this file was produced from images generously made available by the canadian institute for historical microreproductions. lady mary and her nurse; or, a peep into the canadian forest. by mrs. traill contents chapter i. the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice chapter ii. sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits chapter iii. part i.--lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family part ii.--which tells how the grey squirrels get on while they remained on pine island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chitmunks-- and what happened to them in the forest part iii.--how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to velvet-paw chapter iv. squirrels--the chitmunks--docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chitmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel chapter v. indian baskets--thread--plants--maple sugar-tree--indian ornamental works --racoons chapter vi. canadian flowers--american porcupine--canadian birds--snow sparrow-robin red-breast chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture--habits of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province of new brunswick--of a baby that was carried away, but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming birds--canadian balsams chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tint-like appearance--lady mary frightened chapter xi strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries--cranberry marshes--nuts chapter xii garter snakes--rattle snakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land tortoise chapter xiii ellen and her pet pawns--docility of pan--jack's droll tricks-- affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end a peep into the canadian forest. chapter i. the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice. "nurse, what is the name of that pretty creature you have in your hand? what bright eyes it has! what a soft tail, just like a grey feather! is it a little beaver?" asked the governor's [footnote: lady mary's father was governor of canada.] little daughter, as her nurse came into the room where her young charge, whom we shall call lady mary, was playing with her doll. carefully sheltered against her breast, its velvet nose just peeping from beneath her muslin neckerchief, the nurse held a small grey-furred animal, of the most delicate form and colour. "no, my lady," she replied, "this is not a young beaver; a beaver is a much larger animal. a beaver's tail is not covered with fur; it is scaly, broad, and flat; it looks something like black leather, not very unlike that of my seal-skin slippers. the indians eat beavers' tails at their great feasts, and think they make an excellent dish." "if they are black, and look like leather shoes, i am very sure i should not like to eat them; so, if you please, mrs. frazer, do not let me have any beavers' tails cooked for my dinner," said the little lady in a very decided tone. "indeed, my lady," replied her nurse, smiling, "it would not be an easy thing to obtain, if you wished to taste one, for beavers are not brought to our market. it is only the indians and hunters who know how to trap them, and beavers are not so plentiful as they used to be." mrs. frazer would have told lady mary a great deal about the way in which the trappers take the beavers, but the little girl interrupted her by saying, "please, nurse, will you tell me the name of your pretty pet? ah, sweet thing! what bright eyes you have!" she added, caressing the soft little head which was just seen from beneath the folds of the muslin handkerchief to which it timidly nestled, casting furtive glances at the admiring child, while the panting of its breast told the mortal terror that shook its frame whenever the little girl's hand was advanced to coax its soft back. "it is a flying squirrel, lady mary," replied her nurse; "one of my brothers caught it a month ago, when he was chopping in the forest. he thought it might amuse your ladyship, and so he tamed it and sent it to me in a basket filled with moss, with some acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast for him to eat on his journey, for the little fellow has travelled a long way: he came from the beech-woods near the town of coburg, in the upper province." "and where is coburg, nurse? is it a large city like montreal or quebec?" "no, my lady; it is a large town on the shores of the great lake ontario." "and are there many woods near it?" "yes; but not so many as there used to be many years ago. the forest is almost all cleared, and there are fields of wheat and indian corn, and nice farms and pretty houses, where a few years back the lofty forest grew dark and thick." "nurse, you said there were acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast in the basket. i have seen acorns at home in dear england and scotland, and i have eaten the hickory-nuts here; but what is beech-mast? is it in granaries for winter stores; and wild ducks and wild pigeons come from the far north at the season when the beech-mast fall, to eat them; for god teaches these, his creatures, to know the times and the seasons when his bounteous hand is open to give them food from his boundless store. a great many other birds and beasts also feed upon the beech-mast." "it was very good of your brother to send me this pretty creature, nurse," said the little lady; "i will ask papa to give him some money." "there is no need of that, lady mary. my brother is not in want; he has a farm in the upper province, and is very well off." "i am glad he is well off," said lady mary; "indeed, i do not see so many beggars here as in england." "people need not beg in canada, if they are well and strong and can work; a poor man can soon earn enough money to keep himself and his little ones." "nurse, will you be so kind as to ask campbell to get a pretty cage for my squirrel? i will let him live close to my dormice, who will be pleasant company for him, and i will feed him every day myself with nuts and sugar, and sweet cake and white bread. now do not tremble and look so frightened, as though i were going to hurt you; and pray, mr. squirrel, do not bite. oh! nurse, nurse, the wicked, spiteful creature has bitten my finger! see, see, it has made it bleed! naughty thing! i will not love you if you bite. pray, nurse, bind up my finger, or it will soil my frock." great was the pity bestowed upon the wound by lady mary's kind attendant, till the little girl, tired of hearing so much said about the bitten finger, gravely desired her maid to go in search of the cage, and catch the truant, which had effected its escape, and was clinging to the curtains of the bed. the cage was procured--a large wooden cage, with an outer and an inner chamber, a bar for the little fellow to swing himself on, and a drawer for his food, and a little dish for his water. the sleeping-room was furnished by the nurse with soft wool, and a fine store of nuts was put in the drawer; all his wants were well supplied, and lady mary watched the catching of the little animal with much interest. great was the activity displayed by the runaway squirrel, and still greater the astonishment evinced by the governor's little daughter, at the flying leaps made by the squirrel in its attempts to elude the grasp of its pursuers. "it flies! i am sure it must have wings. look, look, nurse! it is here, now it is on the wall, now on the curtains! it must have wings, but it has no feathers!" "it has no wings, dear lady, but it has a fine ridge of fur, that covers a strong sinew or muscle between the fore and hinder legs; and it is by the help of this muscle that it is able to spring so far, and so fast; and its claws are so sharp that it can cling to a wall, or any flat surface. the black and red squirrels, and the common grey, can jump very far, and run up the bark of the trees very fast, but not so fast as the flying squirrel." at last lady mary's maid, with the help of one of the housemaids, succeeded in catching the squirrel, and securing him within his cage. but though lady mary tried all her words of endearment to coax the little creature to eat some of the good things that had been provided so liberally for his entertainment, he remained sullen and motionless at the bottom of the cage. a captive is no less a captive in a cage with gilded bars, and with dainties to eat, than if rusted iron shut him in, and kept him from enjoying his freedom. it is for dear liberty that he pines, and is sad, even in the midst of plenty! "dear nurse, why does my little squirrel tremble and look so unhappy? tell me if he wants anything to eat that we have not given him. why does he not lie down and sleep on the nice soft bed you have made for him in his little chamber? see, he has not tasted the nice sweet cake and sugar that i gave him." "he is not used to such dainties, lady mary. in the forest, he feeds upon hickory-nuts, and butter-nuts, and acorns, and beech-mast, and the buds of the spruce, fir and pine kernels, and many other seeds and nuts and berries, that we could not get for him; he loves grain too, and indian corn. he sleeps on green moss and leaves, and fine fibres of grass and roots; and drinks heaven's blessed dew, as it lies bright and pure upon the herbs of the field." "dear little squirrel, pretty creature! i know now what makes you sad. you long to be abroad among your own green woods, and sleeping on the soft green moss, which is far prettier than this ugly cotton wool. but you shall stay with me, my sweet one, till the cold winter is passed and gone, and the spring flowers have come again; and then, my pretty squirrel, i will take you out of your dull cage, and we will go to st. helen's green island, and i will let you go free; but i will put a scarlet collar about your neck before i let you go, that, if any one finds you, they may know that you are my squirrel. were you ever in the green forest, nurse? i hear papa talk about the 'bush' and the 'backwoods;' it must be very pleasant in the summer, to live among the green trees. were you ever there?" "yes, dear lady, i did live in the woods when i was a child. i was born in a little log-shanty, far, far away up the country, near a beautiful lake, called rice lake, among woods, and valleys, and hills covered with flowers, and groves of pine, and white and black oaks." "stop, nurse, and tell me why they are called black and white; are the flowers black and white?" "no, my lady; it is because the wood of the one is darker than the other, and the leaves of the black oak are dark and shining, while those of the white oak are brighter and lighter. the black oak is a beautiful tree. when i was a young girl, i used to like to climb the sides of the steep valleys, and look down upon the tops of the oaks that grew beneath; and to watch the wind lifting the boughs all glittering in the moonlight; they looked like a sea of ruffled green water. it is very solemn, lady mary, to be in the woods by night, and to hear no sound but the cry of the great wood-owl, or the voice of the whip-poor-will, calling to his fellow from the tamarack swamp; or, may be, the timid bleating of a fawn that has lost its mother, or the howl of a wolf." "nurse, i should be so afraid; i am sure i should cry if i heard the wicked wolves howling in the dark woods, by night. did you ever know any one who was eaten by a wolf?" "no, my lady; the canadian wolf is a great coward. i have heard the hunters say, that they never attack any one, unless there is a great flock together and the man is alone and unarmed. my uncle used to go out a great deal hunting, sometimes by torchlight, and sometimes on the lake in a canoe, with the indians; and he shot and trapped a great many wolves and foxes and racoons. he has a great many heads of wild animals nailed up on the stoup in front of his log-house." "please tell me what a stoup is, nurse?" "a verandah, my lady, is the same thing, only the old dutch settlers gave it the name of a stoup; and the stoup is heavier and broader, and not quite so nicely made as a verandah. one day my uncle was crossing the lake on the ice; it was a cold winter afternoon; he was in a hurry to take some food to his brothers, who were drawing pine-logs in the bush. he had, besides a bag of meal and flour, a new axe on his shoulder. he heard steps as of a dog trotting after him; he turned his head, and there he saw close at his heels, a big, hungry-looking grey wolf; he stopped and faced about, and the big beast stopped and showed his white sharp teeth. my uncle did not feel afraid, but looked steadily at the wolf, as much as to say, 'follow me if you dare,' and walked on. when my uncle stopped, the wolf stopped; when he went on, the beast also went on. "i would have run away," said lady mary. "if my uncle had let the wolf see that he was afraid of him, he would have grown bolder, and have run after him and seized him. all animals are afraid of brave men, but not of cowards. when the beast came too near, my uncle faced him, and showed the bright axe, and the wolf then shrank back a few paces. when my uncle got near the shore, he heard a long wild cry, as if from twenty wolves at once. it might have been the echoes from the islands that increased the sound; but it was very frightful, and made his blood chill, for he knew that without his rifle he should stand a poor chance against a large pack of hungry wolves. just then a gun went off; he heard the wolf give a terrible yell, he felt the whizzing of a bullet pass him, and, turning about, saw the wolf lying dead on the ice. a loud shout from the cedars in front told him from whom the shot came; it was my father, who had been on the look-out on the lake shore, and he had fired at and hit the wolf, when he saw that he could do so without hurting his brother." "nurse, it would have been a sad thing if the gun had shot your uncle." "it would; but my father was one of the best shots in the district, and could hit a white spot on the bark of a tree at a great distance without missing. it was an old indian from buckhorn lake, who taught him to shoot deer by torchlight, and to trap beavers." "well, i am glad that horrid wolf was killed, for wolves eat sheep and lambs; and i dare say they would devour my little squirrel if they could get him. nurse, please to tell me again the name of the lake near which you were born." "it is called rice lake, my lady. it is a fine piece of water, more than twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. it has pretty wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves into it. the otonabee river is a fine broad stream, which flows through the forest a long way. many years ago, there were no clearings on the banks, and no houses, only indian tents or wigwams; but now, there are a great many houses and farms." "what are wigwams?" "a sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground, in a circle, fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with skins of wild animals, or with birch bark. the indians light a fire of sticks and logs on the ground, in the middle of the wigwam, and lie or sit all round it; the smoke goes up to the top and escapes. in the winter, they bank it up with snow, and it is very warm." "i think it must be a very ugly sort of house; and i am glad i do not live in an indian wigwam," said the little lady. "the indians are a very simple folk, my lady, and do not need fine houses, like this in which your papa lives. they do not know the names or uses of half the fine things that are in the houses of the white people. they are happy and contented without them. it is not the richest that are happiest, lady mary, and the lord careth for the poor and the lowly. there is a village on the shores of rice lake where the indians live. it is not very pretty. the houses are all built of logs, and some of them have gardens and orchards. they have a neat church, and they have a good minister, who takes great pains to teach them the gospel of the lord jesus christ. the poor indians were pagans until within the last few years." "what are pagans, nurse?" "people, lady mary, who do not believe in god, and the lord jesus christ, our blessed saviour." "nurse, is there real rice growing in the rice lake? i heard my governess say that rice grew only in warm countries. now, your lake must be very cold if your uncle walked across the ice." "this rice, my lady, is not real rice. i heard a gentleman tell my father, that it was, properly speaking, a species of oats, [footnote: zizania or water oats.]--water oats he called it, but the common name for it is wild rice. this wild rice grows in vast beds in the lake, in patches of many acres. it will grow in water from eight to ten or twelve feet deep; the grassy leaves float upon the water like long narrow green ribbons. in the month of august, the stem that is to bear the flower and the grain rises straight up, above the surface, and light delicate blossoms come out of a pale straw colour and lilac. they are very pretty, and wave in the wind with a rustling noise. in the month of october, when the rice is ripe, the leaves turn yellow, and the rice-heads grow heavy and droop; then the squaws--as the indian women are called--go out in their birch-bark canoes, holding in one hand a stick, in the other a short curved paddle, with a sharp edge. with this, they bend down the rice across the stick, and strike off the heads, which fall into the canoe, as they push it along through the rice-beds. in this way they collect a great many bushels in the course of the day. the wild rice is not the least like the rice which your ladyship has eaten; it is thin and covered with a light chaffy husk. the colour of the grain itself is a brownish green, or olive, smooth, shining, and brittle. after separating the outward chaff, the squaws put by a large portion of the clean rice in its natural state for sale; for this they get from a dollar and a half to two dollars a bushel. some they parch, either in large pots, or on mats made of the inner bark of cedar or bass wood, beneath which they light a slow fire, and plant around it a temporary hedge of green boughs, closely set to prevent the heat from escaping; they also plant stakes, over which they stretch the matting at a certain height above the fire. on this they spread the green rice, stirring it about with wooden paddles, till it is properly parched; this is known by its bursting and showing the white grain of the flour. when quite cool it is stowed away in troughs, scooped out of butter-nut wood, or else sewed up in sheets of birch-bark or bass-mats, or in coarsely made birch-bark baskets." "and is the rice good to eat, nurse?" "some people like it as well as the white rice of carolina; but it does not look so well. it is a great blessing to the poor indians, who boil it in their soups, or eat it with maple molasses. and they eat it when parched without any other cooking, when they are on a long journey in the woods, or on the lakes. i have often eaten nice puddings made of it with milk. the deer feed upon the green rice. they swim into the water, and eat the green leaves and tops. the indians go out at night to shoot the deer on the water; they listen for them, and shoot them in the dark. the wild ducks and water-fowls come down in great flocks to fatten on the ripe rice in the fall of the year; also large flocks of rice buntings and red wings which make their roosts among the low willows, flags, and lilies close to the shallows of the lake." "it seems very useful to birds as well as to men and beasts," said little lady mary. "yes, my lady, and to fishes also, i make no doubt; for the good god has cast it so abundantly abroad on the waters, that i dare say they also have their share. when the rice is fully ripe, the sun shining on it gives it a golden hue, just like a field of ripened grain. surrounded by the deep blue waters, it looks very pretty." "i am very much obliged to you, nurse, for telling me so much about the indian rice, and i will ask mamma to let me have some one day for my dinner, that i may know how it tastes." just then lady mary's governess came to bid her nurse dress her for a sleigh-ride, and so for the present we shall leave her; but we will tell our little readers something more in another chapter about lady mary and her flying squirrel. chapter ii. sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits. "nurse, we have had a very nice sleigh-drive. i like sleighing very much over the white snow. the trees look so pretty, as if they were covered with white flowers, and the ground sparkled just like mamma's diamonds." "it is pleasant, lady mary, to ride through the woods on a bright sunshiny day, after a fresh fall of snow. the young evergreens, hemlocks, balsams, and spruce-trees, are loaded with great masses of the new-fallen snow; while the slender saplings of the beech, birch, and basswood are bent down to the very ground, making bowers so bright and beautiful, you would be delighted to see them. sometimes, as you drive along, great masses of the snow come showering down upon you; but it is so light and dry, that it shakes off without wetting you. it is pleasant to be wrapped up in warm blankets, or buffalo robes, at the bottom of a lumber-sleigh, and to travel through the forest by moonlight; the merry bells echoing through the silent woods, and the stars just peeping down through the frosted trees, which sparkle like diamonds in the moonbeams." "nurse, i should like to take a drive through the forest in winter. it is so nice to hear the sleigh-bells. we used sometimes to go out in the snow in scotland, but we were in the carriage, and had no bells." "no, lady mary: the snow seldom lies long enough in the old country to make it worth while to have sleighs there; but in russia and sweden, and other cold northern countries, they use sleighs with bells." lady mary ran to the little bookcase where she had a collection of children's books, and very soon found, in one of peter parley's books, a picture of laplanders and russians wrapped in furs sleighing. "how long will the winter last, nurse?" said the child, after she had tired herself with looking at the prints; "a long, long time--a great many weeks?--a great many months?" "yes, my lady; five or six months." "oh, that is nice--nearly half a year of white snow, and sleigh-drives every day, and bells ringing all the time! i tried to make out a tune, but they only seemed to say, 'up-hill, up-hill! down-hill, down-hill!' all the way. nurse, please tell me what are sleigh-robes made of?" "some sleigh-robes, lady mary, are made of bear-skins, lined with red or blue flannel; some are of wolf-skins, lined with bright scarlet cloth; and some of racoon; the commonest are buffalo-skins: i have seen some of deer-skins, but these last are not so good, as the hair comes off, and they are not so warm as the skins of the furred or woolly-coated animals." "i sometimes see long tails hanging down over the backs of the sleigh and cutters--they look very pretty, like the end of mamma's boa." "the wolf and racoon skin robes are generally made up with the tails, and sometimes the heads of the animals are also left. i noticed the head of a wolf, with its sharp ears, and long white teeth, looking very fierce, at the back of a cutter, the other day." "nurse, that must have looked very droll. do you know, i saw a gentleman the other day, walking with papa, who had a fox-skin cap on his head, and the fox's nose was just peeping over his shoulder, and the tail hung down his back, and i saw its bright black eyes looking so cunning. i thought it must be alive, and that it had curled itself round his head; but the gentleman took it off, and showed me that the eyes were glass." "some hunters, lady mary, make caps of otter, mink, or badger skins, and ornament them with the tails, heads, and claws." "i have seen a picture of the otter, nurse; it is a pretty, soft-looking thing, with a round head and black eyes. where do otters live?" "the canadian otters, lady mary, live in holes in the banks of sedgy, shallow lakes, mill-ponds, and sheltered creeks. the indian hunters find their haunts by tracking their steps in the snow; for an indian or canadian hunter knows the track made by any bird or beast, from the deep broad print of the bear, to the tiny one of the little shrewmouse, which is the smallest four-footed beast in this or any other country. "indians catch the otter, and many other wild animals, in a sort of trap, which they call a 'dead-fall.' wolves are often so trapped, and then shot. the indians catch the otter for the sake of its dark shining fur, which is used by the hatters and furriers. old jacob snowstorm, an old indian who lived on the banks of the rice lake, used to catch otters; and i have often listened to him, and laughed at his stories." "do, please, nurse, tell me what old jacob snow-storm told you about the otters; i like to hear stories about wild beasts. but what a droll surname snow-storm is!" "yes, lady mary; indians have very odd names; they are called after all sorts of strange things. they do not name the children, as we do, soon after they are born, but wait for some remarkable circumstance, some dream or accident. some call them after the first strange animal or bird that appears to the new-born. old snow-storm most likely owed his name to a heavy fall of snow when he was a baby. i knew a chief named musk-rat, and a pretty indian girl who was named 'badau'-bun,' or the 'light of the morning.'" "and what is the indian name for old snow-storm?" "'be-che-go-ke-poor,' my lady." lady mary said it was a funny sounding name, and not at all like snow-storm, which she liked a great deal better; and she was much amused while her nurse repeated to her some names of squaws and papooses (indian women and children); such as long thrush, little fox, running stream, snow-bird, red cloud, young eagle, big bush, and many others. "now, nurse, will you tell me some more about jacob snow-storm and the otters?" "well, lady mary, the old man had a cap of otter-skin, of which he was very proud, and only wore on great days. one day as he was playing with it, he said:--'otter funny fellow; he like play too, sometimes. indian go hunting up ottawa, that great big river, you know. go one moonlight night; lie down under bushes in snow: see lot of little fellow and big fellow at play. run tip and down bank; bank all ice. sit down top of bank; good slide there. down he go splash into water; out again. funny fellow those!' and then the old hunter threw back his head, and laughed, till you could have seen all his white teeth, he opened his mouth so wide." lady mary was very much amused at the comical way in which the old indian talked. "can otters swim, nurse?" "yes, lady mary; the good god, who has created all things well, has given to this animal webbed feet, which enable it to swim; and it can also dive down in the deep water, where it finds fish and mussels, and perhaps the roots of some water-plants to eat. it makes very little motion or disturbance in the water when it goes down in search of its prey. its coat is thick, and formed of two kinds of hair; the outer hair is long, silky, and shining; the under part is short, fine, and warm. the water cannot penetrate to wet them,--the oily nature of the fur throws off the moisture. they dig large holes with their claws, which are short, but very strong. they line their nests with dry grass and rushes and roots gnawed fine, and do not pass the winter in sleep, as the dormice, flying squirrels, racoons, and bears do. they are very innocent and playful, both when young and even after they grow old. the lumberers often tame them, and they become so docile that they will come at a call or whistle. like all wild animals, they are most lively at night, when they come out to feed and play." "dear little things! i should like to have a tame otter to play with, and run after me; but do you think he would eat my squirrel? you know cats will eat squirrels--so mamma says." "cats belong to a very different class of animals; they are beasts of prey, formed to spring and bound, and tear with their teeth and claws. the otter is also a beast of prey, but its prey is found in the still waters, and not on the land; it can neither climb nor leap. so i do not think he would hurt your squirrel, if you had one." "see, nurse, my dear little squirrel is still where i left him, clinging to the wires of the cage, his bright eyes looking like two black beads." "as soon as it grows dark he will begin to be more lively, and perhaps he will eat something, but not while we look at him--he is too shy for that." "nurse, how can they see to eat in the dark?" "the good god, lady mary, has so formed their eyes that they can see best by night. i will read you, lady mary, a few verses from psalm civ.:-- "verse . he appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down. . thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth. . the young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from god. . the sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens. . man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour until the evening. . o lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the eath is full of thy riches. "thus you see, my dear lady, that our heavenly father taketh care of all his creatures, and provideth for them both by day and by night." "i remember, nurse, that my dormice used to lie quite still, nestled among the moss and wool in their little dark chamber in the cage, all day long; but when it was night they used to come out and frisk about, and run along the wires, and play all sorts of tricks, chasing one another round and round, and they were not afraid of me, but would let me look at them while they ate a nut, or a bit of sugar; and the dear little things would drink out of their little white saucer, and wash their faces and tails--it was so pretty to see them!" "did you notice, lady mary, how the dormice held their food?" "yes, they sat up, and held it in their fore-paws, which looked just like tiny hands." "there are many animals whose fore-feet resemble hands, and these, generally, convey their food to their mouths--among these are the squirrel and dormice. they are good climbers and diggers. you see, my dear young lady, how the merciful creator has given to all his creatures, however lowly, the best means of supplying their wants, whether of food or shelter." "indeed, nurse, i have learned a great deal about squirrels, canadian rice, otters, and indians; but, if you please, i must now have a little play with my doll. good-bye, mrs. frazer,--pray take care of my dear little squirrel, and mind that he does not fly away." and lady mary was soon busily engaged in drawing her wax doll about the nursery in a little sleigh lined with red squirrel fur robes, and talking to her as all children like to talk to their dolls, whether they be rich or poor--the children of peasants, or governors' daughters. chapter iii. lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family. one day lady mary came to her nurse, and putting her arms about her neck, whispered to her,--"mrs. frazer, my dear good governess has given me something--it is in my hand," and she slily held her hand behind her-- "will you guess what it is?" "is it a book, my lady?" "yes, yes, it is a book, a pretty book; and see, here are pictures of squirrels in it. mrs. frazer, if you like, i will sit down on this cushion by you and read some of my new book. it does not seem very hard." then mrs. frazer took out her work-basket and sat down to sew, and lady mary began to read the little story, which, i hope, may entertain my little readers as much as it did the governor's daughter. the history of a squirrel family it must be a pleasant thing to be a squirrel, and live a life of freedom in the boundless forests; to leap and bound among the branches of the tall trees; to gambol in the deep shade of the cool glossy leaves, through the long warm summer day; to gather the fresh nuts and berries; to drink the pure dews of heaven, all bright and sparkling from the opening flowers; to sleep on soft beds of moss and thistle-down in some hollow branch rocked by the wind as in a cradle. yet, though this was the happy life led by a family of pretty grey squirrels that had their dwelling in the hoary branch of an old oak-tree that grew on one of the rocky islands in a beautiful lake in upper canada, called _stony lake_ (because it was full of rocky islands), these little creatures were far from being contented, and were always wishing for a change. indeed, they had been very happy, till one day when a great black squirrel swam to the island and paid them a visit. he was a very fine handsome fellow, nearly twice as large as any of the grey squirrels; he had a tail that flourished over his back, when he set it up, like a great black feather; his claws were sharp and strong, and his eyes very round and bright; he had upright ears, and long, sharp teeth, of which he made good use. the old grey squirrels called him cousin, and invited him to dinner. they very civilly set before him some acorns and beech-nuts; but he proved a hungry visitor, and ate as much as would have fed the whole family for a week. after the grey squirrels had cleared away the shells and scraps, they asked their greedy guest where he came from, when blackie told them he was a great traveller, and had seen many wonderful things; that he had once lived on a forked pine at the head of the waterfall, but being tired of a dull life, he had gone out on his travels to see the world; that he had been down the lake, and along the river shore, where there were great places cut out in the thick forest, called clearings, where some very tall creatures lived, who were called men and women, with young ones called children; that though they were not so pretty as squirrels--for they had no fur on them, and were obliged to make clothes to cover them and keep them warm--they were very useful, and sowed corn and planted fruit-trees and roots for squirrels to eat, and even built large grain stores to keep it safe and dry for them. this seemed very strange, and the simple little grey squirrels were very much pleased, and said they should like very much to go down the lakes too, and see these wonderful things. the black squirrel then told them that there were many things to be seen in these clearings: that there were large beasts, called oxen, and cows, and sheep, and pigs; and these creatures had houses built for them to live in; and all the men and women seemed to employ themselves about, was feeding and taking care of them. now this cunning fellow never told his simple cousins that the oxen had to bear a heavy wooden yoke and chain, and were made to work very hard; nor that the cows were fed that they might give milk to the children; nor that the pigs were fatted to make pork; nor that the sheep had their warm fleeces cut off every year that the settlers might have the wool to spin and weave. blackie did not say that the men carried guns, and the dogs were fierce, and would hunt poor squirrels from tree to tree, frightening them almost to death with their loud, angry barking; that cats haunted the barns and houses, and, in short, that there were dangers as well as pleasures to be met with in these clearings; and that the barns were built to shelter the grain for men, and not for the benefit of squirrels. the black squirrel proved rather a troublesome guest, for he stayed several days, and ate so heartily, that the old grey squirrels were obliged to hint that he had better go back to the clearings, where there was so much food, for that their store was nearly done. when blackie found that all the nice nuts were eaten, and that even pine-kernels and beech-nuts were becoming scarce, he went away, saying that he should soon come again. the old grey squirrels were glad when they saw the tip of blackie's tail disappear, as he whisked down the trunk of the old oak; but their young ones were very sorry that he was gone, for they liked very much to listen to all his wonderful stories, which they thought were true; and they told their father and mother how they wished they would leave the dull island and the old tree, and go down the lakes, and see the wonderful things that their black cousin had described. but the old ones shook their heads, and said they feared there was more fiction than truth in the tales they had heard, and that if they were wise they would stay where they were. "what do you want more, my dear children," said their mother, "than you enjoy here? have you not this grand old oak for a palace to live in; its leaves and branches spreading like a canopy over your heads, to shelter you from the hot sun by day and the dews by night? are there not moss, dried grass, and roots beneath, to make a soft bed for you to lie upon? and do not the boughs drop down a plentiful store of brown ripe acorns? that silver lake, studded with islands of all shapes and sizes, produces cool clear water for you to drink and bathe yourselves in. look at those flowers that droop their blossoms down to its glassy surface, and the white lilies that rest upon its bosom,--will you see anything fairer or better if you leave this place? stay at home and be contented." "if i hear any more grumbling," said their father, "i shall pinch your ears and tails." so the little squirrels said no more, but i am sorry to say they did not pay much heed to their wise, old mother's counsels; for whenever they were alone, all their talk was how to run away, and go abroad to see the world, as their black cousin had called the new settlement down the lakes. it never came into the heads of the silly creatures that those wonderful stories they had been told originated in an artful scheme of the greedy black squirrel, to induce them to leave their warm pleasant house in the oak, that he and his children might come and live in it, and get the hoards of grain, and nuts, and acorns, that their father and mother had been laying up for winter stores. moreover, the wily black squirrel had privately told them that their father and mother intended to turn them out of the nest very soon, and make provision for a new family. this indeed was really the case; for as soon as young animals can provide for themselves, their parents turn them off, and care no more for them. very different, indeed, is this from our parents; for they love and cherish us as long as they live, and afford us a home and shelter as long as we need it. every hour these little grey squirrels grew more and more impatient to leave the lonely little rocky island, though it was a pretty spot, and the place of their birth; but they were now eager to go abroad and seek their fortunes. "let us keep our own counsel," said nimble-foot to his sisters velvet-paw and silver-nose, "or we may chance to get our tails pulled; but be all ready for a start by early dawn to-morrow." velvet-paw and silver-nose said they would be up before sunrise, as they should have a long voyage down the lake, and agreed to rest on pine island near the opening of clear lake. "and then take to the shore and travel through the woods, where, no doubt, we shall have a pleasant time," said nimble-foot, who was the most hopeful of the party. the sun was scarcely yet risen over the fringe of dark pines that skirted the shores of the lake, and a soft creamy mist hung on the surface of the still waters, which were unruffled by the slightest breeze. the little grey squirrels awoke, and looked sleepily out from the leafy screen that shaded their mossy nest. the early notes of the wood-thrush and song-sparrow, with the tender warbling of the tiny wren, sounded sweetly in the still, dewy morning air; while from a cedar swamp was heard the trill of the green frogs, which the squirrels thought very pretty music. as the sun rose above the tops of the trees, the mist rolled off in light fleecy clouds, and soon was lost in the blue sky, or lay in large bright drops on the cool grass and shining leaves. then all the birds awoke, and the insects shook their gauzy wings which had been folded all the night in the flower-cups, and the flowers began to lift their heads, and the leaves to expand to catch the golden light. there was a murmur on the water as it played among the sedges, and lifted the broad floating leaves of the white water-lilies, with their carved ivory cups; and the great green, brown, and blue dragon-flies rose with a whirring sound, and darted to and fro among the water flowers. it is a glorious sight to see the sun rise at any time, for then we can look upon him without having our eyes dazzled with the brightness of his beams; and though there were no men and women and little children, in the lonely waters and woods, to lift up their hands and voices in prayer and praise to god, who makes the sun to rise each day, yet no doubt the great creator is pleased to see his creatures rejoice in the blessings of light and heat. lightly running down the rugged bark of the old oak-tree, the little squirrels bade farewell to their island home--to the rocks, mosses, ferns, and flowers that had sheltered them, among which they had so often chased each other in merry gambols. they thought little of all this, when they launched themselves on the silver bosom of the cool lake. "how easy it is to swim in this clear water!" said silver-nose to her sister velvet-paw. "we shall not be long in reaching yonder island, and there, no doubt, we shall get a good breakfast." so the little swimmers proceeded on their voyage, furrowing the calm waters as they glided noiselessly along; their soft grey heads and ears and round black eyes only being seen, and the bright streaks caused by the motion of their tails, which lay flat on the surface, looking like silver threads gently floating on the stream. not being much used to the fatigue of swimming, the little squirrels were soon tired, and if it had not been for a friendly bit of stick that happened to float near her, poor velvet-paw would have been drowned; however, she got up on the stick, and, setting up her fine broad tail, went merrily on, and soon passed nimble-foot and silver-nose. the current drew the stick towards the pine island that lay at the entrance of clear lake, and velvet-paw leaped ashore, and sat down on a mossy stone to dry her fur, and watch for her brother and sister: they, too, found a large piece of birch-bark which the winds had blown into the water, and as a little breeze had sprung up to waft them along, they were not very long before they landed on the island. they were all very glad when they met again, after the perils and fatigues of the voyage. the first thing to be done was to look for something to eat, for their early rising had made them very hungry. they found abundance of pine-cones strewn on the ground, but, alas for our little squirrels! very few kernels in them; for the crossbills and chiccadees had been at work for many weeks on the trees; and also many families of their poor relations, the chitmunks or ground squirrels, had not been idle, as our little voyagers could easily guess by the chips and empty cones round their holes. so, weary as they were, they were obliged to run up the tall pine and hemlock trees, to search among the cones that grew on their very top branches. while our squirrels were busy with the few kernels they chanced to find, they were startled from their repast by the screams of a large slate-coloured hawk, and velvet-paw very narrowly escaped being pounced upon and carried off in its sharp-hooked talons. silver-nose at the same time was nearly frightened to death by the keen round eyes of a cunning racoon, which had come within a few feet of the mossy branch of an old cedar, where she sat picking the seeds out of a dry head of a blue flag-flower she had found on the shore. silvy, at this sight, gave a spring that left her many yards beyond her sharp-sighted enemy. a lively note of joy was uttered by nimblefoot, for, perched at his ease on a top branch of the hemlock-tree, he had seen the bound made by silver-nose. "well jumped, silvy," said he; "mister coon must be a smart fellow to equal that. but look sharp, or you will get your neck wrung yet; i see we must keep a good look-out in this strange country." "i begin to wish we were safe back again in our old one," whined silvy, who was much frightened by the danger she had just escaped. "pooh, pooh, child; don't be a coward," said nimble, laughing. "cousin blackie never told us there were hawks and coons on this island," said velvet-paw. "my dear, he thought we were too brave to be afraid of hawks and coons," said nimble. "for my part, i think it is a fine thing to go out a little into the world. we should never see anything better than the sky and the water, and the old oak-tree on that little island." "ay, but i think it is safer to see than to be seen," said silvy, "for hawks and eagles have strong beaks, and racoons sharp claws and hungry-looking teeth; and it is not very pleasant, nimble, to be obliged to look out for such wicked creatures." "oh, true indeed," said nimble; "if it had not been for that famous jump you made, silvy, and, velvet, your two admirers, the hawk and racoon, would soon have hid all your beauties from the world, and put a stop to your travels." "it is very well for brother nimble to make light of our dangers," whispered velvet-paw, "but let us see how he will jump if a big eagle were to pounce down to carry him off." "yes, yes," said silvy; "it is easy to brag before one is in danger." the squirrels thought they would now go and look for some partridge-berries, of which they were very fond, for the pine-kernels were but dry husky food after all. there were plenty of the pretty white star-shaped blossoms, growing all over the ground under the pine-trees, but the bright scarlet twin-berries were not yet ripe. in winter the partridges eat this fruit from under the snow; and it furnishes food for many little animals as well as birds. the leaves are small, of a dark green, and the white flowers have a very fine fragrant scent. though the runaways found none of these berries fit to eat, they saw some ripe strawberries among the bushes; and, having satisfied their hunger, began to grow very merry, and whisked here and there and everywhere, peeping into this hole and under that stone. sometimes they had a good game of play, chasing one another up and down the trees, chattering and squeaking as grey squirrels only can chatter and squeak, when they are gambolling about in the wild woods of canada. indeed, they made such a noise, that the great ugly black snakes lifted up their heads, and stared at them with their wicked spiteful-looking eyes, and the little ducklings swimming among the water-lilies, gathered round their mother, and a red-winged blackbird perched on a dead tree gave alarm to the rest of the flock by calling out, _geck, geck, geck,_ as loudly as he could. in the midst of their frolics, nimble skipped into a hollow log--but was glad to run out again; for a porcupine covered with sharp spines was there, and was so angry at being disturbed, that he stuck one of his spines into poor nimble-foot's soft velvet nose, and there it would have remained if silvy had not seized it with her teeth and pulled it out. nimble-foot squeaked sadly, and would not play any longer, but rolled himself up and went to sleep in a red-headed woodpecker's old nest; while silvy and velvet-paw frisked about in the moonlight, and when tired of play got up into an old oak which had a large hollow place in the crown of it, and fell asleep, fancying, no doubt, that they were on the rocky island in stony lake; and so we will bid them good night, and wish them pleasant dreams. * * * * * lady mary had read a long while, and was now tired; so she kissed her nurse, and-said "now, mrs. frazer, i will play with my doll, and feed my squirrel and my dormice." the dormice were two soft, brown creatures, almost as pretty and as innocent as the squirrel, and a great deal tamer; and they were called jeannette and jeannot, and would come when they were called by their names, and take a bit of cake or a lump of sugar out of the fingers of their little mistress. lady mary had two canaries, dick and pet; and she loved her dormice and birds, and her new pet the flying squirrel, very much, and never let them want for food, or water, or any nice thing she could get for them. she liked the history of the grey squirrels very much; and was quite eager to get her book the next afternoon, to read the second part of the adventures and wanderings of the family. part ii. which tells how the grey squirrels get on while they remained on pine island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chitmunks--and what happened to them in the forest. it was noon when the little squirrels awoke, and, of course, they were quite ready for their breakfast; but there was no good, kind old mother to provide for their wants, and to bring nuts, acorns, roots, or fruit for them; they must now get up, go forth, and seek food for themselves. when velvet-paw and silver-nose went to call nimble-foot, they were surprised to find his nest empty; but after searching a long while, they found him sitting on the root of an upturned tree, looking at a family of little chitmunks busily picking over the pine-cones on the ground; but as soon as one of the poor little fellows, with great labour, had dug out a kernel, and was preparing to eat it, down leaped nimble-foot, and carried off the prize; and if one of the little chitmunks ventured to say a word, he very uncivilly gave him a scratch, or bit his ears, calling him a mean, shabby fellow. now, the chitmunks were really very pretty. they were, to be sure, not more than half the size of the grey squirrels, and their fur was short, without the soft thick glossy look upon it of the grey squirrels'. they were of a lively tawny yellow-brown colour, with long black and white stripes down their backs; their tails were not so long nor so thickly furred; and instead of living in the trees, they made their nests in logs and wind-falls, and had their granaries and winter houses too under ground, where they made warm nests of dried moss and grass and thistledown; to these they had several entrances, so that they had always a chance of refuge if danger were nigh. like the dormice, flying squirrels, and ground hogs, they slept soundly during the cold weather, only awakening when the warm spring sun had melted the snow. [footnote: it is not quite certain that the chitmunk is a true squirrel, and he is sometimes called a striped rat. this pretty animal seems, indeed, to form a link between the rat and squirrel.] the vain little grey squirrels thought themselves much better than these little chitmunks, whom they treated with very little politeness, laughing at them for living in holes in the ground, instead of upon lofty trees, as they did; they even called them low-bred fellows, and wondered why they did not imitate their high breeding and behaviour. the chitmunks took very little notice of their rudeness, but merely said that, if being high-bred made people rude, they would rather remain humble as they were. "as we are the head of all the squirrel families," said silver-nose, "we shall do you the honour of breakfasting with you to-day." "we breakfasted hours ago, while you lazy fellows were fast asleep," replied an old chitmunk, poking his little nose out of a hole in the ground. "then we shall dine with you: so make haste and get something good for us," said nimble-foot. "i have no doubt you have plenty of butter and hickory-nuts laid up in your holes." the old chitmunk told him he might come and get them, if he could. at this the grey squirrels skipped down from the branches, and began to run hither and thither, and to scratch among the moss and leaves, to find the entrance to the chitmunks' grain stores. they peeped under the old twisted roots of the pines and cedars, into every chink and cranny, but no sign of a granary was to be seen. then the chitmunks said, "my dear friends, this is a bad season to visit us; we are very poor just now, finding it difficult to get a few dry pine-kernels and berries, but if you will come and see us after harvest, we shall have a store of nuts and acorns." "pretty fellows you are!" replied nimble, "to put us off with promises, when we are so hungry; we might starve between this and harvest." "if you leave this island, and go down the lake, you will come to a mill, where the red squirrels live, and where you will have fine times," said one of the chitmunks. "which is the nearest way to the mill?" asked velvet-paw. "swim to the shore, and keep the indian, path, and you will soon see it." but while the grey squirrels were looking out for the path, the cunning chitmunks whisked away into their holes, and left the inquirers in the lurch, who could not tell what had become of them; for though they did find a round hole that they thought might be one of their burrows, it was so narrow that they could only poke in their noses, but could get no further; the grey squirrels being much fatter and bigger than the slim little chitmunks. "after all," said silvy, who was the best of the three, "perhaps, if we had been civil, the chitmunks would have treated us better." "well," said nimble, "if they had been good fellows, they would have invited us, as our mother did cousin blackie, and have set before us the best they had. i could find it in my heart to dig them out of their holes, and give them a good bite." this was all brag on nimble's part, who was not near so brave as he wished silvy and velvet-paw to suppose he was. after spending some time in hunting for acorns, they made up their minds to leave the island; and as it was not very far to the mainland, they decided on swimming thither. "indeed," said silver-nose, "i am tired of this dull place; we are not better off here than we were in the little island in stony lake, where our good old mother took care we should have plenty to eat, and we had a nice warm nest to shelter us." "ah! well, it is of no use grumbling now; if we were to go back, we should only get a scolding, and perhaps be chased off the island," said nimble. "now let us have a race, and see which of us will get to shore first;" and he leaped over velvet-paw's head, and was soon swimming merrily for the shore. he was soon followed by his companions, and in half an hour they were all safely landed. instead of going into the thick forest, they agreed to take the path by the margin of the lake, for there they had a better chance of getting nuts and fruit; but though it was the merry month of june, and there were plenty of pretty flowers in bloom, the berries were hardly ripe, and our little vagrants fared but badly. besides being hungry, they were sadly afraid of the eagles and fish-hawks that kept hovering over the water; and when they went further into the forest to avoid them, they saw a great white wood-owl, noiselessly flying out from among the close cedar swamps, that seemed just ready to pounce down upon them. the grey squirrels did not like the look of the owl's great round shining eyes, as they peered at them, under the tufts of silky white feathers, which almost hid his hooked bill; and their hearts sunk within them, when they heard his hollow cry, "_ho, ho, ho, ho!" "waugh, ho!"_ dismally sounding in their ears. it was well that velvet-paw was as swift afoot as she was soft, for one of these great owls had very nearly caught her, while she was eating a filbert that she had found in a cleft branch, where a nuthatch had fixed it, while she pecked a hole in the shell. some bird of prey had scared away the poor nuthatch, and velvet-paw no doubt thought she was in luck when she found the prize; but it would have been a dear nut to her, if nimble, who was a sharp-sighted fellow, had not seen the owl, and cried _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ to warn her of her danger. _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ cried velvet-paw, and away she flew to the very top of a tall pine-tree, springing from one tree-top to another, till she was soon out of the old owl's reach. "what shall we do for supper to-night?" said silver-nose, looking very pitifully at nimble-foot; whom they looked upon as the head of the family. "we shall not want for a good supper and breakfast too, or i am very much mistaken. do you see that red squirrel yonder, climbing the hemlock-tree? well, my dears, he has a fine store of good things in that beech-tree. i watched him run down with a nut in his teeth. let us wait patiently, and we shall see him come again for another; and as soon as he has done his meal, we will go and take ours." the red squirrel ran to and fro several times, each time carrying off a nut to his nest in the hemlock; after a while, he came no more. as soon as he was out of sight nimble led the way, and found the hoard. the beech was quite hollow in the heart, and they went down through a hole in the branch, and found a store of hazel-nuts, with acorns, hickory-nuts, butter-nuts, and beech-mast, all packed quite close and dry. they soon made a great hole in the red squirrel's store of provisions, and were just choosing some nuts to carry off with them, when they were disturbed by a scratching against the bark of the tree. nimble, who was always the first to take care of himself, gave the alarm, and he and velvet-paw, being nearest to the hole, got off safely; but poor silvy had the ill luck to sneeze, and before she had time to hide herself the angry red squirrel sprang upon her, and gave her such a terrible cuffing and scratching, that silvy cried out for mercy. as to nimble-foot and velvet-paw, they paid no heed to her cries for help; they ran away, and left her to bear the blame of all their misdeeds, as well as her own. thieves are always cowards, and are sure to forsake one another when danger is nigh. the angry red squirrel pushed poor silvy out of her granary, and she was glad to crawl away, and hide herself in a hole at the root of a neighbouring tree, where she lay in great pain and terror, licking her wounds, and crying to think how cruel it was of her brother and sister to leave her to the mercy of the red squirrel. it was surely very cowardly of foot-foot and velvet-paw to forsake her in such a time of need; nor was this the only danger that befel poor silvy. one morning, when she put her nose out of the hole, to look about her before venturing out, she saw seated on a branch, close beside the tree she was under, a racoon, staring full at her, with his sharp cunning black eyes. she was very much afraid of him, for she thought he looked very hungry; but as she knew that racoons are very fond of nuts and fruit, she said to herself, "perhaps if i show him where the red squirrel's granary in the beech-tree is, he will not kill me." then she said very softly to him, "good mister coon, if you want a very nice breakfast, and will promise to do me no hurt, i will tell you where to find plenty of nuts." the coon eyed her with a sly grin, and said, "if i can get anything more to my taste than a pretty grey squirrel, i will take it, my dear, and not lay a paw upon your soft back." "ah! but you must promise not to touch me, if i come out and show you where to find the nuts," said silvy. "upon the word and honour of a coon!" replied the racoon, laying one black paw upon his breast; "but if you do not come out of your hole, i shall soon come and dig you out, so you had best be quick; and if you trust me, you shall come to no hurt." then silvy thought it wisest to seem to trust the racoon's word, and she came out of her hole, and went a few paces to point out the tree, where her enemy the red squirrel's store of nuts was; but as soon as she saw mister coon disappear in the hollow of the tree, she bade him good-bye, and whisked up a tall tree, where she knew the racoon could not reach her; and having now quite recovered her strength, she was able to leap from branch to branch, and even from one tree to another, whenever they grew, close and the boughs touched, as they often do in the grand old woods in canada; and so she was soon far, far away from the artful coon, who waited a long time, hoping to carry off poor silvy for his dinner. silvy contrived to pick up a living by digging for roots, and eating such fruits as she could find; but one day she came to a grassy cleared spot, where she saw a strange-looking tent, made with poles stuck into the ground and meeting at the top, from which came a bluish cloud that spread among the trees; and as silvy was very curious, she came nearer, and at last, hearing no sound, ran up one of the poles, and peeped in, to see what was within side, thinking it might be one of the fine stores of grain that people built for the squirrels, as her cousin blackie had made her believe. the poles were covered with sheets of birch-bark, and skins of deer and wolves, and there was a fire of sticks burning in the middle, round which some large creatures were sitting on a bear's skin, eating something that smelt very nice. they had long black hair, and black eyes, and very white teeth. silvy felt alarmed at first; but thinking they must be the people who were kind to squirrels, she ventured to slip through a slit in the bark, and ran down into the wigwam, hoping to get something to eat; but in a minute the indians jumped up, and before she had time to make her escape she was seized by a young squaw, and popped into a birch box, and the lid shut down upon her: so poor silvy was caught in a trap; and all for believing the artful black squirrel's tales. silver-nose remembered her mother's warning now, when it was too late; she tried to get out of her prison, but in vain; the sides of the box were too strong, and there was not so much as a single crack for a peep-hole. after she had been shut up some time, the lid was raised a little, and a dark hand put in some bright, shining hard grains for her to eat. this was indian corn, and it was excellent food; but silvy was a long, long time before she would eat any of this sweet corn, she was so vexed at being caught and shut up in prison; besides, she was very much afraid that the indians were going to eat her. after some days, she began to get used to her captive state; the little squaw used to feed her, and one day took her out of the box, and put her into a nice light cage, where there was soft green moss to lie on, a little bark dish with clear water, and abundance of food. the cage was hung up on the bough of a tree, near the wigwam, to swing to and fro as the wind waved the tree. here silvy could see the birds flying to and fro, and listen to their cheerful songs. the indian women and children had always a kind look, or a word to say to her; and her little mistress was so kind to her, that silvy could not help loving her. she was very grateful for her care; for when she was sick and sulky, the little squaw gave her bits of maple-sugar and parched rice out of her hand. at last silvy grew tame, and would suffer herself to be taken out of her house, to sit on her mistress's shoulder, or in her lap; and though she sometimes ran away and hid herself, out of fun, she would not have gone far from the tent of the good indians, on any account. sometimes she saw the red squirrels running about in the forest, but they never came very near her; but she used to watch ail day long for her brother nimble-foot, or sister velvet; but they were now far away from her, and no doubt thought that she had been killed by the red squirrel, or eaten up by a fox or racoon. * * * * * "nurse, i am so glad pretty silvy was not killed, and that the good indians took care of her." "it is time now, my dear, for you to put down your book," said mrs. frazer, "and to-morrow we will read some more." "yes, if you please, mrs. frazer," said lady mary. part iii. how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to velvet-paw. nimble-foot and velvet-paw were so frightened by the sight of the red squirrel, that they ran down the tree without once looking back to see what had become of poor silver-nose; indeed the cowards, instead of waiting for their poor sister, fled through the forest as if an army of red squirrels were behind them. at last they reached the banks of the lake, and, jumping into the water, swam down the current till they came to a place called the "narrow," where the wide lake poured its waters through a deep rocky channel, not more than a hundred yards wide; here the waters became so rough and rapid, that our little swimmers thought it wisest to go on shore. they scrambled up the steep rocky bank, and found themselves on a wide open space, quite free from trees, which they knew must be one of the great clearings the traveller squirrel had spoken of. there was a very high building on the water's edge, that they thought must be the mill that the chitmunks had told them they would come to; and they were in good spirits, as they now expected to find plenty of good things laid up for them to eat, so they went in by the door of the mill. "dear me, what a dust there is!", said nimble, looking about him; "i think it must be snowing." "snow does not fall in hot weather," said velvet; "besides, this white powder is very sweet and nice;" and she began to lick some of the flour that lay in the cracks of the floor. "i have found some nice seeds here," said nimble, running to the top of a sack that stood with the mouth untied; "these are better than pine-kernels, and not so hard. we must have come to one of the great grain-stores that our cousin told us of. well, i am sure the people are very kind to have laid up so many good things for us squirrels." when they had eaten as much as they liked, they began to run about to see what was in the mill. presently, a man came in, and they saw him take one of the sacks of wheat, and pour it into a large upright box, and in a few minutes there was a great noise--a sort of buzzing, whirring, rumbling, dashing, and splashing;--and away ran velvet-paw in a terrible fright, and scrambled up some beams and rafters to the top of the wall, where she sat watching what was going--on, trembling all over; but finding that no harm happened to her, took courage, and after a time ceased to be afraid. she saw nimble perched on a cross-beam looking down very intently at something; so she came out of her corner and ran to him, and asked what he was looking at. "there is a great black thing here," said he, "i cannot tell what to make of him at all; it turns round, and round, and round, and dashes the water about, making a fine splash." (this was the water-wheel.) "it looks very ugly indeed," said velvet-paw, "and makes my head giddy to look at it; let us go away. i want to find out what these two big stones are doing," said she; "they keep rubbing against one another, and making a great noise." "there is nothing so wonderful in two big stones, my dear," said nimble; "i have seen plenty bigger than these in stony lake." "but they did not move about as these do; and only look here at the white stuff that is running down all the time into this great box. well, we shall not want for food for the rest of our lives; i wish poor silvy were with us to share in our good luck." they saw a great many other strange things in the mill, and they thought that the miller was a very funny-looking creature; but as they fancied that he was grinding the wheat into flour for them, they were not much afraid of him; they were more troubled at the sight of a black dog, which spied them out as they sat on the beams of the mill, and ran about in a great rage, barking at them in a frightful way, and never left off till the miller went out of the mill, when he went away with his master, and did not return till the next day; but whenever he saw the grey squirrels, this little dog, whose name was "pinch," was sure to set up his ears and tail, and snap and bark, showing all his sharp white teeth in a very savage manner. not far from the mill was another building: this was the house the miller lived in; and close by the house was a barn, a stable, a cow-shed, and a sheep-pen, and there was a garden full of fruit and flowers, and an orchard of apple-trees close by. one day velvet-paw ran up one of the apple-trees and began to eat an apple; it looked very good, for it had a bright red cheek, but it was hard and sour, not being ripe. "i do not like these big, sour berries," said she, making wry faces as she tried to get the bad taste out of her mouth by wiping her tongue on her fore-paw. nimble had found some ripe currants; so he only laughed at poor velvet for the trouble she was in. these little grey squirrels now led a merry life; they found plenty to eat and drink, and would not have had a care in the world, if it had not been for the noisy little dog pinch, who let them have no quiet, barking and baying at them whenever he saw them; and also for the watchful eyes of a great tom-cat, who was always prowling about the mill, or creeping round the orchard and outhouses; so that with all their good food they were not quite free from causes of fear, and no doubt sometimes wished themselves safe back on the little rocky island, in their nest in the old oak-tree. time passed away--the wheat and the oats were now ripe and fit for the scythe, for in canada the settlers mow wheat with an instrument called a "cradle scythe." the beautiful indian corn was in bloom, and its long pale green silken threads were waving in the summer breeze. the blue-jays were busy in the fields of wheat; so were the red-winged blackbirds, and the sparrows, and many other birds, great and small; field-mice in dozens were cutting the straw with their sharp teeth, and carrying off the grain to their nests; and as to the squirrels and chitmunks, there were scores of them, black, red, and grey, filling their cheeks with the grain, and laying it out on the rail fences and on the top of the stumps to dry, before they carried it away to their storehouses. and many a battle the red and the black squirrels had, and sometimes the grey joined with the red, to beat the black ones off the ground. nimble-foot and his sister kept out of these quarrels as much as they could; but once they got a severe beating from the red squirrels for not helping them to drive off the saucy black ones, who would carry away the little heaps of wheat, as soon as they were dry. "we do not mean to trouble ourselves with laying up winter stores," said nimble one day to his red cousins; "don't you see peter, the miller's man, has got a great wagon and horses, and is carting wheat into the barn for us?" the red squirrel opened his round eyes very wide at this speech. "why, cousin nimble," he said, "you are not so foolish as to think the miller is harvesting that grain for your use. no, no, my friend; if you want any, you must work as we do, or run the chance of starving in the winter." then nimble told him what their cousin blackie had said. "you were wise fellows to believe such nonsense!" said the red squirrel. "these mills and barns are all stored for the use of the miller and his family; and what is more, my friend, i can tell you that men are no great friends to us poor squirrels, and will kill us when they get the chance, and begrudge us the grain we help ourselves to." "well, that is very stingy," said velvet-paw; "i am sure there is enough for men and squirrels too. however, i suppose all must live, so we will let them have what we leave; i shall help myself after they have stored it up in yonder barn." "you had better do as we do, and make hay while the sun shines," said the red squirrel. "i would rather play in the sunshine, and eat what i want here," said idle velvet-paw, setting up her fine tail like a feather over her back, as she ate an ear of corn. "you are a foolish, idle thing, and will come to no good," said the red squirrel. "i wonder where you were brought up?" i am very sorry to relate that velvet-paw did not come to a good end, for she did not take the advice of her red cousin, to lay up provisions during the harvest; but instead of that, she ate all day long, and grew fat and lazy; and after the fields were all cleared, she went to the mill one day, when the mill was grinding, and seeing a quantity of wheat in the feeder of the mill, she ran up a beam and jumped down, thinking to make a good dinner from the grain she saw; but it kept sliding down and sliding down so fast, that she could not get one grain, so at last she began to be frightened, and tried to get up again, but, alas! this was not possible. she cried out to nimble to help her; and while he ran to look for a stick for her to raise herself up by, the mill-wheel kept on turning, and the great stones went round faster and faster, till poor velvet-paw was crushed to death between them. nimble was now left all alone, and sad enough he was, you may suppose. "ah," said he, "idleness is the ruin of grey squirrels, as well as men, so i will go away from this place, and try and earn an honest living in the forest. i wish i had not believed all the fine tales my cousin the black squirrel told me." then nimble went away from the clearing, and once more resolved to seek his fortune in the woods. he knew there were plenty butter-nuts, acorns, hickory-nuts, and beech-nuts, to be found, besides many sorts of berries; and he very diligently set to work to lay up stores against the coming winter. as it was now getting cold at night, nimble-foot thought it would be wise to make himself a warm house; so he found out a tall hemlock-pine that was very thick and bushy at the top; there was a forked branch in the tree, with a hollow just fit for his nest. he carried twigs of birch and beech, and over these he laid dry green moss, which he collected on the north side of the cedar-trees, and some long grey moss that he found on the swamp maples, and then he stripped the silky threads from the milk-weeds, and the bark of the cedar and birch-trees. these he gnawed fine, and soon made a soft bed; he wove and twisted the sticks, and roots, and mosses together, till the walls of his house were quite thick, and he made a sort of thatch over the top with dry leaves and long moss, with a round hole to creep in and out of. making this warm house took him many days' labour; but many strokes will fell great oaks, so at last nimble-foot's work came to an end, and he had the comfort of a charming house to shelter him from the cold season. he laid up a good store of nuts, acorns, and roots: some he put in a hollow branch of the hemlock-tree close to his nest; some he hid in a stump, and another store he laid under the roots of a mossy cedar. when all this was done, he began to feet very lonely, and often wished no doubt that he had had his sisters silvy and velvet-paw with him, to share his nice warm house; but of silvy he knew nothing, and poor velvet-paw was dead. one fine moonlight night, as nimble was frisking about on the bough of a birch-tree, not very far from his house in the hemlock, he saw a canoe land on the shore of the lake, and some indians with an axe cut down some bushes, and having cleared a small piece of ground, begin to sharpen, the ends of some long poles. these they stuck into the ground close together in a circle; and having stripped some sheets of birch-bark from the birch-trees close by, they thatched the sides of the hut, and made a fire of sticks inside. they had a dead deer in the canoe, and there were several hares and black squirrels, the sight of which rather alarmed nimble; for he thought if they killed one sort of squirrel, they might another, and he was very much scared at one of the indians firing off a gun close by him. the noise made him fall down to the ground, and it was a good thing that it was dark among the leaves and grass where the trunk of the tree threw its long shadow, so that the indian did not see him, or perhaps he might have loaded the gun again, and shot our little friend, and made soup of him for his supper. nimble ran swiftly up a pine-tree, and was soon out of danger. while he was watching some of the indian children at play, he saw a girl come out of the hut with a grey squirrel in her arms; it did not seem at all afraid of her, but nestled to her shoulder, and even ate out of her hand; and what was nimble's surprise to see that this tame grey squirrel was none other than his own pretty sister silver-nose, whom he had left in the hollow tree when they both ran away from the red squirrel. you may suppose the sight of his lost companion was a joyful one; he waited for a long, long time, till the fire went out, and all the indians were fast asleep, and little silvy came out to play in the moonlight, and frisk about on the dewy grass as she used to do. then nimble, when he saw her, ran down the tree, and came to her and rubbed his nose against her, and licked her soft fur, and told her who he was, and how sorry he was for having left her in so cowardly a manner, to be beaten by the red squirrel. the good little silvy told nimble not to fret about what was past, and then she asked him for her sister velvet-paw. nimble had a long sorrowful tale to tell about the death of poor velvet; and silvy was much grieved. then in her turn she told nimble all her adventures, and how she had been caught by the indian, girl, and kept, and fed, and tamed, and had passed her time very happily, if it had not been for thinking about her dear lost companions. "but now," she said, "my dear brother, we will never, part again; you shall be quite welcome, to share my cage, and my nice stores of indian corn, rice, and nuts, which my kind mistress gives me." "i would not be shut up in a cage, not even for one day," said nimble, "for all the nice and grain in canada. i am a free squirrel, and love my liberty. i would not exchange a life of freedom in these fine old woods, for all the dainties in the world. so, silvy, if you prefer a life of idleness and ease to living with me in the forest, i must say good-bye to you." "but there is nothing to hurt us, my dear nimble--no racoons, nor foxes, nor hawks, nor owls, nor weasels; if i see any hungry-looking birds or beasts, i have a safe place to run to, and never need be hungry!" "i would not lead a life like that, for the world," said nimble. "i should die of dullness; if there is danger in a life of freedom, there is pleasure too, which you cannot enjoy, shut up in a wooden cage, and fed at the will of a master or mistress." "well, i shall be shot if the indians awake and see me; so i shall be off." silvy looked very sorrowful; she did not like to part from her newly-found brother, but she was unwilling to forego all the comforts and luxuries her life of captivity afforded her. "you will not tell the indians where i live, i hope, silvy, for they would think it a fine thing to hunt me with their dogs, or shoot me down with their bows and arrows." at these words silvy was overcome with grief, so jumping off from the log on which she was standing, she said, "nimble, i will go with you and share all your perils, and we will never part again." she then ran into the wigwam; and going softly to the little squaw, who was asleep, licked her hands and face, as if she would say, "good-bye, my good kind friend; i shall not forget all your love for me, though i am going away from you for ever." silvy then followed nimble into the forest, and they soon reached his nice comfortable nest in the tall hemlock-tree. * * * * * "nurse, i am glad silvy went away with nimble, are not you? poor nimble must have been so lonely without her, and then you know it must have seemed so hard to him if silvy had preferred staying with the indians, to living with him." "those who have been used to a life of ease do not willingly give it up, my dear lady; thus you see, love for her old companion was stronger even than love of self. but i think you must have tired yourself with reading so long to me." "indeed, nurse, i must read a little more, for i want you to hear how silvy and nimble amused themselves in the hemlock-tree." then lady mary went on and read as follows. * * * * * silvy was greatly pleased with her new home, which was as soft and as warm as clean dry moss, hay, and fibres of roots could make it. the squirrels built a sort of pent or outer roof of twigs, dry leaves, and roots of withered grass, which was pitched so high that it threw off the rain and kept the inner house very dry. they worked at this very diligently, and also laid up a store of nuts and berries. they knew that they must not only provide plenty of food for the winter, but also for the spring months, when they could get little to eat beside the buds and bark of some sort of trees, and the chance seeds that might still remain in the pine-cones. thus the autumn months passed away very quickly and cheerfully with the squirrels while preparing for the coming winter. half the cold season was spent, too, in sleep; but on mild sunny days the little squirrels, roused by the bright light of the sunbeams on the white and glittering snow, would shake themselves, rub their black eyes, and after licking themselves clean from dust, would whisk out of their house and indulge in merry gambols up and down the trunks of the trees, skipping from bough to bough, and frolicking over the hard crisp snow, which scarcely showed on its surface the delicate print of their tiny feet, and the sweep of their fine light feathery tails. sometimes they met with some little shrewmice, running on the snow. these very tiny things are so small, they hardly look bigger than a large black beetle; they lived on the seeds of the tall weeds, which they, might be seen climbing and clinging to, yet were hardly heavy enough to weigh down the heads of the dry stalks. it is pretty to see the footprints of these small shrewmice, on the surface of the fresh fallen snow in the deep forest-glades. they are not dormant during the winter like many of the mouse tribe, for they are up and abroad at all seasons; for however stormy and severe the weather may be, they do not seem to heed its inclemency. surely, children, there is one who cares for the small tender things of earth, and shelters them from the rude blasts. nimble-foot and silver-nose often saw their cousins, the black squirrels, playing in the sunshine, chasing each other merrily up and down the trees, or over the brush-heaps; their jetty coats, and long feathery tails, forming a striking contrast with the whiteness of the snow, above which they were sporting. sometimes they saw a few red squirrels too, but there was generally war between them and the black ones. in these lonely forests, everything seems still and silent, during the long wintry season, as if death had spread a white pall over, the earth, and hushed every living thing into silence. few sounds are heard through the winter days, to break the death-like silence that reigns around, excepting the sudden rending and cracking of the trees in the frosty air, the fall of a decayed branch, the tapping of a solitary woodpecker, two or three small species of which still remain after all the summer birds are flown; and the gentle, weak chirp of the little tree-creeper, as it runs up and down the hemlocks and pines, searching the crevices of the bark for insects. yet in all this seeming death lies hidden the life of myriads of insects, the huge beast of the forest, asleep in his lair, with many of the smaller quadrupeds, and forest-birds, that, hushed in lonely places, shall awake to life and activity as soon as the sun-beams shall once more dissolve the snow, unbind the frozen streams, and loosen the bands which held them in repose. at last the spring, the glad joyous spring, returned. the leaf-buds, wrapped within their gummy and downy cases, began to unfold; the dark green pines, spruce, and balsams began to shoot out fresh spiny leaves, like tassels, from the ends of every bough, giving out the most refreshing fragrance; the crimson buds of the young hazels, and the scarlet blossoms of the soft maple, enlivened the edges of the streams; the bright coral bark of the dogwood seemed as if freshly varnished, so brightly it glowed in the morning sunshine; the scream of the blue jay, the song of the robin and wood-thrush, the merry note of the chiccadee, and plaintive cry of the pheobe, with loud hammering strokes of the great red-headed woodpecker, mingled with the rush of the unbound forest streams, gurgling and murmuring as their water flowed over the stones, and the sighing of the breeze, playing in the tree-tops, made pleasant and ceaseless music. and then as time passed on, the trees unfolded all their bright green leaves, the buds and forest flowers opened; and many a bright bell our little squirrels looked down upon, from their leafy home, that the eye of man had never seen. it was pleasant for our little squirrels, just after sunset, in the still summer evenings, when the small silver stars came stealing out, one by one, in the blue sky, to play among the cool dewy leaves of the grand old oaks and maples; to watch the fitful flash of the fireflies, as they glanced here and there, flitting through the deep gloom of the forest boughs, now lost to sight, as they closed their wings, now flashing out like tiny tapers, borne aloft by unseen hands in the darkness. where that little creek runs singing over its mossy bed, and the cedar-boughs bend down so thick and close, that only a gleam of the bright water can be seen, even in the sunlight--there the fireflies crowd, and the damp foliage is all alive with their dazzling light. in this sweet still hour, just at the dewfall, the rush of whirring wings may be heard from the islands, or in the forest, bordering on the water's edge; and out of hollow logs and hoary trunks of trees come forth the speckled night-hawks, cutting the air with their thin sharp wide wings, and open beak, ready to entrap the unwary moth, or moskitoe, that float so joyously upon the evening air. one after another, sweeping in wider circles, come forth these birds of prey, till the whole air seems alive with them; darting hither and thither, and uttering wild shrill screams, as they rise higher and higher in the upper air, till some are almost lost to sight. sometimes one of them will descend with a sudden swoop, to the lower regions of the air, just above the highest tree-tops, with a hollow booming sound, as if some one were blowing in an empty vessel. at this hour, too, the bats would quit their homes in hollow trees and old rocky banks, and flit noiselessly abroad, over the surface of the quiet star-lit lake; and now also would begin the shrill, trilling note of the green-frog, and the deep hoarse bass of the bull-frog, which ceases only at intervals, through the long, warm summer night. you might fancy a droll sort of dialogue was being carried on among them. at first, a great fellow, the patriarch of the swamp, will put up his head, which looks very much like a small pair of bellows, with yellow leather sides; and say in a harsh, guttural tone, "go to bed, go to bed, go to bed." after a moment's pause, two or three will rise and reply, "no, i won't! no, i won't! no, i won't!" then the old fellow, with a growl, replies,--"get out, get out, get out," --and forthwith, with a rush, and a splash, and a dash, they raise a chorus of whirring, grating, growling, grunting, whistling sounds, which make you hold your ears. when all this hubbub has lasted some minutes, there is a pop, and a splash, and down go all the heads under the weeds and mud; and after another pause, up comes the old father of the frogs, and begins again with the old story--"go to bed, go to bed, go to bed," and so on. during the heat of the day, the bull-frogs are silent; but as the day declines, and the air becomes cooler, they re-commence their noisy chorus. i suppose these sounds, though not very pleasant to the ears of men, may not be so disagreeable to those of wild animals. i dare say neither nimble nor silvy were in the least annoyed by the hoarse note of the bull-frog; but gambolled as merrily among the boughs and fresh dewy leaves, as if they were listening to sweet music, or the songs of the birds. the summer passed away very happily; but towards the close of the warm season, the squirrels, nimble and silvy, resolved to make a journey to the rocky island on stony lake, to see the old squirrels, their father and mother. so they started at sunrise one fine pleasant day, and travelled along, till one cool evening, just as the moon was beginning to rise above the pine-trees, they arrived at the little rocky islet where they first saw the light; but when they eagerly ran up the trunk of the old oak-tree, expecting to have seen their old father and mother, they were surprised and terrified by seeing a wood-owl in the nest. as soon as she espied our little squirrels, she shook her feathers, and set up her ears--for she was a long-eared owl--and said, "what do you want here?