamental principles to explain to the world, which--however much overlaid and obscured by eloquent language and elaborate illustration--were never lost sight of by him, but impregnated all his writings. as in the new testament there is a revelation from god through jesus christ, though it contains nothing akin to a church catechism or westminster confession of faith, so in ruskin there is 'a complete philosophy of art' without a concise and formulated system that can be packed into one's waistcoat pocket. we must find and arrange our canons for ourselves. the ruskin 'gospel of art'--mr. cook's word--or his 'philosophy of art'--mr. collingwood's word--is merely an old gospel, with a new application--a philosophy of the position of art with regard to god, and the world, and the soul. 'truth, sincerity, and nobleness' are essentials of right living, and art is the outcome and evidence of the right living of the artist. it is the expression of man's rational, disciplined delight in the forms and laws of the creation of which he is a part. the origin of art is 'imitation touched with delight'--delight, that is to say, in god's work, and not in a man's own. beauty, no less than reality, strength, and morality, is characteristic of true art as 'an expression of the creating spirit of the universe,' whose handiwork is to be copied. art is an interpreter of the divine beauty in things seen; for the inner life of it is religion, its food is the ocular and passionate love of nature, its health is the humility of its artists. art looks into the innermost core and centre of phenomena. the true artist sees and makes others see. the greatest art is that which conveys the greatest number of greatest ideas. it is the declaration of the mind of god-made great men. fine art is that in which hand, and head, and heart have worked equally together. in outline, colour, and shade an artist is to discipline himself, that he may become skilful in the seeing of things accurately, and representing them with absolute fidelity. what he sees accurately, however, he is to represent imaginatively, so as to arouse the faculty of imagination and a feeling of praise in others, and to cultivate their nobler instincts, and call forth and feed their souls. beauty is of two kinds--typical and vital--the first lying in those external qualities of bodies which in some sort represent the divine attributes; the second in 'the felicitous fulfilment of function in living things.' ruskin agrees with hogarth that 'all forms of acknowledged beauty are composed exclusively of curves.' except in crystals, certain mountain forms, levels of calm water, and alluvial land, there are no lines nor surfaces of nature without curvature. he adds that what curvature is to lines, so is gradation to shades and colours. he made himself conversant with these truths by independent study, minute investigation, inexhaustible industry in sketching. architecture, though subject to different rules and modes of handicraft, is governed also by the same general and spiritual principles. its 'seven lamps' are sacrifice,--the offering of all that is most costly of material, intention, execution; truth,--which demands imagination, but will not tolerate deception; power,--realized through observation of mountain buttresses and domes, cloistered woodland glades, and the rock-walls of the sea; beauty,--not as mere mask or covering, but gracefully fitted to the conditions and uses of the object to be attained; life,--expressive of the workman's love of his work, and knowledge of his ends; memory,--which haunts the workman with shapes and colours he has once noted, and which inspires him with ever fresh ideals; obedience,--which involves 'chastisement of the passions, discipline of the intellect, subjection of the will.' it is in his 'seven lamps of architecture' that the pæan on giotto's campanile occurs, wherein he tells us how, as a boy, he despised it, and how since then he lived beside it many a day and looked upon it from his window 'by sunlight and moonlight, noting the bright, smooth, sunny surface and glowing jasper, those spiral shafts and fairy traceries, so white, so faint, so crystalline, that their slight shapes are hardly traced in darkness on the eastern sky, that serene height of mountain alabaster, coloured like a morning cloud, and chased like a sea-shell.' his minute observation of form and colour in mountain gloom and mountain glory, in rushing torrents, and in feathered songster, and his unrivalled powers of description, must be an inspiration to all right-minded artists, notwithstanding his unsparing and incisive criticisms in his 'notes on pictures.' his scientific knowledge, too, stood him in good stead. his words on mountain sculpture, with an illustration from the aiguilles or needle-pointed alpine peaks, too long for full quotation, may well be cited. 'nature gives us in these mountains a clear demonstration of her will. she is here driven to make fracture the law of being. she cannot tuft the rock-edges with moss, or round them by water, or hide them with leaves and roots. she is bound to produce a form, admirable to human beings, by continual breaking away of substances. and behold--so soon as she is compelled to do this, she changes the law of fracture itself. "growth," she seems to say, "is not essential to my work, nor concealment, nor softness; but curvature is; and if i must produce my forms by breaking, then the fracture shall be in curves. if, instead of dew and sunshine, the only instruments i am to use are the lightning and the frost, then the forked tongues and crystal wedges shall still work out my laws of tender line. devastation instead of nurture may be the task of all my elements, and age after age may only prolong the renovated ruin; but the appointments of typical beauty which have been made over all creatures shall not therefore be abandoned, and the rocks shall be ruled in their perpetual perishing, by the same ordinances that direct the bending of the reed, and the blushing of the rose." the cloud, the currents of trickling water, an interior knot of quartz, help the work of shaping, and the dew "with a touch more tender than a child's finger--as silent and slight as the fall of a half-checked tear on a maiden's cheek" help to fix for ever the form of peak and precipice, and hew the leagues of lifted granite, into shapes that divide the earth and its kingdoms. then the colouring of the mountains is not done only by the chemical constituents of their rocks, but by the jewellery of the flowers--the dark bell-gentian, the light blue star-gentian, the alpine rose, the highland heather, the many-hued blossom-masses, and the golden softness of deep, warm, amber-coloured mosses.' it is not always easy to follow ruskin's own canons of art in his exaltation of turner--as, for instance, in the article of 'truth touched with imagination'--in such a picture as whitby. there the painter's cliffs are unnatural and impossible, reminding us more of a straight-cut pound of cheese than anything ever seen in nature--specially at whitby! we are tempted to praise turner more for revealing ruskin than ruskin for discovering turner! thus, in describing heysham, it is ruskin who in 'harbours of england' gives us the true and very graphic painting, and turner a glorified and unrecognisable one. 'a simple, north-country village on the shore of morecambe bay, not in the common sense a picturesque village; there are no pretty bow-windows, or red roofs, or rocky steps of entrance to the rustic doors, or quaint gables; nothing but a single street of thatched and chiefly clay-built cottages ranged in a somewhat monotonous line, the roofs so green with moss that at first we hardly discern the houses from the fields and trees. the village street is closed at the end by a wooden gate, indicating the little traffic there is on the road through it, giving it the look of a large farmstead, in which a right of way lies through the yard.' the rutty roads, the decayed fencing--haystacks and pigstyes--the parsonage--the church--the craggy limestone rocks amid the brushwood, and the pleasant turf upon their brows, the gleams of shallow water on the sandy shore, the fisher-boat on the beach--all help us to see old heysham rather through the eyes of the prose-poet than those of the painter he is lauding. opening other--excluding his more voluminous--books, 'love's meinie' or 'proserpina' to wit--the one of birds and the other of flowers--what exquisite passages meet us on every page! what ruskinite does not revel in such as those contrasting the flight of the eagle and the seagull with that of the swallow, or as that speaking of 'the beauty of the bird that lives with you in your own houses, and which purifies for you, from its insect pestilence, the air that you breathe. thus the sweet domestic thing has done, for men, at least, these four thousand years. she has been their companion, not of the home merely, but of the hearth, and the threshold; companion only endeared by departure, and showing better her loving-kindness by her faithful return.' she is a type of the stranger, or the supplicant, herald of our summer, 'who glances through our days of gladness'--and he gives us much more of the same sweet poetry about her. then there are sentences like that outburst of joy at the discovery of the blue asphodel in the fields beyond monte mario--'a spire two feet high, of more than two hundred stars, the stalks of them all deep blue as well as the flowers. heaven send all honest people the gathering of the like, in elysian fields, some day!' ruskin confessed ignorance of the writings of political economists, of which he had read none but adam smith's--twenty years before--and his continual travesty of them as though 'buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest'--labour included--was their sole message to the world, makes it difficult to quote from his more philosophical or social science works. it must be remembered that smith had forestalled ruskin in stating that wage-earners had a right to a living wage, and that others, like jeremy bentham, had forestalled him in the doctrine of the 'greatest good of the greatest number' underlying his own strictures on our land system. in his usual contradictory way he sometimes tells us the sword must still be whetted to settle international disputes. at others he calls war the mother of all evils, and writes paragraphs worthy of carlyle on the french and english villagers from their respective drumdrudges, pitying the peasantry upon whom the losses and cruelties fall, and denouncing the squires who officer them and lead them to death. women he calls upon to exercise their influence in favour of peace, because they can, if they will, put an end to all wars for ever. the idleness of the upper classes, and the seeking of outlets for their capital by financial speculators are, he says, its chief causes, and ill-accumulated moneys are spent on it. in all this an ever-increasing multitude of christians agree with him, as well as in his denunciation of the inhumanity of mere mercenary commerce uncontrolled by consideration for others, and in his pleadings for purer and happier homes, equal opportunities of education, and the glory and grace of honest labour. when a man who has done much for the good of his fellows can write of ruskin in the second phase of his literary career, 'to him i owe the guidance of my life, all its best impulses, and its worthiest efforts,' we may be sure his later books were really great, notwithstanding their blemishes. [illustration: (faithfully yours j ruskin) john ruskin's handwriting in advanced life.] [illustration: medallion on the ruskin memorial, derwentwater. by a. c. lucchesi.] views from greta hall 'this greta hall is a house on a small eminence, a furlong from keswick, in the county of cumberland. yes, my dear sir, here i am, with skiddaw at my back--on my right hand the bassenthwaite water, with its majestic _case_ of mountains, all of simplest outline. looking slant, direct over the feather of this infamous pen, i see the sun setting. my god! what a scene! right before me is a great _camp_ of single mountains--each in shape resembles a giant's tent--and to the left, but closer to it far than the bassenthwaite water to my right, is the lake of keswick, with its islands and white sails, and glossy lights of evening,--crowned with green meadows; but the three remaining sides are encircled by the most fantastic mountains that ever earthquakes made in sport, as fantastic as if nature had laughed herself into the convulsion in which they were made. close behind me flows the greta; i hear its murmuring distinctly. then it curves round, almost in a semi-circle, and is now catching the purple lights of the scattered clouds above it directly before me.'--_a letter of samuel taylor coleridge's._ [illustration: samuel taylor coleridge. from a painting by g. dawe, r.a.] vii a great life marred samuel taylor coleridge 'this illustrious man, the largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most comprehensive, in my judgment, that has yet existed among men.'--de quincey. in him we have another of our intellectual giants, a many-sided man, a poet, a theologian, a politician, or, in charles lamb's well-known phrase, a logician, a metaphysician, a bard. he was a fortunate man in so far as he has attained literary immortality. he was a singularly unfortunate man in so far as his natural character was deficient in will-power, and lacking in that subtle but invaluable property known as common-sense. his story, once you begin it, holds you, like the story of his own 'long, lank, brown, and ancient mariner's,' captive to the end, it is so full of pathetic romance. garrulous, kind-hearted old bookseller cottle, of bristol, very minor poet himself, yet devoted to letters, and staunch friend in their utmost need to an afterwards famous band of young men, tells us how robert lovell, an inexperienced and sanguine quaker, was carried away by a socialistic colonization scheme to be tested on the banks of the susquehannah--the community to be called a pantisocracy--from which injustice, wrath, anger, clamour, and evil-speaking, were to be excluded, thereby setting an example of human perfectability. four young men, lovell said, had joined the movement, who were to embark at bristol for the american colonies--samuel taylor coleridge, from cambridge with whom the idea was supposed to have originated, robert southey and george burnett from oxford, and himself. in due time he introduced his friends--southey, 'tall, dignified, possessing great suavity of manners, an eye piercing, with a countenance full of genius, kindliness, and intelligence'; burnett, son of a somersetshire farmer, who soon vanished from sight--never, indeed, comes fairly into it; and coleridge, with 'an eye, a brow, and a forehead indicative of commanding genius.' the last soon applied on behalf of the fraternity for a loan, not to pay for the emigrants' sea passage, but their lodgings bill! the good man lent £ , and afterwards advanced coleridge £ , taking the value back in mss. as he could secure them. meanwhile, coleridge lectured to small audiences on somewhat abstruse subjects for a bristol population, and managed to fall in love with a sister of his friend lovell's wife, a third of these miss frickers becoming engaged to and marrying southey, though he had not the remotest prospect of supporting a family. lecturing and literature had not paid, pantisocracy had perished in the bud, and coleridge had not in any other direction shown the least capacity for dealing with every-day affairs. his antecedents both proved, and had intensified, his want of sagacity. born in , into the large family of a learned devonshire clergyman, who was also head master of a grammar school--'a gentle and kindly eccentric'--he lost his father when only nine years of age, and was sent to the blue coat school (christ's hospital) in london. here charles lamb was his schoolfellow. he grew, ere he left it, to be a tall lad of striking presence, with long black hair. at nineteen he was sent to cambridge university. from cambridge--owing, it is now generally believed, to some disappointment in a love affair, though others will have it that it was owing to debts recklessly contracted--he went up to london with little money in his pocket, and enlisted as a private in a regiment of light cavalry, under the assumed name of silas titus comberback. in this regiment he remained only four months, proving 'an execrable rider, a negligent groom of his horse, and generally a slack and slovenly trooper.' here a latin quotation scribbled on a whitewashed wall discovered him, and led to his discharge, a visit to oxford and an introduction to lovell and southey, then students, made him a more decided pantisocratist, then a bristolian, a protégé of cottle and charles lloyd, and a benedict. in he was married at st. mary de redcliffe church, and the thriftless pair set up housekeeping forthwith in a rose-covered cottage at clevedon, then a village on the shores of the severn sea, though now a fashionable watering-place. little furniture, no cash, no income beyond a promise of a guinea and a half for every hundred lines of copy, whether in rhyme or blank verse, offered a poor matrimonial prospect. two days after the wedding, however, cottle sent him 'with the aid of the grocer, and the shoemaker, and the brewer, and the tin-man, and the glass-man, and the brazier,' all he required--and more. in this retreat coleridge did some necessary bread-winning with his pen, but still more planning and projecting of great world-astonishing magazines. combined with his fancy for projecting big schemes was an unconquerable habit of procrastination. 'his strongest intentions were but feebly supported after his first paroxysm of resolve.' such a man was unlikely to launch a serial on the world successfully. he issued circulars of a paper to be called _the watchman_, travelled through the midlands into lancashire and yorkshire to obtain subscribers, and issued a few numbers, and then it collapsed. in his travels he made the acquaintance of lloyd, afterwards of ambleside, who found him in books, and made a home for him at nether stowey. wordsworth was then at alfoxden, a close adjoining village. it was during a walk taken by the two poets over the quantock hills that their joint volume 'lyrical ballads,' was conceived, and that the 'ancient mariner' was partly written. 'christabel' is another product of this period of coleridge's life, and what has been aptly called the dream-poem of 'kubla-khan.' it was also now that he avowed himself a unitarian, and commenced to preach in the chapels of that sect. travelling to shropshire in this ministry he captivated young william hazlitt by his extraordinary discourses in public and in private, who records how it seemed to him poetry and philosophy were met together in the preacher, truth and genius had embraced under the eye and sanction of religion. at this time, he adds, coleridge's personal appearance was of one above the middle height, inclining to be corpulent, with hair still raven-black, forehead broad and high, light as if built of ivory, projecting brows, with rolling, bright eyes beneath them, and a mouth 'gross, voluptuous, open, eloquent.' his preaching, too, brought him into contact with the generous de quincey, and with the two wedgwoods, the eminent staffordshire potters, who defrayed the expenses of himself and william and dorothy wordsworth to germany, and granted coleridge a pension to enable him to devote his life to literature. on their return, coleridge went to london on the staff of the _morning post_, in the columns of which he did first-class work. in he removed his family to keswick. he came to that town in many respects a changed man. the torrents of revolutionary talk he indulged in during his undergraduate days had lapsed into ultra-toryism under the reaction from the disappointed hopes excited by the upheaval in france, but chiefly from his connection with the london tory organ, although, as his german biographer somewhat grimly remarks, 'a trace of his partiality for the community of goods lingered in his blood; he never ceased to live upon his friends'! the church of england doctrines he was intended to imbibe at school and college had given way before unitarianism and the mysticism and pantheism of the continent. goethe, kant, and lessing had become his masters. he came, too, in broken health. at keswick dwelt a good man in greta hall, or rather in the smaller of the two houses now known by that name. mr. jackson, who started as a common carrier, was a well-to-do man, and had accumulated a library. he charged coleridge half the proper rent for the other cottage, and gave him access to his books. there seemed no reason why our poet-philosopher should not have been happier here than ever before. but the end of his poetical career was at hand. 'opium,' says de quincey, himself a victim to the drug, 'killed coleridge as a poet.' he began taking the deadly poison to allay the pains of gout, to which he was a martyr. his 'ode to dejection' is undoubtedly his dirge over the grave of his muse. in his hours of awakening he gave himself afresh to philosophy to compel mental activity. he found the study an alleviation, but by no means a cure. an artist friend took him a voyage up the mediterranean. on returning to his care-worn wife he found himself without sufficient means for the support of a growing family, though sir george beaumont, of coleorton, and the ever-faithful cottle and sir humphry davy, helped him and interested themselves on his behalf, to enable him to earn something by lecturing in london. returning again to the lake country, he started another weekly paper, which he called _the friend_. it failed to capture the public, and ceased at the twenty-seventh number. he had magazine and review work, and published something. the opium habit still increased till these kendal black drops (he probably so calls them because he first procured them as a quack medicine from this town) were at last taken in doses amounting to two quarts of laudanum in a week. yet he was visited by the lambs, the wordsworths, hazlitt, professor wilson, and many another who admired and loved him for his genius and his unique personality. in four years' time his brother-in-law, robert southey, and his family joined him at greta hall. on the other hand, the wedgwood annual allowance was withdrawn, on the ground that his side of the agreement was not being fulfilled. more and more he drifted about from place to place, leaving his wife and children to the care of their relatives. one while he stayed with the wordsworths at grasmere, and another with a benevolent friend at calne (he was three years there), till his generous host's means being much reduced he was compelled to withdraw his hospitality. here he had been partly weaned from opium, but on going up to london in search of a livelihood he fell back under its complete tyranny. in a kind of desperation he carried his case to a dr. gillman, of highgate. this gentleman, an able physician and a man of standing and culture, was happily married, and needed no 'paying guest,' but as professor brandle puts it, 'the spell of his talk, and the repute of his name, vanquished the gillmans at once, and from that time he became the inmate and friend of the family, and remained so till his end.' here in this beautiful home--beautiful in its then countrified surroundings, beautiful in its moral atmosphere--he was once again happy, and for no fewer than sixteen years. no opium was permitted within the walls. his wife and children, and friendly visitors like irving, hallam, maurice, hare, and t. h. green, were welcomed. he became an undoubted christian, and a powerful advocate of a form of orthodoxy commoner now than it was then--an attractive anglican theology impregnated with the german type of platonic philosophy. his utter simplicity of character was never lost, and, unfortunately, his endeavours after pecuniary recovery were thwarted by a scoundrelly publisher cheating him of large sums he had fairly earned by hard work and genius. it was at this time he issued 'aids to reflection,' 'lay sermons,' and other memorable books. towards the end of his days he suffered much, notably from an affection of the heart, which 'bent his figure, furrowed his face, and hindered his work.' finding death within sight, he settled what outward affairs he had to settle, ordered mourning rings for his friends, composed an epitaph for his tombstone, and in a marvellous calm, not begotten of narcotics, but of a living faith, he passed away into the fulness of light, in the year of our lord , and the sixty-second of his age. what is the true estimate of his character? his was empathically a self-marred life. with a steady, reliable temperament and will he might have achieved one of the very highest positions among england's greatest men. 'frailty,' cries a modern essayist, 'thy name is genius.' his conversational powers were unequalled, and attracted eminent people from afar to hear him pour forth his brilliant scientific knowledge, philosophic speculations, and wealth of illustration. it is true that charles lamb adjudged him too great a monopolist of the situation. 'lamb,' was the response, 'did you ever hear me preach?' 'i never heard you do anything else,' retorted lamb. his talks were really spontaneous orations which electrified his hearers. that ineffectual outward life of his, so full of latent possibilities, has not, happily, been altogether thrown away. both the pre-opium-drinking days and the post-opium-drinking were long enough for him to influence the thoughts and teaching of his own and future ages, and he still leavens the literature of the pulpit and the desk. his poetry yet delights young and old. it is comforting to know that one whom the 'circean chalice' had driven to wish for annihilation, and created in him a desire to place himself in a madhouse, could write from his death-bed to a 'dear god-son' that on the brink of the grave he had proved christ to be an almighty redeemer, who had reconciled god, and given him, under all pains and infirmities, 'the peace that passeth understanding.' his literary output i will neither expound nor criticise, tempting as it is to do both. his poems are on the shelves of every well-selected library, however small. his more solid works are not for the general public. they are too profound, and go far too deeply into the secret springs of life and thought, too far afield into the divine and human undercurrents of motive and action; are too theological, too speculative, to lay hold of any but those who themselves are, in their spheres, and to some extent, at least, guides and moulders of other men's emotions and duties. they are essentially books for the patiently reflective, who learn that they may teach. if spiritual things are only spiritually discerned, so also are philosophical theories, methods, and categories appreciated only by those who have a natural leaning towards them, and some degree of training. nine-tenths of my readers will be 'practical' men and women, to whom his revelations will seem guess-work and his intuitions dreams. but if any want a delicate and subtle analysis of coleridge's mind, and whatsoever was in it, they may read the late walter pater's 'appreciation' of him. to be read at his graveside 'i have no particular choice of a churchyard, but i would repose, if possible, where there were no proud monuments, no new-fangled obelisks or mausoleums, heathen in everything but taste, and not christian in that. nothing that betokened aristocracy, unless it were the venerable memorial of some old family long extinct. if the village school adjoined the churchyard, so much the better. but all this must be as he will. i am greatly pleased with the fancy of anaxagoras, whose sole request of the people of lampsacus was, that the children might have a holiday on the anniversary of his death. but i would have the holiday on the day of my funeral. i would connect the happiness of childhood with the peace of the dead, not with the struggles of the dying.'