--ho, ho, ho, ho! "indeed, mrs. owl," said nimble, "we come hither to see our parents, whom we left here a year ago. can you tell us where we shall find them?" the owl peered out of her ruff of silken feathers, and after wiping her sharp bill on her breast, said, "your cousin the black squirrel beat your father and mother out of their nest a long time ago, and took possession of the tree and all that was in it, and they brought up a large family of little ones, all of which i pounced upon one after another, and ate. indeed, the oaks here belong to my family; so finding these impudent intruders would not quit the premises, i made short work of the matter, and took the law into my own hands." "did you kill them?" asked silvy, in a trembling voice. "of course i did, and very nice tender meat they were," replied the horrid old owl, beginning to scramble out of the nest, and eyeing the squirrels at the same time with a wicked look. "but you did not eat our parents too?" asked the trembling squirrels. "yes, i did; they were very tough, to be sure, but i am not very particular." the grey squirrels, though full of grief and vain regret, were obliged to take care of themselves. there was, indeed, no time to fee lost, so they made a hasty retreat. they crept under the roots of an old tree, where they lay till the morning; they were not much concerned for the death of the treacherous black squirrel who had told so many stories, got possession of their old nest, and caused the death of their parents; but they said--"we will go home again to our dear old hemlock-tree, and never leave it more." so these dear little squirrels returned to their forest home, and may be living there yet. * * * * * "nurse," said lady mary, "how do you like the story?" mrs. frazer said it was a very pretty one. "perhaps my dear little pet is one of nimble or silvy's children. you know, nurse, they might have gone on their travels too when they were old enough, and then your brother may have chopped down the tree and found them in the forest." "but your squirrel, lady mary, is a flying squirrel, and these were only common grey ones, which are a different species. besides, my dear, this history is but a fable." "i suppose, nurse," said the child, looking up in her nurse's face, "squirrels do not really talk." "no, my dear, they have not the use of speech as we have, but in all ages people have written little tales called fables, in which they make birds and beasts speak as if they were men and women, it being an easy method of conveying instruction." "my book is only a fable then, nurse? i wish it had been true; but it is very pretty." chapter iv. squirrels--the chitmunks-docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chitmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel. "mrs. frazer, are you very busy just now?" asked lady mary, coming up to the table where her nurse was ironing some lace. "no, my dear, not very busy, only preparing these lace edgings for your frocks. do you want me to do anything for you?" "i only want to tell you that my governess has promised to paint my dear squirrel's picture, as soon as it is tame, and will let me hold it in my lap, without flying away. i saw a picture of a flying squirrel to-day, but it was very ugly--not at all like mine; it was long and flat, and its legs looked like sticks, and it was stretched out, just like one of those muskrat skins that you pointed out to me in a fur store. mamma said it was drawn so, to show it while it was in the act of flying; but it is not pretty--it does not show its beautiful tail, nor its bright eyes, nor soft silky fur. i heard a lady tell mamma about a nest full of dear, tiny little flying squirrels; [footnote: tame flying squirrels may be purchased at the pantheon, in oxford street.] that her brother once found in a tree in the forest; he tamed them, and they lived very happily together, and would feed from his hand. they slept in the cold weather like dormice; in the day-time they lay very still, but would come out, and gambol, and frisk about at night. but somebody left the cage open, and they all ran away except one, and that he found in his bed, where it had run for shelter with its little nose under his pillow. he caught the little fellow, and it lived with him till the spring, when it grew restless, and one day got away, and went off to the woods." "these little creatures are impatient of confinement, and will gnaw through the woodwork of the cage to get free, especially in the spring of the year. doubtless, my dear, they pine for the liberty which they used to enjoy before they were captured by man." "nurse, i will not let my little pet be unhappy. as soon as the warm days come again, and my governess has taken his picture, i will let him go free. are there many squirrels in this part of canada?" "not so many as in upper canada, lady mary. they abound more in some years than in others. i have seen the beech and oak woods swarming with black squirrels. my brothers have brought in two or three dozen in one day. the indians used to tell us that want of food, or very severe weather setting in, in the north, drive these little animals from their haunts. the indians, who observe these things more than we do, can generally tell what sort of winter it will be, from the number of wild animals in the fall." "what do you mean by the fall, nurse?" "the autumn in canada, my lady, is called so from the fall of the leaves. i remember one year was remarkable for the great number of black, grey, and flying squirrels; the little striped chitmunk was also plentiful, and so were weasels and foxes. they came into the barns and granaries, and into the houses, and destroyed great quantities of grain; besides gnawing clothes that were laid out to dry; this they did to line their nests with. next year there were very few to be seen." "what became of them, nurse?" "some, no doubt, fell a prey to their enemies, the cats, foxes, and weasels, which were also very numerous that year; and the rest, perhaps, went back to their own country again." "i should like to see a great number of these pretty creatures travelling together," said lady mary. "all wild animals, my dear, are more active by night than by day, and probably make their long journeys during that season. the eyes of many animals and birds are so formed, that they see best in the dim twilight, as cats, and owls, and others. our heavenly father has fitted all his. creatures for the state in which he has placed them." "can squirrels swim like otters and beavers, nurse? if they come to a lake or river, can they cross it?" "i think they can, lady mary; for though these creatures are not formed like the otter, or beaver, or muskrat, to get their living in the water, they are able to swim when necessity requires them to do so. i heard a lady say that she was crossing a lake, between one of the islands and the shore, in a canoe, with a baby on her lap. she noticed a movement on the surface of the water. at first she thought it might be a water snake, but the servant lad who was paddling the canoe, said it was a red squirrel, and he tried to strike it with the paddle; but the little squirrel leaped out of the water to the blade of the paddle, and sprang on the head of the baby, as it lay on her lap; from whence it jumped to her shoulder, and before she had recovered from her surprise, was in the water again, swimming straight for the shore, where it was soon safe in the dark pine woods." this feat of the squirrel delighted lady mary, who expressed her joy at the bravery of the little creature. besides, she said she had heard that grey squirrels, when they wished to go to a distance in search of food, would all meet together, and collect pieces of bark to serve them for boats, and would set up their broad tails like sails, to catch the wind, and in this way cross large sheets of water. "i do not think this can be true," observed mrs. frazer; "for the squirrel, when swimming, uses his tail as an oar or rudder to help the motion, the tail lying flat on the surface of the water; nor do these creatures need a boat, for god, who made them, has _given them_ the power of swimming at their need." "nurse, you said something about a ground squirrel, and called it a chitmunk. if you please, will you tell me something about it, and why it is called by such a curious name?" "i believe it is the indian name for this sort of squirrel, my dear. the chitmunk is not so large as the black, red, or grey squirrels. it is marked along the back with black and white stripes; the rest of its fur is a yellowish tawny colour. it is a very playful, lively, cleanly animal, somewhat resembling the dormouse in its habits. it burrows under ground. its nest is made with great care, with many galleries which open at the surface, so that when attacked by an enemy, it can run from one to another for security." [footnote: the squirrel has many enemies; all the weasel tribe, cats, and even dogs attack them. cats kill great numbers of these little animals. the farmer shows them as little mercy as he does rats and mice, as they are very destructive, and carry off vast quantities of grain, which they store in hollow trees for use. not contenting themselves with one, granary, they have several in case one should fail, or perhaps become injured by accidental causes. thus do these simple little creatures teach us a lesson of providential care for future events.] "how wise of these little chitmunks to think of that!" said lady mary. "nay, my dear child, it is god's wisdom, not theirs. these creatures work according to his will; and so they always do what is fittest and best for their own comfort and safety. man is the only one of god's creatures who disobeys him." these words made lady mary look grave, till her nurse began to talk to her again about the chitmunk. "it is very easily tamed, and becomes very fond of its master. it will obey his voice, come at a call or a whistle, sit up and beg, take a nut or an acorn out of his hand, run up a stick, nestle in his bosom, and become quite familiar. my uncle had a tame chitmunk that was much attached to him; it lived in his pocket or bosom; it was his companion by day and by night. when he was out in the forest lumbering, or on the lake fishing, or in the fields at work, it was always with him. at meals it sat by the side of his plate, eating what he gave it; but he did not give it meat, as he thought that might injure its health. one day he and his pet were in the steam-boat, going to toronto. he had been showing off the little chitmunk's tricks to the ladies and gentlemen on board the boat, and several persons offered him money if he would sell it; but my uncle was fond of the little thing, and would not part with it. however, just before he left the boat, he missed his pet; for a cunning yankee pedlar on board had stolen it. my uncle knew that his little friend would not desert its old master; so he went on deck where the passengers were assembled, and whistled a popular tune familiar to the chitmunk. the little fellow, on hearing it, whisked out of the pedlar's pocket, and running swiftly along a railing against which he was standing, soon sought refuge in his master's bosom." lady mary clapped her hands with joy, and said, "i am so glad, nurse, that the chitmunk ran back to his old friend. i wish it had bitten that yankee pedlar's fingers." "when angry, these creatures will bite very sharply, set up their tails, and run to and fro, and make a chattering sound with their teeth. the red squirrel is very fearless for its size, and will sometimes turn round and face you, set up its tail, and scold. but they will, when busy eating the seeds of the sunflower or thistle, of which they are very fond, suffer you to stand and watch them without attempting to run away. when near their granaries, or the tree where their nest is, they are unwilling to leave it, running to and fro, and uttering their angry notes; but if a dog is near, they make for a tree, and as soon as they are out of his reach, turn round to chatter and scold, as long as he remains in sight. when hard pressed, the black and flying squirrels will take prodigious leaps, springing from bough to bough, and from tree to tree. in this manner they baffle the hunters, and travel a great distance over the tops of the trees. once i saw my uncle and brothers chasing a large black squirrel. he kept out of reach of the dogs, as well as out of sight of the men, by passing round and round the tree as he went up, so that they could never get a fair shot at him. at last, they got so provoked that they took their axes, and set to work to chop down the tree. it was a large pine-tree, and took them some time. just as the tree was ready to fall, and was wavering to and fro, the squirrel, who had kept on the topmost bough, sprang nimbly to the next tree, and then to another, and by the time the great pine had reached the ground, the squirrel was far away in his nest among his little ones, safe from hunters, guns, and dogs." "the black squirrel must have wondered, i think, nurse, why so many men and dogs tried to kill such a little creature as he was. do the black squirrels sleep in the winter as well as the flying squirrels and chitmunks?" "no, lady mary; i have often seen them on bright days chasing each other over logs and brush heaps, and running gaily up the pine-trees. they are easily seen from the contrast which their jetty black coats make with the sparkling white snow. these creatures feed a good deal on the kernels of the pines and hemlocks; they also eat the buds of some trees. they lay up great stores of nuts and grain for winter use. the flying squirrels sleep much, and in the cold season lie heaped upon each other, for the sake of warmth. as many as seven or eight may be found in one nest asleep. they sometimes awaken, if there come a succession of warm days, as in the january thaw; for i must tell you that in this country we generally have rain and mild weather for a few days in the beginning of january, when the snow nearly disappears from the ground. about the th, [footnote: this remark applies more particularly to the upper province.] the weather sets in again steadily cold; when the little animals retire once more to sleep in their winter cradles, which they rarely leave till the hard weather is over." "i suppose, nurse, when they awake, they are glad to eat some of the food they hare laid up in their granaries?" "yes, my dear, it is for this they gather their hoards in mild weather; which also supports them in the spring months, and possibly even during the summer, till grain and fruit are ripe. i was walking in the harvest field one day, where my brothers were cradling wheat. as i passed along the fence, i noticed a great many little heaps of wheat lying here and there on the rails, also upon the tops of the stumps in the field. i wondered at first who could have placed them there, but presently noticed a number of red squirrels running very swiftly along the fence, and perceived that they emptied their mouths of a quantity of the new wheat, which they had been diligently employed in collecting from the ears that lay scattered over the ground. these little gleaners did not seem to be at all alarmed at my presence, but went to and fro as busy as bees. on taking some of the grains into my hand, i noticed that the germ or eye of the kernels was bitten clean out." "what was that for, nurse? can you tell me?" "my dear young lady, i did not know at first, till, upon showing it to my father, he told me that the squirrels destroyed the germ of the grain, such as wheat or indian corn, that they stored up for winter use, that it might not sprout when buried in the ground or in a hollow tree." "this is very strange, nurse," said the little girl. "but i suppose," she added, after a moment's thought, "it was god who taught the squirrels to do so. but why would biting out the eye prevent the grain from growing?" "because the eye or bud contains the life of the plant; from it springs the green blade, and the stem that bears the ear, and the root that strikes down to the earth. the flowery part, which swells and becomes soft and jelly-like, serves to nourish the young plant till the tender fibres of the roots are able to draw moisture from the ground." lady mary asked if all seeds had an eye or germ. her nurse replied that all had, though some were so minute that they looked no bigger than dust, or a grain of sand; yet each was perfect in its kind, and contained the plant that would, when sown in the earth, bring forth roots, leaves, buds, flowers, and fruits in due season. "how glad i should have been to see the little squirrels gleaning the wheat, and laying it in the little heaps on the rail fence. why did they not carry it at once to their nests?" "they laid it out in the sun and wind to dry; for if it had been stored away while damp, it would have moulded, and have been spoiled. the squirrels were busy all that day; when i went to see them again, the grain was gone. i saw several red squirrels running up and down a large pine-tree, which had been broken by the wind at the top; and there, no doubt, they had laid up stores. these squirrels did not follow each other in a straight line, but ran round and round in a spiral direction, so that they never hindered each other, nor came in each other's way: two were always going up, while the other two were going down. they seem to work in families; for the young ones, though old enough to get their own living, usually inhabit the same nest, and help to store up the grain for winter use. they all separate again in spring. the little chitmunk does not live in trees, but burrows in the ground, or makes its nest in some large hollow log. it is very pretty to see the little chitmunks, on a warm spring day, running about and chasing each other among the moss and leaves; they are not bigger than mice, but look bright and lively. the fur of all the squirrel tribe is used in trimming, but the grey is the best and most valuable. it has often been remarked by the indians, and others, that the red and black squirrels never live in the same place; for the red, though the smallest, beat away the black ones. the flesh of the black squirrel is very good to eat; the indians also eat the red." lady mary was very glad to hear all these things, and quite forgot to play with her doll. "please, mrs. frazer," said the little lady, "tell me now about beavers and muskrats." but mrs. frazer was obliged to go out on business; she promised, however, to tell lady mary all she knew about these animals another day. chapter v. indian baskets--thread plants--maple sugar tree--indian ornamental works-- racoons it was some time before lady mary's nurse could tell her any more stories. she received a letter from her sister-in-law, informing her that her brother was dangerously ill, confined to what was feared would prove his deathbed, and that he earnestly desired to see her before he died. the governor's lady, who was very kind and good to all her household, readily consented to let mrs. frazer go to her sick relation. lady mary parted from her dear nurse, whom she loved very tenderly, with much regret. mrs. frazer told her that it might be a fortnight before she could return, as her brother lived on the shores of one of the small lakes, near the head waters of the otonabee river, a great way off; but she promised to return as soon as she could, and to console her young mistress for her absence, said she would bring her some indian toys from the backwoods. the month of march passed away pleasantly, for lady mary enjoyed many delightful sleigh-drives with her papa and mamma, who took every opportunity to instruct and amuse her. on entering her nursery one day, after enjoying a long drive in the country, great was her joy to find her good nurse sitting quietly at work by the stove. she was dressed in deep mourning, and looked much thinner and paler than when she had last seen her. the kind little girl knew, when she saw her nurse's black dress, that her brother must be dead; and with the thoughtfulness of a true lady, remained very quiet, and did not annoy her with questions about trifling matters; she spoke low and gently to her, and tried to comfort her when she saw large tears falling on the work which she held in her hand, kindly said, "mrs, frazer, you had better go and lie down and rest yourself, for you must be tired after your long long journey." the next day mrs. frazer seemed to be much better; and she showed lady mary an indian basket, made of birch-bark, very richly wrought with coloured porcupine-quills, and which had two lids. lady mary admired the splendid colours, and strange patterns on the basket. "it is for you, my dear," said her nurse, "open it, and see what is in it." lady mary lifted one of the lids, and took out another small basket, of a different shape and pattern. it had a top, which was sewn down with coarse-looking thread, which her nurse told her was nothing but the sinews of the deer, dried and beaten fine, and drawn out like thread. then, taking an end of it in her hand, she made lady mary observe that these coarse threads could be separated into a great number of finer ones, sufficiently delicate to pass through the eye of a fine needle, or to string tiny beads. "the indians, my lady, sew with the sinews of the wild animals they kill. these sinews are much stronger and tougher than thread, and therefore are well adapted to sew together such things as moccasins, leggings, and garments made of the skins of wild animals. the finer threads are used for sewing the beads and quill ornaments on moccasins, sheaths, and pouches, besides other things that i cannot now think of. "they sew some things with the roots of the tamarack, of larch; such as coarse birch-baskets, bark canoes, and the covering of their wigwams. they call this 'wah-tap,' [footnote: asclepia paviflora.] (wood-thread,) and they prepare it by pulling off the outer rind and steeping it in water. it is the larger fibres which have the appearance of small cordage when coiled up and fit for use. this 'wah-tap' is very valuable to these poor indians. there is also another plant, called indian hemp, which is a small shrubby kind of milk-weed, that grows on gravelly islands. it bears white flowers, and the branches are long and slender; under the bark there is a fine silky thread covering the wood; this is tough, and can be twisted and spun into cloth. it is very white and fine, and does not easily break. there are other plants of the same family, with pods full of fine shining silk; but these are too brittle to spin into thread. this last kind, lady mary, which is called milk-weed flytrap, i will show you in summer." [footnote: asclepia syriaca.] but while mrs. frazer was talking about these plants, the little lady was examining the contents of the small birch-box. "if you please, nurse, will you tell me what these dark shining seeds are?" "these seeds, my dear, are indian rice; an old squaw, mrs. peter noggan, gave me this as a present for 'governor's daughter,'" and mrs. frazer imitated the soft, whining tone of the indian, which made lady mary laugh. "the box is called a 'mowkowk.' there is another just like it, only there is a white bird,--a snow-bird, i suppose it is intended for--worked on the lid." the lid of this box was fastened down with a narrow slip of deer-skin; lady mary cut the fastening, and raised the lid,--"nurse, it is only yellow sand; how droll, to send me a box of sand!" "it is not sand; taste it, lady mary." "it is sweet--it is sugar! ah! now i know what it is that this kind old squaw has sent me; it is maple-sugar; and is very nice. i will go and show it to mamma." "wait a little, lady mary, let us see what there is in the basket besides the rice and the maple-sugar." "what a lovely thing this is! dear nurse, what can it be?" "it is a sheath for your scissors, my dear; it is made of doe-skin, embroidered with white beads, and coloured quills split fine, and sewn with deer-sinew thread. look at these curious bracelets." lady mary examined the bracelets, and said she thought they were wrought with beads; but mrs. frazer told her that what she took for beads were porcupine quills, cut out very finely, and strung in a pattern. they were not only neatly but tastefully made; the pattern, though a grecian scroll, having been carefully imitated by some indian squaw. "this embroidered knife-sheath is large enough for a hunting-knife," said lady mary, "a '_couteau de chasse_,'--is it not?" "this sheath was worked by the wife of isaac iron, an educated chief of the mud lake indians; she gave it to me because i had been kind to her in sickness." "i will give it to my dear papa," said lady mary, "for i never go out hunting, and do not wish to carry a large knife by my side;" and she laid the sheath away, after having admired its gay colours, and particularly the figure of a little animal worked in black and white quills, which was intended to represent a racoon. "this is a present for your doll; it is a doll's mat, woven by a little girl, aged seven years, rachel muskrat; and here is a little canoe of red cedar, made by a little indian boy." "what a darling little boat, and there is a fish carved on the paddles." this device greatly pleased lady mary, who said she would send rachel a wax doll, and little moses a knife, or some other useful article, when mrs. frazer went again to the lakes; but when her nurse took out of the other end of the basket a birch-bark cradle, made for her doll, worked very richly, she clapped her hands for joy, saying, "ah, nurse, you should not have brought me so many pretty things at once, for i am too happy!" the remaining contents of the basket consisted of seeds and berries, and a small cake of maple-sugar, which mrs. frazer had made for the young lady. this was very different in appearance from the indian sugar; it was bright and sparkling, like sugar-candy, and tasted sweeter. the other sugar was dry, and slightly bitter: mrs. frazer told lady mary that this peculiar taste was caused by the birch-bark vessels, which the indians used for catching the sap as it flowed from the maple-trees. "i wonder who taught the indians how to make maple-sugar?" asked the child. "i do not know;" replied the nurse. "i have heard that they knew how to make this sugar when the discoverers of the country found them. [footnote: however this may be, the french settlers claim the merit of converting the sap into sugar.] it may be that they found it out by accident. the sugar-maple when wounded in march, and april, yields a great deal of sweet liquor. some indians may have supplied themselves with this juice, when pressed for want of water; for it flows so freely in warm days in spring, that several pints can be obtained from one tree in the course of the day. by boiling this juice, it becomes very sweet; and at last, when all the thin watery part has gone off in steam, it becomes thick, like honey; by boiling it still-longer, it turns to sugar, when cold. so you see, my dear, that the indians may have found it out by boiling some sap, instead of water, and letting it remain on the fire till it grew thick." "are there many kinds of maple-trees, that sugar can be made from, nurse?" asked the little girl. "yes, [footnote: all the maple tribe are of a saccharine nature. sugar has been made in england from the sap of the sycamore.] my lady; but i believe the sugar-maple yields the best sap for the purpose; that of the birch-tree, i have heard, can be made into sugar; but it would require a larger quantity; weak wine, or vinegar, is made by the settlers of birch-sap, which is very pleasant tasted. the people who live in the backwoods, and make maple-sugar, always make a keg of vinegar at the sugaring off." "that must be very useful; but if the sap is sweet, how can it be made into such sour stuff as vinegar?" then nurse tried to make lady mary understand that the heat of the sun, or of a warm room, would make the liquor ferment, unless it had been boiled a long time, so as to become very sweet, and somewhat thick. the first fermentation, she told her, would give only a winy taste; but if it continued to ferment a great deal, it turned sour, and became vinegar. "how very useful the maple-tree is, nurse! i wish there were maples in the garden, and i would make sugar, molasses, wine, and vinegar; and what else would i do with my maple-tree?" mrs. frazer laughed, and said,--"the wood makes excellent fuel; but is also used in making bedsteads, chests of drawers, and many other things. there is a very pretty wood for furniture, called 'bird's-eye maple;' the drawers in my bedroom that you think so pretty are made of it; but it is a disease in the tree that causes it to have these little marks all through the wood. in autumn, this tree improves the forest landscape, for the bright scarlet leaves of the maple give a beautiful look to the woods in the fall. the soft maple, another species, is very bright when the leaves are changing, but it gives no sugar." "then i will not let it grow in my garden, nurse!" "it is good for other purposes, my dear. the settlers use the bark for dyeing wool; and a jet black ink can be made from it, by boiling down the bark with a bit of copperas, in an iron vessel; so you see it is useful. the bright red flowers of this tree look very pretty in the spring; it grows best by the water-side, and some call it 'the swamp maple.'" this was all mrs. frazer could tell lady mary about the maple-trees. many little girls, as young as the governor's daughter, would have thought it very dull to listen to what her nurse had to say about plants and trees; but lady mary would put aside her dolls and toys, to stand beside her to ask questions, and listen to her answers; the more she heard, the more she desired to hear, about these things. "the hearing ear, and the seeing eye, are two things that are never satisfied," saith the wise king solomon. lady mary was delighted with the contents of her indian basket, and spent the rest of her play-hours in looking at the various articles it contained, and asking her nurse questions about the materials of which they were made. some of the bark boxes were lined with paper, but the doll's cradle was not, and lady mary perceived that the inside of it was very rough, caused by the hard ends of the quills with which it was ornamented. at first, she could not think how the squaws worked with the quills, as they could not possibly thread them through the eye of a needle; but her nurse told her that when they want to work any pattern in birch-bark, they trace it with some sharp-pointed instrument, such as a nail, or bodkin, or even a sharp thorn; with which they pierce holes close together round the edge of the leaf, or blade, or bird they have drawn out on the birch-bark; into these holes they insert one end of the quill, the other end is then drawn through the opposite hole, pulled tight, bent a little, and cut off on the inside. this any one of my young readers may see, if they examine the indian baskets or toys, made of birch-bark. "i have seen the squaws in their wigwams at work on these things, sitting cross-legged on their mats,--some had the quills in a little bark dish on their laps, while others held them in their mouths--not a very safe nor delicate way; but indians are not very nice in some of their habits," said mrs. frazer. "nurse, if you please, will you tell me what this little animal is designed to represent," said lady mary, pointing to the figure of the racoon worked in quills on the sheath of the hunting-knife. "it is intended for a racoon, my lady," replied her nurse. "is the racoon a pretty creature like my squirrel?" "it is much larger than your squirrel; its fur is not nearly so soft or so fine; the colour being black and grey, or dun; the tail barred across, and bushy,--you have seen many sleigh-robes made of racoon-skins, with the tails looking like tassels at the back of the sleighs." "oh, yes, and a funny cunning-looking face peeping out too!" "the face of this little animal is sharp, and the eyes black and keen, like a fox; the feet bare, like the soles of our feet, only black and leathery; their claws are very sharp; they can climb trees very fast. during the winter the racoons sleep in hollow trees, and cling together for the sake of keeping each other warm. the choppers find as many as seven or eight in one nest, fast asleep. most probably the young family remain with the old ones until spring, when, they separate. the racoon in its habits is said to resemble the bear; like the bear, it lives chiefly on vegetables, especially indian corn, but i do not think that it lays by any store for winter. they sometimes awake if there come a few warm days, but soon retire again to their warm cosy nests." "racoons will eat eggs; and fowls are often taken by them,--perhaps this is in the winter, when they wake up and are pressed by hunger." her nurse said that one of her friends had a racoon which he kept in a wooden cage, but he was obliged to have a chain and collar to keep him from getting away, as he used to gnaw the bars asunder; and had slily stolen away and killed some ducks, and was almost as mischievous as a fox, but was very lively and amusing in his way. lady mary now left her good nurse, and took her basket, with all its indian treasures, to show to her mamma,--with whom we leave her for the present. chapter vi. canadian birds--snow sparrow--robin red-breast--canadian flowers-- american porcupine. "spring is coming, nurse! spring is coming at last!" exclaimed the governor's little daughter, joyfully. "the snow is going away at last. i am tired of the white snow, it makes my eyes ache. i want to see the brown earth, and the grass, and the green moss, and the pretty flowers again." "it will be some days before this deep covering of snow is gone. the streets are still slippery with ice, which it will take some time, my lady, to soften." "but, nurse, the sun shines, and there are little streams of water running along the streets in every direction; see, the snow is gone from under the bushes and trees in the garden. i saw some dear little birds flying about, and i watched them perching on the dry stalks of the tall rough weeds, and they appeared to be picking seeds out of the husks. can you tell me what birds they were?" "i saw the flock of birds you mean, lady mary; they are the common snow-sparrows; [footnote: fringilla nivalis.] almost our earliest visitants; for they may be seen in april, mingled with the brown song-sparrow, [footnote: fringilla melodia.] flitting about the garden fences, or picking the stalks of the tall mullein and amaranths, to find the seeds that have not been shaken out by the autumn winds; and possibly they also find insects cradled in the husks of the old seed-vessels. these snow-sparrows are very hardy, and though some migrate to the states in the beginning of winter, a few stay in the upper province, and others come back to us before the snow is all gone." "they are very pretty, neat-looking birds, nurse; dark slate colour, with white breasts." "when i was a little girl, i used to call them my quaker-birds, they looked so neat and prim. in the summer you may find their nests in the brush-heaps near the edge of the forest; they sing a soft, low song." "nurse, i heard a bird singing yesterday, when i was in the garden; a little plain brown bird, nurse." "it was a song-sparrow, lady mary. this cheerful little bird comes with the snow-birds, often before the robin." "oh, nurse, the robin! i wish you would show me a darling robin redbreast. i did not know they lived in canada." "the bird that we call the robin in this country, my dear, is not like the little redbreast you have seen at home; our robin is twice as large; though in shape resembling the european robin; i believe it is really a kind of thrush. it migrates in the fall, and returns to us early in the spring." "what is migrating, nurse; is it the same as emigrating?" "yes, lady mary, for when a person leaves his native country, and goes to live in another country, he is said to emigrate. this is the reason why the english, scotch, and irish families who come to live in canada are called emigrants." "what colour are the canadian robins, nurse?" "the head is blackish, the back lead colour, and the breast is pale orange; not so bright a red, however, as the real robin." "have you ever seen their nests, nurse?" "yes, my dear, many of them. it is not a pretty nest; it is large, and coarsely put together, of old dried grass, roots, and dead leaves, plastered inside with clay, mixed with bits of straw, so as to form a sort of mortar. you know, lady mary, that the blackbird and thrush build nests, and plaster them in this way." the little lady nodded her head in assent. "nurse, i once saw a robin's nest when i was in england; it was in the side of a mossy ditch, with primroses growing close beside it; it was made of green moss, and lined with white wool and hair; it was a pretty nest, with nice eggs in it, much better than your canadian robin's nest." "our robins build in upturned roots, in the corners of rail fences, and in the young pear-trees and apple-trees in the orchard. the eggs are a greenish blue. the robin sings a full, clear song; indeed he is our best songster. we have so few singing-birds, that we prize those that do sing very much." "does the canadian robin come into the house in winter, and pick up the crumbs, as the dear little redbreasts do at home?" "no, lady mary, they are able to find plenty of food abroad, when they return to us; but they hop about the houses and gardens pretty freely. in the fall, before they go away, they may be seen in great numbers, running about the old pastures, picking up worms and seeds." "do people see the birds flying away together, nurse?" "not often, my dear, for most birds congregate together in small flocks and depart unnoticed; many go away at night, when we are sleeping; and some fly very high on cloudy days, so that they are not distinctly seen against the dull grey sky. the water birds, such as geese, swans, and ducks, take their flight in large bodies. they are heard making a continual noise in the air, and may be seen grouped in long lines, or in the form of the letter v lying on its side, (<), the point generally directed southward or westward, the strongest and oldest birds acting as leaders: when tired, these aquatic generals fall backward into the main body, and are replaced by others." lady mary was much surprised at the order and sagacity displayed by wild fowl in their flight; and mrs. frazer told her that some other time she would tell her some more facts respecting their migration to other countries. "nurse, will you tell me something about birds' nests, and what they make them of?" "birds that live chiefly in the depths of the forest, or in solitary places, far away from the haunts of men, build their nests of ruder materials, and with less care in the manner of putting them together; dried grass, roots, and a little moss, seem to be the materials they make use of. it has been noticed by many persons, my dear, that those birds that live near towns and villages and cleared farms, soon learn to make better sorts of nests, and to weave into them soft and comfortable things, such as silk, wool, cotton, and hair." "that is very strange, nurse." "it is so, lady mary; but the same thing may also be seen among human beings. the savage nations are contented with rude dwellings made of sticks and cane, covered with skins of beasts, bark, or reeds; but when they once unite together in a more social state, and live in villages and towns, a desire for improvement takes place; the tent of skins, or the rude shanty, is exchanged for a hut of better shape; and this in time gives place to houses and furniture of more useful and ornamental kinds." "nurse, i heard mamma say, that the britons who lived in england were once savages, and lived in caves, huts, and thick woods; that they dressed in skins, and painted their bodies like the indians." "when you read the history of england, you will see that such was the case," said mrs. frazer. "nurse, perhaps the little birds like to see the flowers, and the sunshine, and the blue sky, and men's houses. i will make my garden very pretty this spring, and plant some nice flowers to please the dear little birds." many persons would have thought such remarks very foolish in our little lady, but mrs. frazer, who was a good and wise woman, did not laugh at the little girl; for she thought it was a lovely thing to see her wish to give happiness to the least of god's creatures, for it was imitating his own goodness and mercy, which delight in the enjoyment of the things which he has called into existence. "please, mrs. frazer, will you tell me which flowers will be first in bloom?" "the very first is a plant that comes up without leaves." "nurse, that is the christmas-rose; [footnote: winter aconite.] i have seen it in the old country." "no, lady mary, it is the colt's-foot; [footnote: tussilago farfara.] it is a common looking, coarse, yellow-blossomed flower; it is the first that blooms after the snow; then comes the pretty snow-flower or hepatica. its pretty tufts of white, pink, or blue starry flowers, may be seen on the open clearing, or beneath the shade of the half-cleared woods, or upturned roots and sunny banks. like the english daisy, it grows everywhere, and the sight of its bright starry blossoms delights every eye." "the next flower that comes in is the dog's-tooth-violet." [footnote: erythronium.] "what a droll name!" exclaimed lady mary, laughing. "i suppose it is called so from the sharpness of the flower-leaves (petals), my lady, but it is a beautiful yellow lily; the leaves are also pretty; they are veined or clouded with milky white or dusky purple. the plant has a bulbous root, and in the month of april sends up its single, nodding, yellow-spotted flowers; they grow in large beds, where the ground is black, moist and rich, near creeks on the edge of the forest." "do you know any other pretty flowers, nurse?" "yes, my lady, there are a great many that bloom in april and may; white violets, and blue, and yellow, of many kinds; and then there is the spring beauty, [footnote: claytonia.] a delicate little flower with pink striped bells, and the everlasting flower, [footnote: graphalium.] and saxifrage, and the white and dark red lily, that the yankees call 'white and red death.' [footnote: trillium, or wake robin.] these have three green leaves about the middle of the stalk, and the flower is composed of three pure white or deep red leaves--petals my father used to call them; for my father, lady mary, was a botanist, and knew the names of all the flowers, and i learned them from him. "the most curious is the mocassin flower. the early one is bright golden yellow, and has a bag or sack which is curiously spotted with ruby red, and its petals are twisted like horns. there is a hard thick piece that lies down just above the sack or mocassin part; and if you lift this up, you see a pair of round dark spots like eyes, and the indians say it is like the face of a hound, with the nose and black eyes plain to be seen; two of the shorter curled brown petals look like flapped ears, one on each side of the face. "there is a more beautiful sort, purple and white, which blooms in august; the plant is taller, and bears large lovely flowers." "and has it a funny face and ears too, nurse?" "yes, my dear, but the face is more like an ape's; it is even more distinct than in the yellow mocassin. when my brother and i were children, we used to fold back the petals and call them baby flowers; the sack, we thought, looked like a baby's white frock." lady mary was much amused at this notion. "there are a great number of very beautiful and also very curious flowers growing in the forest," said mrs. frazer; "some of them are used in medicine, and some by the indians for dyes, with which they stain the baskets and porcupine quills. one of our earliest flowers is called the blood-root; [footnote: sanguivaria.] it comes up a delicate white folded bud, within a vine-shaped leaf, which is veined on the under side with orange yellow. if the stem or the root of this plant be broken, a scarlet juice drops out very fast--it is with this the squaws dye red and orange colours." "i am glad to hear this, nurse; now i can tell my dear mamma what the baskets and quills are dyed with." "the flower is very pretty, like a white crocus, only not so large. you saw some crocuses in the conservatory the other day, i think, my dear lady." "oh, yes, yellow ones, and purple too, in a funny china thing with holes in its back, and the flowers came up through the holes. the gardener said it was a porcupine." "please, nurse, tell me of what colours real porcupine quills are?" "they are white and greyish-brown." then lady mary brought a print and showed it to her nurse, saying, "nurse, is the porcupine like this picture?" "the american porcupine, my dear, is not so large as this species; its spines are smaller and weaker. it resembles the common hedgehog more nearly. it is an innocent animal, feeding mostly on roots [footnote: there is a plant of the lily tribe, upon the roots of which the porcupine feeds, as well as on wild bulbs and berries, and the bark of the black spruce and larch. it will also eat apples and indian corn.] and small fruits; it burrows in dry stony hillocks, and passes the cold weather in sleep. it goes abroad chiefly during the night. the spines of the canadian porcupine are much weaker than those of the african species. the indians trap these creatures and eat their flesh. they bake them in their skins in native ovens,--holes made in the earth, lined with stones, which they make very hot, covering them over with embers." mrs. frazer had told lady mary all she knew about the porcupine, when campbell, the footman, came to say that her papa wanted to see her. chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture--habits of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows. when lady mary went down to her father, he presented her with a beautiful indian bag, which he had brought from lake huron, in the upper province. it was of fine doeskin, very nicely wrought with dyed moose-hair, and the pattern was very pretty; the border was of scarlet feathers on one side, and blue on the other, which formed a rich silken fringe at each edge. this was a present from the wife of a chief on manitoulin island. lady mary was much delighted with her present, and admired this new-fashioned work in moose-hair very much. the feathers, mrs. frazer told her, were from the summer red bird or war bird, and the blue bird, both of which, lady mary said, she had seen. the indians use these feathers as ornaments for their heads and shoulders on grand occasions. lady mary recollected hearing her mamma speak of indians who wore mantles and dresses of gay feathers. they were chiefs of the sandwich islands, she believed, who had these superb habits. "dear nurse, will you tell me anything more about birds and flowers to-day?" asked lady mary, after she had put away her pretty bag. "i promised to tell you about the beavers, my lady," replied mrs. frazer. "oh, yes, about the beavers that make the dams and the nice houses, and cut down whole trees. i am glad you can tell me something about those curious creatures; for mamma bought me a pretty picture, which i will show you, if you please," said the little girl. "but what is this odd-looking, black thing here? is it a dried fish? it must be a black bass? yes, nurse, i am sure it is." the nurse smiled, and said, "it is not a fish at all, my dear; it is a dried beaver's tail. i brought it from the back lakes when i was at home, that you might see it. see, my lady, how curiously the beaver's tail is covered with scales; it looks like some sort of black leather, stamped in a diaper pattern. before it is dried, it is very heavy, weighing three or four pounds. i have heard my brothers and some of the indian trappers say, that the animal makes use of its tail to beat the sides of the dams and smoothe the mud and clay, as a plasterer uses a trowel. some people think otherwise, but it seems well suited from its shape and weight for the purpose, and, indeed, as the walls they raise seem to have been smoothed by some implement, i see no reason to disbelieve the story." "and what do the beavers make dams with, nurse?" "with small trees cut into pieces, and drawn in close to each other; and then the beavers fill the spaces between with sods, and stones, and clay, and all sorts of things that they gather together and work up into a solid wall. the walls are made broad at the bottom, and are several feet in thickness, to make them strong enough to keep the water from washing through them. the beavers assemble together in the fall, about the months of october and november, to build their houses and repair their dams. they prefer running water, as it is less likely to freeze. they work in large parties, sometimes fifty or a hundred together, and do a great deal in a short time. they work during the night." "of what use is the dam, nurse?" "the dam is for the purpose of securing a constant supply of water, without which they could not live. when they have enclosed the beaver-pond, they separate into family parties of eleven [transcriber's note: lengthy footnote moved to end of chapter] or twelve, perhaps more, sometimes less, and construct dwellings, which are raised against the inner walls of the dam. these little huts have two chambers, one in which they sleep, which is warm and soft and dry, lined with roots and sedges and dry grass, and any odds and ends that serve their purpose. the feeding place is below; in this is stored the wood or the bark on which they feed. the entrance to this is under water, and hidden from sight; but it is there that the cunning hunter sets his trap to catch the unsuspecting beavers." "nurse, do not beavers, and otters, and muskrats feel cold while living in the water; and do they not get wet?" "no, my dear; they do not feel cold, and cannot get wet, for the thick coating of hair and down keeps them warm; and these animals, like ducks and geese and all kinds of water-fowls, are supplied with a bag of oil, with which they dress their coats, and that throws off the moisture; for you know, lady mary, that oil and water will not mix. all creatures that live in the water are provided with oily fur, or smooth scales that no water can penetrate; and water birds, such as ducks and geese, have a little bag of oil, with which they dress their feathers." "are there any beavers in england, nurse?" asked lady mary. "no, my lady, not now; but i remember my father told me that this animal once existed in numbers in different countries of europe; he said they were still to be found in norway, sweden, russia, germany, and even in france. [footnote: the remains of bearer dams in wales prove that this interesting animal was once a native of great britain.] the beaver abounds mostly in north america, and in its cold portions; in solitudes that no foot of man but the wild indian has ever penetrated; in lonely streams and inland lakes,--these harmless creatures are found fulfilling god's purpose, and doing injury to none. "i think if there had been any beavers in the land of israel, in solomon's time, that the wise king, who spake of ants, spiders, grasshoppers, and conies, [footnote: the rock rabbits of judaea.] would have named the beavers also, as patterns of gentleness, cleanliness, and industry. they work together in bands, and live in families and never fight or disagree. they have no chief or leader; they seem to have neither king nor ruler; yet they work in perfect love and harmony. how pleasant it would be, lady mary, if all christian people would love each other as these poor beavers seem to do!" "nurse how can beavers cut down trees; they have neither axes nor saws?" "here, lady mary, are the axes and saws with which god has provided these little creatures;" and mrs. frazer showed lady mary two long curved tusks, of a reddish-brown colour, which she told her were the tools used by the beavers to cut and gnaw the trees; she said she had seen trees as thick as a man's leg, that had been felled by these simple tools. lady mary was much surprised that such small animals could cut through any thing so thick. "in nature," replied her nurse, "we often see great things done by very small means. patience and perseverance work well. the poplar, birch, and some other trees, on which beavers feed, and which they also use in making their dams, are softer and more easily cut than oak, elm or birch would be: these trees are found growing near the water, and in such places as the beavers build in. the settler owes to the industrious habits of this animal those large open tracts of land called beaver meadows, covered with long, thick, rank grass, which he cuts down and uses as hay. these beaver meadows have the appearance of dried-up lakes. the soil is black and spongy; for you may put a stick down to the depth of many feet; it is only in the months of july, august, and september, that they are dry. bushes of black alder, with a few poplars and twining shrubs, are scattered over the beaver meadows; some of which have high stony banks; and little islands of trees. on these are many pretty wild flowers; among others, i found growing on the dry banks some real hare-bells, both blue and white." "ah, dear nurse, hare-bells! did you find real hare-bells, such as grow on the bonny highland hills among the heather? i wish papa would let me go to the upper province, to see the beaver meadows, and gather the dear blue-bells." "my father, lady mary, wept when i brought him a handful of these flowers, for he said it reminded him of his highland home. i have found these pretty bells growing on the wild hills about rice lake, near the water, as well as near the beaver meadows." "do the beavers sleep in the winter time, nurse?" "they do not lie torpid, as racoons do, though they may sleep a good deal; but as they lay up a great store of provisions for the winter, of course they must awake sometimes to eat it." lady mary thought so too. "in the spring, when the long warm days return, they quit their winter retreat, and separate in pairs, living in holes in the banks of lakes and rivers, and do not unite again till the approach of the cold calls them together to prepare for winter, as i told you." "who calls them all to build their winter houses?" asked the child. "the providence of god; usually called instinct, that guides these wild animals; doubtless it is the law of nature given to them by god. "there is a great resemblance in the habits of the musk-rat and the beaver. they all live in the water; all separate in the spring, and meet again in the fall to build and work together; and, having helped each other in these things, they retire to a private dwelling, each family by itself. the otter does not make a dam, like the beaver, and i am not sure that it works in companies, as the beaver; it lives on fish and roots; the musk-rats on shell-fish and roots, and the beaver on vegetable food mostly. musk-rats and beavers are used for food, but the flesh of the otter is too fishy to be eaten." "nurse, can people eat musk-rats?" asked lady mary, with surprise. "yes, my lady, in the spring months the hunters and indians reckon them good food; i have eaten them myself, but i did not like them, they were too fat. musk-rats build a little house of rushes, and plaster it; they have two chambers, and do not lie torpid; they build in shallow, rushy places in lakes, but in spring they quit their winter houses and are often found in holes among the roots of trees; they live on mussels and shell-fish. the fur is used in making caps, and hats, and fur gloves." "nurse, did you ever see a tame beaver?" "yes, my dear; i knew a squaw who had a tame beaver, which she used to take out in her canoe with her, and it sat in her lap, or on her shoulder, and was very playful." just then the dinner-bell rang, and as dinner at government-house waits for no one, lady mary was obliged to defer hearing more about beavers until another time. [relocated footnote: i copy for the reader an account of the beavers, written by an indian chief, who was born at rice lake, in canada, and becoming a christian, learned to read and write, and went on a mission to teach the poor indians, who did not know christ, to worship god in spirit and in truth. during some months while he was journeying towards a settlement belonging to the hudson bay company, he wrote a journal of the things he saw in that wild country; and, among other matters, he made the following note about the habits of those curious animals the beavers, which i think is most likely to be correct, as indians are very observant of the habits of wild animals. he says,--"the country here is marshy, covered with low evergreens. here begins an extensive beaver settlement; it continues up the river for sixty miles. when travelling with a row-boat, the noise frightens the timid beavers, and they dive under water; but as we had a light birch-bark canoe, we saw them at evening and at day-break going to and fro from their work to the shore. they sleep, during the day, and chop and gnaw during the night. they cut the wood that they use, from slender wands up to poles four inches through, and from one to two fathoms long (a fathom is a measure of six feet). a large beaver will carry in his mouth a stick i should not like to carry on my shoulder, for two or three hundred yards to the water, and then float it off to where he wants to take it. the kinds of trees used by the beavers are willow and poplar--the round-leaved poplar they prefer. the canada beavers, where the poplars are large, lumber (_i.e._ cut down) on a larger scale; they cut trees a foot through, but in that case only make use of the limbs, which are gnawed off the trunk in suitable lengths. the beaver is not a climbing animal. about two cords of wood serve mister beaver and his family for the winter. a beaver's house is large enough to allow two men a comfortable sleeping-room, and it is kept very clean. it is built of sticks, stones, and mud, and is well plastered outside and in. the trowel the beaver uses in plastering is his tail; this is considered a great delicacy at the table. their beds are made of chips, split as fine as the brush of an indian broom; these are disposed in one corner, and kept dry and sweet and clean. it is the bark of the green wood that is used by the beavers for food; after the stick is peeled, they float it out at a distance from the house. many good housewives might learn a lesson of neatness and order from the humble beaver. "in large lakes and rivers, the beavers make no dams; they have water enough without putting themselves to that trouble; but in small creeks they dam up, and make a better stop-water than is done by the millers. the spot where they build their dams is the most labour-saving place in the valley, and where the work will stand best. when the dam is finished, not a drop of water escapes; their work is always well done. "this part of the country abounds in beavers. an indian will kill upwards of three hundred in a season. the skin of the beaver is not worth as much as it used to be, but their flesh is an excellent article of food." --_journal of the_ rev. peter jacobs, _indian missionary_.] chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora. "nurse, you have told me a great many nice stories; now i can tell you one, if you would like to hear it," and the governor's little daughter fixed her bright eyes, teaming with intelligence, on the face of her nurse, who smiled, and said she should like very much to hear the story. "you must guess what it is to be about, nurse." "i am afraid i shall not guess right. is it 'little red riding hood,' or 'old mother hubbard,' or 'jack the giant killer?'" "oh, nurse, to guess such silly stories!" said the little girl, stopping her ears. "those are too silly for me even to tell baby. my story is nice story about a darling tame beaver. major pickford took me on his knee and told me the story last night." mrs. frazer begged lady mary's pardon for making such foolish guesses, and declared she should like very much to hear major pickford's story of the tame beaver. "well, nurse, you must know there was once a gentleman who lived in the bush, on the banks of a small lake, somewhere in canada, a long, long way from montreal. he lived all alone in a little log-house, and spent his time in fishing, and trapping, and hunting; and he was very dull, for he had no wife and no child like me to talk to. the only people whom he used to see were some french lumberers, and now and then the indians would come in their canoes and fish on his lake, and make their wigwams on the lake shore, and hunt deer in the wood. the gentleman was very fond of the indians, and used to pass a great deal of his time with them, and talk to them in their own language. "well, nurse, one day he found a poor little indian boy who had been lost in the woods and was half starved, sick and weak, and the kind gentleman took him home to his house, and fed and nursed him till he got quite strong again. was not that good, nurse?" "it was quite right, my lady. people should always be kind to the sick and weak, and especially a poor indian stranger. i like the story very much, and shall be glad to hear more about the indian boy." "nurse, there is not a great deal more about the indian boy; for when the indian party to which he belonged returned from hunting, he went away to his own home; but i forgot to tell you that the gentleman had often said how much he should like to have a young beaver to make a pet of. he was very fond of pets; he had a dear little squirrel, just like mine, nurse, a flying squirrel, which he had made so tame that it slept in his bosom and lived in his pocket, where he kept nuts and acorns and apples for it to eat, and he had a racoon too, nurse,--only think! a real racoon; and major pickford told me something so droll about the racoon, only i want first to go on with the story about the beaver. "one day, as the gentleman was sitting by the fire reading, he heard a slight noise, and when he looked up was quite surprised to see an indian boy in a blanket coat,--with his dark eyes fixed upon his face, while his long black hair hung down on his shoulders. he looked quite wild, and did not say a word, but only opened his blanket coat, and showed a brown furred animal asleep on his breast. what do you think it was, nurse?" "a young beaver, my lady." "yes, nurse, it was a little beaver. the good indian boy had caught it, and tamed it on purpose to bring it to his white friend, who had been so good to him. "i cannot tell you all the amusing things the indian boy said about the beaver, though the major told them to me; but i cannot talk like an indian, you know, mrs. frazer. after the boy went away, the gentleman set to work and made a little log-house for his beaver to live in, and set it in a corner of the shanty; and he hollowed a large sugar-trough for his water, that he might have water to wash in, and cut down some young willows and poplars and birch-trees for him to eat, and the little beaver grew-very fond of his new master; it would fondle him just like a little squirrel, put its soft head on his knee, and climb upon his lap; he taught it to eat bread, sweet cake, and biscuit, and even roast and boiled meat, and it would drink milk too. "well, nurse, the little beaver lived very happily with this kind gentleman till the next fall, and then it began to get very restless and active, as if it were tired of doing nothing. one day his master heard of the arrival of a friend some miles off, so he left mister beaver to take care of himself, and went away; but he did not forget to give him some green wood, and plenty of water to drink and play in; he stayed several days, for he was very glad to meet with a friend in that lonely place; but when he came, he could not open his door, and was obliged to get in at the window. what do you think the beaver had done? it had built a dam against the side of the trough, and a wall across the door, and it had dug up the hearth and the floor, and carried the earth and the stones to help to make his dam, and puddled it with water, and made such work! the house was in perfect confusion, with mud, chips, bark, and stone; and, oh nurse, worse than all that, it had gnawed through the legs of the tables and chairs, and they were lying on the floor in such a state, and it cost the poor gentleman so much trouble to put things to rights again, and make more chairs and another table! and when i laughed at the pranks of that wicked beaver, for i could not help laughing, the major pinched my ear, and called me a mischievous puss." mrs. frazer was very much entertained with the story, and she told lady mary that she had heard of tame beavers doing such things before; for in the season of the year when beavers congregate together to repair their works and build their winter houses, those that are in confinement become restless and unquiet, and show the instinct that moves these animals to provide their winter retreats, and lay up their stores of food. "nurse," said lady mary, "i did not think that beavers and racoons could be taught to eat sweet cake, and bread and meat." "many animals learn to eat very different food to what they are accustomed to live upon in a wild state. the wild cat lives on raw flesh; while the domestic cat, you know, my dear, will eat cooked meat, and even salt meat, with bread and milk and many other things. i knew a person who had a black kitten called 'wildfire,' who would sip whiskey-toddy out of his glass, and seemed to like it as well as milk or water, only it made him too wild and frisky." "nurse, the racoon that the gentleman had, would drink sweet whiskey-punch; but my governess said it was not right to give it to him; and major pickford laughed, and declared the racoon must have looked very funny when it was tipsy. was not the major naughty to say so?" mrs. frazer said it was not quite proper. "but, nurse, i have not told you about the racoon,--he was a funny fellow; he was very fond of a little spaniel and her puppies, and took a great deal of care of them; he brought them meat and anything nice that had been given him to eat; but one day he thought he would give them a fine treat, so he contrived to catch a poor cat by the tail, and drag her into his den, where he and the puppies lived together. his pets of course would not eat the cat, so the wicked creature ate up poor pussy himself; and the gentleman was so angry with the naughty thing that he killed him and made a cap of his skin, for he was afraid the cunning racoon would kill his beaver and eat up his tame squirrel." "the racoon, lady mary, in its natural state, has all the wildness and cunning of the fox and weasel; he will eat flesh, poultry, and sucking pigs, and is, also very destructive to indian corn. these creatures abound in the western states, and are killed in great numbers for their skins. the indian hunters eat the flesh, and say it is very tender and good; but it is not used for food in canada. the racoon belongs to the same class of animals as the bear, which it resembles in some points, though, being small, it is not so dangerous either to man or the larger animals. "and now, my dear, let me show you some pretty wild flowers a little girl brought me this morning for you, as she heard that you loved flowers. there are yellow mocassins, or ladies'-slippers, the same that i told you of a little while ago; and white lilies, crane-bills, and these pretty lilac geraniums; here are scarlet-cups, and blue lupines, they are all in bloom now, and many others. if we were on the rice lake plains, my lady, we could gather all these and many, many more. in the months of june i and july those plains are like a garden, and their roses scent the air." "nurse, i will ask my dear papa to take me to the rice lake plains," said the little girl, as she gazed with delight on the lovely canadian flowers. chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province op new brunswick--of a baby that was carried away, but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming-birds--canadian balsams. "nurse," said lady mary, "did you ever hear of any one having been eaten by a wolf or bear?" "i have heard of such things happening, my dear, in this country; but only in lonely, unsettled parts of the country, near swamps and deep woods." "did you ever hear of any little boy or girl having been carried off by a wolf or bear?" asked the child. "no, my lady, not in canada, though similar accidents may have happened there; but when i was a young girl i heard of such tragedies at new brunswick; one of the british provinces lying to the east of this, and a cold and rather barren country, but containing many minerals, such as coal, limestone, and marble, besides vast forests of pine, and small lakes and rivers. it resembles lower canada in many respects; but it is not so pleasant as the province of upper canada, neither is it so productive. "thirty years ago it was not so well cleared or cultivated as it is now, and the woods were full of wild beasts that dwelt among the swamps and wild rocky valleys. bears, wolves, and catamounts abounded, with foxes of several kinds, and many of the fine furred and smaller species of animals, which were much sought for, on account of their skins. well, my dear, near the little village where my aunt and uncle were, living, there were great tracts of unbroken swamps and forests, which of course sheltered many wild animals. a sad accident happened a few days before we arrived, which caused much sorrow, and no little fright, in the place. "an old man went out into the woods one morning with his little grandson, to look for the oxen, which had strayed from the clearing. they had not gone many yards from the enclosure when they heard a crackling and rustling among the underwood and dry timbers that strewed the ground. the old man, thinking it was caused by the cattle they were looking for, bade the little boy go forward and drive them, on the track; but in a few minutes he heard a fearful cry from the child, and hurrying forward through the tangled brushwood, saw the poor little boy in the deadly grasp of a huge black bear, who was making off at a fast trot with his prey. "the old man was unarmed, and too feeble to pursue the dreadful beast. he could only wring his hands and rend his grey hairs in grief and terror; but his lamentations would not restore the child to life. a band of hunters and lumberers, armed with rifles and knives, turned out to beat the woods, and were not long in tracking the savage animal to his retreat in a neighbouring cedar swamp. a few fragments of the child's dress were all that remained of him; but the villagers had the satisfaction of killing the great she-bear with her two half-grown cubs. the magistrates of the district gave them a large sum for shooting these creatures, and the skins were sold, and the money given to the parents of the little boy; but no money could console them for the loss of their beloved child. "the flesh of the bear is eaten both by indians and hunters; it is like coarse beef. the hams are cured a led, the woods disappear. the axe and the fire destroy the haunts that sheltered these wild beasts, and they retreat further back, where the deer and other creatures on which they principally feed abound." "nurse, that was a very sad story about the poor little boy," said lady mary. "i also heard of a little child," continued nurse, "not more than two years old, who was with her mother in the harvest field; who had spread a shawl on the ground near a tall tree, and laid the child upon it to sleep or play, when a bear came out of the wood and carried her off, leaping the fence with her in its arms; but the mother ran screaming after the beast, and the reapers pursued so closely with their pitchforks and reaping-hooks, that bruin, who was only a half-grown bear, being hard pressed, made for a tree; and as it was not easy to climb with a babe in his arms, he quietly laid the little one down at the foot of the tree, and soon was among the thick branches out of the reach of the enemy. i dare say baby must have wondered what rough nurse had taken her up; but she was unhurt, and is alive now." "i am so glad, nurse, the dear baby was not hugged to death by that horrid black bear; and i hope he was killed." "i dare say, my lady, he was shot by some of the men; for they seldom worked near the forest without having a gun with them, in case of seeing deer, or pigeons, or partridges." "i should not like to live in that country, mrs. frazer; for a bear, a wolf, or a catamount might eat me." "i never heard of a governor's daughter being eaten by a bear," said mrs. frazer, laughing, as she noticed the earnest expression on the face of her little charge. she then continued her account of the ursine family. "the bear retires in cold weather, and sleeps till warmer seasons awaken him; he does not lay up any store of winter provisions, because he seldom rouses himself during the time of his long sleep, and in the spring he finds food, both vegetable and animal, for he can eat anything when hungry, like the hog. he often robs the wild bees of their honey, and his hide being so very thick, seems insensible to the stings of the angry bees. bruin will sometimes find odd places for his winter bed, for a farmer, who was taking a stack of wheat into his barn to be threshed in the winter time, once found a large black bear comfortably asleep in the middle of the sheaves." "how could the bear have got into the stack of wheat, nurse?" "the claws of this animal are so strong, and he makes so much use of his paws, which are almost like hands, that he must have pulled the sheaves out, and so made an entrance for himself. his skin and flesh amply repaid the farmer for any injury the grain had received. i remember seeing the bear brought home in triumph on the top of the load of wheat. bears often do great mischief by eating the indian corn when it is ripening; for besides what they devour, they spoil a vast deal by trampling the plants down with their clumsy feet. they will, when hard pressed by hunger, come close to the farmer's house and rob the pig-sty of its tenants. many years ago, before the forest was cleared away in the neighbourhood of what is now a large town, but in those days consisted of only a few poor log-houses, a settler was much annoyed by the frequent visits of a bear to his hog-pen. at last he resolved to get a neighbour who was a very expert hunter to come with his rifle and watch with him. the pen where the fatling hogs were was close to the log-house; it had a long low shingled roof, and was carefully fastened up, so that no bear could find entrance. well, the farmer's son and the hunter had watched for two nights, and no bear came; on the third they were both tired, and lay down to sleep upon the floor of the kitchen, when the farmer's son was awakened by a sound as of some one tearing and stripping the shingles from the pen. he looked out; it was moonlight, and there he saw the dark shadow of some tall figure on the ground, and spied the great black bear standing on its hinder legs, and pulling the shingles off as fast as it could lay its big black paws upon them. the hogs were in a great fright, screaming and grunting with terror. the young man stepped back into the house, roused up the hunter, who took aim from the doorway, and shot the bear dead. the head of the huge beast was nailed up as a trophy, and the meat was dried or salted for winter use, and great were the rejoicings of the settlers who had suffered so much from bruin's thefts of corn and pork." "i am glad the hunter killed him, nurse, for he might have eaten up some of the little children, when they were playing about in the fields." "sometimes," continued mrs. frazer, "the bears used to visit the sugar-bush, when the settlers were making maple sugar, and overturn the sap-troughs, and drink the sweet liquid. i dare say they would have been glad of a taste of the sugar too, if they could have got at it. the bear is not so often met with now as it used to be many years ago. the fur of the bear used to be worn as muffs and tippets, but, is now little used for that purpose, being thought to be too coarse and heavy, but it is still made into caps for soldiers, and worn as sleigh-robes." this was all mrs. frazer chose to recollect about bears, for she was unwilling to dwell long on any gloomy subject, which she knew was not good for young minds, so she took her charge into the garden to look at the flowerbeds, and watch the birds and butterflies; and soon the child was gaily running from flower to flower, watching with childish interest the insects flitting to and fro. at last she stopped, and holding up her finger to warn mrs. frazer not to come too near, stood gazing in wonder and admiration on a fluttering object that was hovering over the full-blown honeysuckles on a trellis near the greenhouse. mrs. frazer approached her with due caution. "nurse," whispered the child, "look at that curious moth with a long bill like a bird; see its beautiful shining colours. it has a red necklace, like mamma's rubies. oh, what a curious creature! it must be a moth or a butterfly. what is it?" "it is neither a moth nor a butterfly, my dear. it is a humming-bird." "oh, nurse, a humming-bird--a real humming-bird--pretty creature! but it is gone. oh, nurse, it darts through the air as swift as an arrow. what was it doing? looking at the honeysuckles,--i dare say it thought them very pretty; or was it smelling them? they are very sweet." "my dear child, it might be doing so; i don't know. perhaps the good god has given to these creatures the same senses for enjoying sweet scents and bright colours, as we have; yet it was not for the perfume, but the honey, that this little bird came to visit the open flowers. the long slender bill which the humming-bird inserts into the tubes of the flowers, is his instrument for extracting the honey. look at the pretty creature's ruby throat, and green and gold feathers." "how does it make that whirring noise, nurse, just like the humming of a top?" asked the child. "the little bird produces the sound from which he derives his name, by beating the air with his wings. this rapid motion is necessary to sustain its position in the air while sucking the flowers. "i remember, lady mary, first seeing humming-birds when i was about your age, while walking in the garden. it was a bright september morning, and the rail-fences and every dry twig of the brushwood were filled with the webs of the field-spider. some, like thick white muslin, lay upon the grass; while others were suspended from trees like forest lace-work, on the threads of which the dewdrops hung like strings of shining pearls; and hovering round the flowers were several ruby-throated humming-birds, the whirring of whose wings as they beat the air sounded like the humming of a spinning-wheel; and i thought as i gazed upon them, and the beautiful lace webs that hung among the bushes, that they must have been the work of these curious creatures, who had made them to catch flies, and had strung the bright dewdrops thereon to entice them, so little did i know of the nature of these birds; but my father told me a great deal about them, and read me some very pretty things about humming-birds; and one day, lady mary, i will show you a stuffed one a friend gave me, with its tiny nest and eggs not bigger than peas." lady mary was much delighted at the idea of seeing the little nest and eggs, and mrs. frazer said, "there is a wild flower [footnote: _noli me tangere_, canadian balsam.] that is known to the canadians by the name of the humming-flower, on account of the fondness which those birds evince for it. this plant grows on the moist banks of creeks. it is very beautiful, of a bright orange-scarlet colour. the stalks and stem of the plant are almost transparent; some call it speckled jewels, for the bright blossoms are spotted with dark purple, and some, touch-me-not." "that is a droll name, nurse," said lady mary. "does it prick one's finger like a thistle?" "no, my lady; but when the seed-pods are nearly ripe, if you touch them, they spring open and curl into little rings, and the seed drops out." "nurse, when you see any of these curious flowers, will you show them to me?" mrs. frazer said they would soon be in bloom, and promised lady mary to bring her some, and to show her the singular manner in which the pods burst. "but, my lady," said she, "the gardener will show you the same thing in the greenhouse. as soon as the seed-pods of the balsams in the pots begin to harden they will spring and curl, if touched, and drop the seeds like the wild plant, for they belong to the same family. but it is time for your ladyship to go in." when lady mary returned to the schoolroom, her governess read to her some interesting accounts of the habits of the humming-bird. "'this lively little feathered gem--for in its hues it unites the brightness of the emerald, the richness of the ruby, and the lustre of the topaz--includes in its wide range more than one hundred species. it is the smallest, and at the same time the most brilliant, of all the american birds. its head-quarters may be said to be among the glowing flowers and luxurious fruits of the torrid zone and the tropics. but one species, the ruby-throated, is widely diffused, and is a summer visitor all over north america, even within the arctic circle, where, for a brief space of time, it revels in the ardent heat of the short-lived summer of the north. like the cuckoo, she follows the summer wherever she flies. "'the ruby-throated humming-bird [footnote: _trochilus rubus_.] is the only species that is known in canada. with us it builds and breeds, and then returns to summer skies and warmer airs. the length of the humming-bird is only three inches and a half, and four and a quarter in extent, from one tip of the wing to the other. when on the wing, the bird has the form of a cross, the wings forming no curve, though the tail is depressed during the time that it is poised in the act of sucking the honey of the flower. the tongue is long and slender; the bill long and straight; the legs are very short, so that the feet are hardly visible when on the wing. they are seldom seen walking, but rest on the slender sprigs when tired. the flight is so rapid that it seems without effort. the humming sound is produced by the wing, in the act of keeping itself balanced while feeding in this position. they resemble the hawk-moth, which also keeps up a constant vibratory motion with its wings. this little creature is of a temper as fierce and fiery as its plumes, often attacking birds of treble its size; but it seems very little disturbed by the near approach of the truman species, often entering open windows, and hovering around the flowers in the flower-stand; it has even been known to approach the vase on the table, and insert its bill among the flowers, quite fearless of those persons who sat in the room. sometimes these beautiful creatures have suffered themselves to be captured by the hand. "'the nest of the ruby-throated hummingbird is usually built on a mossy branch. at first sight, it looks like a tuft of grey lichens; but when closely examined, shows both care and skill in its construction, the outer wall being of fine bluish lichens cemented together, and the interior lined with the silken threads of the milk-weed, the velvety down of the tall mullein, or the brown hair-like filaments of the fern. these, or similar soft materials, form the bed of the tiny young ones. the eggs are white, two in number, and about the size of a pea, but oblong in shape. the parents hatch their eggs in about ten days, and in a week the little ones are able to fly, though the old birds continue to supply them with honey for some time longer. the mexican indians give the name of sunbeam to the humming-bird, either in reference to its bright plumage or its love of sunshine. "'the young of the humming-bird does not attain its gay plumage till the second year. the male displays the finest colours--the ruby necklace being confined to the old male bird. the green and coppery lustre of the feathers is also finer in the male bird.'" lady mary was much pleased with what she had heard about the humming-bird, and she liked the name of sunbeam for this lovely creature. chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tint-like appearance--lady mary frightened. one evening, just as mrs. frazer was preparing to undress lady mary, miss campbell, her governess, came into the nursery, and taking the little girl by the hand, led her to an open balcony, and bade her look out on the sky towards the north, where a low dark arch, surmounted by an irregular border, like a silver fringe, was visible. for some moments lady mary stood silently regarding this singular appearance; at length she said, "it is a rainbow, miss campbell; but where is the sun that you told me shone into the drops of rain to make the pretty colours?" "it is not a rainbow, my dear; the sun has been long set." "can the moon make rainbows at night?" asked the little girl. make what is called a _lunar_ rainbow. luna was the ancient "the moon does sometimes, but very rarely, name for the moon; but the arch you now see is caused neither by the light of the sun nor of the moon, but is known by the name of aurora borealis, or northern lights. the word aurora means morning, or dawn; and borealis, northern. you know, my dear, what is meant by the word dawn; it is the light that is seen in the sky before the sun rises." lady mary replied, "yes, miss campbell, i have often seen the sun rise, and once very early too, when i was ill, and could not sleep; for nurse lifted me in her arms out of bed, and took me to the window. the sky was all over of a bright golden colour, with streaks of rosy red; and nurse said, 'it is dawn; the sun will soon be up.' and i saw the beautiful sun rise from behind the trees and hills. he came up so gloriously, larger than when we see him in the middle of the sky, and i could look at him without hurting my eyes." "sunrise is indeed a glorious sight, my dear; but he who made the sun is more glorious still. do you remember what we read yesterday in the psalms?-- "verse . the heavens declare the glory of god: and the firmament sheweth his handywork. . one day telleth another, and one night certifieth another. . there is neither speech nor language where their voice is not heard. . in them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which cometh forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course." "the northern lights, lady mary, are frequently visible in canada, but are most brilliant in the colder regions near the north pole, where they serve to give light during the dark season, to those dismal countries from which the sun is so many months absent. the light of the aurora borealis is so soft and beautiful, that any object can be distinctly seen; though in those cold countries there are few human beings to be benefited by this beautiful provision of nature." "the wild beasts and birds must be glad of the pretty lights," said the child thoughtfully; for lady mary's young heart always rejoiced when she thought that god's gifts could be shared by the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air, as well as by mankind. "look now, my dear," said miss campbell, directing the attention of her pupil to the horizon; "what a change has taken place whilst we have been speaking. see, the arch is sending up long shafts of light; now they divide, and shift from side to side, gliding along among the darker portions of vapour, like moving pillars." "ah! there, there they go!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands her hands with delight. "see, nurse, how the pretty lights' chase each other, and dance about! up they go! higher and higher! how pretty they look! but now they are gone. they are fading away; i am so sorry," said the child despondingly, for a sudden cessation had taken place in the motions of the heavens. "we will go in for a little time, my dear," said her governess; "and then look out again. great changes take place sometimes in these aerial phenomena in a few minutes." "i suppose," said lady mary, "these lights are the same that the peasants of northern england and ireland call the merry dancers." "yes, they are the same; and they fancy that they are seen when war and troubles are about to break out. but this idea is a very ignorant one; for were, that the case, some of the cold countries of the world, where the sky is illumined night after night by the aurora borealis, would be one continual scene of misery. i have seen in this country a succession of these lights for four or five successive nights. this phenomenon owes its origin to _electricity_, which is a very wonderful agent in nature, and exists in various bodies, perhaps in all created things. it is this that shoots across the sky in the form of lightning, and causes the thunder to be heard; circulates in the air we breathe; occasions whirlwinds, waterspouts, earthquakes, and volcanoes; and makes one substance attract another. "look at this piece of amber; if i rub it on the table, it will become warm to the touch. now i will take a bit of thread, and hold near it. see, the thread moves towards the amber, and clings to it. sealing-wax, and many other substances, when heated, have this property. some bodies give out flashes and sparks by being rubbed. if you stroke a black cat briskly in the dark, you will see faint flashes of light come from her fur; and on very cold nights in the winter season, flannels that are worn next the skin crackle, and give sparks when taken off and shaken." these things astonished lady mary. she tried the experiment with the amber and thread, and was much amused by seeing the thread attracted, and wanted to see the sparks from the cat's back, only there happened, unfortunately, to be no black cat or kitten in government house. mrs. frazer, however, promised to procure a beautiful black kitten for her, that she might enjoy the singular sight of the electric sparks from its coat; and lady mary wished winter were come, that she might see the sparks from her flannel petticoat, and hear the sounds. "let us now go and look out again at the sky," said miss campbell; and lady mary skipped joyfully through the french window to the balcony, but ran back, and flinging her arms about her nurse, cried out in accents of alarm, "nurse, nurse, the sky is all closing together! oh, miss campbell, what shall we do?" "there is no cause for fear, my dear child; do not be frightened. there is nothing to harm us." indeed, during the short time they had been absent, a great and remarkable change had taken place in the appearance of the sky. the electric fluid had diffused itself over the face of the whole heavens; the pale colour of the streamers had changed to bright rose, pale violet, and greenish yellow. at the zenith, or that part more immediately over head, a vast ring of deep indigo was presented to the eye; from this swept down, as it were, a flowing curtain of rosy light, which wavered and moved incessantly as if agitated by a gentle breeze, though a perfect stillness reigned through the air. the child's young heart was awed by this sublime spectacle; it seemed to her as if it were indeed the throne of the great creator of the world that she was gazing upon; and she veiled her face in her nurse's arms, and trembled exceedingly, even as the children of israel when the fire of mount sinai was revealed, and they feared to behold the glory of the most high god. after a while, lady mary, encouraged by the cheerful voices of her governess and nurse, ventured to look up to watch the silver stars shining dimly as from beneath a veil, and she whispered to herself the words that her governess had before repeated to her, "the heavens declare the glory of god, and the firmament sheweth his handywork." after a little while, mrs. frazer thought it better to put lady mary to bed, as she had been up much longer than usual, and miss campbell was afraid lest the excitement should make her ill; but the child did not soon fall asleep, for her thoughts were full of the strange and glorious things she had seen that night. [footnote: singularly splendid exhibitions of aurora borealis were visible in the month, of august, ; in august, ; and again on the st february, . the colours were rosy red, varied with other prismatic colours. but the most singular feature was the ring-like circle from which the broad streams of light seemed to flow down in a curtain that appeared to reach from heaven to earth. in looking upwards, the sky had the appearance of a tent narrowed to a small circle at the top, which seemed to be the centre of illimitable space. though we listened with great attention, none of the crackling sounds that some northern travellers have declared to accompany the aurora borealis could be heard; neither did any one experience any of the disagreeable bodily sensations that are often felt during thunder-storms. the atmosphere was unusually calm, and in two of the three instances warm and agreeable.] chapter xi. strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries-cranberry marshes--nuts. one day lady mary's nurse brought her a small indian basket, filled with ripe red strawberries. "nurse, where did you get these nice strawberries?" said the little girl, peeping beneath the fresh leaves with which they were covered. "i bought them from a little indian squaw, in the street; she had brought them from a wooded meadow, some miles off, my lady. they are very fine; see, they are as large as those that the gardener sent in yesterday from the forcing-house, and these wild ones have grown without any pains having been bestowed upon them." "i did not think, nurse, that wild strawberries could have been so fine as these; may i taste them?" mrs. frazer said she might. "these are not so large, so red, or so sweet as some that i have gathered when i lived at home with my father," said the nurse. "i have seen acres and acres of strawberries, as large as the early scarlet that are sold so high in the market, on the rice lake plains. when the farmers have ploughed a fallow on the rice lake plains, the following summer it will be covered with a crop of the finest strawberries. i have gathered pailsful day after day; these, however, have been partly cultivated by the plough breaking up the sod; but they seem as if sown by the hand of nature. these fruits, and many sorts of flowers, appear on the new soil that were never seen there before. after a fallow has been chopped, logged, and burnt, if it be left for a few years, trees, shrubs and plants will cover it, unlike those that grew there before." "that is curious," said the child. "does god sow the seeds in the new ground?" "my lady, no doubt they come from him; for he openeth his hand, and filleth all things living with plenteousness. my father, who thought a great deal on these subjects, said that the seeds of many plants may fall upon the earth, and yet none of them take root till the soil be favourable for their growth. it may be that these seeds had lain for years, preserved in the earth, till the forest was cleared away, and the sun, air, and rain caused them to spring up. or the earth may still bring forth the herb of the field, after its kind, as in the day of the creation; but whether it be so or not, we must bless the lord for his goodness and for the blessings that he giveth us at all times." "are there many sorts of wild fruits fit to eat, nurse, in this country? please, will you tell me all that you know about them?" "there are so many, lady mary, that i am afraid i shall weary you before i have told you half of them." "nurse, i shall not be tired, for i like to hear about fruits and flowers very much; and my dear mamma likes you to tell me all you know about the plants, trees, birds and beasts of canada." "besides many sorts of strawberries, there are wild currants, both black and red, and many kinds of wild gooseberries," said mrs. frazer: "some grow on wastes by the roadside, in dry soil, others in swamps; but most gooseberries are covered with thorns, which grow not only on the wood, but on the berries themselves." "i would not eat those disagreeable, thorny gooseberries; they would prick my tongue," said the little girl. "they cannot be eaten without first being scalded. the settlers' wives contrive to make good pies and preserves with them by first scalding the fruit and then rubbing it between coarse linen cloths; i have heard these tarts called thornberry pies, which, i think, was a good name for them. when emigrants first come to canada, and clear the backwoods, they have little time to make nice fruit-gardens for themselves, and they are glad to gather the wild berries that grow in the woods and swamps to make tarts and preserves, so that they do not even despise the thorny gooseberries or the wild black currants. some swamp-gooseberries, however, are quite smooth, of a dark red colour, but small, and they are very nice when ripe. the blossoms of the wild currants are very beautiful, of a pale yellowish green, and hang down in long, graceful branches; the fruit is harsh, but makes wholesome preserves: but there are thorny currants as well as thorny gooseberries; these have long, weak, trailing branches; the berries are small, covered with stiff bristles, and of a pale red colour. they are not wholesome; i have seen people made very ill by eating them; i have heard even of their dying in consequence of having done so." "i am sure, nurse, i will not eat those wild currants," said lady mary; "i am glad you have told me about their being poisonous." "this sort is not often met with, my dear; and these berries, though they are not good for man, doubtless give nourishment to some of the wild creatures that seek their food from god, and we have enough dainties, and to spare, without them. "the red raspberry is one of the most common and the most useful to us of the wild fruits. it grows in abundance all over the country, by the roadside, in the half-opened woods, on upturned roots, or in old neglected clearings; there is no place so wild but it will grow, wherever its roots can find a crevice. with maple sugar, the farmers' wives never need lack a tart, nor a dish of fruit and cream. the poor irish emigrants' children go out and gather pailsful, which they carry to the towns and villages to sell. the birds, too, live upon the fruit, and, flying away with it to distant places, help to sow the seed. a great many small animals eat the ripe raspberry, for even the racoon and great black bear come in for their share." "the black bears! oh, nurse, oh, mrs. frazer!" exclaimed lady mary, in great astonishment. "what! do bears eat raspberries?" "yes, indeed, my lady, they do. bears are fond of all ripe fruits. the bear resembles the hog in all its tastes very closely; both in their wild state will eat flesh, grain, fruit, and roots. there is a small red berry in the woods that is known by the name of the bear-berry, [transcriber's note: lengthy footnote moved to end of chapter.] of which they say the young bears are particularly fond." "i should be afraid of going to gather raspberries, nurse, for fear of the bears coming to eat them too." "the hunters know that the bears are partial to this fruit, and often seek them in large thickets, where they grow. a young gentleman, lady mary, once went out shooting game, in the province of new brunswick, in the month of july, when the weather was warm, and there were plenty of wild berries ripe. he had been out for many hours, and at last found himself on the banks of a creek. but the bridge he had been use to cross was gone, having been swept away by heavy rains in the spring. passing on a little higher up, he saw an old clearing full of bushes; and knowing that wild animals were often to be met in such spots, he determined to cross over and try his luck for a bear, a racoon, or a young fawn. not far from the spot, he saw a large fallen swamp elm-tree, which made a capital bridge. just as he was preparing to cross, he heard the sound of footsteps on the dry crackling sticks, and saw a movement among the raspberry bushes; his finger was on the lock of his rifle in an instant, for he thought it must be a bear or a deer; but just as he was about to fire, he saw a small, thin, brown hand, all red and stained from the juice of the ripe berries, reaching down a branch of the fruit; his very heart leaped within him with fright, for in another moment he would have shot the poor little child that, with wan, wasted face, was looking at him from between the raspberry bushes. it was a little girl, about as old as you are, lady mary. she was without hat or shoes, and her clothes were all in tatters; her hands and neck were quite brown and sun-burnt. she seemed frightened at first, and would have hid herself, had not the stranger called out gently to her to stay, and not to be afraid; and then he hurried over the log bridge, and asked her who she was, and where she lived. and she said 'she did not live anywhere, for she was lost.' she could not tell how many days, but she thought she had been seven nights out in the woods. she had been sent to take some dinner to her father, who was at work in the forest; but had missed the path, and gone on a cattle track, and did not find her mistake until it was too late; when she became frightened, and tried to get back, but only lost herself deeper in the woods. the first night she wrapped her frock about her head, and lay down beneath the shelter of a great upturned root. she had eaten but little of the food she had in the basket that day, for it lasted her nearly two; after it was gone, she chewed some leaves, till she came to the raspberry clearing, and got berries of several kinds, and plenty of water to drink from the creek. one night, she said, she was awakened by a heavy tramping near her, and looking up in the moonlight, saw two great black beasts, which she thought were her father's oxen, and so she sat up and called, 'buck,' 'bright,'-- for these were their names,--but they had no bells, and looked like two great shaggy black dogs; they stood on their hind legs upright, and looked at her, but went away. these animals were bears, but the child did not know that, and she said she felt no fear--for she said her prayers every night before she lay down to sleep, and she knew that god would take care of her, both sleeping and waking." [footnote: the facts of this story i met with, many years ago, in a provincial paper. they afterwards appeared in a canadian sketch, in chambers' journal, contributed by me in .] "and did the hunter take her home?" asked lady mary, who was much interested in the story. "yes, my dear, he did. finding that the poor little girl was very weak, the young man took her on his back,--fortunately he happened to have a little wine in a flask, and a bit of dry biscuit in his knapsack, and this greatly revived the little creature; sometimes she ran by his side, while holding by his coat, talking to her new friend, seemingly quite happy and cheerful, bidding him not to be afraid even if they had to pass another night in the wood; but just as the sun was setting, they came out of the dark forest into an open clearing. "it was not the child's home, but a farm belonging to a miller who knew her father, and had been in search of her for several days; and he and his wife were very glad when they saw the lost child, and gladly showed her preserver the way; and they rejoiced much when the poor little girl was restored safe and well to her sorrowing parents." "nurse," said lady mary, "i am so glad the good hunter found the little girl. i must tell my own dear mamma that nice story. how sorry my mamma and papa would be to lose me in the woods." the nurse smiled, and said, "my dear lady, there is no fear of such an accident happening to you. you are not exposed to the same trials and dangers as the children of poor emigrants; therefore, you must be very grateful to god, and do all you can to serve and please him; and when you are able, be kind and good to those who are not as well off as you are." "are there any other wild fruits, nurse, besides raspberries and strawberries, and currants and gooseberries?" "yes, my dear lady, a great many more. we will begin with wild plums: these we often preserve; and when the trees are planted in gardens, and taken care of, the fruit is very good to eat. the wild cherries are not very nice; but the bark of the black cherry is good for agues and low fevers. the choke-cherry is very beautiful to look at, but hurts the throat, closing it up if many are eaten, and making it quite sore. the huckleberry is a sweet, dark blue berry, that grows on a very delicate low shrub, the blossoms are very pretty, pale pink or greenish white bells, the fruit is very wholesome; it grows on light dry ground, on those parts of the country that are called plains in canada. the settlers' children go out in parties, and gather great quantities, either to eat or dry for winter use. these berries are a great blessing to every one, besides forming abundant food for the broods of young quails and partridges; squirrels, too, of every kind eat them. there are blackberries also, lady mary; and some people call them thimbleberries." "nurse, i have heard mamma talk about blackberries." "the canadian blackberries are not so sweet, i am told, my lady, as those at home, though they are very rich and nice tasted; neither do they grow so high. then there are high bush cranberries, and low bush cranberries. the first grow on a tall bush, and the fruit has a fine appearance, hanging in large bunches of light scarlet, among the dark green leaves; but they are very, very sour, and take a great deal of sugar to sweeten them. the low bush cranberries grow on a slender trailing plant; the blossom is very pretty, and the fruit about the size of a common gooseberry, of a dark purplish red, very smooth and shining; the seeds are minute, and lie in the white pulp within the skin; this berry is not nice till it is cooked with sugar. there is a large cranberry marsh somewhere at the back of kingston, where vast quantities grow. i heard a young gentleman say that he passed over this tract when he was hunting, while the snow was on the ground, and that the red juice of the dropped berries dyed the snow crimson beneath his feet. the indians go every year to a small lake called buckhorn lake, many miles up the river otonabee, in the upper province, to gather cranberries, which they sell to the settlers in the towns and villages, or trade away for pork, flour, and clothes. the cranberries, when spread out on a dry floor, will keep fresh and good for a long time. great quantities of cranberries are brought to england from russia, norway, and lapland, in barrels, or large earthern jars, filled with brine; but the fruit thus roughly preserved must be drained, and washed many times, and stirred with sugar, before it can be put into tarts, or it would be salt and bitter. i will boil some cranberries with sugar, that you may taste them; for they are very wholesome." lady mary said she should like to have some in her own garden. "the cranberry requires a particular kind of soil, not usually found in gardens, my dear lady; for as the cranberry marshes are often covered with water in the spring, i suppose they need a damp, cool soil, near lakes or rivers; perhaps sand, too, may be good for them. but we can plant some berries, and water them well; in a light soil they may grow, and bear fruit, but i am not sure that they will do so. besides these fruits, there are many others, that are little used by men, but are of great service as food to the birds and small animals. there are many kinds of nuts, too-- filberts, with rough prickly husks, walnuts, butternuts, and hickory-nuts; these last are large trees, the nuts of which are very nice to eat, and the wood very fine for cabinet-work, and for firewood; the bark is used for dyeing. now, my dear, i think you must be quite tired with hearing so much about canadian fruits." lady mary said she was glad to learn that there were so many good things in canada, for she heard a lady say to her mamma, that it was an ugly country, with nothing good or pretty in it. "there is something good and pretty to be found everywhere, my dear child, if people will but open their eyes to see it, and their hearts to enjoy the good things that god has so mercifully spread abroad for us and all his creatures to enjoy. but canada is really a fine country, and is fast becoming a great one." [relocated footnote: arbutus ursursi--"kinnikinnick," indian name. there is a story about a bear and an indian hunter, which will show how bears eat berries. it is from the journal of peter jacobs, the indian missionary:-- "at sunrise, next morning," he says, "we tried to land, but the water was so full of shoals, we could not without wading a great distance. "the beach before us was of bright sand, and the sun was about, [footnote: we find some curious expressions in this journal, for peter jacobs is an indian, writing not his own, but a foreign language.] when i saw an object moving on the shore; it appeared to be a man, and seemed to be making signals of distress. we were all weary and hungry, but thinking it was a fellow-creature in distress, we pulled towards him. judge of our surprise when the stranger proved to be an enormous bear. "he was seated on his hams, and what we thought his signals were his raising himself on his hind legs to pull down the berries from a high bush, and, with his paws full sitting down again to eat them at his leisure. "thus he continued daintily enjoying his ripe fruit in the posture some lapdogs are taught to assume while eating. on we pulled, and forgot our hunger and weariness; the bear still continued breakfasting. "we got as close on shore as the shoals would permit, and john, (one of the indians,) taking my double-barrelled gun, leaped into the water, gun in hand, and gained the beach. some dead brushwood hid the bear from john's sight, but from the canoe we could see both john and the bear. "the bear now discovered us, and advanced towards us; and john, not seeing him for the bush, ran along the beach towards him. the weariness from pulling all night, and having eaten no food, made me lose my presence of mind, for i now remembered that the gun was only loaded with duck-shot, and you might as well meet a bear with a gun loaded with peas. "john was in danger, and we strained at our paddles to get to his assistance; but as the bear was a very large one, and as we had no other firearms, we should have been but poor helps to john in the hug of a wounded bear. the bear was at the other side of the brush-heap: john heard the dry branches cracking, and he dodged into a hollow under a bush. the bear passed, and was coursing along the sand, but as he passed by where john lay, bang went the gun.