--_written on a book-margin by hartley coleridge._ [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ nab cottage, rydal. the home of de quincey's father-in-law (see p. ), and afterwards of hartley coleridge.] viii a life to pity hartley coleridge 'hartley coleridge has come much nearer us, and probably you might see as much of him as you liked. of genius he has not a little, and talent enough for fifty.'--wordsworth. 'dined at mrs. fletcher's. h. coleridge behaved very well. he read some verses on dr. arnold which i could not comprehend, he read them so unpleasantly; and he sang a comic song that kept me very grave. he left us quite early.'--crabbe robinson's _diary_. poor 'lile hartley'--_little_ hartley, as the neighbours called him--is one of the most pathetic figures in english literature. undersized in body, of promising intellect from childhood, of child-like simplicity in character, devoid of self-control, and overmastered by the alcoholic habit, as his father was by the opium habit, he is at once pitiable, excusable, and lovable. as you ride from ambleside to grasmere you pass a low cottage on your right, just beneath nab scarr, where the young farmer and his wife lived who cared so unselfishly for him and for his comfort and welfare. it is locally known as 'coleridge's cottage.' here he lived in later manhood, followed and brought home tenderly, when he had wandered away, by his kind-hearted caretakers, and writing prose essays and sweet sonnets in hours of freedom from his besetment. by birth hartley coleridge belongs to the west country, having come into the world while his parents lived on redcliffe hill, bristol, shortly after their return from their little flower-covered, poverty-stricken clevedon cottage. the national dictionary of biography is in error in giving rose cottage as his birthplace. it was beyond all doubt bristol, and he was born during the autumn of . 'a pretty and engaging child,' his brother derwent says he was. there must have been something attractive about the babe, for it is given to few to be apostrophized by two poets at so early an age, especially by two such as his own father and his father's friend, william wordsworth. great things were anticipated for him in the future by both the seers. he was taken to london for a visit when three years old, and, after being mystified by the street lamps, he suddenly exclaimed: 'oh! now i know what the stars are: they are lamps that have been good upon earth, and have gone up into heaven!' at six years of age he was removed with the family to keswick. here for a season the two households of coleridge and southey dwelt at greta hall, an occurrence which seems in many ways to have remarkably influenced his career. those who came in contact with him at this place speak of him as pouring forth, with flashing eyes, strange speculations far beyond his years, and weaving wild inventions. his dreamy boyhood was varied by another stay in london and a visit to bristol, in both which places further mundane knowledge was acquired, only to be forthwith transmuted into the visions which filled his mental life. his very play related to the history of a kind of utopia, its populations, its geography, its constitution, its wars, its politics. 'ejuxria' was the name he gave his island kingdom, and he prolonged the existence of it for himself and his playmates beyond the length of the famous thousand and one nights of the eastern story-teller. everything he saw, everything he read, became forthwith 'ejuxrian.' this habit of introversion and lack of practicality changed its forms as he grew older, but never left him. when at length he went to a boarding-school at ambleside--or, rather, was placed in a clergyman's house near it with a few other boys for private tuition--his power of improvization was encouraged by his companions demanding long-drawn-out romances from him, while his morbid tendencies and consciousness of his small stature induced the habit of lonely wanderings and musing. desultory reading and frequent intercourse with his father's friends--southey, wordsworth, professor wilson, de quincey, and charles lloyd--formed the chief part of his early education. he seems to have been as a schoolboy truthful, dutiful, and thoughtful, but with great infirmity of will and subject to paroxysms of passion and heartbroken repentance. from school to oxford university was a natural and proper advance. unfortunately, his rare conversational qualities made him much sought after for students' wine parties. the result of this was that, although he passed his exams creditably, and won an oriel fellowship, he was judged to have forfeited this fellowship by his intemperance. the authorities were inexorable. no expostulation or influence could save him. it is probable some freedom of speech offensive to the narrow-minded dons of his day had something to do with their hardness. sympathy and kindly common-sense might have recovered him just then from his snare. as it was, he tried for literary employment in london with little success, though his tarriance there resulted in a further development of his alcoholic tendency. thence he drifted back to ambleside, where he tried school-keeping, but in vain. he had no disciplinary power, and one by one his pupils were removed, till the school collapsed. from there he went to the grasmere cottage, already spoken of, facing the lovely little lake of rydal, a blue island-dotted gem framed in with lofty green mountains. everybody loved the lonely, affectionate man--a keen observer of nature, an inspired writer of poetry--and everybody grieved when the end came one winter's day of , and his remains were buried in grasmere churchyard. there a little group of us stood but a while ago, reverently uncovered, beneath the yews that overshadow his grave and the graves of the wordsworth family. that he knew his weakness and lamented it, and at seasons valiantly struggled to overcome it, is certain, and one cannot help wondering whether he would not have triumphed ultimately had he lived in a teetotal age, when he could have been surrounded by abstaining companions, who would have sheltered him and kept him out of perpetually recurrent temptations. some of his more personal verses are sadly suggestive both of his struggle and his need: 'a woeful thing it is to find no trust secure in weak mankind, but tenfold woe betide the elf who knows not how to trust himself.' and again he writes: 'oh woeful impotence of weak resolve, recorded rashly to the writer's shame, days pass away, and time's large orbs revolve, and every day behold me still the same, till oft-neglected purpose loses aim, and hope becomes a flat, unheeded lie, and conscience, weary with the work of blame, in seeming slumber droops her wistful eye, as if she would resign her unregarded ministry.' passing lightly over his 'northern worthies,' some dozen or so of biographic sketches, good and capable 'pot-boilers'--yet 'pot-boilers' essentially--one comes to his essays, written for _blackwood_ and other magazines and papers, and his marginalia written in his books and published after his death. we cannot but be struck with the immense variety of subjects dealt with in his essays. many of them are signed by a pseudonym, such as 'thersites' if on 'heathen mythology'--or 'tom thumb the great' if 'brief observations upon brevity'--or 'ignoramus' if a series on the 'fine arts'--and very few were issued in his own name. some are full of quaint humour, such as 'thoughts on horsemanship, by a pedestrian,' 'a nursery lecture delivered by an old bachelor.' others have a fine literary flavour, as, for example, 'shakespeare, a tory and a gentleman,' or 'on the character of hamlet.' it is, however, as a sonnetteer he will be longest remembered, and as a writer of miscellaneous verses. when rowing round grasmere lake the other day we recalled his lines, beginning: 'within the compass of a little vale there lies a lake unknown in fairy tale, which not a poet knew in ancient days, when all the world believed in ghosts and fays; yet on that lake i have beheld a boat that seemed a fairy pinnace all afloat, on some blest mission to a distant isle to do meet worship in some ruined pile, where long of yore the fairies used to meet and haply hallow with their last retreat.' sometimes, too, when religious controversies grow warm around the good old revelation those verses of his come to remembrance, called 'the word of god': 'in holy books we read how god hath spoken to holy men in many different ways; but hath the present work'd no sign or token? is god quite silent in these latter days? 'and hath our heavenly sire departed quite, and left his poor babes in this world alone, and only left for blind belief--not sight-- some quaint old riddles in a tongue unknown?' hartley coleridge's longer and more ambitious pieces do not commend themselves to the public as do his shorter ones. his _forte_ was in-- 'singing of the little rills that trickle down the yellow hills to drive the fairies' water-mills;' of children whom he doted upon,--of 'the merry lark that bids a blithe good-morrow,'--of 'summer rain'--of 'rose, and violet, and pansy, each with its tale of love'--of poor mary magdalene. from his own soul, as from mary's, it may be the lord has 'wiped off the soiling of despair.' may we find it has been so when we ourselves reach the great hereafter. keswick in winter 'summer is not the season for this country. coleridge says, and says well, that then it is like a theatre at noon. there are _no goings on_ under a clear sky.... the very snow, which you would perhaps think must monotonize the mountains, gives new varieties; it brings out their recesses and designates all their inequalities, it impresses a better feeling of their height, and it reflects such tints of saffron, or fawn, or rose-colour to the evening sun. _o maria santissima!_ mount horeb with the glory upon its summit might have been more glorious, but not more beautiful than skiddaw in his pelisse of ermine. i will not quarrel with frost, though the fellow has the impudence to take me by the nose. the lakeside has such ten thousand charms; a fleece of snow or of the hoar-frost lies on the fallen trees or large stones; the grass-points, that just peer above the water, are powdered with diamonds; the ice on the margin with chains of crystal, and such veins and wavy lines of beauty as mock all art; and, to crown all, coleridge and i have found out that stones thrown upon the lake, when frozen, made a noise like singing birds, and when you whirl on it a large flake of ice, away the shivers slide, chirping and warbling like a flight of finches.'--_a letter of robert southey's._ [illustration: wine street, bristol. the birthplace of robert southey.] ix george the fourth's laureate robert southey 'i could say much of mr. southey, at this time; of his constitutional cheerfulness, of the polish of his manners, of his dignity, and at the same time of his unassuming deportment, as well as of the general respect which his talent, conduct, and conversation excited.'--joseph cottle, _southey's first publisher_. he was the most bookish and the most learned laureate of them all. as a poet, he was inferior to wordsworth and tennyson, yet superior to pye or austin. he was a native of bristol, where his father was an unsuccessful linen-draper in wine street. heredity had little or nothing to do with the evolution of robert's genius, except so far as from his mother's alertness of intellect and happy temperament he received a foundation upon which he was enabled to build his literary future. industry, and a great practical capacity, animated by a sanguine spirit, carried him through a life of unremitting toil, and conquered difficulties that would have crushed or disheartened most men. he first saw the light on august , . 'is it a boy?' asked the mother. 'ay,' replied the nurse, 'a great ugly boy'; and the mother, when she saw the 'great red creature,' feared she should never be able to love him! however, he soon grew to be a handsome, curly-headed lad, sensitive, and very much alive. the southeys being 'under water' most of their time, their first-born was adopted by a half-sister of the wife. aunt tylor lived in bath. to bath, then, he was removed, and the fashionable, theatre-going spinster, even over-nice and fastidious in her love of spotless cleanliness, and very imperious in her manner, did her duty conscientiously by her charge, letting him, however, attend dramatic entertainments, and read all he could lay hands on, till he was old enough to be sent to school. the 'academy' selected was fully as low as the average of the 'do-the-boys' halls of the day. the master was a broken-down tradesman who had married his drunken servant-maid, and the school broke up shortly with a free fight between the proprietor and his son. two years here had added little to the pupil's knowledge. he gained most by his private reading. the next four years were spent in attending as a day-boarder in the classes of a bewigged, irascible little welshman, with whom he learned latin and the church catechism. 'who taught you to read, boy?' inquired schoolmaster williams. 'my aunt, sir.' 'then tell your aunt that my old horse, dead these twenty years, could have done it better!' this naturally terminated his attendance at that school. the aunt left bath shortly thereafter, and finally settled at bristol, southey going with her, and still poring over spenser, sidney, pope's homer and translations of tasso, ariosto, and josephus. by-and-by he was promoted to westminster school to continue his latin, which he remembered for reading though not for writing, and to learn greek, which he afterwards forgot. a bias for history developed itself here, and he found a good library in the house of a friend in dean's yard, scarcely out of bounds. here he studied gibbon, rousseau, and epictetus. authorship in a school journal was tried, and so successfully that his criticism on the ways of a stupid, 'flogging' preceptor, whose name may well pass into oblivion, led to his expulsion, and the expelled lad, whose name will never be obliterated, returned to his aunt in bristol. robert southey had a maternal uncle, a clergyman, and english chaplain at lisbon, who became more to him than a father, the real father having failed in business and died of a broken heart. mr. hill sent his nephew to oxford, designing to make a clergyman of him. the dean of christ church, however, hearing that the tall, handsome, enthusiastic young poet and radical had been turned out of westminster for daring to attack that fine old english institution, flogging in the great public schools, rejected his application. balliol received him. here he made some lifelong and most valuable friendships, one bringing him a future pension of £ a year to aid him in his devotion to literature, an allowance continued, with unusual generosity, till he had made his mark, and government had remunerated him for his eminent services. he owed as little to oxford as to lower schools. all he learned, he tells us, was some swimming and boating. he wrote his epic poem, 'joan of arc,' in his nineteenth year; refused to enter into orders, 'joyfully bade adieu to oxford,' tried to learn medicine, but hated the dissecting-room too much to follow it; had an interview with coleridge, imbibed 'pantisocracy,' returned to bristol once more, fell in love with edith fricker, sister of lovell's and coleridge's wives, and was refused his aunt tylor's house in consequence of his erratic opinions and misdoings. his portuguese uncle now stepped in to wean him from those ultra-democratic views, as they were then considered, though nowadays almost commonplaces of toryism, and to relieve his pecuniary necessities. pantisocracy, supplemented by a little lecturing and a little publishing, had not proved profitable, and poor southey frequently knew the want of a dinner. mr. hill was over in england, and took his relative back with him. to make all fast, however, robert and his beloved edith, his faithful, loving, and every way admirable wife for many years, got themselves married in st. mary de redcliffe church on the morning of the day the former started from bristol on his travels. they could not raise the price of the wife's wedding-ring between them, and kind-hearted bookseller cottle lent the requisite guinea. they parted at the church-door, southey going first to madrid, and then to lisbon and its environs. in the spanish peninsula were many valuable libraries hidden away in monasteries. these he ransacked, learning the tongues in which they were written, or printed, posting himself up in portuguese history, translating the romance of the cid, and bringing back with him a number of valuable books and documents. it was one of the pleasantest and most profitable periods of his life, was this trip to the old medieval, catholic world of modern portugal, though he came home with an intense dislike of romanism. but he returned to england and commenced studying law in london, forgetting all he learned the moment his law books were closed, and writing his second great poem, 'madoc,' in the intervals of reading blackstone and littleton and coke. a holiday near christchurch followed during the bright summer weather of with wife and mother, brother tom just released from a french prison, brother-in-law coleridge, bookseller cottle, friend lloyd, charles lamb, and john rickman; and then a homeless time, sometimes in london, sometimes in bristol, and once among the literati of norwich. then ensued a residence at westbury-on-trym in a pretty cottage, and an acquaintance with davy, afterwards the celebrated sir humphrey. another trip to portugal, this time accompanied by his edith, involved more study, and produced another poem--'thalaba.' coleridge, it will be remembered, had removed to keswick, to greta hall. he now wrote for the southeys to join him there, which they did, and it was their home as long as their lives lasted. here robert toiled at literature for his daily bread, living a strenuous life not for his own and his growing family's sake alone, but for the coleridges during samuel's sad lapses into the opium habit, and for the widowed mrs. lovell and her child also. there was a time when i could not like robert southey as man or author. his longer poems seemed prosy, and most of his shorter ones trivial, and his prose lacking in sympathy with humanity, and his books narrow in their outlook on life. he seemed to be commonplace and cold, and every way humdrum. fuller acquaintance with the author and his works has not greatly changed one's views, about some of his verses, but it has brought acquaintance with some books of extraordinary merit wherein prejudice fades into quaintness of thought and expression not altogether unpleasant, and since one's youthful days the commonplace virtues of domestic life and home cheerfulness and the heroism that toils and struggles unseen, and bears its life's burdens uncomplainingly, have received a spiritual glorification far beyond that which is due to the showy, romantic, good-for-nothing selfishness of the plunger who neglects his responsibilities while captivating the onlookers. life at keswick was apparently a monotonous one. to-day was as yesterday, and to-morrow as to-day, with the exception of short journeys away, always leavened by longings to be at home. each forty-eight hours was mapped out with as much regularity as social claims would permit. reading, writing, walking among the beautiful landscapes of keswick, and the hearty enjoyment of relaxation in the midst of his numerous family circle, had all their allotted times, with the hours of rest and sleep, for southey needed sleep and exercise to keep in good order the bodily functions his very existence as an author depended upon. yet did he never refuse to be interviewed by legitimate callers--that is, those who brought their own literary credentials with them, or introductions from those he knew. among the men who sought him for his works' sake was shelley during the time of his compulsory retirement at keswick. he carried on also a very large private correspondence. his 'selected' letters alone fill four volumes. he befriended kirke white, the poet, with wise counsel and friendly sympathies, and charlotte brontë, and not a few now quite unknown poets, struggling to make names for themselves among the stars of english poesie. the correspondents to whom he unbent, and showed the real man behind the books he wrote, included such geniuses as bishop lightfoot, sir walter scott, walter savage landor (who was an inspiration to him), sir henry taylor, and, of course, the lake poets so well known to us all by now. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ southey's monument in crosthwaite church, keswick.] the losses, occurring in every extensive family, came from time to time to tear the fibres of southey's loving and sensitive heart. children died, or married and left him, and at length his brave, and dearly-beloved wife's mental faculties decayed, and after some time of gradual and hopeless failure, she died in . two years later he married another excellent woman, though of quite different type from his deeply-mourned edith. this was caroline bowles, who was a literary lady and poetess, and had been a correspondent for some time. he never fully recovered the shock of his first wife's loss, and his own later years were beclouded with brain disease resulting in something not quite imbecility, and yet bordering upon it, in which he seemed to live in a perpetual dream. a fever hastened his end, which came in the month of march, . his successor in the laureateship and his son-in-law were the only strangers present in crosthwaite churchyard at the funeral. it was a cloudy day on which he was buried, but as the service was ending a ray of sunshine touched the grave, and reminded the mourners of the better light in the world beyond into which his soul had entered. southey was all his life a sincerely religious man. his refusal to enter the anglican priesthood in youth, and his championship of liberal views, and even the narrowness of his later opinions on affairs of state and church--in other words, his bigoted toryism--were all due to the sincerity of his convictions, and his loyalty to what he thought at the time to be the truth. the best short life you can have of southey is edward dowden's in 'english men of letters.' of his longer poems the world takes small account, though there is undoubted poetry in them. it preserves chiefly his ballads, things like the 'battle of blenheim,' 'how the water comes down at lodore,' 'the old woman of berkley,' and so forth, which can be found in most anthologies. his prose writings were principally task-work, bread-winners, painstaking, and mostly reliable. his 'life of nelson' has still a circulation, and is probably the most popular of his books. his 'life of john wesley' is pre-eminently a churchman's appreciation of one to whom he tried to be just, but had no kind of sympathy with. the works which best show us southey himself are his 'uneducated poets,' a readable group of short biographies of his humbler brethren, to some of whom he had been personally a benefactor; his 'book of the church,' a volume of biographical sketches of builders and martyrs of the church of england; his 'commonplace book,' which shows the marvellous industry of the man in collecting materials for his life-work; and, above all, that curious assortment of odds and ends of erudition connected by the thinnest thread of a story, around which the quaint old-world learning winds and winds endlessly with something of rabelaisian humour without its grossness. this, of course, is 'the doctor,' a book once captured from an acquaintance of mine by hospital surgeons on the ground that 'medical' works were not permitted to patients! this book, written for his own delectation and for the justification of his friends, is particularly suitable for long, wet winter evenings by a cosy fireside, and one that can be opened anywhere to disclose 'a feast of reason and a flow of soul' to the reader. [illustration: joseph cottle, of bristol. b. . d. . friend and patron of coleridge, southey, and wordsworth, and their first publisher (see pp. , , ). portrait (æt. ) by branwhite, also of bristol.] x victoria's first laureate william wordsworth 'the age grew sated with her frail wit, herself waxed weary on her loveless throne. men felt life's tide, the sweep and surge of it, and craved a living voice, a natural tone.' from _wordsworth's grave_, by william watson. wordsworth is, of course, the greatest poet of the english lake school. he is also the only one born in the lake counties, educated and, with slight exception, resident all his life within them. his birthplace was cockermouth, his school the grammar school of hawkshead; his residences--except what time he briefly dwelt among the southern quantock hills--were at dove cottage, grasmere, and rydal mount; his burial-place was among his kinsfolk in a quiet corner of grasmere churchyard, beneath the sycamores and yews. most of his compeers and friends--coleridge, southey, de quincey, charles lloyd, john wilson, and even hartley coleridge--were born elsewhere, and came to live among these northern mountains in youth or manhood. he wrote, also, more about our district, and wrote it better, than any other. this was partly due to patriotic devotion to his native corner of our common fatherland, partly because the love of rambling was ingrained in his being, chiefly because he was intuitively a nature-poet, looking below the grand and the lovely into the mystical heart and core of sights and sounds that conceal and yet reveal their creator, fashioner, and upholder. he was the inspired interpreter of things which ordinary men have not spiritual knowledge to understand--which, indeed, the majority do not so much as behold dimly until one of god's seers lifts the enshrouding veil. born in , he died at noon on april , . no one now living was contemporary with his birth. middle-aged admirers of his poems, middle-aged controverters of his claim to pre-eminence, well remember the shadow of death that fell across the nation's heart when they heard the laureate had passed away. 'surely,' writes f. w. h. myers, 'of him, if of anyone, we may think as a man who was so in accord with nature, so at one with the very soul of things, that there can be no mansion of the universe which shall not be to him a home, no governor that will not accept him among his servants, and satisfy him with love and peace.' there are few events to record between his earthly birth and his birth into the upper kingdom--or shall we say his return to that kingdom?--if there is anything in his own suggestion that-- 'not in entire forgetfulness, and not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come from god who is our home.' his was a domestic life after he left cambridge, and had done some continental travel and some in scotland. it was spent in cottage homes with his beloved sister dorothy, for a short while in dorsetshire, another short while at alfoxden, in somerset, and then till his marriage at grasmere. he was married to mary hutchinson at penrith in . as his family grew he removed successively into two larger houses, and eventually settled at rydal mount. here his life was one of attention to his small government appointment of stamp distributor, wandering 'lonely as a cloud,' and muttering to himself so much that the peasants deemed him half crazy; meditating upon and composing his immortal poems; and, after he had become famous, receiving literary guests from all the english-speaking peoples. his biography is a biography of the mind, a history of mental processes and tendencies, a record of the gradual creation of his own anthology. there are innumerable lives of him, of less or greater length, from the old one of paxton hood, and the most full and capable by his own nephew, and by professor knight, to the latest in the 'english men of letters series.' professor knight, too, has given the world excellent editions of his poems, excellent selections therefrom, and a charming review of his connection with the lakes. all these are accessible to ordinary readers and hero-worshippers. it will answer my purpose best in this place to note only his local nature-verses. yet i may, perhaps, remind this generation that wordsworth had to win his spurs--the recognition of his right to be ranked in any degree as a poet--and still more to be considered a teacher of his race. his earlier effusions passed through a veritable fire of scornful criticism. 'primroses,' 'daffodils,' 'pet lambs,' 'idle shepherd boys,' 'alice fells' and 'lucy grays,' and 'lines to a friend's spade,' were altogether too trivial themes for the responsible and serious muse, while 'peter bell' was a special subject of scorn. 'poems of sentiment' were merely 'sentimental.' the sonnets and larger pieces, particularly 'the excursion,' were too heavy, and too laboured to be readable. pantheism was charged upon him as an objectionable creed. time justified him largely, and wordsworth societies helped to do so still further, though in some respects the slashing critics may have had fair ground. no other poet of his calibre is so unequal in the quality of his output. wordsworth's poems are by no means, it cannot be too much insisted upon, all on the same high plane of merit, and many will never pass into the world's best thought, as nearly all tennyson's have, to say nothing of shakespeare's or milton's. he was pre-eminently a revealer of the kingdom of nature, as seen in the mountains and lakes, the birds, the flowers, the peasantry of the counties of westmorland and cumberland, and the over-sea portion of lancashire. not only did he write an admirable guide for travellers and tourists in these regions, but there is scarcely a section of this land that he has not rendered classic ground by connecting with it some incident, some allusion, some poetical idealizing. where shall i begin? with windermere, of course. you remember this in the prelude? 'when summer came, our pastime was, on bright half-holidays, to sweep along the plain of windermere with rival oar; and the selected bourne was now an island musical with birds that sang and ceased not; now a sister isle beneath the oak's umbrageous covert--sown with lilies of the valley like a field; and now a third small island, where survived in solitude the ruins of a shrine once to our lady dedicate, and served daily with chanted rites.' better still than this is another passage from the same poem: 'there was a boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs and islands of winander! many a time at evening, when the earliest stars began to move along the edges of the hills, rising or setting, would he stand alone beneath the trees or by the glimmering lake, and there with fingers interwoven, both hands pressed closely palm to palm, and to his mouth uplifted, he, as through an instrument, blew mimic hootings to the silent owls, that they might answer him, and they would shout across the watery vale, and shout again, responsive to his call, with quivering peals, and long halloos and screams and echoes, long redoubled, and redoubled--concourse wild of jocund din; and when a lengthened pause of silence came, and baffled his best skill, then sometimes in that silence, while he hung listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise has carried far into his heart the voice of mountain torrents; or the visible scene would enter unawares into his mind, with all its solemn imagery, its rocks, its woods, and that uncertain heaven, received into the bosom of the steady lake.' perhaps it is merely from old associations--the love one had for skating on the flooded and frozen severn-side meadows, when in one's 'teens'--yet i confess i like even better than either of the foregoing extracts those lines describing the scene when our poet and his schoolmates, 'all shod with steel,' 'hissed along the polished ice in games confederate,' over the wintry floor of windermere lake, lines which lead up to 'ye presences of nature in the sky and on the earth. ye visions of the hills! and souls of lonely places! can i think a vulgar hope was yours when ye employed such ministry. when ye through many a year haunting me thus among my boyish sports, on caves and trees, upon the woods and hills, impressed upon all forms the characters of danger or desire; and thus did make the surface of the universal earth with triumph and delight, with hope and fear, work like a sea?' wordsworth did not write much referring to derwentwater. it was not size so much as beauty that captivated his imagination. what little there is may well be passed over for the poems connected with ullswater--that english lake lucerne--and helvellyn. three years after his marriage he visited these regions in a stormy november. of this short tour he has left a journal, and to its credit we place several of his descriptive verses, notably 'the pass of kirkstone,' omitted in some editions of his works. therein he tells us how the mists, though they obscured the distant views, magnified even the smaller objects close at hand, so that a stone wall might be taken for a monument of ancient grandeur, and the grassy tracts in the semi-light for tarns. the rocks appeared like ruins left by the deluge, or to altars fit for druid service, but never carrying the sacred fire unless the glow-worm lit the nightly sacrifice. on another tour it was that his sister dorothy, always his good genius, called his attention to the gorgeous bed of daffodils, in the woods below gowbarrow park--afterwards made famous by his sonnet. 'i never saw daffodils,' he records in his journal, 'so beautiful. they grew among the mossy stones about them. some rested their heads on these stones like a pillow, the others tossed, and reeled, and danced, and seemed as if they half laughed in the wind, they looked so gay and glancing.' there is also in the journal a paragraph about a singular and magnified reflection about lyulph's tower in this lake, though the tower itself was hidden from him behind an eminence. it was on this second tour he wrote, near brothers water, verses, somewhat too like a catalogue of articles on view, that close with this happy lilt: 'there's joy in the mountains, there's life in the fountains, small clouds are sailing, blue sky prevailing-- the rain is over and gone.' it is among these lines the fancy occurs of which the critics made such surpassing fun--for themselves, certainly: 'the cattle are grazing, their heads never raising, there are forty feeding like one.' not a bad illustration, after all, is this of the facile descent from the sublime into bathos. to the ullswater period we owe, of course, 'the somnambulist,' a legend of aira force, and a sonnet to clarkson, the abolitionist, who lived at the foot of the lake. helvellyn appears in many poems. grasmere and rydal, as is only natural, still more often, with their ancient mountains imparting to him 'dream and visionary impulses,' their 'thick umbrage' of beech-trees, their fir-trees beyond the wishing gate, and their 'massy ways carried across these heights by human perseverance.' of the river duddon he has given us a series of sonnets, some three dozen in number, of which we may hold 'the stepping-stones' to be the best, and 'the after-thought' the best for me to close with, for it is representative of his subtler feelings: 'i thought of thee, my partner and my guide[a] as being past away.--vain sympathies! for, backward, duddon! as i cast my eyes, i see what was, and is, and will abide; still glides the stream, and shall for ever glide; the form remains, the function never dies; while we, the brave, the mighty, and the wise, we men, who in the morn of youth, defied the elements, must vanish;--be it so! enough, if something from our hands have power to live, and act, and serve the future hour; and if, as toward the silent tomb we go, through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent dower, we feel that we are greater than we know.' [a] the river. his prayer for poetic inspiration 'celestial spirit which erewhile didst deign our elder milton's hallowed prayer to hear, do thou inspire my tributary strain, breathe thou through every word that sense severe of truth; and if ought eloquent appear, let it to everyone be manifest, that it flows from that empyrian clear, where thou beside god's throne, a heavenly guest, with vision beatific evermore art blessed!' charles lloyd: _stanzas_. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ old brathay. the home of charles lloyd.] xi a friend of great poets charles lloyd 'long, long, within my aching heart, the grateful sense shall cherished be; i'll think less meanly of myself, that lloyd will sometimes think on me.' charles lamb. many will, no doubt, ask who this man was, and where he lived? such a question shows small acquaintance with either the biographies or writings of the great poets of the lake school, or of charles lamb or thomas de quincey. he was the personal and highly-valued friend of them all, and his name and residence are too frequently mentioned in their letters and publications to escape the notice of even casual readers. he was the collaborateur of s. t. coleridge and charles lamb in their first joint volume of poems, published by joseph cottle, bookseller, of bristol, their kind patron in early days of struggle. he became a 'celebrity' of this district when he went to reside at low brathay, near ambleside, fixing his home by the rushing rivulet of the langdales, and beneath the lofty summit of loughrigg, the mountain beloved of fosters, and arnolds, and their compeers and neighbours. he was born in at birmingham, his father being a member of the society of friends, one of the wealthy banking firm, and a philanthropist and man of culture. he, the elder lloyd, was a lover and translator of homer and horace, and specially a student of greek literature, thereby helping to disprove the random assertion of a recent novelist that the quakerism of the past generation was utterly antagonistic to the culture and spirit of old greece. when charles was about of age, and had declined entering his father's bank, that he might give himself up to poesy, coleridge visited birmingham on the profitless errand of obtaining subscriptions to his magazine. he took a great liking to the new and rising author, and followed him to bristol. coleridge was very poor (wedgewood's pension had not yet been granted), and was very shiftless to boot. lloyd provided him with a free home and with access to sorely-needed books. when coleridge removed to nether stowey, on the quantock hills, lloyd went too, and again kept house. here they were near wordsworth, then residing at alfoxden. one result of this acquaintance was the marriage of lloyd's sister to a younger brother of the future laureate. a strange, unpractical company these poets and philosophers were, and their ways were erratic. the story of their inability to put a collar on their pony till shown by a servant-girl, is well known. the landlord of alfoxden refused to renew the letting of the house to wordsworth because of his rumoured odd manners and habits. here, at nether stowey, poor lloyd appears first to have developed the epilepsy that, increasing in intensity, at last ended in madness. he was, no doubt in consequence of these fits, liable to extreme depression, and his morbidness, a source of anxiety and irritation to his friends, may have lain at the root of a quarrel between them, which the indispensable cottle helped to settle, relating to their joint authorship, to which lloyd had contributed the larger quantity of mss. and the larger share of funds, if not the more excellent material. as a poet and novelist he is now virtually forgotten. i can find no copies of his works in any public or subscription library in this locality, nor is there one of them in the invaluable london library among all its hundreds of thousands of volumes. yet those that exist are worth much money. in a second-hand dealer's catalogue i see there is a copy of the poems priced at no less than fifty shillings, at least ten times its original price. his novels i have failed altogether to find. 'edmund oliver' embodies the account, transferred to a fictitious hero, of coleridge's disappointment in love while at cambridge, an event which led to his enlisting in a cavalry regiment. it tells nothing but the truth when it humorously narrates the rough-riding experiences and the torture of the unhorsemanlike student-soldier, and pictures the astonishment of a cultured officer on discovering a latin inscription on a stable wall, and on inquiry a trooper able to converse in greek and ready to discuss at egregious length the most abstruse questions in philosophy. this episode alone makes the book interesting to collectors. but though neither 'edmund oliver,' a novel in two volumes; nor 'the duc d'ormond,' a tragedy; nor 'beritola,' a tale; nor even 'desultory thoughts in london,' are easy to find outside the british museum library, yet lloyd clearly deserves a nearer approach to immortality than he has attained. de quincey writes of him in his 'literary reminiscences': 'at brathay lived charles lloyd. far as he might be below the others i have mentioned, he could not be called a common man. common! he was a man never to be forgotten! he was somewhat too rousseauish, but he had in conversation the most extraordinary powers for analysis of a certain kind, applied to the philosophy of manners and the most delicate nuances of social life.' he could not be a mere hanger-on to greater men to whom several poets addressed sonnets of affection and admiration. charles lamb, whose contributions to the early joint volume were few, while he speaks of lloyd's as over a hundred, 'though only his choice fish,' is quite enthusiastic, exclaiming: 'friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, why were't thou not born in my father's dwelling, so we might talk of the old familiar faces?' one, and the chief, labour undertaken by lloyd at brathay, after his marriage and permanent settlement there, was a voluminous translation of alfieri's poetical works from the italian. it is spoken of as faithful to the original and full of the truest poetic insight. in the judgment of competent critics his translations were better than his own compositions, even of those of his later years, such as his 'nugæ canoræ,' published about the same time as professor wilson's 'isle of palms,' of which, by-the-by he received a presentation copy as a token of regard from the author, with whom he was on intimate terms. lamb in writing to lloyd, gives him rather a back-handed testimonial when he says, 'your verses are as good and wholesome as prose,' while in another letter he says, 'your lines are not to be understood on one leg! they are sinuous and to be won with wrestling.' probably the key to this remark is contained in talfourd's statement that lloyd wrote 'with a facility fatal to excellence.' on the other hand, the spitefully sarcastic and foolish sentences of byron, uttered against wordsworth and his 'school,' inclusive of the subject of this paper, seem almost beneath contempt: 'vulgar wordsworth,' quoth he, 'the meanest object of the holy group, whose verse of all but childish prattle void, seems blessed harmony to lambe and lloyd.' lambe (whose name should have no 'e' at the end) and lloyd, he adds in a footnote, are 'the most ignoble followers of southey and co.' fancy a byron sneering at southey, wordsworth, and lamb! these, at least, are equal, if not superior, to himself, even if lloyd is confessedly beneath him in merit. however, i can, fortunately, give my readers a specimen of one of lloyd's sonnets, admired and preserved by bernard barton. it is addressed to god on behalf of his own father, the birmingham philanthropist: 'oh thou who, when thou mad'st the heart of man, implanted'st there, as paramount to all, immortal conscience; do thou deign to scan with favouring eye these lays which would recall man to his due allegiance. nothing can thrive without thee; hence at thy throne i fall and thee implore to go forth in the van of these my numbers, lord of great and small! bless thou these lays, and, with a reverent voice, next to thyself would i my father place close at thy threshold; true to his youth's choice his deeds with conscience ever have kept pace; great father, bid my "earthly sire" rejoice, a white-robed christian in thy safe embrace.' bernard barton calls it a 'noble sonnet.' but the end was nearing. the fits and morbid impressions were followed by illusory voices and cries, and at last wilson writes his wife: 'poor lloyd is in a madhouse.' he seems to have been for awhile in the well-known 'retreat' at york, from whence he escaped, and was ultimately removed to an asylum in france, where, after some years, he died. in happier days he had married a miss pemberton, who is said to have been carried off by southey on his friend's behalf. she was a capable and appreciated housewife, but her sanity did not prevent the transmission of her husband's disease to his son, the rev. owen lloyd, a highly respected clergyman, with his father's poetic tastes and genius, and a close friend of 'lile' hartley coleridge. such, in brief, is the story, interesting yet melancholy, of one whose high character and culture and rare social qualities endeared him to a wide circle of men in the first literary ranks, and who was cordially esteemed by another and outer circle, in which was leigh hunt, who writes of him as 'a latinist--much shaken by illness, but of an acute mind, and metaphysical.' [illustration: charles lloyd and his wife. from a rare painting. by permission of j. m. dent, esq.] the coming of the yachts to windermere regatta 'bowness bay is the rendezvous for the fleet. and lo! from all the airts, coming in the sunshine, flights of felicitous wide-winged creatures, whose snow-white lustre, in bright confusion hurrying to and fro, adorns, disturbs, and dazzles the broad blue bosom of the queen of lakes. southwards from forest fell-foot beneath the beacon hill, gathering glory from the sylvan bays of green graithwaite, and the templed promontory of stately storrs, before the sea-borne wind, the wild swans, all, float up the watery vale of beauty and of peace. out from that still haven, overshadowed by the elm-grove, where the old parsonage sleeps, comes the _emma_ murmuring from the water-lilies, and as her mainsail rises to salute the sunshine, in proud impatience lets go her anchor the fair _gazelle_. as if to breathe themselves before the start, cutter and schooner in amity stand across the ripple, till their gaffs seem to cut the sweet woods of furness fells, and they put about, each on less than her own length, ere that breezeless bay may show, among the inverted umbrage, the drooping shadows of their canvass. lo! swinburne the skilful sallies from his pebbly pier, in his tiny skiff that seems all sail; and the _norway nautilus_, as the wind slackens, leads the van of the fairy squadron which heaven might now cover with one of her small clouds, did she choose to drop it from the sky.'--john wilson: _christopher at the lakes_. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside_ elleray, windermere. the home of professor john wilson, as it then was.] xii 'christopher north' john wilson 'tories! yes! we are tories. our faith is in the divine right of kings. but easy, my boys, easy; all free men are kings, and they hold their empire from heaven. that is our political, philosophical, moral, religious creed. in its spirit we have lived, and in its spirit we hope to die.'--_recreations of christopher north._ in the days of my youth--say half a century ago--with extraordinary avidity my reading contemporaries devoured the 'noctes ambrosianæ' of 'christopher north,' mastering the barbaric scotch dialect of galloway, in which the ettrick shepherd is made to speak, for the delightsomeness of his imagination and his quaintly-expressed notions about men and matters. nowadays, if i mention the books to any young fellow of twenty-five to thirty-five, i am stared at as blankly as if i had asked was he intimately acquainted with the man in the moon! in alfred miles's fine volumes, 'the poets of the century,' his poems are not even quoted, and his very name is merely lumped in with a number of the smaller fry of north britain; while mr. stedman, in 'victorian poets,' will have it that his verses had become 'antiquated' even before their author's death. wilson has been overshadowed by our southeys, coleridges, wordsworths, and ruskins, though he was greater, more interesting, more lovable as a mere human being than any of them, and deserves to be as long remembered for his books. a generation that calls kipling a poet, and makes an alfred austin its laureate, may indeed be expected to forget many of the men of true genius honoured by their fathers. wilson came into the lake country in from paisley, where he was born twenty-two years previously. he had recently buried his father, from whom he had inherited some £ , . the property he purchased, and retained in his possession till his decease in , was a small farmhouse and its lands, known as elleray. it is situated on the slopes of orrest head, so well beloved of windermere residents, and so frequented by tourists on account of the magnificent prospect it commands. he added to the house, and converted it into a charming home for a wife and growing family, and a haven of rest for himself in his frequent retirements from his future busy professional life in edinburgh. it was pulled down about forty years ago, when the estate changed hands. from either of the lofty ranges enclosing the romantic troutbeck valley there is one of the most magnificent mountain views in all england. the tumbled masses, immortal weather-beaten monarchs--wansfell, loughrigg, and their compeers and allies, and, farther off, the langdale pikes (twin cloud-piercing giants), and cringle crags, and 'the old man' of coniston, and, on a clearer day than usual, the dominating summit of distant scafell--these, their sunshine and shadows, their waving woodlands, their stretches of purple heather and vast brown beds of bracken, their foaming cascades and garrulous streams, and the blue inland sea at their feet dotted with verdant islands and white-sailed yachts, and traversed by elegant steam gondolas thronged with happy 'trippers,' are all visible in one never-to-be-forgotten picture arranged in the wisdom of the almighty for the pleasure of his people. such an outlook, but from a lower altitude, delighted daily the eyes of nature-loving wilson, whose very prose was poetry, of a calibre not less than kingsley's in his celebrated 'devonshire idylls,' or than ruskin's rhapsodies on switzerland. his ardent temperament and unusual virility compelled him to throw himself heartily into almost every possible form of physical and intellectual enjoyment. there never was such a man as he for undertaking everything and anything, and for doing nothing badly, including the art of 'loafing,' when he was in the cue for it. nearly six feet high, broad-shouldered--'lish,' as they say here (meaning 'lissom,' as southerners say, or 'lithe,' as the dictionaries have it)--blue-eyed, loosely arrayed, and collarless, he strode along the vales or over the fells, doing his thirty and forty miles at a stretch, or rode his famous pony colonsay in a still-remembered trotting-match, or, with a couple of like-minded friends he chased a bull by moonlight across the uplands, each of the huntsmen being armed with a long spear. he was a mighty fisherman, storing numberless rods and artificial flies among the books of his library, and even whiling away the tedium of his last illness by arranging and rearranging the latter, and recalling as he did so the exploits of former days accomplished with the aid of this one or that, for sometimes his catches had amounted to as many as eighteen and twenty dozen of trouts in a day. he was an adept at wrestling and at boxing, throwing or being thrown with keen enjoyment of the tussle, and attacking and punishing professional pugilists or bullies of the fair, if in his opinion oppression or unfair play were evidenced. he kept a fleet of sailing-boats on the lake, and was dubbed 'lord high admiral of windermere,' and he was as expert a swimmer as he was a sailor, delighting in occasionally frightening his shipmates by feigned accidents, and then having a boisterous laugh at their fears for him. cock-fighting was at that time a 'gentlemanly' sport, and his breed of game-cocks was celebrated far and near. he seems never to have kept fewer than fifty at once. as great a conversationist and humorous and jovial companion as he was an athlete, he was much sought after for dinner and supper parties, while at balls he was accounted the best of dancers. so universal a genius in all manly outdoor pastimes, and so genial a friend within doors, was liable to many temptations in that sadly too 'drinking' age, and as a young man he certainly was often the worse for liquor, as his own letters help to prove. yet was he never quarrelsome, never did he put forth his strength and skill for any low or mean purpose, never but in play or in defence of the ill-used. 'everybody loved him,' records his daughter, rich and poor, and the dumb animals also. many stories are told of his chivalrous and gallant conduct, especially towards womanhood, and of the wonderful combination in his character of almost feminine tenderness and sympathy with the roistering vigour of an ancient viking. he would keep patient watch at night by a sick servant's bed, tend with his own hands some wounded dog; and there is on record the fact of a fledgling sparrow taking refuge in his study, and being fed and cared for and so tamed that it stayed as a denizen of the same room for at least eleven years. the delightful time at elleray was crowned with a still higher happiness when he married a beautiful and engaging lady, every way his peer in bodily graces and in mind, whom he loved passionately, and for whose death in middle life he grieved so deeply that he never fully recovered the blow, though so exceptionally blessed with affectionate and able children and eminent sons-in-law. his married days at elleray were by no means all spent in mere physical enjoyments and recreation. they were full of literary and social occupations. all his great contemporaries and neighbours were frequent guests. at their reunions there was first-rate talk, and often competitions in versifying some given theme, or some other proof was forthcoming that the circle was one of learning and talent. de quincey was, though insignificant in stature, and obliged to trot by the side of the stalwart wilson, one of his most valued touring companions. hartley coleridge was always welcomed, and on one occasion he was detained a prisoner in his own interest for a fortnight, in order to prevent an outbreak of intoxication, and to secure some promised contribution for an editor who was to pay him cash for his needs. here, too, came other well-known litterateurs to see and converse with the rising poet and journalist, and perchance to go a-fishing with him in the becks and tarns of the neighbourhood. it was at this period that his greatest poems were written, and some published--for instance, 'the isle of palms,' and 'the city of the plague,' the former a story of shipwrecked lovers, and the latter one of london during the great plague, introducing a wandering magdalene from grasmere whose memory goes back, in the hour of trouble, to her 'beautiful land of mountains, lakes, and woods,' to the 'green and primrose banks of her own rydal lake,' and the 'deep hush of grasmere vale,' and the waters 'reflecting all the heavens.' his society and surroundings, as well as his instincts, encouraged the poetic vein, already evinced by his having won the oxford newdigate prize during his university days. alas, these halcyon hours were over all too soon for the hitherto-fortunate couple! the wife's dower was a handsome one, but the far larger property of the husband was swept away by the fraudulence of a relative who was his trustee. the family had to leave elleray for the home of mrs. wilson, senior, in edinburgh, though the windermere house was retained, and frequently returned to after the early stress of changed circumstances was over. cruel as was the wrench, it brought out the better side of wilson's disposition. he murmured not, bowing before the trial with real christian resignation, and at the same moment bracing himself to the task of earning a subsistence with truly noble fortitude. in the scotch metropolis he soon became connected with the newly-started _blackwood's magazine_, and was, with lockhart, one of the ruling spirits of that famous periodical. for long years his wit, his rhetoric, his trenchant and slashing criticisms, his keen insight into literary merit, his almost incredible fertility of subject-matter (he sometimes, under pressure, wrote the whole of the articles for a particular number), speedily lifted it to the foremost place among similar journals, and made it the fiercest organ of the most rampant intellectual toryism that britain has ever known, bitterly hated, sorely dreaded, yet bought by friend and foe alike, and read wherever our language was understood. it is worth any reader's while to buy at some second-hand bookseller's 'the recreations of christopher north' and the 'noctes,' both reprints from 'old ebony.' suddenly there occurred a vacancy in the university professorship of moral philosophy. wilson tried for the post against sir william hamilton. all the influence of a grateful and unscrupulous tory administration (that of lord liverpool, george iv.'s first premier) was exerted on his behalf, and they handled the unreformed city corporation, in whose appointment the professorship lay, as voters in rotten boroughs were then handled. john wilson secured the chair, to the great scandal of the other side, who truly pointed out that he had had no philosophical training nor known bias to ethical studies, while his previous life had given no evidence of his fitness to teach morals to young men. as a matter of fact, however, this was a turning-point in his own spiritual career. he took the advice of sir walter scott to 'forswear sack, purge, and live cleanly like a gentleman.' he set himself diligently to the study of his new subject, and mastered it. he never published any system of moral philosophy. he has made no such mark in the history of philosophy as did his great competitor. yet, far beyond almost any teacher of modern times, he achieved the highest of all distinctions--that of being beloved, reverenced, almost idolized, by generations of students during a term of thirty years, moulding and shaping the lives of multitudes of public men and of those who create the national welfare in schools and colleges, and filling them with noble aspirations and ideals. his was a 'muscular christianity,' taught and practised long ere the term was invented and popularized. his strenuous life was now, at the end of the thirty years of occupancy of the chair, drawing to its close. a paralytic stroke obliged him to resign. after a lingering time of gradual decay the fine spirit--erring, repentant, forgiven, witnessing mightily for the higher and better side of human nature--passed into a world of kindred souls, as he wished it might, ''mid the blest stillness of a sabbath day.' the professional critic 'of all creatures that feed upon the earth, the professional critic is the one whose judgment i least value for any purpose except advertisement. but of all writers, the one whom he sits in judgment on is also the one whom he is least qualified to assume a superiority over. for is it likely that a man, who has written a serious book about anything in the world, should not know more about that thing than one who merely reads his book for the purpose of reviewing it. but so it must be, and a discreet man must just let it be. what i want to know is whether men and women and children who care nothing about me, but take an intelligent interest in the subject, find the book readable. what its other merits are nobody knows so well as i.'