--the bear was struck. "we saw him leap through the smoke to the very spot where we had last seen john. we held our breath; but instead of the cry of agony we expected to hear from john, bang went the gun again--john is not yet caught. our canoe rushed through the water.--we might yet be in time; but my paddle fell from my hand with joy as i saw john pop his head above the bush, and with a shout point to the side of the log on which he stood, 'there he lies, dead enough.' we were thankful indeed to our great preserver."--_peter jacob's journal._ though fruit and vegetables seem to be the natural food of the bear, they also devour flesh, and even fish,--a fact of which the good indian missionary assures us; and that being new to my young readers, i shall give them in his own words:-- "a few evenings after we left the 'rock,' while the men were before me 'tracking,' (towing the canoe,) by pulling her along by a rope from the shore, i observed behind a rock in the river, what i took to be a black fox. i stole upon it as quietly as possible, hoping to get a shot, but the animal saw me, and waded to the shore. it turned out to be a young bear fishing. the bear is a great fisherman. his mode of fishing is very curious. he wades into a current, and seating himself upright on his hams, lets the water come about up to his shoulders; he patiently waits until the little fishes come along and rub themselves against his sides, he seizes them instantly, gives them a nip, and with his left paw tosses them over his shoulder to the shore. his left paw is always the one used for tossing ashore the produce of his fishing. feeling is the sense of which bruin makes use here, not sight. "the indians of that part say that the bear catches sturgeon when spawning in the shoal-water; but the only fish that i know of their catching, is the sucker: of these, in the months of april and may, the bear makes his daily breakfast and supper, devouring about thirty or forty at a meal. as soon as he has caught a sufficient number, he wades ashore, and regales himself on the best morsels, which are the thick of the neck, behind the gills. the indians often shoot him when thus engaged."--peter jacob's journal, p. _] chapter xii. garter-snakes--rattlesnakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land-tortoise. "nurse, i have been so terrified. i was walking in the meadow, and a great snake--so big, i am sure"--and lady mary held out her arms as wide as she could--"came out of a tuft of grass. his tongue was like a scarlet thread, and had two sharp points; and, do you know, he raised his wicked head, and hissed at me; i was so frightened that i ran away. i think, mrs. frazer, it must have been a rattlesnake. only feel now how my heart beats" --and the little girl took her nurse's hand, and laid it on her heart. "what colour was the snake, my dear?" asked her nurse. "it was green and black, chequered all over; and it was very large, and opened its mouth very wide, and showed its red tongue. it would have killed me if it had bitten me, would it not, nurse?" "it would not have harmed you, my lady or even if it had bitten you, it would not have killed you. the chequered green snake of canada is not poisonous. it was more afraid of you than you were of it, i make no doubt." "do you think it was a rattlesnake, nurse?" "no, my dear; there are no snakes of that kind in lower canada, and very few below toronto. the winters are too cold for them, but there are plenty in the western part of the province, where the summers are warmer, and the winters milder. the rattlesnake is a dangerous reptile, and its bite causes death, unless the wound be burnt or cut out. the indians apply different sorts of herbs to the wound. they have several plants, known by the names of rattlesnake root, rattlesnake weed, and snake root. it is a good thing that the rattlesnake gives warning of its approach before it strikes the traveller with its deadly fangs. some people think that the rattle is a sign of fear, and that it would not wound people, if it were not afraid they were coming near to hurt it. i will tell you a story, lady mary, about a brave little boy. he went out nutting one day with another boy about his own age; and while they were in the grove gathering nuts, a large black snake, that was in a low tree, dropped down and suddenly coiled itself round the throat of his companion. the child's screams were dreadful; his eyes were starting from his head with pain and terror. the other, regardless of the danger, opened a clasp-knife that he had in his pocket, and seizing the snake near the head, cut it apart, and so saved his friend's life, who was well-nigh strangled by the tight folds of the reptile, which was one of a very venomous species, the bite of which generally proves fatal." "what a brave little fellow!" said lady mary. "you do not think it was cruel, nurse, to kill the snake?" she added, looking up in mrs. frazer's face. "no, lady mary, for he did it to save a fellow-creature from a painful death; and we are taught by god's word that the soul of man is precious in the sight of his creator. we should be cruel were we wantonly to inflict pain upon the least of god's creatures; but to kill them in self-defence, or for necessary food, is not cruel; for when god made adam, he gave him dominion, or power, over the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air, and every creeping thing. it was an act of great courage and humanity in the little boy, who perilled his own life to save that of his helpless comrade, especially as he was not naturally a child of much courage, and was very much afraid of snakes; but love for his friend overcame all thought of his own personal danger. [footnote: a fact related to me by an old gentleman from the state of vermont, as an instance of impulsive feeling overcoming natural timidity.] "the large garter-snake, that which you saw, my dear lady, is comparatively harmless. it lives on toads and frogs, and robs the nests of young birds, and the eggs also. its long forked tongue enables it to catch insects of different kinds; it will even eat fish, and for that purpose frequents the water as well as the black snake. "i heard a gentleman once relate a circumstance to my father that surprised me a good deal. he was fishing one day in a river near his own house, but, being tired, seated himself on a log or fallen tree, where his basket of fish also stood; when a large garter-snake came up the log, and took a small fish out of his basket, which it speedily swallowed. the gentleman, seeing the snake so bold as not to mind his presence, took a small rock-bass by the tail, and half in joke held it towards him, when, to his great surprise, the snake glided towards him, took the fish out of his hand, and sliding away with its prize to a hole beneath the log, began by slow degrees to swallow it, stretching its mouth and the skin of its neck to a great extent; till, after a long while, it was fairly gorged, and then slid down its hole, leaving its neck and head only to be seen." "i should have been so frightened, nurse, if i had been the gentleman, when the snake came to take the fish," said lady mary. "the gentleman was well aware of the nature of the reptile, and knew that it would not bite him. i have read of snakes of the most poisonous kinds being tamed and taught all manner of tricks. there are in india and egypt people that are called snake-charmers, who will contrive to extract the fangs containing the venom from the cobra capella, or hooded snake; which then become quite harmless. these snakes are very fond of music, and will come out of the leather bag or basket that their master carries them in, and will dance or run up his arms, twining about his neck, and even entering his mouth. they do not tell people that the poison-teeth have been extracted, so that it is thought to be the music that keeps the snake from biting. the snake has a power of charming birds and small animals by fixing its eye steadily upon them, when the little creatures become paralysed with fear, either standing quite still, or coming nearer and nearer to their cruel enemy, till they are within his reach. the cat has the same power, and can by this art draw birds from the tops of trees within her reach. these little creatures seem unable to resist the temptation of approaching her, and, even when driven away, will return from a distance to the same spot, seeking, instead of shunning, the danger which is certain to prove fatal to them in the end. some writers assert that all wild animals have this power in the eye, especially those of the cat tribe, as the lion and tiger, leopard and panther. before they spring upon their prey, the eye is always steadily fixed, the back lowered, the neck stretched out, and the tail waved from side to side; if the eye is averted, they lose the animal, and do not make the spring." "are there any other kinds of snakes in canada, nurse," asked lady mary, "besides the garter-snake?" "yes, my lady, several; the black snake, which is the most deadly next to the rattlesnake, is sometimes called the puff-adder, as it inflates the skin of the head and neck when angry. the copper-bellied snake is also poisonous. there is a small snake of a deep grass green colour sometimes seen in the fields and open copse-woods. i do not think it is dangerous; i never heard of its biting any one. the stare-worm is also harmless. i am not sure whether the black snakes that live in the water are the same as the puff or black adder. it is a great blessing, my dear, that these deadly snakes are so rare, and do so little harm to man. indeed, i believe they would never harm him, were they let alone; but if trodden upon, they cannot tell that it was by accident, and so put forth the weapons that god has armed them with in self-defence. the indians in the north-west, i have been told, eat snakes, after cutting off their heads. the cat also eats snakes, leaving the head; she will also catch and eat frogs, a thing i have witnessed myself, and know to be true. [footnote: i saw a half grown kitten eat a live green frog, which she first caught and brought into the parlour, playing with it like a mouse.] one day a snake fixed itself on a little girl's arm and wound itself around it; the mother of the child was too much terrified to tear the deadly creature off, but filled the air with cries. just then a cat came out of the house, and quick as lightning sprang upon the snake, and fastened on its neck, which caused the reptile to uncoil its folds, and it fell to the earth in the grasp of the cat; thus the child's life was saved, and the snake killed. thus you see, my dear, that god provided a preserver for this little one when no help was nigh; perhaps the child cried to him for aid, and he heard her and saved her by means of the cat." lady mary was much interested in all that mrs. frazer had told her; she remembered having heard some one say that the snake would swallow her own young ones, and she asked her nurse if it was true, and if they laid eggs. "the snake will swallow her young ones," said mrs. frazer. "i have seen the garter-snake open her mouth and let the little ones run into it when danger was nigh; the snake also lays eggs: i have seen and handled them often; they are not covered with a hard, brittle shell, like that of a hen, but with a sort of whitish skin, like leather; they are about the size of a blackbird's egg, long in shape, some are rounder and larger. they are laid in some warm place, where the heat of the sun and earth hatches them; but though the mother does not brood over them, as a hen does over her eggs, she seems to take great care of them, and defends them from their many enemies by hiding them out of sight in the singular manner i have just told you. this love of offspring, my dear child, has been wisely given to all mothers, from the human mother down to the very lowest of the insect tribe. the fiercest beast of prey loves its young, and provides food and shelter for them; forgetting its savage nature to play with and caress them. even the spider, which is a disagreeable insect, fierce and unloving to its fellows, displays the tenderest care for its brood, providing a safe retreat for them in the fine silken cradle she spins to envelope the eggs, which she leaves in some warm spot, where she secures them from danger; some glue a leaf down, and overlap it, to ensure it from being agitated by the winds, or discovered by birds. there is a curious spider, commonly known as the nursing spider, who carries her sack of eggs with her, wherever she goes; and when the young ones come out, they cluster on her back, and so travel with her; when a little older, they attach themselves to the old one by threads, and run after her in a train." lady mary laughed, and said she should like to see the funny little spiders all tied to their mother, trotting along behind her. "if you go into the meadow, my dear," said mrs. frazer, "you will see on the larger stones some pretty shining little cases, quite round, looking like grey satin." "nurse, i know what they are," said lady mary; "last year i was playing in the green meadow, and i found a piece of granite with several of these satin cases. i called them silk pies, for they looked like tiny mince-pies. i tried to pick one off, but it stuck so hard that i could not; so i asked the gardener to lend me his knife, and when i raised the crust, it had a little rim under the top, and i slipped the knife in, and what do you think i saw? the pie was full of tiny black shining spiders, and they ran out, such a number of them,--more than i could count, they ran so fast. i was sorry i opened the crust, for it was a cold, cold day, and the little spiders must have been frozen out of their warm air-tight house." "they are able to bear a great deal of cold, lady mary--all insects can; and even when frozen hard, so that they will break if any one tries to bend them, yet when spring comes again to warm them, they revive, and are as full of life as ever. caterpillars thus frozen will become butterflies in due time. spiders, and many other creatures, lie torpid during the winter, and then revive in the same way as dormice, bears, and marmots do." "nurse, please will you tell me something about tortoises and porcupines?" said lady mary. "i cannot tell you a great deal about the tortoise, my dear," replied her nurse. "i have seen them sometimes on the shores of the lakes, and once or twice i have met with the small land-tortoise, in the woods on the banks of the otonabee river. the shell that covers these reptiles is black and yellow, divided into squares--those which i saw were about the size of my two hands. they are very harmless creatures, living chiefly on roots and bitter herbs: perhaps they eat insects as well. they lie buried in the sand during the long winters, in a torpid state: they lay a number of eggs, about the size of a blackbird's, the shell of which is tough and soft, like a snake's egg. the old tortoise buries these in the loose sand near the water's edge, and leaves them to be hatched by the heat of the sun. the little tortoise, when it comes out of the shell, is about as big as a large spider--it is a funny-looking thing. i have heard some of the indians say that they dive into the water, and swim, as soon as they are hatched; but this i am not sure of. i saw one about the size of a crown-piece that was caught in a hole in the sand; it was very lively, and ran along the table, making a rattling noise with its hard shell as it moved. an old one that one of my brothers brought in he put under a large heavy box, meaning to feed and keep it; but in the morning it was gone: it had lifted the edge of the box and was away, nor could he find out how it had contrived to make its escape from the room. this is all that i know about the canadian land-tortoise." chapter xiii. ellen and her pet fawns--docility of fan--jack's droll tricks-- affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end. one day lady mary came to seek her nurse in great haste, to describe to her a fine deer that had been sent as a present to her father by one of his canadian friends. she said the great antlers were to be put up over the library-door. "papa called me down to see the poor dead deer, nurse, and i was very sorry it had been killed; it was such a fine creature. major pickford laughed when i said so, but he promised to get me a live fawn. nurse, what is a fawn?" "it is a young deer, my lady." "nurse, please can you tell me anything about fawns? are they pretty creatures, and can they be tamed; or are they fierce, wild little things?" "they are very gentle animals; and if taken young, can be brought up by sucking the finger like a young calf or a pet lamb. they are playful and lively, and will follow the person who feeds them like a dog. they are very pretty, of a pale dun or red colour, with small white spots on the back like large hailstones; the eyes are large and soft, and black, with a very meek expression in them; the hoofs are black and sharp: they are clean and delicate in their habits, and easy and graceful in their movements." "did you ever see a tame fawn?" asked lady mary. "i have seen several, my dear. i will tell you about a fawn that belonged to a little girl whom i knew many years ago. a hunter had shot a poor doe, which was very wrong, and contrary to the indian hunting law; for the native hunter will not, unless pressed for hunger, kill the deer in the spring of the year, when the fawns are young. the indian wanted to find the little one after he had shot the dam, so he sounded a decoy whistle, to imitate the call of the doe, and the harmless thing answered it with a bleat, thinking no doubt it was its mother calling to it. this betrayed its hiding-place, and it was taken unhurt by the hunter, who took it home, and gave it to my little friend ellen to feed and take care of." "please, mrs. frazer, will you tell me what sort of trees hemlocks are? hemlocks in england are poisonous weeds." "these are not weeds, but large forest trees--a species of pine. i will show you some the next time we go out for a drive--they are very handsome trees." "and what are creeks, nurse." "creeks are small streams, such as in scotland would be termed 'burns,' and in england rivulets." "now, nurse, you may go on about the dear little fawn; i want you to tell me all you know about it." "little ellen took the poor timid thing, and laid it in an old indian basket near the hearth, and put some wool in it, and covered it with an old cloak to keep it warm; and she tended it very carefully, letting it suck her fingers dipped in warm milk, as she had seen the dairy-maid do in weaning young calves. in a few days it began to grow strong and lively, and would jump out of its basket, and run bleating after its foster-mother: if it missed her from the room, it would wait at the door watching for her return. "when it was older, it used to run on the grass plot in the garden; but if it heard its little mistress's step or voice in the parlour, it would bound through the open window to her side; and her call of 'fan, fan, fan!' would bring it home from the fields near the edge of the forest; but poor fan got killed by a careless boy throwing some fire-wood down upon it, as it lay asleep in the wood-shed. ellen's grief was very great, but all she could do was to bury it in the garden near the river-side, and plant lilac bushes round its little green-sodded grave." "i am so sorry, nurse, that this good little girl lost her pretty pet." "some time after the death of 'fan,' ellen had another fawn given to her. she called this one jack,--it was older, larger, and stronger, but was more mischievous and frolicsome than her first pet. it would lie in front of the fire on the hearth, like a dog, and rub its soft velvet nose against the hand that patted it very affectionately, but gave a good deal of trouble in the house: it would eat the carrots, potatoes, and cabbages, while the cook was preparing them for dinner; and when the housemaid had laid the cloth for dinner, jack would go round the table and eat up the bread she had laid to each plate, to the great delight of the children, who thought it good fun to see him do so. "ellen put a red leather collar about jack's neck, and some months after this he swam across the rapid river, and went off to the wild woods, and was shot by some hunters, a great many miles away from his old home, being known by his fine red collar. after the sad end of her two favourites, ellen would have no more fawns brought in for her to tame." lady mary was much interested in the account of the little girl and her pets. "is this all you know about fawns, nurse?" "i once went to call on a clergyman's wife who lived in a small log-house near a new village. the youngest child, a fat baby of two years old, was lying on the rug before a large log-fire, fast asleep; its little head was pillowed on the back of a tame half-grown fawn that lay stretched on its side, enjoying the warmth of the fire, as tame and familiar as a spaniel dog. this fawn had been brought up with the children, and they were very fond of it, and would share their bread and milk with it at meal times; but it got into disgrace by gnawing the bark of the young orchard-trees, and cropping the bushes in the garden; besides, it had a trick of opening the cupboard, and eating the bread, and drinking any milk it could find; so the master of the house gave it away to a baker who lived in the village; but it did not forget its old friends, and used to watch for the children going to school, and as soon as it caught sight of them, it would trot after them, poking its nose into the basket to get a share of their dinner, and very often managed to get it all." "and what became of this nice fellow, nurse?" "unfortunately, my lady, it was chased by some dogs, and ran away to the woods near the town, and never came back again. dogs will always hunt tame fawns when they can get near them, so it seems a pity to domesticate them only to be killed in so cruel a way. the forest is the best home for these pretty creatures, though even there they have many enemies beside the hunter. the bear, the wolf, and the wolverine kill them. their only means of defence lies in their fleetness of foot. the stag will defend himself with his strong horns; but the doe and her little fawn have no such weapons to guard them when attacked by beasts of prey. the wolf is one of the greatest enemies they have." "i hate wolves," said lady mary; "wolves can never be tamed, nurse." "i have heard and read of wolves being tamed and becoming very fond of their masters. a gentleman in canada once brought up a wolf puppy, which became so fond of him that when he left it to go home to england, it refused to eat, and died of grief at his absence. kindness will tame even fierce beasts, who soon learn to love the hand that feeds them. bears and foxes have often been kept tame in this country, and eagles and owls; but i think they cannot be so happy shut up, away from their natural companions and habits, as if they were free to go and come at their own will." "i should not like to be shut up, nurse, far away from my own dear home," said the little girl, thoughtfully. "i think, sometimes, i ought not to keep my dear squirrel in a cage--shall i let him go?" "my dear, he has now been so used to the cage, and to have all his daily wants supplied, that i am sure he would suffer from cold and hunger at this season of the year if he were left to provide for himself, and if he remained here the cats and weasels might kill him." "i will keep him safe from harm, then, till the warm weather comes again; and then, nurse, we will take him to the mountain, and let him go, if he likes to be free, among the trees and bushes." it was now the middle of october; the rainy season that usually comes in the end of september and beginning of october in canada was over. the soft hazy season, called indian summer, was come again; the few forest leaves that yet lingered were ready to fall--bright and beautiful they still looked, but lady mary missed the flowers. "i do not love the fall--i see no flowers now, except those in the greenhouse. the cold, cold winter will soon be here again," she added sadly. "last year, dear lady, you said you loved the white snow, and the sleighing, and the merry bells, and wished that winter would last all the year round." "ah! yes, nurse; but i did not know how many pretty birds and flowers i should see in the spring and the summer; and now they are all gone, and i shall see them no more for a long time." "there are still a few flowers, lady mary, to be found; look at these." "ah, dear nurse, where did you get them? how lovely they are!" "your little french maid picked them for you, on the side of the mountain. rosette loves the wild flowers of her native land." "nurse, do you know the names of these pretty starry flowers on this little branch, that look so light and pretty?" "these are asters; a word, your governess told me the other day, meaning starlike; some people call these flowers michaelmas daisies. these lovely lilac asters grow in light dry ground; they are among the prettiest of our fall flowers. these with the small white starry flowers crowded upon the stalks, with the crimson and gold in the middle, are dwarf asters." "i like these white ones, nurse; the little branches look so nicely loaded with blossoms; see, they are quite bowed down with the weight of all these flowers." "these small shrubby asters grow on dry gravelly banks of lakes and rivers." "but here are some large dark purple ones." "these are also asters; they are to be found on dry wastes, in stony barren fields, by the corners of rail-fences; they form large spreading bushes, and look very lovely, covered with their large dark purple flowers. there is no waste so wild, my lady, but the hand of the most high can plant it with some blossom, and make the waste and desert place flourish like a garden. here are others, still brighter and larger, with yellow disks, and sky-blue flowers; these grow by still waters, near milldams and swampy places. though they are larger and gayer, i do not think they will please you so well as the small ones that i first showed you; they do not fade so fast, and that is one good quality they have." "they are more like the china asters in the garden, nurse, only more upright and stiff; but here is another sweet blue flower--can you tell me its name?" "no, my dear, you must ask your governess." lady mary carried the nosegay to miss campbell, who told her the blue flower was called the fringed gentian, and that the gentians and asters bloomed the latest of all the autumn flowers in canada. among these wild flowers, she also showed her the large dark blue bell flowered gentian, which was indeed the last flower of the year." "are there no more flowers in bloom now, nurse?" asked the child, as she watched mrs. frazer arranging them for her in a flower-glass. "i do not know of any now in bloom but the golden rods and the latest of the ever-listings. rosette shall go out, and try to get some of them for you. the french children make little mats and garlands of them to ornament their houses, and to hang on the little crosses above the graves of their friends, because they do not fade away like other flowers." next day, rosette, the little nursery-maid, brought lady mary an indian basket full of sweet-scented everlastings. this flower had a fragrant smell; the leaves were less downy than some of the earlier sorts, but were covered with a resinous gum, that caused it to stick to the fingers; it looked quite silky, from the thistledown, which, falling upon the leaves, were gummed down to the surface. "the country folks," said mrs. frazer, "call this plant neglected everlasting, because it grows on dry wastes by road-sides, among thistles and fireweed; but i love it for its sweetness; it is like a true friend-- it never changes. see, my dear, how shining its straw-coloured blossoms and buds are, just like satin flowers." "nurse, it shall be my own flower," said the little girl, "and i will make a pretty garland of it, to hang over my own dear mamma's picture. rosette says she will show me how to tie the flowers together; she has made me a pretty wreath for my doll's straw hat, and she means to make her a mat and a carpet too." the little maid promised to bring her young lady some wreaths of the festoon pine; a low-creeping plant, with dry, green chaffy leaves, that grows in the barren pine woods, of which the canadians make christmas garlands, and also some of the winter berries, and spice berries, which look so gay in the fall and early spring, with berries of brightest scarlet, and shining dark green leaves, that trail over the ground on the gravelly hills and plains. nurse frazer brought lady mary some sweetmeats, flavored with an extract of the spicy winter green, from the confectioner's shop; the canadians being very fond of the flavor of this plant. the indians chew the leaves, and eat the ripe mealy berries, which have something of the taste of the bay-laurel leaves. the indian men smoke the leaves as tobacco. one day, while mrs. frazer was at work in the nursery, her little charge came to her in a great state of agitation--her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were dancing with joy; she threw herself into her arms, and said, "oh! dear nurse, i am going home to dear old england and scotland. papa and mamma are going away from government house, and i am to return to the old country with them; i am so glad, are not you?" but the tears gathered in mrs. frazer's eyes and fell fast upon the work she held in her hand. lady mary looked surprised, when she saw how her kind nurse was weeping. "nurse, you are to go too; mamma says so; now you need not cry, for you are not going to leave me." "i cannot go with you, my dearest child," whispered her weeping attendant, "much as i love you; for i have a dear son of my own. i have but him, and it would break my heart to part from him;" and she softly put aside the bright curls from lady mary's fair forehead, and tenderly kissed her. "this child is all i have in the world to love me, and when his father, my own kind husband, died, he vowed to take care of me, and cherish me in my old age, and i promised that i would never leave him; so i cannot go away from canada with you, my lady, though i dearly love you." "then, mrs. frazer, i shall be sorry to leave canada; for when i go home, i shall have no one to talk to me about beavers, and squirrels, and indians, and flowers, and birds." "indeed, my lady, you will not want for amusement there, for england and scotland are finer places than canada. your good governess and your new nurse will be able to tell you many things that will delight you; and you will not quite forget your poor old nurse, i am sure, when you think about the time you have spent in this country." "ah, dear good old nurse, i will not forget you," said lady mary, springing into her nurse's lap, and fondly caressing her, while big bright tears fell from her eyes. there was so much to do, and so much to think about before the governor's departure, that lady mary had no time to hear any more stories, nor to ask any more questions about the natural history of canada; though, doubtless, there were many other curious things that mrs. frazer could have related; for she was a person of good education, who had seen and noticed as well as read a great deal. she had not always been a poor woman, but had once been a respectable farmer's wife, though her husband's death had reduced her to a state of servitude; and she had earned money enough while in the governor's service to educate her son, and this was how she came to be lady mary's nurse. lady mary did not forget to have all her indian curiosities packed up with some dried plants and flower seeds, collected by her governess; but she left the cage, with her flying squirrel, to mrs. frazer, to take care of till the following spring, when she told her to take it to the mountain, or st. helen's island, and let it go free, that it might be a happy squirrel once more, and bound away among the green trees in the canadian woods. when mrs. frazer was called in to take leave of the governor and his lady, after receiving a handsome salary for her care and attendance on their little daughter, the governor gave her a sealed parchment, which, when she opened, was found to contain a government deed for a fine lot of land, in a fertile township in upper canada. it was with many tears and blessings that mrs. frazer took leave of the good governor's family; and, above all, of her beloved charge, lady mary. the end. http://www.freeliterature.org pond and stream by arthur ransome author of "the stone lady" nature books for children with illustrations by frances craine london anthony treherne & company, ltd. , york buildings, adelphi, w.c. for molly contents. i. about the book ii. the duck pond iii, stream and ditch iv. lake and river v. our own aquarium [illustration] i about the book this is a book about the things that are jolly and wet: streams, and ponds, and ditches, and all the things that swim and wriggle in them. i wonder if you like them as much as they are liked by the imp and the elf? you know all about the imp and the elf, do you not? those two small jolly children, who live in a little grey house in a green garden, and know the country and all the things in it, almost as well as they know each other? the imp and the elf love everything that is wet. they paddle in the streams, and build dams, and make waterfalls, and harbours, and sail boats, and do all the other things that every sensible person wants to do. and they love all the fishy people who live in the water, and the beasts that crawl in the mud, and the birds that hop from stone to stone in the stream. at home they keep a big glass tank on one of the bookcases in the study. and that is the aquarium. it is a kind of indoor watery home for the people whom they meet when they mess about in the duck-pond, or the becks that trickle down the valley. you know what a beck is? the imp and the elf are north country children, and they would not understand you if you called the beck a stream. i will tell you about some of the guests who come to stay with us, and live in the watery tank. but they must be talked about at the end of the book. for just now i want to tell you about the ponds and streams from which they come, and the things that have happened to us there, and all the other things that you will want to know, and the things the imp and the elf, who are sitting side by side in my big chair, say must be told to you. ii the duck pond the duck pond is far away at the other side of the village. we walk a mile down over the fields, till we come to the village, and then we go through a little cluster of grey houses, past the tavern with the the picture of the prancing blue unicorn hanging out over the door, past the little grey church with the red tiled roof, past the farmyard by the smith's, where there is always a large sized piebald pig grunting in the yard, and out again into the fields. and then, on the left hand side of the road, we come to three stacks, a horse trough, and a piece of commonland. the common is rough and untidy, with clumps of gorse and thistles and nettles. there is usually a spotty pony chewing the grass, and a goat with naughty looking horns and a grey beard. a tiny donkey with an enormous voice is tethered to a stake in the ground. there is a crowd of geese, who throw out their long necks in vicious curves, and hiss at strangers and sometimes frighten them. they do not hiss at us. perhaps they know that we would not be very frightened if they did. the elf likes this last part of the walk, because she loves to imagine she is a goosegirl in a fairy tale, who drives geese, until she meets a noble prince, who finds out that really she is a princess all the time. some days the imp is quite ready to pretend to be the prince, and act the whole story. but other days he is in a precious hurry to get to the pond, and the poor elf has to be a goosegirl without a prince, and that is a poor business. she soon tires of it, and runs after us across the common. long before we reach the pond, we hear the quaack, quaack of the ducks, and see them waddling along with their bodies very near the ground by the muddy edges of the water, flopping hurriedly first on one leg and then on the other. when we get near them we can see that as they lift their feet they turn their toes in in a manner that shows they have not been at all properly brought up. but then without warning they throw themselves forward along the water, and swim, looking, suddenly, quite graceful. everything looks quite graceful in its proper place, and almost everything looks silly when it is anywhere else. even swans, who are the most beautiful of all birds in the water, look as ungainly as can be when they walk along the ground. and if you put a fish, who swims beautifully in the pool, out on the dry land, he just flops and dies, and that is not a pretty sight at all. the duck pond is very big and round. one bank of it is covered with dark trees that overhang and make green pictures of themselves in the water when the wind is still. and partly under the trees, and partly at one side of them, the bank is high and over-hanging and sandy, and in the sand there are little holes where the sandmartins have their nests. the sandmartins are rather like swallows, only instead of building clay nests under the roof edges of a house, they bore holes with their beaks in banks of earth, and make their nests inside them. a very, very long time ago, we used to do just like them, burrowing into the ground, making a passage with a cave at the end of it, and living there under the earth. there are some of these old homes of ours still left in some parts of the country. the imp and the elf are fond of the sandmartins, because they are always in a hurry like themselves. it is fine to see them fly swift and low over the pond, and flutter at the mouth of the hole, and then vanish into it, like mice into a crevice in the wall. but the birds who matter most of the duck pond people, are, of course, the ducks. there are brown ducks, and white ducks, and speckly ducks, and broods of golden ducklings, that the elf is fond of watching. the little ducklings waddle about just like their mothers, opening and shutting their dirty yellow flat bills that are always far too large for their bodies. they look like bundles of grey fluff, with crooked legs and waggly necks. [illustration] often we lie flat on the green grass by the side of the pond, when the sun is high and hot, and white clouds and a blue sky are reflected in the water of the pond. we lie lazily and watch the ducks swimming about, looking for their food. we see them plunge in from the flat shelving mud, and swim out like a mottled fleet of boats. they move their heads to this side and to that, and suddenly plunge them down into the water, into the rotting leaves and mud that lie at the bottom of the pond. and then, as they swing their head up again, we see that something is going down inside. and sometimes when the thing is big, a young and lively frog, or a wriggling worm, we see it hanging out of the duck's bill, waiting to be flung about, and gulped at, until, at last, it goes politely down. ducks swim just like men in canoes, striking out first on one side and then on the other, as if someone inside the duck were driving her along with strokes of a paddle. as we lie on the bank, we can watch the strong neat stroke, and see how the feet turn up to be drawn back ready to strike out again, just as a good oarsman feathers his oars. the really most amazing thing about a duck, though, is to see it when it comes out of the water. you would think it would be wet. but no, it looks quite neat and dry, though it has only just come from swimming and diving its head in the muddy pond. the imp and the elf always used to be puzzled at that. and their old nurse had a habit of saying to them:--"why, to scold you is like pouring water on a duck's back; it does no manner of good." and one day they said to me, "why does it do no manner of good to pour water on a duck's back?" i did not know then, so we hunted in a wise book and there was the reason, and when we watched a duck a little more carefully than usual we saw the book told the truth. the ducks keep oil in a hidden place in their tails, and oil their feathers with it. that is what they do when they preen themselves. that is how they manage to be always dry. for water will not stay on anything that is oiled, and really, it is just as if the ducks made their feathers into mackintoshes against the wet. all the time that we are resting after the walk and watching the ducks, we are keeping a look out for other of the pond people; and pretty soon we are sure to see some of them. the pond is full of floating weed, the tiny round-leaved duckweed, floating in green patches even in the middle of the pond, and the dainty white crowfoot, near the banks. there is more duckweed than anything else, and sometimes it is like a green carpet floating on the water. as we lie on the bank, we see a sudden movement in the duckweed, and something pushes its way up through the weed, like a stick that has been held down at the bottom, and then loosed of a sudden, so that it leaps up to the surface of the water. the whole length of the imp wriggles with excitement. it may be a frog, or it may be a newt. there never was such a pond as this for frogs, and we can nearly always find a newt, if we want to see one. early in the year, about march, when we come over the common to the pond, the imp carries an empty jampot, with a piece of string fastened round the rim of it, and looped over so as to make a convenient handle. the elf carries a little net, made of a loop of strong wire, with the ends of it forced into a hollow bamboo, and a circle of coarse white muslin stitched to the metal ring. as soon as we are well on the common, the imp runs on ahead, and long before we catch him up we hear him shouting by the edge of the pond, "here it is. here! here!" and we find him pointing eagerly to a big mass of pale brownish jelly lying in the water. big frogs lie about in the shallows, and flop off into the deeper parts of the pond, as soon as our shadows are thrown across the water. it is at this time of the year that the frogs do their croaking. as the elf says, "they are just like the birds, and sing when they have their little ones by them." for that great mass of jelly is made up, though you would not think it, of hundreds of little black eggs, each in a jelly coat, and each with a chance of growing up into a healthy young froglet. when we have poked the net under the jelly, and after a little struggling scooped some of it out on the bank, we can see the black dots that are eggs quite plainly. the stuff is so slippery and hard to hold that we can see that even the birds and water things must find it difficult to manage. we rather think that the jelly helps a little in keeping the tiny black eggs from being gobbled before they have had time to grow up. but in spite of its slippery sloppiness, we get a little of it inside the jampot, and when we have dipped the jampot in the pond to give the eggs some water, and dropped in a wisp of weed, that loses its wispiness as soon as it can float again, we set off on our way home, planning all sorts of things for little frogs, and making frog tales. frog tales, the elf says, are best in summer, "they make you feel so cool." but they are not at all bad in the spring when the imp holds the jampot up so that we can all see in, and wonder which black spot holds the young frog prince, and which the frog esquire. if we liked, of course, we could come day after day to the pond, and watch the eggs change and grow in the water. we sometimes do this; but it is so much easier to watch them at home, that we take some of the jelly away in the jampot every year, and put it into a big bell jar set upside down, with sand in the bottom of it, and plenty of water and green weed. after a day or two the little black spots in the jelly become fish-shaped, and give little wriggles from time to time, and at last come out and away from the jelly, small wrigglers, that swim about, and fasten under the weed in waggling rows. the wriggler has a great deal to do yet before turning into a frog. the tail part of him becomes clearer, like a black thread with a fine web at either side of it, and the head of him becomes fatter and rounded, like a black pea, and we can see feathery things hanging out from behind it, which are called gills. until it grows lungs of its own, like any respectable frog, the wriggling, black-headed creature breathes with these. the tail grows bigger and bigger from day to day, and flaps like anything, driving the little black tadpole (for that is what we call it) through the water in the bell jar, as if it were a little boat, swimming under water, with a busy paddle behind. [illustration] one day, about this time, when we are looking at the tadpoles in the jar, where it stands on the long bookcase in the study, the imp says, "i say, ogre, isn't it time we saw the blood moving?" and then i bring a little microscope, all bright gilt, out of its case in the cupboard. we catch one of the little tadpoles, and lay it on a slip of glass, and look at it down the long tube of the microscope. the tail of it looks huge instead of tiny, and all over it, inside it, we can see little pale blobs running to and fro; and those are the tadpole's blood. the blobs look like wee fishes swimming in narrow canals all over the tadpole's tail. when the elf has looked as well as the imp, we let it slip back from the slip of glass into the bowl, and see it flap away, as merrily as before. the tadpole grows fast now, and soon two little hindlegs sprout out, and the forelegs follow them, and the little creature looks like a frog with a tail, and a very big tail at that. and then the tail begins to shrink, and every day the tadpole is more like a frog, and more like a frog, until, at last, the tail goes altogether, and there in the bell jar is a baby froglet, who is quite ready to crawl out of the water on a floating piece of cork, and begin life as a land and water gentleman instead of a mere fish. that is the way the frog young ones grow up. their mother does not bother about them at all. they have to do everything for themselves. and they do it very energetically. so that as soon as they begin to turn into frogs, we take them back to the pond and let them go; for if we kept them we should soon have them hopping all over the house. a house is no place for a little wet frog. he wants a pond or a muddy brook, and plenty of duckweed to hide under. the duckweed in the pond is stirred by other things besides frogs, as i have told you already. the elf and the imp would be very angry with me, if i did not tell you all about the newts. for they are the most exciting of all the watery things that are not simple fishes. they are like water lizards, or like tiny water dragons, with four legs and a waving tail. the imp has a very particular admiration for the he-newts, and a fairy story to explain how it is that they dress in more gorgeous colours than their wives. here is the story: once upon a time there were two brown newts who lived in a pond. one was a he, and the other was a she, and neither of them knew which was which, or who ought to obey orders. so they swam about, and presently poked their noses up through the water-weed, and explained their difficulty to a gay old kingfisher, who was sitting in his rainbow cloak on a bough that hung over the water. they both asked the question at once. only one of them asked about a dozen times, and went on asking, and the other asked just once very angrily, and then said nothing more. so the kingfisher, who was clever, knew which was which. "why, you are the he," said the kingfisher to the angry one, and he took a brilliant feather from his breast and gently stroked the newt from his head to his tail. and then a queer thing happened. a fiery crest appeared all along its back, and its body became emerald and spotted gold; and the little she-newt clapped her hands to see her handsome husband, and now she always does exactly what he tells her. that is all. well, you know, in a way that story is true, for the he-newt does really wear those vivid colours and that fiery crest along its back for just one season in the year. he wears them when he is making love to his little brown lady. he makes love gallantly-- fighting his rivals like the noble little water dragon that he is. newts are not any more easy to keep at home in a bowl than little frogs. they grow up from eggs, just like tadpoles, only instead of losing their tails and changing into frogs they keep their tails to swim with, and remain newts. they are not easy to keep because they are very clever at climbing. once we did catch two of the brown lady newts, and the imp fell splosh into the duckweed just as he was reaching out trying to catch a he. he caught the he all right, but then we had to go home best foot first, for the imp was a lump of muddy wetness. he chattered all the way home all the same, and as soon as he had changed his clothes we all worked together, rigging up the old tadpoles bell jar with a fresh sandy bottom, and good clear water, and a floating island of cork, and a lot of duckweed. then we emptied the jam pot full of newts into the bowl, and saw them swim gaily about examining their new home. we left them and had our tea. when we came back we looked at them again, and saw a very beautiful thing. two of the newts had shed their skins. you know how sometimes, walking on the moor, we come across snakeskins, like hollow transparent snakes, when we can be sure that an adder has passed that way and left his old coat behind, and slipped gaily off in brighter clothes. well, that was exactly what the newts had done. there were the newts swimming about, and there were their old skins, like pale, grey films, floating in the water. we could even see the shapes of their tiny feet and hands in the transparent filminesses. that was all very well, but next morning, as i was getting ready to come down to breakfast, there was a shriek and clatter on the stairs, and presently the imp, very red, came bumping in at my door to say that all the newts had vanished from the bowl, and that the housemaid had just met one as she was coming downstairs with a can of water. she had stepped over the newt on the edge of the landing, had seen it, and dropped the water-can over and over down the stairs. would i please come? the imp held out his pocket handkerchief with something wriggling in it. "you have got it?" i said. "yes," said the imp solemnly, looking back towards the door, "but don't let her know." we ran down over the bedraggled stair carpet and saw the water-can under the coat-stand, and the housemaid crying on a chair, explaining how she had seen an evil thing with four legs to it sitting on the landing. the cook was watching her, with arms akimbo, saying "ah, me," and "poor dear," now and again. [illustration] we ran on into the study, where we found the elf feeling under the bookcases and tables, looking everywhere for the lost guests. we never saw the others again. but we took the one the imp had caught back to the pond, and, as we put it in, made a vow not to keep newts again. they are the most escapable things we have ever tried to keep. besides, they look jollier in the pond, and are probably very much happier. as the elf said, "we should try to think how we should like it if other things collected us." it certainly would not be pleasant to be bottled up in muddy water for the little newts to see. it is far best to leave them alone, and, when we want to see them, to come quietly over the common to the edge of the pond, when we may easily see half-a-dozen water-dragons run out from the soft mud, and swim, with quick, hasty flaps of their tails, and jerky paddlings of their arms and legs, out into the depths of the pool. when we lean out over the pond and take a handful or a netful of the duckweed, and pull it to pieces on the bank, we find some of the most daintily-shaped snails fastened among the mass of tiny pale stems. the imp and the elf always think that they are like very wee snakes, coiled round on themselves in little flat coils. and really they are just the same shape as those stone snails that were once alive, that grown-up people call ammonites. there is a fairy story about those stone snails that shows how other people beside the imp and the elf have thought them like serpents. up in the north country there was an abbey by the sea, and in the abbey a saint lived called hilda. and all the countryside was made dangerous for foot passengers by crowds of poisonous snakes. the folk of the country asked the saint to help them; for they could not walk abroad without fear of being bitten. they could not let their children out alone, because of the deadly things. so the saint summoned all the serpents to the abbey and, standing on the abbey steps, she turned them into stone, and as they stiffened they coiled up in flat circles like the little snails we find among the duckweed stems. that is the story, but we know now that these stones that they find are really snails that lived thousands of years ago, and have gradually been changed into stone. the duckweed snails are fine things for keeping water clear and pure, and the imp and the elf always have a few of them in their aquarium to prevent the water from growing green and stagnant and unhealthy. but you shall hear all about that in the last chapter of the book. these round snails are very small, but the duck-pond is full of living things even smaller than they. when we scoop a jampot full of water out of it, and hold it up to the light we can often see wee round emerald balls rolling round the pot. they are so small that we can only see them if we look very carefully, "i should not think there can be any things smaller than those," said the elf one hot afternoon as she blinked at the jampot in the sunlight. but there are. why, even inside those wee round rolling balls there are tinier balls rolling and moving round, and these are quite alive, too. and, far, far smaller than these, there are little things in the pond, so little that we really cannot see them at all unless we put them under a microscope. the duck pond is like a little world of its own with ducks for giants, and newts for dragons, and all the tiny folk and the little snails for ordinary citizens. but though so many of the ordinary citizens are so small, it is quite easy to grow rather fond of them. we hardly ever leave the pond without the imp or the elf saying beggingly, "let's wait till we see just one more water boatman." and then, of course, we wait, and crane our necks over the pond, and take no heed of the quacking of the ducks, or even of the splash of a young frog as he flops into into the water. all our six eyes and our three heads see nothing and think of nothing except the thing we want. and when we see him, what do you think he is? a little dark beetle with a pale ring round him, shaped like a tiny boat, comes up to the surface for air, and waits a moment, and then goes quickly off again, this way and that, rowing himself with two of his legs that are stronger than the others, and stick straight out from his body, like oars from a boat. he is the water boatman, and somehow he is so brisk and jolly that we think he must get more fun out of the pond than any other of the pond citizens. and that is why we always want to see him last, before we walk off over the parched common, and leave the quacking of the ducks to grow fainter and fainter behind us. we like to think of the water boatman cheerily rowing about and diving among the reflections of the trees. he is a fine person to invent stories about during the walk home. iii stream and ditch "you can have more fun with a running stream than with a pond," says the imp. and that is because the galloping water, that leaps and runs over the pebbles, seems to do things to you all the time, while the water in a pond just stays still and lets you do things to it. a thousand games can be played with moving water; at every game it is as fresh as if no one had played with it before. the imp spends some of his jolliest mornings at the side of the beck, that flows down from the moorland, through a little wood not far from the house. up on the moor it is a tiny stream, except when the big rains come, and then it is a streak of foaming white in the mist on the hillside. but, when it has left the heather and bracken and drops through the wood, it is like a little swift flowing river, with shelving rocky sides, and boulders in mid stream, and tiny waterfalls and pools and weirs. below the wood it flows out through the meadowland of the valley, growing wider, and moving slower as it goes. often as the imp has been playing with the leaping water, and i have been sitting near by among the shadowy leaves of the trees, hazels and rowans, that swing over its channel, i have heard him sing over to himself the words of a poem which he knows. it is all about a stream. "i come from haunts of coot and hern, i make a sudden sally, and sparkle out among the fern, to bicker down a valley. "i chatter over stony ways in little sharps and trebles, i bubble into eddying bays, i babble on the pebbles. "i wind about, and in and out, with here a blossom sailing, and here and there a lusty trout, and here and there a grayling." this is not all the song, but only his favourite verses. the imp builds stone on stone across the stream, and makes a bridge with a dozen piers, and flat stones laid across. or he sets a row of big stones in the stream, so that the water gushes between them. then he piles little stones against them, and fills the joints with moss and earth until he makes a solid dam, so that the stream rises up and up, deeper and deeper, unable to go any farther, until at last it overflows the top of the dam and, rushing down, pulls everything to pieces beneath it. that is really exciting. it is exciting, too, to make little canoes of folded paper, and put a pebble in for ballast, and let them shoot the rapid, as if there were red indians inside, skilfully guiding with carved and painted paddles. these are only a few of the running water games. in a little hollow of the stream, below the waterfalls, where the falling water has churned out a basin for itself, we sometimes see a trout, silvery bellied, and dark of back, with spots along his sides. but the place where we go to look for fish and other water folk is farther down the stream, below the wood and moorland. the beck is tamer down there, and has given up leaping from ledge to ledge, but flows quietly and smoothly, with a rippling song of its own, over a broad pebbly channel between the green meadows. footpaths cross the meadows, and where they come to the brook, bridges have been made by simply laying a huge flat slate stone from bank to bank across the water. one of our favourite ways of picnicking is to take our basket of food across the meadows and camp in the long grass close by one of these bridges. for then we get the best of everything. the best of the meadow things, purple orchids, and kingcups, like enormous buttercups twice gilded, and the delicate butterfly orchids, who are rare indeed, with their pale green spikes, with the white flowers tinted with green, fluttering round them. there is plenty of the little blue forget-me-not growing in clumps close to the water, and ragged robin, with his touzled pink petals close under the meadow hedge. and, best of all, perhaps we see a blue flash, and then another blue flash, and then another, and we know that there is a dragon fly shooting about over the water, and among the water plants, like a small azure comet. sometimes, when he hovers over a flower, we can see him, but we can never see his wings. they move too fast. and when he is flying about, we can see nothing but the blue glittering flash that shows that he is there. [illustration] the best of the water things, too, we get. for lying on the banks of the stream, even while we are eating our sandwiches, we can see the caddises in the muddy shallows, and sometimes a water shrimp, and often a shoal of minnows. and, when the stream is low, the imp can crawl along, from one side of the bridge to the other, under the big slate, putting his feet and hands on the stones left dry by the water. and that is fun indeed. the elf and i lie flat on our fronts on the stone bridge, and hang our heads over the edge, and look backwards up the tunnel. and we see the imp start in at the other end, and come crawling under like a rat in a wet hole. we see his hands and feet clawing about for stones to rest on, and the elf shouts to him, "there is a stone there--no, there--there, stupid!" and sometimes he finds the stone, and sometimes he does not. we hear him grunt with hotness and excitement. and usually we hear him splash, as one leg or the other slips from its resting-place into the water. and then out he comes, mightily panting, at our end of the bridge. somehow, with a great pull, he tumbles round on to the bank. and then, because one foot is wet he must take his shoe and stocking off. and if one shoe, why not the other? and if the imp is allowed to take his shoes and stockings off, why not the elf? and so, in about three minutes, there are two pairs of stockings and two pair of shoes neatly laid out on the bank, and two small people paddling in the stream, playing for a little, just for the joy of feeling the water stream past their ankles, and then searching about and looking for the little folk of the stream and talking about them, and asking all sorts of questions. the first and easiest of all the small water folk for people like the imp and the elf to find are the caddisworms. do you know a stonefly when you see one? a long brown-winged dirty-looking fly; you must often have seen one skimming along a brook, and settling on the pebbles that the water has left partly dry. a caddisworm is the thing that is some day going to be a stonefly, just as caterpillars are one day going to be butterflies or moths, and just as imps and elves are some day going to be grown-ups. that is all very well. but it does not tell you what a caddisworm is like. this is how the children find one. they paddle to a shallow part of the stream, where it flows under grassy banks, a place where the bottom is a little muddy, instead of being covered with small round pebbles. then they stand and look into the water, up stream, for the ripples flowing from their ankles make it impossible to see into the water clearly if they look the other way. then, searching carefully over the bottom, they look for anything small that moves. presently they see something. it may be a little bundle of tiny sticks, or some pieces of dead grass, or a couple of irregularly shaped twigs, moving crookedly over the sand or mud. and they know that they have found a caddisworm. one or other of them, usually the imp, dives a hand down into the water and catches it, which is very easy to do, for caddisworms are leisurely people, and do not move much faster than snails. it is lifted out of the water and held out, looking like a little bundle of sticks in the palm of his paw. but while we watch something comes jerkily out of the end of the bundle--a black head and six busy legs, and soon the caddis is crawling along as fast as it can, dragging its house behind it. for the bundle of sticks is really a log house that the caddis has built for itself. he builds it about his own body all round him, adding stick by stick in the neatest, cleverest manner. he builds with anything he can find, and it is often possible to make him a present of a twig, and see him use it up as a new log in the walls of his house. nothing comes amiss to him. if the stream he lives in is full of little snails, he is quite ready to cover his home with their shells. beads, twigs, pieces of grass cut short, flat seeds, scraps of paper, anything you can think of, he will somehow manage to make useful. the odd part of it is that instead of bringing the bricks to his house, or the logs, or whatever you like to call them, he goes in his house to look for each brick, and, when he has finished his building, he carries his home about with him. as the imp puts the caddis back into the water he sometimes sees a sudden stirring of the mud, as if someone had poked a pencil in and pulled it quickly out again, bringing a puff of fine sediment up into the water. in the place from which the puff came is a water-shrimp, who is far harder to catch than the caddis, for he is one of the nimblest of the little dodging water-folk. it takes the imp ten minutes and a lot of splashing before, if he is lucky, he can catch one in the hollow of his hand. then it lies in a little puddle of water in his palm, whirling itself about, and thrashing into ripples the waters of its prison. it is very like a seaside shrimp, only smaller. it is pale, muddy brown, and looks as if it had been made of tiny napkin rings slipped over each other like a little curly telescope, with active legs and busy feelers. sometimes as the children paddle up the stream they see a brown cloud in the water, darting up and up before them in swift swimming jerks. "minnows!" they shout, and "minnows, ogre, look!" and watch the shoal of little fishes flashing through the water just out of reach of them. from moment to moment one of them turns half over in the water, with a flash of silver as he turns. and sometimes, when the imp and the elf are not paddling, and we are all three of us lying on the bank, we see the shoal swim slowly past us, and watch the minnows fling themselves right out of the water after the tiny flies that play over the surface of the stream. then it is as if a clever juggler were hidden under the water and were throwing little curved knives up from the bottom of the stream to twist and sparkle in the air, and then fall plosh, plosh, into widening circles of ripples. minnow after minnow leaps out of the water, turns and falls, and the ripples of the different splashes cross one another and cut the water into a thousand thousand glittering points of light. [illustration] sometimes we hear a bigger splash than is made by a minnow, and looking up the stream we see something swimming strongly through the water, a double trail of ripples flowing out on either side of him. just the nose of him is above water, and sometimes he goes under altogether. the thing swims to a flat stone in the middle of the stream that makes a kind of island, and suddenly we see it fling itself up out of the water and sit on its hindlegs on the stone, briskly washing its nose with its fore-paws. "water-rat," whispers the imp to the elf, and we do not move so much as a hair, any of us. the brown, blunt-nosed rat sits up on the stone and pulls its paws over its head and throws them back again, like the neat-minded gentleman he is, presently he thinks he hears a noise, an ominous something, and the paws are suddenly still for a moment, and the round head cocked on one side. his head is so blunt and so near his body that one would scarcely think he had a neck at all if he were not able to look this way and that way and this way again, in the smallest part of second. ah, he sees us. for another instant he stays dead still, wondering perhaps if we have seen him, and then off he shoots again into the water, swimming now on the bottom of the stream and now once more driving his nose along the surface until suddenly he slips under the bank and we cannot see him at all. when we lean over the bank, just where he disappeared, we find a hole, which is the doorway of his home. here he lives in the moist bank under the over-hanging ferns, close to the water which is as good as land to him. here he lives and has a merry time to himself, doing nobody any harm, except the waterplants, from whom he takes his dinners. a little farther down the stream a broad deep ditch crosses the meadows to join it. the ditch is deep, and the water in it moves so slowly that it is almost still. weeds and grasses grow from the bottom of the stream, and are only just bent over by the current, and the moist edges of the ditch are full of sunken holes, where the cows have thrust their feet into the mud. the whole of the ground by the side of the ditch is rich with flowers, but so swampy that they are difficult to reach, except at a few places. but very often the imp and the elf, when their shoes and stockings are once off, make up their minds to despise mud, and wade through the grasses close to the edges of the ditch to look for sticklebacks. and really, when i think of sticklebacks, i agree with the children that it is worth more than muddy ankles to get a look at them. for the sticklebacks are very fine fellows indeed, the little soldiers of the water-people, tiny fishes, who carry spears set upright on their backs, spears that are strong and well pointed, too, as the imp found when he took hold of a stickle between his finger and thumb. [illustration] the sticklebacks are like the newts of the duck-pond in quite a number of ways. not to look at, of course, for one has legs while the other has fins; but in several of their habits. in the love-making times, when the he-newts show their gorgeous coats, the stickleback lords put on a brilliant uniform of glittering green and scarlet and gold. like the he-newts, they battle between themselves, and more than once we have watched a noble skirmish in the deep water under a tussock of grass. we have seen the stickleback lords dash at each other again and again, trying to rip each other up with their sharp spears, and, at the last, we have seen the conqueror sailing proudly away, even more gorgeous than before. the imp loves the sticklebacks because they are so bold and jolly and move so quickly and so jerkily that it is hard to follow them. but the elf loves them for quite another reason. she loves them because they are homely. most of the water people, like the frogs and newts, take no bother at all about their eggs, but just leave them to themselves without ever caring whether they hatch or no. but the stickleback is as careful as a blackbird, and builds a little nest for the eggs down among the weeds on the bottom of the ditch, and stays there watching and guarding till they hatch out into little stickles. that is why the elf loves sticklebacks. they do look after their children a little. later in the year we see the shoals of little sticklebacks, not so big as pen-nibs, who have left their nests in the ditch, and are swimming away to see the world for themselves. often we lie on the bank and tell each other stories about them. and all these stories begin: "once upon a time there was a little stickleback, one of a shoal," and all the stories end: "so the little stickleback drove his enemy away in a fright, and swam back to his nest glowing with colour and pride." for, of course, by the time the story is finished the little stickleback has grown into a big stickleback and has a nest of his own. besides the sticklebacks and minnows there are a great many other fishes among the water-folk, but we do not meet them so often, and most of them live in bigger places than the stream or the ditch, or even the duck-pond. sometimes, though, in the pebbly part of the stream we meet a loach, a little brown speckled fish with a flat head and little suckers like the horns of a snail sticking out all round his mouth. we see him slip along in the water under the shadowy side of a stone. if he does not come out at the other end we know he is resting there, and then if we can make the stone move without muddying the water, we may see him flit from his hiding place, _zig-zag_ among the pebbles, looking for a new stone where he may shelter. and then, too, when the stream flows nearer to the sea, which is only four miles from our house, you know, we find some other water people who are very pleasant indeed. the sea spreads inland in a broad pale sandy bay, with marshland grown over with sparse reedy grass, and covered with pools of salty water, and channels full of sandy mud. the stream flows out into this bay, and at some times of the year, when we walk up from the bay along its banks, we see stones that look as if they were heads, with a waving mass of black hair flowing from them down the current. when we look closer, we see that the black hair is a mass of tiny eels. little black wriggling water snakes they look like, though they are nothing of the sort, and we sometimes remind each other of the tale of the gorgon's head, with all its snaky crop. sometimes we have caught a little eel or two, and kept them in a big jar; but they are not such adaptable guests as the tadpoles, and we do not think we make them very comfortable. the imp loves to watch them, and finds it hard to believe that these are eels, really eels, like the big twisting creatures he sees when he leans over the side of the boat, when we go rowing on the lake. you shall hear about those eels in the next chapter. but, do you know, i believe our dearest of all the water people, are not really water things at all, but birds? there are two of them, that belong to the stream, and i expect i shall be scolded by the imp and the elf for putting them at the end of the chapter. i shall have to explain that i meant it as an honour to them. they are birds; and one of them lives up the stream, where it is a wild little beck, falling from rock to rock in the wood on the moorland side, and the other hops from stone to stone in the shallows of the brook, where it flows more peacefully through the flat green meadows. the one is the dipper, and the other is the water wagtail. the dipper is a little brown fellow, with a white front and throat, and a jovial little shout of his own. very often, as we climb up through the wood, with the noise of the thousand tiny waterfalls swishing in our ears, we meet the dipper, perched on a stone by the side of one of the pools, looking as if he were making a careful map inside his head of everything he can see at the bottom of the water. as soon as he notices us, there is a brown flash in the air, and he is up, and over the next fall, and perched on a stone by the pool above. when we have climbed painfully up over the slippery rocks and the soft green earth with the help of hands and knees, and little trees, and clumps of heather, we find him sitting there, as gay and fresh as ever, and perfectly ready to dart up stream again. but sometimes we have been able to watch him, and see him dive into the pool; for he can swim under water as if he were fish and not a bird at all. he can swim round and round the bottom of the pools as easily as he can fly. the imp thinks him a very fortunate person; for he can do everything. he can swim under water, he can hop about on land, and he can fly in the air. and when you can do all those three things, there is not much else left to want, is there? the other bird is as dainty and spruce a little fellow as you can imagine. all dark and white he is, looking like a pale and tiny magpie, with a long tail. his tail gave him his name, and i have been told a story about that. here it is:--once upon a time there was an old wise man, and he set himself to write a huge book about all the birds that ever are. so he went out with a lot of pens and ink and paper, and lived in a hut at the edge of the meadows, just sheltered by a wood. he told all the birds he knew what he was about, and they told all the others. so that they all came--albatrosses, and sparrows, and thrushes, and penguins, and blackbirds, and guillemots, and seagulls, and flamingoes, and peewits, and ostriches, and kingfishers--and fluttered and chattered in a huge crowd in the meadows by the hut. one by one they perched on a log in front of the old man, and he wrote down what they were like, and what were their names, and all about them. and this all worked very well until he came to the wagtail, when he could not think of a name for it. he put his head on one side and looked at the little mottled bird, and he said, "well, my life, i do not know what to call you," and the little bird wagged its tail. the old man scratched his head, and said, "well, you little speckled thing, what am i to call you?" and the little bird wagged its tail. the old man grunted and groaned, and made all the noises we all make when we are stuck over a very simple thing. he could not think of what to write, and he kept dipping his pen in the ink, and scratching his head with the other end of the penholder; and all the time the little bird wagged its tail. its wagging muddled the old man worse than before, and he said angrily, "you do nothing but wag your tail, wag your tail, wag--your--tail" and suddenly he found that he had written down wagtail without thinking. and the little bird has been called a wagtail ever since. [illustration] "and it does wag its tail all the time," says the elf. it really does. we see it flit about the shores of the stream, first a little this way, and then a little that, and every time it perches its tail wags up and down, up and down, like a tiny see-saw that has lost its other end. sometimes late in the summer we see yellow wagtails by the stream, and they are even prettier than the grey ones, the very daintiest of little fairy birds. but in autumn, both the grey wagtails and the yellow ones fly away over seas like the swallows, and we do not meet them by the stream side till next year. iv lake and river one month in every year the imp and the elf and i go to stay in a farmhouse close by the shores of a lake, that is bigger than the biggest pond you have ever seen. out of the lake flows a river, that is bigger than the biggest stream. but when we go there we always feel very much like we do when we go over the common to the duck pond, or follow the beck from the woodland to the valley. only, now, instead of lying on the bank at the side of the water, we go in a boat, and row out with the water lapping round us. it is as if we were in an enormous ship of our own, and quite safe, for the boat is so broad in the beam that not even the imp or the elf could tumble out if they tried. of course we are pirates, and sir francis drakes, and vikings, and other sea rovers, from time to time. i often find that i have been a villainous pirate mate, when, for all i knew, i had been peaceably reading a book in the stern, and we none of us know when we set out in the morning what manner of gay adventures we shall fashion for ourselves upon the water. but, if i were to tell you about all that, i should have no room left in which to write of the water folk, and that would never do. this is a chapter mainly about the lake things, and they are very like the pond and stream people, only bigger. you remember the little eels we used to find in the stream, clustered like massing black hair below the stones in the running water? often, when we are floating on the lake, where the bottom is sandy, and not so deep that we cannot see it from the boat, we look over the gunwale and see long brown slimy eels, with silver bellies, twisting along the ground below. sometimes we drop a worm exactly over an eel, and watch it fall like a curling coral in the water until the eel shoots at it, and gulps it in. eels are really very like water snakes, but they are fish, with fins just like the trout, and funny little snoutheads, that make us think of pike. pike are the ugliest and wickedest-looking of all the fish. big and hungry they are, with evil eyes and long snouts, and mouths set full of teeth that point back down their throats, so that if a little trout or a hand once got inside it has not much chance of escape. the pike lie under the thick weeds round the shores of the lake, and among those rushes that rise out of the water like a forest of green spears. then when a shoal of big minnows or small perch float by the pike darts out, and there is one perch or one minnow the less in the frightened shoal of little fish. pike do not like perch very much, because a swallowed perch means a sore pike. for those gay perch with their scarlet fins and golden bodies barred with olive green are not defenceless at all. the fin that runs down their backs is built on firm, sharp spikes that they can lift when they want, and no perch is mild enough to let himself be swallowed without lifting his spines and tearing the throat of the swallower. as we row on down the lake, watching the reflection of the boat rocking in the ripples, and the reflections of the hills and the trees on the shore of the lake we sometimes hear a long whistling cry, and a curlew swings high over our heads from one side of the valley to the other, like a pendulum-bob without a string, his long curved beak stretched out far before him. and sometimes when the weather is going to be stormy we hear a shrill shriek repeated again and again, and see a white cloud of seagulls lift from the marshy shores and flap away and back and settle again. and more than once we have seen wild duck, and a drake in a gorgeous shimmer of colour fly across the marshland by the head of the river. half-way down the lake there is a little rocky island, where we have often seen the yellow wagtails, and on a promontory opposite a kingfisher has his nest in a deep hole in the rock. we row the boat close up to the nest, and look at the pile of fishbones outside the hole. the kingfisher is a fisher as well as a king, and lives on the fish that he catches. it is fine to see him fly across in the sunlight from the rock to island, from the island to the rock, "just like a rainbow without any rain," as the elf says, for he is the most gaily coloured of the birds. "because he is the king," says the imp. and indeed his kingly robes are very splendid--blue, and green, and red, and white, and orange--as fine a cloak for a monarch as you could wish to see. there is another fishing bird whom we are always glad to see. he is bigger than i do not know how many kingfishers put together, and though he is not brightly coloured he is very beautiful. he is a heron, and herons are like the storks of hans andersen's fairy stories. he is a grey bird, tall and thin, with a black crest lying back from the top of his head. his legs are long, and he is fond of standing on one leg by the edge of the water, or on a stone at the end of some little promontory, tucking the other leg up in the air, and watching the water with his head on one side, ready at any moment to dive his long beak into the lake and snatch a little fish out of it. when he flies he crooks his long neck back on his shoulders and hangs his legs straight out behind, so that it is impossible not to know him when you see him. in the little harbour, where our boat is kept, there are often so many minnows that when we look into the water it seems as if the bottom were made of moving tiny fish. people who are going to fish for perch often catch the minnows dozens at a time in nets in their boathouses, when the water is shallow, and the minnows swim up into the shadows of the boats. and there are caddises there too, if we choose the right places to look for them. as we walk down through the fields from the farm to the boathouse, the imp and the elf leaping for joy in themselves, and the sunshine, and the cool wind, and the blue hills, we plan what we shall do with the day, and where we shall go, and whom of the lake people we shall try to see. and one morning or other, as we leave the farmyard, the imp cries out, "i say, ogre, isn't to-day the day for a picnic down the lake?" and the elf says, "yes. say yes, ogre, do," and in three minutes we are all as happy as pioneers arranging an expedition. after lunch we start, and by that time the sandwiches are cut, and the bun-loaves, and the marmalade, and the tea (hot and corked up in a bottle), and the mugs, and everything else are all packed into two baskets by the jolly old farmer's wife, and we go off together, the imp and the elf carrying one basket between them, while i carry the other. we run the boat out of the boathouse, and when we have settled down, the elf and the baskets in the stern, and the imp lying flat on his stomach in the bows, we slip away down the lake rippling the smooth waters, and leaving long wavelets behind us that make the hills and trees dance in their reflections. we glide quietly away down the lake, looking up to the purple heather on the moors, and the dark pinewoods that run right down to the water's edge, and watching the fishermen rowing up and down trailing their lines behind them, or casting again and again over the waters of the little rocky bays that break the margin of the lake. that is one way of being interested in the water people; to want to catch them on a hook at the end of a line, but it is not our way. we think of the water folk as we think of the fairies, as of a strange small people, whom we would like to know. [illustration] we row down the lake, lazily and slowly, past rocky bays and sharp-nosed promontories, and low points pinnacled with firs. the hills change as we row. at the head of the lake they are rugged and high, with black crags on them far away, but lower down the lake they are not so rough. there are fewer rocks and more heather, and the hills are gentler and less mountainous, until at last at the foot of the lake they open into a broad flat valley, where the river runs to the sea. a little more than half way down there is an island that we can see, a green dot in the distance, from our farmhouse windows, and here we have our tea. we run the boat carefully aground in a pebbly inlet at one end of the island. we take the baskets ashore, and camp in the shadow of a little group of pines. there is no need to tell you what a picnic tea is like. you know quite well how jolly it is, and how the bun-loaf tastes better than the finest cake, and the sandwiches disappear as if by magic, and the tea seems to have vanished almost as soon as the cork is pulled from the bottle. as soon as tea is over we prowl over the rockinesses of the little island, and creep among the hazels and pines and tiny oaks and undergrowth. do you know trees never look so beautiful as when you get peeps of blue water between their fluttering leaves? when we have picked our way through to the other end, we climb upon a high rock with a flat top to it, and heather growing in its crevices; and here we lie, torpid after our tea, and pretend that we are viking-folk from the north who have forced our way here by land and sea, and are looking for the first time upon a lake that no one knew before us. the imp tells us a story of how he fought with a red-haired warrior, and how they both fell backwards into the sea, and how he killed the other man dead, and then came home to change his wet clothes, long, long ago in the white north. and the elf, not to be beaten, has her story, too, how she rode on a dragon one night and saw the lake--this very lake--far away beneath her, like a shining shield with a blue island boss in the middle of it. and how the fiery dragon flapped down so that she could pick a scrap of heather from the island, and how here was the very heather that she picked. and then i tell them stories, too, of the old times, when the great fires were lit on the crests of the hills, as warning signals to people far away. and so the time slips away, and we suddenly find that we are ready to row on again to have just one peep at the river. all round the low end of the lake there are tall reeds growing and bulrushes, and there is soft marshy ground that make damp islets among the reeds. as we row down we are nearly sure to see one or two big white birds with proud necks swimming slowly along the reeds. sometimes we have seen them rise into the air with a great whirring of wings and splashing of water, and then sink again on the surface of the lake, beating up a long mane of foam as they fall. these are the swans, and on one of the islets in the reeds they have a nest; more than once, when i have been here earlier in the year, i have seen the mother swan sitting white and stately on her home, and then the little grey cygnets break out of the eggs and swim with their parents, looking so fluffy and dirty and odd that the imp and elf can hardly believe that some day they will turn out to be tall swans like the big white birds they love, who swim through the water like the ships of a fairy queen. [illustration] the river flows away out of the lake through a broad opening in the reeds. we row in there, and then let ourselves drift, just guiding the boat with gentle strokes of the oar, until we leave the reeds behind us, and move on the running river between green banks, thick with bush and rough with rocks. here on the banks we sometimes see the remains of a dead fish half pulled to pieces. we know what that means, "the otter," says the imp, and we stare about with eyes wider than before, doing our best to imagine in very stir in the bushes or under the banks that we can see his dark body, like a beaver, for he can swim in the water and dive like a fish, and run along the bank as well. but we have never seen him, though we know that he is there. and otters are growing fewer and fewer. every year men and women with dogs come to hunt them and kill them. some day there will be no otters left at all. we wait in the river till the evening, and then set out to row the long way back again. as we row up the river into the lake again we can see the trout rising in big circles of ripples, and hear the peewits screaming on the marshland. it is odd how we seem to notice sounds at evening that we should not at other times. everything seems so quiet that little noises seem to matter. when we hear the frogs croaking we do not think how loud they are, but only how silent is everything-else. it is evening now, when we row round the promontory at the low end of the lake, and already we are wondering if we shall get home before the owls begin to call. long ago the imp and the elf should have been asleep in bed. the lake is very still, and the sky is less brilliant than it was. the sun has dropped below the hills, and their outlines are clear against the rose of the sunset. the imp and the elf say nothing, but listen for the night noises, and watch the sky working its miracles in colour. this evening is a new dream world for them, and they are wondering whether the water people are awake or asleep. "there never is a time when everything goes to bed, is there?" says the elf, sleepily, as we lift her out of the boat. and as the two of them go off to bed, very happy and very, very tired, we can hear the long kr-r-r-r-r-r of the nightjar in the pinewoods up the hills, and below us in the woods at the head of the lake two owls are answering each other. v our own aquarium it is quite a long time since the imp and the elf first started a guest-house for the water people. one day, when the elf was very small, and i was showing her pictures in a book, and telling her about the sticklebacks, and the minnows, and the loaches, and the caddisworms, and all the rest of them, she sat silent for a long time, and then said suddenly, "i want to ask him," and wriggled down from my knee and went off to find the imp. presently they came back together. "we want to have some caddises for our own," they said, and i understood that the elf had thought it only fair to consult the imp before asking me about them for herself. that very day we began to plan the guest-house. at first it was to be no more than a jam pot, with mud in the bottom of it for the caddises. then we thought that perhaps even a caddis would like a house a little bigger than a jam pot, or even than a big marmalade jar. even caddises crawl. the next bigger thing to one of the big marmalade jars that they have in the nursery is a basin. and basins are no use at all. they tip over if you lean on their edges to look at anything that is crawling about inside. there was nothing for it but to plan something new. and, if we were to have something made on purpose, if we were to have a really big home for caddises, there was no reason why we should not plan it bigger still and be able to keep minnows in it, or goldfish, or even a smallish eel. so we spent a splendid afternoon planning the guest-house, and next morning walked over the fields to the village with a lot of scribblings in our hands. the scribbles were to explain what sort of a guest-house we wanted. we walked straight through the village to the glazier's shop. a glazier is a man who comes and mends windows when tennis-balls have gone through them and broken them. this glazier was very nice and kind. he let the elf and the imp climb up and sit on his table, while he looked over our scribbles, and then took a big sheet of paper and made a neat drawing himself. he made what he called a plan, and what he called an elevation, and then he drew a real picture of what the guest-house was to be, and put a curly fish with a winking eye swimming about in the middle. this picture he gave to the children, so that they could think about the guest-house while it was being made. he promised that we should have it in a week's time. it was a fortnight before it came. that is the way of glaziers who are leisurely but very clever. for though the guest-house was so long in coming, it was splendid when it came. it had four sides made of glass, with wooden pillars at the corners, painted green. it was like a house whose windows had spread all over the walls. and it was so big that the imp could easily stand in it with both feet, a good way apart, too. we filled it with water and it did not leak. there was a tube hidden in the bottom of it with a tap at the side, so that we could let the water out and put fresh water in without having to take out the fish. that was important, as we did not want to disturb our guests, and all the water-folk want their water changing from time to time. we found a fine place for the aquarium on one of the broad bookshelves in the study, and as soon as we had fixed it there we set about furnishing it and filling it with guests. we covered the bottom with sand, and put some big stones in it with holes in them to make hiding-places for the fish. then we set off for the duck-pond with three jam pots and two small nets. we did not bother to play with the geese that day or even to look at the donkey. we went straight to the edge of the pond and began pulling some of the green duckweed out on the banks. we put a good deal of it into one of the pots, and then searched through a lot more, looking for those little round flat snails that i told about in the second chapter. we wanted plenty of them, because they keep the aquarium healthy, and the water sweet and fresh. as soon as we had plenty of duckweed and plenty of snails, we went on over the fields to the beck. and here we got half-a-dozen caddisworms and a water-shrimp, and some minnows. we let the shrimp go, because he does not live well except in running water. but the others we carried home with us in the jam pots, which we had to pretend into triumphal carriages. for we were bringing home our first guests. the imp and the elf sat on high chairs in the study till bed-time watching the caddises crawl about on the mud, and the minnows flit in and out among the stones. and before they went to bed they said goodnight, very solemnly, to the water people. for it is always best to be polite, even if the water-people do not understand. and, as the elf said, "perhaps they do." next morning the carrier stopped on his way from the station with a big can that had come by train from london; and in the dark depths of the can we could see golden flashes. for i had written to town for half-a-dozen golden fish to come and stay with the minnows. and after that the guest-house was always full. from time to time new guests came, and others went away, let loose again in the duck pond or the stream. always the guests are changing. someone sent us a little water-tortoise for a present, and we kept him with us for a little while, and then put him in the pond to see life on his own account. we have had little eels from the stream, and sticklebacks (but these are quarrelsome folk), and tadpoles, and loaches, and carp, who are like greenish goldfish, and long-bodied gudgeon, and silvery roach. every morning, after breakfast, before setting out walking, the children come into the study and feed the guests with worms, and ants' eggs, and crumbled vermicelli. [illustration] the guest-house is like a little water world where we can see the smaller water-folk living in their own way. it is a beautiful little world, with its clear water, and green weed, with the little fishes swimming under the roots of the weeds, and darting among the crevices of the stones. and it is a little world that is not very difficult to manage. we have to be careful not to overfeed the guests, and yet we must be sure that they have enough to eat. we have to keep the water clear, changing it every other day, pouring fresh water in at the top and running out the old through the tap at the bottom. it is a little world that anyone can manage who loves the water-folk well enough to take plenty of trouble with them. * * * * * and now, do you know, we have come to the end. there is such a lot to write about the things that are jolly and wet that the imp and the elf say i have missed out half the things that ought to be put in, and i know that i have missed out a very great deal more than that. but if you really care for the water-folk you will find out the best of all the things that cannot be written here by going to the stream side, or the pond side, or the side of the lake and making friends with the water-people for yourself. [illustration: book cover] [illustration: map to accompany "the boy travellers in the russian empire."] [illustration] the boy travellers in the russian empire adventures of two youths in a journey in european and asiatic russia, with accounts of a tour across siberia voyages on the amoor, volga, and other rivers, a visit to central asia, travels among the exiles, and a historical sketch of the empire from its foundation to the present time by thomas w. knox author of "the boy travellers in the far east" "the young nimrods" etc. illustrated new york harper & brothers, franklin square by thomas w. knox. * * * * * the boy travellers in the far east. five volumes. copiously illustrated. vo, cloth, $ . each. the volumes sold separately. each volume complete in itself. i. adventures of two youths in a journey to japan and china. ii. adventures of two youths in a journey to siam and java. with descriptions or cochin-china, cambodia, sumatra, and the malay archipelago. iii. adventures of two youths in a journey to ceylon and india. with descriptions of borneo, the philippine islands, and burmah. iv. adventures of two youths in a journey to egypt and palestine. v. adventures of two youths in a journey through africa. the boy travellers in south america. adventures of two youths in a journey through ecuador, peru, bolivia, brazil, paraguay, argentine republic, and chili; with descriptions of patagonia and tierra del fuego, and voyages upon the amazon and la plata rivers. copiously illustrated. vo, cloth, $ . . the boy travellers in the russian empire. adventures of two youths in a journey in european and asiatic russia, with accounts of a tour across siberia, voyages on the amoor, volga, and other rivers, a visit to central asia, travels among the exiles, and a historical sketch of the empire from its foundation to the present time. copiously illustrated. vo, cloth, $ . . the voyage of the "vivian" to the north pole and beyond. adventures of two youths in the open polar sea. copiously illustrated. vo, cloth, $ . . hunting adventures on land and sea. two volumes. copiously illustrated. vo, cloth, $ . each. the volumes sold separately. each volume complete in itself. i. the young nimrods in north america. ii. the young nimrods around the world. * * * * * published by harper & brothers, new york. _any of the above volumes sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the united states or canada, on receipt of the price._ * * * * * copyright, , by harper & brothers.