--_a letter to lord tennyson by james spedding._ xiii the champion of lord bacon james spedding 'bacon, like moses, led us forth at last; the barren wilderness he pass'd, did on the very border stand of the blest promised land, and from the mountain top of his exalted wit, saw it himself, and show'd us it.' abraham cowley. he was a 'baconian specialist.' specialists are seldom known to the public, and seldom read, even when known by name, except by the chosen few they write for. his life of the great philosopher and essayist--francis bacon, viscount st. albans, and baron verulam, etc.--in seven volumes, is the standard biography. the fourteen additional volumes of bacon's works, edited by spedding and two coadjutors, is the standard edition of these. there is a smaller form of the 'life and letters' in a couple of volumes--a condensation of the completer edition--and also done by spedding. he spent thirty years in gathering materials, and putting them in order. 'minute, accurate, and dry,' his _magnum opus_ can never become popular; but it is exhaustive, leaving nothing more to be said on the subject. it will be seen at once what infinite pains he must have taken to perfect his self-imposed task--how he must have searched, and searched again, in all available libraries and depositories of old mss., old letters, old records of state and documents in private hands--how he must have written and rewritten, added, struck out, and revised over and over during that long period, as new facts cropped up or new views occurred to his mind. says mrs. lynn linton of him: 'he was one who touched the crown of the ideal student, whose justice of judgment was on a par with his sweetness of nature, whose intellectual force was matched by his serenity, his patience, his self-mastery, his purity.' there is another book of his--'evenings with a reviewer'--written to defend bacon from unfounded aspersions on his character made by macaulay, and by pope at an earlier period. this was originally printed for private circulation among a few friends, and was not given to the world till after the decease of our author. it is cast in the conversational form affected by vaughan in his 'hours with the mystics,' by smith, of keswick, in 'thorndale' and 'gravenhurst,' and in similar works where it is desired that all sides shall be fairly presented, and the whole of the issues involved thoroughly thrashed out and carefully summed up. it is confirming to those of us who remain sceptics in relation to the shakespeare-bacon theory, and who believe 'the great cryptogram' to exist only in some kink of the brain of its first exponent, and not in any of shakespeare's plays or poems, that so painstaking and minute an investigator--one so utterly conversant with all that bacon ever did or wrote, one so familiar with his contemporaries and his age, even to the analysis of the respective shares of shakespeare and fletcher in the composition of 'henry viii.'--never seems to have for a moment suspected any sort of literary co-partnership between the philosopher and the actor. apart, however, from any questions of literature, and his high place among its leading lights, james spedding's personal character and his association on terms of equality with the most eminent men of his day, and the regard in which he was held by them, makes him an interesting and important man of mark in the district--one whose memory should not be allowed to die. he was the son of a cumberland squire living at mirehouse, on bassenthwaite water. the estate, lying on the eastern shore, is a little north of where the river derwent discharges itself into the lake, and at the foot of mighty skiddaw. mirehouse woods clothe the slopes of skiddaw dodd. he was born in , sent to school at bury st. edmunds, and afterwards went to cambridge university. at college he took no high degree. he was, nevertheless, an eminent 'apostle'--eloquent in debate, though calm and unimpassioned. does anyone ask who and what cambridge 'apostles' were? they were a band of ardent spirits among the undergraduates, holding regular meetings, and often foregathering in each others' rooms to discuss tobacco and coffee, and where, says carlyle in his 'life of sterling' (who was a member), 'was much logic and other spiritual fencing, and ingenuous collision, probably of a really superior quality in that kind, for not a few of the then disputants have since proved themselves men of parts, and attained distinction in the intellectual walks of life.' besides spedding and sterling, this genial circle of comrades included the tennysons, trench (afterwards archbishop), arthur hallam, frederick denison maurice (the founder of the club, and toasted as such at one of its annual dinners), and many another of equal or little less fame--a band of youthful friends who, as the future laureate wrote, held debate 'on mind and art, and labour and the changing mart, and all the framework of the land.' of spedding himself lord tennyson wrote in later days: 'he was the pope among us young men--the wisest man i ever knew.' with this opinion agrees the report of caroline fox as to a remark of samuel laurence, the portrait painter: 'spedding has the most beautiful combination of noble qualities i ever met with.' leaving the university, james spedding went, in , into the colonial office, under sir henry taylor, author of 'philip van artevelde,' a chief with tastes wholly congenial to those of his youthful subordinate. during the time he remained in the civil service he went with lord ashburton as travelling secretary to the commission appointed to settle the united states dispute with this nation as to the proper line of their north-west boundary. he acquitted himself so ably in his government work that he was offered the post of an under-secretary of state at a salary of £ , a year. this he refused in order to give himself entirely to literature. mr. gladstone entertained the highest opinion of his abilities and integrity, and greatly lamented his decision not to serve his country in the post for which he was so obviously fitted. still later in life mr. gladstone tried to persuade him to take the professorship of history at cambridge--a prospect which had no more attractions for spedding than government officialism. spedding never married. he was wedded to his self-chosen life-work of building up the standard biography of bacon. he was, however, by no means a man of one idea. he was an ardent liberal in politics, and during the awful upheaval of the european nations, about the middle of last century, he became even a vehement partisan of the hungarian revolution, and of louis kossuth and its other leaders. he was a votary of keats, and of tennyson, the latter staying with him twice at mirehouse. he was an ardent admirer of the celebrated jenny lind, the 'swedish nightingale.' he was also an advocate of phonetic 'reform,' as it was called, not merely, it is to be feared, for the sake of promoting the study and commercial use of shorthand reporting, but with the view of actually changing the orthography of our ancient language. with all its difficulties and peculiarities, one would have felt lasting regret had he and his coadjutors succeeded in their raid on our historical and ethnological inheritance in the english spelling-book. he was, furthermore, a careful student of handwriting. the last-named study was necessitated by his continuous poring over the mss. relating to his sixteenth- and seventeenth-century investigations. some people who had observed spedding's patient and leisurely methods of study, and his calmness and deliberation of thought and verbal expression, considered him of a lazy disposition, and as strangely lacking in energy. this was an erroneous judgment. he was certainly cautious, because acute in noticing details, and refused to commit himself without due, and perhaps sometimes undue, premeditation, but he frequently assumed purposely an air of ignorance when he was merely endeavouring to draw others out, and he was fond of adopting the socratic method with those whom he conversed, in order to get at the bottom of them, or of the subject under discussion. his memory was an exceedingly retentive one. to a friend he writes: 'i have no copy of "the palace of art," but when you come i shall be happy to repeat it to you.' readers of tennyson know that this poem contains seventy-four stanzas, besides the prelude to it. he was, like so many others in this series, a contributor to _blackwood_, and to the _edinburgh_ and the _gentleman's magazine_ as well. in the _edinburgh_ he reviewed tennyson's first book with discrimination and with appreciation. the chief fascination about spedding, i say again, was undoubtedly his commanding personality and his abiding comradeship with the greatest men of genius among his contemporaries. such diverse characters as james anthony froude and edward fitzgerald were among his intimates. he was with froude on that historian's first visit to thomas carlyle, and fitzgerald called to see him in the hospital where he died. it was in that he was knocked down by a cab in london, and carried to st. george's. on his death-bed, says fitzgerald, he was 'all patience,' refusing to hear the cabman blamed, and, indeed, fully exonerating him. when spedding's brother died, the friend of them both, alfred tennyson, wrote to james in touching sympathy with his loss, a noble poem which, in the volume, is inscribed simply 'to j. s.' the last two verses may fitly conclude this sketch, for they apply as much to one brother as to the other: 'sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace; sleep, holy spirit, tender soul, while the stars burn, the moons increase, and the great ages onward roll. sleep till the end, true soul and sweet, nothing comes to thee new or strange; sleep full of rest from head to feet-- lie still, dry dust, secure of change.' the blessing of a full life 'deep streams run still, and why? not because there are no obstructions, but because they altogether overflow those stones or rocks round which the shallow stream has to make its noisy way. 'tis the full life that saves us from the little noisy troubles of life.'--william smith. * * * * * 'so when our complaining tells of constant strife with some moveless hindrance in our path of life, 'what we need is only fulness of our own. if the current deepen, never mind the stone! 'let the fuller nature flow its mass above; cover it with pity, cover it with love.' lucy smith. xiv two beautiful lives william and lucy smith 'as unto the bow the cord is, so unto the man is woman, though she bends him, she obeys him, though she draws him, yet she follows. useless each without the other.' longfellow's _hiawatha_. two rarely beautiful lives were theirs--close-welded, and thereby each sharing and each doubling the beauty of the other. their beauty was spiritual, intellectual, influential. william sprang from the mercantile classes of the metropolis--from a race of evangelical free churchmen of such liberal leanings as to throw no obstacle in his way of becoming a theological and metaphysical thinker of a decidedly 'advanced' type; while an elder brother became an eloquent episcopalian preacher at the celebrated temple church. lucy, whose maiden name was cummings, was the daughter of a medical man who had married a lady socially superior to himself, and was brought up by her parents in an atmosphere of 'welsh calvinism.' william was a shy, sensitive boy and lad, learning quickly, given to introspection, and taking a high place in his schools. his university life was spent at glasgow--oxford and cambridge being at that time (the late forties of last century) closed against all except anglicans--and there his mental bias towards philosophy was strengthened and developed, especially by the teaching of dr. chalmers. from college he was sent to study law under the well-known author, sharon turner. this study he cordially detested, yet in after-years he confessed that compulsory training for the bar had invigorated and disciplined his reasoning powers to a degree he learned to be grateful for. some travels abroad, too, though at a later period--notably to italy--matured his character and widened his outlook. his first literary efforts were articles which were accepted by the _athenæum_, then just started. in that paper, and in _blackwood_ (is it not singular that most of our lake celebrities were contributors to 'old ebony'?) he had frequent enough insertions to earn thereby a modest income--small, but sure, and sufficient for the limited needs of a quiet-living single man. for years he followed the career of an essayist and reviewer, pondering deeply meanwhile problems that seem to admit of no definite solution during the present limitations of human knowledge--problems which have bewildered christians and non-christians alike for centuries past, and, if milton's authority may be relied upon, even the fallen principalities and powers in hades--'fixed fate, freewill, foreknowledge absolute'--the origin of evil, the eternal duration of sin's consequences, the nature of sin itself, the possibility of finding and knowing god, the attainment of final certitude on any question other than mathematical, the relation of revealed or natural religion to science, the unalterable reign of law in mental and moral as well as in physical regions--these, and many similar enigmas, whirled perpetually through his brain, and would not rest till at least an honest attempt had been made to solve them. the necessity that appeared to be laid on him to discover answers to the practically unanswerable induced a habit of seclusion and a shrinking from any society that might interrupt the flow of speculative thought. he would pass people in the streets and the country roads absolutely without seeing them; and though cheerful and apt in conversation when obliged to meet his fellows, he invariably preferred to be alone on long mountain walks that he might think his own thoughts, and by meditation work out his difficulties, and record in his mss. for future publication the conclusions he had arrived at, even though those conclusions amounted to no more than that none could be attained to! it was while residing in solitary seclusion, first at sunny bowness upon windermere lake and then across the watershed at keswick, on the rainier side of the mountains, that his great books 'thorndale' and 'gravenhurst' were wrought in the secret recesses of his soul. the first, the sub-title of which is 'the conflict of opinion,' is constructed on the conversational model, as, indeed, is the second also. materialist, roman catholic, theist, or unitarian, and scientific evolutionist, all are heard with fairness and courtesy, and the discussions are intensely interesting to readers with thoughtful minds. but there is, after all has been said that can be said, nothing more than an open verdict returned on the highest themes that can occupy human attention. there is no more settlement of any of the vast questions debated for the inquirer who has discarded divine revelation than for him who accepts it in whole or in part. 'gravenhurst' has for a secondary title 'knowing and feeling: a contribution to psychology.' so far as it leads us to an end that end seems hardly distinguishable from the eastern 'necessitarianism,' or 'fatalism,' in which all metaphysicians sooner or later engulf us who get rid of human responsibility for sin and its consequences by making the creator the author of both moral and material evil. yet the conclusions are logical if only certain premises are granted. both books are crowded with sweet and helpful thoughts--wayside flowers of brilliancy and fragrancy, the gathering of which may easily lure the reader from the watchfulness needed in travelling along these winding roads, so destitute of authoritative sign-posts; the sign-posts erected by previous explorers having been cut down by more modern pedestrians, because, forsooth! the painted directions were faded, and they had no brush wherewith to freshen them! while william was thus developing his life-work and weaving his intellectual robes, lucy was growing into her charming womanhood amid the happy surroundings of her home in north wales, and evolving the noblest of characters through self-denial and loving devotion to others. as a girl she was highly educated. when past her girlhood she proved a handsome and cultured lady, sought in marriage by at least two men, both of whose offers she refused, but neither of whom espoused any other. she remained single that she might help retrieve the fortunes of her parents, which had become so reduced that the house endeared to them by long residence had to be sold, and her own little patrimony given up to the clearance of debt. the broken father and mother were thenceforth tended, and, indeed, partly supported, by lucy, who earned something by making translations from german, and in similar ways, till she lost them both in one sad week. it was by an apparent chance, though by a very real providence of god, that these two met, william smith and lucy cummings, while mother and daughter were in one set of apartments of a keswick lodging-house, and 'thorndale smith,' as he came to be called, in an upper. a pleasant comradeship began on purely literary matters, and ripened into warm friendship, and frequent correspondence after parting for the season, till they met again some time afterwards at patterdale. then it was that friendship suddenly sprang upwards into the unique form of love most exquisitely portrayed in the ideal biography written of her husband by lucy, after his premature decease. this biography was written originally for private circulation among her friends, and was afterwards attached, as a preface, to a new edition of 'gravenhurst.' it is one of the most lovely stories of wedded life in our english tongue. all that poets have imagined of 'the angel of the house,' of love's wealth, of love's visions, of 'love's young dream,' seem to have been realized in the experiences of these kindred souls, brought together at a later period in life than most people enter on the married state. after a period of unalloyed happiness william's health began to fail, and a long time of anxious watching fell to lucy smith. still was their talk ever of higher things and of the deeper problems of life and humanity. despite his assumed negative position with regard to much that christians hold to be essential truth, there was an undercurrent of devout belief in god left in william's heart, as is evidenced by lines in his verses, as for example: 'earth can be earth, yet rise into the region of god's dwelling-place if light and love are what we call his skies.' in his 'athelwood,' too--a tragedy, set on the stage and played by macready and helen faucit--there are passages, notably those put into the mouth of dunston, which show the same thing: 'god, where art thou? i call for thee, they give me but a world, thy mechanism; i call aloud for thee, my father, friend, sustainer, teacher, judge.' still more remarkable was his impromptu acknowledgment when he lay dying, and his wife, referring to some of his published views, said: 'william, such love as mine for you cannot be the result of mere mechanism or vital forces, can it?' 'oh, no,' he responded; 'it has a far higher source.' 'once,' adds his wife, 'i saw the hands clasped as in a speechless communion with the unseen, and twice i caught the solemn word "god" uttered, not in a tone of appeal or entreaty, but as if the supreme contemplation which had been his very life meant more, revealed more, than ever!' in a former article i pointed out how seldom professed, and even perfectly sincere, doubters ever entirely shake off the impressions of divine reality and the divine presence. my own conviction is that the god whom they seek (i am not thinking of the unbelief that springs from moral unfaithfulness or obliquity) does, after all, touch their hands in the darkness, and the christ whom they fail to understand has included them in his great and universal atonement. it may be that the holy spirit, who shows the things of christ to men, gives them a saving view of calvary as they pass through the valley of the shadow. i cannot believe that any _bonâ fide_ seeker after god ever became a 'lost soul' in any sense of those awful words, even though his seeking endured for a lifetime without conscious finding. lucy smith survived her husband's death at brighton several years, often making her way back to their beloved borrowdale, where some of their intensest happiness had been experienced, and to patterdale, where their first love was awakened. in the latter place there are 'exquisite shade of birch-trees on high ground' where she and her lover read together and recited poetry--his or hers or another's; peeps of ullswater through the woods; mossy knolls and sequestered grassy walks; and all had memory-voices for her in the midst of their outward quietude. she had, as might have been foretold, imbibed much of her husband's philosophy, and in some directions her cherished 'orthodoxy' of opinion had reached its vanishing point, but her orthodoxy of heart was not touched adversely. it actually grew as life passed onward, and her sunset-lights glowed with the radiancy of heaven. william's real creed, 'god, immortality, progress'--a noble residuum, after all--was hers with great assurance, and she writes that she shared 'his craving for fellowship in christ's deep love, and for a willing acceptance of his sufferings.' they both looked to being united--to quote her own words from her verses--'in, life more high in seeing, serving god, in nearer, nobler ways.' she ripened in character, in lovable ways, in self-forgetting devotion to her friends, till her poet-heart ceased to beat, and her yearnings after a fuller and more perfect soul-life were at length realized through the mercies and merits of the one she knew but in part, though he knew her, and her aspirations and difficulties, through and through. the bible and its revelations wherever its revelations of the essentials of deity and humanity occur they may and must be considered as the most solemn and precious of all the contents of the bible. but even of these it should be specially noted that they are for the most part progressive. the bible contains, in fact, a series as well as a collection of revelations--a series, of which the earliest terms are the least, and which very gradually, and not quite uniformly, rises to its height, and only after long centuries reaches its final terms in him who was himself the highest revelation which man can be conceived capable of receiving in the flesh. that there is such a progression in the revelation of truth and duty in the bible must be obvious at once to anyone who considers the gradual manner in which those two greatest of all ideas--god and immortality--are disclosed in it, and how the great duty of loving all men as ourselves, and considering every man as our brother, was never at all insisted on under the older dispensations.