--_all rights reserved._ preface. in preparing this volume for the press, the author has followed very closely the plan adopted for "the boy travellers in the far east," and also for his more recent work, "the boy travellers in south america." accompanied by their versatile and accomplished mentor, dr. bronson, our young friends, frank bassett and fred bronson, journeyed from vienna to warsaw and st. petersburg, and after an interesting sojourn in the latter city, proceeded to moscow, the ancient capital of the czars. from moscow they went to nijni novgorod, to attend the great fair for which that city is famous, and thence descended the volga to the caspian sea. on their way down the great river they visited the principal towns and cities along its banks, saw many strange people, and listened to numerous tales and legends concerning the races which make up the population of the great muscovite empire. they visited the recently developed petroleum fields of the caspian, and, after crossing that inland sea, made a journey in central asia to study certain phases of the "eastern question," and learn something about the difficulties that have arisen between england and russia. afterwards they travelled in the caucasus, visited the crimea, and bade farewell to the empire as they steamed away from odessa. concerning the parts of russia that they were unable to visit they gathered much information, and altogether their notes, letters, and memoranda would make a portly volume. the author has been three times in the russian empire, and much of the country described by "the boy travellers" was seen and traversed by him. in his first journey he entered the czar's dominions at petropavlovsk in kamtchatka, ascended the amoor river through its entire navigable length, traversed siberia from the pacific ocean to the ural mountains, and continuing thence to kazan, moscow, st. petersburg, and warsaw, left the protection of the russian flag eleven thousand miles from where he first went beneath it. his second visit included the crimea and other regions bordering the black sea, and his third was confined to finland and other baltic provinces. in addition to his personal observations in russia, the author has drawn upon the works of others. many books of russian travel and history have been examined; some of them have been mentioned in the text of the narrative, but it has not been practicable to refer to all. indebtedness is hereby acknowledged to the following books: "free russia," by hepworth dixon; "turkestan" and "life of peter the great," by hon. eugene schuyler; "a ride to khiva," by col. fred burnaby; "campaigning on the oxus, and the fall of khiva," by j. a. macgahan; "life of peter the great" and "life of genghis khan," by jacob abbott; "the siberian overland route," by alexander michie; "tent-life in siberia," by george kennan; "reindeer, dogs, and snow-shoes," by richard j. bush; "the invasion of the crimea," by a. w. kinglake; "fred markham in russia," by w. h. g. kingston; "the knout and the russians," by g. de lagny; "the russians at the gates of herat" and "the region of the eternal fire," by charles marvin; "travels in the regions of the upper and lower amoor" and "oriental and western siberia," by thomas w. atkinson; and "the russians at home," by sutherland edwards. the author has also drawn upon several articles in _harper's magazine_, including his own series describing his journey through siberia. the publishers have kindly permitted the use of illustrations from their previous publications on the russian empire, in addition to those specially prepared for this book. as a result of their courtesy, the author has been able to present a "copiously illustrated" book, which is always a delight to the youthful eye. t.w.k. contents chapter i. page departure from vienna.--frank's letter.--a farewell promenade.--from vienna to cracow.--the great salt-mine of wieliczka, and what was seen there.--churches and palaces underground.--voyage on a subterranean lake. chapter ii. leaving cracow.--the russian frontier.--the police and the custom-house.--russian censorship of books and papers.--catching a smuggler.--from the frontier to warsaw.--sights and incidents in the capital of poland.--from warsaw to st. petersburg. chapter iii. in the streets of st. petersburg.--isvoshchiks and droskies.--counting in russian.--passports and their uses.--on the nevski prospect.--visiting the church of kazan.--the russo-greek religion.--unfavorable position of st. petersburg.--danger of destruction.--great inundation of .--statue of peter the great.--admiralty square.--the sailors and the statue. chapter iv. dinner in a russian restaurant.--cabbage soup, fish pies, and other odd dishes.--the "samovar" and its uses.--russian tea-drinkers.--"joltai chai."--alexander's column.--fortress of sts. peter and paul.--imperial assassinations.--sketches of the people.--russian police and their ways. chapter v. number and character of the russian people.--pan-slavic union.--st. isaac's church: its history and description.--the winter palace and the hermitage.--sights in the palace.--catherine's rules for her receptions.--john paul jones in russia.--the crown jewels and the orloff diamond.--anecdotes of the emperor nicholas.--relics of peter the great.--from palace to prison.--tombs of russia's emperors.--a monument and an anecdote. chapter vi. the gostinna dvor: its extent and character.--peculiarity of russian shopping.--curious customs.--old-clothes market.--hay-market.--pigeons in russian cities.--frozen animals.--church and monastery of st. alexander nevski.--a persian train.--a coffin of solid silver.--the summer garden.--speaking to the emperor.--kriloff and his fables.--visit to a russian theatre.--"a life for the czar."--a russian comedy. chapter vii. newspapers in russia: their number, character, and influence.--difficulties of editorial life.--the censorship.--an excursion to peterhof, oranienbaum, and cronstadt.--sights in the summer palace.--cronstadt and the naval station.--the russian navy.--the russian army: its composition and numbers.--the cossacks.--anecdotes of russian military life. chapter viii. visiting the university of st. petersburg.--education in russia.--primary and other schools.--the system of instruction.--recent progress in educational matters.--universities in the empire: their number and location.--religious liberty.--treatment of the jews.--the islands of the neva, and what was seen there.--in a "traktir."--bribery among russian officials. chapter ix. studies of st. petersburg.--mujiks.--"the imperial nosegay."--a short history of russian serfdom: its origin, growth, and abuses.--emancipation of the serfs.--present condition of the peasant class.--seeing the emperor.--how the czar appears in public.--public and secret police: their extraordinary powers.--anecdotes of police severity.--russian courts of law. chapter x. winter in russia.--fashionable and other furs.--sleighs and sledges.--no sleigh-bells in russian cities.--official opening of the neva.--russian ice-hills.--"butter-week."--kissing at easter.--an active kissing-time.--russian stoves and baths.--effects of severe cold.--the story of the frozen nose.--how men are frozen to death. chapter xi. leaving st. petersburg.--novgorod the great: its history and traditions.--rurik and his successors.--barbarities of john the terrible.--early history of russia.--an imperial bear-hunt.--origin of the house of romanoff.--"a life for the czar."--railways in russia from novgorod to moscow. chapter xii first impressions of moscow.--undulations of the ground.--irregularity of the buildings, and the cause thereof.--napoleon's campaign in russia.--disaster and retreat.--the burning of moscow.--the kremlin: its churches, treasures, and historical associations.--anecdotes of russian life.--the church of st. basil. chapter xiii. the great theatre of moscow.--operatic performances.--the kitai gorod and gostinna dvor.--romanoff house and the romanoff family.--sketch of the rulers of russia.--anecdotes of peter the great and others.--church of the saviour.--mosques and pagodas.--the museum.--riding-school.--suhareff tower.--traktirs.--old believers.--the sparrow hills and the simonoff monastery. chapter xiv. a visit to the troitska monastery, and what was seen there.--curious legends.--monks at dinner.--european fairs.--the great fair at nijni novgorod.--sights and scenes.--minin's tomb and tower.--down the volga by steamboat.--steam navigation on the great river.--kazan, and what was seen there.--the route to siberia. chapter xv. avatcha bay, in kamtchatka.--attack upon petropavlovsk by the allied fleet.--dogs and dog-driving.--rapid travelling with a dog-team.--population and resources of kamtchatka.--reindeer and their uses.--the amoor river.--native tribes and curious customs.--tigers in siberia.--navigation of the amoor.--overland travelling in siberia.--riding in a tarantasse.--a rough road.--an amusing mistake.--from stratensk to nertchinsk.--gold-mining in siberia. chapter xvi. the exiles of siberia.--the decembrists and their experience.--social position of exiles.--different classes of exiles and their sentences.--criminals and politicals.--degrees of punishment.--perpetual colonists.--how exiles travel.--lodging-houses and prisons.--convoys.--thrilling story of an escape from siberia.--secret roads.--how peasants treat the exiles.--prisoners in chains. chapter xvii. character of the siberian population.--absence of serfdom, and its effect.--a russian fÊte.--amusements of the peasantry.--courtship and marriage.--curious customs.--whipping a wife.--overland through siberia again.--chetah and the bouriats.--in a bouriat village.--verckne udinsk.--siberian robbers.--tea-trains and tea-trade.--kiachta.--lodged by the police.--trade between russia and china. chapter xviii. general aspects of mai-mai-chin.--dinner with a chinese governor.--a theatrical performance.--lake baikal: its remarkable features.--a wonderful ride.--irkutsk: its population, size, and peculiarities.--social gayeties.--preparations for a long sleigh-ride.--list of garments.--varieties of sleighs.--farewell to irkutsk.--sleighing incidents.--food on the road.--siberian mails.--advantages of winter travelling.--sleighing on bare ground.--a snowless region.--krasnoyarsk. chapter xix. position and character of krasnoyarsk.--a lesson in russian pronunciation.--market scene.--siberian trees.--the "oukhaba."--a new sensation.--road-fever and its cause.--an exciting adventure with wolves.--how wolves are hunted.--from krasnoyarsk to tomsk.--steam navigation in siberia.--barnaool.--mines of the altai.--tigers and tiger stories.--the "bouran."--across the baraba steppe.--tumen and ekaterineburg.--from europe to asia.--perm, kazan, and nijni novgorod.--end of the sleigh-ride. chapter xx. down the volga again.--russian reception ceremony.--simbirsk, samara, and saratov.--german settlers on the volga.--don cossacks.--astrachan.--curious population.--voyage on the caspian sea.--the caspian petroleum region.--tank-steamers.--interesting facts and figures of the new petrolia.--present product of the baku oil-fields.--excursion to balakhani, and visit to the oil-wells.--temples of the fire-worshippers.--antiquity of the caspian petroleum region.--marco polo and other authorities. chapter xxi. a glance at central asia.--russian conquest in turkestan.--war and diplomacy among the kirghese tribes.--russian taxes and their collection.--turcoman and kirghese raids.--prisoners sold into slavery.--fortified villages and towers of refuge.--commerce in turkestan.--jealousy of foreigners.--travels of vÁmbÉry and others.--vÁmbÉry's narrow escape.--turcoman character.--payments for human heads.--marriage customs among the turcomans.--extent and population of central asia. chapter xxii. frank and fred in the turcoman country.--the trans-caspian railway.--skobeleff's campaign, and the capture of geok tepÉ.--english jealousy of russian advances.--rivers of central asia.--the oxus and jaxartes.--agriculture by irrigation.--khiva, samarcand, and bokhara.--a ride on the trans-caspian railway.--statistics of the line.--kizil arvat, askabad, and sarakhs.--route to herat and india.--turcoman devastation.--the afghan boundary question.--how merv was captured.--o'donovan and macgahan: their remarkable journeys.--railway route from england to india.--return to baku. chapter xxiii. baku to tiflis.--the capital of the caucasus.--mountain travelling.--crossing the range.--petroleum locomotives.--batoum and its importance.--trebizond and erzeroom.--sebastopol and the crimea.--short history of the crimean war.--russo-turkish war of - .--battles in the crimea and siege of sebastopol.--visiting the malakoff and redan forts.--view of the battle-fields.--charge of the light brigade at balaklava.--present condition of sebastopol.--odessa.--arrival at constantinople.--frank's dream.--the end. illustrations. winter scene in russia _frontispiece._ fred's reminder st. stephen's cathedral, vienna view of the palace of cracow kosciusko, kosciusko, church of st mary, cracow polish jew of high rank polish jews of the middle class our guide in costume the inspector-general the shaft descending the shaft lamp-bearers a foot-path an underground chapel men cutting salt in the mine finishing the columns subterranean stables a mining singer "glück-auf!" fête in the grand saloon of entertainment a retired director outer wall of cracow custom-house formalities passport not correct in the passport bureau way station on the railway before examination after examination scene on the railway shutes for loading coal on the railway polish national costumes peasant's farm-house royal palace at warsaw shrine at a gate-way lake in the park a business man of warsaw in st. petersburg isvoshchiks in winter drosky drivers sledge of a high official russian workmen on their way home russian officer with decorations a russian priest convent of solovetsk in the frozen sea the inundation of statue of peter the great improvising a statue tea-sellers in the streets russian restaurant at the paris exposition an out-door tea-party russian mujiks drinking tea plant from which yellow tea is made column in memory of alexander i. peter the great assassination of peter iii. paul i. russian and finn dvornik and postman lodgings at the frontier ordered to leave russia finland peasants in holiday costume inhabitants of southern russia st. isaac's church and admiralty square priest of the church of st. isaac catherine ii. of russia reception of john paul jones by the empress catherine russian attack on the turkish galley the orloff diamond nicholas i. peter iii. circassian arms as trophies of battle statue of nicholas i. politeness in the market-place importuning a visitor frozen animals in the market market for old clothes pigeons in a russian city persian horses presented by the shah russian peasant girl russian nurse-maid and children some of kriloff's friends kriloff's characters in convention the fox as a law-giver one of kriloff's characters closing scene in a russian play kriloff's statue in the summer garden, st. petersburg press-room of a daily newspaper interviewing an editor prince gortchakoff cabinet and chair in the palace illumination in a russian park tapestry and fire utensils at peterhof door-way of peter's house at zaandam, holland a student of navigation steam frigate near cronstadt frigate under sail and steam the _dreadnought_--type of the _peter the great_ the russian army--regular troops cossack lancers and russian guard-house the russian army--irregular troops grand-duke michael iron-clad steamer of the baltic fleet little folks at school learning to weave mineral cabinet in the university parlor in a high-school for women private room of a wealthy student lower recitation-room one of the professors descending a shaft galleries in a mine in the library a college dormitory jewish burial-ground clothes-dealer of moscow a russian troika a villa on the island a russian family culprit street-sweepers a business transaction peter the great dressed for battle an imperial nosegay mujiks playing cards peasant's house in southern russia peasants' huts esthonian peasants alexander ii., the liberator of the serfs alexander iii., emperor of russia battle between russians and circassians schamyl's village in the caucasus the empress marie féodorovna, wife of alexander iii. russian peasants at their recreation "who is the spy?" officers sitting in judgment russian grand-duke and grand-duchess fur-bearing seals sea-otter the beaver the ermine the raccoon russian ice-hills soldiers off duty--butter-week the easter kiss--agreeable the easter kiss--in the family the easter kiss--difficult the easter kiss--disagreeable the emperor's easter kiss peasant girl in winter dress a bath in the east russian street scene in winter lost in a snow-storm workmen of novgorod--glazier, painter, and carpenters an old norse chief view on the steppe ivan the terrible alexis michailovitch, father of peter the great michael feodorovitch, first czar of the romanoff family too near to be pleasant wolf attacking its hunters old picture in the church a bishop of the greek church millennial monument at novgorod russian boats portrait of catherine ii. in the kremlin collection street scene in moscow bivouacking in the snow battle between french and russians napoleon retreating from moscow alexander i. view in the kremlin a prisoner ordered to execution the kremlin of moscow the great bell underground visiting the great bell empress anne the empress elizabeth coronation of alexander iii. peter ii. bishop in his robes great gun at moscow the cathedral at moscow napoleon's retreat from moscow dress of peasants--scene from a russian opera a dressing-room of the opera-house working the ship in "l'africaine" minin-pojarsky monument peter's escape from assassination peter the great as executioner catherine i. catherine ii. grand-duke nicholas alexandrovitch skinned and stuffed man russian beggars tartar coffee-house in southern russia gallery in the palace copy of picture in the monastery window in church of the trinity pity the poor curious agate at troitska paper-knife from troitska--st. sergius and the bear specimens of ecclesiastical painting on glass russian cooper's shop and dwelling nijni novgorod during the fair nijni novgorod after the fair tartar merchant returning from the fair launching a russian barge tartar village near the volga tartar baker's shop a siberian village petropavlovsk, kamtchatka.--mount avatcha in background a herd of reindeer dog teams and reindeer light-house at ghijigha ermine-trap interior of a native house the reindeer fish-market at nicolayevsk scenery on the amoor gilyak woman gilyak man native boat--amoor river goldee children a goldee man and woman inauguration of genghis khan junction of the argoon and shilka to form the amoor scene in a posting station a tarantasse changing horses at a siberian station the right of way in russia getting out of difficulty valley of the amoor above ouk-se-me interior of an exile's hut exiles passing through a village a town built by exiles banished for five years banished for three years colonist's village in winter exiles leaving moscow tagilsk, centre of iron-mines of siberia a siberian valley two exiled friends meeting escaping exiles crossing a stream ivanoff's cave exiles among the mountains siberian peasants siberian milk-women siberia in summer an exile peasant and his friends a siberian landscape girls playing at skakiet a village festival russian peasant women making calls after a wedding ceremony after a peasant's wedding the mountains near chetah a bouriat village a wandering priest crossing the selenga finding lodgings at kiachta chinese cash from mai-mai-chin articles of russian manufacture scene in a chinese temple theatre at mai-mai-chin the tiger a natural arch on lake baikal caverns on lake baikal part of irkutsk view of the principal square in irkutsk dressed for the road a vashok my kibitka farewell to irkutsk work of the frost-king interior of a russian inn mail-driver and guard distant view of a siberian village soldiers in siberian ferry-boats view of krasnoyarsk from the opposite bank of the yenisei a dangerous ride beggar at a siberian station policeman at krasnoyarsk hills near a siberian river jumping an "oukhaba" wolves attacking a buffalo a siberian wolf summer and winter in russia village on a russian estate a slight mishap summer view near barnaool attacked by a tiger bearcoots and wolves the steppe in summer specimen of rock-crystal monument at the boundary western slope of the ural mountains descending a hill-side road baptizing through the ice end of the sleigh-ride offering of the villagers shoeing an ox knife-whip armenian bishop of astrachan a tartar khan tartar postilions tartar palaces in southern russia gypsy family at astrachan an oil-steamer on the caspian sea tanks at a storage depot view in an oil region bits for drilling wells a spouting well derrick and tanks in the american oil region an oil refinery with tank cars tartar camel-cart at baku ancient mound near the caspian sea curious rock formations modern fire-worshippers--parsee lady and daughter a burning tank a fall in oil a rise in oil camp scene near the altai mountains a kalmuck priest scene on the edge of the kirghese steppe kirghese group kirghese chief and family caravan in russian territory kirghese raid on a hostile tribe lasgird--a fortified village in northern persia tower of refuge framework of turcoman tent the tent covered interior of tent vámbéry's reception by turcoman chief on the caspian shore receiving payment for human heads--khiva turcoman trophy--a russian head kökbüri--a race for a bride view of the citadel of khiva an ozbek head map showing the relations of russia and england in the east sand-storm in the desert turcoman court of justice kirghese tomb charge of russian cavalry against turcomans russian army on the turcoman steppes winter camp in turcomania turcoman irrigating wheel scene at a ferry on the oxus map of the russo-afghan region turcoman woman spinning village of turcoman tents the new russo-afghan frontier old sarakhs sarik turcoman woman pul-i-khisti and ak tapa penjdeh colonel alikhanoff the great highway of central asia turcoman farm-yard map of turkestan, showing route of trans-caspian railway crossing a river in central asia a native traveller looking down on the steppe view of tiflis the pass of dariel, caucasus governor-general of the caucasus ruined fortress in the caucasus ruined church near batoum quarantine harbor, trebizond view of erzeroom turkish authority view of sebastopol ruins of the malakoff, sebastopol russian carpenters at work cossacks and chasseurs british soldiers in camp alfred tennyson a broken tarantasse the bosporus map to accompany the boy travellers in the russian empire _front cover._ map showing the russian empire routes as described by the boy travellers _back cover._ the boy travellers in the russian empire. chapter i. departure from vienna.--frank's letter.--a farewell promenade.--from vienna to cracow.--the great salt-mine of wieliczka, and what was seen there.--churches and palaces underground.--voyage on a subterranean lake. "here are the passports at last." "are you sure they are quite in order for our journey?" "yes, entirely so," was the reply; "the secretary of legation examined them carefully, and said we should have no trouble at the frontier." "well, then," a cheery voice responded, "we have nothing more to do until the departure of the train. five minutes will complete the packing of our baggage, and the hotel bill is all settled. i am going for a walk through the graben, and will be back in an hour." so saying, our old acquaintance, doctor bronson, left his room in the grand hotel in vienna and disappeared down the stairway. he was followed, a few minutes later, by his nephew, fred bronson, who had just returned from a promenade, during which he had visited the american legation to obtain the passports which were the subject of the dialogue just recorded. at the door of the hotel he was joined by his cousin, frank bassett. the latter proposed a farewell visit to the church of st. stephen, and also a short stroll in the graben, where he wished to make a trifling purchase. fred assented, and they started at once. [illustration: fred's reminder.] they had not gone far before fred perceived at a window the face of a girl busily engaged in writing. he paused a moment, and then suggested to frank that he wished to return to the hotel in time to write a letter to his sister before the closing of the mail. "i really believe," said he, "that i should have neglected mary this week if i had not been reminded by that girl in the window and her occupation." frank laughed as he rejoined that he had never yet known his cousin to forget his duty, and it would have been pretty sure to occur to him that he owed his sister a letter before it was too late for writing it. [illustration: st. stephen's cathedral, vienna.] they made a hasty visit to the church, which is by far the finest religious edifice in vienna, and may be said to stand in the very heart of the city. fred had previously made a note of the fact that the church is more than seven hundred years old, and has been rebuilt, altered, and enlarged so many times that not much of the original structure remains. on the first day of their stay in vienna the youths had climbed to the top of the building and ascended the spire, from which they had a magnificent view of the city and the country which surrounds it. the windings of the danube are visible for many miles, and there are guides ready at hand to point out the battle-fields of wagram, lobau, and essling. our young friends had a good-natured discussion about the height of the spire of st. stephen's; frank claimed that his guide-book gave the distance from the ground to the top of the cross four hundred and fifty-three feet, while fred contended, on the authority of another guide-book, that it was four hundred and sixty-five feet. authorities differ considerably as to the exact height of this famous spire, which does not appear to have received a careful measurement for a good many years. from the church the youths went to the graben, the famous street where idlers love to congregate on pleasant afternoons, and then they returned to the hotel. fred devoted himself to the promised letter to his sister. with his permission we will look over his shoulder as he writes, and from the closing paragraph learn the present destination of our old friends with whom we have travelled in other lands.[ ] [ ] "the boy travellers in the far east" (five volumes) and "the boy travellers in south america" (one volume). adventures of two youths in a journey to and through japan, china, siam, java, ceylon, india, egypt, palestine, central africa, peru, bolivia, chili, brazil, and the argentine republic. new york. harper & brothers. "we have been here a week, and like vienna very much, but are quite willing to leave the city for the interesting tour we have planned. we start this evening by the northern railway for a journey to and through russia; our first stopping-place will be at the nearest point on the railway for reaching the famous salt-mines of wieliczka. you must pronounce it we-_litch_-ka, with the accent on the second syllable. i'll write you from there; or, if i don't have time to do so at the mines, will send you a letter from the first city where we stop for more than a single day. we have just had our passports indorsed by the russian minister for austria--a very necessary proceeding, as it is impossible to get into russia without these documents. until i next write you, good-by." the travellers arrived at the great northern railway station of vienna in ample season to take their tickets and attend to the registration of their baggage. the train carried them swiftly to cracow--a city which has had a prominent place in polish annals. it was the scene of several battles, and was for a long time the capital of the ancient kingdom of poland. frank made the following memoranda in his note-book: [illustration: view of the palace of cracow.] "cracow is a city of about fifty thousand inhabitants, of whom nearly one-third are israelites. it stands on the left bank of the vistula, on a beautiful plain surrounded by hills which rise in the form of an amphitheatre. in the old part of the city the streets are narrow and dark, and cannot be praised for their cleanliness; but the new part, which lies outside the ancient defences, is quite attractive. the palace is on the bank of the river, and was once very pretty. the austrians have converted it into a military barrack, after stripping it of all its ornaments, so that it is now hardly worth seeing. there are many fine churches in cracow, but we have only had time to visit one of them--the cathedral. "in the cathedral we saw the tombs of many of the men whose names are famous in polish history. polish kings and queens almost by the dozen are buried here, and there is a fine monument to the memory of st. stanislaus. his remains are preserved in a silver coffin, and are the object of reverence on the part of those who still dream of the ultimate liberation of poland, and its restoration to its old place among the kingdoms of the world. [illustration: kosciusko, .] "we drove around the principal streets of cracow, and then out to the tumulus erected to the memory of the polish patriot, kosciusko. you remember the lines in our school reader, "'hope for a season bade the world farewell, and freedom shrieked as kosciusko fell.' "we were particularly desirous to see this mound. it was made of earth brought from all the patriotic battle-fields of poland at an enormous expense, which was largely borne by the people of cracow. the monument is altogether one hundred and fifty feet high, and is just inside the line of fortifications which have been erected around the city. the austrians say these fortifications are intended to keep out the russians; but it is just as likely that they are intended to keep the poles from making one of the insurrections for which they have shown so great an inclination during the past two or three centuries. [illustration: kosciusko, .] "as we contemplated the monument to the famous soldier of poland, we remembered his services during our revolutionary war. kosciusko entered the american army in as an officer of engineers, and remained with general washington until the close of the war. he planned the fortified camp near saratoga, and also the works at west point. when our independence was achieved he returned to poland, and after fighting for several years in the cause of his country, he made a brief visit to america, where he received much distinction. then he returned again to europe, lived for a time in france, and afterwards in switzerland, where he died in . the monument we have just visited does not cover his grave, as he was buried with much ceremony in the cathedral of cracow." "why don't you say something about the jewish quarter of cracow," said fred, when frank read what he had written, and which we have given above. "i'll leave that for you," was the reply. "you may write the description while i make some sketches." "i'm agreed," responded fred. "let's go over the ground together and pick out what is the most interesting." away they went, leaving doctor bronson with a gentleman with whom he had formed an acquaintance during their ride from the railway to the hotel. the doctor was not partial to a walk in the jews' quarter, and said he was willing to take his knowledge of it at second-hand. [illustration: church of st. mary, cracow.] on their way thither the youths stopped a few minutes to look at the church of st. mary, which was built in , and is regarded as a fine specimen of gothic architecture. it is at one side of the market-place, and presents a picturesque appearance as the beholder stands in front of it. the jews' quarter is on the opposite side of the river from the principal part of the city, and is reached by a bridge over the vistula. at every step the youths were beset by beggars. they had taken a guide from the hotel, under the stipulation that he should not permit the beggars to annoy them, but they soon found it would be impossible to secure immunity from attack without a cordon of at least a dozen guides. frank pronounced the beggars of cracow the most forlorn he had ever seen, and fred thought they were more numerous in proportion to the population than in any other city, with the possible exception of naples. their ragged and starved condition indicated that their distress was real, and more than once our young friends regretted having brought themselves face to face with so much misery that they were powerless to relieve. [illustration: polish jew of high rank.] frank remarked that there was a similarity of dress among the jews of cracow, as they all wore long caftans, or robes, reaching nearly to the heels. the wealthy jews wear robes of silk, with fur caps or turbans, while the poorer ones must content themselves with cheaper material, according to their ability. the guide told the youths that the men of rank would not surround their waists with girdles as did the humbler jews, and that sometimes the robes of the rich were lined with sable, at a cost of many hundreds of dollars. [illustration: polish jews of the middle class.] fred carefully noted the information obtained while frank made the sketches he had promised to produce. they are by no means unlike the sketches that were made by another american traveller (mr. j. ross browne), who visited cracow several years before the journey of our friends. "but there's one thing we can't sketch, and can't describe in writing," said fred, "and that's the dirt in the streets of this jews' quarter of cracow. if doctor bronson knew of it i don't wonder he declined to come with us. no attempt is made to keep the place clean, and it seems a pity that the authorities do not force the people into better ways. it's as bad as any part of canton or peking, and that's saying a great deal. i wonder they don't die of cholera, and leave the place without inhabitants." in spite of all sorts of oppression, the jews of cracow preserve their distinctiveness, and there are no more devout religionists in the world than this people. the greater part of the commerce of the city is in their hands, and they are said to have a vast amount of wealth in their possession. that they have a large share of business was noticed by fred, who said that from the moment they alighted from the train at the railway-station they were pestered by peddlers, guides, money-changers, runners for shops, beggars, and all sorts of importunate people from the quarter of the city over the vistula. an hour in the jews' quarter gratified their curiosity, and they returned to the hotel. there is a line of railway to the salt-mines, but our friends preferred to go in a carriage, as it would afford a better view of the country, and enable them to arrange the time to suit themselves. the distance is about nine miles, and the road is well kept, so that they reached the mines in little more than an hour from the time of leaving the hotel. the road is through an undulating country, which is prettily dotted with farms, together with the summer residences of some of the wealthier inhabitants of cracow. [illustration: our guide in costume.] on reaching the mines they went immediately to the offices, where it was necessary to obtain permission to descend into the earth. these offices are in an old castle formerly belonging to one of the native princes, but long ago turned into its present practical uses. our friends were accompanied by a commissioner from the hotel where they were lodged in cracow; he was a dignified individual, who claimed descent from one of the noble families of poland, and the solemnity of his visage was increased by a huge pair of spectacles that spanned his nose. frank remarked that spectacles were in fashion at wieliczka, as at least half the officials connected with the management of the salt-mines were ornamented with these aids to vision. [illustration: the inspector-general.] a spectacled clerk entered the names of the visitors in a register kept for the purpose, and issued the tickets permitting them to enter the mines. armed with their tickets, they were conducted to a building close to the entrance of one of the mines, and ushered into the presence of the inspector-general of the works. he was also a wearer of spectacles, and the rotundity of his figure indicated that the air and food of the place had not injured him. "the inspector-general received us politely--in fact everybody about the place was polite enough for the most fastidious taste," said frank in his note-book--"and after a short conversation he called our attention to the robes which had been worn by imperial and royal visitors to the mines. the robes are richly embroidered, and every one bears a label telling when and by whom it was worn. the inspector-general treated the garments with almost as much reverence as he would have shown to the personages named on the labels. we realized that it was proper to regard them with respect, if we wished to have the good-will of this important official, and therefore we appeared to be dumb with amazement as he went through the list. when the examination was ended we were provided with garments for the descent. evidently we were not regarded with the same awe as were the kings and emperors that had preceded us, as our robes were of a very common sort. they were like dressing-gowns, and reached nearly to our heels, and our heads were covered with small woollen caps. i do not believe they were labelled with our names and kept in glass cases after our departure. "i made a sketch of our guide after he was arrayed in his underground costume and ready to start. fred sketched the inspector-general while the latter was talking to the doctor. the portrait isn't a bad one, but i think he has exaggerated somewhat the rotund figure of the affable official. "from the office we went to the entrance of one of the shafts. it is in a large building, which contains the hoisting apparatus, and is also used as a storehouse. sacks and barrels of salt were piled there awaiting transportation to market, and in front of the building there were half a dozen wagons receiving the loads which they were to take to the railway-station. the hoisting apparatus is an enormous wheel turned by horse-power; the horses walk around in a circle, as in the old-fashioned cider-mill of the northern states, or the primitive cotton-gin of the south. our guide said there were more than twenty of these shafts, and there was also a stairway, cut in the solid earth and salt, extending to the bottom of the mine. we had proposed to descend by the stairway, but the commissioner strenuously advised against our doing so. he said the way was dark and the steps were slippery, as they were wet in many places from the water trickling through the earth. his arguments appeared reasonable, and so we went by the shaft. "the rope winds around a drum on the shaft supporting the wheel, and then passes through a pulley directly over the place where we were to descend. the rope is fully two inches in diameter, and was said to be capable of bearing ten times the weight that can ever be placed upon it in ordinary use. it is examined every morning, and at least once a week it is tested with a load of at least four times that which it ordinarily carries. when it shows any sign of wear it is renewed; and judging from all we could see, the managers take every precaution against accidents. "smaller ropes attached to the main one have seats at the ends. there are two clusters of these ropes, about twenty feet apart, the lower one being intended for the guides and lamp-bearers, and the upper for visitors and officials. six of us were seated in the upper group. it included our party of four and two subordinate officials, who accompanied us on our journey and received fees on our return; but i suppose they would scorn to be called guides. "there is a heavy trap-door over the mouth of the shaft, and the rope plays freely through it. the guides and lamp-bearers took their places at the end of the rope; then the door was opened and they were lowered down, and the door closed above them. this brought the upper cluster of ropes in position for us to take our places, which we did under the direction of the officials who accompanied us. when all was ready the signal was given, the trap-door was opened once more, and we began our downward journey into the earth. [illustration: the shaft.] "as the trap-door closed above us, i confess to a rather uncanny feeling. below us gleamed the lights in the hands of the lamp-bearers, but above there was a darkness that seemed as though it might be felt, or sliced off with a knife. nobody spoke, and the attention of all seemed to be directed to hanging on to the rope. of course the uppermost question in everybody's mind was, 'what if the rope should break?' it doesn't take long to answer it; the individuals hanging in that cluster below the gloomy trap-door would be of very little consequence in a terrestrial way after the snapping of the rope. [illustration: descending the shaft.] "we compared notes afterwards, and found that our sensations were pretty much alike. the general feeling was one of uncertainty, and each one asked himself several times whether he was asleep or awake. fred said a part of the journey was like a nightmare, and the doctor said he had the same idea, especially after the noise of the machinery was lost in the distance and everything was in utter silence. for the first few moments we could hear the whirring of the wheel and the jar of the machinery; but very soon these sounds disappeared, and we glided gently downward, without the least sensation of being in motion. it seemed to me not that we were descending, but that the walls of the shaft were rising around us, while our position was stationary. "contrary to expectation, we found the air quite agreeable. the official who accompanied us said it was peculiarly conducive to health; and many of the employés of the mines had been at work there forty or fifty years, and had never lost a day from illness. we had supposed it would be damp and cold, but, on the contrary, found it dry and of an agreeable temperature, which remains nearly the same all through the year. no doubt the salt has much to do with this healthy condition. occasionally hydrogen gas collects in some of the shafts which are not properly ventilated, and there have been explosions of fire-damp which destroyed a good many lives. these accidents were the result of carelessness either of the miners or their superintendents, and since their occurrence a more rigid system of inspection has been established. [illustration: lamp-bearers.] "we stopped at the bottom of the shaft, which is about three hundred feet deep; there we were released from our fastenings and allowed to use our feet again. then we were guided through a perfect labyrinth of passages, up and down ladders, along narrow paths, into halls spacious enough for the reception of an emperor, and again into little nooks where men were occupied in excavating the salt. for several hours we wandered there, losing all knowledge of the points of compass, and if we had been left to ourselves our chances of emerging again into daylight would have been utterly hopeless. [illustration: a foot-path.] "and here let me give you a few figures about the salt-mines of wieliczka. i cannot promise that they are entirely accurate, but they are drawn from the best sources within our reach. some were obtained from the under-officials of the mines who accompanied us, and others are taken from the work of previous writers on this subject. "the salt-mine may be fairly regarded as a city under the surface of the earth, as it shelters about a thousand workmen, and contains chapels, churches, railways, stables, and other appurtenances of a place where men dwell. in fact it is a series of cities, one above the other, as there are four tiers of excavations, the first being about two hundred feet below the surface, and the lowest nearly two thousand. the subterranean passages and halls are named after various kings and emperors who have visited them, or who were famous at the time the passages were opened, and altogether they cover an area of several square miles. in a general way the salt-mines of wieliczka may be said to be nearly two miles square; but the ends of some of the passages are more than two miles from the entrance of the nearest shaft. the entire town of wieliczka lies above the mines which give occupation to its inhabitants. [illustration: an underground chapel.] "there is probably more timber beneath the surface at wieliczka than above it, as the roofs of the numerous passages are supported by heavy beams; and the same is the case with the smaller halls. in the larger halls such support would be insufficient, and immense columns of salt are left in position. in several instances these pillars of salt have been replaced by columns of brick or stone, as they would be liable to be melted away during any accidental flooding of the mine, and allow the entire upper strata to tumble in. this has actually happened on one occasion, when a part of the mine was flooded and serious damage resulted. "our guide said the length of the passages, galleries, and halls was nearly four hundred english miles, and the greatest depth reached was two thousand four hundred feet. if we should visit all the galleries and passages, and examine every object of interest in the mines, we should be detained there at least three weeks. not a single one of all the workmen had been in every part of all the galleries of the mine, and he doubted if there was any officer attached to the concern who would not be liable to be lost if left to himself. "nobody knows when these mines were discovered; they were worked in the eleventh century, when they belonged to the kingdom of poland, and an important revenue was derived from them. in the fourteenth century casimir the great established elaborate regulations for working the mines, and his regulations are the basis of those which are still in force, in spite of numerous changes. in they were pledged to austria, but were redeemed by john sobieski in . when the first partition of poland took place, in , they were handed over to austria, which has had possession of them ever since, with the exception of the short period from to . "while the mines belonged to poland the kings of that country obtained a large revenue from them. for two or three centuries this revenue was sufficiently large to serve for the endowment of convents and the dowries of the members of the royal family. the austrian government has obtained a considerable revenue from these mines, but owing to the modern competition with salt from other sources, it does not equal the profit of the polish kings. "except when reduced by accidents or other causes, the annual production of salt in these mines is about two hundred millions of pounds, or one hundred thousand tons. the deposit is known to extend a long distance, and the government might, if it wished, increase the production to any desired amount. but it does not consider it judicious to do so, and is content to keep the figures about where they have been since the beginning of the century. the salt supplies a considerable area of country; a large amount, usually of the lower grades, is sent into russia, and the finer qualities are shipped to various parts of the austrian empire. "we asked if the workmen lived in the mines, as was currently reported, and were told they did not. 'they would not be allowed to do so, even if they wished it,' said our guide. 'by the rules of the direction the men are divided into gangs, working eight hours each, and all are required to go to the surface when not on duty. in ancient times it was doubtless the case that men lived here with their families. at one time the mines were worked by prisoners, who did not see daylight for months together, but nothing of the kind has occurred for more than a century at least.' [illustration: men cutting salt in the mine.] "several times in our walk we came upon little groups of men working in the galleries; and certainly they were not to be envied. sometimes they were cutting with picks against perpendicular walls, and at others they were lying flat on their backs, digging away at the roof not more than a foot or two above their heads. the shaggy lamp-bearers--generally old men unable to perform heavy work--stood close at hand, and the glare of the light falling upon the flashing crystals of salt that flew in the air, and covered the half-naked bodies of the perspiring workmen, made a picture which i cannot adequately describe. i do not know that i ever looked upon a spectacle more weird than this. [illustration: finishing the columns.] "we had expected to see the men in large gangs, but found that they were nearly always divided into little groups. one would think they would prefer any other kind of occupation than this, but our guide told us that the laborers were perfectly free to leave at any time, just as though they were in the employ of a private establishment. there were plenty of men who would gladly fill their places, and frequently they had applications for years in advance. as prices go in austria, the pay is very good, the men averaging from twenty to fifty cents a day. as far as possible they are paid by the piece, and not by time--the same as in the great majority of mines all over the world. [illustration: subterranean stables.] "but the horses which draw the cars on the subterranean railways are not regarded with the same care as the men. they never return to the light of day after once being lowered into the mine. in a few weeks after arriving there a cataract covers their eyes and the sight disappears. by some this result is attributed to the perpetual darkness, and by others to the effect of the salt. it is probably due to the former, as the workmen do not appear to suffer in the same way. whether they would become blind if continually kept there is not known, and it is to be hoped that no cruel overseer will endeavor to ascertain by a practical trial. "every time we came upon a group of workmen they paused in their labors and begged for money. we had provided ourselves with an abundance of copper coins before descending into the mine, and it was well we did so, as they generally became clamorous until obtaining what they wanted. fortunately they were satisfied with a small coin, and did not annoy us after once being paid. "i cannot begin to give the names of all the halls, galleries, and passages we went through, and if i did, it would be tedious. we wandered up and down, down and up, forward and backward, until it seemed as if there was no end to the journey. and to think we might have been there three weeks without once repeating our steps! i will mention at random some of the most interesting of the things we saw. to tell the whole story and give a full description of this most wonderful salt-mine in the world would require a volume. "the chamber of michelwic was the first of the large halls that we entered, and was reached after a long journey through winding passages and along foot-paths that sometimes overhung places where it was impossible for the eye, aided only by the light of the lamps, to ascertain the depth of the openings below. in some of the dangerous places there was a rail to prevent one from falling over; but this was not always the case, and you may be sure we kept on the safe side and close to the wall. [illustration: a mining singer.] "in the hall we were treated to a song by one of the mining over-seers, an old soldier who had lost an arm in some way that was not explained to us. he had an excellent voice that ought to have secured him a good place in the chorus of an opera troupe. he sang a mining song in quite a melodramatic style; and as he did so the notes echoed and re-echoed through the hall till it seemed they would never cease. in the centre of the hall is a chandelier cut from the solid salt, and on grand occasions this chandelier is lighted and a band of music is stationed at one end of the vast space. its effect is said to be something beyond description, and, judging from the effect of the overseer's voice, i can well believe it. "from this hall we went through a series of chambers and galleries named after the royal and imperial families of poland and austria, passing chapels, shrines, altars, and other things indicating the religious character of the people employed in the mines or controlling them, together with many niches containing statues of kings, saints, and martyrs, all hewn from the solid salt. some of the statues are rudely made, but the most of them are well designed and executed. in some of the chapels worshippers were kneeling before the altars, and it was difficult to realize that we were hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth. "by-and-by our guide said we were coming to the infernal lake. the lamp-bearers held their lights high in the air, and we could see the reflection from a sheet of water, but how great might be its extent was impossible to guess. as we approached the edge of the water a boat emerged from the gloom and came towards us. it was a sort of rope ferry, and we immediately thought of the ferry-boat which the ancients believed was employed to carry departed spirits across the river styx. certainly the darkness all around was stygian, and the men on the boat might have been charon's attendants. "we passed down a few steps, entered the boat, and were pulled away from shore. in less than a minute nothing but the little circle of water around us was visible; the sides of the cavern echoed our voices and every other sound that came from our boat. in the middle of the lake we paused to observe the effect of the sound caused by the waves created by the rocking of the boat. it reverberated through the cavern and away into the galleries, and seemed as though it would last forever. when this sensation was exhausted we moved on again. doctor bronson asked the guide how far it was to the other end of the lake, but before the answer was spoken we had a fresh surprise. [illustration: "glÜck-auf!"] "there was a flash of light from a point high above us, and almost at the same instant another, a little distance ahead. the latter assumed the form of an arch in red fire, displaying the greeting 'glÜck-auf!' or 'good-luck!' though this is not the literal translation. we passed under this arch of red fire, and as we did so the words 'glück-auf! glück-auf!' were shouted from all around, and at the same time flashes of fire burst from a dozen places above the lake. we shouted 'glück-auf!' in reply, and then the voices from the mysterious recesses seemed to be quadrupled in number and volume. the air was filled with flashes of light, and was everywhere resonant with the words of the miners' welcome. "at the other end of the lake there was a considerable party waiting to receive us, and of course there was a liberal distribution of coin to everybody. i ought to have said at the outset that we arranged to pay for the illumination of the lake and also of certain specified halls, in addition to the compensation of the guides. the illuminations are entirely proportioned to the amount that the visitors are willing to give for them. it is a good plan to unite with other visitors, and then the individual cost will not be heavy. twenty dollars will pay for a very good illumination, and fifty dollars will secure something worthy of a prince, though not a first-class one. [illustration: fÊte in the grand saloon of entertainment.] "they showed us next through more winding passages, and came at length to the grand saloon of entertainment; which is of immense extent, and has no less than six large chandeliers hanging from the roof. it is lighted on the occasion of the visit of a king or emperor (of course he has to pay the bill), and the effect is said to be wonderful. there is an alcove at one end, with a throne of green and ruby-colored salt, whereon the emperor is seated. a blaze of light all through the hall is reflected from the myriad crystals of salt which form the roof and sides; the floor is strewn with sparkling salt; the columns are decorated with evergreens; festoons of flags abound through the place; and a band of music plays the airs appropriate to the hall and the guest. [illustration: a retired director.] "the workmen and their families assemble in their holiday dress, and when the music begins the whole party indulges in the polish national dance. it is a strange spectacle, this scene of revelry five hundred feet below the surface of the earth, and probably among the sights that do not come often before the imperial eyes. these spectacles must be arranged to order, and for weeks before an imperial or royal visit a great many hands are engaged in making the necessary preparations. from all i heard of these festivals, i would willingly travel many hundred miles to see one of them. "by means of the illuminating materials that we brought with us, we were able to get an approximate idea of the character of one of these gala spectacles. after our last bengal-light had been burned, we continued our journey, descending to the third story by many devious ways, and finally halting in a chamber whose roof was not less than a hundred feet above us. "'do you know where you are?' said our guide. "of course we answered that we did not. "'well,' said he, 'you are directly beneath the lake which we sailed over in a boat a little while ago. if it should break through we should all be drowned, dead.' "we shuddered to think what might be our fate if the lake should spring a leak. it did break out at one time and flooded many of the galleries, and for a long while work in all the lower part of the mine was suspended. there have been several fires, some of them causing the loss of many lives; but, on the whole, considering the long time the mine has been opened and the extent of the works, the accidents have been few. "the deepest excavation in the mine is nearly seven hundred feet below the level of the sea. we did not go there, in fact we did not go below the third story, as we had seen quite enough for our purposes, and besides we had only a limited time to stay in the mine. as we came up again to daylight, hoisted in the same sort of chairs as those by which we descended, we made a final inspection of the salt which comes from the mine. "'there are three kinds of salt,' said the guide. 'one that is called green salt contains five or six per cent. of clay, and has no transparency; it is cut into blocks and sent to russia exactly as it comes from the mine. the second quality is called _spiza_, and is crystalline and mixed with sand; and the third is in large masses, perfectly transparent, having no earthy matter mingled with it. the salt is found in compact tertiary clays that contain a good many fossils; the finest salt is at the lowest levels, and the poorest at the higher ones.' "well, here we are at the top of the shaft, tired and hungry, and excited with the wonderful things we have seen. the visit to the salt-mines of wieliczka is something to be long remembered." * * * * * since the visit herein described, the manner of working the salt-mines of wieliczka has undergone a decided change. owing to the influx of a stream the lower levels of the mines were flooded, and for some time remained full of water. in order to free them it was necessary to introduce powerful pumping machinery of the latest designs, and also to replace the old hoisting apparatus with new. horse-power was abandoned in favor of steam, both for hoisting and pumping; new precautions were taken against fire; all improved systems of mine-working were tested, and those which proved useful were adopted; and to-day the mines of wieliczka may be considered, in every respect, the foremost salt-mines in the world. chapter ii. leaving cracow.--the russian frontier.--the police and the custom-house.--russian censorship of books and papers.--catching a smuggler.--from the frontier to warsaw.--sights and incidents in the capital of poland.--from warsaw to st. petersburg. [illustration: outer wall of cracow.] the sun was setting as our friends reached cracow, on their return from wieliczka. the walls of the city were gilded by the rays of light that streamed over the hills which formed the western horizon. in all its features the scene was well calculated to impress the youthful travellers. frank wished to make a sketch of the gate-way through which they passed on their entrance within the walls, but the hour was late and delay inadvisable. the commissioner said he would bring them a photograph of the spot, and with this consolation the young man dismissed from his mind the idea of the sketch. all retired early, as they intended taking the morning train for the russian frontier, and thence to warsaw. they were up in good season, and at the appointed time the train carried them out of the ancient capital of poland. [illustration: custom house formalities.] at granitsa, the frontier station, they had a halt of nearly two hours. their passports were carefully examined by the russian officials, while their trunks underwent a vigorous overhauling. the passports proved to be entirely in order, and there was no trouble with them. the officials were particularly polite to the american trio, and said they were always pleased to welcome americans to the empire. they were less courteous to an englishman who arrived by the same train, and the doctor said it was evident that the crimean war had not been entirely forgotten. several passengers had neglected the precautions which our friends observed at vienna, in securing the proper indorsement to their passports, and were told that they could not pass the frontier. they were compelled to wait until the passports could be sent to cracow for approval by the russian consul at that point, or else to vienna. a commissioner attached to the railway-station offered to attend to the matter for all who required his aid; formerly it was necessary for the careless traveller to return in person to the point designated, but of late years this has not been required. "this passport business is an outrageous humbug," said the englishman with whom our friends had fallen into conversation while they were waiting in the anteroom of the passport office. "its object is to keep improper persons out of russia; but it does nothing of the kind. any nihilist, revolutionist, or other objectionable individual can always obtain a passport under a fictitious name, and secure the necessary approval of consuls or ambassadors. ivan carlovitch, for whom the police are on the watch, comes here with a passport in the name of joseph cassini, a native of malta, and subject of great britain. his english passport is obtained easily enough by a little false swearing; it is approved by the russian minister at vienna, and the fellow enters russia with perfect ease. the honest traveller who has neglected the formality through ignorance is detained, while the revolutionist goes on his way contented. the revolutionist always knows the technicalities of the law, and is careful to observe them; and it is safe to say that the passport system never prevented any political offender from getting into russia when he wanted to go there. [illustration: passport not correct.] "i have been in russia before," he continued, "and know what i am saying. the first time i went there was from berlin, and on reaching the frontier i was stopped because my passport was not properly indorsed. i supposed i would have to go back to berlin, but the station-master said i need not take that trouble; i could stop at the hotel, and he would arrange the whole matter, so that i might proceed exactly twenty-four hours later. i did as he told me, and it was all right." "how was it accomplished?" "why, he took my passport and a dozen others whose owners were in the same fix as myself, and sent them by the conductor of the train to koenigsburg, where there is a russian consul. for a fee of two english shillings (fifty cents of your money) the consul approved each passport; another fee of fifty cents paid the conductor for his trouble, and he brought back the passports on his return run to the frontier. then the station-master wanted four shillings (one dollar) for his share of the work, and we were all _en regle_ to enter the russian empire. we got our baggage ready, and were at the station when the train arrived; the station-master delivered our passports, and collected his fee along with the fees of the conductor and consul, and that ended the whole business. the consul knew nothing about any of the persons named in the passports, and we might have been conspirators or anything else that was objectionable, and nobody would have been the wiser. russia is the only country in europe that keeps up the passport system with any severity, and it only results in putting honest people to trouble and expense, and never stops those whom it is intended to reach. there, they've opened the door, and we can now go before the representatives of the autocrat of all the russias." [illustration: in the passport bureau.] one by one they approached the desk, with the result already stated. at the examination of the baggage in the custom-house the clothing and personal effects of our friends were passed without question, but there was some difficulty over a few books which the boys had bought before leaving vienna. one volume, pronounced objectionable, was seized as contraband, but the others were not taken. every book written by a foreigner about russia is carefully examined by the official censor as soon as it is published, and upon his decision depends the question of its circulation being allowed in the empire. anything calculated to throw disrespect upon the imperial family, or upon the government in general, is prohibited, as well as everything which can be considered to have a revolutionary tendency. "they are not so rigid as they used to be," growled the englishman, as he closed and locked his trunk after the examination was completed. "in the time of the emperor nicholas they would not allow anything that indicated there was any other government in the world which amounted to anything, and they were particularly severe upon all kinds of school-books. now they rarely object to school-books, unless they contain too many teachings of liberty; and they are getting over their squeamishness about criticisms, even if they are abusive and untruthful. the worst case i ever heard of was of an inspector at one of the frontier stations, who seized a book on astronomy because it contained a chapter on 'the revolutions of the earth.' he said nothing revolutionary could be allowed to enter the empire, and confiscated the volume in spite of its owner's explanations. "under nicholas," continued the englishman, "macaulay's 'history of england' was prohibited, though it could be bought without much trouble. after alexander ii. ascended the throne the rigors of the censorship were greatly reduced, and papers and books were freely admitted into russia which were prohibited in france under louis napoleon. all the tauchnitz editions of english works were permitted, even including carlyle's 'french revolution.' it is possible that the last-named book had escaped notice, as you would hardly expect it to be allowed free circulation in russia. books and newspapers addressed to the professors of the universities, to officers above the rank of colonel, and to the legations of foreign countries are not subjected to the censorship, or at least they were not so examined a few years ago. since the rise of nihilism the authorities have become more rigid again, and books and papers are stopped which would not have been suppressed at all before the death of alexander ii. "if you want to know the exact functions of the censor," said the gentleman, turning to frank and fred, "here is an extract from his instructions." with these words he gave to one of the youths a printed slip which stated that it was the censor's duty to prohibit and suppress "all works written in a spirit hostile to the orthodox greek church, or containing anything that is contrary to the truths of the christian religion, or subversive of good manners or morality; all publications tending to assail the inviolability of autocratical monarchical power and the fundamental laws of the empire, or to diminish the respect due to the imperial family; all productions containing attacks on the honor or reputation of any one, by improper expressions, by the publication of circumstances relating to domestic life, or by calumny of any kind whatever." the boys thanked the gentleman for the information he had given them on a subject about which they were curious; and as the examination of the custom-house was completed, they proceeded to the restaurant, which was in a large hall at the end of the station. [illustration: way station on the railway.] near the door of the restaurant was the office of a money-changer, its character being indicated by signs in at least half a dozen languages. passengers were exchanging their austrian money for russian, and the office seemed to be doing an active business. "that fellow has about as good a trade as one could wish," said the englishman, as he nodded in the direction of the man at the little window. "two trains arrive here daily each way; for people going north he changes austrian into russian money, and for those going south he changes russian into austrian. he receives one per cent. commission on each transaction, which amounts to four per cent. daily, as he handles the money four times. i have often envied these frontier bankers, who run no risk whatever, provided they are not swindled with counterfeits, and can make twelve hundred per cent. annually on their capital. but perhaps they have to pay so dearly for the privilege that they are unable to get rich by their business. by-the-way," said he, changing the subject abruptly, "did you observe the stout lady that stood near us in the anteroom of the passport office?" [illustration: before examination.] "yes," answered the doctor, "and she seemed quite uneasy, as though she feared trouble." "doubtless she did," was the reply, "but it was not on account of her passport. she was probably laden with goods which she intended smuggling into russia, and feared detection. i noticed that she was called aside by the custom-house officials, and ushered into the room devoted to suspected persons. she isn't here yet, and perhaps they'll keep her till the train has gone. ah! here she comes." [illustration: after examination.] frank and fred looked in the direction indicated, but could not see any stout lady; neither could the doctor, but he thought he recognized a face he had seen before. it belonged to a woman who was comparatively slight in figure, and who took her seat very demurely at one of the tables near the door. "that is the stout lady of the anteroom," said the englishman, "and her form has been reduced more rapidly than any advocate of the banting or any other anti-fat system ever dreamed of. she was probably detected by her uneasy manner, and consequently was subjected to an examination at the hands of the female searchers. they've removed dry goods enough from her to set up a small shop, and she won't undertake smuggling again in a hurry. import duties are high in russia, and the temptation to smuggle is great. she was an inexperienced smuggler, or she would not have been caught so easily. probably she is of some other nationality than russian, or they would not have liberated her after confiscating her contraband goods." the incident led to a conversation upon the russian tariff system, which is based upon the most emphatic ideas in favor of protection to home industries. as it is no part of our intention to discuss the tariff in this volume, we will omit what was said upon the subject, particularly as no notes were taken by either frank or fred. in due time the train on the russian side of the station was ready to receive the travellers, and they took their places in one of the carriages. it needed only a glance to show they had crossed the frontier. the austrian uniform disappeared, and the russian took its place; the russian language was spoken instead of german; the carriages were lettered in russian; posts painted in alternate stripes of white and black (the invention of the emperor paul about the beginning of the present century), denoted the sovereignty of the czar; and the dress of many of the passengers indicated a change of nationality. [illustration: scene on the railway.] the train rolled away from granitsa in the direction of warsaw, which was the next point of destination of our friends. the country through which they travelled was not particularly interesting; it was fairly though not thickly settled, and contained no important towns on the line of the railway, or any other object of especial interest. their english acquaintance said there were mines of coal, iron, and zinc in the neighborhood of zombkowitse, where the railway from austria unites with that from eastern germany. it is about one hundred and eighty miles from warsaw; about forty miles farther on there was a town with an unpronounceable name, with about ten thousand inhabitants, and a convent, which is an object of pilgrimage to many pious catholics of poland and silesia. a hundred miles from warsaw they passed petrikau, which was the seat of the ancient tribunals of poland; and then, if the truth must be told, they slept for the greater part of the way till the train stopped at the station in the praga suburb of warsaw, on the opposite bank of the vistula. [illustration: shutes for loading coal on the railway.] as they neared the station they had a good view of warsaw, on the heights above the river, and commanded by a fortress which occupies the centre of the city itself. alighting from the train, they surrendered their passports to an official, who said the documents would be returned to them at the hôtel de l'europe, where they proposed to stop during their sojourn within the gates of warsaw. tickets permitting them to go into the city were given in exchange for the passports, and then they entered a rickety omnibus and were driven to the hotel. it was late in the afternoon when they climbed the sloping road leading into warsaw, and looked down upon the vistula and the stretch of low land on the praga side. fred repeated the lines of the old verse from which we have already quoted, and observed how well the scene is described in a single couplet: "warsaw's last champion from her heights surveyed, wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid." laid desolate by many wars and subjected to despotic rule, the country around warsaw bears little evidence of prosperity. many houses are without tenants, and many farms are either half tilled or wholly without cultivation. the spirit of revolution springs eternal in the polish breast, and the spirit of suppression must be equally enduring in the breast of the russian. it is only by the severest measures that the russians can maintain their control of poland. a polish writer has well described the situation when he says, "under a cruel government, it is poland's duty to rebel against oppression; under a liberal government, it is her duty to rebel because she has the opportunity." after dinner at the hotel our friends started for a walk through the principal streets; but they did not go very far. the streets were poorly lighted, few people were about, and altogether the stroll was not particularly interesting. they returned to the hotel, and devoted an hour or so to a chat about poland and her sad history. "walls are said to have ears," the doctor remarked, "but we have little cause to be disturbed about them, as we are only discussing among ourselves the known facts of history. poland and russia were at war for centuries, and at one time poland had the best of the fight. how many of those who sympathize so deeply with the wrongs of poland are aware of the fact that in the poles held moscow as the russians now hold warsaw, and that the russian czar was taken prisoner, and died the next year in a polish prison? moscow was burned by the poles in , and thousands of its inhabitants were slaughtered; in the poles were driven out, and from that time to the present their wars with russia have not been successful." "i didn't know that," said frank, "until i read it to-day in one of our books." "nor did i," echoed fred; "and probably not one person in a hundred is aware of it." [illustration: polish national costumes.] "understand," said the doctor, with emphasis--"understand that i do not say this to justify in any way the wrongs that russia may have visited on poland, but simply to show that all the wrong has not been on one side. russia and poland have been hostile to each other for centuries; they are antagonistic in everything--language, religion, customs, and national ambitions--and there could be no permanent peace between them until one had completely absorbed the other. twice in this century (in and ) the poles have rebelled against russia, because they had the opportunity in consequence of the leniency of the government. from present appearances they are not likely to have the opportunity again for a long time, if ever." one of the youths asked how the revolution of was brought about. [illustration: peasant's farm-house.] "poland had been, as you know, divided at three different times, by russia, austria, and prussia," said the doctor, "the third partition taking place in . at the great settlement among the powers of europe, in , after the end of the napoleonic wars, the emperor of russia proposed to form ancient poland into a constitutional monarchy under the russian crown. his plan was adopted, with some modifications, and from to the country had its national diet or parliament, its national administration, and its national army of thirty thousand men. the russian emperor was the king of poland, and this the poles resented; they rebelled, and were defeated. after the defeat the constitution was withdrawn and the national army abolished; the polish universities were closed, the polish language was proscribed in the public offices, and every attempt was made to russianize the country. it was harshly punished for its rebellion until alexander ii. ascended the throne. "alexander tried to conciliate the people by granting concessions. the schools and universities were reopened; the language was restored; poles were appointed to nearly all official positions; elective district and municipal councils were formed, and also a polish council of state. but nothing short of independence would satisfy the inhabitants, and then came the revolution of . it was suppressed, like its predecessor, and from that time the russians have maintained such an iron rule in poland that a revolt of any importance is next to impossible. all the oppression of which russia is capable cannot destroy the spirit of independence among the poles. they are as patriotic as the irish, and will continue to hope for liberty as long as their blood flows in human veins." a knock on the door brought the doctor's discourse to an abrupt end. it was made by the commissioner, who came to arrange for their excursion on the following day. we will see in due course where they went and what they saw. it is now their bedtime, and they are retiring for the night. [illustration: royal palace at warsaw.] the next morning they secured a carriage, and drove through the principal streets and squares, visiting the royal palace and other buildings of importance, and also the parks and gardens outside the city limits. concerning their excursion in warsaw the youths made the following notes: "we went first to the royal castle, which we were not permitted to enter, as it is occupied by the viceroy of poland, or 'the emperor's lieutenant,' as he is more commonly called. it is a very old building, which has been several times altered and restored. there were many pictures and other objects of art in the castle until , when they were removed to st. petersburg. in the square in front of the castle is a statue of one of the kings of poland, and we were told that the square was the scene of some of the uprisings of the poles against their russian masters. [illustration: shrine at a gateway.] "from the castle we went to the cathedral, which was built in the thirteenth century, and contains monuments to the memory of several of the kings and other great men of the country. it is proper to say here that the catholic is the prevailing religion of poland, and no doubt much of the hatred of russians and poles for each other is in consequence of their religious differences. by the latest figures of the population that we have at hand, russian poland contains about , , catholics, , protestants, , jews, and , members of the greek church and adherents of other religions, or a little more than , , of inhabitants in all. like all people who have been oppressed, the catholics and jews are exceedingly devout, and adhere unflinchingly to their religious faith. churches and synagogues are numerous in warsaw, as in the other polish cities. in our ride through warsaw we passed many shrines, and at nearly all of them the faithful were kneeling to repeat the prayers prescribed by their religious teachers. "from the cathedral we went to the citadel, which is on a hill in the centre of the city, and was built after the revolution of . the expense of its construction was placed upon the people as a punishment for the revolution, and for the purpose of bombarding the city in case of another rebellion. from the walls of the citadel there is a fine view of considerable extent; but there is nothing in the place of special interest. the fort is constantly occupied by a garrison of russian soldiers. it contains a prison for political offenders and a military court-house, where they are tried for their alleged offences. [illustration: lake in the park.] "there are ten or twelve squares, or open places, in warsaw, of which the finest is said to be the saxon square. it contains a handsome monument to the poles who adhered to the russian cause in the revolution of . some writers say it was all a mistake, and that the poles whose memory is here preserved were really on their way to join the regiments which had declared in favor of the insurrection. "there are several handsome streets and avenues; and as for the public palaces and fine residences which once belonged to noble families of poland, but are now mostly in government hands, the list alone would be long and tedious. one of the finest palaces is in the lazienki park, and was built by king stanislaus poniatowski. it is the residence of the emperor of russia when he comes to warsaw; but as his visits are rare, it is almost always accessible to travellers. we stopped a few minutes in front of the statue of king john sobieski. there is an anecdote about this statue which the students of russian and polish history will appreciate. during a visit in the emperor nicholas paused in front of the statue, and remarked to those around him, 'the two kings of poland who committed the greatest errors were john sobieski and myself, for we both saved the austrian monarchy.' "inside the palace there are many fine paintings and other works of art. there are portraits of polish kings and queens, and other rare pictures, but not as many as in the castle of villanov, which we afterwards visited. in the latter, which was the residence of john sobieski, and now belongs to count potocki, there are paintings by rubens and other celebrated masters, and there is a fine collection of armor, including the suit which was presented to sobieski by the pope, after the former had driven the turks away from vienna. it is beautifully inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, and covered with arabesques of astonishing delicacy. we could have spent hours in studying it, and you may be sure we left it with great reluctance. [illustration: a business man of warsaw.] "warsaw has a population of nearly three hundred thousand, and there are a good many factories for the manufacture of carriages, pianos, cloth, carpets, and machines of various kinds. the city is the centre of a large trade in grain, cattle, horses, and wool, and altogether it may be considered prosperous. much of the business is in the hands of the jews, who have managed to have and hold a great deal of wealth in spite of the oppression they have undergone by both poles and russians. "the women of warsaw are famous for their beauty, and we are all agreed that we have seen more pretty faces here than in any other city of europe in the same time. the jews of warsaw are nearly all blonds; the men have red beards, and the hair of the women is of the shade that used to be the fashion among american and english actresses, and is not yet entirely forgotten. we bought some photographs in one of the shops, and are sure they will be excellent adornments for our albums at home. "in the evening we went to the opera in the hope of seeing the national costumes of the poles, but in this we were disappointed. the operas are sung in italian; the principal singers are french, italian, english, or any other nationality, like those of opera companies elsewhere, and only the members of the chorus and ballet are poles. russian uniforms are in the boxes and elsewhere in the house, and every officer is required to wear his sword, and be ready at any moment to be summoned to fight. the men not in uniform are in evening dress, and the ladies are like those of an audience in vienna or naples, so far as their dress is concerned. the opera closed at half-past eleven; our guide met us outside the door, and when we proposed a stroll he said we must be at the hotel by midnight, under penalty of being arrested. any one out-of-doors between midnight and daylight will be taken in by the police and locked up, unless he has a pass from the authorities. in troubled times the city is declared in a state of siege, and then everybody on the streets after dusk must carry a lantern. "as we had no fancy for passing the night in a russian station-house, we returned straight to the hotel. probably we would have been there by midnight in any event, as we were tired enough to make a long walk objectionable." the next day our friends visited some of the battle-fields near warsaw, and on the third took the train for st. petersburg, six hundred and twenty-five miles away. there was little of interest along the line of railway, as the country is almost entirely a plain, and one mile is so much like another that the difference is scarcely perceptible. the principal towns or cities through which they passed were bialystok and grodno, the latter famous for having been the residence of several polish kings, and containing the royal castle where they lived. at wilna, four hundred and forty-one miles from st. petersburg, the railway unites with that from berlin. the change of train and transfer of baggage detained the party half an hour or more, but not long enough to allow them to inspect this ancient capital of the independent duchy of lithuania. at pskof they had another halt, but only sufficient for patronizing the restaurant. the town is two miles from the station, and contains an old castle and several other buildings of note; it has a prominent place in poland's war history, but is not often visited by travellers. [illustration: in st. petersburg.] at gatchina, famous for its trout and containing an imperial palace, an official collected the passports of the travellers, which were afterwards returned to them on arriving at the st. petersburg station. as they approached the imperial city the first object to catch the eye was a great ball of gold outlined against the sky. frank said it must be the dome of st. isaac's church, and the doctor nodded assent to the suggestion. the dome of st. isaac's is to the capital of russia what the dome of st. peter's is to rome--the first object on which the gaze of the approaching traveller is fixed. chapter iii. in the streets of st. petersburg.--isvoshchiks and droskies.--counting in russian.--passports and their uses.--on the nevski prospect.--visiting the church of kazan.--the russo-greek religion.--unfavorable position of st. petersburg.--danger of destruction.--great inundation of .--statue of peter the great.--admiralty square.--the sailors and the statue. a commissioner from the hôtel de l'europe was at the station. doctor bronson gave him the receipts for their trunks, and after securing their passports, which had been examined on the train during the ride from gatchina, the party entered a carriage and rode to the hotel. frank and fred were impatient to try a drosky, and wondered why the doctor had not secured one of the vehicles characteristic of the country. "you'll have abundant opportunities for drosky-riding," said doctor bronson, in reply to fred's query on the subject. "for the present the vehicle is not suited to our purposes, as we have our hand-baggage and other trifles; besides, we are three individuals, while the drosky is only large enough for two." the youths confirmed with their eyes the correctness of the doctor's assertion as the little vehicles were whizzing around them in every direction. the drosky is a stout carriage on low wheels, somewhat resembling the victoria of western europe, and is drawn by a single horse. the isvoshchik, or driver, is seated on a high box in front, and somehow he manages to get an astonishing speed out of the shaggy animal that forms his team. frank afterwards wrote as follows concerning droskies and isvoshchiks: "it is astonishing to contemplate the swarm of droskies with which st. petersburg and every other russian city abounds. they are to be found everywhere and at all hours. no matter where you may be, or at what hour of the day or night, you have only to call out 'isvoshchik!' or 'drosky!' and one of the little carriages appears as if by magic. not only one, but half a dozen will be pretty sure to come forward. the drivers contend, and not always very politely, for the honor of your patronage; but as soon as you have made your selection the rejected ones drop away and leave you undisturbed. [illustration: isvoshchiks in winter.] "there is something interesting in the manner of the isvoshchik, especially in the marked contrast before and after he has made a bargain with you. until the transaction is closed, he is as independent as the hackman of new york or the cabby of london. the moment the bargain is settled and he has accepted your offer, he is your willing slave. offer him forty copecks an hour, and he refuses, while demanding fifty or sixty; you walk on, and he pretends to go away, and if your offer is unreasonably low he will not trouble you again. suddenly he reins up his horse close to the sidewalk, springs from his seat, and with the word '_poshowltz_' ('if you please') he motions you to enter the carriage. he is now at your service, and will drive just as you desire; your slightest wish will be his law. [illustration: drosky drivers.] "doctor bronson told us we must learn how to count in russian, and also acquire a few phrases in common use; the more of them we could learn the better. while on the train from warsaw to st. petersburg we learned to count. i think we did it in about two hours, as it was really very simple after we had gone through the numerals up to ten and fixed them in mind. perhaps you would like to know how it is done; well, here it is: "the numerals from one to twelve are o-_deen_, dva, tree, che-_tee_-ri, pyat, shayst, sem, vocem, _de_-vee-at, _de_-ci-at, odeen-nat-zat, dva-nat-zat. for thirteen, fourteen, and so on, you add 'nat-zat' to the single numerals till you get to twenty, which is 'dva-deciat,' or two tens. twenty-one is 'dva-deciat-odeen,' or two tens and one, and so on. you go up to thirty, which is 'tree-deciat,' or three tens, but generally shortened in pronunciation to 'treetsat' or 'tritsat.' all the other tens up to ninety are formed in the same way, with the exception of forty, which is 'sorok.' ninety is 'deviat-na-sto' ('ten taken from hundred'), and one hundred is 'sto;' two hundred is 'dva-sto.' the other hundreds are formed in the same way to five hundred, which is 'pyat sot;' six hundred is 'shayst sot,' and the other hundreds go on the same way; one thousand is 'tis-syat-_sha_.' you can now go ahead with tens and hundreds of thousands up to a million, which is 'meel-yon'--very much like our own word for the same number. "it helps us greatly in getting around among the people without a guide. we can bargain with the drivers, make purchases in the shops, and do lots and lots of things which we could not if we didn't know how to count. any boy or man who comes to russia should learn to count while he is riding from the frontier to st. petersburg, and if he takes our advice he will do so. he can find it all in murray's or any other good guide-book, and he will also find there the most useful phrases for travelling purposes. "in driving with the isvoshchiks, we have found them very obliging, and both fred and i have been many times surprised at their intelligence when we remembered that very few of them were able to read or write their own language. when they find we are foreigners, and do not speak russian, they do not jabber away like french or german drivers, or london cabbies, but confine themselves to a very few words. take one we had to-day, for example: as he drove along he called our attention to the churches and other public buildings that we passed by, pronouncing the name of the building and nothing more. in this way we understood him; but if he had involved the name with a dozen or twenty other words we should have been in a perfect fog about it. [illustration: sledge of a high official.] "in winter the drosky makes way for the sledge, which is the tiniest vehicle of the kind you can imagine. two persons can crowd into a sledge, though there is really room for only one. whether you are one or two, you sit with your face within ten or twelve inches of the driver's back, which forms almost the entire feature of your landscape. the sledges in winter are even more numerous than are the droskies in summer, as many persons ride then who do not do so when the weather is warm. "everybody rides in a russian city in winter--at least everybody who claims to have much respect for himself; and in fact riding is so cheap that it must be a very shallow purse that cannot afford it. for a drive of a mile or less you pay eight or ten copecks (ten copecks equal eight cents), and you can ride a couple of miles for fifteen copecks, and sometimes for ten. by the hour you pay forty or fifty copecks; and if you make a bargain you can have the vehicle all to yourself a whole day for a dollar and a half, and sometimes less. they go very fast; and if your time is limited, and you want to see a good deal in a little while, it is the best kind of economy to hire an isvoshchik to take you about." we left our friends on the way to the hotel when we wandered off to hear what frank had to say about the droskies and their drivers. the ride along the streets was full of interest to the youths, to whom it was all new; but it was less so to doctor bronson, who had been in st. petersburg before. they drove up the vosnesenski prospect, a broad avenue which carried them past the church of the holy trinity, one of the interesting churches out of the many in the city, and then by a cross street passed into the nevski prospect, which may be called the broadway of the russian capital. we shall hear more of the nevski prospect later on. at the hotel they surrendered their passports to the clerk as soon as they had selected their rooms; the doctor told the youths they would not again see those important documents until they had settled their bill and prepared to leave. frank and fred were surprised at this announcement, and the doctor explained: "the passports must go at once to the central bureau of the police, and we shall be registered as stopping in this hotel. when the register has been made the passports will be returned to the hotel and locked up in the manager's safe, according to the custom of the country." "why doesn't he give them back to us instead of locking them in the safe?" one of the youths inquired. "it has long been the custom for the house-owner to keep the passport of any one lodging with him, as he is in a certain sense responsible for his conduct. besides, it enables him to be sure that nobody leaves without paying his bill, for the simple reason that he can't get away. when we are ready to go we must give a few hours' notice; the passports will be sent to the police-office again, with a statement as to our destination; after we have paid our bills and are ready to go, the passports will be handed to us along with the receipt for our money." "that makes hotel-keeping a great deal more certain than it is in american cities, does it not?" said fred. "and you never hear in russia of a man running away from a hotel where he has contracted a large bill, and leaving nothing but a trunk filled with straw and stove-wood as security, do you?" frank inquired. "such a thing is unknown," the doctor answered. "i once told some russian acquaintances about the way hotel-keepers were defrauded in america by unprincipled persons. one of them exclaimed, 'what a happy country! and how cheaply a man could live there, with no police officers to stop his enterprise!'" "when you go from one city to another," said the doctor, "the formality to be observed is slight, and the hotel people will attend to it for you without charge. when you are going to leave russia, a few days' notice must be given at the police-office; and if any creditors have filed their claims against you with the police, you must settle them before you can have your passport. if any one owes you money, and you have reason to believe he intends leaving the country, you can stop him or get your money by leaving your account with the police for collection. absconding debtors are nearly as rare in russia as absconding hotel-patrons, for the simple reason that the law restricts their movements. in spite of what our english friend said of the passport system, there are some excellent features about it. another thing is--" they were interrupted by a servant, who came to ask if there were any friends in st. petersburg whom they wished to find. the commissioner was going to the police bureau with the passports, and would make any inquiries they desired. the doctor answered in the negative, and the servant went away. "that is what i was about to mention," said doctor bronson, as soon as the door was closed. "the first time i came to st. petersburg i was riding along the nevski prospect, and saw an old acquaintance going in the other direction. he did not see me, and before i could turn to follow him he was lost in the crowd of vehicles. but in two hours i found him, and we had a delightful afternoon together. how do you suppose i did it? "why, i sent to the police bureau, paid two cents, and obtained a memorandum of his address. for a fee of two cents you can get the address of any one you name, and for two cents each any number of addresses. in numerous instances i found it a great convenience, and so have other travellers. if you wanted to find a friend in new york or london, and didn't know his address, you would have a nice time about it; but in moscow or st. petersburg there would be no trouble whatever." as soon as they had removed the dust of the journey our friends went out for a stroll before dinner. the hôtel de l'europe is on the corner of the nevski prospect and one of the smaller streets, and only a short distance from the _kazanski sobor_, or church of kazan. but before they enter this celebrated edifice we will look with them at the grand avenue, the nevski prospect. "it is straight as a sunbeam for three miles," said fred in his note-book, "with the admiralty buildings at one end, and the church of st. alexander nevski at the other, though the latter is a little way from the line. it is perfectly level from end to end, like a street of new orleans or sacramento. st. petersburg is built on a marsh, and through its whole extent there isn't a hill other than an artificial one. it is a broad avenue (one hundred and thirty feet in width), reminding us of the boulevards of paris, and the crowd of vehicles coming and going at all hours of the day and far into the night makes the scene a picturesque one. [illustration: russian workmen on their way home.] "all classes and kinds of russians are to be seen here, from the mujik, with his rough coat of sheepskin, up to the officer of the army, whose breast is covered with decorations by the dozen or even more. the vehicles are of many kinds, the drosky being the most frequent, and there is hardly one of them without the _duga_, or yoke, over the horse between the shafts. the horses are driven furiously, but they are completely under the control of their drivers, and accidents are said to be very rare. perhaps this is owing to the fact that a driver is liable to severe punishment if he causes any injury to a pedestrian. [illustration: russian officer with decorations.] "somebody has remarked that the nevski prospect ought to be called toleration avenue, for the reason that it contains churches of so many different faiths. there are of course the russo-greek churches, representing the religion of the country, and there are catholic, lutheran, dutch, and armenian churches, standing peacefully in the same line. it is a pity that the adherents of these diverse religions do not always agree as well as do the inanimate edifices that represent them. "the buildings are very substantial in appearance, and many of them are literally palaces. the military headquarters are on the nevski, and so is the palace of one of the grand-dukes; then there are several palaces belonging to noble families. there is the institution of st. catherine, and the gostinna dvor, or great market-place, with ten thousand merchants, more or less, transacting business there. we'll go there to make some purchases and tell you about it; at present we will cross the nevski to the church of kazan. "it reminds us of the church of st. peter at rome, as it has a colonnade in imitation of the one which attracts the eye of every visitor to the eternal city, and takes its name from "our lady of kazan," to whom it is dedicated. kazan was once a tartar city, and the capital of the tartar kingdom of the same name. it was fortified, and stoutly defended, and gave the russians a great deal of trouble. in the sixteenth century john the terrible conquered the kingdom and annexed it to russia. the last act in the war was the capture of the city of kazan. the russians were several times repulsed, but finally the kremlin was carried, and the tartar power came to an end. a picture of the virgin was carried in front of the attacking column, and this picture, all devout russians believe, gave the victory over the moslem. the church was built in memory of the event, and the sacred picture from kazan is preserved and worshipped here. "it is a beautiful church, in the form of a cross, two hundred and thirty-eight feet long and one hundred and eighty-two feet wide. from the ground to the top of the cross above the cupola is more than two hundred and thirty feet, and the cupola is so large that it is visible from a long distance. as we entered the church we were struck by the absence of seats. we were told by the doctor that russian churches contain no seats, and all worshippers must stand or kneel while at their devotions. to this there are no exceptions; the same requirement being made of the emperor as of the most obscure peasant. "there is no instrumental music in the greek church, and church choirs composed of male and female voices are unknown here. all the singers in the churches are men; the prayers are mostly intoned, and all the congregation joins in the responses. there are no pews, or reserved places of any kind, except a standing-place for the emperor, all worshippers being considered equal; neither are there any fees to be paid by those who come to worship. "the picture of our lady of kazan, which has such a miraculous legend connected with it, is richly covered with precious stones, said to be worth nearly a hundred thousand dollars. there are other costly pictures in the church, but none to equal this one. there are a good many flags, and other trophies of war, along the walls and around the pillars; and, to tell the truth, it has almost as much the appearance of a military museum as of a cathedral. there are the keys of hamburg, leipsic, and other cities which at various times have been captured by russia, and the church contains the tombs of several russian generals who were killed in the war with france in . [illustration: a russian priest.] "we observed a curious effect in the pictures in this church which we found afterwards in a great many holy pictures in russia. the hands and face, and any other flesh, are painted on a flat surface, but the dress and ornaments are often raised in gold, silver, or other metal, and studded with precious stones, according to the will or financial ability of the owner. the church rejects all massive images of the saviour or saints as idolatrous, and says they violate the commandment "thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image." it does not exclude mosaics, and anything produced in low relief, but the rule that flesh shall be represented by a flat surface is imperative. "we afterwards attended service in the kazan church, and were impressed with its solemnity and simplicity. the vocal music had an admirable effect as it resounded through the vast building, and we have never anywhere seen a congregation more devout than this. nearly every one held a candle, and carefully guarded the flame from the draughts that occasionally swept over the congregation. illuminations have a very important place in all church ceremonies, and there are no weddings, betrothals, funerals, or any other sacred services, without candles or tapers. "lights are kept burning in front of the principal pictures in the churches. throughout the empire there is an _eikon_, or sacred picture, in the principal room of every house whose owner is an adherent of the church of the country, and often in every room of consequence. on entering a room where there is such a picture, every devout russian crosses himself; and so great is the respect shown to it, that when russian thieves enter a room for the purpose of stealing, they spread a handkerchief over the picture so that the saint who is represented upon it cannot see them. "religion has a more important part in the practical life of the russians than in that of any other people of europe. the blessing of the church is invoked upon every undertaking. steamboats, ships, and all other craft are blessed by the priest at their launching or before being put into service; the locomotives and carriages of a railway are similarly treated; and the same may be said of every vehicle, machine, or other thing of consequence. so with cattle, horses, sheep, and other live-stock; and so, also, with the furniture and adornments of the house. "in the theatres the government does not allow the representation of any kind of religious ceremonial as part of a performance, lest it might bring religion into ridicule, and under no circumstances can an actor be dressed to personate a priest. the czar, or emperor, is the recognized head of the church, and among the common people he is regarded as only a little less than a divinity. "those who have lived long among the russians, and ought to know them, say the venerative feeling among the common people is very great, and more so among the higher classes than in the latin countries of europe. they are devout church-goers, and the feasts and fasts of the church are carefully observed. they form a serious drawback to business matters, as there are certain days when no man or woman can be induced to work at any price. the owners of establishments which require to be kept constantly in operation manage to get around this custom by keeping their employés constantly in debt, as the russian law and custom compel a man to work steadily to discharge such indebtedness. "pilgrimages to monasteries and shrines are more common among the russians than any other christian people, and the poorer classes often go on long and painful journeys through their religious zeal. a large number of russian pilgrims can be found in jerusalem every year at easter, as well as at other times. so important is this pilgrimage that the russian government maintains a convent at jerusalem for lodging its subjects; and the crimean war practically grew out of a quarrel which was brought about with reference to the holy places of the famous city. [illustration: convent of solovetsk in the frozen sea.] "great numbers of pilgrims go every year from all parts of russia to the convent of solovetsk in the frozen sea, seven or eight hundred miles to the north-east of the capital. "we may have more to say on religious matters before leaving russia, but for the present we will drop the subject and continue our walk on the nevski." as they strolled in the direction of the neva, the river that gives its name to the long avenue, fred asked how it happened that st. petersburg was built on a marsh instead of upon elevated ground. "it was because peter the great wanted a capital city that could be a seaport, and this was the best site that could be found. moscow was inland (it is four hundred miles from here to that city), and peter realized that no country could be great and important without communication over the sea to other lands. so he came here and founded the city which bears his name. it was a forbidding place, but his will was law, and the city grew and lived though a hundred thousand men perished in the first year of its construction. the first house was built in . in peter declared it his capital, and the imperial court was moved here from moscow. for a long time the place was very unhealthy, and even down to the present day it is not by any means the best location in the world for a city. the drainage is defective, the drinking-water is not good, especially in the summer season, and the city has several times suffered from inundations. "for many years every vessel coming to the port, and every cart entering the city, was required to bring a certain number of stones for filling the marsh and paving the streets. where the large buildings stand, fabulous amounts have been expended in making foundations, and many of them have cost more than the buildings that stand upon them. the foundations of the church of st. isaac are said to have cost four millions of dollars, and twenty-five years were spent in their construction." frank asked about the inundations mentioned by the doctor. "there have been some eight or ten of them," the doctor answered. "the most serious inundation of this century was in , when the water of the neva rose thirteen feet and four inches above its ordinary level. observe that line," said he, as he pointed to a mark upon a building: "that is the point to which the waters rose in the inundation of ." [illustration: the inundation of .] the mark was nearly four feet above the level of the sidewalk where they stood. frank and fred regarded it with astonishment, while the doctor continued: "in a single night (november th) property to the value of twenty millions of dollars was destroyed, and it was estimated that not less than eight thousand people lost their lives. the flood was caused by a strong westerly wind which combined with the tide and forced the waters in from the gulf of finland, which is here formed like a funnel. now suppose the flood had occurred in april, at the time when lake ladoga breaks up and pours its accumulated ice and water through the neva, what would have been the result?" "would the city have been destroyed?" queried one of the youths. "so it is said, by many who have studied its position. they aver that when a high tide, a westerly wind, and the breaking up of the ice in lake ladoga shall all come together, the streets of st. petersburg will be not less than twenty feet under water, and russia will be obliged to select another site for her capital. but as it is not likely that all these things will happen during our visit, we won't borrow any trouble about the matter." "i have read," said fred, "that in that inundation the prisoners in the fort were drowned in their cells. the lower part of the fort was flooded, was it not?" "yes," the doctor answered; "but so many romances have been written on the subject that it is difficult to get at the exact truth. it is very likely that the prisoners in the lower cells of the fort were drowned, and i believe the authorities admit that such was the case. in the paris exhibition of there was a startling picture representing the death of a russian princess who was imprisoned there at the time. she is represented standing on her little bed surrounded by rats that have been driven from their holes by the flood. the water is nearly up to the level of the bed, and is pouring in at the grated window. the picture haunted me for years after i saw it, and even now it occasionally comes up in my dreams. i haven't thought of it for some time, but this question of yours has revived it." [illustration: statue of peter the great.] they continued their walk towards the neva, with an occasional glance at the needle-like spire that rises above the admiralty buildings. they came out into admiralty square, a large open space, which gave them a view of the admiralty buildings, the church of st. isaac, the equestrian statue of peter the great, and the winter palace, together with one of the bridges spanning the neva to the islands opposite. "which shall we see first?" queried the doctor of his young companions. "whichever you think best," answered frank, to which fred nodded approval. "our time just now is limited," said the doctor, "and perhaps we will satisfy ourselves with the statue of peter the great. but as we walk about we must not fail to take in the general view, which is of unusual interest." the statue is well known through its frequent representation in engravings, and is one of the most remarkable monuments of the imperial city. it was ordered by the empress catherine, and was cast by falconet, a frenchman. the inscription upon it reads-- "petru pervomu.--ekaterina vtorya." (_to peter i.--by catherine ii._, mdcclxxxii.) evidently catherine had a sufficient idea of her consequence, as the letters which make her name are considerably larger than those of her illustrious sire's. "the horse," said fred, in his note-book, "is on the brink of a precipice, where he is being reined in by his rider. peter's face is towards the neva, while his right hand is directed to the city which he built. under the horse's feet is a serpent, which typifies the difficulties the czar has overcome. the horse is balanced on his hind legs and tail, his forefeet being clear from the rock. it is said that the weight of the statue is about ten thousand pounds. "the statue stands on a block of granite that originally weighed fifteen hundred tons, and was brought from finland. the block is fourteen feet high, twenty feet broad, and forty-three feet long. it consists of two pieces that have been carefully joined together, and the operation of moving it was a triumph of engineering skill. "i have read a good story apropos of this monument--about two boys who belonged to an english ship that was lying at the quay beyond the statue. they had wandered off into the city and lost their way, and in order to get back they engaged a carriage. but after engaging it they were in trouble, as they could not tell the driver where to go. "two sailors from the same ship happened along, and to them the boys told the story of their perplexity. the sailors were in the same predicament, as they wanted to get back to the ship, and didn't know which way to go. [illustration: improvising a statue.] "'if we only knew what the russian is for that statue,' said one of the boys, 'we could make him understand.' "they tried all the words they knew, but to no purpose. suddenly an idea occurred to one of the sailors. he asked the other to get down on all-fours, which he did, wondering what was the matter with his comrade. jack mounted his friend's back as though he were a steed, and took the attitude of peter the great as nearly as he could remember it. the other sailor caught at the idea, and reared slightly on his feet in the position of peter's horse. the isvoshchiks comprehended what was wanted, and roared with delight; the two sailors jumped into a drosky, which followed the carriage containing the boys, and in due time the party arrived safely at its destination." chapter iv. dinner in a russian restaurant.--cabbage soup, fish pies, and other odd dishes.--the _samovar_ and its uses.--russian tea-drinkers.--_joltai chai_.--alexander's column.--fortress of sts. peter and paul.--imperial assassinations.--sketches of the people.--russian police and their ways. instead of returning to the hotel for dinner, our friends went to a _traktir_, or russian restaurant, in a little street running out of admiralty square. the youths were anxious to try the national dishes of the country, and consequently they accepted with pleasure doctor bronson's suggestion relative to their dining-place. "the finest and most characteristic restaurants of russia are in moscow rather than in st. petersburg," said the doctor, as he led the way to the establishment they had decided to patronize. "st. petersburg has a great many french and german features that you do not find in moscow, and when we get to the latter city we must not fail to go to the 'moskovski traktir,' which is one of the most celebrated feeding-places of the old capital. there the waiters are clad in silk shirts, or frocks, extending nearly to the knee, over loose trousers of the same material. at the establishment where we are now going the dress is that of the ordinary french restaurant, and we shall have no difficulty in finding some one who speaks either french or german." they found the lower room of the restaurant filled with men solacing themselves with tea, which they drank from glasses filled and refilled from pots standing before them. on each table was a steaming _samovar_ to supply boiling water to the teapots as fast as they were emptied. the boys had seen the _samovar_ at railway-stations and other places since their entrance into the empire, but had not thus far enjoyed the opportunity of examining it. [illustration: tea-sellers in the streets.] "we will have a _samovar_ to ourselves," said the doctor, as they mounted the stairs to an upper room, "and then you can study it as closely as you like." the russian bill of fare was too much for the reading abilities of any one of the trio. the doctor could spell out some of the words, but found they would get along better by appealing to one of the waiters. under his guidance they succeeded very well, as we learn from frank's account of the dinner. "doctor bronson told us that cabbage soup was the national dish of the country, and so we ordered it, under the mysterious name of _tschee e karsha_. the cabbage is chopped, and then boiled till it falls into shreds; a piece of meat is cooked with it; the soup is seasoned with pepper and salt; and altogether the _tschee_ (soup) is decidedly palatable. _karsha_, is barley thoroughly boiled, and then dried over the fire until the grains fall apart. a saucerful of this cooked barley is supplied to you along with the soup, and you eat them together. you may mingle the _karsha_ with the _tschee_ as you would mix rice with milk, but the orthodox way of eating is to take a small quantity of the _karsha_ into your spoon each time before dipping it into the soup. a substantial meal can be made of these articles alone, and there are millions of the subjects of his imperial majesty the czar who dine to-day and many other days in the year on nothing else. the emperor eats _tschee_, and so does the peasant--probably the emperor has it less often in the year than does his poor subject; but the soup is of the same kind, except that very often the peasant cannot afford the important addition of meat." [illustration: russian restaurant at the paris exposition.] "don't forget," fred interposed, when the foregoing description was read to him--"don't forget to say that they served us a little cup or mug of sour cream along with the _tschee_." "yes, that's so," responded frank; "but i didn't like it particularly, and therefore came near forgetting it. we remember best the things that please us." "then perhaps you didn't like the _zakushka_, or appetizer, before dinner," said the doctor, "as i see you haven't mentioned it." "i hadn't forgotten it," said the youth, "but was going to say something about it at the end. you know the preface of a book is always written after the rest of the volume has been completed, but as you've called attention to it, i'll dispose of it now. here it is: "there was a side-table, on which were several plates containing relishes of different kinds, such as caviare, raw herring, dried beef, smoked salmon cut in little strips or squares, radishes, cheese, butter, and tiny sandwiches about the size of a half-dollar. a glass of cordial, of which several kinds were offered, goes with the _zakushka_ for those who like it; the cordial and a few morsels of the solid things are supposed to sharpen the appetite and prepare it for the dinner which is to be eaten at the table. [illustration: an out-door tea-party.] "the _zakushka_ is inseparable from a dinner in russia, and belongs to it just as much as do any of the dishes that are served after the seats are taken. while we were standing around the side-table where it was served at our first dinner in st. petersburg, doctor bronson told us a story that is too good to be lost. i'll try to give it in his words: "there was once a russian soldier who had a phenomenal appetite; he could eat an incredible quantity of food at a sitting, and the officers of his regiment used to make wagers with strangers about his feeding abilities. they generally won; and as the soldier always received a present when he had gained a bet, he exerted himself to the best of his ability. "one day the colonel made a wager for a large amount that his man could eat an entire sheep at a sitting. the sheep was selected, slaughtered, and sent to a restaurant, and at the appointed time the colonel appeared with the soldier. in order to help the man along, the keeper of the restaurant had cooked the different parts of the sheep in various ways; there were broiled and fried cutlets, roasted and boiled quarters, and some stews and hashes made from the rest. dish after dish disappeared. when almost the entire sheep had been devoured, the soldier turned to the colonel and said, "'if you give me so much _zakushka_ i'm afraid i sha'n't be able to eat all of the sheep when they bring it.'" "but to return to soups. in addition to _tschee_, the russians have _ukha_, or fish soup, made of any kind of fish that is in season. the most expensive is made from sterlet, a fish that is found only in the volga, and sometimes sells for its weight in silver. we tried it one day, and liked it very much, but it costs too much for frequent eating except by the wealthy. a very good fish soup is made from trout, and another from perch. "after the soup we had a _pirog_, or pie made of the spinal cord of the sturgeon cut into little pieces about half as large as a pea. it resembles isinglass in appearance and is very toothsome. the pie is baked in a deep dish, with two crusts, an upper and an under one. doctor bronson says the russians make all kinds of fish into pies and patties, very much as we make meat pies at home. they sometimes put raisins in these pies--a practice which seems very incongruous to americans and english. they also make _solianka_, a dish composed of fish and cabbage, and not at all bad when one is hungry; red or black pepper liberally applied is an improvement. "what do you think of _okroshka_--a soup made of cold beer, with pieces of meat, cucumber, and red herrings floating in it along with bits of ice to keep it cool? don't want any. neither do we; but the russians of the lower classes like it, and i have heard russian gentlemen praise it. many of them are fond of _batvenia_, which is a cold soup made in much the same way as _okroshka_, and about as unpalatable to us. we ordered a portion of _okroshka_ just to see how it looked and tasted. one teaspoonful was enough for each of us, and _batvenia_ we didn't try. "after the _pirog_ we had cutlets of chicken, and then roast mutton stuffed with buckwheat, both of them very good. they offered us some boiled pig served cold, with horseradish sauce, but we didn't try it; and then they brought roast grouse, with salted cucumbers for salad. we wound up with nesselrode pudding, made of plum-pudding and ices, and not unknown in other countries. then we had the _samovar_, which had been made ready for us, and drank some delicious tea which we prepared ourselves. now for the _samovar_. [illustration: russian mujiks drinking tea.] "its name comes from two words which mean 'self-boiling;' and the _samovar_ is nothing but an urn of brass or copper, with a cylinder in the centre, where a fire is made with charcoal. the water surrounds the cylinder, and is thus kept at the boiling-point, which the russians claim is indispensable to the making of good tea. the beverage is drank not from cups, but from glasses, and the number of glasses it will contain is the measure of a _samovar_. the russians rarely put milk with their tea; the common people never do so, and the upper classes only when they have acquired the habit while abroad. they rarely dissolve sugar in their tea, but nibble from a lump after taking a swallow of the liquid. a peasant will make a single lump serve for four or five glasses of tea, and it is said to be an odd sensation for a stranger to hear the nibbling and grating of lumps of sugar when a party of russians is engaged in tea-drinking. "we sat late over the _samovar_, and then paid our bill and returned to the square. doctor bronson told us that an enormous quantity of tea is consumed in russia, but very little coffee. formerly all the tea used in the empire was brought overland from china by way of siberia, and the business enabled the importers of tea to accumulate great fortunes. down to only one cargo of tea annually was brought into russia by sea, all the rest of the importation being through the town of kiachta, on the frontier of mongolia. since the ports of the empire have been opened to tea brought from china by water, and the trade of kiachta has greatly diminished. but it is still very large, and long trains of sledges come every winter through siberia laden with the tea which has been brought to kiachta on the backs of camels from the districts where it is grown. [illustration: plant from which yellow tea is made.] "there is one kind of the chinese herb, called _joltai chai_ (yellow tea), which is worth at retail about fifteen dollars a pound. it is said to be made from the blossom of the tea-plant, and is very difficult to find out of russia, as all that is produced comes here for a market. we each had a cup of this tea to finish our dinner with, and nothing more delicious was ever served from a teapot. the infusion is a pale yellow, or straw-color, and to look at appears weak enough, but it is unsafe to take more than one cup if you do not wish to be kept awake all night. its aroma fills the room when it is poured out. all the pens in the world cannot describe the song of the birds or the perfume of the flowers, and so my pen is unable to tell you about the aroma and taste of _joltai chai_. we'll get a small box of the best and send it home for you to try." it was so late in the day when our friends had finished their dinner and returned to the square, that there was not much time left for sight-seeing. they were in front of the winter palace and st. isaac's church, but decided to leave them until another day. fred's attention was drawn to a tall column between the winter palace and a crescent of lofty buildings called the _État-major_, or staff headquarters, and he asked the doctor what it was. [illustration: column in memory of alexander i.] "that is the alexander column," was the reply to the question. "it is one of the largest monoliths or single shafts of modern times, and was erected in in memory of alexander i." "what a splendid column!" said frank. "i wonder how high it is." thereupon the youths fell to guessing at the height of the column. after they had made their estimates--neither of them near the mark but considerably below it--doctor bronson gave them its dimensions. "the shaft, without pedestal or capital, is fourteen feet in diameter and eighty-four feet high; it was originally one hundred and two feet high, but was reduced through fear that its length was out of proportion to its diameter. the base and pedestal are one single block of red granite about twenty-five feet high, and the capital is sixteen feet high. the angel above the capital is fourteen feet tall, and the cross in the hands of the angel is seven feet above it. with the platform on which it rests, the whole structure rises one hundred and fifty-four feet from the level of the ground." "they must have had a hard time to make the foundations in this marshy ground," one of the boys remarked. "they drove six rows of piling there, one after the other, before getting a foundation to suit them," said the doctor. "the shaft alone, which was put up in the rough and finished afterwards, is thought to weigh about four hundred tons, and the pedestal and base nearly as much more. unfortunately the shaft has suffered from the effects of the severe climate, and may be destroyed at no distant day. several cracks have been made by the frost, and though they have been carefully cemented, they continue to increase in size. pieces have fallen from the surface of the stone in the same way that they have fallen from the egyptian obelisk in new york, and it is very evident that the climate of st. petersburg is unfriendly to monuments of granite." the bronze on the pedestal and capital is from turkish cannon which were melted down for the purpose. the only inscription is in the few words, "to alexander the first, grateful russia." frank made a sketch of the monument together with the buildings of the _État-major_ and a company of soldiers that marched past the foot of the column. doctor bronson said the soldiers belonged to the guard of the palace, where they had been on duty through the day, and had just been relieved. from the column and the buildings surrounding it the trio of strangers walked to the bank of the river and watched the boats on the water, where the setting sun slanted in long rays and filled the air with the mellow light peculiar to high latitudes near the close of day. it was early in september, and already the evening air had a touch of coolness about it. st. petersburg is in latitude ° north, and consequently is quite near the arctic circle. doctor bronson told the youths that if they had come there in july they would have found very little night, the sun setting not far from ten o'clock and rising about two. in the four hours of night there is almost continuous twilight; and by mounting to the top of a high building at midnight one can see the position of the sun below the northern horizon. any one who goes to bed after sunset and rises before sunrise would have very little sleep in st. petersburg in summer. "on the other hand," said the doctor, "the nights of winter are very long. winter is the gay season here, as the city is deserted by fashionable people in summer, and one is not expected to make visits. the imperial court goes away; the emperor has a palace at yalta in the crimea, and there he passes the autumn months, unless kept in st. petersburg or moscow by the affairs of the nation. they have some public festivities here in summer, but not generally, most of the matters of this kind being reserved for the winter." [illustration: peter the great.] boats were moving in all directions on the placid waters of the river, darting beneath the magnificent bridge that stretches across the stream, and carrying little parties, who sought recreation or were on errands of business. on the opposite side of the neva, and beyond the winter palace, was the grim fortress of sts. peter and paul, with whose history many tales of horror are connected, and where numerous prisoners of greater or less note have been confined. "it was there," said doctor bronson, "that peter the great caused his son alexis to be put to death." "caused his son to be put to death!" exclaimed the youths together. "yes, it is generally believed that such was the case," the doctor answered, "though the fact is not actually known. alexis, the son of peter the great, was opposed to his father's reforms, and devotedly attached to the old superstitions and customs of russia. peter decided to exclude him from the throne; the son consented, and announced his desire to enter a monastery, from which he managed to escape to austria, where he sought the protection of the emperor of that country. peter sent one of his generals in pursuit of alexis; by a combination of threats and promises he was induced to return to st. petersburg, where he was thrown into prison, and afterwards tried for high-treason and condemned to death. peter pardoned but did not release him. on the th of july, , he died suddenly, and it was and is now generally believed that he was poisoned or beheaded by his father's order." "and was he really guilty of high-treason?" fred asked. "according to russian law and custom, and particularly according to the law and custom of peter the great, he certainly was," doctor bronson replied. "remember, the emperor is autocratic in his power, at least in theory, and in peter's time he was so actually. the will of the founder of the russian empire was law; alexis was opposed to that will, and consequently opposed to the imperial law. the progress of russia was more in the eyes of peter than the life of any human being, not even excepting his own son, and the legitimate heir to the throne. the proceedings of the trial were published by peter as a justification of his act. [illustration: assassination of peter iii.] "peter ii., the son of alexis and grandson of the great peter, died suddenly, at the age of fifteen; peter iii., grandchild of peter the great through his daughter anna, was the husband of the empress catherine ii.; but his reign was very short. his life with catherine was not the happiest in the world, and in less than eight months after he became emperor she usurped the throne, deposed her husband, and caused him to be strangled. catherine was a german princess, but declared herself thoroughly russian when she came to reside in the empire. if history is correct, she made a better ruler than the man she put aside, but this can be no justification of her means of attaining power. [illustration: paul i.] "her son, paul i., followed the fate of his father in being assassinated, but it was not by her orders. she brought him up in complete ignorance of public affairs, and compelled him to live away from the imperial court. until her death, in , she kept him in retirement, although she had his sons taken to court and educated under her immediate supervision. treatment like this was calculated to make him whimsical and revengeful, and when he became emperor he tried to undo every act of his mother and those about her. he disbanded her armies, made peace with the countries with which she was at war, reversed her policy in everything, and became a most bitter tyrant towards his own people. he issued absurd orders, and at length his acts bordered on insanity. "a conspiracy was formed among some of the noblemen, who represented to his son alexander that it was necessary to secure the abdication of his father on the ground of incapacity. late at night, march d, , they went to his bedroom and presented a paper for him to sign. he refused, and was then strangled by the conspirators. alexander i. was proclaimed emperor, and the announcement of paul's death was hailed with delight by his oppressed subjects. among the foolish edicts he issued was one which forbade the wearing of round hats. within an hour after his death became known, great numbers of round hats were to be seen on the streets. "you've had enough of the history of the imperial family of russia for the present," said the doctor, after a pause, "and now we'll look at the people on the streets. it is getting late, and we'll go to the hotel, making our observations on the way. [illustration: russian and finn.] "here are distinct types of the inhabitants of the empire," the doctor remarked, as they passed two men who seemed to be in animated conversation. "the man with the round cap and long coat is a russian peasant, while the one with the hood over his head and falling down to his shoulders is a finn, or native of finland." "how far is it from here to finland?" frank asked. "only over the river," the doctor replied. "you cross the neva to its opposite bank, and you are in what was once the independent duchy of finland, but has long been incorporated with russia. when peter the great came here he did not like to be so near a foreign country, and so made up his mind to convert finland into russian territory. the independence of the duchy was maintained for some time, but in the early part of the present century russia defeated the armies of finland, and the country was permanently occupied. finland has its constitution, which is based on that of sweden, and when it was united with russia the constitutional rights of the people were guaranteed. the country is ruled by a governor-general, who is appointed by russia; it has a parliament for presenting the grievances and wishes of the people, but all acts must receive the approval of the imperial government before they can become the law of the land." [illustration: dvornik and postman.] "what are those men standing in front of a building?" said fred, as he pointed to a fellow with a broom talking with another in uniform. "the one in uniform is a postman," was the reply, "and the other is a _dvornik_, or house guardian. the _dvornik_ sweeps the sidewalk in front of a house and looks after the entrance; he corresponds to the porter, or _portier_, of other countries, and is supposed to know the names of all the tenants of the building. the postman is reading an address on a letter, and the _dvornik_ is probably pointing in the direction of the room occupied by the person to whom the missive belongs." "i have read that letters in russia are examined by the police before they are delivered," said one of the boys. "is that really the case?" "formerly it was, or at least they were liable to examination, and it probably happens often enough at the present time. if a man is suspected of treasonable practices his correspondence is liable to be seized; unless there is a serious charge against him, it is not detained after examination, provided it contains nothing objectionable. the post-office, like everything else in russia, is a part of the military system, and if the government wishes to do anything with the letters of its subjects it generally does it. the correspondence of foreigners is rarely meddled with. writers for the foreign newspapers sometimes complain that their letters are lost in the mails, or show signs of having been opened, but i fancy that these cases are rare. for one, i haven't the least fear that our letters will be troubled, as we have no designs upon russia other than to see it. if we were plotting treason, or had communications with russian and polish revolutionists in france or switzerland, it is probable that the government would not be long in finding it out." "what would happen to us, supposing that to be the case?" frank inquired. "supposing it to be so for the sake of argument," the doctor answered, "our treatment would depend much upon the circumstances. if we were russians, we should probably be arrested and imprisoned; but as we are foreigners, we should be asked to leave the country. unless the matter is very serious, the authorities do not like to meddle with foreigners in any way that will lead to a dispute with another government, and their quickest way out of the difficulty is to expel the obnoxious visitor." "how would they go to work to expel us?" [illustration: lodgings at the frontier.] "an officer would call at our lodgings and tell us our passports were ready for our departure. he would probably say that the train for the frontier leaves at a.m. to-morrow, and he would expect us to go by that train. if the case was urgent, he would probably tell us we must go by that train, and he would be at the hotel at ten o'clock to escort us to it. he would take us to the train and accompany us to the frontier, where he would gracefully say good-by, and wish us a pleasant journey to our homes. if matters were less serious, he would allow us two or three days, perhaps a week, to close our affairs; all would depend upon his orders, and whatever they were they would be carried out. [illustration: ordered to leave russia.] "before the days of the railways objectionable parties were taken to the frontier in carriages or sleighs, the government paying the expense of the posting; and no matter what the hour of arrival at the boundary, they were set down and left to take care of themselves. an englishman who had got himself into trouble with the government in the time of the emperor nicholas, tells how he was dropped just over the boundary in prussia in the middle of a dark and rainy night, and left standing in the road with his baggage, fully a mile from any house. the officer who accompanied him was ordered to escort him over the frontier, and did it exactly. probably his passenger was a trifle obstinate, or he would not have been left in such a plight. a little politeness, and possibly a few shillings in money, would have induced the officer to bring him to the boundary in the daytime, and in the neighborhood of a habitation. "expelled foreigners have rarely any cause to complain of the incivility of their escorts. i know a frenchman who was thus taken to the frontier after a notice of two days, and he told me that he could not have received greater civility if he had been the guest of the emperor, and going to st. petersburg instead of from it. he added that he tried to outdo his guardians in politeness, and further admitted that he richly deserved expulsion, as he had gone to the empire on a revolutionary mission. on the whole, he considered himself fortunate to have escaped so easily." the conversation led to anecdotes about the police system of russia, and at their termination our friends found themselves at the door of the hotel. naturally, they shifted to other topics as soon as they were in the presence of others. it was an invariable rule of our friends not to discuss in the hearing of any one else the politics of the countries they were visiting. chapter v. number and character of the russian people.--pan-slavic union.--st. isaac's church.--its history and description.--the winter palace and the hermitage.--sights in the palace.--catherine's rules for her receptions.--john paul jones in russia.--the crown jewels and the orloff diamond.--anecdotes of the emperor nicholas.--relics of peter the great.--from palace to prison.--tombs of russia's emperors.--a monument and an anecdote. when the subject of the police was dropped by our friends, frank asked a question about the russian people and their origin. the doctor answered that the topic was a broad one, as the empire contained more than a hundred different nations and tribes of people, and that they spoke forty distinct languages. many of the smaller tribes were assimilating with the russians and losing their distinctiveness, even though they preserved their language; but this was by no means the case throughout the empire. "not in poland, i think," said frank, "judging by what we saw and heard, and probably not in finland." "quite right," added doctor bronson; "and the same is the case with the german population in the baltic provinces. though they have long been an integral part of the empire, there are thousands of the inhabitants who cannot speak russian, and refuse to teach it to their children. they are less revolutionary in their ways than the poles, but none the less desirous of preserving their national characteristics. "the population of russia is about one hundred millions," he continued, "and it is spread over an area of nearly if not quite seven million square miles of land. russia occupies about one-eighth of the land surface of the globe, but is very thinly inhabited. european russia, including poland, finland, and other provinces, covers two millions of square miles, while siberia, or european asia, extends over at least five millions. this does not include the disputed territory of the last few years in central asia. it is pretty certain to come under the rule of the emperor, and will add another half-million, if not more, to his dominions. [illustration: finland peasants in holiday costume.] "the inhabitants are very unevenly distributed, as they average one hundred and twenty-seven to the square mile in poland, and less than two to the mile in asiatic russia. about sixty millions belong to the slavic race, which includes the russians and poles, and also a few colonies of servians and bulgarians, which amount in all to less than one hundred thousand. the identity of the servians and bulgarians with the slavic race has been the excuse, if not the reason, for the repeated attempts of russia to unite servia, bulgaria, and the other danubian principalities with the grand empire. the union of the slavic people under one government has been the dream of the emperors of russia for a long time, and what could be a better union, they argue, than their absorption into our own nation?" fred asked who the slavs were, and whence they came. [illustration: inhabitants of southern russia.] "according to those who have studied the subject," doctor bronson answered, "they were anciently known as scythians or sarmatians. their early history is much obscured, but they seem to have had their centre around the carpathian mountains, whence they spread to the four points of the compass. on the north they reached to the baltic; westward, they went to the banks of the elbe; southward, beyond the danube; and eastward, their progress was impeded by the tartar hordes of asia, and they did not penetrate far into siberia until comparatively recent times. with their extension they split up into numerous tribes and independent organizations; thus their unity was lost, and they took the form in which we find them to-day. poles and russians are both of the same race, and their languages have a common origin; but nowhere in the world can be found two people who hate each other more heartily. however much the russians have favored a pan-slavist union, you may be sure the poles look on it with disfavor. "the ancient slavonic language has given way to the modern forms in the same way that latin has made way for french, italian, spanish, and other tongues and dialects with a latin origin. in fact those languages hold the same relation to latin that polish, russian, servian, and bulgarian hold towards ancient slavonic. the romish church uses latin in its service, and the russo-greek church uses the old slavonic; the poles, bohemians, and others have adopted the roman alphabet, but the russians use the slavonic characters in a modified form. the russian alphabet has thirty-six letters, some being roman, others greek, and others slavonic. after you have learned the alphabet and can spell out the signs on the shops and street corners, i'll tell you more about the language." it was getting late, and the party broke up a few minutes after the foregoing conversation. before they separated, doctor bronson suggested to the youths that he should expect them to read up the history of russia, and not forget the romanoff family. "the romanoffs," said he, "are the reigning family of russia, just as the guelphs are of england and the hapsburgs of austria." it was speedily arranged that frank would devote special attention to the first-named subject, while fred would assume the responsibilities of the latter. "and while you are on the subject," the doctor added, turning to fred, "see if you can find about the origin of the orloff family, which is one of the most interesting traditions that has been handed down." fred promised, and the party separated for the night. they were all up in good season the next morning, and after a substantial breakfast, in which the _samovar_ had a prominent place, they set out for a round of sight-seeing in the modern capital of russia. [illustration: st. isaac's church and admiralty square.] returning to admiralty square, they visited the church of st. isaac, accompanied by the guide they had engaged at the hotel. the man was of russian birth, and spoke english with considerable fluency. evidently he understood his business, as he told the history of the sacred edifice with a careful adherence to dates. "peter the great built a wooden church on this very spot," said the guide, "in , but it was destroyed by fire. afterwards the great catherine erected another, which was finished in ; but it only remained eighteen years. the present building was begun in , and its completion took nearly forty years. it was consecrated in , and is considered the finest church in the empire." "the last statement might be disputed by some of the citizens of moscow," said the doctor to the youths, "but there is no question about the church being the finest in st. petersburg. observe its admirable proportions," he continued. "it is in the form of a greek cross, with its four sides of equal length, and the architect who planned it certainly had a correct eye for his work." "you observe," said the guide, "that each of the four entrances is approached by three flights of stone steps, leading up from the level of the square. each of these flights of steps is cut from a single block of finland granite." the youths made note of this fact as they wondered how the huge masses of stone were brought from their quarries; and they also noted that the four entrances of the church were between pillars of granite sixty feet high and seven feet in diameter, polished to the smoothness of a mirror. an immense dome forms the centre of the edifice. it is of iron, covered on the outside with copper, and this copper is heavily plated with pure gold. it is the dome which first caught the eyes of the travellers as they approached the city, and forms an important landmark from every direction. the cupola rests on thirty granite pillars, which look small enough when seen from below, but are really of great size. [illustration: priest of the church of st. isaac.] in the inside of the church are paintings by russian artists, and there are two columns of malachite fifty feet high, and of proportionate diameter--the largest columns of this costly mineral anywhere in the world. immense quantities of malachite, lapis-lazuli, and other valuable stones are used in the decoration of the church, and our friends thought that if there was anything to criticise it was the great amount of ornamentation and gilding in the interior. "but i have no doubt," wrote fred in his note-book, "that this display has its effect upon the worshippers in the church, and particularly among the poor peasants and all others of the humbler classes. in all the countries we have visited, whether of the christian, moslem, buddhist, or other faith, we have found the religious edifices adorned in the most costly manner, and there is no reason why russia should form an exception to the general rule. many of the paintings, columns, and other decorations of this church were the gift of wealthy russians, while others were paid for by the contributions of the people, or from the funds in government hands." from the church of st. isaac our friends went to the hermitage and the winter palace, the latter being named in contradistinction to the summer palace, which is at tsarskoe-selo, a few miles from the capital. we will see what the youths had to say of their visit to these edifices. fred will tell the story. [illustration: catherine ii. of russia.] "to describe all we saw there would take a fair-sized volume," said fred, "and we will only tell what impressed us most. the palace was built in a great hurry, to take the place of the one that was burned in . it was ready for occupation in ; and when you know that it is four hundred and fifty feet long by three hundred and fifty wide, and rises to a height of eighty feet, you will agree with us that the russians are to be praised for their energy. our guide had procured the necessary ticket for admittance, and we passed in through an enormous gate-way opposite the column of alexander. two servants in livery showed us through the halls and galleries, and for hours we wandered among pictures which represent the victories of russia over its enemies, and amid costly furniture and adornments, till our feet and eyes were weary. the throne-room of peter the great is one of the finest of the apartments, and the hall of st. george is the largest. it measures one hundred and forty feet by sixty, and is the scene of the grand balls and receptions which the emperor gives on state occasions. there is a beautiful apartment, known as the drawing-room of the empress. its walls and ceiling are gilded, and the whole work about it seems to have been done without regard to expense. "one of the halls contains portraits of the rulers of russia from peter the great down to the present time; another, the portraits of the generals who fought against the french in ; another, the portraits of all the field-marshals of the armies by which napoleon was conquered; and others, the battle-scenes before mentioned. i observed that russia was not unlike france, germany, and other countries in representing very prominently the battles where she triumphed, and ignoring those where she was defeated. the guide told us that at the state balls in the palace sit-down suppers are provided for all the guests, even if there are two or three thousand of them. sometimes the supper-hall is converted into a garden by means of trees brought from greenhouses. the guests sit at table beneath the foliage, and can easily forget that they are in the middle of a russian winter. "doctor bronson says the russians are very fond of plants in their dwellings, the wealthy expending large sums on greenhouses and conservatories, and the poorer people indulging in flower-pots, which they place in all available spots. the wealthy frequently pay enormous prices for rare exotics. we have seen a good many flower-stores along the nevski prospect and in other streets, and are ready to believe that the russians are great admirers of floral products. their long, cold, and cheerless winters lead them to prize anything that can remind them of the summer season. "at the entrance of one of the halls there is a tablet on which are the rules which catherine ii. established for the informal parties she used to have at the hermitage. catherine had literary aspirations, and her parties were in imitation of the _salons_ of paris, which have a wide celebrity. here is a translation of the rules, which i take from murray's 'hand-book:' "' . leave your rank outside, as well as your hat, and especially your sword. "' . leave your right of precedence, your pride, and any similar feeling, outside the door. "' . be gay, but do not spoil anything; do not break or gnaw anything. "' . sit, stand, walk as you will, without reference to anybody. "' . talk moderately and not very loud, so as not to make the ears and heads of others ache. "' . argue without anger and without excitement. "' . neither sigh nor yawn, nor make anybody dull or heavy. "' . in all innocent games, whatever one proposes, let all join. "' . eat whatever is sweet and savory, but drink with moderation, so that each may find his legs on leaving the room. "' . tell no tales out of school; whatever goes in at one ear must go out at the other before leaving the room. "'a transgressor against these rules shall, on the testimony of two witnesses, for every offence drink a glass of cold water, not excepting the ladies, and further read a page of the "telemachiade" aloud. "'whoever breaks any three of these rules during the same evening shall commit six lines of the "telemachiade" to memory. "'and whoever offends against the tenth rule shall not again be admitted.' "the 'telemachiade' which is prescribed as a penance was the work of a russian poet of catherine's time, who does not seem to have enjoyed the imperial favor. it is said that invitations to these parties were much sought; but, in spite of all her efforts, the empress could not induce her guests to forget entirely that she was their sovereign. however, she managed to make her parties much less formal than anything ever known before at the imperial palace, and this was a great deal to accomplish in such a time and in such a country. [illustration: reception of john paul jones by the empress catherine.] "i may remark, by-the-way, that the empress catherine was the first sovereign of russia to invite an american officer into the imperial service. that officer was the celebrated john paul jones, a scotchman by birth but an american citizen at the time of the revolutionary war. the havoc he wrought upon the british fleets attracted the attention of the russian government, and after our war was over he received an intimation that he could find employment with the armies of the empress. he went to st. petersburg, was received by catherine at a special audience, and accorded the rank of admiral in the imperial navy. russia was then at war with turkey. admiral jones was sent to command the russian fleet in the black sea, and operate against the turkish fleet, which he did in his old way. [illustration: russian attack on the turkish galley.] "the russians were besieging a town which was held by the turks, who had a fleet of ships supporting their land-forces. jones dashed in among the turkish vessels with a boarding-party in small boats, backed by the guns of his ships and those of the besieging army. he captured two of the turkish galleys, one of them belonging to the commander of the fleet, and made such havoc among the enemy that the latter was thoroughly frightened. unfortunately, jones incurred the displeasure of potemkin, the prime-minister, and favorite of the empress, and shortly after the defeat of the fleet he was removed from command and sent to the baltic, where there was no enemy to operate against. "but i am neglecting the palace in following the career of an american in the service of russia. [illustration: the orloff diamond.] "we asked to see the crown jewels of russia, and the guide took us to the room where they are kept. one of the most famous diamonds of the world, the orloff, is among them, and its history is mixed up with a good deal of fable. the most authentic story about this diamond seems to be that it formed the eye of an idol in a temple in india, whence it was stolen by a french soldier, who sold it for two thousand guineas. it then came to europe, and after changing hands several times was bought by prince orloff, who presented it to the empress catherine. the prince is said to have given for the diamond four hundred and fifty thousand rubles (about four hundred thousand dollars), a life annuity of two thousand rubles, and a patent of nobility. it weighs more than the famous koh-i-noor of england, but is not as fine a stone. there is a faint tinge of yellow that depreciates it considerably, and there is also a flaw in the interior of the stone, though only perceptible on a careful examination. "the imperial crown of russia is the most interesting crown we have anywhere seen. the guide told us how much it was worth in money, but i've forgotten, the figures being so large that my head wouldn't contain them. there are rubies, diamonds, and pearls in great profusion, the diamonds alone being among the most beautiful in the world. there are nearly, if not quite, a hundred large diamonds in the crown, not to mention the smaller ones that fill the spaces where large ones could not go. the coronet of the empress is another mass of precious stones worth a long journey to see. there are other jewels here of great value, among them a plume or aigrette, which was presented to general suwarroff by the sultan of turkey. it is covered with diamonds mounted on wires that bend with each movement of the wearer. what a sensation suwarroff must have made when he walked or rode with this plume in his hat! "from the crown jewels we went to a room whose history is connected with a scene of sadness--the death of the emperor nicholas. it is the smallest and plainest room of the palace, without any adornment, and containing an iron bedstead such as we find in a military barrack. his cloak, sword, and helmet are where he left them, and on the table is the report of the quartermaster of the household troops, which had been delivered to the emperor on the morning of march , , the date of his death. everything is just as he left it, and a soldier of the grenadier guards is constantly on duty over the relics of the iron czar. [illustration: nicholas i.] "if what we read of him is true, he possessed one characteristic of peter the great--that of having his own way, more than any other emperor of modern times. he ascended the throne in the midst of a revolution which resulted in the defeat of the insurgents. they assembled in admiralty square, and after a brief resistance were fired upon by the loyal soldiers of the empire. five of the principal conspirators were hanged after a long and searching trial, during which nicholas was concealed behind a screen in the court-room, and listened to all that was said. two hundred of the others were sent to siberia for life, and the soldiers who had simply obeyed the orders of their leaders were distributed among other regiments than those in which they had served. "through his whole reign nicholas was an enemy to free speech or free writing, and his rule was severe to the last degree. what he ordered it was necessary to perform, no matter what the difficulties were in the way, and a failure was, in his eyes, little short of a crime. he decided questions very rapidly, and often with a lack of common-sense. when the engineers showed him the plans of the moscow and st. petersburg railway, and asked where the line should run, he took a ruler, drew on the map a line from one city to the other, and said that should be the route. as a consequence, the railway is very nearly straight for the whole four hundred miles of its course, and does not pass any large towns like the railways in other countries. "a more sensible anecdote about him relates an incident of the crimean war, when the governor of moscow ordered the pastor of the english church in that city to omit the portion of the service which prays for the success of british arms. the pastor appealed the case to the emperor, who asked if those words were in the regular service of the english church. on being answered in the affirmative, he told the pastor to continue to read the service just as it was, and ordered the governor to make no further interference. "his disappointment at the defeat of his armies in the crimean war was the cause of his death, quite as much as the influenza to which it is attributed. on the morning of his last day he received news of the repulse of the russians at eupatoria, and he is said to have died while in a fit of anger over this reverse. though opposed to the freedom of the press and people, he advised the liberation of the serfs; and before he died he urged his son and successor to begin immediately the work of emancipation. "the hermitage is close to the palace, and is large enough of itself for the residence of an emperor of medium importance, and certainly for a good-sized king. the present building is the successor of one which was built for the empress catherine as a refuge from the cares of state, and hence was called the hermitage. it is virtually a picture-gallery and museum, as the walls of the interior are covered with pictures, and there are collections of coins, gems, egyptian antiquities, and other things distributed through the rooms. [illustration: peter iii.] "the room of greatest interest to us in the hermitage was that containing the relics of peter the great. there were the turning-lathes whereon he worked, the knives and chisels with which he carved wood into various forms, together with specimens of his wood-carving. his telescopes, drawing-instruments, walking-stick, saddle, and other things are all here, and in the centre of the room is an effigy which shows him to have been a man of giant stature, as does also a wooden rod which is said to be the one with which he was actually measured. there is a carriage in which he drove about the city, the horse he rode at the battle of pultowa, and several of his favorite dogs, all stuffed and preserved, but not in the highest style of the taxidermist. there are casts taken after peter's death, several portraits in oil and one in mosaic, and a cast taken during life, and presented by peter to his friend cardinal valenti at rome. it was missing for a long time, but was finally discovered about the middle of this century by a patriotic russian, who bought it and presented it to the gallery. "there is a clock in the same room which is said to have contained at one time the draft of a constitution which catherine the great intended giving to her people. immediately after her death her son and successor, paul, rushed to the clock in her bedroom, drew out the paper, and destroyed it. at least this is the tradition; and whether true or not, it is worth knowing, as it illustrates the character of paul i." our friends imitated the course of many an imperial favorite, not only in russia, but in other countries, by going from a palace to a prison, but with the difference in their case that the step was voluntary. as they crossed the bridge leading from the winter palace in the direction of the grim fortress of sts. peter and paul, doctor bronson told the youths that peter the great shut up his sister in a convent and exiled her minister, prince galitzin. "since his time," the doctor continued, "his example has been followed by nearly every sovereign of russia, and a great many persons, men and women, have ended their lives in prison or in exile who once stood high in favor at the imperial court. catherine was accustomed to dispose of the friends of whom she had wearied by sending them to live amid siberian snows, and the emperor paul used to condemn people to prison or to exile on the merest caprice. even at the present day the old custom is not unknown." [illustration: circassian arms as trophies of battle.] "we were not admitted to the cells of the fortress," said frank, in his account of the visit to the place, "as it was 'contrary to orders,' according to the guide's explanation. but we were shown through the cathedral where the rulers of russia from the time of peter the great have been buried, with the exception of peter ii., who was buried at moscow, where he died. the tombs are less elaborate than we expected to find them, and the walls of the church are hung profusely with flags, weapons of war, and other trophies of battle. the tombs mark the positions of the graves, which are beneath the floor of the cathedral. naturally the tombs that most attracted our attention were those of the rulers who have been most famous in the history of russia. "we looked first at the burial-place of the great peter, then at that of catherine ii., and afterwards at the tomb of nicholas i.; then we sought the tomb of alexander ii., who fell at the hands of nihilist assassins, and after a brief stay in the church returned to the open air. the building is more interesting for its associations than for the artistic merit of its interior. its spire is the tallest in the empire, with the exception of the tower of the church at revel, on the baltic coast. from the level of the ground to the top of the cross is three hundred and eighty-seven feet, which is twenty-six feet higher than st. paul's in london. "the spire alone is one hundred and twenty-eight feet high, and very slender in shape. it was erected more than a hundred years ago, and the church itself dates almost from the time of the foundation of the city. fifty or more years ago the angel and cross on the top of the spire threatened to fall, and a russian peasant offered to repair them for two hundred rubles. by means of a rope and a few nails, he climbed to the top of the spire and performed the work, and nobody will say he did not earn his money. a single misstep, or the slightest accident, would have dashed him to certain death. "when we left the church and fortress," continued frank, "we felt that we had had enough for the day of that kind of sight-seeing, so we drove through some of the principal streets and went to the gostinna dvor, where we wished to see the curiosities of the place and make a few purchases. [illustration: statue of nicholas i.] "near st. isaac's church we passed the famous equestrian statue of the emperor nicholas, in which the sculptor succeeded in balancing the horse on his hind feet without utilizing the tail, as was done in the case of the statue of peter the great. the emperor is in the uniform of the horse guards. the pedestal is formed of blocks of granite of different colors, and there are bronze reliefs on the four sides representing incidents in the emperor's life and career. on the upper part of the pedestal at each of the corners are emblematical figures, and just beneath the forefeet of the horse is a fine representation of the imperial eagle. the whole work is surrounded with an iron fence to preserve it from injury, and altogether the statue is one of which the city may well be proud." while the party were looking at the imperial arms just mentioned, fred asked why the eagle of russia is represented with two heads. "it indicates the union of the eastern and western empires," the doctor answered, "the same as does the double-headed eagle of austria. the device was adopted about four centuries ago by ivan iii., after his marriage with sophia, a princess of the imperial blood of constantinople. "by-the-way," the doctor continued, "there's a story of an imperial grand-duke who went one day on a hunting excursion, the first of his life, and fired at a large bird which rose before him. the bird fell, and was brought by a courtier to the noble hunter. "'your imperial highness has killed an eagle,' said the courtier, bowing low and depositing the prey on the ground. "the grand-duke looked the bird over carefully, and then turned away with disdain. 'that's no eagle,' said he, 'it has only one head.'" what our young friends saw in the gostinna dvor will be told in the next chapter. chapter vi. the gostinna dvor.--its extent and character.--peculiarity of russian shopping.--curious customs.--old-clothes market.--hay-market.--pigeons in russian cities.--frozen animals.--church and monastery of st. alexander nevski.--a persian train.--a coffin of solid silver.--the summer garden.--speaking to the emperor.--kriloff and his fables.--visit to a russian theatre.--"a life for the czar."