--rev. frederic myers: _catholic thoughts on the bible and theology_. xv two broad thinkers frederic and f. w. h. myers (father and son) 'must then all quests be nought, all voyage vain, all hopes the illusion of the whirling brain? or are there eyes beyond earth's veil that see, dreamers made strong to dream what is to be?' f. w. h. myers: _the renewal of youth_. frederic myers, of keswick, is still known by his once-celebrated 'lectures on great men,' and by his two volumes of 'catholic thoughts' on the church and on the bible and theology. the lectures were delivered to his parishioners. the series commenced about , in accordance with his strong conviction that a clergyman should be the educator as well as the spiritual guide of his flock, and as a consequence of his horror at the 'dreadful separation and want of sympathy of the various orders and classes of modern society.' remember the period to which these words were applied. it was several years after this that maurice, kingsley, ludlow, and their friends commenced their remarkable movement for bringing the influence, learning, and wealth of the better social strata to the aid of the poorer. since those early days of awakening to the claims of human brotherhood many things have happened to draw 'the various classes and orders of men' nearer together. cruel taxes upon the food of the masses, for the further enrichment of the rich, have been swept away. the awakening of the democracy has brought it political power, and with this power the felt necessity for national education. the abolition of child-labour, the regulation and inspection of factories, mines, and workshops, the removal of many sectarian restrictions upon religious equality, an interest in sanitation and the preservation of public health, and many other such things for which the great 'middle classes' have steadfastly laboured side by side with the wage-earners, are results of the transfer of power from the few to the many. such matters as these, now looked upon as among the common-places of civic life, were then hardly deemed by their most sanguine advocates as within the reach of 'practical politics.' kindly-hearted christian pastors, of the type of frederic myers, were few and far between, though wherever they existed they provoked among the people that element of 'divine discontent' which found many voices ere it was appeased, from the decent respectability of christian socialism to the plebeian, and often extravagant, cries of chartism. myers, and such as he, fitly began the movement, though scarcely consciously, by seeking 'to call forth the powers within man, by the culture of his whole nature; energy of all kinds--with the simultaneous cultivation of his sympathies, the nurture of truthfulness, justice, love, and faith.' he strove to awaken a spiritual ambition among his hearers by setting before their mental vision the struggles and the conquests of men who had resolved to achieve something worth the winning, and who had in their day become epoch-makers--who had possessed in eminent degree the qualities we all ought ever to cherish, according to our capacities, and our opportunities for self-development. his dozen specimen characters are well chosen from the regions of religion, adventure, and statesmanship. his two other books are devoted to the solution of questions then being much debated after the commencement of the romeward oxford movement known as 'tractarianism.' the earlier one--that on the church--was originally printed for private circulation. it is well for us that it was fully published at a later date, for though that era was prophetic of the coming of political advancement, it also set in motion a retrograde religious stream of thought and practice which is still flowing through the anglican church, and affecting the spiritual well-being of the nation. the principles enunciated in this masterly reply to newman's doctrine of the church, and his thorough examination of the sacerdotal claims of the puseyite oxonians can never become antiquated. with him the primary idea of the christian church is of a brotherhood of 'men worshipping christ as the revelation of the highest.' equality of christian privilege is, in his view, so characteristic of its constitution that the existence of a priestly caste within its borders is destructive of it. christian faith is in christ himself, and not in doctrines or formulas of even the holiest and wisest men. in the true and universal--_i.e._, the catholic--church there can be no majestry, only a ministry. it is a spiritual republic in which no worldly distinctions can be recognised. 'apostolic sucsession,' in the high anglican and romish sense of the phrase, has no place therein, and no room exists for any human assumption over the minds and souls of believers in christ within the purely spiritual church, which is his body. many readers will naturally see some lack of logical sequence in the argument which follows as to the relation of the established anglican church to this catholic and spiritual one. that the conclusions reached on this point do not seem necessarily to flow from the premises must surely be conceded by all. either legitimate conclusions must be drawn from the assumed fundamental position, or fresh premises must be granted. nevertheless, as the scriptural ground of his position was generally accepted, his timely work certainly helped to save the church of england from the medievalist enemies within its own borders. instead of their carrying the establishment over to rome, several of the ablest leaders of the new ritualistic movement severed themselves from its communion, and, as is well known, entered the papal fold, some rising to great honour and dignity within it. the 'thoughts on the bible and theology' involve the theory that sacred literature 'contains, rather than consists of, special revelations.' in it, though not wholly divine, 'the divine spirit may mingle with the human, and mingling, overmaster it.' it has infirmities and imperfections, but, he hastens to add, 'less in proportion to its holy truths than the chaff is to the wheat in any harvest--yea, is even only as the small dust of the balance compared with the greatest weight that the balance will weigh.' his theological teaching cannot be presented satisfactorily in a few lines, and it must be, therefore, dismissed with the sole remark that, though far from being rationalistic, it appears highly rational, as it is based on the written words of god, and is not derived from the dogmas and traditions of churchmen. frederic myers was born in london in , educated at home and at cambridge, and became perpetual curate of st. john's, keswick, in , holding that living till his death in , thus giving twelve years of his prime to the thoughtful activities of his ministry, and to the liberalizing of the church of england. frederic william henry myers was the son of frederic by his second wife. he was born at keswick, and this town was, of course, the headquarters of his boyhood and youth. therefore we claim him for the lake district, though the necessities of his official life made it expedient to reside afterwards in the metropolis. the year of his birth was , blackheath and cheltenham were the places of his school education, and cambridge was his alma mater. his classical knowledge and his memory were especially good. he could recite the whole of 'virgil,' and had a love, spoken of as 'enthusiastic,' for pindar, Æschylus, and homer. his culture was widened by a trip to the east, and another to america. somewhat of an athlete and a good swimmer, he once swam across the niagara river below the falls. returning to england, he became one of her late majesty's school inspectors. he died in . this brief summary of his life must suffice. his literary output is of more value to us than are the details of his personal career. this output all thinking men will be grateful for, whatever their opinions about his teaching on telepathy, hypnotism, and so forth. had he only given the world his well-known poem on 'st. paul,' he would have contributed more than most hymn-writers have done to its moral profiting. if the old hebrew seer was one who saw visions of the future through time's manifold veils, and visions of jehovah behind the marching cohorts of human generations, and who also had the divine gift of 'discernment of spirits,' surely f. w. h. myers may be called a nineteenth century seer. he solved in his prose works for many an earnest seeker after the truth many a scientific doubt respecting god and immortality, while in his principal poem he seems to identify himself with the great apostle in the yearning and the self-abandonment essential to such a herald of the cross. as he wrote, he must have entered into close sympathy with the flaming desires with which paul's breast was burning, and the love with which he ached for souls whom he set himself to win for the kingdom of heaven. to present the inner life of him whom christ himself chose to fill the vacant office of the fallen judas was a daring venture, but successful. he makes paul say: 'whoso hath felt the spirit of the highest cannot confound him nor deny; yea, with one voice, o world, though thou deniest, stand thou on that side, for on this am i.' myers made the great choice, ranking himself among those 'who,' as he puts it, 'suppose themselves to discern spiritual verities,' amid a tumult of agnosticism and positive philosophy which arose about that time, partly, perhaps, as a result of the reaction from that exaggerated high church teaching opposed by his father. accepting the actual discoveries of experimental science without question, he yet maintained there is both direct and indirect evidence that the cosmic laws of uniformity, conservation of energy, and evolution, do not exhaust the controlling laws of the universe, nor explain all classes of phenomena. there is, at least, a fourth cosmic law as ascertainable as any of the others by observation and experiment. to this fourth law the greatest poets, such as goethe, wordsworth, tennyson, to say nothing of the still greater semitic poets, have helped to introduce mankind, and psychical research has demonstrated their scientific truth. 'life, consciousness, and thought' are facts not fully explained by physiology. the communion of mind with mind without speech or bodily contact or proximity is as certain as that of x rays or wireless telegraphy. the communion of the human soul with the oversoul of the universe is not a dream, but a fact as indubitable as the fact of gravitation. the study of these facts, their modes of motion, and the laws which govern them, bring careful philosophers to the conclusion that behind the natural law is an active will, and behind natural force and evolution one universal and intelligent motive power. mental and spiritual phenomena are ignored--or, for some obscure reason, at any rate neglected--by the ordinary man of science. no real all-round student of cosmic appearances, and the laws and influences that control and guide them to cosmic ends, can afford to shut his eyes to the existence of clues which, whenever they have been loyally followed, have led along the chain of cause and effect to the ultimate discovery of god and immortality. he who follows the gleam, everywhere shining before him, arrives sooner or later, whatever he thinks of the creeds of the sects, at the abode of the eternal presence, leaving the land of negations far behind him. this is the substance, or at least the fair interpretation, of the ideas woven throughout the series of essays written by our author on 'science and a future life,' 'charles darwin and agnosticism,' 'tennyson as prophet,' and 'modern poets and cosmic law.' at a later period he put forth in support of his views, in collaboration with two others, a large collection of instances, gathered from definite experiences of witnesses, of 'phantasms of the living.' these evidences occupy two bulky volumes. he may have been sometimes too credulous. some of his alleged facts may have needed closer examination. his deductions from observations may not always have been accurate, yet his argument is strong in itself, strongly fortified, and apparently, as a whole, still unshaken. he was, as he says of tennyson, 'the proclaimer of man's spirit as part and parcel of the universe, and indestructible at the very root of things,' and as such he has restored to many a doubter, unsettled by scientific materialism, his latent self-hood, his 'subliminal soul,' his realization of the invisible world, and a belief in that intellectual 'cosmic will' which common men persist in calling 'god.' myers wrote a few sketches of men and women of the hour, under the title of 'classical essays,' terse, readable, and displaying literary insight. the most recent 'life of wordsworth,' with whose semi-pantheism he had much sympathy, is his also. nor was st. paul his only excursion into the realms of poesy. 'the renewal of youth and other poems' is his. little of its contents, however, rise to the level of his religious poem, and some are distinctly trivial. since penning this sentence i have happened upon an 'appreciation' of the volume mentioned, by the late john addington symonds. he likens the muse of myers to a 'flute of silver, or a fife of gold,' through which he breathed strains, now stronger, now weaker, according to the degree of his inspiration. 'to some ears this instrument may seem too artificial, too metallic,' for his wont was to select words for their colour-values and their sonority--for the mode of saying things rather than for the expression of new and original thoughts. symonds finds in the poetry not only a special message of god and immortality, but a declaration of the happy influence of womanhood in human affairs. whether or not this judgment is right on the last point, it is certain that the all-absorbing intuition of the poet's soul was that of an eternal life for mankind, not an immortality of the species at the expense of the individual, by sacrifice and extinction, but of every separate being: 'oh, dreadful thought, that all our sires and we are but foundations of a race to be-- stones which are thrust in earth, to build thereon some white delight, some parian parthenon!' the view from helvellyn 'there to the north the silver solway shone, and criffel, by the hazy atmosphere lifted from off the earth, did then appear a nodding island or a cloud-built throne. and there, a spot half fancied and half seen, was sunny carlisle; and by hillside green lay penrith with its beacon of red stone. 'southward through pale blue steam the eye might glance along the yorkshire fells, and o'er the rest, my native hill, dear ingleboro's crest, rose shapely, like a cap of maintenance. the classic duddon, leven, and clear kent a trident of fair estuaries sent, which did among the mountain roots advance. 'westward, a region of tumultuous hills, with here and there a tongue of azure lake and ridge of fir, upon the eye did break. but chiefest wonder are the tarns and rills and giant coves, where great helvellyn broods upon his own majestic solitudes, which even now the sunlight barely fills.' frederick william faber: _poems_. [illustration: _photo by brunskill, bowness_ view of windermere. summer lake and copse-wood green.'--faber.] xvi a religious medievalist frederick william faber i.--the man 'especially did he endeavour to study the spirit of the church at its foundation head, in the city of rome, under the shadow of st. peter's chair. fully recognising the claims of his own country to his labours, he made it his business to introduce into it in every possible way the devotions and practices which are consecrated by the usage of rome.'--father bowden's _life of faber_. of huguenot descent, his ancestors having fled from france to england to avoid the persecutions arising out of the 'edict of nantes,' and of evangelical church of england training, he early developed an unexpected 'spurt' towards romanism, and that rather of the medieval italian than of the modern english type. starting from such a parentage and such environments as this, it becomes an interesting study of character and temperament, and of the forces that mould and direct them, to trace the gradual development of ideas, and habits, through boyhood to youth, and youth to manhood. the key to his having ultimately become a priestly devotee of a mystical form of mariolatry, is only secured by a careful perusal of his letters, books, and poetry; of his memoir by father bowden; and such fragmentary notices of him as contemporaries have given us. his life itself, as we read it, must furnish us with clues by which to follow the labyrinths of his mind to the end it reached. he was born in at calverley, near leeds, of which parish his father was the vicar. the family removed the following year to bishop auckland on mr. faber becoming secretary to the bishop of durham. as he grew to boyhood the circumstances of his home-life wrought a development of character beyond his years, his precociousness was stimulated by his parents, and his ardent devotion to work or play gave promise of future eminence. the beautiful scenery around him encouraged his romantic tendencies. sent to a private clerical school at kirkby stephen, he was never really free from ecclesiastical influences at any point of his outlook on the world. his imaginative disposition was still further quickened, and his poetical tastes and instincts acquired a direction for life in the midst of the wild westmorland hills, for 'solitude is the nurse of enthusiasm.' he took long rambles over mountain and fell, rebuilding in fancy the ruined castles of the eastern borderland, and the abbeys of the western, repeopling them with steel-clad knights, and ladies fair and gay, or with monks chanting their vespers as the great sun went down in glory beyond the clear-cut ramparts guarding the blue inland meres. if one reads no farther than the index to his verses one sees at a glance how firm a grasp the enchanted region had upon his affections, beginning to secure them even then, intensifying the grasp while he lived in young manhood at ambleside, and recurring to his memory when far away by 'adria's sapphire waters,' or beneath the shadow of st. mary's in his 'dear city' of oxford. helvellyn and loughrigg, when sunshine and storm combine to throw rainbow-bridges from peak to peak; the little babbling rivers rothay and brathay, when their glittering foam-bells danced beneath the autumn-tinted trees; the green vale of rydal, where the thrushes pipe the whole day through--were each as much, or perhaps more, to him, and appealed as clamourously for the weaving of a lay, as great parnassus himself, or even as 'the sweet styrian lake.' amidst the wind-sounds in the 'brotherhood of trees' and the bird-voices of the daytime--nay, in the very night-silences of the towers and fastnesses of the 'awful sanctuary god hath built' in the lake district--he heard 'the echoes of church bells,' and dreamed dreams of fonts and altars at which he might serve his 'mother' as her priest. educational progress compelled him, after a short tariance at shrewsbury, to go forward to harrow. here he would ride and swim, but he would not play. instead of giving himself up to the healthy commingling of learning and the usual school athletics, he thought and thought, till he began to think himself an unbeliever in divine mysteries. from harrow to balliol college, oxford, was a natural transition. he left his infidel doubts and temptations behind, only, however, to come under the influence of the tractarian flood then streaming through the university, and sweeping some of its best sons towards rome. he was specially attracted by the preaching of newman, who was then engaged in constructing a theology from the writings of anglican fathers, showing that the church of england was roman in its teaching though not papal in government. while at oxford he remained, as all through his career, pure, truthful, sincere, and studious, though ever romantic and impulsive. one of his best impulses was to read his bible twice from beginning to end, prayerfully and meditatively, without note or comment. this brought him back for a season to the evangelicalism he had been reared in. attending newman's sermons and lectures turned him once more to church tradition and authority. he soon left his bible for sacramentalism and all its concommitants. his friends accused him of vacillation. 'no, not vacillation,' he answered; 'but oscillation.' perhaps we may say his course was like the borrowdale road, which an old guide-book says 'serpentizes.' under newman's more intimate friendship and guidance he was set to the translation of patristic writings, while still reading for ordination, and began to hope tractarianism would 'soon saturate' the church of england. pursuing his theological studies, winning the newdigate prize, and receiving a fellowship from his college, he, of course, took in due time deacon's and priest's orders, and left oxford to undertake a tutorship in the household of mr. harrison, of ambleside. into the parochial work of ambleside he threw himself _con amore_, the incumbent being old and feeble. from thence he went on a brief tour through belgium, returning with another set-back from rome owing to what he had seen of the low intellectual state and morals of the belgium priesthood. it was during the period of his ambleside tutorship that he became acquainted with wordsworth, whom he accompanied on long walks, the elder poet 'muttering verses to himself' in the intervals of conversation. somewhat later came the memorable tour of europe, and visit to rome, with his pupils, which practically sealed his conversion. the perusal of the records of this journey in his 'sights and thoughts in foreign countries' affords a curious revelation of biased history (and therefore often very inaccurate), an interesting account of his mental perplexities, and of the wonderful organization of the papal hierarchy, enabling it to shadow his steps and 'create an atmosphere' around him wherever he went. this time he carried letters of introduction from the astute dr. wiseman, which assured his seeing the æsthetic best of all the great cathedrals and institutions of the church, in each country he traversed, and helped him to shut the eyes of his memory to inquisitions, and persecutions, and the pride and licentiousness of popes and cardinals, and to the grosser side of popular superstition, comprising the annals of the places he visited, and to the story of italy especially. he had a keen sense of the misdeeds of poor people provoked to reprisals by the tyranny of kings and priests, but never breathed a word--for he failed to notice anything wrong--against the church that was courting him, and was coquetting with others like him in the anglican communion of that day. at rome the cultured and winsome dr. grant was selected as his chaperon, and once more the attractive figment of a world-dominion of an united church was dangled before his imaginative mind amidst the music and incense of elaborate ceremonials appealing to his senses. the kindness and sympathy of those who were watching over him effectually removed the last veil between him and roman doctrine. the pope accorded him an interview in private, and he prostrated himself to kiss his feet and receive his benediction. the pope was already the 'holy father' to him, and he is able in his letters of this date, though still nominally an anglican, to pledge himself to a life-crusade against the detestable and diabolic heresy of protestantism 'as being' what he calls 'the devil's masterpiece.' after all this, one wonders how he could have persuaded himself it was right to accept, on his return to england, the living of elton, in huntingdonshire. he did so, however, and for the space of two years he did his utmost to romanize the district. his charming manners, and natural persuasiveness, the vein of superstition in him (evidenced by his kissing relics and touching them for healing), which fitted well with the ignorance of his rural parishioners, gave him such influence in this direction that when, in , he somewhat suddenly relinquished his pastorate, and was officially united with the roman church, he carried off with him several of his young men, who were the nucleus of his brotherhood of the will of god in birmingham. from this time forward, the church having gained a priest but, as wordsworth said, 'england having lost a poet,' there was developed in him a neurotic mysticism impelling him to ascetic neglect of his body, and suppression of human affections and responsibilities, which preyed on his physical frame, producing incessant headaches, and complete prostrations, and unquestionably shortened his days on earth. his love fixed on such intangible objects as mary and the saints, rather than the living christ, indulges itself in luscious outbreathings towards her who was not only to him queen of heaven and of purgatory, and mother of god, but his 'dear mama,' his 'dearest mama,' in whose 'fondling care,' and under whose 'sweet caress' he dwelt, finding, he tells her, 'our home, deep in thee, eternally, eternally.' his favourite saints are 'joseph our father,' and st. wilfrid, whom he adopted as his patron, and from whom his monks were called 'wilfridians.' he lived henceforth a life of self-renunciation, the will of god being accepted by him as made known through his superiors in the roman priesthood. he devoted his time, substance, and skill to church building, and creation of monastic brotherhoods, in birmingham, in shropshire, in the city of london, and finally at brompton, ere long merging his order in that of the oratory of st. philip neri--an italian confraternity introduced into england by newman, a missionary body formed for proselytizing the poor and the young. besides the beautiful church of st. wilfrid's erected under the auspices of the earl of shrewsbury, there is the well-known brompton oratory, wherein his preaching, magnetizing rather by its fervour and picturesqueness than convincing by its reason and logic, held congregations of thousands spell-bound, who were partly, no doubt, attracted by his fame, though quite as much by the exquisite singing of the hymns of his composition and the lavish ceremonies of the mass. it proved an immense strain upon his nervous system, the daily necessity of feeding the monks, building his churches slowly but magnificently, supplying the vestments, the lights, the incense, and all the other thousand and one requirements of so gorgeous a ritual. he failed under it in , and died while only forty-nine years of age, prematurely worn out and aged. protestant as i am, at the extreme antipodes of conviction, religious experience, education, and sympathies from father faber, i doubt not his soul went straight to the great all father, the only 'holy father,' without the help of masses to liberate it from any intermediate imprisonment, or process of purification, and without need of intercession from our lord's virgin mother, or from any portion of the pantheon of roman saints. some of his objectionable opinions and teachings--some that are very terrible to us--as well as many that are common to all true christians, will be noticed in the next article, and there may only be added now a caution to many protestants, as well as to many of the church of rome, not to confound wrong views with moral wrong-doing, nor to make a man's intellectual mistakes the measure of his presumed status before the throne of his god. 'shall not the judge of all the earth do right,' when he sits in judgment upon the soul? as faber's own celebrated hymn declares: 'the love of god is broader, than the measures of man's mind; and the heart of the eternal, is most wonderfully kind.' come to jesus 'souls of men! why will ye scatter like a crowd of frightened sheep? foolish hearts! why will ye wander from a love so true and deep? 'was there ever kindest shepherd half so gentle, half so sweet, as the saviour who would have us come and gather round his feet? 'it is god: his love looks mighty, but is mightier than it seems: 'tis our father: and his fondness goes far out beyond our dreams. 'there's a wideness in god's mercy, like the wideness of the sea; there's a kindness in his justice, which is more than liberty. 'there is no place where earth's sorrows are more felt than up in heaven; there is no place where earth's failings have such kindly judgment given.' frederick william faber: _hymns_. a religious medievalist frederick william faber ii.--his books 'at the evening service, after a few preliminary words, he told his people that the doctrines he had taught them, though true, were not those of the church of england; that, as far as the church of england had a voice, she had denounced them.'