--a russian comedy. "before i describe the gostinna dvor of st. petersburg," said fred in his note-book, "let me premise by saying that every russian city or town has an establishment of the same kind. it is a good deal more than the market-place with us, and seems to combine the bazaars of the east with the shops of the west. in an ordinary town the gostinna dvor occupies a single large building at or near the centre of population; the larger the town or city the greater will be the commercial needs of the people, and consequently a city like moscow or st. petersburg will have a gostinna dvor that dwarfs all ordinary markets into insignificance. "the one at st. petersburg occupies an enormous building, which might almost be called a series of buildings, fronting on the nevski prospect, but entered also from other streets. there are said to be ten thousand merchants and their employés in the building, and certainly the number is little if any exaggerated. we walked among the rows of shops till our feet ached with weariness, and still there were many other rows of shops to be visited. sometimes the shopmen were importunate, but usually they did not disturb us unless we stopped to look at something. the building is two stories high, the lower floor being used for retail purposes and the upper for the storage of goods. owing to the danger of a conflagration and the great destruction that would ensue, we were told that no fire is allowed here in winter. then the merchants and their clerks wear furs and thick clothing when at their business, and shoppers are not expected to lay aside their wraps while making purchases. "'what do you buy in the gostinna dvor?' i hear some one asking. "'everything that one could wear or use in russia,' i should reply, 'together with a great many things whose use it would be impossible to imagine.' some one writing on this subject says you may come naked into the gostinna dvor, bringing only a pocket-book stuffed with money, and leave it in an hour dressed in whatever garments you choose, wear all the jewellery your tastes may dictate, and ride away in a coach drawn by four horses, with driver and footmen in livery, all obtained in the building we are now visiting, or in one of its annexes. nay, more; you can engage a residence of palatial character from accommodating house agents stationed here, and furnish it completely from the stock on hand in the gostinna dvor. pictures, chairs, sofas, curtains, tapestry, kitchen utensils, library, anything and everything you want, are all ready for sale, and only await purchasers. your wife and children, 'sisters, cousins, and aunts,' can here be provided with wardrobes, elaborate or economical, as your purse will justify, and so with all the servants of the household, regardless of their number. [illustration: politeness in the market-place.] "officers of every grade, rank, and arm of the service can be uniformed here, and their garments may be brand-new, second-hand, or so old that they will subject the wearer to punishment on account of his shabbiness. decorations are to be bought, at least the insignia thereof, and the seller will ask no questions. the purchaser wears them at his peril if he does not possess the proper diplomas, since the unauthorized wearing of decorations is as serious a matter in russia as in other continental countries. the emperor nicholas was fond of visiting the gostinna dvor accompanied by a single orderly. one day he saw a young officer wistfully eying a decoration in one of the windows, and told the orderly to ascertain his name. inquiry showed that the officer stood well with his superiors, was faithful in the performance of his duties, and the result was he received the coveted bauble directly from the hand of the emperor. "perhaps you wonder why the russian market is so extensive, and what must be the habits of the people to sustain such a commerce. this is the way it is explained: "a russian rarely buys anything till just as he wants it, and then he cannot wait to have it made. in england or america a man desiring to furnish a fine house would be weeks or months collecting his furniture, ordering some to be made, and buying the rest from time to time when he found what suited him. under similar circumstances, a russian drives to the gostinna dvor, and makes his selections from what he finds there. "the russians are said to be more capricious than people of other nationalities in the matter of their movements from place to place. a wealthy russian will fit up a house at great expense, buying his furniture in the manner described. in a few months he decides to travel for his health, or go to the country, and the whole equipment is sent to the gostinna dvor and sold for what it will bring. it may be so little used that it can be sold again by the dealer as new, and of course the dealer makes a large profit on the transaction. when the man comes back to the city he furnishes anew, and thus the business of the bazaar is maintained. fortunes come and go very quickly in russia, and so the work of fitting and dismantling is continuous. "the best goods are in the gostinna dvor proper, while the inferior ones are in the annexes. some of the shops have fixed prices, but in most of them there is a system of bargaining which is not agreeable to the traveller from the occident. he is never certain that he has paid the proper price, even when he has brought the merchant down to what appears to be his lowest figure. [illustration: importuning a visitor.] "we bought a few articles of russian manufacture to send home to our friends. among them were _samovars_, inlaid goods from tula, embroidered slippers and sashes from the tartar provinces, malachite and lapis-lazuli jewellery, and some circassian ornaments of silver. many of the articles sold in the gostinna dvor are of english, german, and french manufacture, which are largely increased in price owing to the duties placed upon them by the custom-house. "our guide directed us from the rear of the building along the _bolshoia sadovaia_, or great garden street, which is a line of shops and bazaars, to the _sennaia ploshad_, or hay-market. this is a large open place or square, which is less interesting now than in winter. in summer it is devoted to the sale of hay and live-stock, but in winter it is filled not only with the hay, grain, and live-stock of summer, but with frozen animals, which form the principal food of the inhabitants of the city. here is what one traveller has written about the frozen market: [illustration: frozen animals in the market.] "'on one side you see a collection of frozen sheep--stiff, ghastly objects--some poised on their hoofs like the wooden animals in a child's "noah's ark;" others on their sides, with their legs projecting at right angles to their bodies; others, again, on their backs, with their feet in the air like inverted tables. the oxen are only less grotesque from having been cleft down their backs--an operation which seems to take them out of the category of oxen and place them in that of beef. the pigs are drawn up in line against the wall, standing on their hind legs, with their forefeet extended above their heads, like trick-dogs going through their performances. "'the partridges, quails, grouse, wood-hens, and other birds are lying together in a frozen mass, and by their side are ducks and geese with outstretched necks so straight and stiff that you might take one of these harmless creatures by the bill and, using it as a bludgeon, knock down your enemy with its body. the fowls have been plucked, plunged into water, and left to freeze; thus they are completely encased in ice, and in that condition will keep for any length of time as long as the weather continues cold.' "frozen fish are piled in heaps like stove-wood, and frozen cabbages are rolled around like cannon-shot. a calf stands in front of a butcher's stall in the attitude of walking away, but an examination shows that he is hard as a stone, and may have been standing there for weeks. milk is sold in bricks, with a stick or string frozen into one corner; the purchaser may carry it home by means of this improvised handle, or he may wrap it in paper or his handkerchief. in fact everything that can be frozen yields to the frost, and the russians find it a most convenient form of preservation. one of the odd sights of the frozen market is the itinerant vender of sucking-pigs, who carries these articles of trade hung around his neck or waist, as though they were ornaments rather than merchandise. [illustration: market for old clothes.] "there is a market for old clothes which reminded us of chatham street, in new york. the dealers had little stalls where the garments were exposed for sale, and there were a good many peddlers who walked about with the goods they desired to dispose of. the old-clothes market of st. petersburg is said to be inferior to that of moscow in the number and character of the israelitish merchants in whose hands the business is concentrated. the one at moscow is also called the elbow-market, on account of the continued elbowing of those who go there. though people were crowded closely together when we were in the market, we saw no indications of anything but good-nature. the russians are polite to each other as well as to strangers, and it was amusing to see how the rough fellows, when meeting face to face, bowed as though they were great personages. "and such flocks of pigeons as were flying all about! they tell us there are many more of them in winter than in summer, as the birds are then driven to the towns and cities to find their food. the hay-market is their favorite resort, since grain as well as hay is sold there, and the pigeons manage to get off with all that is scattered on the ground. [illustration: pigeons in a russian city.] "the pigeon or dove in russia is a sacred bird. the russians say that as the dove brought the olive-branch to the ark, he should not be harmed, and it would be a great offence to kill one of these birds in the presence of an orthodox member of the church. but all the grain that is scattered from the feed of the horses and in the market-place is not sufficient for the sustenance of the pigeons; many kind-hearted persons throw quantities of grain to them every morning, and not unfrequently it happens that a pious russian will spend a considerable part of his income in this way. kriloff, the russian fable writer, is said to have supported all the pigeons of the gostinna dvor for some time at his own expense, or, more properly speaking, at that of his creditors. "there are a great many magpies and crows mingling with the pigeons, and evidently considering themselves just as respectable. pigeons, crows, and magpies fill the belfries of many of the churches, but not of all, and nobody seems able to say why they make the distinction. some of the churches are fairly thronged with them, and they keep up a perpetual flutter around the roof from sunrise to sunset. "there is a story that the magpies were driven out of moscow by one of the priests under the following circumstances: the high-priest, or metropolitan, was about to lay the foundation of a new church, and when he reached the part of the ceremony where the mortar was to be placed on the stone, the golden trowel which had been brought for the occasion could not be found. a workman standing near was accused of the theft, and as nobody else could have stolen the trowel, the man was sent to siberia. some weeks later the precious tool was found by the bell-ringers in the great tower in the kremlin, where it had been carried by a thieving magpie. the man was pardoned, and compensated for his suffering; the metropolitan placed the curse of the church on the magpie, and thereupon all the magpies in moscow flew away, and have not since been near the city. the story is told by the author of 'the russians at home,' and he adds that the magpies really do keep at a respectful distance from the ancient capital of russia, and thus vouch for the truth of the story." from the gostinna dvor our friends drove to the church and monastery of st. alexander nevski, at the extreme end of the nevski prospect. it occupies a large area enclosed by high walls, and is said to be on the exact spot where the grand-duke alexander defeated the swedes, about a.d. . in due time he was canonized, and became st. alexander. he was buried at vladimir, where his remains rested until after the founding of st. petersburg. peter the great caused the bones of the saint to be transported to the new city on the banks of the neva. st. alexander became st. alexander nevski ("of the neva"), and the church and monastery were established. one night the monks in charge of the church took the bones of the saint and started for vladimir, declaring they had been told in a vision that the saint was not resting peacefully in the marshy soil of the new capital. peter was not a man to be thwarted in his designs. he sent word to the monks that unless they returned immediately, bringing the bones with them, they would lose their heads. knowing the man they had to deal with, they straightway had a new vision, which accorded with the wishes of the imperious czar. they took the road back to st. petersburg without delay, and sought and obtained the pardon of their august master. hear what fred has to say about the church and its surroundings: "the original church was of wood," writes fred, "and was built about ; it was torn down a few years later, and replaced with a church of stone. the sovereigns of russia each added something to the building and its surroundings, and the present cathedral was built by catherine the great. the work was done at great expense. marble was brought from italy for the interior decorations, and the malachite, lapis-lazuli, and other costly minerals were brought from siberia and persia. some of the paintings are by russian artists, and the rest by celebrated masters of italy and other countries. "an object of great interest is the shrine of st. alexander nevski. the coffin is of solid silver, and, with the surrounding ornaments of the same pure metal, is estimated to weigh more than a ton and a half. the crown of the saint is preserved here, and also the bed on which peter the great died, and there are many interesting objects associated with the memory of nearly all the rulers of russia. "there is a library of ten or twelve thousand volumes, together with a large number of manuscripts relating to the history of the empire. in the monastery are the cells of some fifty or sixty monks who reside here and have charge of a religious school which is open to students preparing to enter the service of the church. the chapel contains the tombs of suwaroff and other generals, and also of many members of the imperial family. there are tombs of several noble families of russia; that of the narishkins bears the inscription, "'from their race came peter the great.' "an occurrence of comparatively recent times is associated with this church. alexander griboyedoff, born at moscow about , was a celebrated poet and dramatist, whose merits were acknowledged by his appointment as minister to persia in . in february of the following year he and all the russians who accompanied him were murdered in teheran, in consequence of a riotous outbreak of the populace. the russian government demanded satisfaction, which was given in the shape of a long train of beasts of burden loaded with presents, and accompanied by a prince of the shah's household. there were also many fine horses for saddle purposes, and a collection of wild animals peculiar to asia. the train was months on its way, and reached st. petersburg in the winter. a procession was made to this church, and certainly it was the most remarkable that this northern city had ever seen. [illustration: persian horses presented by the shah.] "pearls, embroideries in gold and silver, shawls, and other costly fabrics, were carried on silver dishes in the hands of gorgeously dressed persians; elephants bearing towers filled with persian warriors, or laden with the gifts of the persian court, were protected from the cold by boots and wrappings of leather; and the cages of the lions, tigers, and leopards were shielded by double coverings of the skins of arctic bears. the persian prince rode in an imperial carriage drawn by six horses, and was escorted by a regiment of russian grenadiers. a portion of the presents was bestowed upon this church, and the remainder went to the families of griboyedoff and his companions. "the emperor comes in person to attend the service of mass in this church at least once a year. the choir is one of the best in the city, and the church is largely attended by the fashionable inhabitants of the capital. a service was going on as we entered the building, and we remained near the door until it ended. it was an impressive ceremonial, made doubly so by the historic interest of the surroundings." [illustration: russian peasant girl.] a drive to the summer gardens followed the visit to the church of saint alexander nevski. several theatres and other public buildings were passed on the way, but they concluded not to stop to examine them. "one building is very much like another in st. petersburg," said the doctor; "and unless there is some special interest connected with it, or a peculiar feature of architecture, it is not worth while mixing it up with your recollections of the winter palace and the hermitage." [illustration: russian nurse-maid and children.] it was a pleasant afternoon, and the summer gardens were filled with people enjoying the open air. there were nurse-maids with children, peasants alone or in couples, or groups, well-to-do persons of the middle classes, officers and soldiers--in fact a fair representation of the whole population. the emperor sometimes comes here for a walk, but of late years his visits have been less frequent than formerly, on account of the fear of assassination. it is forbidden to speak to the emperor while he is on the promenade, and any one violating the rule will be arrested immediately. it is said that one day while the emperor was walking in the summer gardens he met and recognized a french actor with whose performance he was greatly pleased. he spoke pleasantly to the actor, and the latter replied, expressing his satisfaction at this mark of the imperial favor. the emperor then went on his way. the police immediately pounced upon the performer, and carried him away to prison for violating the rule! "but the emperor spoke to me first," the man protested over and over again to no purpose. "you spoke to the emperor, which is contrary to the law," was all the explanation he could obtain. nicholas went that night to the theatre to hear his favorite, but the latter did not appear. no one could tell where he was, and his majesty returned disappointed to the palace. in the morning the unfortunate actor was released, and the story somehow reached the imperial ears. nicholas sent for the victim of the arrest, apologized for the action of the police, and asked what reparation he could make for the actor's night in prison. "never speak to me again in the public garden," was the reply. the emperor laughed, and made the required promise. next day he sent the equivalent of a month's salary to the actor, together with a diamond ring of no small value. in one corner of the garden is a monument to the memory of kriloff, the russian fabulist. the youths asked the doctor to tell them about kriloff, which he did as follows: "kriloff was the most famous writer in russia in the first half of the present century," said the doctor, "and he is probably better known to-day among all classes of the population than any other man of letters. forty thousand copies of his works were sold between and , in editions of various kinds, and went to all parts of the empire. there was hardly a child of the educated classes who was not familiar with his stories, and they were circulated 'by word of mouth' among the peasantry, to whom reading was an unknown accomplishment; and before they were issued in books, his fables were published in newspapers and magazines, so that the aggregate circulation was very large." fred asked what was the nature of the stories told by the famous man whose statue they were regarding. [illustration: some of kriloff's friends.] "they were fables," the doctor answered, "after the manner of Æsop's and la fontaine's. he had written editorials and literary essays for various publications, but never made a 'hit' until about his fortieth year, when he took some fables from la fontaine and adapted them to the conditions of life in russia. he showed them to a friend, who printed them in _the moscow spectator_, where they attracted much attention. kriloff was encouraged to continue this style of writing. for the rest of his life his literary labors were almost wholly devoted to fables. he died in november, , at the good old age of seventy-six. [illustration: kriloff's characters in convention.] "at his funeral the streets were crowded, and the church of st. isaac could not hold all who came to take part in the services. soon after his death a popular subscription was started, and the children of all classes contributed to it. the money was expended for the erection of the statue before us. you observe that the space around it is the favorite play-ground of the children, and no more appropriate spot could have been chosen." the statue represents kriloff in a dressing-gown, seated in an arm-chair, with his head slightly inclined forward, and looking pleasantly downward. the pedestal of the monument is adorned with reliefs of the animals that figured in his fables--oxen, horses, cows, sheep, donkeys, foxes, wolves, hens, lions, etc., and thereby hangs a story: the emperor nicholas was fond of choosing as his ministers and advisers men who were not likely to oppose any of his measures. the incompetency of his ministry was notorious both in russia and other countries. when his successor, alexander ii., ascended the throne, he was asked why he did not retain the ministry of nicholas instead of choosing a new one. he replied, "my father was a man of such transcendent ability that he could afford to surround himself with incompetent men; i feel my weakness, and must have the best talent in the empire to assist me." when the equestrian monument to the memory of nicholas was under consideration, it was proposed to adorn its pedestal with the portraits of his ministers, but the proposal was vetoed, when some one suggested that if the monument were so adorned it might be mistaken for that of kriloff. "kriloff's fables," the doctor continued, "were aimed at official and social abuses and absurdities. many that he wrote were never produced, as all had to receive the approval of the censor before they could be issued. i told you that in ten years forty thousand copies of his works were sold, and it is probable that the present sale amounts to several thousand annually. kriloff is read not only by russian children but by people of all ages, and the fables have been translated into all the languages of europe." on the way back to the hotel our friends stopped at a book-store and bought a copy, in english, of the book in which their interest had been aroused. some of the fables were incomprehensible to them, on account of their ignorance of russian manners and customs, and of the system of government; but this was not the case with the greater number. they had a hearty laugh over several of the anecdotes, and voted the book to be well worth preserving. here are some of the fables with which they were amused. we will condense them, as they are sometimes rather long drawn out in the original. a donkey meets a nightingale in the woods, and asks her to favor him with a song. she complies, and sings her sweetest. the other birds come and listen, but the donkey shakes his head and says, "your voice is very fair, but you should take lessons of the village cock." the moral may be thus rendered in english: "what most the poet fears, is the critic with long ears." another fable tells how the swan, the crab, and the pike agreed to draw a load; but when the time came for the effort the pike dived into the water, the swan flew into the air, while the crab went backward after the manner of his kind. at the end kriloff says, "which was right and which was wrong, i really can't pretend to say; but this i know, they labored long, and the load stands still to the present day." the fable of "the two boys" tells how two youths are trying to get at some nuts in a tree, but the limbs are beyond their reach. one suggests that he will climb up on the back of the other, and then can gather nuts for both; but as soon as he is seated among the limbs he falls to eating the nuts at his leisure, and throws only the shells to his companion. the moral is obvious, and kriloff adds that he has known men thus raised to profitable positions who had not the grace to throw even the shells to those who had assisted them. [illustration: the fox as a law giver.] in the fable of "the pike," that voracious fish has been killing his inoffensive neighbors in the pond. he is taken in a tub of water and carried before the court for judgment. the court is composed of two donkeys and two goats, who grazed on the banks of the pond; and in order to make their decision an intelligent one, a skilful lawyer, the fox, is added to the court. people said that the fox was always plentifully supplied with fish, the pike giving him all he wanted. the proof was overwhelming, and the judges decided that the pike must be hanged. "oh, hanging's too good for him," said the fox, "give him something more severe; let the wretch be drowned." "certainly," exclaimed the judges; and thereupon the pike was thrown into the pond again. [illustration: one of kriloff's characters.] in "the fox and the marmot," the fox complains to the marmot that he has been driven out of a poultry-yard which he had undertaken to protect. "it was a wretched place," says the fox; "i was awake all night; and even in the daytime i had hardly time to eat a mouthful. my health was suffering from my constant occupation, and, after all my trouble and fidelity, i am accused of stealing. what an infamous outrage! you know what i had to do there, and i ask if you could suspect me of the slightest act of dishonesty." "of course not," the marmot answers; "but i'm sorry to say that i've frequently seen feathers sticking in your mouth." "many an official," says kriloff, "complains that his place is a hard one, and he is barely able to live upon his pay. nevertheless in time he buys an estate and builds a house. you might have difficulty in proving that he accepted bribes or robbed the government, but every one must admit that the feathers are quite visible around the gentleman's mouth." frank read this fable aloud, and then asked the doctor if the moral would be understood by any office-holders in the united states. doctor bronson smiled as he answered that the fable was designed for russia alone, but its circulation in new york and washington could do no harm. in the evening our friends went to one of the theatres to hear an opera that is a great favorite with the russians. it is by glinka, a russian composer, and is entitled "_jizn za tsarya_" ("a life for the czar"). from "the russians at home" fred learned that the opera was first produced in moscow in . the subject is the devotion of a russian peasant to the czar michael, the first ruler of the romanoff family. a band of polish invaders are seeking the czar with the intention of killing him; they meet a peasant, whom they question as to the czar's place of concealment. suspecting their design, he offers to lead them to the spot; they follow, and he leads them to the centre of a forest from which they cannot find a way of escape. after getting them there, he announces that he has saved the life of the czar at the sacrifice of his own. the invaders kill him on the spot, but the life of the czar is saved. the story is a true one, and to this day the people of the village where the loyal peasant, ivan soussanin, lived, are exempt from taxes, and a monument has been erected to the memory of the man. the opera which chronicles his devotion is given in three acts, and its melodies are all strictly national. our friends were delighted with the performance, and both frank and fred declared that for days afterwards several of the airs in "_jizn za tsarya_" were literally "running through their heads." another evening they went to one of the cheaper theatres, where russian comedies and farces were given. of course they could not understand the dialogue, but were quite interested in the action of the piece, which was decidedly vigorous. fred said he was reminded of certain local dramas in new york, where the actors receive a great deal of pounding and rough handling, and frank thought a good actor in russia ought to have the flexibility and agility of a circus performer. as a type of the plays that amuse the lower order of russians, the following is a fair representation: a mujik makes love to his master's maid-servant, much against the old gentleman's will. one day the master enters the kitchen and finds the mujik there. the whole family is called, the bull-dog is let loose upon the lover and seizes him by the coat, while all the members of the household proceed to pound him with saucepans, broomsticks, tongs, and other utensils that can be used for hostile purposes. [illustration: closing scene in a russian play.] round and round goes the frightened mujik. the dog clings to the mujik's coat, the master seizes the dog by the tail, the mistress clutches the master by the coat, and so the whole trio is dragged by the victim. the rest of the party continue their pounding, which they alternate by throwing missiles in the shape of plates, potatoes, and anything else the kitchen affords. the audience is wild with delight, especially as the blows fall quite as often on the other characters as on the mujik. finally the maid-servant comes to her lover's relief by throwing a bunch of fire-crackers among his enemies and blowing them up; thereupon the lover dashes through the door, carrying with him the adhering bull-dog, and the curtain falls amid rounds of applause. [illustration: kriloff's statue in the summer garden, st. petersburg.] chapter vii. newspapers in russia.--their number, character, and influence.--difficulties of editorial life.--the censorship.--an excursion to peterhof, oranienbaum, and cronstadt.--sights in the summer palace.--cronstadt and the naval station.--the russian navy.--the russian army: its composition and numbers.--the cossacks.--anecdotes of russian military life. the conversation about kriloff and the visit to the opera naturally turned the thoughts of the youths in the direction of russian literature, journalism, and dramatic productions. frank was curious to know about the newspapers of the country, while fred's first inquiry referred to the works of its poets, historians, and dramatists. "we will begin with the newspapers," said doctor bronson, "and first i will speak of those published in st. petersburg. they are all printed in russian, with the exception of a little sheet in german, for the exclusive use of the german residents, and _le journal de st. petersbourg_, the organ of the ministry of foreign affairs, and chiefly filled with official notices interesting to foreigners. it is printed in french, as most of the foreigners visiting russia understand that language. it contains very little local news, and not much from the outside world. in fact journalism, as we understand it in america, is practically unknown in russia. the best of the russian dailies could not stand a comparison with the leading journals of a dozen american cities, and a single copy of the _herald_, _tribune_, _times_, or _world_, of new york, contains more 'news,' as we call it, than all the papers of moscow and st. petersburg together." "i suppose the censorship is largely responsible for this state of affairs," frank remarked. "you are quite right," the doctor replied; "if the censorship did not exist there is no doubt that the papers would be much more enterprising than they are. they must not offend the government, or they are liable to suppression. editorials are generally submitted to the censor before going into type, and if approved they may be printed. if printed without approval, the publishers run the risk of censure. for a first offence they are 'cautioned;' for a second they are cautioned and fined; and for a third offence the publication is suspended for a month, three months, or perhaps entirely. consequently the papers cannot discuss public matters with any freedom, and they are entirely prohibited from publishing personal scandals, which form such an important part of the 'news' of several american papers i could name. in addition to cautions and fines, the editors are liable to imprisonment; and, taking all things into consideration, the way of the journalist is hard in russia." fred asked the doctor what were the principal papers of the capital. [illustration: press-room of a daily newspaper.] "they change so often," was the reply, "that an answer made this year will hardly answer for next. each member of the ministry has his organ; that of the foreign ministry, as before stated, is _le journal de st. petersbourg_; while that of the war department is the _russki invalid_; known to the outer world as the _invalide russe_. the organ of the naval bureau is published at cronstadt, the great naval port of the empire, and not at the capital; but as cronstadt is only a few miles away, the locality is of little consequence. the _golos_ is generally understood to be the organ of the ministry of the interior; and as this department has the supervision of the press, this paper is said to have more freedom than its rivals. but even the _golos_ does not escape the hand of the censor, and its freedom of speech has several times brought it into trouble. "what would be called a small circulation in america is a large one in russia. there is not a daily paper in the empire that averages a circulation of twenty-five thousand copies, and the leading papers of the two great cities have to content themselves with ten or fifteen thousand. i have been told that the daily papers of st. petersburg do not circulate altogether more than eighty thousand copies daily outside the capital, and about fifty thousand in it. remember, the mass of the population does not know how to read and write as in america, and consequently the circulation of the newspapers is confined to a small portion of the community. [illustration: interviewing an editor.] "a paper of great influence, probably the greatest in the empire, is the _moscow gazette_. it is supposed to be the organ of the emperor, with whom its editor, mr. katkoff, is on terms of intimacy. important edicts of the government are frequently foreshadowed in the _gazette_, and the national and international pulses are often felt through its columns. but, with all its influence, the _gazette_ does not circulate more than twenty thousand copies--at least according to the figures at my command. the _moscow gazette_ is more frequently quoted by foreign writers than any other journal in russia; and if it were published in french rather than in russian, we should probably hear of it even more frequently than we do." "it's a pity they don't give us a french edition of it," said frank. "i would like very much to read the paper and know what it has to say, but of course i can't as long as it is in russian. french is the diplomatic language, and i wonder they don't make an edition for foreign circulation." "did you ever hear," remarked the doctor, with a smile, "of the attempt of prince bismarck to have german take the place of french as the language of diplomacy?" neither of the boys had heard the anecdote, which the doctor gave as follows: [illustration: prince gortchakoff.] "shortly after the close of the franco-german war, in , bismarck thought he would establish german as the diplomatic language, and with this object in view he made use of german instead of french in an official communication to prince gortchakoff, the foreign minister of russia. gortchakoff promptly replied to the communication, and wrote in russian. bismarck saw the joke, and desisted from further attempts to carry out his design." "returning to our subject," said the doctor, "there are daily papers in the large towns of russia, and weekly or semi-monthly papers in the smaller ones; but with its population of one hundred millions, the empire has less than one-tenth as many newspapers as we have in the united states, and probably not more than one-fiftieth, or even one-hundredth, of the circulation. "the first printing-press in russia was set up in . the first newspaper was printed at moscow in , and the second at st. petersburg, a year later. peter the great abolished the use of the old slavic characters for printing purposes, and personally supervised the casting at amsterdam of the types in the russian common language as we now find it. "in addition to the newspapers there are many magazines and reviews in russia, and some of them have a very large circulation. they contain articles on the condition of the country, biographical sketches of distinguished russians, historical notices of cities and towns, scientific reports, travels, anecdotes, and stories by russian writers, together with translations of european or american works. 'uncle tom's cabin' was published in one of the russian magazines, and so were the stories of dickens and other english authors. the magazines go to all parts of the empire, and have a larger circulation, proportioned to that of the newspapers, than do periodicals elsewhere." the conversation was brought to an end by the entrance of the guide, who said it was time to start for their proposed excursion to peterhof. in a few minutes they were on the way to the station, and in due time were seated in the train which carried them to their destination. peterhof is on the shore of the gulf of finland, not far from cronstadt; in fact the excursion included a visit to cronstadt before the party returned to the city. the palace was begun in , under the direction of peter the great. nearly every sovereign of russia has made additions and alterations, but the original palace remains, and its general characteristics are preserved. even the yellow paint which peter adopted is still in use, and the palace contains several relics of the great czar, which are regarded with reverence by russian visitors, and with interest by others. "it was here that peter the great died," wrote fred in his journal. "they showed us the bed whereon he breathed his last, and it was in the same condition as when he left it. it is not in the palace, but in a small building in the grounds, and it is said that in the same building the empress elizabeth sometimes amused her courtiers by cooking her own dinner. from another building, called marly, peter used to watch his fleet of ships at anchor near cronstadt; and in another, the hermitage, there is a curious arrangement, devised by catherine ii., so that a party at dinner did not need the aid of servants. you wonder how it was done? "in front of each person at table there was a circular opening, through which a plate could be lowered to the kitchen or carving-room below, and replaced by another. imagine, if you please, a miniature 'lift,' or elevator, for each place at table, and you will understand the arrangement. thus a dinner of any number of courses could be served, and the party would be entirely by itself. catherine used this dining-room when she wished to discuss state secrets with foreign ambassadors, and be sure that no listening servant could betray them. [illustration: cabinet and chair in the palace.] "the palace contains many tapestries, articles of porcelain, malachite, and other costly things, and there are many pictures representing battles fought in the latter part of the last century. one room contains nearly four hundred portraits of girls in all parts of european russia, which were painted by a french count who travelled through the empire in catherine's time. the wonderful thing about them is, that the artist who executed the pictures was able to represent the subjects in different attitudes, so that no two are alike. "they showed us the tables and benches where several of the emperors played when they were children, and also the playthings that amused them. [illustration: illumination in a russian park.] "the grounds are quite as interesting as the palace. they are beautifully laid out in gardens, dotted with lakes, cascades, fountains, and little parks. no description in words could do justice to the spot, which must be seen in an elaborate picture to be appreciated. the water-works are nearly as fine as the celebrated one at versailles, or st. cloud in france, and of course the russians claim that they are superior. occasionally in summer there is a festival given by the emperor to some of his foreign guests; the grounds and the lake are lighted up with chinese lanterns, and the display closes with an exhibition of fireworks of no small importance. sometimes the emperor goes around the lake in a boat propelled by oars-men, but usually contents himself by looking on from a pavilion near the edge of the water. [illustration: tapestry and fire utensils at peterhof.] "from peterhof we drove to oranienbaum, about six miles away, where we took the boat to cronstadt. i can't begin to name all the palaces and chateaux on the road, as i was too busy with looking at them to remember what they were called; and besides, if i made a list it might be too long to be interesting. we visited two or three of them, but had not time for all; some were not open to strangers, as they were then occupied by their owners, and these russian grand-dukes and duchesses are very exclusive in their ways. "at oranienbaum we found the little steamer which was to convey us to cronstadt, five miles away; she puffed, as though conscious of her importance, but did not make very good speed, and we had plenty of time to study cronstadt as we approached it. the city is not very large, nor is it particularly interesting. the chief objects of attraction are the tremendous fortifications, which are among the strongest in the world, and very extensive. they were begun by peter the great, in , and there has hardly been a year since that time when labor on them has entirely ceased. the harbor was filled with ships belonging to the war fleet of russia, and certainly they have a fleet to be proud of. there is a smaller port, called the 'merchants' harbor,' where the commerce of the city is centred. it is an active place from may to november, when navigation is open, but when the baltic is sealed with ice in the winter months, it must be the perfection of dreariness. "until quite recently ships drawing more than ten feet of water could not pass the bar of the neva and ascend to st. petersburg, but were compelled to anchor at cronstadt. recently a canal has been made, with a depth of twenty feet, so that a great many vessels which were formerly excluded on account of their size can ascend to the capital. during the crimean war cronstadt was blockaded by a french and english fleet; an attack was made on the forts of cronstadt, but it was easily repulsed; and after that time the allies did nothing more than regard the forts from a safe distance. at oranienbaum is a palace, from whose top the emperor nicholas used to watch the movements of the hostile fleet; the telescope he employed is still in the position where he left it on his last trip to st. petersburg." while our friends were looking at the naval harbor of cronstadt and the splendid fleet at anchor there, doctor bronson reminded the youths that when peter the great ascended the throne russia had no navy, and none of her people knew anything about building ships. [illustration: door-way of peter's house at zaandam, holland.] "i have read about it," said frank, "and it was to learn the art of ship-building that he went to england and holland." "that is what history tells us," the doctor answered. "he realized the inferior condition of a country without a navy, and sent intelligent young russians to study the art of building and navigating ships. not satisfied with what they learned, he left russia for about a year and a half, which he spent in acquiring useful knowledge. he worked in a ship-yard in holland disguised as a common workman, though it is generally believed that the officers in charge of the yard knew who he was. afterwards he spent three months in an english ship-yard; and when he returned to his country he was accompanied by some five hundred shipwrights, riggers, sail-makers, and other laborers required in an establishment such as he wished to create. from this beginning came the navy of russia. the foundation of the great fleet before us was laid by peter the great. "the english and dutch origin of russian ship-building is shown in the english and dutch names for the different parts of a ship. the deck, keel, mast, and many other nautical things are the same in russian as in english; the russians had no equivalent words, and naturally adopted the names from the country that supplied the things named. [illustration: a student of navigation.] "and i can tell you something still more curious," the doctor continued, "as it was told to me by a russian captain. while the ship-builders of peter the great were from england and holland combined, the men to navigate the ships after they were built came almost wholly from the latter country. the result is that nearly all the evolutions of a ship, and the movements of the sailors to accomplish them, are in dutch, or rather they have been adopted from dutch into russian. the russian captain i have mentioned stated it to me in this way: "'a dutch pilot or captain could come on my ship, and his orders in his own language would be understood by my crew: i mean simply the words of command, without explanations. on the other hand, a dutch crew could understand my orders without suspecting they were in russian.'" "it is no wonder," said fred, "that the russians honor the memory of the great peter, and that their largest ship of war bears his name. am i right in regard to the ship?" "it is the largest at present," replied the doctor, "but there are three ships--the _tchesme_, _sinope_, and _catherine ii._--to be completed in , which will be larger than the _peter the great_. the latter is an iron-clad turret-ship of horse-power and , tons displacement. she carries eight guns, has two turrets, and her iron plating at the water-line is fourteen inches thick. she is three hundred and thirty feet long and sixty feet wide in her broadest part, and resembles the great mastless ships of the british navy, particularly those of the _dreadnought_ class. she was built at cronstadt, in ; the other and larger ships i have named are on the ways at sevastopol and nicolaieff, on the black sea. [illustration: steam frigate near cronstadt.] "without going into details, i will say that the russian navy consists of two great divisions: the fleet of the baltic and the fleet of the black sea. each of these great divisions is subdivided into sections: the baltic fleet into three, and the black sea fleet into two. the sections carry flags of different colors, white, blue, and red; this arrangement was taken from the dutch, like the system of ship-building in peter's time. "at the beginning of the baltic fleet consisted of two hundred and nine vessels, including thirty-three armor-clad and belted ships, forty-nine unarmored frigates, corvettes, clippers, and cruisers, and ninety-five torpedo-boats. gun-boats, transports, and various other craft completed the list. the black sea fleet included ninety-eight vessels, of which seven were armor-clad; then there are the vessels of the caspian sea and the siberian flotillas; and altogether the russian navy comprised at that time vessels, armed with guns, with a measurement of , tons, and engines of , horse-power. "before we drop the subject of russia's navy," the doctor continued, "perhaps you would like to hear about the _popovkas_." neither of the youths had heard of these things, and wondered what they could be. doctor bronson relieved their perplexity by explaining that the _popovkas_ were a new style of iron-clad ship intended for the defence of harbors, rather than for rapid cruising at sea. [illustration: frigate under sail and steam.] "they were the invention of admiral popoff, of the russian navy," he remarked, "and hence comes their name. the first of them was built in , at nicolaieff, on the black sea, and was called the _novgorod_. she is circular, with a diameter of one hundred feet, and carries two eleven-inch guns in a revolving turret like that of the _monitor_. she measures two thousand tons, and has engines which propel her about six miles an hour. the other ship of this class is the _admiral popoff_, one hundred and twenty feet in diameter, carrying two twelve-inch guns in a revolving turret, and capable of steaming eight miles an hour. there is a gentle slope of the sides from the water's edge to the base of the turret, so that any other shot than a plunging one would be glanced off. as the ships have not yet been tried in battle, their advantages are only theoretical." [illustration: the "dreadnought"--type of the "peter the great."] frank asked how many officers and men were employed in the navy of the czar. "from the latest reports at hand," the doctor answered, "there are twenty-nine admirals, vice-admirals, and rear-admirals, four hundred and four captains, and nine hundred and thirty-four lieutenants and midshipmen. seventy-six admirals, one hundred and forty captains, and fifty lieutenants are employed on shore duty, and there are thirty-five captains and thirty-nine lieutenants and midshipmen serving in lines of commercial steamers subsidized by the government; one thousand and ninety-four pilots, engineers, artillerists, and others complete the official list, and the men before the mast number twenty-four thousand five hundred and twelve. the sailors are obtained by conscription or by voluntary enlistment--generally the former--and required to serve nine years. seven years of this period are in active service, and two years in the reserve, whence the men may be called out in case of war." "please tell us something about the russian army," said fred, "as the army and navy are very closely related." "i think you have had enough of statistics for one day," doctor bronson replied, "and if they are all in your journals your readers may be inclined to skip them. but at the risk of being tedious you cannot omit saying something about the military and naval forces of a nation which is the most thoroughly military and naval power of modern times. there is no throne in europe more dependent upon the weapons of war than is that of russia. take away the army and navy, and russia would follow the fate of poland, and be speedily dismembered by her neighbors. england, france, germany, and austria would have made an end of russia long ago but for the resisting power of which she is capable." frank and fred declared that they would like to hear then and there about the army, and so the doctor continued: "the army of russia previous to was drawn entirely from the classes of artisans and peasants by means of a conscription and the enrolment of the sons of soldiers. in that year a new law was approved by the emperor making all men who had completed their twenty-first year, and were not physically exempt, liable to service. the purchase of substitutes is not permitted by the new law; each man drawn by the conscription is required to pass six years in active service and nine years in the reserve, making a total of fifteen years in all. while in the reserve the men are liable to be called out only in case of war, and if so called out, the younger are put into active service in the field, while the older ones are employed for garrisoning forts and other light work." "don't they have any exemption for the sons of rich men?" one of the youths inquired. [illustration: grenadier. chasseur of the guard. fifer of the guard. dragoon. cuirassier. hussar. the russian army--regular troops.] "theoretically there is none," the doctor answered; "but in order to cover such cases, and particularly to provide officers for the army, it is arranged that young men with a fair education may be enrolled as volunteers for short terms during and from their seventeenth year of age. when their volunteer service is completed they may pass into the reserve, or be subjected to an examination for commissions as officers either in the active army or the reserve. in the reserve, whether as officers or privates, they are liable to be called for duty any time before their thirty-sixth year." fred asked what proportion of the male population was taken for the army every year by means of the conscription. "as before stated, every able-bodied man is liable," was the reply; "but it is generally found that a conscription of four in a thousand will produce from ninety thousand to one hundred thousand men. on a peace footing the active army contains about twenty thousand officers and five hundred and thirty thousand men; the reserve adds eight thousand and one hundred thousand to these figures respectively, so that the total peace footing is twenty-eight thousand officers and six hundred and thirty thousand men." "and how much is the war footing?" "the war footing, according to the latest figures, to give it exactly, is , officers and , , men. add to this the whole able-bodied militia liable to be called into service in case of necessity, and the available war forces of russia amount to about , , . on the peace footing, the army has , horses and guns, which are increased in time of war to , horses and guns. in a census of the horses in fifty-eight provinces of european russia showed that there were nearly fifteen millions of these animals fit for service in case of need." [illustration: cossack lancers and russian guard-house.] one of the youths wished to know something about the cossacks, and whether they formed a part of the army or not. "the cossack is an irregular soldier," the doctor replied, "though in some cases he is not a soldier at all. the origin of the cossacks is unknown, some claiming that they belong to the tartar, and others to the russian race. the probability is that they are a combination of the two. they were first heard of in the tenth century, in the valley of the don river; in the wars of russia with the turks and tartars, about the fifteenth century, they showed a great deal of bravery and an excellent organization of a semi-military character. "they are more russian than tartar in their language, religion, and customs. the rulers of russia have not always found affairs running smoothly between themselves and the cossacks, and when the latter felt they had not been properly treated they were not slow to rebel. a revolt was generally followed by an emigration of the cossacks into the tartar country to the east, and in nearly every instance this emigration resulted in the addition of new territory to russia." "i believe i have read that the conquest of siberia was accomplished in this way," said one of the youths. "you are right," was the reply, "and the whole conquest hardly cost anything to the government. about three hundred years ago a tribe of don cossacks rebelled, and under the guidance of yermak, their hetman, or leader, crossed the ural mountains into asia. they began a career of conquest, which was pushed so rapidly that in less than seventy years they and their descendants had carried their banner to the shores of the okhotsk sea. in the early part of their career they offered the conquered territory to the czar, and received in return a pardon for their misdeeds on the don. history furnishes no parallel to this conquest, which was made by a few hundred outlaws, and carried to a successful end with little assistance from others and no support from the government. but to return to the cossacks of to-day: [illustration: leaguin. cossack of the don. circassian. tartar cossack of the crimea. cossack of the caucasus. cossack of the ural. the russian army--irregular troops.] "the cossacks are a race of freemen. with only a few exceptions, none of them have ever been serfs. the whole land where they live belongs to them in common, and they have equal rights in hunting and fishing. they pay no taxes to government, but in place of taxes are required to give a certain number of days' service in each year. every cossack feeds and equips himself at his own expense, and provides and feeds his horse. if called to serve outside the boundaries of his own country, he receives rations for himself and horse and a small amount of pay; but this ceases when he returns to his own land. the cossacks have their own officers, which were formerly chosen by themselves, but are now appointed by the government, the latter usually being careful to send officers such as the cossacks approve. "the military organization of the cossacks is in ten great divisions called '_woisskos_,' that of the don being the largest. each _woissko_ furnishes, according to its population, a certain number of regiments fully armed and equipped, and constantly under military discipline. these regiments must be prepared to march for active service ten days after being notified. altogether in time of war the cossacks of the various parts of the empire, available for war service, are about one hundred and fifty thousand men. "they are splendid horsemen, and their best service is as cavalry. they can endure hunger, cold, and fatigue beyond ordinary soldiers, and are very troublesome to an enemy. in the retreat of napoleon's army from moscow they made great havoc, and many thousands of french soldiers fell beneath the cossack lance and sabre. they have an undeserved reputation for cruelty, as they are probably no worse, and certainly no better, than other kinds of soldiers. war at its best is a cruel business, and in no age of the world has it been the custom for armies to refrain from hurting their enemies when it was in their power to do so." this conversation occupied most of the time while the boat was steaming from cronstadt to st. petersburg. seated near our friends was an officer whose coat did not show any buttons. it was fastened with hooks like those on a lady's dress, and frank called attention to its peculiarity. doctor bronson explained that the officer was of the cossack branch of the service, this being the distinguishing feature of the cossack uniform. the cossack soldier wears a sheepskin coat, fastened with a girdle at the waist. he abhors buttons, and the uniform of the officers is made to conform to their tastes. on the lower deck of the boat was a squad of soldiers, under command of a sergeant, who had probably been to cronstadt on some official duty, and were now returning. fred called attention to the singular hats worn by the soldiers, each hat having a high plate of brass in front, and reminding the youths of the hats worn by the soldiers in the comic opera of the "grand-duchess of gerolstein." "it is not unlike a coal-scuttle in shape," said fred, "and must be an uncomfortable piece of head-gear." "that is a regiment which was organized in the time of the emperor paul," said the doctor, "and the design of the hat was made by him--at least that is what a russian officer told me. observe that there is a perforation in the brass of each hat, as though made by a bullet, and some of the hats have two or three holes. "the tradition is," continued the doctor, "that the regiment once showed cowardice when brought face to face with the french invaders during the war of . in the next battle they were put in the front, and kept there; half their number were killed, and nearly every hat was perforated by a bullet. since that time the helmets are preserved just as they were when the battle ended. when a new helmet is ordered to replace an old one, it is perforated just as was its predecessor. hence the curious appearance of the soldiers of the grenadier regiment organized by paul. "the discipline of the russian army is severe, and there are no better regiments, either for parade or fighting purposes, than those stationed in the neighborhood of the great cities. reviews of the army are held frequently. when the emperor goes in person to the grand review every year the sight is a magnificent one. [illustration: grand-duke michael.] "the russian imperial family is full of soldierly qualities, which is not at all strange when we remember their training. sometimes it is pushed to an extreme degree. the grand-duke michael, brother of the emperor nicholas, is said to have been one of the most rigid disciplinarians ever known; and whenever he inspected a division, not a button, or even the point of a mustache, escaped his notice. parades were his delight, and he could ride at full gallop along the front of a line and detect the least irregularity. he used to say, "'i detest war; it interferes with parades, and soils the uniforms.' "he disliked the cossacks because they did not appear well at reviews; in his eyes their excellent fighting qualities were of minor importance. "the cossacks carry their cartridges in a row of pockets on the breasts of their coats, and not in cartridge-boxes, as do other soldiers. the grand-duke thought a soldier's uniform was incomplete without a cartridge-box, probably for the reason that it gave him a certain amount of work to keep it clean and bright. this was another reason for his dislike of the irregular troops, which form such an effective arm of the service in time of war." the steamer deposited its passengers at the quay near admiralty square, and our friends again trod the soil of st. petersburg, after an interesting and instructive day in the environs of the city. frank and fred devoted the evening to writing out what they had learned during the trip to peterhof and cronstadt, and especially to making notes upon the army and navy of russia. to refresh their memories, they referred to a copy of "the statesman's year-book," which happened to be in the room, and said they would cordially recommend it to others who might seek similar information. [illustration: iron-clad steamer of the baltic fleet.] chapter viii. visiting the university of st. petersburg.--education in russia.--primary and other schools.--the system of instruction.--recent progress in educational matters.--universities in the empire; their number and location.--religious liberty.--treatment of the jews.--the islands of the neva, and what was seen there.--in a _traktir_.--bribery among russian officials. next morning the party was out in good season. it had an appointment with a professor attached to the university of st. petersburg for a visit to that institution. he was to take breakfast with them, and afterwards would escort them through the library and other rooms of the establishment. while they were at breakfast the professor entertained the youths with an account of the educational condition of russia, which we will endeavor to repeat as nearly as it was remembered by frank and fred. "on behalf of my country," said the professor, "i am sorry to say that we are behind england, germany, austria, and most other nations of europe in the matter of general education, but not nearly as backward as we were in past years. we have no system of common-schools such as you have in the united states, and the mass of the population is practically without instruction beyond what they receive from the village priests. down to the time of alexander ii. the village schools were controlled by the priests, and no one else could be a teacher in them. that progressive monarch issued an order requiring the schools to be given to the most capable applicants, whether priests or not. this was a great step in advance, as the priests were not unfrequently nearly as illiterate as the people they were set to instruct. "to show how we are progressing, let me say that in only two out of every hundred recruits levied for the army were able to read and write; in the proportion had increased to eleven in a hundred, and in to nineteen in a hundred. in there were , primary-schools in the villages, with , , pupils: , boys and , girls. the teachers were , men and women. some of the primary-schools are entirely supported by the government, and others partly by the government and partly by a small tax upon the parents of each pupil. the latter plan is not satisfactory, as it discourages poor people with many children from sending them to school, and it is probable that in a few years all the schools will be free." [illustration: little folks at school.] one of the youths asked what was taught in the village schools of russia. "reading and writing," the professor answered, "are the first things, as a matter of course; and then come arithmetic, grammar, and geography, in the order i have named them. church and state are so closely connected in russia that the primary education includes the form of prayer; it is a part of the daily exercise of the schools, except for those who profess other than the orthodox faith, and in former times children of dissenters were not allowed to attend the schools. catholics, lutherans, and others were instructed by their own teachers, and, failing this, they had no instruction whatever. at present children of any faith can attend the village schools, and where there is a mixed population the schools are divided. "in ," the professor continued, "there were less than three thousand village schools in the empire; the increase to more than twenty-two thousand in thirty years shows how rapid has been our progress. we have great hopes for the future, and at the end of another thirty years i trust you will find us not much behind the other countries of europe." [illustration: learning to weave.] doctor bronson asked about the higher instruction in russia, and how it compared with that of other lands. "one of the drawbacks to higher education in its broad sense," said the professor, "was the custom that prevailed, and still prevails to a great extent, for rich people to educate their children at home. every nobleman who could afford it had a tutor for his boys and a governess for his girls. there is no country where tutors and governesses were more certain of employment than in russia, and i have the assurances from them, a hundred times repeated, that they were better treated here than anywhere else. a tutor or governess is almost invariably made a member of the family, sits with them at table, is presented to visitors, forms a part of their social circle, and is made to feel thoroughly at home. governesses are usually english or french, while tutors are generally french or germans. the education of these home taught children begins at a very early age, and they naturally speak with fluency the language of their instructors; hence it follows that the russians of the higher classes have, justly, the reputation of being the best linguists of europe." as the professor paused, frank remarked that he had observed how almost every russian officer spoke french or german, and many of them spoke french, german, and english. "french seems to be almost universal among them," he added, "at least as far as i have been able to learn." "that is true," said the professor, "and there are many russians who speak french better than they do their own language. with french nurses in their infancy, french governesses or tutors as their years advance, and with their parents speaking french, it is not to be wondered at. "the system of home education discouraged the education of the schools among the nobility, and it was only during the reign of nicholas that a change was made. count ouvaroff, minister of public instruction under the iron czar, set the example by sending his own son to the university of st. petersburg. the example was followed, and the attendance at the universities and normal schools increased rapidly. nicholas gave the system a military character by decreeing that the students should wear cocked hats and swords, but this was abandoned by alexander ii. the policy of nicholas was shown in the words of his instruction to count ouvaroff, 'orthodoxy, autocracy, nationality.'" fred asked how many universities and high-schools there were in the empire. [illustration: mineral cabinet in the university.] "there are nine universities," the professor answered, "situated at st. petersburg, moscow, kief, kazan, wilna, dorpat, kharkov, odessa, and warsaw.[ ] the professors are paid by the government, and the poor students have an allowance for their support. to be admitted to the universities, they must pass an examination in the course of instruction in the gymnasia or high-schools, which are in the provincial towns, about four hundred in all, or must have received equivalent instruction at home. the high-schools or gymnasia correspond to your academies or high-schools in america, and hold the same relation to the universities. [ ] recently the government decided to establish a siberian university. it was to be opened at tomsk in , but there was great opposition to it by a large and influential party, who claim that a siberian university would be a great peril to autocracy in russia. they look upon siberia as the source of many liberal, and therefore dangerous, ideas, and say the new university will greatly facilitate their development. "besides the universities, which confer degrees in law, medicine, mathematics, natural history, philology, and the oriental languages, there are distinct schools of medicine and law, like the medical and law schools of other countries. there are four free high-schools for the education of women, and the applicants for admission are constantly in excess of the facilities for their instruction. there was a medical school for women, but it was closed in on account of its use as a means of disseminating revolutionary ideas." frank and fred wished to obtain further information about the reason for closing this medical school, but they remembered that the professor would probably dislike to discuss the subject, as it had a political bearing, and so no question about it was asked. breakfast was over, and the party entered the carriage, which was waiting at the door, and were driven to the university. "one thing i forgot to say," said the professor, as soon as they were seated in the vehicle, "and that was about education in finland. the grand-duchy has a system of public instruction distinct from that of the rest of the empire. it has a university at helsingfors, high-schools in all principal towns, and elementary schools in the villages. almost the entire population can read, and nearly every youth can write during his school-days, though he often forgets this accomplishment in later years. [illustration: parlor in a high-school for women.] "to return to russia, all through the empire there are agricultural, mining, engineering, and other industrial schools, and there are also numerous military schools, which have a separate system of instruction. the cadets are transferred from the military gymnasia to the 'military schools,' in which they are educated to qualify them for commissions as officers. there are three academies--for the staff, engineers, and artillery--and in these academies the higher branches of military science are taught. the religious schools are attached to the church, and the instruction is managed by the clergy. here we are at the university just as my impromptu lecture upon education in russia has reached its end." our friends were introduced by their companion to several others of the faculty, and passed an hour at the university very pleasantly. they learned that the usual attendance was about four hundred, and the professors and lecturers numbered nearly thirty. in addition to what is usually taught in universities there were lecturers upon the oriental languages. a goodly number of students give their attention to the asiatic tongues, with a view to qualifying themselves for future usefulness in that direction. the professor of chinese was among those to whom our friends were introduced. "he is an accomplished gentleman," said frank in his note-book; "he speaks french and russian as fluently as he does his native language, and his questions about america showed that he was well acquainted with the history of our country. the rest of the oriental professors were in european dress, but the chinese one was not. he was in the same garments he would wear at shanghai or peking, and his hair was plaited into an irreproachable pigtail. [illustration: private room of a wealthy student.] "the halls were pleasant and spacious," continued frank, "and the students that we saw had intelligent faces; they appeared much like the students at an english university, but we thought there was an expression of more earnestness in their faces. the professor told us that the young men who attended the university gave very little trouble in the matter of discipline, and the disgraceful pranks of students at oxford and cambridge were practically unknown in russia. it is so recently that education has been in the reach of everybody in this country that its value is more appreciated than elsewhere. [illustration: lower recitation-room.] "the library contains more than sixty thousand volumes, and there is a good scientific collection in the museum. the students have the privilege of visiting the academy of sciences, under certain restrictions, where they have access to a library of one hundred and fifty thousand volumes and an extensive museum. the latter has an asiatic department, which contains many objects of great interest to students of matters pertaining to asia. we went to the museum after seeing the university and looked at the remains of the siberian mammoths, which were found embedded in the ice where they had lain for thousands of years. [illustration: one of the professors.] "another educational institution of st. petersburg is the school of mines, which is supported by the government and has about three hundred students. its collection of minerals is said to be the finest in the world. there are single nuggets of gold worth thousands of dollars, great masses of solid silver, platinum, copper, and other metals, together with topaz, beryl, aquamarine, quartz, and other crystals in great variety and of unusual size and beauty. one crystal of beryl weighs five pounds and is valued at twenty-five thousand dollars. [illustration: descending a shaft.] "in the halls devoted to instruction there are models of mines, with the veins of ore, and the machinery for working them; the workmen are represented by little figures like dolls, and the whole is admirably executed. after looking at these models we were taken to the garden, where there is a section of a mine, through which we were guided by means of candles and torches. it required very little imagination for us to believe we were actually in a mine far below the surface of the earth, and that the veins of ore were real rather than fictitious. it must be of great advantage for the education of the students, and certainly we found it very instructive in the little time we were in it. [illustration: galleries in a mine.] "what would you say if i told you that the richest public library of europe is in st. petersburg? well, the imperial library may not be superior to all others, but those who ought to know say it is not inferior in any respect. it occupies a very large building on the nevsky prospect, and is open to the public like the great libraries of london, paris, vienna, and other cities. the custodian who accompanied us through the building said it contained nearly a million printed volumes, in all the languages of the world, and about thirty thousand manuscripts, some of them very old. [illustration: in the library.] the foundation of this immense library was one of the spoils of war between russia and poland. it belonged to count zalewski, a polish bishop, and contained three hundred thousand volumes. after the capture of warsaw, in , the library was removed to st. petersburg, and since that time yearly additions have been made, until it has reached its present condition. among other things there is a collection of books relating to russia in other languages than russian. they number forty thousand, and cover all dates from the invention of the art of printing down to the present time. then there are nearly one hundred thousand books in the russian language, beginning with a volume of the 'acts of the apostles,' printed at moscow in . "there is a prayer-book which belonged to mary queen of scots, and which contains many notes in her handwriting. there are autographs of kings, queens, emperors, princes, and other persons of blue blood--so many that i can't begin to enumerate them. in fact there are so many things here that one might spend weeks in the library, and find something new and interesting every few minutes. the reading-room is well arranged, and has all the leading papers of europe. to show its growth in popularity, let me say that it was visited by twenty thousand persons in , and by seventy-three thousand in . in more recent times as many as one hundred and fifty thousand persons have visited the reading-room in a single year. [illustration: a college dormitory.] "well, we have had enough for one day of schools, libraries, museums, and the like--so many of them that our heads are fairly swimming. let us go home and think over what we have seen; if we remember a tenth part of it we shall be fortunate." naturally the conversation, after their return, related to what they had seen; and in this connection the doctor gave the youths some interesting information. "the university we have seen to-day," said he, "is not by any means the oldest in russia, nor is it the largest. the honor of age and extent belongs to the university of moscow, which was founded in , while that of st. petersburg was founded in . the moscow university has one thousand eight hundred students, and seventy-two professors and lecturers, and there are one hundred and fifty thousand volumes in its library. the government gives about three hundred thousand dollars annually in aid of the moscow university, and many of russia's most celebrated men have been educated there. "the oldest university in the empire was at abo, in finland, but the buildings were destroyed in a great fire in , and afterwards the university was established at helsingfors. it was originally founded in , eleven years before printing was introduced into finland. anciently there were some curious customs connected with the reception of a student at the university of abo. he was required to prostrate himself on the floor in front of one of the professors, who gave him a certain number of blows with a stick. the blows were more imaginary than real, and after they were given the student was ordered to rise, and to so conduct himself in future that he would never need a repetition of the indignity. "the other universities of russia are about like that of st. petersburg, and do not need a special description. in all of them there is a department of study for those who wish to enter the service of the church. at dorpat there is a course of study for those of the lutheran faith, and at kazan, which has a considerable population of tartars, moslem students are admitted, and no interference is made with their religious belief. some of the professors of the oriental languages are tartars, and i have been told that one of the rooms of the university is fitted up as a mosque. "this is a good place to say," continued the doctor, "that while the russian government makes an earnest effort to convert all its subjects to the faith of the orthodox greek church, it rarely allows that effort to take the form of oppression. sometimes it happens that an over-zealous priest goes beyond the limit; but as soon as his conduct is known to the proper authorities he is reprimanded, and replaced by one who is more cautious. the polish exiles in siberia are nearly all catholics; the government builds churches for them, and allows their priests (generally exiles like their co-religionists) to travel from place to place in the performance of their religious duties; and as long as they do not join in any political plots, or make other trouble for the authorities, they are allowed the greatest freedom. among the peasant inhabitants of siberia a catholic church is called 'polish,' while a lutheran one is known as 'german.' "the moslem and pagan inhabitants of asiatic russia have the most complete religious freedom; but sometimes, in their zeal to be on good terms with their rulers, they adopt the new religion without laying aside the old. i have heard of the chief of a tribe of yakouts, a savage and idolatrous people in northern siberia, who joined the russian church and was baptized. he attended faithfully to all its observances, and at the same time did not neglect anything pertaining to his old belief. when about to make a journey, or to undertake any other enterprise, he offered prayers in the church, and then summoned the _shaman_, or pagan priest of his tribe, to perform incantations and bribe the evil spirits not to molest him. on being questioned as to his action, he said he was not certain which belief was the right one, and he wanted to make sure by professing both." one of the youths asked the doctor about the treatment of the jews in russia. he had read that they were greatly oppressed in some parts of the empire, and that many of them had been killed for no other reason than that they were jews. "that is quite true," the doctor answered; "but the outrages were the work of excited mobs, rather than acts authorized by the government. there is much fanaticism among the lower orders of russians, and they were roused to what they did by stories which the priests had circulated. in some of the riots the police and soldiers are accused of making no effort to restrain the mob; and as they and the rioters are of the same religion, there is doubtless good ground for the accusation. [illustration: jewish burial-ground.] "the jews were first admitted to russia by peter the great, but they were expelled by his daughter, the empress elizabeth. they were readmitted by catherine ii., and the privileges she had given them were increased by alexander i., who, in and , issued decrees giving them full liberty of trade and commerce. the grant was revoked by nicholas i., and during his time the jews were subjected to much oppression. alexander ii. came to their relief, and restored some of their privileges. during and since his reign they have been fairly treated in matters of trade, but have been kept down in other ways. only a certain number are allowed to practise medicine or keep drug-stores, and only a specified proportion of jewish students is allowed at the schools and colleges. [illustration: clothes-dealer of moscow.] "a great deal of the trade of the country is in their hands, and they are noted, as everywhere else in the world, for their industry and frugality. they do not meddle with the politics of russia, and the instances are exceedingly rare of a jew being convicted of offences of a political character. in the army they make the best of soldiers, both for discipline and on the battle-field, where they are noted for their bravery. they are more numerous in poland than in any other part of the empire, but there is not a province of the whole country ruled by the czar where they cannot be found. in their financial transactions they are not behind their brethren in other parts of the world; and wherever they are permitted to engage in mechanical pursuits they distance all their competitors." [illustration: a russian troika.] just as the sun was setting, our friends took a carriage and drove to the islands of the neva, a favorite resort of the people in the warm months of the year. great numbers of fashionable carriages were on the road, _troikas_ being more numerous than any other variety. a _troika_ is so called from the number of its horses, rather than from the form of the vehicle. three horses are harnessed abreast, the central one having above his head the inevitable _duga_, or yoke. in a well-trained _troika_ the central horse trots, while the two others gallop, with their heads turned outward. it is a dashing and attractive team, and has already made its way into other countries than russia. the first part of the drive carried doctor bronson and his young companions through streets occupied by the poorer classes, but farther on they passed great numbers of pretty villas, which are the summer homes of the well-to-do inhabitants of the city. [illustration: a villa on the island.] there is an imperial villa on one of the islands, and occasionally the emperor gives a fête in honor of some event, or for the entertainment of a foreign guest. at such times the trees are filled with chinese lanterns, and the entire building is a blaze of light. the people on the line of the road follow the imperial example, and illuminate their houses, and the traveller who drives there might easily imagine that he had dropped into a section of fairy-land. doctor bronson told the youths that he was in st. petersburg at the time of the marriage of the emperor's son, the grand-duke vladimir, and one of the sights of the occasion was the illumination of the islands. "we rode through three or four miles of illuminations," said the doctor, "and it seemed as though they would never come to an end. at the very entrance of the islands we passed the summer residence of count gromoff, one of the millionaires of st. petersburg, and found it transformed into a palace of fire. not a tree or bush in the large garden in front of the house was without its cluster of lanterns, and one of our party remarked that it seemed as though half the stars in the sky had fallen and found a lodgement there. in the centre of the scene were the monograms of the emperor and empress, and of the newly-wedded pair, outlined in gas-jets; above and behind them was an imperial mantle surmounted with a crown, and all made with the burning gas. then the whole cottage was delineated with thousands of lights, and we agreed that never in our lives had we seen such a beautiful picture. nothing ever produced on the stage of a theatre could equal it. "occasionally we came near the water, and wherever we did so it was covered with boats which were as freely illuminated as the trees and houses on shore. boat-houses and bath-houses were similarly lighted up, and as they are numerous in this part of the neva, they formed an almost continuous line along the river's bank. we were compelled to go at a walk, as the streets and roads were crowded with vehicles, and consequently our drive through this city of lanterns occupied more than an hour." doctor bronson gave other details of the celebration which we have not time to repeat, or, rather, they did not find a place in the note-books of the youths. the time was passed pleasantly in a contemplation of the scenes by the way-side--the pretty villas among the trees, the carriages and their occupants, the people on foot, or gathered in front of the houses or on the verandas, the crowds in the cafés and restaurants, which are scattered here and there over the islands, together with other sights that met their eyes. there was enough to make the fortune of an artist if he could have placed all the pretty pictures of the evening upon canvas, and preserved the glow of the northern sky and the twinkle of the lights. a few houses were illuminated, probably in honor of a patron saint, or to commemorate an event in the history of the owner of the establishment. while looking at these illuminations frank and fred tried to imagine the whole place lighted up as doctor bronson had described it on the occasion of the imperial fête. [illustration: a russian family.] after a ride of two hours or more, the party returned to the hotel, stopping a few minutes on their way to drink some tea at a _traktir_. frank ventured to air the few russian words he had acquired, and acquitted himself in fine style. "_dai te chai, poshowltz_" ("give us tea, please"), he said, as they took their seats at the table. "_si chass_," replied the waiter, and in a few moments three glasses of steaming tea were before them. the traveller in russia will hear "_si chass_" pronounced a good many times daily while he is in the empire. it is like the french waiter's "_tout de suite_" or the english one's "coming, sir." practically they mean the same thing. the literal translation of "_si chass_" is "this hour;" and perhaps this will account for the fact that it is often an hour before a simple demand can be met. the waiter in russia is no more reliable than in other countries, and not generally as intelligent as the man of the same occupation in a french café. many of the servants in the hotels of st. petersburg are french or german, instead of russian; in the best hotels the russian waiters almost invariably speak french or german, in addition to their own language. when the tea-drinking was ended, frank beckoned the waiter, and addressed him with the inquiry, "_skolka stoit_" ("how much does it cost?"). the waiter comprehended at once, and, somewhat to frank's disappointment, placed on the table a written check on which was noted in figures the indebtedness of the party. the disappointment was not caused by the price of the tea (only five copecks the glass), but by the removal of the opportunity for the young man to make further airing of his russian by displaying his knowledge of the spoken numerals. the printed or written figures of the russian language are the same as those of other european nations, and a stranger can get along with them without the least trouble, even though he does not know a word of russian. near the hotel they met a party consisting of two policemen and as many prisoners. the latter appeared to be under the influence of strong drink, and the policemen did not find it easy to make them move along. they were not quarrelsome or obstinate; in fact, their limbs were too weak to allow them to make any resistance. "they'll have a job of street-sweeping to-morrow," said the doctor, "unless the customs have changed since the first time i was here." "do they make prisoners sweep the streets?" one of the youths asked. [illustration: culprit street-sweepers.] "they did at that time, and quite likely they do so now," the doctor answered. "every person arrested for intoxication was required to sweep the streets the next day for a given number of hours, and it is a strange sight when, as sometimes happens, the sweepers are in the garments in which they have been wending their devious ways homeward from a ball, or perhaps from a party where fancy costumes have been worn. generally speaking, you see few besides the mujiks, or lower classes, as the well-dressed people, with money enough in their pockets, can secure immunity by means of a bribe. a small donation to the proper officer will set them free; but if they have no money they must do their share of work with the rest." "i have read that russia is the land of bribes," said fred--"bribes both great and small." "it certainly has that reputation," was the reply, "and doubtless not without justice. the pay of the officials is very small, quite out of proportion to the expense of living, and the temptation is certainly great. a russian once said to me that an official must steal in order to make an honest living; he did not mean it as a joke, but in sober earnest, though his language did not exactly express his meaning. he wanted to say that a man must accept pay for showing zeal in the interest of any one whose affairs passed through his hands, and unless he did so he could not properly support himself and family. [illustration: a business transaction.] "there is a story, of a german savant who was intimate with the emperor nicholas. the latter once asked him to point out any defects in the system of government, and the savant immediately suggested the universal system of bribery, which ought to be stopped. the emperor shook his head, and said it was impossible to put an end to an evil which was so widely spread. "'but your majesty could issue an imperial decree against bribery,' the savant replied, 'and that would prevent it.' "'but i would have to begin,' said the emperor, 'by bribing my prime-minister to publish the decree, and then i would have to bribe everybody else to stop taking bribes.' "i will tell you," the doctor continued, "what i have been told by russians; i do not vouch for the correctness of what they say, but have no doubt of their veracity. while i have had no business transactions that involved the payment of money to officials, i have some friends whose negotiations were altogether stopped, as they believe, by the fact that they would not give money to persons of influence. "'if you have dealings with the government,' so the russians have told me, 'you must pay something to each and every man who has power to expedite or hinder your business. if you do not pay you will not prosper, and may be certain that your proposals will be rejected. but you should not offer the money directly to the official, as that would give great offence.' "the question arises, 'what is the polite and proper way of doing such nefarious work?' "the usual way is to make up your mind what you can afford to pay, and then put the money in a cigar-case along with two or three cigars. having stated the business, you invite the man to smoke (everybody smokes in russia), and then you hand him the cigar-case and turn your back to the window, or look intently at something on the table. he helps himself to a cigar, and also to the money, and then the affair goes on easily.'" "what a rascally business!" exclaimed both the youths in a breath. doctor bronson fully echoed their sentiment, and said he earnestly hoped the condition of things was not as bad as it is portrayed. "alexander ii. made a considerable improvement in many things during his reign," the doctor continued, "and it is to be hoped that he reformed the official system of the empire in this particular feature." [illustration: peter the great dressed for battle.] chapter ix. studies of st. petersburg.--mujiks.--"the imperial nosegay."--a short history of russian serfdom.--its origin, growth, and abuses.--emancipation of the serfs.--present condition of the peasant class.--seeing the emperor.--how the czar appears in public.--public and secret police.--their extraordinary powers.--anecdotes of police severity.--russian courts of law. for the remainder of their stay in the capital doctor bronson and the youths were more leisurely in their movements than during the first few days. they dismissed the guide, as they felt that they could go around without his aid, though they occasionally re-engaged him for special trips when they thought their inexperience would be a bar to their progress. in thus acting they followed out a plan adopted long before. on arriving in a strange city where time was limited, they engaged a guide, in order that they might "do" the stock sights of the place as quickly as possible. if they were to remain for some time they employed him during the first two or three days, and afterwards shifted for themselves. this is an excellent system, and is recommended to all readers of this volume who may have occasion to travel in foreign lands. having familiarized themselves with st. petersburg, our friends usually spent the forenoon of each day at the hotel, and the afternoon and part of the evening in going about the streets, making calls, and otherwise improving their opportunities. the forenoon was by no means an idle time. doctor bronson was busy with his letters and other matters, while the youths were engaged in writing up their journals, preparing the histories which have been mentioned elsewhere, and making various notes and observations concerning what they saw or learned. in this way they accumulated much valuable material, and we are specially fortunate in being permitted to copy at will from what they wrote. "we have found a great deal to interest us," said frank in his journal, when he sat down to make a general commentary on what they had seen, "and i hardly know where to begin. of course we have been much impressed with the great number and variety of the uniforms of the officers and soldiers of the army; and though we have tried hard to recognize the different arms of the service at sight, we have not always succeeded. we wonder how the emperor himself can know them all, but of course he must. [illustration: an imperial nosegay.] "we have looked for 'the imperial nosegay' which one traveller describes, but have failed thus far to find it. the story goes that one of the emperors had a regiment composed of men whose noses were turned up at an angle of forty-five degrees; whenever a man was found anywhere in the empire with that particular kind of nose he was at once drafted into the regiment. a good many of the peasants have the nose inclined very much in the air, but facial ornaments of the kind described for the famous regiment are not strictly the fashion. "fred thinks a regiment composed in this way ought to be good soldiers, as they would be able to smell the smoke of battle a long way off, and before other regiments would be aware of it. certainly they ought to breathe easily, and this ability was considered of great importance by the first napoleon. 'other things being equal,' he used to say, 'always choose an officer with a large nose. his respiration is more free than that of the small-nosed man; and with good breathing powers, his mind is clearer and his physical endurance greater.' perhaps he realized on his retreat from moscow that many of his pursuers were of the kind he describes. [illustration: mujiks playing cards.] "we have been much interested in the mujiks, or peasants--the lowest class of the population, and also the largest. their condition has improved greatly in the last twenty or thirty years, if what we read and hear is correct. we had read of the system of serfdom in russia before we came here, but did not exactly understand it. since our arrival in st. petersburg we have tried to find out about the serfs, and here is what we have learned: "to begin at the end, rather than at the beginning, there are no longer any serfs in russia, and consequently we are talking about something that belongs to the past. serfdom, or slavery, formerly existed throughout all europe--in england, france, germany, spain, and other countries. it has been gradually extinguished, russia being the last christian country to maintain it. slavery still exists in certain forms in turkey; but as the turks are moslems, and not christians, i don't see why we should expect anything better in that country. "serfdom began later in russia than in any other european country, and perhaps that fact excuses the russians for being the last to give it up. down to the eleventh century the peasant could move about pretty much as he liked. the land was the property of all, and he could cultivate any part of it as long as he did not trespass upon any one else. in many of the villages the land is still held on this communistic principle, and is allotted every year, or every two or three years, by the elders. in some communities the land must be surrendered to the commune every nine years, while in others the peasant has a life tenancy, or what is called in law a fee-simple. "i hear some one ask how it came about that serfdom was established. "according to our authorities, it came from the state of the country, which was just a little better than a collection of independent principalities. the princes were cruel and despotic, and the people turbulent; murders of princes were very common; the princes could only protect themselves by organizing large body-guards, which gave each prince a small army of men around him. in course of time the officers of these body-guards became noblemen, and received grants of land. at first the peasants could move about on these estates with perfect freedom, but during the sixteenth century they were attached to the soil. in other words, they were to remain where they were when the decree was issued, and whenever the land was sold they were sold with it. "it is said that the object of this decree was not so much in the interest of the land-owners as in that of the government, which was unable to collect its taxes from men who were constantly moving about. where the land belonged to the government and not to individuals, the peasants living upon it became serfs of the crown, or crown peasants. thus the russian serf might belong to a prince, nobleman, or other person, or he might belong to the government. private estates were often mortgaged to the government; if the mortgage was unpaid and the property forfeited, the serfs became crown peasants instead of private ones. [illustration: peasant's house in southern russia.] "there was a curious condition about serfdom in russia, that while the man and his family belonged to the master, the land which he cultivated was his own, or at any rate could not be taken from him. the serf owed a certain amount of labor to his master (ordinarily three days out of every seven), and could not leave the place without permission. a serf might hire his time from his master, in the same way that slaves used to hire their time in america; but he was required to return to the estate whenever the master told him to do so. many of the mechanics, isvoshchiks, and others in the large cities before the emancipation were serfs, who came to find employment, and regularly sent a part of their wages to their masters. "sometimes the masters were very severe upon the serfs, and treated them outrageously. a master could send a serf into exile in siberia without giving any reason. the record said he was banished 'by the will of his master,' and that was all. a woman, a serf on an estate, who had a fine voice, came to moscow, and found a place in the chorus at the opera-house. she gradually rose to a high position, and was earning a large salary, half of which she sent to her master. out of caprice he ordered her back to the estate, where she resumed the drudgery of a peasant life. he refused all offers of compensation, and said his serf should do what he wished. "another serf had established a successful business in moscow, where he was employing two or three hundred workmen. the master allowed him to remain there for years, taking for his compensation a large part of the serf's earnings, and finally, in a fit of anger, ordered the man home again. the man offered to pay a hundred times as much as he could earn on the estate, but the master would not listen to it, and the business was broken up and ruined. "things went on in this way for two or three centuries. various changes were made in the laws, and the condition of the serfs, especially of those belonging to the crown, was improved from time to time. at last, in , came the decree of emancipation from the hands of alexander ii., and the system of serfdom came to an end. "it was not, as many people suppose, a system of sudden and universal freedom. the emancipation was gradual, as it covered a period of several years, and required a great deal of negotiation. the land-owners were compensated by the government for their loss; the serfs received grants of land, varying from five to twenty-five acres, with a house and a small orchard, and the result was that every agricultural serf became a small land-owner. private or government serfs were treated alike in this respect, and the condition of the peasant class was greatly improved. "since they have been free to go where they like, the serfs have crowded to the cities in search of employment, and the owners of factories and shops say they can now obtain laborers much easier than before. manufacturing interests have been materially advanced along with agriculture, and though many persons feared the results of the emancipation, it is now difficult to find one who would like to have the old state of things restored. "russian emancipation of the serfs and american abolition of slavery came within a short time of each other. both the nations have been greatly benefited by the result, and to-day an advocate of serfdom is as rare in russia as an advocate of slavery in the united states." frank read to his cousin the little essay we have just quoted; then he read it to the doctor, and asked whether it would be well to insert it in his journal. "by all means do so," the doctor replied. "there are not many people in america who understand exactly what serfdom was, and your essay will do much to enlighten them." accordingly frank carefully copied what he had written. impressed with doctor bronson's suggestion, we have reproduced it here, in the confidence that our youthful readers will find it interesting and instructive. [illustration: peasants' huts.] "you can add to your account of serfdom," said doctor bronson, "that when it was established by boris godounoff, in , it was regarded by both peasant and noble as a great popular reform, and welcomed with delight. his decree went into force on saint george's day, in the year named, and its principal provision was that every peasant in the empire should in future till and own forever the land which he then tilled and held. it was an act of great liberality on the part of the czar, for by it he gave up millions of acres belonging to the crown and made them the property of the peasants. "the serf of the crown was to till the land, build his house, pay his taxes, and serve as a soldier whenever wanted; the private serf existed under very nearly the same conditions, with the difference that his life might be more oppressed under a cruel master, and more free under a kind one, than that of the serf of the crown. this was what happened in many instances; and as the masters were more likely to be cruel than kind, and their tendency was to make as much as possible out of their possessions, the crown serf was generally better off than the private one. [illustration: esthonian peasants.] "in the beginning the system was really the reform which was intended, but very soon it was subject to many abuses. year by year things grew worse: owners violated the law by selling serfs away from their estates; the masters exacted from their serfs every copeck they could earn, flogged them if they lagged in their labor, and often caused them to be severely punished or exiled on the merest caprice. peter the great introduced some changes with the best intentions, but they only made matters worse. he stopped the sale of serfs from the estates, which was an excellent step; at the same time he ordered that all taxes should be collected in a lump from the master, who should have the power in turn to collect from the serfs. the evil of this enactment was very soon apparent; peter's successors struggled with the problem, but none made much headway until alexander ii. came with his act of emancipation, which you have just mentioned. "there were several conditions attached to the freedom of the serf under alexander's decree," the doctor continued, "which are not generally understood. to prevent the peasant resuming again the nomadic life which serfdom was intended to suppress, it was ordered that no peasant could leave his village without surrendering forever all right to the lands, and he was also required to be clear of all claims for rent, taxes, conscription, private debts, and the like. he was to provide for the support of any members of his family dependent upon him whom he left behind, and also present a certificate of membership in another commune, or exhibit the title-deeds to a plot of land of not less than a given area. "these requirements were found an excellent restriction, as under them only the thrifty and enterprising serfs were able to clear off all demands upon them and pay the amount required for entering another community. men of this class found their way to the cities and larger towns, where many of them have risen in wealth and influence, while the quiet, plodding peasants who remained on the estates and tilled their lands have generally prospered. a gentleman who has studied this question wrote recently as follows: "'opposite and extreme opinions prevail as to the results of emancipation; yet, on massing and balancing his observations on the whole, a stranger must perceive that under emancipation the peasant is better dressed, better lodged, and better fed; that his wife is healthier, his children cleaner, and his homestead tidier; that he and his belongings are improved by the gift which changed him from a chattel to a man. he builds his cabin of better wood, and in the eastern provinces, if not in all, you find improvements in the walls and roof. he paints the logs, and fills up the cracks with plaster, where he formerly left them bare and stuffed with moss. he sends his boys to school, and goes himself more frequently to church.... the burgher class and the merchant class have been equally benefited by the change. a good many peasants have become burghers, and a good many burghers merchants. all the domestic and useful trades have been quickened into life. more shoes are worn, more carts are wanted, more cabins are built. hats, coats, and cloaks are in higher demand; the bakeries and breweries find more to do; the teacher gets more pupils, and the banker has more customers on his books.'"[ ] [ ] "free russia," by hepworth dixon, p. . [illustration: alexander ii., the liberator of the serfs.] with a few more words upon serfdom and its relation to other forms of slavery, the subject was dropped, and our friends went out for a walk. as they passed along the nevski they were suddenly involved in a crowd, and half forced into the door of a shop which they had visited the day before. they were recognized by the proprietor, who invited them to enter and make themselves comfortable. "the emperor is coming in a few minutes," he explained, "and the police are clearing the way for him." one of the youths asked if it was always necessary to clear the streets in this way when the emperor rode out. [illustration: alexander iii., emperor of russia.] "not by any means," the shopkeeper replied, "as he often rides out in a drosky, with only a single attendant following him. he goes at full speed along the street, and his progress is so rapid that not one person in twenty can recognize him before he gets out of sight. if he goes less rapidly he is followed by several officers; and when he rides in a carriage with two or more horses, he is accompanied by his body-guard of circassians, or by a company or section of cossacks. "nicholas and alexander ii. used to drive about quite frequently in a drosky, which was much like the ordinary ones on the streets, except that it was neater and more costly, and drawn by the finest horse the empire could produce. since the assassination of alexander ii., and the plots of the nihilists against the imperial life, we rarely see the emperor driving in this way, as it would afford too much opportunity for assassins. alexander iii. generally rides in a carriage, accompanied by some of his officers and surrounded by his body-guard. ah! here they come." as he spoke a squadron of cavalry came in sight, and soon passed the shop. behind the cavalry was a carriage, drawn by two spirited horses. the emperor occupied the rear seat, while two officers faced him on the front seat, and another officer, or possibly an orderly, was on the box with the driver. the crowd applauded as their ruler rode slowly by them, and to hear the plaudits one could readily believe that the emperor is thoroughly beloved by his subjects. he acknowledged the cheering by occasionally raising his hand in a military salute. frank thought he saluted in rather a mechanical way, from force of long habit. the youths said they would have recognized him by his portraits, though they were hardly prepared for the care-worn look which was depicted on his features. "after all," whispered frank to fred, "one can't be surprised at it, and i don't know who would want to change places with him. he must live in constant thought of assassination, and every step he takes must be carefully watched by those about him. so many plots have been made against his life, and so many persons of importance have been implicated in them, that he cannot know how soon a new one will be formed, and can never tell who about him is faithful. 'uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.'" behind the carriage was a company of body-guards in circassian chain-armor, and with weapons that belonged apparently to a past age. fred eagerly asked who and what these men were. "they are _cherkass_, or circassians," replied the shopkeeper, "and were formerly at war with russia. you have read of schamyl, the circassian general, who gave russia a great deal of trouble for a long time, have you not?" [illustration: battle between russians and circassians.] "certainly," fred answered, "i was reading about him only this morning. he was born about , and from till he carried on a defensive war against the russians, but was finally overpowered by greatly superior numbers. he used to avoid regular battles, and caused a great deal of damage to the russians by ambuscades, surprises, and similar warfare." [illustration: schamyl's village in the caucasus.] "that was exactly the case," said their informant, "and the russians always acknowledged that he was an accomplished leader both in a military and political sense. when he surrendered, in , the emperor invited him to st. petersburg, and gave him a residence at kalooga, with a handsome pension. he was made a regular guest at court, was treated with great distinction, and soon became as ardent in the support of russia as he had formerly been in opposing her. he was placed in command of the emperor's body-guard, which he organized from the warriors that had formerly served under him. schamyl died in , but the organization of the guard was continued. it is whispered that the circassians have been replaced by russians who wear the old uniform; but certainly, to all outward appearances, the guard remains the same. at any rate it is picturesque, and that is an important consideration." the crowd that lined the sidewalk was kept well in hand by the police. the shopkeeper said that any man who tried to break through the line would be arrested at once; and no doubt the knowledge of this rule served materially to preserve order. russian policemen are not to be trifled with. the route that the emperor is to take when riding out is never known in these latter days, through fear of plots against his life. the precaution is a very proper one, but it requires a large police force to guard all the avenues and streets by which he may pass. orders are sent for the police to prepare three or four routes, one only being traversed, and the direction is not given to the leader of the escort until the emperor is seated in the carriage. sometimes none of the routes which have been guarded are taken, and the emperor enjoys a ride with nothing but his escort for his protection. it is said the czar is averse to all this precaution, but is guided by the wishes of the imperial council and the members of his household. our friends thanked the shopkeeper for his politeness and information, and, as the crowd had melted away, continued their walk. frank observed that the police did not move away, and this fact led him to surmise that the emperor intended returning by the same route. "of course that is quite possible," said the doctor, in response to frank's suggestion, "but it is not worth our while to remain on the chance of his doing so. it is more than likely he will return to the palace by another road; and even if he comes through the nevski we could see no more than we have seen already. besides, we might arouse suspicion in the minds of the police by remaining long on this spot, and suspicion, however groundless, is not desirable. when the emperor goes out the police have orders to arrest every one whose conduct is in the least degree questionable, and so we had better continue our walk." they suited their actions to the doctor's word, and did not tarry on the nevski. very soon they met another cortege, which they ascertained to be the escort of the chief of police. [illustration: the empress marie fÉodorovna, wife of alexander iii.] they had a curiosity to see his face, but were disappointed, as he was closely surrounded by his officers and men. doctor bronson remarked that the chief of police was the most powerful man in russia, next to the emperor. "how is that?" fred asked. "i thought the most powerful man next to the emperor was the commander-in-chief of the armies." "there is this difference," the doctor answered, "that the chief of police is the only man in russia who has the right to go into the emperor's presence at any hour of the day or night. not even the field-marshal-in-chief of the army or the grand admiral of the navy can do that. "the ministers of war, navy, and foreign affairs have a right to an audience with the emperor every day, while the ministers of education, railways and telegraphs, finance, and other home matters, can only see him once or twice a week. but at any hour of the day the minister of police can send his name, and immediately follows the messenger into the emperor's office; at any hour of the night he may have the emperor waked and told that the minister of police has an important communication to make." "do you suppose that is often done?" one of the youths inquired. "probably not very often," replied doctor bronson, "but how frequently the outside public cannot possibly know. in ordinary times it is not likely the minister would ever exercise his right, as it is not wise to wake an emperor from a sound sleep, especially when you have bad news for him. but when assassins are making plots all around the capital and palace, the emperor's safety may easily require that he should have a personal warning. in such case the minister of police would not hesitate to perform his duty." [illustration: russian peasants at their recreation.] their walk took them to the summer gardens, where they sat down on one of the benches and watched the groups of children and nurse-maids, together with other groups of old and young that comprised the visitors to the place. as they sat there the conversation recurred to their recent topic, the police. "the public police is organized very much like the same service in other countries. there are some points of difference, but they are not great enough to be mentioned at length. one objection to the russian public police is that in the cities and large towns the policemen are nearly all soldiers who have served their time in the army, and receive police appointments as rewards. their long service in the army imbues them with the greatest deference to the uniform of an officer, no matter what its wearer may be. the result is the policemen salute every officer that passes, and thus their attention is drawn from their duties; furthermore, an officer can misbehave himself as much as he pleases, and run very little risk of being arrested like an ordinary offender." "what can you tell us about the secret police?" one of the youths asked. [illustration: "who is the spy?"] "i can't tell you much about it," was the reply; "and if i could it would not be a secret police. it used to be a saying that where three men were together one was sure to be a spy, and one or both the others might be. the spies were in all classes of society, and paid by the police. they did not know each other, and it quite often happened that two of them would report against each other, doubtless to the amusement of the officials who compared their documents. if common gossip is true, the evil was greater in the time of nicholas than under any other emperor, but many people say it is about as bad at one time as another. "the clerk in the hotel, the waiter in the restaurant, the shopkeeper who was so polite to us, the tailor, hatter, boot-maker, milliner, or any other tradesman, any or all of them--women as well as men--may be in the employ of the government, and report your movements and conversation. nobody knows who is a spy, and nobody knows who is not. consequently it is an excellent rule in russia never to say anything in the hearing of any one else than ourselves that can be called in question. mind, i don't know of my own knowledge that there is such a thing as a secret police, nor that such a person as a police spy exists in russia. having never said or done anything to which the emperor or his most zealous officer could object, i have no fear of being interfered with. "here are some of the stories which were current in the time of nicholas: "a retired officer of the english army lived for several years in st. petersburg. his manners were genial, and he made many friends both among the foreigners living here and those who visited russia. he died suddenly one day, and one of his countrymen who was present at the time took charge of his effects. his papers revealed the fact that he was a spy of the government, and was specially employed to watch foreigners. "soon after the revolution of a party of french gentlemen in st. petersburg met at the house of one of their friends. they had songs and speeches, and a pleasant evening generally; and as all were intimate, and of the same nationality, they were not at all cautious about their conversation. the only servants present were russians, and none of them was known to understand french. next morning the host was summoned to the police bureau, where he was politely received. the official read off the list of persons present, and a very accurate report of the songs, toasts, and speeches of the evening. then he asked the host if the account was correct. the latter tremblingly answered that it was, and was then told he had been very imprudent--an assertion he could not well deny. he was dismissed with a caution not to repeat the imprudence, and you may be sure he did not. he never gave another party, and never could he guess whether the spy was one of his guests and compatriots, or one of the servants who understood french while pretending to be ignorant of it. "a great reform has taken place, and matters which were formerly in the control of the police are now managed by courts of law. trial by jury has been established, and though there are many hinderances on account of the scarcity of lawyers and judges and the ignorance of jurors, the system is working well. the law-schools are filled with students, and in a few years the machinery of the courts will not be unlike that of other lands. [illustration: officers sitting in judgment.] "but the police power is still too great for the safety of the people, and probably no persons are more aware of it than are the emperor and his advisers. the police can imprison or exile a man for 'administrative purposes' without any trial whatever, and without even letting him know the nature of his offence. the police may, in certain cases, revise a sentence which has been decreed by a court, and punish a man who has been acquitted after trial, but they do not often exercise the right. "the author of 'free russia' says that while he was staying at archangel an actor and actress were brought there one day and set down in the public square, with orders to take care of themselves, but on no account to leave town without the governor's permission. they had been sent from the capital on a mere order of the police, without trial, without even having been heard in defence, and with no knowledge of the offence alleged against them. they had no means of support, but managed to eke out an existence by converting a barn into a theatre, and giving performances that hardly rose to the dignity of the name of plays. "an agent of the police had driven up to their doors and told them to get ready to start for archangel in three hours. that was all; in three hours they were on their way to exile. "the same writer said there was also at archangel a lady of middle age who had been banished from st. petersburg on the mere suspicion that she had been concerned in advising some of the students at the university to send an appeal to the emperor for certain reforms which they desired. there was no other charge against her, and those who made her acquaintance at archangel were impressed with her entire innocence, as she did not possess in any way the qualities necessary for intrigue. like the actor and actress just mentioned, she had had no trial, and no opportunity to be heard in defence. "a young novelist named gierst published some stories which evidently gave offence. he was called upon at midnight, and told to get ready to depart immediately. away he went, not knowing whither, until the horses stopped at the town of totma, six hundred miles from st. petersburg. there he was told to stay until fresh orders came from the ministry of police. none of his friends knew where he had gone; his lodgings were empty, and all the information that could be obtained was from a servant who had seen him start. his letters were seized, the newspapers were forbidden to say anything about him, and it was only by a ruse that he was able to let his friends know where he was. "any number of these incidents are narrated," the doctor continued, "and they all show the dangerous power that is in the hands of the police. it is said that it would have been curtailed years ago but for the rise and spread of nihilism, which has rendered it necessary to continue the privilege of the police to revise sentences, or imprison and exile without trial, 'for administrative purposes.' let us hope that the better day will come very soon." "i join heartily in that hope," said frank. fred echoed the words of his cousin, and they rose and continued their promenade. [illustration: russian grand-duke and grand-duchess.] chapter x. winter in russia.--fashionable and other furs.--sleighs and sledges.--no sleigh-bells in russian cities.--official opening of the neva.--russian ice-hills.--"butter-week."--kissing at easter.--an active kissing-time.--russian stoves and baths.--effects of severe cold.--the story of the frozen nose.--how men are frozen to death. while greatly enjoying their summer visit to st. petersburg, frank and fred regretted that they did not have the opportunity of seeing the capital in winter. they heard much about the gayety of the winter season, and wondered if their journeyings would ever bring them there at the time when the snow covered the ground and the neva was sealed with ice. for their consolation doctor bronson told them of his winter experience of the city. his story was about as follows: "i arrived here in the latter part of january, when the temperature was running very low. the ordinary mercury thermometer, which freezes at ° below zero, was of no use, as the mercury would be frozen solid almost every day. spirit thermometers are the only practicable ones for northern russia, and during my stay here they marked - ° fahrenheit. this is an unusual and extreme figure, the mean winter temperature being about ° above zero. the average summer temperature is °, and the extreme summer figure °. "everybody wears furs or sheepskins in winter; they are donned when the frosts come, and not laid aside till the trees are budding. furs are for the rich, or those who pretend to be so, and sheepskins for the lower classes. both kinds of garments are worn with the fur or wool inside; the fur coat or cloak has a backing of cloth, while the sheepskin coat has only the skin of the animal without any cloth addition." one of the boys asked what kinds of furs were most in use. "nearly everything that bears the name of fur," was the reply; "but fashion rules here as everywhere else, and it often happens that a fur will be in great demand at one time and quite neglected a few years later. sable is the most expensive fur, and a coat or cloak lined with it is worth all the way from five hundred to five thousand dollars, depending upon the excellence of the skins. another fur, that of the black fox, is still more costly; but as it is worn only by the imperial family and the highest nobility, it does not come into our category. [illustration: fur-bearing seals.] "coats lined with astrachan (the soft wool of very young lambs) are fashionable, and bring high prices. i have known of coats of this kind selling for six or eight hundred dollars each. i took to america a cap of astrachan wool; it cost me about three dollars, and with my inexperienced eye i could not distinguish it from one that sold for ten times as much. my russian friends could readily detect the difference; but as i was buying the cap for american and not for russian use, i was quite content with my purchase." "why is this fur or wool called 'astrachan?'" one of the youths asked. [illustration: sea-otter.] "it comes here from astrachan, at the mouth of the volga," said the doctor. "its preparation is one of the industries of central asia, for which astrachan is the great market. this fur is black, and remarkably soft and silky. the lamb is killed immediately after he sees the light, and the younger he is at the time of his death the finer and more valuable is the skin. persia supplies large quantities of this fur, and it varies from black to gray or white. [illustration: the beaver.] "i mentioned the black fox as a very costly fur. the emperor has a cloak which is valued at ten thousand dollars; only an emperor or some one else with plenty of money at his command could afford such a garment. the fur of the black fox is rarely seen outside of russia, as only a small quantity of it comes to market. plenty of counterfeit fur of this kind can be found in england; it is made by dyeing the skin of the common fox, and the work is done so skilfully as to defy detection by any one not an expert in the fur trade. [illustration: the ermine.] "sea-otter, mink, marten, beaver, fur-seal, lynx, and raccoon are the furs in general use for lining garments in russia. otter, seal, and mink furs are expensive, and so is that of another animal i had almost omitted from the list, the ermine. ermine fur was formerly the badge of royalty, and in some countries it could be worn only by the members of the royal or imperial family, or by the judges in the high courts. in england you often hear the judges spoken of as 'wearers of the ermine;' the fur has been used for lining the robes of the judges, its snowy whiteness being considered an emblem of purity. the tip of the tail of the ermine is black, and in making robes the white surface is dotted at regular intervals with the black tips. where they are not sufficient for the purpose, the paws of the astrachan lamb are used instead. [illustration: the raccoon.] "the fur you see most frequently in russia in the winter season is that of the raccoon. i bought a coat lined with this fur when i arrived in st. petersburg, and paid the equivalent of eighty dollars for it. i did not recognize the skin as that of a compatriot, and was only aware of its origin when informed by a russian friend. a fur-dealer in new york afterwards told me that half a million raccoon-skins are sent annually to london, and nearly all of them find their way to russia. "another animal whose fur comes from america to russia is that odoriferous creature, the skunk. a friend of mine bought a coat of this kind under the impression that the fur grew on the back of a young bear. in cold weather, and out-of-doors, it was all right, and no one could have known the difference; but when the weather grew warm, and a thaw made the atmosphere moist, my friend's coat was not a pleasant article of wear. i believe he sold it to the manager of a glue factory, whose nose had lost its sensitiveness through his peculiar occupation. "so much for the materials, and now for the garment. a russian _shooba_, or cloak, extends from the head to the heels of the wearer; the sleeves cover the finger-tips, or very nearly so, and the collar, when turned up, will completely encircle and conceal the head. the head-covering is a cap of the pattern you see often in pictures, and once called in america the 'pork-pie.' the coat is excellent for riding purposes. one can walk a short distance in such a garment, but it is really inconvenient for a promenade. "but as everybody who can afford to ride does so, the awkwardness of the _shooba_ is of little consequence. the streets abound in sledges, and you may be whisked here, there, and everywhere at a very rapid rate for a reasonable price. the streets are far gayer in winter than in summer, for the reason that there are so many more vehicles in motion, and i know of no more active spectacle than the nevski on a clear day in january." "the bells on the sleighs must make a merry tinkling," said one of the boys, with a smile. "quite wrong," said the doctor, returning the smile, "as there are no bells at all." "no bells on the sleighs!" was the surprised reply. "then the law is not like ours in america?" "exactly the reverse," answered the doctor. "in the united states we require them, and in russia they forbid them. we argue that unless bells are worn on the horses the approach of a sleigh could not be perceived; the russians argue that in the confusion caused by the sound of bells one could not hear the warning shout of the driver, and would be liable to be run over. both are right; sleighs are not sufficiently numerous with us to cause confusion, while in russia their great numbers would certainly bring about the result the russians dread. "but it is in the cities and towns only," the doctor continued, "that the bell is forbidden. on the country roads any one travelling in a post-carriage carries bells on the _duga_--the yoke above the neck of the shaft-horse--but he must remove them before entering a town. most of these bells are made at valdai, a town on the road from st. petersburg to moscow, and the place of their origin is preserved in some of the sleighing songs of the country. "balls, parties, receptions, dances, dinners, theatricals, operas, anything and everything belonging to fashionable life, can be found in st. petersburg in winter. any one with introductions can be as gay as he wishes, and it is a wonder to a quiet and ease-loving man that the russians can survive this sort of thing year after year. a fashionable russian rarely gets to bed before two or three o'clock in the morning; it is true he may sleep late, but if he has any official engagements his hours of slumber will be few. a winter in st. petersburg is a heavy drain on one's vital forces, and also upon the pocket. living is dear, and it is well said that this city is the most costly capital of europe, with the possible exception of madrid. "the neva freezes near the end of october or early in november, and remains frozen until may. nobody is allowed to venture on the ice until it has been officially declared that the river is frozen over; and in the spring, when the ice melts, the official declaration is necessary before a single boat can put out from shore, or even be launched. when the river is opened there is an elaborate ceremony, and a part of the performance includes taking a glass of water from the river and presenting it to the emperor. his majesty drinks the water and fills the glass with gold coin. it was observed that the size of the glass increased annually, until it assumed the proportions of a respectable flower-vase. the imperial stomach could not hold so much water at once, and the imperial purse objected to the price. a compromise was effected by fixing a certain sum to be paid, instead of filling the glass with gold. "skating and riding on the ice have a prominent place in the amusements of russia in winter. coasting on artificial ice-hills is also a standard sport, in which all classes of people take part. it is especially in order during 'butter-week' and the easter festivities, and is one of the winter sights of all cities in the empire." "how do they make these ice-hills?" fred asked. [illustration: russian ice-hills.] "a scaffold is raised to the height of thirty or forty feet, the posts being set in holes drilled in the frozen earth or pavement, and fixed in their places by pouring water around them. in a few minutes the water is converted into ice and the post is immovable. on one side of the scaffold there are steps for ascending it, and generally there is a track at the side for drawing up the sleds. the other side slopes off very steeply at the start; then it becomes more gentle, and finally extends a considerable distance on a level. "blocks of ice are laid on the slope; water is poured over them to be converted into ice and make a smooth surface; and when the slide is completed and opened it is thronged by patrons. it takes away one's breath at first when he is pitched over the edge of the slope and finds himself rushing with a speed surpassing that of a railway-train. the impetus gained in the first part of the descent is sufficient to carry the sled a long distance on the level. i tried the slide two or three times, and think if i had been ten or twenty years younger i should have enjoyed it very much." "where do they put up these ice-hills?" frank inquired. "several are erected in admiralty square," said the doctor, "and others in various other squares and along the bank of the river. they are frequently arranged so that the level part of the slide is over the ice of the neva, and care is taken that the track shall be smooth as glass. there are usually two of these hills side by side, the slides being in opposite directions. "those i speak of are for the general public. smaller slides are in the court-yards of private houses, and there are imitations of them in many summer-houses, where polished wood takes the place of ice. one of the slides in the imperial palace is of mahogany, which has been polished till it shines like a finely finished bureau or wardrobe. [illustration: soldiers off duty--butter-week.] "the time to see st. petersburg in all its winter glory is during '_maslinitza_,' or 'butter-week,' which ushers in the 'great fast' preceding easter. the whole population is engaged in enjoying itself. _blinni_, or pancakes, are the favorite articles of food, and thousands of digestions are upset by the enormous quantities of these things that are devoured. they are made of flour and butter, fried in butter, and eaten with butter-sauce. butter and other fatty foods are in order through the week; and from a sanitary point of view this great consumption of grease, followed by seven weeks of fasting, leads to frightful results. statistics show that the mortality rate is largely increased at this time of the year, and certainly it is not to be wondered at. rich and poor alike give themselves up to butter, and the only difference is that the rich have the best qualities of the article, and sometimes a greater quantity. "the rich people sometimes have _blinni_ parties during the festive season. i once attended one of these affairs at the invitation of a russian friend. when we met in the parlors i was surprised that so few were present, as i had dined there before and knew he could accommodate twice the number. but i saw the reason when the word was given that the pancakes were ready and our host led the way. "we were not taken to the dining-room but to the kitchen, and then it was explained that _blinni_ parties are given in the kitchen, and no more people are invited than the place can accommodate. the _blinni_ are eaten on the spot, as fast as they are cooked, and it is a prime object to have them hot from the griddle. we had a very jolly time there, but for several days my stomach was like an embryo vesuvius in consequence of making a whole meal of this rich food. think of an entire dinner of buckwheat-cakes or fried 'turnovers,' the stuff that dreams are made of." [illustration: the easter kiss--agreeable.] one of the boys wished to know about the easter kissing for which russia is famous. [illustration: the easter kiss--in the family.] "well, it is one of the sights of russia, with agreeable and disagreeable features. it is not literally the case that everybody kisses everybody else, but that statement is not so very far out of the way after all. i passed through one easter, and it was quite enough for a lifetime. i was kissed by men and women almost innumerable. if the kissing could have been confined to the young and pretty women, or even to the comely ones of middle or advanced life, i should have borne the infliction patiently; but when i was obliged to receive the salutation from men, of all ages and all conditions of cleanliness, or its reverse, it was too much for comfort. all russia kisses all the rest of russia at easter, and any foreigner who may be here at the time is treated like a subject of the czar. the old adage that 'kissing goes by favor' is entirely set aside; custom makes it well-nigh universal." [illustration: the easter kiss--difficult.] "when does the ceremony begin, and how long is it kept up?" said one of the youths. [illustration: the easter kiss--disagreeable.] "it begins at midnight, as the clock sounds the hour of twelve and ushers in the easter day. a little before midnight the whole of russia goes to church. the emperor and all his family assemble in the imperial chapel, and every church and chapel in the empire is filled. as the clock begins striking the hour the whole congregation is wrapped in silence; at the last stroke of the bell the doors of the sanctuary of the church are thrown open and the waiting priests come forth. "'_christus voskress_' ('christ is risen') is intoned by the priests, and the song is taken up by the choir, to be followed by the response, '_christus voskress ihs mortvui_' ('christ is risen from the dead'). the priests walk through the congregation repeating the words and swinging their censers. "the beginning of the chant is the signal for the kissing. friends and acquaintances are generally standing together, and each kisses every other one of the group. those who have the slightest possible acquaintance kiss each other, and at each and every kiss the two phrases i have given are repeated. at the same instant that the signal is given by the opening of the doors of the sanctuary, the churches are illuminated both inside and out, every bell is rung, and the pealing of cannon and the flashing of rockets show how much the festival is a national one. "the kissing is continued through the night and all the next day, and even for several days all relatives, friends, and acquaintances salute each other with _chritus voskress_ and a kiss; every isvoshchik, porter, dustman--in fact every peasant of every name and kind kisses every other peasant he has ever known, and a great many whom he never saw before. clerks in the public offices kiss each other, officers and soldiers of the army salute in the same way, the general kissing all his subordinate officers, the colonel of a regiment kissing all the officers beneath him, and also a deputation of the soldiers, while the captain and lieutenants kiss all the soldiers of their companies. the same order is observed in the navy and in all the official ranks, and the number of osculations in the empire in that one day of the year is quite beyond the power of calculation." "are the emperor and empress subject to the same rule as other people?" was the very natural inquiry which followed. [illustration: the emperor's easter kiss.] "certainly," was the reply; "the ceremony is closely connected with the religion of the country, and as the emperor is the head of the church, he could not possibly secure exemption from this ancient custom. the emperor and empress must salute all the members of the imperial family as a matter of course, and also all the court officials and attendants; and after this ceremony is over the empress must give her hand to be kissed by every officer above the rank of colonel who has the right of attendance at court. the emperor kisses all his officers on parade, and also a delegation of soldiers selected as representatives of the army. the military parades for the imperial kiss last several days, as it would be impossible to go through the ceremonial with all the regiments around st. petersburg in a single revolution of the earth. "easter makes an end of the long fast of seven weeks, which has been kept by all faithful members of the church with great rigor. the lower classes refrain even from fish during the first and last weeks of the fast, and also on wednesdays and fridays of the other five. it is no wonder that they precede it with the festivities of 'butter-week,' so that the recollection of the good time they have had will be a consolation during the fast. with the kissing of easter begins a period of feasting, both in eating and drinking, which is by no means famous for its moderation. many of the mujiks are sadly intoxicated before the setting of the sun at easter, and they are by no means the only persons who exhibit the effects of too liberal potations." from easter and its kisses the conversation wandered to other subjects. fred asked how the houses were kept warm in the intense cold of a russian winter. [illustration: peasant girl in winter dress.] "some of the more modern buildings of st. petersburg and moscow," said the doctor, "are warmed by furnaces not unlike those used in america. but the true _peitchka_, or russian stove, is of brick, and is generally built so as to form the common centre of three or four rooms and warm them all at once. in the huts of the peasants the top of the stove is utilized as a bed, and it is usually large enough for three or four persons to lie there with comparative comfort." "do they keep the fire going there all the time during the winter?" "not exactly," was the reply, "though in a certain sense they do. every morning the fire is kindled in the stove, which resembles an enormous oven, and is kept burning for several hours. when it has burned down to a bed of coals, so that no more carbonic gas can be evolved, the chimney is closed, and port-holes near the top of the stove are opened into the room or rooms. the hot air comes out and warms the apartments, and there is enough of it to keep a good heat for twelve or fifteen hours. "the port-holes must be carefully closed during the combustion of the wood, in order to prevent the escape of poisonous gas. sometimes they are opened when there is still some flame burning. a russian will instantly detect the presence of this gas, and open a window or rush into the open air, but strangers, in their ignorance, are occasionally overpowered by it. "several instances are on record of strangers losing their lives by _ougar_, as the russians call this poisonous gas from the stove. among them, some twenty years ago, was the son of a persian ambassador, who was smothered in one of the principal hotels of moscow. when a person is overpowered by _ougar_, and found insensible, he is carried out-of-doors and rolled in the snow--a severe but efficacious remedy. "then, too, the cold is excluded by means of double or triple windows, little cones of paper filled with salt being placed between the windows to absorb whatever moisture collects there. russian houses are very poorly ventilated, and frequently, on entering from the open air, you are almost stifled by the foul atmosphere that seems to strike you in the face like a pugilist. "it is probably the condition of the air in which they live, combined with late hours and the exactions of fashionable life, that gives such an aspect of paleness to nearly all the russian women above the peasant class. a fresh, ruddy complexion, such as one sees almost universally throughout england, and quite generally in america, is almost unknown among russian ladies. if the emperor would issue a decree requiring the houses of the empire to be properly ventilated, he would confer a blessing on his faithful subjects, and save or prolong thousands of lives. "the peasants sometimes use their stoves for baths," said the doctor, to the great surprise of his youthful auditors. "how is that possible?" one of them asked. "do they fill the stove with water the same as they would a bath-tub?" "not exactly," the doctor answered, smilingly. "you know the character of the russian bath as we find it in new york and other american cities?" "certainly," was the reply. "it is a room filled with steam, and with a series of benches on which you lie and are heated, the highest bench being hottest of all." [illustration: a bath in the east.] "the russian bath of the best class here," said doctor bronson, "is arranged in the same way. the more primitive bath is simply a room with benches, and a fire on a pile of hot stones. water is thrown over the stones and converted into steam, and the finishing touch is to mount to the topmost bench while an attendant deluges the stones with water and raises a cloud that threatens to scald you. the most profuse perspiration is the result, and the bath is no doubt a great sanitary institution. the turkish bath is much like the russian, hot, dry air taking the place of steam. "taken properly, the russian bath has no bad effects, and is beneficial in rheumatism, gout, certain forms of neuralgia, and several other diseases. it is a wonderful restorative when you have been shaken up in carriages on russian roads, and an excellent thing after a journey of any kind. every good russian considers it his duty to bathe once a week, but he does not always adhere to the rule. "in every village there is a bath-house which is the general property of the villagers, and maintained by popular contribution. when a peasant has no bath-house he creeps into his stove, bakes himself on the hot ashes, and after perspiring freely crawls out and is drenched with water. nearly every private house has its bath, which is generally in a small building in the yard, rather than in the dwelling-house. in all the large cities there are numerous bathing establishments, some of them fitted up in gorgeous style, while others are of the plainest and cheapest sort. the russians are quite gregarious in their bathing habits, and think no more of taking a bath in the presence of each other than of dining in a restaurant." "is it true that the russians finish a bath by having iced water poured over them, or by taking a plunge into it?" "it is the custom to close the pores of the skin by means of cold, but not ice-cold water. the attendant begins the work of the bath by throwing water over you, first warm, then hot, then hotter, and then hottest. this drenching is followed by the steaming process and a gentle flogging with birchen rods or switches to stimulate perspiration. then you are soaped and scrubbed, the scrubbing being performed usually with birchen shavings, which are thoroughly and vigorously applied. "after this you are again drenched with buckets of water, beginning with warm and going on a descending scale to cold, so that there shall be no shock to the system. men have rushed from the bath into a snow-bank, but this is not the custom; the peasants frequently leave the bath to take a swim in the river, but only in mild weather. no doubt there have been cases of bathing voluntarily through the ice or in iced water, but you must search far and wide to find them." frank remarked that he thought one should exercise great care in going into the open air in winter after taking a bath. doctor bronson explained that this was the reason of the drenching with cold water, so that the pores of the skin would be closed and the chances of taking cold greatly reduced. "it is quite a shock to the system," said the doctor, "to pass from in doors to out, or from out doors to in, during the russian winter. the houses are generally heated to about ° fahrenheit; with the thermometer at zero, or possibly ten, twenty, or more degrees below, it is like stepping from a furnace to a refrigerator, or _vice versa_. but the natives do not seem to mind it. i have often seen a mujik rise from his couch on the top of the stove, and after tightening his belt and putting on his boots and cap, mount the box of a sleigh and drive for two or three hours in a temperature far below zero." "i have read somewhere," said fred, "about the danger of losing one's ears and nose by frost, and that it is the custom in st. petersburg and moscow to warn any one that he is being frozen. did you ever see a case of the kind?" [illustration: russian street scene in winter.] "it is a strange circumstance," replied the doctor, "that nearly every tourist who has been in russia, even for only a week or so, claims to have seen a crowd running after a man or woman, calling out '_noss! noss!_' and when the victim did not understand, seizing him or her and rubbing the nose violently with snow. "one writer tells it as occurring to a french actress; another, to an english ambassador; another, to an american politician; and in each case the story is varied to give it a semblance of truth. i was in moscow and st. petersburg during january and february; and though constantly watching to see somebody's nose pulled, was doomed to disappointment. i asked my russian friends about it, and none of them was wiser than i. one said it might happen once in a great while, but it was safe to conclude that everybody knew enough to take care of his own nose." frank asked how one could tell when his nose was freezing, or how observe the freezing of another's. "the nose and ears become numb and turn white," was the reply, "and that indicates the beginning of the freezing. when this is the condition nothing but a vigorous rubbing to restore the circulation will prevent the loss of those organs. it is for protection from the frost that the russians keep their faces wrapped in furs; and if a man has any doubt about the condition of his facial attachments he will touch them occasionally to make sure. when you pinch your nose and do not feel the pinch, it is time to rub with snow, promptly and with energy. "severe cold is very inconvenient for the wearer of a mustache, as he speedily gathers a great quantity of ice there by the congelation of the moisture of his breath. a man's beard becomes a frozen mass in a little while. beard and furs frequently freeze together, and render a sudden turn of the head a matter of great annoyance. ladies find their veils stiffening into something like wire gauze when the thermometer runs low. they disdain the bonnet of london or paris, and sensibly enclose their head in hoods lined with fur, and having capes descending well into the neck. "horses become white in a short time, no matter what may be their real color, from the formation of frost all over their bodies. their breath suggests steam more than anything else, and the long hairs around their noses are turned into icy spikes. in the severest weather pigeons have been seen to fall to the ground paralyzed with the cold, but it is quite likely that their flights were forced, and the birds were half frozen before taking wing." frank asked if it often happened that people were frozen to death in these russian winters. "occurrences of this kind probably take place every year," was the reply, "but from all i have been able to learn i believe the number is exaggerated. in many cases it is the fault of the frozen ones themselves; they have been rendered insensible or careless by stimulants, and gone to sleep in the open air. the tendency to sleep when one is exposed to severe cold should be resisted, as it is very likely to be the sleep of death. [illustration: lost in a snow-storm.] "there is a story of two travellers who saw a third in trouble; one of them proposed to go to the relief of the man in distress, but the other refused, saying he would not stir out of their sleigh. the first went and relieved the sufferer; his exertions set the blood rushing through his veins and saved him from injury by the cold, while the one who refused to render aid was frozen to death. "it is a curious fact," said the doctor, in closing his remarks upon the russian winter, "that foreigners coming here do not feel the cold at first. they walk the streets in the same clothing they would wear in london or paris, and laugh at the russians wrapping themselves in furs. at the same time the russians laugh at them and predict that if they stay in the country for another season they will change their ways. a stranger does not feel the cold the first winter as sensibly as do the russians, but in every succeeding season of frost he is fully sensitive to it, and vies with the natives in constant use of his furs." chapter xi. leaving st. petersburg.--novgorod the great: its history and traditions.--rurik and his successors.--barbarities of john the terrible.--early history of russia.--an imperial bear-hunt.--origin of the house of romanoff.--"a life for the czar."--railways in russia from novgorod to moscow. a day was appointed for leaving st. petersburg. notice was given at the office of the hotel, and the passports of the three travellers received the necessary indorsements at the police bureau. trunks were packed and bills settled, and at the proper time a carriage conveyed the party to the commodious station of the imperial railway from the new capital of russia to the old. but they did not take their tickets direct for moscow. as before stated, the railway between the two great cities of the czar's dominions is very nearly a straight line, and was laid out by the emperor nicholas with a ruler placed on the map and a pencil drawn along its edge. there is consequently no city of importance along the route, with the exception of tver, where the line crosses the volga. novgorod, the oldest city of russia, is about forty miles from the railway as originally laid out. until within a few years it was reached by steamers in summer from volkhova station, seventy-five miles from st. petersburg. in winter travellers were carried in sledges from chudova station (near volkhova), and to novices in this kind of travel the ride was interesting. latterly a branch line has been completed to novgorod, and one may leave st. petersburg at a.m. and reach novgorod at p.m. the pace of the trains is not dangerously fast, and accidents are of rare occurrence. between moscow and st. petersburg (four hundred and three miles) the running time for express trains is twenty hours, and for way trains twenty-three to twenty-five hours. nine hours from st. petersburg to novgorod (one hundred and twenty miles) should not startle the most timorous tourist. doctor bronson had told the youths some days before their departure that they would visit novgorod on their way to moscow. he suggested that he desired them to be informed about its history, and soon after the train started he referred to the subject. [illustration: workmen of novgorod--glazier, painter, and carpenters.] "it is rather an odd circumstance," said frank, "that the oldest city in russia is called novgorod, or 'new city.' _novo_ means 'new,' and _gorod_ is russian for 'city.' it received its name when it was really the newest town in russia, and has kept it ever since." "it is also called novgorod veliki," said fred, "which means novgorod the great. in the fifteenth century it had a population of four hundred thousand, and was really entitled to be called the great. at present it has less than twenty thousand inhabitants, and its industries are of little importance compared to what they used to be. "it has a trade in flax, corn, and hemp," the youth continued, "and its manufactures are principally in tobacco, leather, sail-cloth, vinegar, and candles. in former times an important fair was held here, and merchants came to novgorod from all parts of europe and many countries of asia. afterwards the fair was removed to nijni novgorod, on the volga, and the ancient city became of little consequence except for its historical interest." "the slavs founded a town there in the fourth century," said frank. "about the year the russian monarchy had its beginning at novgorod; in there was a millennial celebration there, and a magnificent monument was erected to commemorate it." "this is a good place for you to tell us about the early history of russia," said the doctor. [illustration: an old norse chief.] "i have been studying it," frank replied, "and find that previous to the ninth century the country was occupied by the slavs, who founded the towns of novgorod and kief. each of these places was the capital of an independent slavic principality. very little is known of the history of the slavs in those times. the varangians, a northern people, made war upon them. the slavs resisted, but finally invited rurik, the prince of the varangians, to come and rule over them. the northmen, or varangians, were called 'russ' by the slavs, and from them the new monarchy was called russia. rurik came with his two brothers, sineus and truvor, and at novgorod laid the foundation of this empire that now covers one-eighth of the land surface of the globe. "the story is admirably told in verse by bayard taylor. i have copied the lines from his poetical volume, and will read them to you." in a full, clear voice the youth then read as follows, having previously explained that mr. taylor was present at the millennial celebration already mentioned: a thousand years. _novgorod, russia, sept_. , . "'a thousand years! through storm and fire, with varying fate, the work has grown, till alexander crowns the spire, where rurik laid the corner-stone. "'the chieftain's sword, that could not rust, but bright in constant battle grew, raised to the world a throne august-- a nation grander than he knew. "'nor he, alone; but those who have, through faith or deed, an equal part: the subtle brain of yaroslav, vladimir's arm and nikon's heart; "'the later hands, that built so well the work sublime which these began, and up from base to pinnacle wrought out the empire's mighty plan. "'all these, to-day, are crowned anew, and rule in splendor where they trod, while russia's children throng to view her holy cradle, novgorod. "'from volga's banks; from dwina's side; from pine-clad ural, dark and long; or where the foaming terek's tide leaps down from kasbek, bright with song; "'from altai's chain of mountain-cones; mongolian deserts, far and free; and lands that bind, through changing zones, the eastern and the western sea! "'to every race she gives a home, and creeds and laws enjoy her shade, till, far beyond the dreams of rome, her cæsar's mandate is obeyed. "'she blends the virtues they impart, and holds, within her life combined, the patient faith of asia's heart-- the force of europe's restless mind. "'she bids the nomad's wanderings cease; she binds the wild marauder fast; her ploughshares turn to homes of peace the battle-fields of ages past. "'and, nobler yet, she dares to know her future's task, nor knows in vain, but strikes at once the generous blow that makes her millions men again! "'so, firmer based, her power expands, nor yet has seen its crowning hour-- still teaching to the struggling lands that peace the offspring is of power. "'build, then, the storied bronze, to tell the steps whereby this height she trod-- the thousand years that chronicle the toil of man, the help of god! "'and may the thousand years to come-- the future ages, wise and free-- still see her flag and hear her drum across the world, from sea to sea!-- "'still find, a symbol stern and grand, her ancient eagle's wings unshorn; one head to watch the western land, and one to guard the land of morn.' "bear in mind," said frank, after pausing at the end of the lines, "that the millennial celebration took place not long after the edict of emancipation was issued by alexander ii. this is what mr. taylor refers to in the third line of his poem. "to go on with the story, let me say that rurik and his descendants ruled the country for more than two centuries. they made war upon their neighbors, and were generally victorious, and in their time the boundaries of russia were very much enlarged. rurik and his sons were pagans. in the tenth century christianity was introduced, and olga, the widow of igor, son of rurik, was baptized at constantinople. her son remained a pagan. he was slain in battle, and left the monarchy to his three sons, who soon began to quarrel. one was killed in battle, and another was put to death by the third brother, vladimir, who assumed entire control, and was surnamed 'the great' on account of the benefits he conferred upon russia." fred asked if vladimir was a christian. "he was not," said frank, "at least not in the beginning, but he subsequently became a convert to the principles of the greek church, married the sister of the emperor of constantinople, and was baptized on the day of his wedding, in the year . he ordered the introduction of christianity into russia, and established a great many churches and schools. [illustration: view on the steppe.] "vladimir left the throne to his twelve sons, who quarrelled about it till several of them were murdered or slain in battle. the successful son was yaroslav, who followed the example of his father by extending the boundaries of the country and introducing reforms. he caused many greek books to be translated into slavic, and ordered the compilation of the '_russkaya pravda_,' which was the first law code of the country. nikon, whom mr. taylor mentions in the same line with vladimir, was a russian scholar and theologian of a later time, to whom the religion of russia is much indebted. "after yaroslav's death there were many internal and external wars, during which russia lost a great deal of territory, and the history of the country for a long period is a history of calamities. the tartars under genghis khan invaded russia, plundering towns and cities, murdering the inhabitants, and ravaging the whole country from the frontiers of asia to the banks of the vistula. famine and pestilence accompanied war; in the year thirty thousand people died of the plague at smolensk and forty-two thousand at novgorod. alexander nevski defeated the swedes and livonians on the banks of the neva. he was a prince of novgorod, and one of the most enlightened of his time. [illustration: ivan the terrible.] "moscow was founded about , and grew rapidly, although it was repeatedly sacked by the mongol invaders, who slew on one occasion twenty-four thousand of its inhabitants. the capital was established there, and under various rulers the war with the mongols was continued to a successful end. ivan iii., surnamed 'the great,' drove them out, and successfully repelled their attempts to return. his son and successor, ivan iv., was surnamed 'the terrible,' and certainly he deserved the appellation. we have mentioned him already in our account of what we saw in st. petersburg. "he was an energetic warrior, encouraged commerce, made treaties with other nations, introduced the art of printing, and invited many foreigners to reside in russia and give instruction to the people. on the other hand, he was one of the most cruel rulers that ever governed a people, and seems to have rivalled the brutalities of the mongols. here are some of his cruelties that are recorded in history: "he hated novgorod on account of the independent spirit of its people, and for this reason he put more than sixty thousand of its inhabitants to death, many of them with torture. novgorod had maintained an independent government, quite distinct from that of the grand-duchy of moscow. ivan iii. and his son, vassili, made war upon novgorod and the other independent principality of pskov, and ivan iv. ('the terrible') brought them to complete submission. the slaughter of the people of novgorod was the closing act of the conquest. "we will change ivan to its english equivalent, john, and henceforth speak of this monster as john the terrible. he was only four years old when he became czar. during his infancy the government was conducted by his mother, under the direction of the house of boyards (noblemen). when he was thirteen years of age a political party which was opposed to the boyards suggested that he could rule without any assistance, and he at once took the control of affairs. very soon he terrified those who had placed him on the throne, and they would have been gladly rid of him if they could. "an english ambassador came to moscow bringing the answer to a letter in which john had proposed marriage to queen elizabeth. the queen rejected his offer, but in such a diplomatic manner as not to offend the sanguinary czar. her ambassador incurred the monarch's ill-will by neglecting to uncover before him, and it was accordingly ordered that the envoy's hat should be nailed to his head. foreigners were better treated than were the subjects of john, and the ambassador was not harmed, though he was afterwards imprisoned. "for his amusement john the terrible used to order a number of people to be sewed up in bear-skins, and then torn to death by bear-hounds. for tearing prisoners to pieces he ordered the tops of several trees to be bent down so that they came together; the limbs of the unfortunate victim were fastened to these tops, each limb to a different tree. when they were thus tied up, the release of the trees performed the work intended by the cruel czar." "isn't john's name connected with the church of st. basil at moscow?" fred asked. "yes," answered frank; "it was built in his reign, and is considered one of the finest in the city. when it was finished john sent for the architect and asked if he could build another like it. "'certainly i could,' the architect replied, with delight. "thereupon the monarch ordered the architect's eyes to be put out, to make sure that the church of st. basil should have no rival. "whether he was a kind husband or not we have no information, but he certainly was very much a husband. he had one mohammedan and two russian wives; and at the very time he sought the hand of elizabeth, queen of england, he proposed to marry the daughter of king sigismund of poland. what he intended doing if both offers were accepted we are not told, but it is not likely that bigamy would have had any terrors for a man of such ungovernable temper as he seems to have been. [illustration: alexis michailovitch, father of peter the great.] "at his death his son and successor, feodor, fell under the influence of boris godounoff, his brother-in-law, who assumed full power after a time, and renewed the relations with england which had been suspended for a while. godounoff obtained the throne by poisoning or exiling several of his relatives who stood in his way or opposed his projects. feodor is believed to have died of poison; he was the czar from to , but for the last ten years of this period he had practically no voice in state affairs. with his death the house of rurik became extinct." "does the house of romanoff, the present rulers of russia, begin where that of rurik ended?" the doctor asked. "not exactly," was the reply, "as there was an interval of nineteen years, and a very important period in the history of the empire. several pretenders to the throne had appeared, among them demetrius, who is known in history as the 'impostor.' he married a polish lady, and it was partly through her intrigues that moscow fell into the hands of the poles." "and how were they driven out?" "a butcher or cattle-dealer of nijni novgorod, named minin, gathered a small army under the belief that he was ordered by heaven to free his country from the invaders. he persuaded prince pojarsky to lead these soldiers to moscow, and together they started. their force increased as they advanced, and finally they expelled the poles and redeemed the capital. the names of minin and pojarsky are very prominent in russian history. monuments at moscow and nijni novgorod commemorate the action of these patriotic men, and tell the story of their work in behalf of their country. [illustration: michael feodorovitch, first czar of the romanoff family.] "the incident on which glinka's opera, 'a life for the czar,' is based belongs to this period, when the poles overran russia. the czar who was saved was michael feodorovitch, the first of the romanoffs, and he was elected to the throne by an assembly of nobles. the autocrat of all the russias is descended from a man who was chosen to office by the form of government which is now much more in vogue in america than in the land of the czar. michael, the first of the romanoffs, was the son of feodor romanoff, archbishop of rostov, and afterwards patriarch of moscow. "there was nothing remarkable about the reign of feodor, nor of that of his son alexis. the latter was distinguished for being the father of peter the great, and for nothing else that i can find in history. now we step from ancient to modern times. peter the great belongs to our day, and the russia that we are visiting is the one that he developed. under him the country became an empire, where it was before nothing more than a kingdom. during his reign--" they were interrupted by the stoppage of the train at a station, and the announcement that they must wait there an hour or more to receive some of the imperial foresters, who were arranging for a bear-hunt. russian history was dropped at once for a more practical and modern subject, the emperor of russia, and his pursuit of the bear. the doctor explained to the youths that the czar is supposed to be fond of the chase, and whenever a bear is seen anywhere near the line of the moscow and st. petersburg railway he is made the object of an imperial hunt. the animal is driven into a forest and allowed to remain there undisturbed. in fact he is kept in the forest by a cordon of peasants hastily assembled from all the surrounding country. as soon as the party can be organized, the hunt takes place in grand style. the imperial train is prepared, and an extra train sent out in advance, with the necessary beaters, soldiers, and others, and also a plentiful supply of provisions. the imperial train contains the emperor's private carriage and several other fine vehicles. there are carriages for the emperor's horses, unless they have gone in the advance train, and there are guns and ammunition sufficient to slaughter half the bears in the empire. when the ground is reached the locality of the bear is pointed out, and the emperor rides fearlessly to the spot. he is accompanied by his staff and guests, if he happens to have any royal or imperial visitors at the time; but unless the guests are invited to do the shooting, the honor of killing the beast is reserved for the emperor. exceptions are made in case the bear should endanger the life of his majesty, which sometimes happens. bears have little sense of imperial dignity, and a czar is of no more consequence to an untamed bruin than is the most ordinary peasant. "a gentleman who was stopping on an estate in the interior of russia," said doctor bronson, "happened to be a witness of an imperial bear-hunt several years ago, and told me about it. he said not less than five hundred cossacks and peasants were employed in watching the bear, to keep him from straying, and the brute had become so accustomed to their presence that he stood quite still when approached by the emperor, so that the latter delivered his shot at a distance of not more than a dozen yards. the animal was killed instantly, the ball penetrating his forehead and crashing through his brain. "after the hunt the party rode to the house of the owner of the estate where the bear had been found, and enjoyed a hearty supper, and after the supper they returned to the capital. the body of the slain animal was dressed for transportation to st. petersburg, where it was to be served up at the imperial table. [illustration: too near to be pleasant.] "i have heard of bears that did not run at the sight of man, but sometimes came altogether too near to be agreeable. one day a man who lay asleep on the ground was awakened by a bear licking his face. he sat up and was much terrified at the situation; the bear finally walked off, and left the man unharmed. [illustration: wolf attacking its hunters.] "when the emperor treats his royal or imperial guests to a wolf or bear hunt, the masters of ceremonies take good care that there shall be game in the forest. on one occasion, when the crown-prince of germany was a guest at the winter palace, the emperor ordered a wolf-hunt for his amusement. the chase was successful, and two of the animals were driven so that they were shot by the guest. "during their return to st. petersburg, so the story goes, the prince commented on the wonderful race of wolves in russia. 'one of those i killed to-day,' said he, 'had the hair rubbed from his neck as if by a chain, and the other wore a collar.'" "are there many bears in russia?" one of the youths inquired. "the bear is found all over russia," the doctor answered. "the most common varieties are the black and brown bears, which are in asiatic as well as european russia; in northern asia is the arctic bear, which belongs to the sea rather than to the land. he is the largest of the family, but not the most formidable. the champion bear of the world for fighting qualities is the grisly, found only in north america. "in some parts of russia," the doctor continued, "bears are so numerous as to do a great deal of damage. they destroy cattle and sheep, and not unfrequently attack individuals. they cause much havoc among fruit-trees and in grain-fields, and in localities where inhabitants are few they have things pretty much their own way. they are hunted with dogs and guns; traps are set for them, and poison is scattered where they can find and eat it. but in spite of the efforts of man against them they do not diminish in numbers from year to year, and the emperor is able to have a bear-hunt about as often as he wants one. "i have heard that in some parts of siberia bears are caught and tamed, and then driven to market as one drives oxen or sheep. in a book of travels written by a frenchman there is a picture of a dozen or more bears being driven to market, and the story is told in all soberness. french travellers are famous for a tendency to make their narratives interesting, even if veracity should suffer. there are exceptions, of course, as in everything else, but you may set it down as a good general rule, not to accept without question any extraordinary statement you find in a french book of travel." in due time the journey was resumed, and the train reached novgorod, where our travellers alighted. novgorod stands on both sides of the volkhov river, and is one hundred and three miles from st. petersburg by the old post-road. it is not remarkable for its architecture, and is chiefly interesting for its historical associations and souvenirs. [illustration: old picture in the church.] "we visited several of the churches and monasteries which make up the attractions of novgorod," said frank, in his journal. "the principal church is the cathedral of st. sophia, which was called in ancient times 'the heart and soul of the great novgorod.' the first cathedral was built here in ; the present one dates from about , when it was erected by order of the grandson of st. vladimir. it has been altered and repaired repeatedly, but the alterations have not materially changed it from its ancient form. it is one of the oldest churches in russia, and is held in great reverence by the people. "the church has suffered by repeated plunderings. it was robbed by john the terrible, and afterwards by the swedes; the latter, in , killed two of the priests and destroyed the charter which had been granted to the cathedral more than fifty years before. in spite of these depredations, the church contains many relics and images, some of them of great antiquity. there are shrines in memory of yaroslav, vladimir, and other of the ancient rulers of russia; the shrine and tomb of st. anne, daughter of king olaf of sweden, and wife of prince yaroslav i.; and the shrines or tombs of many other saints, princes, archbishops, patriarchs, and other dignitaries whose names have been connected with the history of the church and the city. so many tombs are here that there is little room for more. [illustration: a bishop of the greek church.] "you would hardly expect one of the curious relics of a church to be the result of piracy, yet such appears to be the case in this sacred building. the doors leading into the chapel of the nativity are said to have been stolen from a church in sweden by pirates. several men from novgorod belonged to the freebooting band, and brought these doors home to enrich the cathedral of their native place. the doors are of oak, covered with metal plates half an inch thick; the plates bear several devices and scrolls which we could not understand, but our guide said they were the armorial bearings of swedish noblemen. there is another door, which is also said to have been stolen from a church, but its exact origin is unknown. "in the sacristy they showed us an ancient copy of the four gospels on vellum, and a printed copy which is said to have come from the first printing-press ever set up in russia. there were several flags and standards which once belonged to the princes of novgorod, one of them a present from peter the great in . there was once an extensive library connected with the cathedral, but it was taken to st. petersburg in . they showed us a collection of letters from peter the great to catherine i. and his son alexis, but of course we could not read them. "there is a kremlin, or fortress, in the centre of the city, but it is not of great consequence. near it is a tower which bears the name of yaroslav; in this tower hung the _vechie_ bell, which summoned the _vechie_, or assemblage of citizens, when any public circumstance required their attention. we tried to picture the gathering of the people on such occasions. in the day of its greatness novgorod had four hundred thousand inhabitants, and its assemblages must have been well worth seeing. the vechie bell was carried off to moscow by ivan iii., and many thousands of the inhabitants were compelled to move to other places. for a long time it hung in a tower of the kremlin of moscow, but its present whereabouts is unknown. "i fear that a further account of our sight-seeing in novgorod, so far as the churches and monasteries are concerned, might be wearisome, as it would be in some degree a repetition of the description of the cathedral; so we will drop these venerable buildings and come down to modern times and things. the most interesting of modern things in this old city is the millennial monument, which has been mentioned before. [illustration: millennial monument at novgorod. (from appleton's american cyclopædia.)] "the monument is one of the finest in the empire, and some of the russians say it surpasses anything else of the kind in their country. we could not measure it, but judged it to be not less than fifty feet from the ground to the top of the cross which surmounts the dome, forming the upper part of the monument. there are a great many figures, statues, and high-reliefs, which represent periods of russian history. the great events from the days of rurik to alexander ii. are shown on the monument, and there can be no doubt that the work is highly instructive to those who study it carefully. "the monument was designed by a member of the russian academy of sciences, and was chosen from a great number of sketches that were submitted for competition. the casting of the bronze was done by an english firm at st. petersburg, and the expense was borne by the government and a few wealthy citizens of novgorod. as is usual in such cases, the government contributed by far the greater part of the money." after a day in novgorod our friends continued their journey to moscow. they returned to the main line of railway by the branch, and waited nearly two hours at the junction for the through train to the ancient capital. at valdai the youths bought some specimens of the famous valdai bells; but it is safe to say that they were not equal to what could have been found at st. petersburg or moscow. fred recalled their purchases of specimens of local manufactures in other parts of the world, and said the same rule would apply everywhere. the tourist who buys toledo blades at the railway-station in toledo, eau-de-cologne at the famous city of the rhine, bog-oak jewellery at dublin, and _pâté de foie gras_ at strasburg, may generally count on being victimized. at tver the railway crosses the volga. frank proposed that as tver is the head of navigation on that great river they should leave the train and float with the current to astrachan, two thousand one hundred and fifty miles away. doctor bronson said a steamer would be preferable to floating; besides, they would have quite enough of the volga if they started from nijni novgorod and avoided the navigation of the upper part of the stream. [illustration: russian boats.] "and while we are on the subject of navigation," the doctor added, "please bear in mind that by means of a system of canals connecting the lakes and rivers between this point and st. petersburg, there is unbroken water transit between the volga and the neva. merchandise can be carried in boats from st. petersburg to the caspian sea without breaking bulk, and there are canals connecting the volga with the don and the dneiper rivers in the same way. russia has an excellent system of internal communication by water, and it was doubtless due to this that the railways in the empire are a matter of very recent date. "the first railway line in the empire was from st. petersburg to tsarskoe-selo, and was built in . the st. petersburg and moscow railway was begun in , and down to the end of the reign of nicholas less than three thousand miles of railway were completed in the whole empire. now there are nearly twenty thousand miles in operation, and the figures are increasing every year. nearly fourteen thousand miles belong to private companies, and the remainder is the property of the government. some of the companies have a government guarantee for the interest on their capital, while others are managed just like private railways in other countries." at the last station before reaching moscow passports were surrendered to the inspectors, and tickets were collected. the youths put their hand-bags and shawl-straps in readiness, and were ready to leave the carriage when the train rolled into the huge building which is the terminal station of the line. our friends were in the ancient capital of russia, and the home of many czars. [illustration: portrait of catherine ii. in the kremlin collection.] chapter xii. first impressions of moscow.--undulations of the ground.--irregularity of the buildings, and the cause thereof.--napoleon's campaign in russia.--disaster and retreat.--the burning of moscow.--the kremlin: its churches, treasures, and historical associations.--anecdotes of russian life.--the church of st. basil. from the railway-station the party went to a hotel which had been recommended as centrally situated and fairly well kept, but frank and fred said they should be cautious about praising it for fear that those who came after them might be disappointed. the hotels of moscow are hardly equal to those of st. petersburg. as the latter is the capital of the empire, it naturally has a greater demand for hostelries of the highest class than does the more venerable but less fashionable city. the first thing that impressed the youths was the undulating character of the ground on which moscow is built, in pleasing contrast to the dead level of st. petersburg. the streets are rarely straight for any great distance, and were it not for the inequalities one would not be able to see very far ahead of him at any time. but every few minutes a pretty view is afforded from the crest of one ridge to another; the depressions between the ridges are filled with buildings scattered somewhat irregularly, and there is a goodly number of shade-trees in the yards and gardens or lining the streets. [illustration: street scene in moscow.] st. petersburg has an air of great regularity both in the arrangement of its streets and the uniformity of the buildings. moscow forms a marked contrast to the younger capital, as there is little attempt at uniformity and regularity. you see the hut of a peasant side by side with the palace of a nobleman; a stable rises close against a church, and there is a carpenter's shop, with its half-dozen workmen, abutting close against an immense factory where hundreds of hands are employed. moscow is a city of contrasts; princes and beggars almost jostle each other in the streets; the houses of rich and poor are in juxtaposition, and it is only a few short steps from the palace of the kremlin, with its treasures of gold and jewels, to the abodes of most abject poverty. frank and fred were quick to observe this peculiarity of the ancient capital of the czars, and at the first opportunity they questioned the doctor concerning it. "what is the cause of so many contrasts here which we did not see in st. petersburg?" one of them inquired. "that is the question i asked on my first visit," doctor bronson replied. "i was told that it was due to the burning of moscow in , at the time of its capture by napoleon." "how much of the city was burned?" fred asked. "the greater part of it was destroyed," was the reply, "but there were many buildings of stone and brick that escaped. most of the churches were saved, as the russians were reluctant to commit the sacrilege of burning edifices which had been consecrated to religious worship. such of the churches as were consumed in the conflagration were set on fire by neighboring buildings rather than by the hands of the russians." "then it was the russians that burned moscow, and not the french," said fred. "i have read somewhere that it is all a falsehood that the russians consigned their city to the flames." "from all i can learn, both by reading and conversation," answered the doctor, "i do not think there is any doubt of the truth of the generally accepted story. napoleon arrived here on the th of september, and intended to spend the winter in moscow to prepare for a spring campaign against st. petersburg. his advance under murat came in one day earlier. as soon as napoleon arrived he took up his quarters in the kremlin, while his troops were mostly encamped on the hills which overlook the city on the west. [illustration: bivouacking in the snow.] "on the night of the th the governor, count rostoptchin, ordered the city to be set on fire--at least such is the general belief, though the official order has never been produced. the fire broke out in many places at the same time; the french soldiers tried to suppress it, but found it impossible to do so. nearly twelve thousand houses were burned, besides palaces and churches. the inhabitants fled to the country in all directions, and there was no stock of provisions for the support of the french army. "napoleon found that he must evacuate the city and return to france. on the th of october he looked his last on moscow from the sparrow hills on the west, and began his long and disastrous retreat. the winter came early, and was unusually severe. hardly had he left the city before the ground was deep with snow, and from that time onward he was harassed by cossacks, while his men perished of hunger and cold. do you know how many men were lost in the russian campaign of ?" [illustration: battle between french and russians.] "yes," said fred; "i have just been reading the history of the campaign. "according to the narrative of the count de segur," the youth continued, "the army with which napoleon invaded russia comprised four hundred and twenty thousand men. very nearly half of these were french; the other half consisted of poles, italians, austrians, bavarians, saxons, and other troops allied with the french. one hundred and eighty-seven thousand horses were employed for the cavalry, artillery, and baggage. there were eighty thousand cavalry and the artillery numbered one thousand three hundred and sixty-two pieces. there were great numbers of carts and wagons drawn by oxen, and immense herds of cattle driven along for supplying beef. "three hundred thousand russians gathered on the banks of the niemen river to oppose the french advance, but the river was crossed without opposition. there was a battle at smolensk, and another at borodino, both of them being won by the french. at the battle of borodino the loss on both sides amounted to eighty thousand killed and wounded. after that the russians made no serious resistance. napoleon entered moscow without difficulty, and established his headquarters in the kremlin, as you have said. on the battle-field of borodino is a monument with this inscription: "'napoleon entered moscow ; alexander entered paris .'" "so much for the advance," the doctor remarked; "now tell us about the retreat." [illustration: napoleon retreating from moscow.] "it was one of the most terrible retreats ever known in history. out of all the grand army of nearly half a million men that crossed the niemen in june, , a little more than twelve thousand recrossed it in the following winter! it was estimated that one hundred and twenty thousand were killed in the various battles with the russians, one hundred and thirty thousand died of disease, cold, and hunger, and not far from two hundred thousand were captured, or voluntarily left the army and remained with the russians. many of the latter died within the next few years, and others settled in the country and never reached their homes again. on the line of the march of the grand army their descendants may be found to-day living in the villages where their fathers died, and thoroughly russian in their language and habits. the russians are said to have treated their prisoners kindly, and doubtless they had orders from the government to do so." frank asked if the french army made any attempt to reach st. petersburg. [illustration: alexander i.] "as before stated, it was napoleon's intention," the doctor answered, "to spend the winter in moscow, and move upon st. petersburg in the spring. but the burning of moscow made it impossible for him to remain, and thus his plans were spoiled. russia refused to make terms of peace with him, and some of his messages to the emperor alexander i. were not even answered. the russians doubtless knew that cold and hunger would compel a retreat, and they could rely upon the winter and the cossacks to make it disastrous. "russia had concluded a treaty of peace with turkey, which would release a large army to fight against the french. she had also made a treaty with the king of sweden, by which the troops of the latter would join the russian army early in the spring, as soon as the weather and the roads would permit them to march. it was certain that napoleon would be overwhelmed if he remained, and the only alternative was the retreat. "the army that came to moscow was about one hundred thousand strong; all the rest of the available forces of the grand army were left to garrison places on the road to the niemen and to collect provisions. one hundred and sixty thousand men crossed the bridge at smolensk in the march to moscow; twenty thousand were killed on the road, and forty thousand were left to guard the magazines, hospitals, and stores at some four or five places. the terrible waste of war can be no better illustrated than in the story of napoleon's campaign to moscow. at kovno, in lithuania, is a monument with the inscription: "'napoleon marched through here with , men; he marched back with , . "and now," he continued, "i think you understand why moscow presents so many irregularities in its architecture. in the spring of the people began to build again, and everything was done in a hurry. those who could afford the time and money necessary to build good houses were the few rather than the many. most of the russians had been impoverished in the war, and could only afford the cheapest of dwellings, while those who had not lost everything were desirous of obtaining shelter as soon as possible. the custom of that day has continued in a certain measure to the present, as you can see by looking around you." for a knowledge of what our friends saw in moscow we will refer as heretofore to the journals kept by the youths, together with extracts from their letters to friends at home. "the first thing we wanted to see," said fred, in his journal, "was the kremlin, or ancient fortress of moscow, on the bank of the river moskva, from which the city is named. we saw many other things on the way there, but had no interest in them, and will leave their description to a later page. we were all eyes, ears, and thoughts for the kremlin, and nothing else. [illustration: view in the kremlin.] "nobody can tell positively what the word 'kremlin' comes from, but it certainly means fortress or space enclosed with strong walls. the walls of the kremlin of moscow are about one mile and a half in circuit, and from fifty to sixty feet high; they are entered by five gates, of which the principal is the _spaski_, or 'redeemer.' this gate was built in , and over it there is a picture of the redeemer of smolensk. our guide told us we must remove our hats as we passed through this gate-way, out of respect for the ways of the people. formerly a failure to do so was severely punished, but now there is no compulsion about it. not even the emperor is exempt from the custom, and you may be sure we did not attract attention by our neglect. [illustration: a prisoner ordered to execution.] "it was in front of this gate that executions formerly took place, and the victims offered their last prayers to the redeemer of smolensk. happily there are now no signs of these executions, and everything has an air of peace and happiness. the gate of next importance is the _nikolsky_, or nicholas gate, which is ornamented and made sacred in the eyes of orthodox russians by the picture of st. nicholas of mojaisk. the gate was partly destroyed by order of napoleon; a large quantity of gunpowder was placed under it and fired, but the explosion only split the tower in the middle and up to the frame of the picture. the glass over the picture and the lamp burning in front of it were not harmed. as the occurrence was considered in the light of a miracle, an inscription describing it was placed there by alexander i. "another gate, called the _troitska_, or trinity, is memorable as the one by which the french entered and left the kremlin in . several times it has been the passage-way of conquering armies. besides the french in the nineteenth century, it admitted the poles in the seventeenth, the tartars in the sixteenth ( ), and the lithuanians in the fourteenth centuries. only a small part of the kremlin was destroyed in the great fire of ; it was held by napoleon's troops when the fire broke out, and when the invaders retired their attempts to blow up the walls and ignite the buildings did not succeed. "after looking at the exterior of the walk and admiring the picturesque situation of the kremlin, we passed through the gate, and went at once to the tower of ivan veliki (john the great). we had been advised to see this tower first of all, as it was the best point from which to obtain a general view of the city. [illustration: the kremlin of moscow.] "there is some doubt as to the antiquity of the tower, but it is generally believed to date from the year , and to have been built by boris godounoff. it is in five stories, of which the upper is in the form of a cylinder, while the others are octagonal in shape. the top is two hundred and seventy feet from the ground, and is reached by a winding stairway. "the guide called our attention to the bells in the tower; there are no less than thirty-four of them, and some are very large. in the second story hangs a bell known as the 'assumption,' which weighs sixty-four tons; it is therefore four times as heavy as the great bell of rouen, five times that of erfurt, and eight times as heavy as the great tom of oxford, the largest bell in england! the oldest of the other bells bears the date ; the vechie bell of novgorod the great once hung in this tower, but nobody knows where it is at present. the effect of the ringing of these bells at easter is said to be very fine, as they are of different tones, and so arranged that they make no discord. in the upper story are two silver bells, whose tones are said to be very sweet. "we stopped a while at each of the stories to look at the bells and enjoy the view, and thus reached the top without much fatigue. but if we had been so weary as to be unable to stand, we should have been amply repaid for our fatigue. the view is certainly one of the finest we ever had from a height overlooking any city in europe, with the possible exceptions of paris and constantinople. "moscow, with its undulating and irregular streets, with the moskva winding through it in the shape of the letter s, with its four hundred churches and an immense variety of towers and domes and minarets, with the variations of palace and hovel already mentioned, and with the great buildings of the kremlin forming the foreground of the scene, lay before and below us. it was moscow (the holy), the city of the czars and beloved of every patriotic russian; the city which has existed through tartar, polish, and french invasions; has risen from the ashes again and again; has been ravaged by famine, the plague, and the sword of the invader, but surviving all her calamities, welcomes the stranger within her walls, whose circuit is more than twenty miles. from the top of this tower we looked down upon seven centuries of historical associations. "listen to a fragment of the history of moscow: it was plundered by the tartars under tamerlane, and many of its inhabitants were killed; again it fell into tartar hands, and again was pillaged, and its inhabitants murdered. twice under the tartars ( and ) it was set on fire, and on both occasions many thousands of people perished by fire or sword. the poles burned a large part of the city in , and in the plague carried off half the population. is it any wonder that the russians love their ancient capital, after all that it has suffered and survived? [illustration: the great bell underground.] "we lingered for an hour or more in the tower, and then descended. our next object of interest was the '_czar kolokol_,' or great bell, which stands at the foot of the ivan veliki tower, and near the place where for a long time it lay buried in the earth. it is literally the great bell not only of moscow but of the world. "it has a strange history. it is said to have been cast originally in the time of boris godounoff, and a traveller in mentions a bell in russia which required twenty-four men to swing the clapper. during a fire it fell to the ground and was broken; in it was recast, and weighed at that time , pounds. twenty years later it was suspended from a wooden beam at the foot of the tower; the beam gave way during a fire in , and the bell was again broken. the empress anne ordered it recast in , but it only lasted four years. the falling of some rafters in broke the bell as we now see it, and it lay on the ground just ninety-nine years, or until , when it was raised and placed in its present position by the emperor nicholas. "and how large do you think it is? "it is thought to weigh , pounds, or tons; it is nineteen feet three inches in height, and sixty feet nine inches in circumference, or twenty feet three inches in diameter. just stop and measure these figures with your eye in a barn or a large room of a house, and then realize what this great bell is. [illustration: visiting the great bell.] "look at the picture of the bell, and see the piece that is broken out of it. this piece is six feet high, and both of us walked through the place left by its removal without any difficulty. there is an inscription on the bell which gives its history, and it presents also several sacred figures and the portraits of the czar alexis and the empress anne. [illustration: empress anne.] "from the great bell we went to the nicholas palace, which occupies the site of the one destroyed by the french at the time of their retreat, and then to the _bolshoi dvorets_, or great palace. "the state apartments are numerous and gorgeous; their number is absolutely bewildering, and so is the array of furniture, paintings, statuary, and other valuables that are gathered there. in the emperor's cabinet there are pictures representing the battles of borodino and smolensk, and also of the french entering and leaving moscow. there are halls dedicated to st. george, st. alexander nevski, and st. andrew, all of them hung with battle-flags, and the last--the hall of st. andrew--containing the emperor's throne. in some of the halls are paintings representing scenes in the history of poland. they were brought from warsaw, where they once hung in the royal castle. "they showed us the 'red staircase,' which is used by the emperor on state occasions, and was the spot where in former times the czar allowed the people to see him. napoleon and his marshals ascended these steps when they took possession of the kremlin, and it was from the top of the staircase that john the terrible saw the comet which caused him to tremble with fear. "then they took us to the banqueting-room, where the emperor dines with his nobles immediately after the ceremony of coronation, and beyond it to the _terem_, which was formerly occupied by the wife and children of the czar. it is now filled with articles of historic interest: the seals of russian sovereigns, the certificate of the election of michael, first of the romanoffs, to the russian throne, and several copies of the evangelists, on parchment, and said to be five hundred years old. "near the great palace is the treasury, which reminded us of the hermitage of st. petersburg, or the more famous tower of london. it is filled with all sorts of curious things, many of them of enormous value. it has been said that the national debt of russia could be paid from the sale of the pearls, diamonds, and other precious things in the treasury of moscow. perhaps this is not strictly true, but certainly they would go a long way towards doing so. "what we saw in the treasury would take too long to tell; and besides, it would be a catalogue filling many pages of our note-books. armor and weapons of all times and forms can be seen here. there are faded and tattered flags that tell of the glory of russia; here is the flag carried by the soldiers of john the terrible at the capture of kazan; the flag under which yermak conquered siberia and added it to the russian empire; the flag which a little band of cossacks carried to the shores of the pacific ocean more than two hundred years ago; and here are the flags which belonged to the regiment of _streltsi_, which rebelled against peter the great. [illustration: the empress elizabeth.] "here are thrones and coronation chairs in goodly number. the first is that of the empress elizabeth, and near it are the coronation chairs of paul i. and alexander ii. in the centre of the room where these chairs are standing is the =baldachino=, under which the emperor and empress walk at their coronation, and at the farther end is a stand of colors given by alexander i. to his polish regiment, and afterwards captured at the storming of warsaw, in . the royal throne of poland is in another room, along with the throne of kazan, which is studded with pearls, diamonds, rubies, and turquoises, as are several other thrones. one throne contains over eight hundred diamonds and twice as many rubies, and it is by no means the most costly one in the collection. near the thrones are the coronation robes worn by several of the emperors and empresses, and there is also a masquerade dress which belonged to catherine the great. "we lingered over a glass case containing the decoration of the order of the garter and its diploma, which queen elizabeth sent to john the terrible. "another gift from the good queen to the cruel czar was the state carriage which stands in one of the rooms of the treasury, along with several other vehicles, all of the olden time. one is on runners, and large enough for a whole family; it has a table and benches covered with green cloth, and was used by the empress elizabeth in her journeys between st. petersburg and moscow. "enough of curiosities. we grew weary with seeing the relics of the rulers of russia, though all were full of interest, and willingly followed our guide to the churches that stand within the walls of the kremlin. the first is the church of the assumption, in which the emperors are crowned, and where the patriarchs formerly officiated. the church dates from , and occupies the site of another which was erected one hundred and fifty years earlier. it has been altered and restored several times, but remains very much in shape and general appearance as it was four hundred years ago. "in the church is a shrine of silver in memory of st. philip, a patriarch of the church, who had the temerity to rebuke john the terrible for his misdeeds, and was imprisoned and put to death in consequence. the hand of st. philip is exposed, and whenever the emperor comes here he never fails to kiss the sacred relic. "there are tombs and shrines in great number, and a large part of the religious history of russia belongs to this building. every czar of the empire, from john the terrible to alexander iii., has been crowned here, and the most sacred pictures in the whole country are deposited along the altar screen. [illustration: coronation of alexander iii.] "dean stanley says of the imperial coronation in the church of the assumption: "'the coronation, even at the present time, is not a mere ceremony, but an historical event and solemn consecration. it is preceded by fasting and seclusion, and takes place in the most sacred church in russia, the emperor, not as in the corresponding forms of european investiture, a passive recipient, but himself the principal figure in the whole scene; himself reciting aloud the confession of the orthodox faith; himself alone on his knees, amid the assembled multitude, offering up the prayer of intercession for the empire; himself placing his crown on his own head; himself entering through the sacred door of the innermost sanctuary, and taking from the altar the elements of the bread and the wine.' "there are two other cathedrals in the kremlin, that of the archangel michael and the cathedral of the annunciation. the three cathedrals, with the tower of ivan veliki, which has a chapel in its lower story, form a square, which is frequently called the grand square of the kremlin. we visited the cathedrals in the order named, and it was quite appropriate that when we had finished with that of the assumption, where the czars are crowned, we should go to the michael cathedral, where, down to the time of peter the great, they were buried. the tombs are quite plain in appearance, a marked contrast to the elaborate decorations of the building, whose interior is covered with frescos which represent scenes in the lives of the czars, together with their portraits. "one of the tombs was covered with a black cloth, and we asked the guide what it meant. "'that is the tomb of john the terrible,' said he, 'and the black cloth is to show that he assumed the cowl of a monk an hour or so before he died. he wanted to atone for his many cruelties, and this is the way he did it.' "the guide further told us that in ancient times when any one wished to present a petition to the czar he came to this church and placed the paper on one of the tombs. by a long-established custom which had the force of law, no one but a czar could remove it. in this way the ruler could be reached when all other means of approaching him were unavailable. what a pity the custom does not continue to the present time! [illustration: peter ii.] "the only emperor buried here is peter ii., son of alexis and grandson of peter the great. as before stated, the imperial burial-place has been at st. petersburg since that city was founded. "while the czars were crowned in the cathedral of the assumption and buried in that of st. michael, they were baptized and married in that of the annunciation, which was the next we visited. its floor is of jasper and agate, and it has nine cupolas, heavily covered with gilding. the cross on the centre cupola is said to be of solid gold--a statement open to a good deal of doubt, though by no means entirely improbable when we remember what treasures are stored in the kremlin. the interior of this church is covered with frescos, and like the others is adorned with pictures set in precious stones. "mentioning the cupolas of this church reminds us that the cupolas of the russian churches vary all the way from one up to thirteen, the number being nearly always odd. usually they have five cupolas; the building is in the form of a greek cross, and there is a cupola at each corner and another in the centre, the latter being the largest. the idea of the five cupolas came from constantinople, whence the russian church derived its religion. the earliest church at novgorod had five cupolas, and was copied from the church of st. sophia at constantinople, which was converted into a mosque at the time of the moslem conquest. the largest number on any of the churches of moscow is on that of st. basil, which has thirteen in all. [illustration: bishop in his robes.] "there are other small churches and chapels in the kremlin, but we had not sufficient time to examine them all. in the sacristy of the holy synod, which stands behind the cathedral of the assumption, we saw in glass cases the robes of the patriarchs of the church, some of them dating back more than five hundred years. they are covered with pearls and all kinds of precious stones; one, which was presented by john the terrible to the metropolitan denys, is said to weigh fifty-four pounds in consequence of the great number of diamonds, pearls, emeralds, garnets, and other jewels which are fastened to it. "the attendant left us quite alone in the room with all these valuables; the guide said this was the custom, but that we were by no means out of sight. through holes in the ceiling watchful eyes were said to be peering, and any attempt to open the cases and remove the valuables would result in serious consequences. how much truth there was in his statement we do not know. we looked at the ceiling, but could not see any peep-holes, but for all that they may have been there. "you wonder how it happened that the french did not carry away the treasures of the kremlin when they retreated from moscow. the fact is, most of the treasures were removed to nijni novgorod as the french advanced, and when they arrived there was not a great deal to plunder. they carried off many things, which were afterwards recaptured by the russians during the retreat and restored to their places, but it was not until the french were completely out of the country that the valuables and relics which had been carried to nijni novgorod were returned. "the invaders hacked at some of the frames of the holy pictures in the church of the assumption, and the marks of their knives are still visible. in the cathedral of the annunciation the french stabled their horses, and the other churches were used as barracks by the troops. the kremlin was mined in several places, but the explosions did very little damage. probably the french officers who had charge of the mining were in a great hurry and did not attend properly to their work. "our guide was a russian; and after he had told us about the use of the cathedral as a stable, he led the way to the spot where the cannon captured from the french in the retreat are exhibited. 