--father bowden's _life of faber_. faber's mental output is a reflex of his character. i assumed this by using his letters and poems as the matrix of the life i sought to present my readers with. neither i nor they found them rocks of barren quartz. they contained much gold--'yea, much fine gold'--of conscientiousness, devotion, and self-abnegation; of poetic, oratorical fervour; of rare zeal for the church of his adoption. but with the fine gold there is also much dross. there are, for instance, not a few passages in 'sights and thoughts in foreign churches' of a startling kind to englishmen--a book, be it remembered, written while the author was an anglican clergyman. to him charles i. was more than 'charles the martyr.' he was a king, 'conformed to the image of his master through suffering.' most of us will ask whether, supposing jesus of nazareth had been king in charles's stead, there would have been any ship-money, any star-chamber, or any civil war? surely no man bears the image of christ any farther than he comports himself christly in politics and general public as in private life. christ is a poor master to serve if charles was an image of him. the admitted tyranny and licentiousness of the french bourbons seemed to him to be condoned because they were great at building churches and convents. national struggles for liberty, and their champions, are usually presented in their worst lights, and the freer the nation the bitterer his words about her. the american republic is thus a 'proud invalid' for whom there is no cure except by 'a multiplication of bishops, and then a monarchy.' in this book occurs his famous passage in favour of burning heretics. his attempted palliation, or modification, of the passage when challenged by crabbe robinson, the diarist, on their ramble together to eskdale tarn, is disingenuous. the objectionable sentiment is explicitly made by 'the stranger,' who is as distinctly alleged to be faber himself by his biographer, and virtually admitted to robinson to be so. here is the excerpt: 'persecution belongs not, strictly speaking, to the church. her weapon, and a most dire one, is excommunication, whereby she cuts off the offender from the fountains of life in this world, and makes him over from her own judgment to that of heaven in the world to come. but surely it is the duty of a christian state to deprive such an excommunicate person of every social right and privilege; to lay on him such pains and penalties as may seem good to the wisdom of the law, or even, if they so judge, to sweep him from the earth; in other words, to put him to death. the least that can be done is make a civil death to follow an ecclesiastical death, and this must be done where the church and state stand in right relation to each other.' to the ultramontane views promulgated in this book might be added others from his letters and published sermons, as, for instance, the phrase, 'the pernicious influence of protestant ragged schools'; that in which he opposes the reading of the english bible because its 'uncommon beauty and marvellous english' made it 'the stronghold of heresy'; those in which he elaborately argues for the 'adoration' of mary ('surely it must be called so,' he says); the many in which he disparages the reformation and applauds the blessings which the church, and the papacy in particular, had bestowed upon the nations; and those, once more, in which he declares a man has no rights as man conferred on him by the bible, unless he be a christian (by which he means a churchman, for he says so), and dilating on the misery and unrest of that protectionist period, proposes no remedies other than obedience to the church, the keeping of saints' days and holy days, and the sweeping away of the 'indecent system of pews'! incredible as it may seem, every one of these proposals is seriously propounded in 'a churchman's politics in disturbed times.' one might make large quotations from the oratory sermons full of descriptions, graphic even to gruesomeness, of the bodily agony of jesus on the cross, powerful enough to stir emotional women into hysterical weeping, and to bring them into a profound, if temporary and unreal, sentiment of fellowship with his sufferings, leaving him still afar off as a risen and personal friend, and leaving them unmoved by the bleeding figure on the crucifix in the silent recess till the next cerebral excitement. the whole of my articles might be taken up with extracts from his hymns that are simply astounding to the unprejudiced mind in their luscious sentimentality towards mary and the saints. of these it may be said the expressions do not necessarily mean all to a catholic that they seem to a protestant to imply. but is that so? who that has watched and heard italian or irish worship, or studied the biographies and writings of the romanist mystics of italy or spain, can possibly doubt their perfect sincerity? is it not an entirely natural transfer of ardent love from the redeemer to his mother happening concurrently with the priestly transfer of worship, of 'adoration,' from him to her? her images are bedecked with flowers and gorgeous attire, and her shrines are brilliantly lighted and are perfumed with incense. his image stands in a dark, neglected, railed-off side-chapel, in all the great cathedrals and rural churches of romanist europe. some of faber's best prose is curiously reserved for lamentations over the decay of paganism!--the 'beautiful births of greek faith, most radiant legends, springing from every hard and barren spot, like unnumbered springs out of the parnassian caverns, or the leafy sides of citheron, or the bee-haunted slope of pale hymettus.' 'the decline of paganism was mournful and undignified. faith after faith went out, like the extinguishing of lamps in a temple, or the paling of the marsh-fires before the rising sun.' yet were the old creeds full of symbols, and the 'whole of external nature an assemblage of forms and vases capable of, and actually filled with, the spirit,' and so greek paganism was the expression of a wish to 'write god's name on all things beautiful and true.' we can re-echo his dirge and acknowledge the saner, more cheerful side of the 'paganism' that feels after god, 'if haply it may find him'; but what a contrast between his attitude towards the non-christian world and the fellow-christians--not lacking in as holy teaching or living as his own--whom he had left, for an approachment towards image-worship! let us see, now, however, what he can do in description of places and scenery, in both prose and poetry. here is his first impression of venice: 'how is it to be described? what words can i use to express that vision, that thing of magic that lay before us?... never was so wan a sunlight, never was there so pale a blue, as stood round about venice that day. and there it was, a most visionary city, rising as if by enchantment out of the gentle-mannered adriatic, the waveless adriatic. one by one rose steeple, tower, and dome, street, and marble palace; they rose to our eyes slowly, as from the weedy deeps; and then they and their images wavered and floated, like a dream, upon the pale, sunny sea. as we glided onward from fusina in our gondola, the beautiful buildings, with their strange eastern architecture, seemed like fairy ships, to totter, to steady themselves, to come to anchor one by one, and where the shadow was, and where the palace was, you scarce could tell. and there was san marco, and there the ducal palace, and there the bridge of sighs, and the very shades of the balbi, foscari, pisani, bembi, seemed to hover about the winged lion of st. mark. and all this, all, to the right and left, all was venice; and it needed the sharp grating of the gondola against the stairs to bid us be sure it was not all a dream.' he says of milan cathedral that 'in the moonlight it disarms criticism. when the moon's full splendour streams on milan roofs, and overflows upon its lofty buttresses; when the liquid radiance trickles down the glory-cinctured heads of the marble saints, like the oil from aaron's beard, and every fretted pinnacle, and every sculptured spout ran with light as they might have run with rain in a thunder-shower, who would dare to say there was a fault in that affecting miracle of christian art?' of corfu, the most perfect earthly elysium i myself have seen, though i first saw it when returning from the far east, he writes: 'what traveller does not know the delight of getting among foliage whose shape and hues are not like those of his native land? the interior of the island of corfu was to us a sweet foretaste of oriental foliage. we rode among strange hedges of huge cactus, fields of a blue-flowering grain, occasional palms, clouds of blue and white gum cistus, myrtle-shoots smelling in the sun, little forests of the many-branched arbutus, marshy nooks of blossoming oleander, venerable dull olives and lemon groves jewelled with pale yellow fruit. it was a dream of childhood realized, and brought with it some dreary remembrances barbed with poignant sorrows. dreams, alas! are never realized till the freshness of the heart is gone, and their beauty has lost all that wildness which made it in imagination so desirable.' 'sir lancelot,' his longest and most ambitious poem, though finished at ambleside in , was issued from his elton vicarage two years later, and is under the guise of 'an attempt to embody and illustrate the social and ecclesiastical spirit of the thirteenth century,' avowedly an allegory of the soul seeking for that which it is represented as finding only when brought 'back to the foot of peter's sovran chair.' to us its chief interest lies in his portraiture of our westmorland surroundings. the hermitage to which the returned crusader wends his way lies 'within the vale of troutbeck, where towards the head there is a single woody hill, enclosed within the mountains, yet apart and low. amid the underwood around, it seems like a huge animal recumbent there, not without grace; and sweetly apt it is to catch all wandering sunbeams as they pass, or volatile lights in transit o'er the vale.' who among us does not recognise it? who does not know 'the bell-shaped mountain which the wild winds ring full mournfully'? and the beck, too, where the ouzel flits even in winter on the 'ice-rimmed stones,' and the banks, whereon sir lancelot might lie and watch 'the flowery troops in pageant movable'--the snowdrops 'like a flock of children purely white,' the 'deep lent-lilies, like constellations girt with lesser orbs.' when he crosses to the western sea 'angry and purple, far and wide outspread in stormy grandeur,' we go with him, and as we wander thitherward see scawfell 'palpitating in the haze,' feel 'the tingling of the woodlands' at night-time down the valley of the duddon, and learn how esk is 'suckled in sylvan places' by 'clusters of wild tarns.' among his minor local poems 'english hedges'--the saxon hedgerows--are apostrophized: 'the hedges still survive, shelters for flowers, an habitation for the singing birds, cool banks of shadow, grateful to the herds, a charm scarce known in any land but ours.' and in 'mountain tarns' he sings: 'there is a power to bless in hillside loneliness-- in tarns and dreary places-- a virtue in the brook, a freshness in the look of mountains' joyless faces-- and so when life is dull, or when my heart is full because my dreams have frowned, i wander up the rills to stones and tarns, and hills-- i go there to be crowned.' if we turn to faber's purely devotional writings, such as 'all for jesus,' and can forget, or slide over, the subtle insinuations of romish doctrines, and the curious blending of saints and sacraments, popes and priests, confessions and penances, with earnest appeals on behalf of jesus, at one time as though the soul's salvation depended solely on ceremonials and priestly absolutions, and at another time as if on 'jesus only,' one may find much help and light in many beautiful passages--as, for example: 'who can look into the world and not see how god's glory is lost upon the earth? it is the interests of jesus that we should seek and find it. apart from clear acts of great and grievous sin, how is god forgotten, clean forgotten, by the greatest part of mankind! they live as if there were no god. it is not as if they openly rebelled against him. they pass over and ignore him. he is an inconvenience in his own world, an impertinence in his own creation. so he has been quietly set on one side, as if he were an idol out of fashion, and in the way. men of science, and politicians, have agreed on this, and men of business and wealth think it altogether the most decent thing to be silent about god, for it is difficult to speak of him, or have a view of him, without allowing too much to him.... half a dozen men, going about god's world, seeking nothing but god's glory--they would remove mountains. this was promised to faith--why should not we be the men to do it?' similarly burning words, apart from his descriptions of calvary, might be quoted from his sermons, but, alas! these would lack the passionate personality behind them, with the flashing eye, the expressive emphasizing hands, and, above all, the voice rising like the swelling of bells in the steeple, or tender as a silver chord trembling into silence. without the spirit to make them live, let us not try to reproduce them. the black ant this fly is an inhabitant of woods and coppices, and is very abundant in the neighbourhood of the english lakes. the nest is often of enormous size, sometimes containing more than a cart-load of sticks and small twigs. the vale of duddon swarms with wood ants, and is the only place where i have seen the wryneck, which is said to feed principally on these insects. like other ants, they have the enjoyment of wings for a few weeks in each year, and often, as the proverb says, "to their sorrow," as by them they are conveyed to places where they suffer greatly from birds, as well as from fishes. they generally make their appearance in august and september. body, a strand of peacock's herl, and one of black ostrich's herl laid on together; silk, dark brown; wing, the lightest part of a starling's quill; hackle from a black cock.'--john beever: _practical fly-fishing_. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ yewdale. the favourite valley of john ruskin (see p. ), and of the sisters of the thwaite.] xvii john ruskin's friends the sisters of the thwaite, and their brother 'nature takes the hue of a man's own feeling, and he finds in it what he brings to it. in proportion as he becomes more intelligent and holy, so does it become more beautiful and significant to him.'--hugh macmillan. john ruskin's later years were gladdened by the friendship of the miss beevers, especially that of miss susie, the younger of the two. to her, though so near a neighbour that a short boat-row to the water-head of coniston lake would take him across, he wrote no fewer than , letters. the best of these, or at any rate those most suitable for the public, form the book called 'hortus inclusus,' arranged by the professor's 'master of industries at loughrigg,' mr. albert fleming, and prefaced by ruskin himself. the very title-page of the little collection shows the love he bore his friends: 'messages from the wood to the garden, sent in happy days to the sister ladies of the thwaite, coniston, by their thankful friend, john ruskin, ll.d., d.c.l.' the introductory words of this 'thankful friend' tell us much about the ladies: 'sources they have been of good, like one of the mountain springs of the english shepherd land, ever to be found at need. they did not travel; they did not go up to london in its season; they did not receive idle visitors to jar or waste their leisure in the waning year. the poor and the sick could find them always; or, rather, they watched for and prevented all poverty and pain that care or tenderness could relieve or heal. loadstones they were, as steadily bringing the light of gentle and wise souls about them as the crest of the mountain gives pause to the moving clouds; in themselves they were types of perfect womanhood in its constant happiness, queens alike of their own hearts and of a paradise in which they knew the names and sympathized with the spirits of every living creature that god had made to play therein, or to blossom in its sunshine or shade.' a beautiful description is this of the cultured english gentlewoman, fortunately for our peasantry by no means rare. but it is on their literary and intellectual sides, rather than their philanthropic, that we have to speak of them here. it might be sufficient guarantee of miss susie's high level, at any rate, that ruskin wrote to her letters as carefully composed in full mastery of language, and on as great a variety of topics, as if he had been consciously inditing another volume of his 'modern painters' for publication. 'the lost church in the campagna' is written to one whom he knows will understand and appreciate his historical and artistic allusions. she loved flowers, and studied them enthusiastically. she and her sister are named in more than one botanical work as authorities on our mountain plants, and discoverers of rare species and their localities. therefore he continually sets down little bits of blossom-news for his friend--though it be no more than such as this from perugia--'the chief flowers here are only broom and bindweed, and i begin to weary for my heather and for my susie; but oh, dear! the ways are long and the days few'; or those scraps from ingleton, where he playfully gives all his pretty flowers names of girls, changing the harsh botanical names into sweet-sounding ones, and consulting his correspondent as to how far he may venture to separate and rechristen certain pinks and pearlworts and saxifrages from their ordained family groups. from brantwood he discourses to her on his blue and purple agates and groups of crystals, dwelling on the perfection of some stone--'its exquisite colour and superb weight, flawless clearness, and delicate cutting, which makes the light flash from it like a wave of the lake.' the last letter written by him was to his 'dearest susie.' and her letters to him are treasures of poetic appreciation of nature and of book-lore rare in women. 'did you think of your own quotation from homer,' she asks, 'when you told me that field of yours was full of violets? but where are the four fountains of white water? how delicious calypso's fire of finely-chopped cedar!' 'when i was a girl (i was once) i used to delight in pope's homer.... when a schoolgirl going with my bag of books into manchester, i used to like don quixote and sir charles grandison with my milk porridge.' 'coniston would go into your heart if you could see it now--so very lovely; the oak-trees so early, nearly in leaf already (may ). your beloved blue hyacinths will soon be out, and the cuckoo has come.... the breezes will bring fern seeds and plant them, or rather sow them in such fashion as no human being can do. when time and the showers brought by the west wind have mellowed it a little, the tiny beginnings of mosses will be there. the sooner this can be done the better.' she writes to him, too, about wrens and blackbirds, and her pet squirrel, and other of her pensioners. there is one extract, somewhat pathetic, yet sweetly patient, that must not be omitted: 'you are so candid about your age that i shall tell you mine! i am astonished to find myself sixty-eight--very near the psalmist's three-score-and-ten. much illness and much sorrow, and then i woke to find myself old, and as if i had lost a great part of my life. let us hope it was not all lost.' it was she who made the charming series of extracts from 'modern painters,' published as 'frondes agrestes,' respecting which he writes that they are 'chosen at her pleasure, by the author's friend, the younger lady of the thwaite, coniston,' and adds his absolute submission to her judgment, and his appreciation of the grace she did him in writing out every word with her own hands. over and above her natural history pursuits and her association with john ruskin, she wrote, i am told, many short poems and leaflets on kindness to animals. she died in , and her grave adjoins her friend's. the beevers were a manchester family whose father, on his retirement from business, settled, in , at the thwaite house. after his death one of his sons, john, and three of his daughters, mary, margaret, and susanna, lived on there, unmarried, and contented, it is said of them, with 'the harvest of a quiet eye.' miss margaret died before ruskin knew the circle. john beever, like his sisters, was a naturalist. he was especially fond of fly-fishing, and on the art of it he wrote a book, of which a new edition has recently been issued, with a biographical sketch by w. g. collingwood, and notes and an extra chapter on char-fishing by a. and a. r. severn. fishing has not directly added much of value to english literature. the notable exception is, of course, isaac walton's ever-living little book. great statesmen and tired public men of all kinds have found rest and change in handling rod and line, and many pleasant little brochures exist of smaller men's experiences and enjoyment of the gentle craft. to this order belongs mr. beever's book. it is necessarily too technical for the general reader. there is nothing in it so good as walton's well-known remark about the nightingale--a bird never heard, alas! in these northern regions, and therefore much missed by a southerner like myself--but which 'airy creature breathes such sweet loud music out of her little instrumental throat, that it might make mankind to think miracles had not ceased. he that at midnight, when the very labourer sleeps securely, should hear, as i have often done, the clear airs, the sweet descants, the natural rising and falling, the doubling and redoubling of her voice, might well be lifted above earth, and say, lord, what music hast thou provided for the saints in heaven, when thou affordest bad men such music on earth!' nor will you find anything so racy as the 'compleat angler's' picture of an otter-hunt, or as the other of the young milkmaid singing 'that smooth song which was made by kit marlow, now at least fifty years ago.' he has, however, some excellent passages of a literary savour, as, for example, of the two gentlemen fishing the streams of the pastoral yarrow, and convincing the local piscator that 'grouse' was the proper fly to catch with, and of frank, the matlock chaise-driver, who became to him the revealer of nature's demand for obedience to her laws--in other words, he taught him the imitation and use of the actual living flies on which the trout fed each consecutive day. the list of possible flies to copy is a formidable one, but the way to make the copies is fully explained--say, with a feather from the top of a woodcock's wing, fur from a squirrel's cheek, and orange-silk, or perhaps a feather from a sea-swallow or a seagull, pale-blue rabbit's fur, and primrose-coloured silk, or some wool from beneath an old sheep. then there follows the method of making rods, the suitable wood, the dimensions, and the art of securing temporary repairs. there are appendices on the antiquity of fly-fishing, and on a day's angling in france. to those of us for whom the mysteries of spring-backs, spring-duns, march-browns, green-tails, ruddy-flies, and black-headed reds, and iron-blues, have slight allurements, the more interesting portions of his life are those spent in making himself acquainted with the growth and habits of fish, and in constructing a pond behind his house that he could stock with finny people from the tarns and becks--a water colony wherein once each year he could handle and examine each member to see how it progressed. the pond was also a reservoir for a water-wheel that drove the machinery in his private workshop, where he turned wooden articles for carving, and made elaborate inlaid mosaics. there also he printed his sister's little books, and texts for the walls of sunday-schools. children he was fond of, and for their sakes he made himself--or was his talent innate--a wonderful story-teller, of 'quaint imagination and humour.' he had seven years of illness, which laid him aside from his active pursuits, and died no fewer than thirty-four years before his youngest sister 'susie.' he does not lie at coniston, but in the churchyard at hawkshead, hard by the old sun-dial on the north side. in the same graveyard lies another lake celebrity, of whom something may be said shortly. if fishermen deign to read these articles, let me inform them they can get mr. beever's 'practical fly-fishing' through any local bookseller, from methuen, of london; and that another book for their perusal is mr. john watson's 'lake district fisheries.' i cannot praise or dispraise either, but competent and knowing men tell me both are the practical experiences of practical fishermen, and are therefore of real value. some readers may think that miss mary beever has been slighted in favour of her brother and her younger sister. 'she was,' says ruskin, 'chiefly interested in the course of immediate english business, policy, and progressive science; while susie lived an aerial and enchanted life, possessing all the highest joys of imagination.' they were the martha and the mary of the coniston bethany, its 'house of dates,'--its place of rest and refreshment, not for the incarnate son of god, the saviour of mankind, but for a wearied reformer of human life and lover of all good things that god has made in the perfection of beauty. they each contributed their share to his comfort and renovation, and if he was more attached to the one who could enter into his life-thoughts the most thoroughly, there is nothing to wonder at in its being so. from jonah's prayer 'i will call on jehovah from my prison, and he will hear me; from the womb of the grave i cry. thou hearest my voice. thou hast cast me into wide waters in the depths of the sea; and the floods surround me; all thy dashing and thy rolling waves pass over me.' from habakkuk's 'song in parts' 'though the fig-tree did not blossom, and there be no fruit on the vine; though the produce of the olive fail, though the parched field yield no food, though the flock be cut off from the fold, and there be no cattle in the stalls; yet will i rejoice in jehovah, i will exult in god my saviour. jehovah my lord is my strength. he will set my feet as the deer's, he will make me walk in high places.' elizabeth smith: _hebrew translations_. xviii a learned young lady elizabeth smith 'what the vast multitudes of women are doing in the world's activities, and what share their mothers and grandmothers, to the remotest generations backward, have had in originating culture, is a question which concerns the whole race.'--professor mason's _woman's share in primitive culture_. not a very distinctive name, you will say! who was she? 'the blooming elizabeth smith, whom to know was to revere,' writes the author of an ancient book called 'coelebs in search of a wife.' but this does not carry us a long way further. well, then, she was a young lady, born so long ago as , near the city of durham, who lived for several years at coniston with her parents and died there when but twenty-nine years of age. what made her remarkable was not so much her beauty or her goodness--and she possessed both these physical and spiritual qualities,--but also, and for our present purpose especially, her poetic talent and her great linguistic powers and attainments. 'with scarcely any assistance,' writes one who was intimate with her, 'she was well acquainted with french, italian, spanish, german, latin, greek, and hebrew languages. she had no inconsiderable knowledge of arabic and persian. she made also considerable philological collections of welsh, chinese, african, and icelandic words. she was well acquainted with geometry, algebra, and other branches of the mathematics. she was a very fine musician. she drew landscapes from nature extremely well, and was mistress of perspective.' she was more retiring, and even timid, than she was learned. let it be remembered that she was born in the days previous to any thought of the 'emancipation' of woman, or her 'equality' with man, and when the only sphere it was considered proper for her to fill was that of wife and mother. she might--nay must--bake and sew, and undertake all the domestic duties of the household, with one or two 'accomplishments' allowed her, qualifying her to be agreeable to her husband or father in his leisure moments, and to his guests. it will be satisfactory to those, if any are left, who still hold the old theories about the highest feminine virtues, that this talented young lady, who could calculate the distances and periods of planets, write verses in rhyme, or in imitation of ossian, and translate the book of job from the hebrew, could also make a currant tart, or 'a gown, or a cap, or any other article of dress, with as much skill' as she displayed in the region of languages and mathematics. her father was a banker whose business was in the west of england. he was a wealthy man, and removed, while his daughter was young, from durham to one of the loveliest estates in monmouthshire--piercefield--on the cliffs of the river wye, close to chepstow's ruined castle, and within sight of the british channel. 'there, twice a day, the severn fills, the salt sea-water passes by, and hushes half the babbling wye, and makes a silence in the hills.' through the length of the park a pathway traverses the winding summits of the gray limestone rocks, which--clothed with wood, or rising in naked spires from the water far into the sky--afforded resting-places for occasional nightingales, and for all the commoner singing birds of the land, as well as for ravens and innumerable daws. here she could find romantic spots at every turn that called forth all her poetical aspirations and faculties, and filled her imagination with dreams of the heroes of old wales, and the stormy warfare of the marches in the middle ages. she had quietude enough, too, in the library of the mansion to pursue her unusual studies successfully, and without interruption from casual visitors. 'miss smith's power of memory,' says the 'national dictionary of biography,' 'and of divination, must have been alike remarkable, for she rarely consulted a dictionary.' at the beginning of william pitt's great european wars, as well as some quarter of a century later, after its close, the commercial world was widely and deeply shaken--as it always is under circumstances that enrich the few at the cost of the many--smith's bank was involved in many losses, and failed to meet its own liabilities. the ruin of the firm involved the sale of piercefield, and the family's departure therefrom, mr. smith purchasing a commission in the army. they went first to london, and then followed the regiment to ireland, where everything was in ferment about the expected french invasion, and insurrection of the irish. it was at this period that another and more famous literary lady was passing through her experiences, which are recorded in some of the episodes in 'castle rackrent' and other famous novels that delighted our parents. the smiths were at first entertained by lord kingston, but had shortly to take up their abode in barracks. elizabeth's calm cheerfulness and practical support to her mother were edifying, and brought forth the reserve forces of her unassuming character very satisfactorily. her mother's description of their journey on horseback in those wild regions, as they were in ante-locomotive days, is worth transcribing from one of her letters to a lady friend. after a twenty-mile ride they arrived dripping wet. 'our baggage was not come, and, owing to the negligence of the quarter-master, there was not even a bed to rest on. the whole furniture of our apartments consisted of a piece of a cart-wheel for a fender, a bit of iron, probably from the same vehicle, for a poker, a dirty deal table, and three wooden-bottomed chairs. it was the first time we had joined the regiment, and i was standing by the fire, and perhaps dwelling too much on the comforts i had lost, when i was roused from my reverie by elizabeth's exclaiming, "oh, what a blessing!" "blessing!" i replied, "there seems none left!" "indeed there is, my dear mother, for see here is a little cupboard!" i dried my eyes, and endeavoured to learn fortitude from my daughter.' after long wanderings, varied by residences at bath and in north wales, the smiths stayed for some months at patterdale. while here the captain purchased a little farm, and hired a house at coniston. the house, according to the report of a visitor, was not very comfortable. 'the situation is indeed enchanting, and during the summer months inconveniences within doors are little felt, but it grieves me to be convinced of what they must amount to in december.' here elizabeth continued her studies and translations, especially from the german and hebrew, and probably at this time read locke's philosophy, discovering and criticising some of his inaccuracies. after a five years' most thorough enjoyment of coniston--walking, boating, reading--she, staying out too long one evening beneath a favourite tree with a favourite book, felt a sharp pain strike suddenly through her chest. she had very considerably overtaxed her physical powers, and drawn too seriously on her reserve of nervous energy. it was the beginning of the end. within a little more than twelve months she passed to her everlasting rest. bath, matlock, and other places had been tried without avail. at length she said: 'if i cannot recover here i shall not anywhere,' and refused to be removed again. in her last letter she says: 'i have learned to look on life and death with an equal eye, knowing where my hope is fixed.' her friend's reply was 'as to a christian on the verge of eternity.' 'her whole life,' her mother adds, 'had been a preparation for death.' the house called tent lodge--where tennyson afterwards stayed--now stands on the site where she lived in a tent pitched for her in her father's grounds. the name is given to the house because of an exclamation of hers that this would be such a magnificent situation for one. whenever we see it we remember the delight of the 'angel-spirit' (her mother's words for her) at the prospect it commands. in the graveyard at hawkshead, in which mr. beever lies, was buried elizabeth smith in august, , and within the church is a small white marble tablet to her memory, telling how 'she possessed great talents, exalted virtues, and humble piety.' the situation of hawkshead church and graveyard are thus described by a contemporary writer: 'on the north is a most awful scene of mountains heaped upon mountains, in every variety of horrid shape. among them sweeps to the north a deep winding chasm, darkened by overhanging rocks, that the eye cannot pierce, nor the imagination fathom.... the church is situated on the front of an eminence that commands the vale, which is floated with esthwaite water.' miss smith's poems were written on the models then in vogue, and would hardly meet the taste of a generation that has since her days known a scott, a byron, a wordsworth, a shelley, a keats, a tennyson, and her stanzas are often long. this extract, descriptive of a calm at patterdale, after a mountain hurricane, may furnish some idea of her style: 'the storm is past; the raging wind no more, between the mountains rushing, sweeps the vale, dashing the billows of the troubled lake high into the air; the snowy fleece lies thick; from every bough, from every jutting rock the crystals hang; the torrents roar has ceased-- as if that voice that called creation forth had said "be still." all nature stands aghast, suspended by the viewless power of cold.' her translations from hebrew were her favourite sunday pursuits, and those of jonah's prayer, and habakkuk's 'song in parts' are, to my mind, more poetical and more coherent than even our fine authorized version. in this judgment i find myself confirmed by reading that archbishop magee considered her rendering of 'job' the best he knew. there is no space for lengthy quotations from her prose writings and her letters, but some short sentences will have to serve as samples of her manner and her thoughts: 'to be good and disagreeable is high treason against virtue.' 'a great genius can render clear and intelligible any subject within the compass of human knowledge; therefore, what is called a deep book (too deep to be understood) we may generally conclude is the produce of a shallow understanding.' 'happiness is a very common plant, a native of every soil, yet is some skill required in gathering it; for many noxious weeds look like it, and deceive the unwary to their ruin.' 'wouldst thou know the true worth of time, employ one hour.' 'pleasure is a rose near which there ever grows the thorn of evil. it is wisdom's work so carefully to cull the rose, as to avoid the thorn.' 'why do so many men return coxcombs from their travels? because they set out fools!' 'as the sun breaking forth in winter, so is joy in the season of affliction. as a shower in the midst of summer, so are the salutary drops of sorrow mingled in our cup of pleasure.' 'a happy day is worth enjoying; it exercises the soul for heaven. the heart that never tastes of pleasure, shuts up, grows stiff, and incapable of enjoyment. how, then, shall it enter the realms of bliss? a cold heart can receive no pleasure even there.' on a shoulder of the 'old man' 'the ascent becomes dismally laborious here, so much so, that you are fain to lie down upon the soft, dry mountain grass, to recover breath, and while doing so, what objection can you have to a little conversation with the old man himself? listen, then! 'old man! old man! your sides are brant, and fearfully hard to climb; my limbs are weak, and my breath is scant, so i'll rest me here and rhyme.' 'yes, my sides are steep, and my dells are deep, and my broad bald brow is high, and you'll ne'er, should you rhyme till the limit of time, find worthier theme than i. 'my summit i shroud in the weltering cloud, and i laugh at the tempest's din; i am girdled about with stout rock without, and i've countless wealth within. 'my silence is broke by the raven's croak, and the bark of the mountain fox; and mine echoes awake to the brown glead's shriek, as he floats by my hoary rocks.' dr. a. c. gibson: _ravings and ramblings round coniston_. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ hawkeshead, from esthwaite water. the residence of dr. gibson, and burial-place of miss elizabeth smith. xix a country doctor and his stories (folk-speech) dr. alexander craig gibson 'if you are _ill_ at this season, there is no occasion to send for the doctor--only _stop eating_. indeed, upon general principles, it seems to me to be a mistake for people, every time there is a little thing the matter with them, to be running in such haste for the "doctor," because, if you are going to die, a doctor can't help you, and if you are not, there is no occasion for him.'--hone's _table book_. there are three paragraphs about him--appreciative ones--in mr. bradley's 'highways and byways in the lake district,' and the first of the three shall furnish me with my own introductory one. 'and who may craig gibson be? ninety-nine out of a hundred readers will most assuredly demand to be told. his portrait figures in no shop windows, nor can his biography in concentrated form be purchased for a penny at the local stationer's, nor is the house he occupied an item in the round of the enterprising char-a-banc. poor gibson, in short, is not reckoned among the immortals of the lake country, by outsiders at any rate; but, unlike any of these except wordsworth, he was a native of it and a product of the soil. gibson was, in fact, a country doctor, whose practice carried him far and wide through hill and dale, among all classes of people. he had a wonderful knowledge of the country folk, among whom he laboured until he was forty, and a vast fund of sympathy and humour, which endeared him to all. with this he combined a passion for dialect studies, and some genius for writing poems, both of a humorous and pathetic nature. no man who ever lived had such a mastery of the varying dialects of cumberland and westmorland, or better knew the inner character and the humour of their rugged people.' the only sketch of his life i have been able to find is mr. nicholson's in the 'national dictionary of biography,' and that gives no clue to anything fuller. from this it appears he was born in at harrington, cumberland, now a town of some , inhabitants on the london and north-western railway, and on the seashore between whitehaven and workington. an old coloured engraving of it about contemporary with gibson's youth shows it as a harbour nearly land-locked by hilly promontories, and possessing a small stone-built pier. the village, more ancient than the harbour, was half a mile inland. gibson's father was named james, and his mother was mary stuart craig, a member of a moffat family. his early education was probably quite local, at any rate we find that he got his first knowledge of medicine by serving his time with a practitioner at whitehaven, and from thence he went to edinburgh university to study and to take his diploma, commencing on his own account at branthwaite and ullock, near cockermouth, when twenty-eight years of age. he did not remain there long, but in removed to coniston, and married miss sarah bowman of lamplough the following year. he remained at coniston for six years, and then removed to hawkshead, where he dwelt for another eight, and then, finding the country practice, with long rides and exposure to all kinds of mountain weather, becoming too hard and too heavy for him, he removed to bebington in cheshire, where he remained for fifteen years more, and when failing health and three score years of life compelled it, lived there retired until his death in . he is interred in the churchyard of that village in the neighbourhood of birkenhead. this is practically all that is known, and, indeed, is all that need concern us of his outward biography. his inner is indicated by his books. from them we gather that he was a pleasant and genial man, who readily found his way to the hearts of the 'statesmen' and peasantry among whom his professional calling carried him every day of his life, and with whom he would hold colloquies in the vernacular, and from whose fireside talks he would gather the stories and legends he afterwards put together in prose or verse, to illustrate both the scandinavian dialects and the folklore of the north-western shires, as william barnes has in later times done for the saxon speech and thought-modes of the dorsetshire people. we are sure, too, that wherever he rode he was a keen observer and investigator of natural objects among the rocks, and birds, and flowers, as well as of castles, churches, mansions, schools, and ancient earthworks. he was a learned geologist, and if you want to be assured of this you have but to procure a copy of harriet martineau's 'guide to the lakes,' and you will find the chapters on geology and mineralogy were his compilation, though there is no further acknowledgment of the fact than the presence of his initials, a. c. g., at the end. it is not the hand of a mere scientific smatterer that can condense with ability into some dozen or thirteen pages the earth treasures and stratification of such a mountain-land as ours, respecting which he says, 'as no district of similar extent displays such a variety of natural beauties in its external aspect, so does no district present within equally limited bounds such diversity of geological formation and arrangement, or a like variety of mineral productions.' he was an excellent botanist, writing upon the flora of cumberland, though possibly his knowledge of ornithology would be little more than that of any intelligent, nature-loving country doctor almost always in the open. an antiquarian he certainly was of no mean standing, being a fellow of the society of antiquaries--a society that asks, unlike many other 'learned' associations, 'what has he done?' before receiving a member--and he was a frequent contributor to the 'transactions of the historic society of lancashire and cheshire.' a good example of the quality of his contributions is that on 'hawkshead town, church, and school.' it is interesting, and in a small space very enlightening. he tells us that this is one of the smallest market towns in the kingdom, and he describes it in a couplet of his own, a 'pattering' rhyme: 'a quaint old town is hawkshead, and an ancient look it bears, its church, its school, its dwellings, its streets, its lands, its squares, are all irregularities--all angles, twists, and crooks, with penthouses and gables over archways, wents, and nooks.' it really has two small 'squares' and one street 'of varying contour, and width frequently and awkwardly encroached upon by gabled shops standing at right angles to the roadway and houses by aggressive corners and low upper stories projected far beyond the foundation-line of the buildings.' altogether an eccentric town. then, after speaking of its lake, he points out to us the old glacier moraines, and its green water-meadows, and next branches off into the story of the 'pilgrimage of grace' in , and the tale of the plague in , and of the opening of the quaker cemetery on the picturesque hillside in , and the founding and upkeep of the parish church with its peal of six bells, each with its inscription, from which we can transcribe only the first: 'awake, arise, the day's restored, awake, arise, to praise the lord, regard, look to, the peal i lead. .' he has, too, many sage remarks to make about 'drunken barnaby's' visit, of which, perhaps, i shall say more in another article. but the two books the worthy doctor has specially made his mark with as regards the general public are 'folk-speech tales and rhymes of cumberland and districts adjacent,' and 'the old man, or ravings and ramblings around coniston.' the first has passed through several editions, and is to be had quite cheaply through second-hand booksellers; the second is scarcer and dearer. of the first the _saturday review_ wrote: 'few people will dare to attack this odd-looking book, with its unusual accents and its rude phonetic spelling, and if they do they will not understand it if they have not had some previous education. but to those who can read it it is full of racy jokes and rich humour, and will afford infinite amusement when intelligently undertaken.' this seems to be a tolerably correct estimate, for, as he tells us in his preface, the tales relating to cumberland and dumfriesshire are in pure cumbrian--unadulterated, old norse-rooted cumbrian vernacular--and pure scotch folk-speech. the high furness dialect, he says, is rendered impure by the influx of emigrants from across morecambe sands. how can i find specimens short enough? 'joe and the geologist' is in the cumberland mode. it tells of a lad hired by a savant to carry the stones and fossils collected in a two days' excursion, and how the lad, thinking one stone as good as another, emptied the leather bag on the sly, filled it again from a stone-breaker's heap, earned his meals and half a sovereign for his 'hard work,' and managed to send his employer off by coach none the wiser till he should reach home. 'when i com nar to skeal-hill, i fund oald aberram achisson sittin' on a steul breckan steans to mend rwoads wid, an' i axt him if i med full my ledder pwokes frae his heap. aberram was varra kaim't an' tell't ma to tak them as wasn't brocken if i want'd steans, sooa i tell't hoo it was an' oa' aboot it. t' oald maizlin was like to toytle of his steul wid' laughin', and said me mudder sud tak gud care on ma, for i was ower sharp a chap to leeve varra lang i' this warld; but i'd better full ma pwokes as i liked an' mak on wid' them.' 'the skulls of calgarth,' a north country naboth vineyard story with additions, is the only tale in westmorland talk. 'a house ligs la' an' leansome theear, doon in that oomer dark, wi' wide, heigh-risin' chimla-heads, la' roof, an' crumlin' wo', o' wedder-gra'n an' weed-be grown--for time hes setten t' mark o' scooers an' scooers o' wearin' years on hantit co'garth ho'.' to the reader uninstructed in the vernacular his little work, entitled 'the old man; or, ravings and ramblings round coniston,' is more interesting than 'folk-speech.' it contains capital descriptive passages, some in pointed prose, and some in rhyme. example of the latter may be found in 'the sunken graves.' 'near esthwaite head, remote and lone, where crag-born dudden chafes and raves-- unblest by priest--unmarked by stone-- were lengthened rows of dateless graves.' of the prose, take these words about coniston: 'nowhere else have you seen wood and water, hill and valley, green-sward and purple heather, rugged crag and velvet lawn, gray rock and bright-blossoming shrub, waving forest and spreading coppice brought under the eye at once in such magnificent proportion and in such bewildering contrast.' he narrates some exciting fox-hunting experiences of the fell-side farmers and their hounds; he has some pithy tales of the native peasantry and their folklore and their customs, as well as of their parsons, poor as goldsmith's 'christian hero'--passing rich at £ a year, yet learned and of cultured minds, though dressed in homespun, and toiling on the land to eke out a living. his own adventures as a medical man in mists and storms sweeping across the mountains are sometimes graphic. this paragraph must suffice us: 'there had been a heavy snow, which for a day or two, under the influence of soft weather and showers, had been melting; the whole country was saturated with wet--every road was a syke, every syke a beck, and every beck a river. the high lands were covered with a thick, cold, driving, suffocating mist, which every now and then thinned a little to make way for one of those thorough-bred mountain showers, of which none can have any conception who have not faced them on the fells in winter--wetting to the skin and chilling to the marrow in three seconds, and piercing exposed parts like legions of pins and needles. the hollows in the roads, which are neither few nor far between, were filled with snow in a state of semi-fluidity, cold as if it had been melted with salt, through which i splashed and struggled, dragging my floundering jaded pony after me with the greatest difficulty.' written in the wordsworth country 'he is dead, and the fruit-bearing day of his race is past on the earth; and darkness returns to our eyes. for, oh! is it you, is it you, moonlight and shadow, and lake, and mountains, that fill us with joy, or the poet who sings you so well? is it you, o beauty, o grace, or the voice that reveals what you are? are ye, like daylight and sun, shared and rejoiced in by all? or are you immersed in the mass of matter, and hard to extract, or sunk at the core of the world too deep for the most to discern? like stars in the deep of the sky, which arise on the glass of the sage, but are lost when their watcher is gone.' matthew arnold: _the youth of nature_. [llustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ fox how, ambleside. the home of the arnolds.] xx two pioneer educationists thomas and matthew arnold 'speaking of the arnolds, he (hartley coleridge) said they are a most gifted family. i asked what specially in their education distinguished them. he rose from the dinner-table, as his manner is, and answered, "why, they were suckled on latin and weaned upon greek!"'--caroline fox's _journal_. do not the ambleside and grasmere char-a-bancs proclaim on their back-boards in letters large and ugly that they will 'return by fox how, the residence of dr. arnold'? and is not the advertised route a pretty one, despite the disadvantage of its being frequented by thousands of 'trippers' to whom the arnolds are not even names, and who can hardly be much illuminated by the drivers? when arnold of rugby bought the property and built the house for a holiday home, with the hope of some day retiring permanently to it, he wrote of its being 'a mountain nest of sweetness.' even his son matthew, more of an introversive than a descriptive poet, more inclined to utter a thought of goethe's or quote a song of beranger's than to dwell on the inwardness of natural scenery, must perforce write of 'rotha's living wave'--the stream that 'sparkles through fields vested for ever with green,' and of 'moonlight, and shadow, and lake, and mountains that fill us with joy.' the father died in harness, and was buried in rugby chapel, and not in grasmere, by the wordsworth graves, as he had hoped. the son spent his boyhood at fox how, and returned to it often in later life, for mrs. dr. arnold remained there--a widow--for many years. thomas arnold, born in , at cowes, isle of wight, was the son of the collector of customs in that little port. he was educated first at westminster, and then for four years at winchester. as a child he was stiff, shy, and formal, says dean stanley, and after entering oxford, indeed until mature life, was a 'lie-a-bed.' still, he was forward at school, strong in history and geography, took early to his pen, and had a good memory for poetry. at the university, a scholar at corpus christi, fellow of oriel, he took a first-class in classics, and two chancellor's prizes in and . corpus christi was a small, intellectual community, and this fact helped to form his character. he was, and remained, a liberal in a society of convinced tories. outside his companionship and his necessary studies the formative influences of that period of his life were aristotle, thucydides, and wordsworth. he took 'orders,' and settled at laleham, near staines, where he remained nine years, taking youths as pupils to prepare them for the universities. here six of his children were born, including matthew, and here he developed his theories of education, to become so important a factor in english life by-and-by. here, too, he pursued diligently his own deeper studies in the bible, in theology, and in roman history. some of the sermons preached at this village are incorporated with those, afterwards so celebrated, delivered to the rugby school. he became head-master of rugby in . at that time most of the great public schools with clerical headmasters were in low condition, and upper-class education was poor. the rich churchmen held possession of the national universities, and social rather than intellectual status was the chief thing aimed at. of course there were many noble exceptions among the undergraduates to this general truth, and arnold was one of them, and his compeers at corpus christi were others. rugby as a school was in a very poor state when he took hold of it. he raised it into one of the first schools of its kind in the kingdom, and provoked the others into a healthy competition. it is impossible here to give more than the barest outline of his magnificent scholastic career. the ordinary reader may judge for himself of its character by reading thomas hughes' 'tom browne's school days,' and the more studious stanley's 'life' of the doctor. it has been my own privilege to know several clergymen who were arnold's pupils. they reverenced his memory, they spoke of their intellectual and spiritual obligations to their master in the warmest terms, and in every case were among the most liberal-minded and cultured men i have known. they were but examples of hundreds, cleric and lay, of his excellent modelling. the key to his influence and reforms is found in his own high christian character, and, as one biographer says, in the fact that 'the most strongly-marked feature of his intellect was the strength and clearness of his conceptions. it seemed the possession of an inward light so intense that it penetrated on the instant every subject laid before him, and enabled him to grasp it with the vividness of sense and the force of reality.' his administrative methods revolutionized the discipline and the punishments. he relied on the honour of the boys, and their christian and gentlemanly characters, and especially on the right leadership of the older ones, whom he trusted implicitly, unless found untrustworthy. he had also, and this, doubtless, was part of his secret, an unusual faculty of right discernment in the selection of his masters. character was the basis of his system--upon that he could build scholarship, without it he would not try to. 'it is not necessary,' he once said to his pupils, 'that this school should be a school of , or , or boys; but it is necessary it should be a school of christian gentlemen.' through good and evil report, opposition and scoffing, he went on his way, and conquered. he took his part, too, in liberalizing the anglican church. for defending bishop hampden of hereford, to whose appointment a violent outcry was raised for alleged unorthodoxy, arnold nearly lost his own post. earl howe, one of the champions of the narrow-minded heresy hunters, moved a condemnatory resolution at the board of governors--there being four for, and four against, and none possessing a casting vote, the headmaster was not suspended, and did not resign. in he was appointed regius professor of modern history, and his lectures remain in their published form as evidences of his accuracy and lucidity. the next year, however, he was seized with angina pectoris, and he died just about the time he was intending to retire from his fourteen years' successful pioneering of the modern methods of secondary and higher education. his character was well estimated by a writer in the _edinburgh review_, albeit the comparison of arnold with milton is not altogether felicitous in other respects. he says: 'they both so lived in their great task-master's eye as to verify bacon's observation, in his 'essay on atheism,' making themselves akin to god in spirit, and raising their natures by means of a higher nature than their own.' matthew alludes to his father in his poem on rugby chapel. this poem is in awkward metre, and the query might have been answered more positively than he has ventured to do, if there is any truth whatsoever in the christian doctrine of immortality and a 'labour-house vast' seems a poor substitute for scriptural imagery of the unseen spirit world. 'oh, strong soul, by what shore tarriest thou now? for that force, surely, has not been left vain! somewhere, surely, afar, in the sounding labour-house vast of being is practised that strength, zealous, beneficent, firm.' another appreciation of the father by the son is interesting. 'he was the first english clergyman who could speak as freely on religious subjects as if he had been a layman.' of matthew himself there needs little to be said. from whom did he inherit his strange temperament? his poetry lacks the warmth of feeling his father would have put into it. his muse is cold, classical, joyless. his criticisms are keen, incisive, often just, more often marred by foolish prejudices, almost brutally expressed. to dissenters he was intolerant, and never lost a chance of sneering at them, especially for their want of that culture, or rather that special form of culture, which he personally affected, and which his own church had debarred them from obtaining at the universities. he laid himself open to the retort of a leading nonconformist, who spoke of mr. arnold's belief in the well-known preference of the almighty for university men. mr. herbert paul is not wide of the mark when he writes of his re-translations of the bible 'making one feel as if one had suddenly swallowed a fish-bone.' certainly the perusal of most of his books, such as 'essays in criticism,' 'culture and anarchy,' 'paul and protestantism,' 'literature and dogma,' 'god and the bible,' gives to the thoughtful reader a sensation of being drawn by a swift, high-mettled, blood horse, trying to get his head, and to run away with you over a stony road--the pace is exhilarating, but the jolting is terrible. his best contributions to the commonwealth are some of his educational theories and suggestions, and most of his reports on foreign education, and on his experience as an inspector of schools. in the latter capacity he laboured for thirty-five years, and the impress of his genius abides. some of his forecasts of the future have come true, others are certain yet to be fulfilled. he was the real founder of university extension, and he urged that the university of london should be made a teaching institution only. mr. paul's estimate of him we may cordially assent to: 'of all education reformers in the last century, not excepting his father, mr. arnold was the most enlightened, the most far-sighted, and the most fair-minded.' 'fair-minded' he assuredly was when dealing with the practical side of his profession. 'fair-minded' he always believed he was. 'fair-minded' he seldom was on purely political or academic matters, for then his extraordinary prejudices asserted their sovereignty over him, and he was helpless beneath their sway. mr. gladstone he disliked so intensely that we should hardly be wrong in saying he hated him and all his works. he exhibited a supercilious contempt for what he chose to brand as the provincialism of the 'low church' and the free church; for the aristocracy, who to him were 'barbarians' for preferring field sports to the improvement of their minds; for the masses of the community, whom he dismissed with the epithet 'the populace,' while the middle-classes were 'philistines' (a word he borrowed from the germans), because they were 'respectable' and kept gigs! really all this shows too small a mind, too circumscribed an outlook on humanity, to qualify matthew arnold for a place among philosophers or national reformers. it is satisfactory to turn from him as politician and critic of the bible, of literature, and of society, to his status as a poet, which, though really secondary to that as an educationist, he will naturally be most widely remembered by. his letters, too, recently published, show the pleasant side of his private life. 'he was a poet of the closet,' is mr. stedman's summary of him. arthur clough preferred alexander smith (practically a forgotten minor poet) to the author of 'empedocles,' and complained of the obscurity and 'pseudo-greek inflation' of 'tristram and iseult.' 'the scholar-gipsy' is his best elegiac poem; 'the forsaken merman' his best narrative piece; 'bacchanalia, or the new age,' his best lyric. this is from 'the merman': 'children dear, was it yesterday we heard the sweet bells over the bay? in the caverns where we lay, through the surf, and through the swell, the far-off sound of a silver bell? sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, where the winds are all asleep; where the spent lights quiver and gleam, where the salt weed sways in the stream, where the sea-breeze, ranged all round, feed in the ooze of their pasture ground; where the sea-snakes coil and twine, dry their mail, and bask in the brine; where great whales come sailing by, sail, and sail, with unshut eye, round the world for ever and aye? when did music come this way? children dear, was it yesterday?' herein are lines more melodious, and ideas more english, than in other verses, just because he 'let himself go' more than usual. he was generally too self-conscious to do this at all. his schools were winchester and rugby. his college was balliol. for a short time he was master under his father. for four years he acted as private secretary to lord lansdowne, and in was made inspector of schools. he was professor of poetry at oxford from to . he died suddenly of inherited heart disease while running to catch a tram at liverpool in , at sixty-six years of age. all this may be read in any dictionary of biography, and really there is little more to note of events in his life outside the daily routine of his official career. he was buried at laleham, where he was born. something better might be his epitaph than his own pessimistic lines: 'creep into this narrow bed, creep, and let no more be said.' philaretvs, his instructions to his sonne 'deare sonne, as thou art tender to mee, remember these advertisements of thy careful father. 'bee zealous in the service of thy god; ever recommending in the prime houre of the day all thy ensuing actions to his gracious protection. 'bee constant in thy resolves, ever grounded on a religious feare, that they may bee seconded by god's favour. 'bee serious in thy studies; with all humility crave the assistance of others, for thy better proficiency. 'bee affable to all; familiar to few. 'bee to such a constant consort where thou hast hope to bee a daily proficient. 'bee provident and discreetly frugal in thy expense. 'honour those in whose charge thou art instructed. 'and, sweet jesu, with thy grace enrich him, to thy glory, my comfort. 'thy deare father, 'philaretvs.' '_essais upon the five senses, revived by a new supplement, with a pithy one upon detraction, continued with sundry christian resolves, etc._, by ric. brathvvayt, esq. ( ). [illustration: _photo by gilbert hogg, kendal._ burneside hall, near kendal. the home of richard braithwaite.] xxi drunken barnaby richard braithwaite 'a self-deluded fool is he who deems the head is innocent that moves the hand. a fount impure may taint a thousand streams. the devil did not do the work he planned. he is the very worst of evil pests who fears to execute, and but suggests.' s. c. hall: _the trial of sir jasper_. a mile or so from the picturesque town of kendal is a village, standing on both sides of the rushing little river kent, now called burneside, though anciently barnside. it has a church of old foundation, rebuilt early in last century, chiefly by private subscription, but partly by enforced church rates, after the custom of that age. it has a fine bridge crossed by the road leading to the mountain heights and the long, deep valleys, so wildly beautiful, and beginning to be so far-famed through mrs. humphrey ward's romances. adjoining the bridge is a large paper-mill, where formerly stood a worsted-mill and patent candle-wick cutting factory. the village possesses an institute and library, and a public-house of the earl grey type. the people seem contented and intelligent, and as the number of them has grown from in to over , within fifty years, we may fairly point to it as an object-lesson for those who desire to see village industries and 'garden manufacturing villages' multiplied, and through them the neighbouring farming interests improved and enriched. a short stroll towards the northern uplands brings the visitor to a ruined, ivy-clad peel-tower, one of those relics of border-warfare days with which these regions abound. as in many other cases, so in this, when the times became more settled, a manor-house grew up around the grim, square-built battlemented tower, which mansion is now, in still later and quieter days, a farmhouse. to the manor and dwelling succeeded the subject of this sketch on his father's death in , or shortly afterwards. he came of a race of westmorland landed gentry, owning estates here, and at ambleside and appleby. it is not known where he was born. he was entered as a gentleman commoner at oriel college, oxford, as a native of northumberland, and it is, of course, possible that his father, a wealthy man, held residential property in that county. the internal evidence of his writings, however, has been of late held to be sufficiently strong to prove him a native of kendal. his words, in an address to 'the aldermen of kendall,' seem very explicit: 'within that native place where i was born, it lies in you, dear townsmen, to reforme.' anthony a'wood, in his 'athenæ oxoniensis,' tells how braithwaite--or, as he spells the name, brathwayte--was sent to the university at sixteen years of age in . he remained there three years, 'avoiding as much as he could the rough pathes of logic and philosophy, and tracing those smooth ones of poetry and roman history, in which at length he did excell.' thence he went to cambridge, studying literature 'in dead and living authors.' from cambridge he proceeded to london to read law in the inns of court. in his father's will there are indications, and in his own later writings there are sorrowful confessions, that, for a while, at all events, he lived a wild, roystering life in the metropolis. 'the day seemed long wherein i did not enjoy these pleasures; the night long wherein i thought not of them. i knew what sinne it was to sollicit a maid into lightnesse; or to be drunken with wine, wherein was excesse; or to suffer mine heart to be oppressed with surfetting and drunkennesse; yet for all this, run i on still in mine evil wayes.' his father's death-bed doubts of him, and the tying up of the estate bequeathed to him, till he had amended, seem to have brought him to himself. while living at burneside hall, during the early days of the civil wars he was made a captain of the local royalist trained bands, a deputy-lieutenant, and j.p. for the county, and spent his leisure in composing and publishing the more serious of his books. seven years after entering on his possessions, he married miss frances lawson, of darlington, but surreptitiously, probably because of objections raised by the young lady's parents. it seems to have been more than a love-match--a happy union of sixteen years' duration--producing a family of nine--six sons and three daughters. six years of widowhood, and then he married a yorkshire lady, who brought him another manor, catterick, where for the future he resided till his death. the sole issue of this second marriage was a son--strafford--who was knighted, and was killed in an engagement with an algerian man-of-war--in the ship _mary_, of which sir roger strickland was commander. in richard braithwaite died, and was buried in catterick parish church, a mural monument duly setting forth the fact in customary latin. anthony a'wood says he bore during his steady years 'the character of a well-bread (_sic_) gentleman and a good neighbour.' mr. haslewood, his most competent editor, has collected, i know not from whence, some oral traditions of his personal appearance, interesting as a picture of the seventeenth-century northern gentry, as well as of the individual. he was, although below the common stature, one of the handsomest men of the time, and well proportioned, remarkable for ready wit and humour, and of polished manners and deportment. he usually wore a light gray coat, a red waistcoat, leather breeches, and a high-crowned hat. from a full-length portrait in the first edition of his 'english gentleman,' which is believed to be his likeness, he wore also boots, spurs, sword, belt, and cloak. he was so neat in his appearance, and lively in manner, that his equals bestowed upon him the nickname of 'dapper dick.' he earned from later generations a far less enviable soubriquet--that of 'drunken barnaby.' this is because he is--and rightly so, without doubt--credited with the authorship of a notorious book called by him originally 'barnabæ itinerarium, or barnabee's journal.' it was done in latin and english on opposite pages, to 'most apt numbers reduced, and to the old tune of barnabe commonly chanted.' the poem would seem to have passed out of general recollection, till in it was republished by london booksellers under the title of 'drunken barnaby's four journeys to the north of england,' and alleged to have been found among some musty old books that had a long time lain by in a corner, and now at last 'made publick.' this was a fabricated title with the intention of catching the public taste, because of a popular ballad of the same name then current. the itinerary may well have been the production of his muse during his london wild-oat days. drunken and licentious the traveller certainly was. he gives a rough, coarse picture of the depraved manners of the times, against which zealous puritans were preaching and vigorously protesting. mr. atkinson, in his 'worthies of westmorland,' calls him a 'strolling minstrel.' a stroller he was, of course, but not a minstrel in any other sense than as a keeper of a rhyming diary. he also says that 'drunken barnaby' was a nickname of his own choice. this is too cruel! braithwaite never called himself so, and the term, when more than a quarter of a century after his death it was invented for trade purposes, was supposed to belong, not to braithwaite at all, but to a certain 'barnaby harrington,' a supposed yorkshire schoolmaster and horse-dealer. 'barnabæ itinerarium' has little merit as poetry. it is mainly of interest to moderns for the light it throws--like the water-poet, taylor's, 'penniless pilgrimage,' and his 'merry-wherry-ferry voyage'--on the social condition of stuart and commonwealth england, as well as for its local allusions. take of the latter, for example, these: 'thence to sedbergh, sometimes joy-all, gamesome, gladsome, richly royal, but those jolly boys are sunken, now scarce once a year one drunken; there i durst not well be merry, farre from home old foxes werry.[b] * * * * * 'thence to kendall, pure her state is, prudent too her magistrate is, in whose charter to them granted. nothing but a mayor is wanted;[c] here it likes me to be dwelling, bousing, loving, stories telling.' * * * * * 'thence to garestang, where are feeding heards with large fronts freely breeding; thence to ingleforth i descended, where choice bull-calfs will be vended; thence to burton's boundiers pass i, faire in flocks, in pastures grassie. * * * * * 'thence to lonesdale, where were at it boys that scorn'd quart-ale by statute, till they stagger'd, stammer'd, stumbled, railed, reeled, rowled, tumbled, musing i should be so stranged, i resolv'd them, i was changed. 'to the sinke of sin they drew me, where like hogs in mire they tew me, or like dogs unto their vomit, but their purpose i o'recommed; with shut eyes i flung in anger from those mates of death and danger.' [b] (old foxes are wary when far from home.) [c] it seems a mayor was granted subsequently. on another journey he came to 'kendall,' and there he did 'what men call spend all,' drinking 'thick and clammy ale,' and, passing on to staveley, drank again all night. he might in those days have well deserved to be ear-marked for a 'drunken' vagabond, yet it is not fair to the memory of any man to brand him only and for ever with frolics and follies and evil deeds of which he afterwards repented, and would gladly have atoned for. we, at all events, would prefer to think of richard braithwaite at his best, and not at his worst. he was the author of fully three score volumes of prose and poetry, in latin and in english, essays, sonnets, madrigals. the titles of only a few can be quoted--'a strappado for the devil,' 'love's labyrinth,' 'shepherd's tales or eclogues,' 'nature's embassie,' 'the english gentleman,' 'the english gentlewoman,' 'whimsies, or a new cast of characters.' there is a good deal of telling satire in the last of these: 'an almanack-maker is the most notorious knave pickt out of all these, for under colour of astrology he practices necromancy.' 'a gamester--professes himself honest, and publishes himself cheat upon discovery. 'a traveller is a fraud, if he travaile to novellize himself and not to benefit his country. 'a launderer is also one if she wash her skinne, but staine her soule, and so soile her inward beauty.' in 'a spiritual spicerie' he begins a poem: 'morall mixtures or divine aptly culled, and couch'd in order, are like colours in a shrine, or choice flowers set in a border.' in 'holy memorials' he bemoans his past waywardness and looseness, and speaks of being sore perplexed when his own wanton verses were repeated in his hearing, and 'though i did neither own them nor praise them, yet must i in another place answer for them, if hee, on whom i depend, shall not in these teares which i shed drowne the memory of them.' like many of his pious contemporaries, he tried his hand at turning the psalms of david into english verse. if they fall short in his translations of the beauty and strength of our prose versions--and they have in no degree gripped the churches--these sacred hymns helped to ripen his own character and faith, and he is very sincere in concluding his efforts with: 'praise to the god of heaven, be given by mee a worme, that david's numbers in this forme, to mee a worme hath given.' adding on the last leaf, 'other errours favourably excuse, and amend at pleasure.' the quaintness of his spelling, of his metres, of his expressions, commend his works to lovers of old literature. some are reprinted, others are scarce. the first edition of 'barnaby' is almost unobtainable, and that of 'a survey of history,' a quarto volume with portrait, has just been offered me for £ . swarthmore hall 'i went through a gate and found myself in a little green paddock, where there was not even one rose left "to mark where a garden had been." there were the principal windows--one little window looking out from george fox's study; the other two were old-fashioned bay-windows, much larger. from the uppermost windows fox used to preach, sometimes, to his friends in the garden below. near the bay-window is the little old doorway, to which two rude stone steps led up. all else was plain and unpretending. inside i was shown the "hall," a quaint, flagged apartment, on the ground-floor, with a great, old-fashioned fireplace, and with a kind of stone daïs in the recess of the mullioned window. here i was told the earliest meetings of the "friends" were held. from this room, two steps led up to a little sanctuary, which was fox's study; and i felt as if every footfall there was an intrusion, for that dim-lighted room, with its tiny lattice and quaint furniture, was the cell of a saint, "of whom the world was not worthy."'--edwin waugh: _rambles in the lake country_. [illustration: _photo by herbert bell, ambleside._ swarthmore hall, ulverstone. the home of judge and margaret fell, and afterwards of george fox.] xxii last words about our celebrities 'adjust your proposed amount of reading to your time and inclination; but whether that amount be large or small, let it be varied in its kind, and widely varied. if i have a confident opinion on any one point connected with the improvement of the human mind, it is on this.'--dr. thomas arnold. this lovely land of lake and mountain, dale and fell, in which my lot is happily cast in old age, is too full of literary and artistic memories, as well as ethnological and historic associations for anything to be given in great detail. over and above the beauty of its scenery and the wealth of its natural productions, it offers to the traveller such visions and glimpses of eminent men and women in the world of letters as no other spot in the british islands can show. almost every village and hamlet has some connection with a departed worthy of whom it is still proud. not to speak for the moment of the relation of keswick to coleridge and southey, or of grasmere to de quincey and the wordsworths, or of coniston to ruskin, of ambleside to the arnolds, or of windermere to 'christopher north,'--of all whom i have treated at length--we have roadside cottages, pleasant villas, and town houses, laying claim to special distinction because someone of whom the nation is proud was born, or lived, or died there. at ambleside, for instance, near to fox how, dwelt william edward forster, the unfortunate statesman who would have been more happily remembered in ireland, and in connection with national education by a larger section of his fellow countrymen, had he entertained, during his public career, the enlightened views of his devoted father, and the circle in which he and john bright were trained. near there, too, for a time, felicia hemans found a peaceful home, after her many trials, in a cottage still marked on the map as 'dove's nest,' a lovely retreat for a poetess, in good sooth. the archæologist nicholson, poor in this world's gear, but rich in ancient lore, helps to complete the galaxy of 'bright particular stars' that clustered about the water-head of winander. here in kendal we have a tablet on the front of the house where romney, the portrait painter, died, carefully and undeservedly (as some think) tended by the wife whom he had left alone so long. we show the yard in which was the shop wherein he learned his first trade, and in our town hall are several valuable pictures of his which will amply repay visitors for a pilgrimage to our borough. here lived dr. dalton, the great chemist, once a tutor in our ancient friends' school; and here also gough, the blind botanist, who knew any and every flower by the feel of it upon his fingers and lips. mrs. humphrey ward has given us delightful word-pictures of the dales whose gateways we see from our hillside garden as we look to the mighty summits across the verdant valley of the kent. within a walk from our house stands the old baronial hall where agnes strickland gathered material for her 'queens of england,' and where she wrote 'copy' for her publishers. the straggling village of troutbeck, just beneath yonder huge mountain-dome, whereon the baal-fires used to be lighted every midsummer eve, was the ancestral home of the hogarths; and in that valley charlotte brontë pondered some of her best works, and sketched her backgrounds from the moorland heights. not all her scenery is yorkshire, whatever yorkshire folk may imagine. further afield still, and across the watershed of our westmorland ramparts, on the edge of thirlmere, hall caine spent his days in producing 'the shadow of a crime.' away to the westward of us, at the foot of windermere, where we often take our southern friends for afternoon tea in the sweet summer-time, is newby bridge--a place that, with its river and its woods, would have surely inspired in kingsley, had he seen it as we have done, another song like 'clear and cool.' here mrs. gaskell indited her charming novels of old-world, homely people, and their ways. here came up nathaniel hawthorne from his liverpool consulate to compose his essays and write appreciative notes upon the district. to the north of us, just beyond the farthest loop of the steep and winding railway incline, up and down which two-engined trains career all day long, is shap, the birthplace of antediluvian glaciers and the celebrated egyptologist, wilkinson. mrs. ratcliffe, the romancist; grey, the elegist; william watson, of 'wordsworth's grave'; turner, the artist; gilpin, the lover of rough woodlands; and another gilpin, 'the apostle of the north,' in queen mary's days; george fox and his farmer preachers--founders of quakerism; philip sidney's sister, the lovely countess of pembroke--all these belong more or less to the lake counties, and the homes of most of them, while resident here, are yet to be seen. brantwood looks over coniston water to the quaint round chimneys and the gables of the century-stained hall of the le flemings, and beyond it towers the gigantic cone of the old man mountain. dove cottage, with its pretty garden laid out by the hands of william and dorothy wordsworth, nestles beneath the wooded hill at grasmere. greta hall yet stands in keswick, and the row of lodging-houses where the author of 'thorndale' and of 'gravenhurst' met the wife who proved the soul of his soul, and has written so sweetly of her spouse. william clarkson's retreat is on ullswater's shore-lands; and the honeymoon home of tennyson, 'tent lodge,' on those of coniston. yet long, long after the last stone of all these honoured buildings has been overthrown to form part of a cottage or a mansion for someone of a future generation--long, long after the poets' bones laid in grasmere burial-ground have mouldered into dust and become part of the life of the overshadowing trees--long, long after the commemorative marbles in crossthwaite church have become marred beyond recognition--the hills and streams whose glories were chanted by our minnesingers of prose and verse will remain virtually unchanged though with an added glory not theirs in olden days--the glory of the human soul awakened by them to truth and beauty--the glory of art and song shining on every valley and peak. there are still some few living amongst us in this 'playground of england' who are carrying on the literary traditions peculiar to it, of whom another hand than mine will write hereafter, for they will be men of mark ere their life-work closes. they have begun well and will finish better. nor are the possibilities of further expansions of poetry, or legend, or history, or prose idylls yet exhausted. there are fields unbroken awaiting the arrival of him who shall help to brighten a new age. there are romances, and novels, and epic poems still stored away in the narrative of the roman conquest and occupation; of the creeping northward of the saxons from land and sea; of the coming of the fair-haired norsemen in their long ships from the north seashores; of the kingdom of strathclyde, with its varying fortunes; of the medieval barons and their castles; of the dark-age church and its abbeys. there are odes and lyrics still lingering among the heath-clad fells, and the sounding forces, and the purling becks, that will be captured and given to the world some day through the help of him by whom the in-breathing of the spirit is felt. our snow-fields on wintry uplands, in sunshine or glimmering moonlight, are awaiting the pen that can adequately picture them. there are tales of border-raids, and arthurian legends, and wealth of fairy lore to be gathered, and 'country memories rich inlaid' by one who shall be born here, or choose our shires for his home, and shall put on singing-robes of sufficient quality and colour. 'i would i were a poet happy-mad,' exclaims one of those whose lives i have epitomized: 'i would i were a poet happy-mad, up like a lark i' the morning of the times, to sing above the human harvesters; drop fancies, dainty-sweet, to cheer their toil, and hurry out a ripe luxuriance of life in song, as though my heart would break and sing them sweet and precious memories, and golden promises, and throbbing hopes; hymn the great future with its mystery, that startles us from out the dark of time, with secrets numerous as a night of stars.' the end _elliot stock, , paternoster row, london, e.c._