'there,' said he, 'are eight hundred and seventy-five cannon which were captured in the retreat of the grand army; three hundred and sixty-five of them--one for every day in the year--are french, one hundred and eighty-nine are austrian, and the rest are from the various troops allied with the french at that time. altogether they weigh about three hundred and fifty tons. a frenchman proposed that they should be melted down and cast into a memorial column, but the russians think they are better just as they are.' "we agreed with him that it was very natural a frenchman should make such a proposal and the russians reject it. an amusing thing is that some of the guns bear the names 'invincible,' 'eagle,' 'conqueror,' 'triumph,' and the like, quite in mockery of their captive condition. "doctor bronson said he was reminded of an incident that is said to have happened in an american navy-yard fifteen or twenty years after the war of , between the united states and great britain. "an englishman was visiting the navy-yard, and while wandering among the cannon which lay peacefully in one of the parks, he found one which bore the british crown, with the stamp 'g. r.' beneath it. the stamp and crown told very plainly the history of the gun, but the briton was doubtful. turning to a sailor who was standing near, he remarked, "'it's easy enough to put that stamp on a gun of yankee make.' "'how long do you think it would take?' "'about half an hour.' "'well,' replied the sailor, 'we took forty-four of those guns, with the stamps already on, in just seventeen minutes."[ ] [ ] referring to the battle between the _constitution_ and _guerriere_, august , . "the stranger had no more conundrums to propose. [illustration: great gun at moscow.] "there are seven monster cannon in front of one of the arsenals in the kremlin that have probably never enjoyed the honor of being fired; certainly some of them would be likely to burst if filled with an ordinary charge of powder. the smallest weighs four tons and the largest forty tons. some of them are unusually long in proportion to their diameter, and others are exactly the reverse. the largest was cast in , if we may believe an inscription upon it, at the orders of the czar feodor; but whether it was intended for ornament or use is difficult to say. it is remarkable as a piece of casting; and the carriage is nearly as interesting as the gun. we enclose a photograph; and by comparing the cannon with the figures of the soldiers seated below the muzzle, you can get an idea of the colossal size of this piece. [illustration: the cathedral at moscow.] "as we came out through the 'holy gate' of the kremlin we were in front of the church of st. basil, the one whose architect is said to have been blinded by order of john the terrible, to make sure that the structure should not be duplicated. it stands on the site of an ancient church where st. basil was buried, in . it was begun in , and is said to have occupied twenty years in building. "there is not anywhere in the world a more fantastic church than this; none of its towers and domes resemble each other, and they present all the colors of the rainbow. one of the cupolas is striped like a melon, while another suggests a pineapple; another is like an onion in shape and general appearance; another suggests a turban covered with folds; and still another might readily have been copied from an artichoke. the stripes are as strange as the forms, and the irreverent could be forgiven for calling this the harlequin church in consequence of its peculiar architecture. "napoleon ordered his engineers to destroy 'the mosque,' as he called the church of st. basil, but for some unexplained reason the order was not carried out. in the chapel below the church is the shrine of the saint, but it presents nothing remarkable; and altogether the building is more interesting from an external than from an internal view." [illustration: napoleon's retreat from moscow.] chapter xiii. the great theatre of moscow.--operatic performances.--the kitai gorod and gostinna dvor.--romanoff house and the romanoff family.--sketch of the rulers of russia.--anecdotes of peter the great and others.--church of the saviour.--mosques and pagodas.--the museum.--riding-school.--suhareff tower.--traktirs.--old believers.--the sparrow hills and the simonoff monastery. the best part of a day was consumed in the kremlin and in the church of st. basil. further investigation of old moscow was postponed to the morrow. in the evening our friends went to the opera-house to listen to some national music, but more particularly to see the house, which is one of the curiosities of the city. the "_bolshoi teatre_" or "great theatre," is one of the finest opera-houses in the world. it was built in - , to replace the smaller opera-house which had been destroyed by fire about two years before. a few months after it was opened there was a performance in the theatre, entitled " and ," to celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the establishment of government theatres in russia. from the material in the possession of the youths, and by a careful use of eyes and note-books, fred wrote the following account of the moscow opera-house, and added to the information about theatrical matters which appears in a previous chapter. "the first recorded representation of a theatrical character in russia is assigned to the reign of alexis michailovitch, father of peter the great. it was given in the house of the father-in-law of alexis, but very little is known of its character. russian writers say their first regular dramas were in the time of feodor alexeivitch (half-brother and predecessor of peter the great), and were written by the czar's tutor. they were produced in one of the suburban palaces, and had a religious character, as we infer from the titles 'prodigal son,' 'king nebuchadnezzar,' 'three men in the fiery furnace,' and 'the golden calf.' the czar's tutor was a monk, and the plays were performed by the students attached to the monastery. [illustration: dress of peasants--scene from a russian opera.] "peter the great determined to develop the drama, and engaged a hungarian actor, who happened to be at moscow, to look after the matter. this actor went to germany and engaged a troupe, and among them was a man who divided his time between theatrical affairs and ship-building. when he was not ship-building he was writing plays and managing peter's theatre at moscow, and he seems to have engaged in the two occupations with equal facility. peter attended the performances accompanied by his officers. in order to encourage the drama there was no admission fee, the company being supported by the government. "at first the performances took place in a large hall of the suhareff tower. after a time a wooden theatre was built near the kremlin, and performances were given regularly. the city of yaroslav established a theatre of its own under the direction of feodor volkhoff, an actor who afterwards became famous in russia. in he was summoned to st. petersburg by the empress elizabeth, to direct performances at the court theatre, and in the empress issued an imperial order establishing a government theatre in the capital. the centennial of this event was the celebration referred to. [illustration: a dressing-room of the opera-house.] "the moscow opera-house stands in a square by itself not far from the kremlin. carriages can be driven all around it, and there are three entrances for spectators besides the one reserved to the actors. the theatre is never crowded, as only as many tickets are sold as there are seats, and no money is taken at the doors. there are five rows of boxes besides the parquette, or ground-floor, and the gallery, which occupies the whole of the upper tier. we had our places in the parquette, and found them very comfortable. each seat is a separate arm-chair, with plenty of space around it, so that one may walk about between the acts without disturbing his neighbors. [illustration: working the ship in "l'africaine."] "the waits between the acts were very long, according to our american ideas, but there was a reason for this. we found an attendant who spoke french, and through his assistance and his expectation of a fee we visited an unoccupied box on one of the principal tiers. the box had plenty of seating-room for half a dozen persons; the attendant said ten or twelve were frequently packed into it, but it was only unfashionable people who ever thought of thus crowding a box. each box has a little cabinet or parlor back of it, where one may receive friends, and a great deal of visiting goes on between the acts. the arrangement is an italian one, and the same feature exists in opera-houses in other parts of europe. "to give you an idea of the size of the house, let me quote a few figures comparing it with the principal theatres of milan, naples, and london. the measurements are in english feet: diameter of ceiling, la scala, milan diameter of ceiling, san carlo, naples diameter of ceiling, covent garden, london diameter of ceiling, moscow opera-house = = opening of proscenium, la scala, milan opening of proscenium, san carlo, naples opening of proscenium, covent garden, london opening of proscenium, moscow opera-house = = "the stage of the moscow opera-house is feet wide and feet deep. at covent garden theatre the respective figures are and feet. "we had a great deal of curiosity to see the famous drop-scene, which represents the triumphal entry of minin and pojarsky into the kremlin, after the expulsion of the poles from moscow in . it is a magnificent picture, painted by duzi, a venetian artist, and represents the two liberators on horseback near the holy gate of the kremlin, surrounded by citizens of all classes and conditions. prince pojarsky looks like an oriental, as he is dressed in the costume which was worn by the boyards or noblemen down to the time of peter the great. the peasant class are in their holiday dress; the women wear _sarafans_ and _kokoshniks_ which are quite like those worn by many of them at the present time, while the men are mostly in girdled _caftans_, just as we see thousands of them daily. french fashions have taken a hold among the nobility and wealthy people of russia generally, but have no effect on the peasantry. the common people will probably adhere to their present costume until ordered by imperial decree to adopt a new one. [illustration: minin-pojarsky monument.] "we spent nearly the whole time of the wait between the first and second acts in contemplating this picture, and found plenty to occupy us. we have already mentioned the minin-pojarsky monument, which stands near the gate of the kremlin, and reminds the people of an important event in their national history. between the monument and the painting, the russians are not likely to forget the patriotism of the cattle-dealer and the prince." from the theatre our friends went straight to the hotel and to bed, tired enough with their day's exertions, but amply repaid for all their fatigue. next morning they were off in good season, or rather frank and fred were, as the doctor decided to remain at the hotel, while the youths devoted the forenoon to sights that he did not especially care for. having been in moscow before, he was willing to leave some of the stock sights out of his programme. their first visit was to the bazaar, which bears the name of "_kitai gorod_" or "chinese town." the bazaar is often said to be so called because of the great number of tartars doing business there--the descendants of the mongols, who so long held moscow in their hands. according to some writers this belief is erroneous. they assert that, originally, all of moscow was inside the kremlin; but as the necessity came for extending the city, an order was given by helena (mother of john the terrible, and regent during his minority) for enclosing a large space outside the kremlin, which was to be named after her birthplace, kitaigrod, in podolia. its walls were begun in by an italian architect. "we went," said frank, "through the gostinna dvor of moscow, which fills an enormous building in the kitai gorod, and is in some respects more interesting than that of st. petersburg, though practically of the same character. the display of russian goods is about like that in the capital city, though there is possibly a greater quantity of silver work, circassian goods, and similar curiosities peculiar to the country. much of the money-changing is in the hands of tartars; where the changers are not of the tartar race, they are generally jews. russian tartars and jews use the _abacus_ in counting, and they work it with wonderful rapidity. we saw it in st. petersburg, but it was not so much employed there as in moscow. the abacus has undergone very little change in two or three thousand years. it was introduced by the tartar conquerors of russia, and promises to remain permanently in the empire. "what a quantity of silks, embroideries, silverware, and the like are piled in the bazaar! and what an array of clothing, household goods, furniture, and other practical and unpractical things of every name and kind! it was the bazaar of st. petersburg over again, with the absence of certain features, that suggested western europe and the addition of others belonging to the orient. the second-hand market was encumbered with old clothes, pots, pans, boots, furniture, and odds and ends of everything, and we were so pestered by the peddlers that we went through the place pretty quickly. "the guide took us to romanoff house, which was built near the end of the sixteenth century, and was the birthplace of michael, the first czar of the present reigning family. of the original house only the walls remain; the interior was destroyed by the french, who plundered the building and then set it on fire, and only the great thickness and solidity of the walls preserved them. "romanoff house, as we saw it to-day, is an excellent example of the russian house of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and in this respect it is very interesting. the last restoration was made in - , and the government has spent quite an amount of money in putting it in order. "it is four stories high, and built around a court-yard from which the rooms on the ground-floor are entered. in the basement are cellars for storing provisions, and on the floor above it are the kitchens, temporary store-rooms, and the like. in the next story are the rooms where the prince lived; they include a reception-room, rooms for servants, several smaller rooms, and also some secret recesses in the walls where silver plate and other valuables were kept. the rooms are adorned with utensils of former periods, together with many articles of silver and other metals that belonged to the romanoff family long ago. "the upper story is called the _terem_, a word which is equivalent to the turkish _harem_. the terem was reserved to the women and children, but not so rigidly as is the harem among the moslems. beds, bedsteads, playthings, and articles of clothing are among the curiosities in the terem of romanoff house. among them are the slippers of the czar and the night-gown of the czarina, which are kept in a box at the foot of the bed according to the old custom. "romanoff house is in the kitai gorod, and from it we went to the place where peter the great witnessed the execution of many of his rebellious _streltzi_, or guards. perhaps you would like to hear the story? [illustration: peter's escape from assassination.] "i believe we have already mentioned something about the strained relations between peter and his sister sophia, and how she plotted his assassination, from which he escaped by riding away in the night. peter shut sophia in a convent before going on his tour to holland and england to learn the art of ship-building and obtain other information to aid him in the development of the russian empire. he distributed his troops in the best way he could think of, and confided the administration of affairs to his most trusted officers. "but even then he was constantly fearful of trouble. he knew the ambition of his sister, and the opposition that many of the old nobility had to his reforms, and he was well aware that many officers of the army did not favor his plans. consequently, when news of the rebellion reached him at vienna he was not entirely unprepared, and hastened homeward as fast as horses could carry him. "the conspiracy included many nobles, officers, and others, together with the immediate advisers of his sister. the clergy were on the side of the conspiracy; they opposed the reforms, and preferred keeping things as they had been, rather than adopt the ways of western europe. it is said at present that the russian government would change the calendar from old style to new style, and make it conform to the rest of the civilized world, but for the opposition of the church. the priests assert that it would cause a great deal of confusion with the saints' days, and therefore they refuse their approval of the measure. "the streltzi had been distributed at points far removed from moscow. under pretence of coming to get their pay, they marched to the city, where they were met by general gordon, an english officer who commanded the government troops at the time. gordon defeated the streltzi, and then by torturing some of the prisoners learned the history of the conspiracy. it was to place sophia on the throne in place of peter, and a great many persons were implicated in the scheme. news of the occurrence was sent to peter at vienna, and hastened his return as described. [illustration: peter the great as executioner.] "on arriving in moscow, he made the most searching inquiry, and by torturing some of those who had fallen into his hands he obtained the names of many others. there is no doubt that innocent persons were implicated, as the victims of torture are apt to tell anything, whether true or false, in order to escape from their pain. those implicated were immediately arrested and put to death, many of them with torture. nobles, ladies of rank, officers and soldiers, comprised the list. on the spot where we stood to-day hundreds of the streltzi were beheaded, and altogether several thousands of people were killed. peter himself took part in the executions, if report is true. once, at a banquet, he ordered twenty of the prisoners to be brought in, and a block arranged for the fearful ceremony. then he called for a glass of wine. after drinking it, he beheaded the victim, who had been placed on the block, and then he called for another victim and another glass of wine. it is said that he was just one hour in performing the twenty executions; and after he had finished he went in person to the great square in front of the kremlin, where other executions were going on. "while he was witnessing one of these executions, one of the prisoners who was about to lose his head came forward as coolly as though he were entering a dining-hall. 'make way for us,' he said, as he kicked the fallen heads from his path--'make way here, make way.' "just as the man lay down upon the block and the executioner raised his axe, peter ordered the prisoner to be liberated. he pardoned him on the spot, remarking that there was good stuff in a man who could walk so gallantly to his own execution. peter's prediction was correct; and who do you suppose the man was? "his name was orloff. he was a faithful adherent of peter for the rest of his life, and rose to the command of his armies. he was the founder of the orloff family, which has ever since been prominent in russian matters, and continues so down to the present day. various members of the family have been distinguished in land and naval warfare, and in diplomacy and home affairs. one of them was the intimate friend and adviser of catherine ii. he was a man of gigantic stature and great personal courage, and is said to have strangled with his own hands the unfortunate emperor peter iii., in order to place the disconsolate widow catherine on the throne. [illustration: catherine i.] "catherine ii. should not be confounded with catherine i. it was catherine ii., surnamed 'the great,' to whom i have just referred, as the conspirator who gained the throne by the murder of her husband. catherine i. was the widow of peter the great, and mother of the empress elizabeth. she had great influence over the founder of the empire, and though not always controlling his violent temper, she did much towards suppressing it on many occasions. [illustration: catherine ii.] "while we are in sight of romanoff house let us run over the list of those who have held the throne since the first of this family ascended it. here they are: " . michael feodorovitch (first of the romanoffs). " . alexis mikailovitch (son of michael). " . feodor alexeivitch (son of alexis). " . ivan alexeivitch (brother of no. ). " . peter alexeivitch (peter i., or, "the great"). " . catherine i. (widow of peter i.). " . peter ii. (grandson of peter i.). " . anna (niece of peter i.). " . ivan iii. (imprisoned in his infancy, and afterwards assassinated). " . elizabeth (daughter of peter i.). " . peter iii. (great-grandson of peter i.). " . catherine ii. " . paul i. (son of catherine ii.). " . alexander i. (son of paul i.). " . nicholas i. (brother of alexander i.). " . alexander ii. (son of nicholas i). " . alexander iii. (son of alexander ii.). "it is a circumstance worthy of note that in the thirty-seven years between the death of peter the great and the accession of catherine the great, russia had three emperors and three empresses; the emperors reigned, but cannot be said to have ruled, only three and a half years altogether, while the empresses held the throne for the rest of the time. catherine was empress from till ; so that during the eighteenth century the russian crown was worn by women for nearly seventy years. [illustration: grand-duke nicholas alexandrovitch.] "the heir to the throne at present is too young to have made his mark in any way; and besides, he has had no opportunity, even if he were of age. his name is nicholas; he is the eldest son of alexander iii., and when he ascends the throne he will be known as nicholas ii. he was born in , and is said to be a young man of great promise. "four at least of the seventeen rulers named above were murdered, and there were suspicions of poisoning in the cases of two others. consequently the description of the government of russia as 'despotism tempered by assassination' is not so very far from the truth. "it is sometimes said that the romanoff family is more german than russian, in consequence of the marriages of the emperors with german princesses. peter the great was pure russian; his son alexis, father of peter ii., married a german princess, and their daughter anne married a german duke. anne and the german duke were the parents of peter iii., the husband of catherine ii.; peter iii. and catherine were the parents of paul, who married a german princess, and the example has been followed by all the emperors. the russian poet pushkin used to represent in an amusing way the germanizing of the imperial family, which was as follows: "he placed in a goblet a spoonful of wine for the czarevitch alexis and a spoonful of water for his german wife. then he added a spoonful of water for anne's german husband, a third for catherine ii., and a fourth, fifth, and sixth for the german wives of paul, nicholas, and alexander ii. were the poet alive to-day, he would add a seventh for the danish wife of alexander iii., and an eighth for the wife of the young nicholas, whoever she may be. "however little russian blood may be running at present in the veins of the romanoff family, there is no question about the thoroughly russian character of the persons most concerned. born and bred in russia, it would be strange if the men were otherwise than national in their feelings; and as for the women who have been married into the imperial family, they seem to have left everything behind them when they came to make their homes in muscovy. there was never a more thorough russian than catherine ii. when she came to the imperial court at the age of fifteen she immediately went to work to learn the language, and in after-life she used to say that if she knew of a drop of blood in her veins that had not become russian she would have it drawn out. "before becoming the wives of the men of the imperial family, all foreign princesses must be baptized and taken into the russian church. the ceremony is a very elaborate one, and is made a state affair. the members of the imperial family are present, together with many high officials, who appear as witnesses, and there can be no exceptions to the rule that requires the emperor's bride to be of his religion. family, home, religion, everything must be given up by the woman who is to become an empress of russia. "well, we will leave romanoff house and the kitai gorod, and go to see something else. our guide suggests the church of the saviour, which has only recently been completed. it was built to commemorate the retreat of the french from moscow. our guide, whose arithmetic is a good deal at fault, says they have been working at it for more than a hundred years. "though not so quaint as the churches we have seen, it is certainly the finest in the city. it is in the form of a greek cross, and the central cupola, eighty-four feet in diameter, rises three hundred and forty-three feet above the ground. in front of the church there are statues of the russian generals of the early part of the century; the outside is adorned with bronze reliefs, which are strangely divided between scriptural subjects and the war of . the interior of the building is finished with highly polished porphyry, lapis-lazuli, and other costly stones, and there is a profusion of paintings ornamenting the walls. we spent half an hour or more at the church, and were loath to leave it. "in addition to its many churches of the greek faith, moscow is like st. petersburg in containing churches representing all the religions of a christian city, together with synagogues for the jews and mosques for the tartars. some chinese who once lived in moscow had a pagoda, where they worshipped idols as in their own country, but our guide says there are no chinese here at present. of course we had not sufficient time for visiting all the churches of moscow, and told the guide to take us only to those which were really remarkable. we saw perhaps a dozen in addition to those i have named. they were interesting to us who saw them, but i omit a description lest it might prove tedious. "we went to the museum, which has a library of one hundred and fifty thousand volumes, a collection of minerals, and a great number of paintings, engravings, and similar things. it did not impress us as much as did the museum of st. petersburg, but perhaps this is due to the fact that we were a good deal wearied after our long hours of sight-seeing, and were more desirous of a rest than anything else. [illustration: skinned and stuffed man.] "one of the curiosities of the place was a skinned and stuffed man in a glass case. it reminded us of the cases in which the dress-makers exhibit the latest styles of feminine apparel; and the figure, though dead, was more 'life-like' than the wax models to which we are accustomed. it is the real skin of a man who once lived and moved and was of goodly stature. "from the museum we went to the _manège_, or riding-school, which is claimed to be the largest building in the world without any supporting pillars. look at the figures of its measurement: length, feet; width, feet; height, feet. "perhaps some of the great railway-stations of europe or america can surpass these measurements, but we certainly don't know of one that can. the space is large enough for two regiments of cavalry to perform their evolutions; and in the winter season, when the weather is too severe for out-door exercise, this riding-school is in constant use. it is heated by stoves ranged around the sides of the room, and is ornamented with numerous trophies of war, and representations of men in armor. the roof is low and rather flat, and even when the sun is shining the light is poor. "the suhareff tower, to which we next went, was chiefly interesting as a reminder of peter the great. at present it is utilized as a reservoir for supplying the city with water, and it performs its duty very well. it was formerly the north-western gate of the city, and a regiment of streltzi was kept here under command of colonel suhareff. when the streltzi revolted, in , suhareff's regiment remained faithful, and escorted peter and his mother and brother to the troitsa monastery. "in grateful remembrance for their devotion, peter caused this tower to be built and named after the colonel who commanded at the time. the architect tried to make something resembling a ship, but did not succeed very well. peter used to have secret councils of state in this tower, and it was here that comedies were performed in by the first troupe of foreign actors that ever came to russia. it is also said--" here the journal stopped rather abruptly. frank and fred were summoned to go to the "_troitska traktir_" for dinner, and as they were both hungry and curious the journal was laid aside. we have had the description of a russian dinner in the account of what they saw in st. petersburg. the dinner in moscow was much like the one already described, but the surroundings were different. the waiters were in snowy frocks and trousers, and the establishment was so large that it was said to employ one hundred and fifty waiters in the dining and tea rooms alone. [illustration: russian beggars.] many of the patrons of the place were taking nothing but tea, and the _samovar_ was everywhere. frank and fred thought they had never seen waiters more attentive than at this traktir. they seemed to understand beforehand what was wanted, and a single glance was sure to bring one of them to the table. they did a great deal more than the waiters do in western europe. they offered to cut up the food so that it could be eaten with a fork, and they poured out the tea, instead of leaving the patron to pour for himself. frank observed that nearly every one who entered the place said his prayers in front of the holy picture. there is a picture in every room of the establishment, so that the devout worshipper is never at a loss. another day they went to the "_moskovski traktir_" a large restaurant similar to the troitska, and containing an enormous organ which is said to have cost more than fifty thousand dollars. the russians are very fond of music of the mechanical sort, and their country is one of the best markets of the swiss makers of organs and music-boxes. in the best houses all through russia expensive instruments of this kind can be found, and sometimes the barrel-organs are large enough to fill a respectably-sized room with machinery and fittings, and an entire house with sound. probably the most costly mechanical musical instruments are made for russians, and some of them give the effect of a whole orchestra. while the instrument in the traktir was in operation, both the youths said they could have easily believed the music to have been produced by a dozen skilled performers. as they left the moskovski traktir the guide suggested that they would go to the restaurant of the old believers. fred thus describes the visit: "i must begin by saying that the old believers are a russian sect who prefer the version of the bible as it was up to the time of nikon, rather than the one he introduced. the government persecuted them greatly in past times, and even at present they are subjected to many restrictions. they are scattered through the empire, and are said to number several millions, but the exact statistics concerning them are unattainable. "in addition to their adhesion to the old form of the scriptures they abhor smoking, refuse to shave their beards, attach particular sanctity to old ecclesiastical pictures, and are inveterate haters of everything not thoroughly russian. they despise the manners and customs of western europe, which they consider the synonyme of vices, and associate as little as possible with those who do not share their belief. in the country they form communities and villages by themselves, and in the cities they live in the same quarter as much as possible. they are an honest, industrious people, and thoroughly loyal subjects of the emperor. "in the traktir of the old believers we found the waiters wearing dark caftans instead of white ones, and the room was filled with russians of noticeably long beards. smoking is not allowed here under any circumstances; and as nearly all russians who are not old believers are confirmed smokers, this curious sect has the place all to itself. we were politely treated by the waiters, and, at the advice of the guide, ventured to eat a _blinni_, for which the place is famous. it was so good that we repeated the order. of course we had the inevitable _samovar_, and found the tea the best that any restaurant has thus far supplied. this traktir has an excellent reputation for its tea and cookery; the bill of fare is not large, but everything is of the best kind. "there is a tartar restaurant where horse-flesh is said to be served regularly; but whether this is true or not we did not try to find out. the place is kept by a russian, so that the assertion is open to some doubt. any one can go to the tartar restaurant, but it is not frequented by russians. the tartars do not associate freely with the russians, though there is no hostility between them. they seclude their wives after the moslem fashion, and a russian gentleman tells me that he has rarely had a glimpse of a tartar woman, though he has lived near these people ever since he was born." [illustration: tartar coffee-house in southern russia.] for a general view of moscow our friends took a drive to the sparrow hills, the spot whence napoleon took his first and also his last look upon the city he came so far to conquer. on the way thither they stopped at the gardens, which are the property of the galitsin family, and also at a small palace or villa which is the property of the empress. these interruptions delayed them, so that it was near sunset when they reached the sparrow hills and had the city in full view. as they looked at the sunlight reflected from the hundreds of gilded domes, and the great city spread over the undulating ground, they realized what must have been the feelings of the french soldiers as they gazed upon moscow after their long and perilous journey to the heart of russia. there is still higher ground from which to look upon the city at the simonoff monastery, which has a belfry more than three hundred feet high. the monastery dates from . it was once the most important church establishment in russia, and possessed immense areas of land and as many as twelve thousand serfs. it was earnestly defended against the poles in , but was captured and plundered by them. it was a quarantine hospital in the plague of , and a military one from to . the french burned several of its buildings, but they were soon restored. the extent of the place will be understood when it is known that there are six churches inside the walls. our friends passed some time there looking at the antique silver, gold, and other ornaments, and the costly vestments which have been handed down from ancient times. they climbed to the top of the belfry, and had a view of the city which they are not likely to forget immediately. the visit to the simonoff monastery was a preliminary to an excursion to the troitska monastery, which will be described in the next chapter. [illustration: gallery in the palace.] chapter xiv. a visit to the troitska monastery, and what was seen there.--curious legends.--monks at dinner.--european fairs.--the great fair at nijni novgorod.--sights and scenes.--minin's tomb and tower.--down the volga by steamboat.--steam navigation on the great river.--kazan, and what was seen there.--the route to siberia. the troitska (trinity) monastery is about forty miles from moscow, and reached by railway in little more than two hours. our friends took an early start, intending to see the monastery and return the same day which is by no means difficult, as there are three trains each way every twenty-four hours. fred had spent the previous evening in reading up the history of the place they were to visit. as soon as they were seated in the train he gave the following summary to his companions: "the monastery was founded in by st. sergius, a son of a russian nobleman of rostof, who was famed for his intelligence and piety. the princes of muscovy used to ask his advice in their contests with the tartars, as well as in other matters. dmitry of the don sought his blessing before going to the battle of kulikova, where he defeated the tartars; he was accompanied by two monks, disciples of sergius, who fought by dmitry's side during the memorable battle. in consideration of the great services thus rendered, the monastery received grants of land and became very rich. st. sergius died in , and it is said that he remained a simple monk to the last. "in the tartars laid the monastery waste, and scattered the monks. they reassembled about fifteen years later, and the monastery was re-established. it has never since been recaptured, though it was besieged by thirty thousand poles in . the monks made a vigorous defence, and the siege was finally raised by a russian force which came to their assistance. the french started from moscow for the monastery in , but only went about half way. the tradition is that the saint appeared miraculously, and covered the road leading to the monastery with such an array of soldiers in black that the french did not dare to attack them. "while the poles were in possession of moscow in , the monastery aided the inhabitants with food and money. the poles again sent an army to conquer the place, but it was repulsed by the monks without any assistance from the russian soldiers. the plague and the cholera, which have both visited moscow, have not entered troitska, and consequently the place is much venerated for its sanctity. [illustration: copy of picture in the monastery.] "there is a legend that when the saint first came to the spot he met a huge bear in the forest; the bear rushed forward to destroy him, but suddenly paused, and from that moment the saint and the bear were friends. for the rest of their days they lived together, and when the saint died the bear remained on the spot, and gave evidences of the most earnest grief. this story is implicitly believed by the orthodox russians, and the gentleman from whose writings i have taken it says he heard it from the lips of a russian lady, and narrated so artlessly that it would have been painful to have expressed any doubt of its truth." other legends of the monastery, and incidents showing its prominence in russian history, whiled away the time till the station at troitska was reached. after a substantial breakfast at the railway-station, the party proceeded to the famous edifice, which is more like a fortress than a religious establishment. its walls have a linear extent of nearly a mile; they are twenty feet thick, and vary in height from thirty to fifty feet. they would offer little obstruction to modern artillery, but it is easy to see that they could make a stout resistance to such cannon as the poles possessed three centuries ago. there are towers at the angles, eight in all, and one of them is surmounted by an obelisk which bears a duck carved in stone, in remembrance of the fact that peter the great used to shoot ducks on a pond near the monastery. for what they saw at troitska we will refer to frank's journal: "there were crowds of beggars along the road from the railway-station to the gate of the monastery. it seems that the place is an object of pilgrimage from all parts of russia, and the beggars reap a goodly harvest from those who come to pray at the shrine of the saint. before the railway was opened, the high-road from moscow seemed to pass through a double hedge of beggars, and the traveller was never out of hearing of their plaintive appeals for charity. [illustration: window in church of the trinity.] "we were cordially welcomed to the monastery, and one of the monks, who spoke french, accompanied us through the place. there are ten churches within the walls, the oldest being the church of the trinity, and the largest that of the assumption. the shrine of st. sergius is in the former. it is an elaborate piece of workmanship, of pure silver, weighing nine hundred and thirty-six pounds, and is so constructed that the relics of the saint are exposed. near the shrine is a painting of the saint, that was carried in battle by peter the great and the czar alexis, and there is a record on a silver plate of other battles in which it was used. [illustration: pity the poor.] "there are other pictures of the saint displayed on the walls of the church. the whole interior of the building is covered with ornaments in massive silver and gold, and it is no wonder the french made an effort to plunder the monastery when they learned of the treasures it contained. there is a representation of the last supper, in which the figures are of solid gold, with the exception of the judas, which is of brass. the images are covered with pearls and precious stones in great profusion. in some cases they are so thickly spread that the metal can hardly be seen. "in the church of the assumption is a two-headed eagle, which commemorates the concealment of peter the great under the altar during the insurrection of the streltzi. they showed us a well that was dug by st. sergius, and discovered after its locality had been unknown for nearly three hundred years. near the church is a tower two hundred and ninety feet high, and containing several bells, one of them weighing sixty-five tons. russia is certainly the country of gigantic bells. "a description of all the churches at troitska would be tedious, especially as we have spoken of the two of greatest interest. the sacristy is in a detached building, and contains more curiosities than i could describe in a dozen pages. there are mitres, crowns, crosses, and other ornaments that have been given to the monastery by the various rulers of russia or by wealthy individuals, many of them set with jewels of remarkable size and beauty. a copy of the gospels, given by the czar michael in , is in heavy covers, ornamented with designs in enamel; in the centre of the design on the front cover is a cross made with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires, and there is a similar though smaller cross on the back. "the robes worn by the priesthood are as numerous and costly as those we saw at moscow, and so are the ornaments that accompany them. the pearl head-dress which catherine ii. wore at her coronation is preserved here, and serves as an ornament on a priestly robe. there is a crown presented by elizabeth, and an altar-cloth from john the terrible. and so we could go on through a long list of magnificent gifts from kings and emperors, and an equally long array of vestments worn by high dignitaries of the church on state occasions. "the piety of the pilgrims is shown by their adoration, not of these jewelled crowns and diadems, but of the wooden utensils and coarse garments which belonged to the founder of the monastery. these relics are distributed among the glass cases which contain the costly mementos we have mentioned, with the evident intention of setting forth as clearly as possible the simple ways of his life. [illustration: curious agate at troitska.] "one of the curiosities they showed us was a natural agate, in which there is the figure of a monk bowing before a cross. the cross is very clearly defined, and so is the cowled figure kneeling before it, though the latter would hardly be taken as representing anything in particular if regarded by itself. we examined it carefully to see if there was any deception about it, but could not detect it if there was. the monk, the cross, and the rock on which the cross stands appear to be wholly formed by the natural lines of the agate. the stone is about four inches high, and oval in shape; on one side it is rather dull and opaque, but it is bright on the other, and distinctly shows the eyes of the monk. [illustration: paper-knife from troitska. st. sergius and the bear.] "the monks of troitska wear black caftans topped with high black hats without brims; black veils hang down over their shoulders, and nearly every monk wears his hair as long as it will grow. we saw them at dinner in their refectory, where one of the number read the service while the rest went on with their eating and drinking; they were talking freely among themselves, and did not seem to listen at all to the reader. in general they appear to be well fed and cared for, and, so far as we could observe, their life is not a rigorous one. they offered carvings in wood, ivory, and mother-of-pearl, and we bought several of these things to bring away as curiosities. among them was a paper-knife, with the handle representing st. sergius and the bear in the forest. the work was well done, and the knife will make a pretty ornament for somebody's desk in america. "when we entered the refectory the monks invited us to dine with them, and we regretted that we had already breakfasted at the railway-station. there is a lodging-house for travellers attached to the monastery, and comparing favorably with a russian hotel of the rural sort. nothing is charged for the rooms, but the lodger who can afford it must pay for his food, and in addition he is expected to drop something into the contribution-box which the monks will show him before his departure. the cooking is said to be excellent, and the table as well supplied as any in moscow. they have a pilgrim's table, where one may dine free of charge, but the food is simple and limited in quantity. "there is a studio of painting in the monastery, where the monks and their pupils, forty or fifty in all, were busily at work copying from religious subjects of both greek and latin origin. they are not confined to church paintings, as we saw portraits of the emperor and other members of the imperial family, and several battle-scenes in which russian arms have figured. there is a very good painting representing the attack of the poles upon the monastery, and another illustrating the defence of sebastopol during the crimean war. [illustration: specimens of ecclesiastical painting on glass.] "the monastery was enormously rich at one time, not only in the treasures it possessed, but in grants of land and serfs which had been given by the government. in it had one hundred and six thousand male serfs, and its lands covered many thousands of acres. though losing its serfs, it has not been without compensation, and the monastery is handsomely supported, partly by an annual donation from the government, and partly by the gifts of pious russians." doctor bronson and the youths returned to moscow in the evening, as they had planned, and on the next day made their preparations for continuing their journey. their next place of destination was nijni novgorod, where they wished to attend the great fair, which was then in progress. they decided to go by the express train, which leaves moscow in the evening and reaches nijni novgorod in the morning. the distance is about two hundred and seventy miles, and there is very little to see on the way. [illustration: russian cooper's shop and dwelling.] the only place of consequence between moscow and nijni is vladimir, named after vladimir the great. it has about fifteen thousand inhabitants, and is the centre of a considerable trade. anciently it was of much political importance, and witnessed the coronations of the czars of muscovy down to . its kremlin is in a decayed state, and little remains of its former glory, except a venerable and beautiful cathedral. our friends thought they could get along with the churches they had already seen, and declined to stop to look at the cathedral of vladimir. on arriving at nijni they were met at the station by a commissioner from the hotel de la poste, to which they had telegraphed for rooms. in the time of the fair it is necessary to secure accommodations in advance if one is intending to remain more than a single day. tourists who are in a hurry generally come from moscow by the night train, spend the day at nijni, and return to moscow the same evening. thus they have no use for a hotel, as they can take their meals at the railway-station or in the restaurants on the fair grounds. "this is practically the last of the great fairs of europe," said the doctor to his young companions as the train rolled out of moscow. "leipsic still maintains its three fairs every year, but they have greatly changed their character since the establishment of railways. they are more local than general, and one does not see people from all parts of europe, as was the case forty or fifty years ago. the fairs of france and germany have dwindled to insignificance, and now the only really great fair where europe and asia meet is the one we are about to visit." frank asked how long these fairs had been in existence. "fairs are of very ancient origin," the doctor replied; "that of leipsic can be distinctly traced for more than six hundred years. the word 'fair' comes from the latin _feria_, meaning day of rest, or holiday, and the fairs for the sale of goods were and still are generally connected with religious festivals. the greeks and romans had fairs before the christian era; fairs were established in france in the fifth century and in england in the ninth, and they were common in germany about the beginning of the eleventh century, when they were principally devoted to the sale of slaves. "coming down with a single bound to the great fair of russia, we find that there was an annual gathering of merchants at nijni more than five hundred years ago. long before that time there was a fair in kazan, then under tartar rule, but russian merchants were prohibited from going there by order of john the terrible. the fair of nijni was removed to makarieff, seventy miles down the river, in , where it remained a long time. the monks of makarieff controlled the fair until , when it passed into the hands of the government, and has remained there ever since. "the fair at makarieff was held on low ground near the town. owing to an inundation in , the government restored the fair to nijni, and decreed that it should be held annually between the th of july and the d of september. the ordinary population of nijni is about forty thousand; two hundred and fifty thousand merchants, laborers, and others come to the fair, so that for two months of the year nearly three hundred thousand people are assembled here." "how are they all accommodated with lodgings and food?" one of the youths asked. [illustration: nijni novgorod during the fair.] "the permanent town of nijni novgorod," said the doctor, "is separated from fair-town, if we may so call it, by the river oka, which here joins the volga. the fair is held on a tongue of land between the volga and the oka, and fair-town and nijni proper are connected by bridges of boats. it is a regular town or city, built for the purposes of trade. it has its governor, police force, fire brigade, and all the paraphernalia of a city, and the government collects by means of a tax about fifty thousand dollars for the support of the organization." "then it is a city with a busy population for two months of the year, and a deserted town for the other ten?" [illustration: nijni novgorod after the fair.] "exactly so," was the reply; "fair-town at nijni in season and out of season will remind you of the difference between coney island or long branch in july and in january. "we'll drop the subject till to-morrow," said the doctor, and with this suggestion the conversation was suspended. on their arrival at nijni, where they expected to remain two or three days, the party went to the hotel as already stated, and then made a hasty survey of the stock sights of the place. they saw the kremlin, which is a place of considerable strength, and contains the governor's residence, the military barracks, law-courts, telegraph station, and other public buildings. there is a fine monument to minin and pojarsky, and in a church not far off is the tomb of the patriotic cattle-dealer. our friends climbed to the top of minin's tower (_bashnia minina_), where they had a magnificent view of the surrounding country, including the valleys of the volga and oka for a long distance, the permanent town and its kremlin, the site of the fair, with its miles of streets, and its thousands of boats and barges tied to the river-bank. frank recalled the view from the hill near hankow, at the junction of the han and yang-tse in china, and pointed out many features of similarity. fred said he was reminded of the junction of the ganges and jumna at allahabad, and an appeal to the doctor brought out a reference to the union of the alleghany and monongahela at pittsburg. the permanent town was quickly disposed of, as the youths were impatient to inspect the great fair. for an account of what they saw we will again refer to their journals. "what a cloud of dust there is here," said frank, "and they say the dust turns to mud, and deep mud, too, after a heavy rain. they make a pretence of watering the streets when the weather is dry, but the work is not very well done; and besides, the vast number of people walking about keeps the ground in very active occupation. "nearly all the houses are of brick or iron, and great care is taken to prevent fires. the lower stories of the houses are used for shops, and the upper for storage, or for the residence of those who have hired the buildings. the sewerage system is said to be excellent, the sewers being flushed several times daily by water pumped from the river. "the governor's house is in the centre of this fair-town. under it is a bazaar for the sale of goods from all parts of europe and asia, and we naturally took this house for the centre of trade. along the streets and avenues there are shops of all kinds, and we seemed to be in the bazaars of all the oriental countries we have ever visited, together with the shops and stores of all the western ones. the list of the goods we saw would almost be a list of all the articles of trade throughout the civilized and uncivilized world, and we hesitate to begin. name anything that you want to buy and the guide will take you to where it is sold. "the mode of dealing is more oriental than occidental, as the merchants in any particular kind of goods are clustered together as in the bazaars of the east. for a mile or more there are warehouses filled only with iron, and very judiciously they are on the bank of the river, to save labor in handling and transportation. the tea-merchants are together, and so are the dealers in bokharian cotton, tartar sheepskins, siberian furs, and other things on the long list we do not intend to write out in full. "restaurants of every name and kind are here, good, bad, and indifferent. the best is under the governor's house, and we recommend it to any of our friends who follow in our footsteps and visit nijni. there are russian, armenian, and catholic churches, and there are mosques and pagodas, so that every visitor may suit himself in religious matters. "as for the people we confess to some disappointment. the great majority are russians, as a matter of course, but it is rather greater than we had looked for. we had thought we would see all the countries of asia represented by their national dress, together with english, french, germans, and other people of western europe. all were there, it is true, but not in the numbers we had expected. [illustration: tartar merchant.] "kirghese, bokhariots, turcomans, and other people of central asia, were to be seen here and there, and so were kalmuck tartars, armenians, persians, and an occasional chinese. but sometimes we could walk around for an hour or so without seeing anybody but russians, or hearing any language except the one to which we have become accustomed since our arrival at st. petersburg. [illustration: returning from the fair.] "we bought a few souvenirs of the place; but, so far as we could observe, the prices were quite as high as in the gostinna dvor of st. petersburg or moscow. it requires a great deal of bargaining, and a knowledge of prices beforehand, to avoid being cheated, and even then you can never be sure that you are fairly treated. the mode of dealing is emphatically oriental, and a great deal of time is spent in dickering. nobody seems to understand the advantages of fixed prices. "it is said that the annual business at the fair of nijni novgorod amounts to three hundred millions of dollars, though it has somewhat diminished of late years. much of the dealing is on credit, the goods being delivered at one fair and paid for at the next. over a pot of tea transactions will be made that cover many thousands of dollars, and neither party has a scrap of paper to show for them. collections through the courts would be next to an impossibility, and therefore personal honor is at a high premium. the merchant who fails to meet his engagements would be excluded from the fair, and thus deprived of the means of making new negotiations. "the government requires the bakers to report each day the amount of bread they have sold, and thus a rough estimate of the number of people present is obtained. "there are two other fairs held at nijni, but they are of comparatively little consequence. one, early in july, is devoted to horses; the other, in january, is for the sale of timber, wooden-ware, and boxes. the latter is held on the ice of the oka. in january, , the ice gave way and a great number of people and horses were drowned." two or three days were spent at the fair, and then our friends engaged passage on a steamboat to descend the volga. the youths were surprised at the number and size of the steamers navigating this river, and still more surprised to find that many of them were of american pattern. the first passenger steamers on the volga were built by americans, and were found so well adapted to the work required of them that the system has been continued. some of the boats are of the mississippi model, while others resemble those of the hudson river. at first they had only side-wheel steamers, but in the last few years several light-draft stern-wheelers have been built (also by americans) and found especially useful in threading among the numerous sand-bars at the period of low water. many boats of great power are used for towing barges up and down the river, and find plenty of employment during all the time the volga is free from ice. altogether, about five hundred steamboats of all classes are engaged in the navigation of the volga. it is sixteen hundred miles from nijni to astrachan, and the voyage usually takes five or six days. the boats do not run at night, on account of the difficulty of navigation, which is worse than that of the lower mississippi, and more like the missouri than any other american stream. the fare (first class) on the best steamers is about twenty-five dollars, exclusive of meals, which will cost from twelve to twenty dollars more. competition occasionally reduces the figures considerably, but, as a general thing, the russians are too shrewd to conduct their business at a loss in order to injure that of a rival. "we are on a fine boat, which reminds me of the very one that carried us from st. louis to memphis," writes fred in his journal. "she is called the _nadeshda_ ("hope"); and that reminds me it was the _hope_ on which i went from memphis to natchez, when frank and i travelled down the mississippi. her captain speaks english, the steward speaks french, and we have learned enough russian to get along very well with the servants without the aid of an interpreter. the cabins are large, clean, and comfortable, and altogether we expect to make a comfortable voyage. "we left nijni about noon, and the captain says we shall be twenty-four hours getting to kazan, where he will stop long enough for us to see the place. as i write, we are passing makarieff, formerly the seat of the great fair, but now of little importance. "there are many boats and barges floating with the current in addition to the huge tows which are managed by the steamboats. the captain says that before steam navigation was introduced there was a great deal of towing by horse-power; and how do you suppose it was done? [illustration: launching a russian barge.] "there was an immense barge, with powerful windlasses or capstans, which were operated by horses walking in a circle as in the old-fashioned cider-mills. a huge cable, all the way from a quarter of a mile to two miles in length, would be sent up stream, and either anchored in the channel or fastened to a tree on shore. when all was ready the horses were set in motion, and the towing-barge, with all the boats and barges attached to it, slowly ascended against the current. progress was very slow, but it was safe, as there was no danger from exploding boilers or overheated furnaces. as many as two hundred horses were sometimes employed by single barges. [illustration: tartar village near the volga.] "our captain says that back from the river are many villages of cheramess, a people of tartar origin, who preserve many of their ancient customs. they are loyal subjects of the government, and in nearly all their cottages one will find the portraits of the emperor and empress. in accordance with their custom of veiling women, they hang a piece of thin gauze over the portrait of the empress. "the summer road between kazan and nijni is on the south bank of the river; the winter road is on the ice, and is marked with green boughs placed in a double row, so that the road cannot be missed. these boughs are placed by the administration of roads, and no one can travel on the ice of the river until it has been officially declared safe. the south bank is quite abrupt, while on the north the country frequently stretches off in a level for a long distance. most of the towns along the banks are said to have been founded by john the terrible in his expedition for the capture of kazan. "we reached kazan as promised soon after noon, and had the rest of the day for seeing the place. we were all ready when the boat touched the shore, and were off as soon as we secured a carriage. the city is about five miles from the river, but we found the drive to it not at all uninteresting. we passed through a suburb where a mosque and a church standing close together symbolized the friendly relations between the russian and tartar inhabitants. "kazan is a handsome city with about sixty thousand inhabitants, of whom one-third are tartars. we drove through the tartar quarter, and found it very much like the russian, with the exception of the people in the streets and the signs on the shops. the buildings have the same general appearance, and were probably built by russian architects. john the terrible destroyed a large part of the city soon after its capture. he levelled everything in the kremlin, including the tombs of the tartar kings, and since his day the city has been swept by fire no less than three times. consequently there is very little of the ancient architecture; a portion of the tartar wall of the kremlin remains, and that is about all. "kazan is famous for its manufactures of leather, soap, candles, and other things, and there are said to be nearly two hundred factories in and around the city. it is specially celebrated for its tanneries, and annually turns out large quantities of 'russia leather.' [illustration: tartar baker's shop.] "we hadn't time to visit the university of kazan, which has about five hundred students, and ranks first in the empire for instruction in oriental languages and literature. it has persian, arabic, chinese, and other oriental professors, and we were told that a student might study any one of twenty-six languages within its walls. "of course we could not neglect the cathedral, where is preserved a miraculous picture, which was found unscathed in the midst of the ashes after a great conflagration. on its head is a diamond crown, presented by catherine ii. near the town is a pyramidal monument in memory of those who fell during the siege and capture of the city. "just at dusk we returned to the _nadeshda_, where we found a substantial supper waiting for us, and made the acquaintance of a fellow-countryman, mr. hegeman, who was to be our companion for the remainder of the voyage. he was familiar with russia, having lived in the country nearly twenty years, and travelled in all parts of it. he was well informed on every subject, and gave us a great amount of valuable statistics and descriptions. we talked until quite late in the evening; and when he joined us at breakfast the next morning the boat was steaming down the volga and nearing the mouth of the kama, where several passengers were to leave us. "'they are going to perm,' said the captain of the _nadeshda_, 'and some of them are on the way to siberia.' "we asked if this was the way to siberia, and the captain explained that it was one of the routes. 'steamers ascend the kama to perm,' said he, 'and from perm there is a railway to ekaterineburg, which is on the siberian side of the ural mountains. the line has been extended to tumen, three hundred miles farther, and ultimately it will be pushed on till it reaches irkutsk, on the shores of lake baikal, and close to the frontier of china.' "how we wished we could make the journey through siberia! over the ural mountains, across the steppes, down the amoor, and out into the waters of the pacific ocean! what a magnificent tour, and what strange things to see on the way! "mr. hegeman heard our wish, and said he would tell us all about the trip across siberia as soon as we were under way again. as the _nadeshda_ steamed down the volga he gave us an account, which we have tried to preserve as nearly as possible in his own words." chapter xv. avatcha bay, in kamtchatka.--attack upon petropavlovsk by the allied fleet.--dogs and dog-driving.--rapid travelling with a dog-team.--population and resources of kamtchatka.--reindeer and their uses.--the amoor river.--native tribes and curious customs.--tigers in siberia.--navigation of the amoor.--overland travelling in siberia.--riding in a tarantasse.--a rough road.--an amusing mistake.--from stratensk to nertchinsk.--gold-mining in siberia. "my first visit to the russian empire," said mr. hegeman, "was made from san francisco across the pacific ocean. i sailed out of the golden gate in the direction of kamtchatka, and after a voyage of thirty days we sighted the summit of avatcha mountain, a magnificent volcano that serves as a landmark to vessels approaching avatcha bay. this bay is one of the finest i have ever seen. i do not think it surpassed by the famous bays of naples or rio janeiro." [illustration: a siberian village.] doctor bronson nodded assent to mr. hegeman's opinion. he had been in avatcha bay, which he briefly described to the youths while mr. hegeman was lighting a cigar. [illustration: petropavlovsk, kamtchatka.--mount avatcha in background.] "it is about ten miles across, and nearly circular," said the doctor, "and its entrance from the ocean is nearly a mile in width. avatcha mountain is directly in front of the entrance, so that a navigator entering the bay has little more to do than steer straight towards the volcano and keep his vessel midway between the two sides of the entrance. around the bay there are six or eight little harbors, completely landlocked. on one of these harbors is petropavlovsk (port of st. peter and st. paul), the principal place of trade in kamtchatka. once it had a population of two or three thousand. it was attacked by the allied fleets in the crimean war, and suffered severely. after the war the naval headquarters were removed to nicolayevsk, at the mouth of the amoor." [illustration: a herd of reindeer.] "there is an interesting bit of history connected with the attack upon petropavlovsk," mr. hegeman remarked, as the doctor paused. "in the autumn of a combined fleet of six english and french ships attacked petropavlovsk, and were twice beaten off by some land batteries and a russian frigate moored in the harbor. their commanders determined to make an assault by land with a strong force of sailors and marines. they attempted to take the town in the rear, but the russian sharp-shooters created a panic among them, and drove the assailants over a steep bank about two hundred feet high. "the english admiral committed suicide in consequence of his disappointment, and the fleet sailed away. next year seventeen ships came there together, as the allies had determined to conquer the town at all hazards. the russians abandoned the place and retired over the hills, but they left five or six hundred dogs behind them. the allied fleet remained at anchor for an entire day without venturing to land, as it was supposed that there must be a very large garrison to keep so many dogs." "the baying of the dogs kept them at bay," whispered frank to fred. "yes," replied the latter, "kept them anchored in the bay." "there was only one man, an american merchant, in the place when the allies landed. he remained to protect his own property, and had the american flag above his establishment. the allies burned all of the government buildings and stores, but did not injure anything else." frank asked how they happened to have so many dogs in a small place like this. "dogs are the beasts of burden of the country," was the reply, "and without them the people would have much difficulty in getting about. the dogs of kamtchatka are much like the eskimo dogs in appearance, character, and qualities, and are employed for the same purposes. they draw sledges over the snow and ice in winter, and are capable of great speed and endurance. with a light load they can travel fifty miles a day for a week or more, and on some occasions they have been known to make a single trip of one hundred miles and more without resting. they are harnessed in pairs with a leader, and a team consists of anywhere from three to twenty-one dogs. a great deal depends on the leader, and he is always chosen from among the most intelligent of the dogs. an ordinary dog is worth from five to ten dollars, while a leader readily brings from forty to fifty dollars. [illustration: dog teams and reindeer.] "the best travelling i ever heard of with a dog-team," continued mr. hegeman, "was when a courier was sent to carry to petropavlovsk the announcement of the crimean war. without changing teams he went from boltcheresk to petropavlovsk (one hundred and twenty-five miles) in twenty-three hours!" one of the youths asked what the dogs lived upon. "they live almost entirely upon fish," was the reply, "and they eat it in any condition--fresh, dried, or half decayed. salmon are very abundant in kamtchatka, and the cheapest thing for feeding the dogs. one fish a day is the ordinary allowance for a dog; but while he is on a journey he receives only half his usual ration. the natives all say that these animals travel better half fed than when fully nourished, and many persons do not give them anything whatever for an entire day before they are to start on a journey." many anecdotes about the dogs of kamtchatka were given, and frank and fred were so interested in the subject that they forgot to note down what was said. when questioned about it afterwards, frank said he learned that it requires much experience to drive a dog-team; that the man who is to drive must feed his own dogs and make them know he is their master; that they will run away whenever they have the opportunity; and they have a treacherous, thieving disposition. they are brave in large numbers, but always cowardly when alone. epidemics among them are frequent, and sometimes whole tribes of natives are thus deprived of their dogs and unable to move about. "for further canine particulars," said frank, "we refer you to 'the voyage of the _vivian_ to the north pole and beyond.' the youths who made that remarkable journey had considerable practical experience with dogs, and they personally visited kamtchatka on their way to the pole." "kamtchatka has about seven thousand inhabitants altogether," said mr. hegeman. "twelve or fifteen hundred are russians, and the rest belong to aboriginal tribes. they are chiefly engaged in hunting and fishing; there is very little agriculture in the country, as the climate is too cold to permit the cultivation of grain or garden vegetables. kamtchatka is chiefly useful for its fur products. five or six thousand sables are killed there every year, and considerable numbers of ermine, foxes, and other fur-bearing animals. bears are numerous and dangerous, and so are wolves, which are very fierce in winter, though not at all troublesome in the summer-time. earthquakes are not unfrequent in kamtchatka, but they do little damage, and are looked upon more as amusements than anything else. [illustration: light-house at ghijigha.] "from kamtchatka i went in a ship to ghijigha, on the okhotsk sea," continued mr. hegeman. "ghijigha is very much like petropavlovsk, and has the same sort of population--a mixture of cossacks, peasants, and natives. it is at the head of a narrow bay, and its light-house is nothing more than an octagonal hut with a fire on the roof. many of the inhabitants are the descendants of exiles who were sent to the country down to about the middle of this century. [illustration: ermine-trap.] "in the time of catherine the great, many poles were sent to kamtchatka, and it is a curious circumstance that the first voyage from that country to a foreign port was made under the polish flag. several poles seized a small ship in the harbor and put to sea. they had no nautical knowledge, and no instruments for navigation, but managed to reach loo choo, and afterwards the port of macao, in safety. "at ghijigha there were more dogs and more fish. i had my choice to go by land to the mouth of the amoor river, or by sea. i chose the latter course; if i had gone by land i should have divided my time between riding on reindeer, riding after dogs, or going on foot." fred thought it would be very nice to ride on a reindeer, and earnestly wished he could try it. [illustration: interior of a native house.] "i think a very short trial would satisfy you," replied mr. hegeman; "at any rate it was enough for me. you have a saddle which is simply a pad without stirrups, and must maintain your balance by means of a stick that you rest on the ground as the animal walks. an inexperienced man falls off a dozen times an hour for the first few days, and even old travellers get a good many tumbles in the course of twenty-four hours. the saddle is directly over the shoulders of the beast, as it would break his back if placed where we ordinarily put the saddle on a horse. consequently you are shaken at every footstep--an excellent thing for a dyspeptic, but not agreeable to a man in good health. [illustration: the reindeer.] "between the okhotsk sea and the arctic ocean the wealth of the country is in reindeer. some natives own as many as forty thousand of these animals, and herds of a thousand or more are not at all rare. the natives wander from place to place in search of pasturage. in summer the deer eat the mosses and shrubbery that spring up all over the country, and in winter they scrape away the snow to feed on the moss beneath it. the native uses the reindeer to ride upon or to draw his sledge; he eats the flesh of the animal, and makes clothing and tent-covering of his skin. in fact he cannot get along without the reindeer any more than could the native of newfoundland exist without the codfish. "but i was willing to let the natives have a monopoly of the reindeer for riding purposes, and took passage in a ship for the amoor river. "the amoor is the greatest river of siberia, and flows into the pacific ocean. it is navigable twenty-three hundred miles from its mouth, and receives several important streams from the south. in one part of its course it makes a great bend to the south, where it flows through magnificent forests containing several trees peculiar to the tropics. the tiger roams up to the south bank of the river at this point, and the reindeer comes down to it on the north; occasionally the tiger crosses the river and feeds upon the reindeer--the only place in the world where these two animals come together naturally." "what a funny idea!" exclaimed frank. "to think of tigers in siberia!" "tigers are found elsewhere in siberia," continued their informant. "in the museum at barnaool, in the altai mountains, i saw the skins of two large tigers that were killed in a siberian farm-yard not far from that place, where they had come to kill one of the farmer's oxen. tiger-hunting is a regular sport with the russian officers in that part of manjouria belonging to siberia, and over a considerable part of the region bordering upon china and persia. but to return to the amoor. [illustration: fish-market at nicolayevsk.] "i remained several days at nicolayevsk, the capital of the maritime province of siberia, and a place of considerable importance. from there i ascended the river on a russian steamboat, passing through the country of several tribes of people. there were goldees, gilyaks, and manyargs, and others whose names would be like greek to you, and therefore i will not bother you to remember them. they live by hunting and fishing, and have permanent villages on the banks of the river, in places where the fishing is best. in the fishing season they always have large quantities of fish hung out to dry, and consequently you can generally smell a native village before you see it. [illustration: scenery on the amoor.] "the boat landed near a gilyak village, and i went to see how the natives lived. they were not particularly civil; in fact they hardly recognized our presence, but kept at work in the preparation of the morning's catch of fish as though nobody was looking on. there were a dozen or more wolfish-looking dogs, and we came near being bitten by the brutes. the natives made a pretence of driving the dogs off, but were not half as earnest as we were on the subject. [illustration: gilyak woman.] [illustration: gilyak man.] "they have some interesting customs and superstitions. they are pagans in religious matters, and worship idols and animals, and they have a reverence for the tiger, eagle, bear, and cat. they keep eagles in cages, and when they can catch a bear or tiger they use him for a religious ceremony, which ends with the animal being slaughtered. his flesh is eaten under the impression that it gives strength and courage to the eaters. they will not allow fire to be carried out of their houses, through fear of evil consequences, and they formerly had the custom of killing those who came to visit them. the more amiable he was, the greater was the chance of his being murdered." fred asked how it could be explained. "very easily, when you know the reason," was the reply. "they believe that the spirits of the dead remain where they left the body, and guard and protect the spot. when a man whom they liked was about to leave, they did not hesitate to kill him for the sake of retaining his spirit among them. a russian priest was killed in this way, and the government made the gilyaks understand that they must put an end to the practice. [illustration: native boat--amoor river.] "the gilyaks have small fields and gardens, and do a little agriculture, but their great reliance is upon the river, which supplies them with fish for food and clothing." "how can fish supply clothing?" frank asked, with a look of surprise. "easily enough," was the reply. "the gilyaks and other people of the amoor take the skins of fishes, beat them till the scales fall off, dress them with oil till they are pliable, and then fashion them into garments. i have seen some very good coats and jackets made of fish-skins. the prettiest gilyak girl i saw (and she had no great beauty to boast of) wore a coat of fish-skin that was gathered closely in at the neck and held around the waist by a girdle. a few yards away you couldn't distinguish it from cloth. [illustration: goldee children.] "the gilyaks row their boats by pulling alternately on the oars, while the goldees, who are higher up the river, pull the oars simultaneously. the houses of the goldees are superior in every way to those of the gilyaks. they are warmed by means of wooden pipes passing beneath benches on three sides of the room, and serving as seats by day and beds at night. like the gilyaks, the goldees live chiefly by fishing, but they give more attention to agriculture, and many of them have cows and horses. one day we passed a village where a large fleet of boats was engaged in fishing for salmon and sturgeon. two men tried a race with the steamboat, and fairly beat us for a short distance, though we were making nine or ten miles against the current. "the russians have established villages along the amoor at intervals of twenty or thirty miles, where the steamboats are supplied with wood. some of these villages are close to the native ones, and the people live in perfect harmony. at one of our stopping-places i suggested that i would like to see the inside of a goldee house, and the captain kindly accompanied me to the native village. [illustration: a goldee man and woman.] "guided by a russian peasant, we picked our way among the drying fish, and reached the door. it was quite late in the evening, and all the people had gone to sleep. with some difficulty we roused the owner of the place, and persuaded him to admit us. our guide carried a torch of birch bark, and as he held it aloft the sight revealed to us was a strange one. "twenty or thirty persons were asleep on the benches, or huddled together to stare at the intruders. the captain explained that the goldees keep their houses very warm, and sleep with little clothing; and certainly it did not seem as if the whole party had bedding enough for one-quarter their number. there was a smouldering fire in the middle of the room, a large kettle, set in brickwork, was at one side, and the rafters were hung with nets and fishing implements. a vicious-looking dog stood growling in front of us, and needed only a word from his master to turn his growls into bites. i had no inclination to stay long, particularly as the atmosphere was by no means pure, and it did not seem exactly polite to rouse a gentleman in the night and compel him to open his house simply to gratify a stranger's curiosity. "for a thousand miles or more the amoor forms the dividing line between russia and china, the former country being on the northern bank, and the latter on the southern. there is a chinese town of some twenty thousand inhabitants at one point, and smaller towns and villages both above and below it. "the whole valley of the amoor was in the possession of the chinese until , when it was conquered by the russians in a campaign that lasted less than two months, and was unaccompanied with loss of life. general mouravieff, then governor-general of eastern siberia, organized an expedition and sent it down the river in boats. the chinese were wholly unprepared for it, and the russians had everything their own way. then colonists were sent to form the villages i have mentioned, and russia was so firmly established that she could not be disturbed. "and now, as you have doubtless studied the geography of asia, will you tell me how the amoor is formed?" [illustration: inauguration of genghis khan.] "certainly," answered fred. "it is formed by the rivers argoon and shilka, just as the ohio is formed by the alleghany and monongahela. the argoon comes in from the south, and the shilka from the north. genghis khan was born in the valley of the argoon, and the armies that went to the tartar conquest of europe were originally mustered on the banks of that stream." [illustration: junction of the argoon and shilka to form the amoor.] "the answer is correct," was the reply. "the spot where the rivers unite is called '_oust-strelka_' ("arrow-mouth"), owing to the shape of the tongue of land between the streams. the scenery is interesting, as the banks of the argoon are steep, and the hills as far as one can see them are covered to their summits with dense forests. "our steamboat turned into the shilka, and, after making a few unimportant landings, finished its voyage at stratensk, twenty-three hundred miles above nicolayevsk. the river voyage was at an end, and from this point to st. petersburg was a land journey of five thousand miles. horse-power was to be my mode of conveyance for more than four thousand miles--a prospect by no means pleasant. "it was about the middle of october when i arrived at stratensk, and bade farewell to river navigation in siberia. by the advice of russian friends i planned to go to irkutsk, the capital of eastern siberia, before the snows fell, and there wait for the winter roads to become good enough for sledging. "irkutsk is about fourteen hundred miles from stratensk, and there is a good wagon-road--at least it is called good in siberia--connecting the two points. the road makes a detour around the southern end of lake baikal, and quite a distance is saved by crossing the lake on a steamer. i was told that i might have to wait a day or two to connect with the steamer, as it is not very regular in its movements. "i had made the acquaintance of a russian officer while ascending the amoor, and long before reaching stratensk it was arranged that we would travel together to the first provincial capital, where i intended stopping a few days. there i hoped to find some one else who was going in my direction, and thus would have the advantages of the companionship of some one who knew the language, and also to share the expense. it costs no more for two persons than for one, as the hire of horses and carriages is just the same, exactly as when you hire a cab in london or new york. [illustration: scene in a posting station.] "from one end of siberia to the other there is a post-road, with stations from ten to twenty miles apart, and there are similar roads leading from the great route to the towns north and south. a traveller must have a _paderojnia_, or road-pass, which he obtains from the chief of police at his starting-point. he pays at the rate of half a cent a mile for this road-pass, and it entitles him to the number of horses named in the document. for these horses he pays a rate fixed by law, usually two cents a mile for each horse. ordinarily a traveller can get along comfortably with two horses, but if the roads are bad, three, and sometimes more, are necessary." frank asked if the horses must be paid for at the time the paderojnia is taken. "not at all," was the reply. "the money is paid at each station to the _smotretal_, or station-master. it is paid in advance, or may be given to the driver at the end of the ride." "a stranger must run a great risk of being cheated," said fred; "the station-master could make the distance out much greater than it really is, and thus turn a dishonest penny very often." "by no means can he do so," mr. hegeman answered, "if the stranger is on his guard. at every station there is an official certificate framed and hung up, showing the distance to the next station in both directions; the most enterprising efforts of the smotretal to cheat the traveller can be frustrated by a study of this document. "and now for the means of conveyance," continued mr. hegeman. "every station is required to keep a certain number of horses and drivers, and it must also have a stipulated number of wheeled carriages for summer, and sledges for winter use. the wheeled carriage is called a _telega_; it is a rough sort of a wagon on wooden springs, and gives a great deal of jolting to the mile. a ride of a thousand miles in a telega may be guaranteed to cure a very bad case of dyspepsia or kill the patient, and in some cases it might do both. the horses are driven at a breakneck speed, and the traveller finds himself tossed from side to side till he is bruised like a rolled orange. the telega is changed, along with the horses, at every station; the traveller and his baggage must be transferred, as the carriage and horses return to the station whence they came." "it must be very disagreeable to make these changes," remarked one of the youths, "especially at night or in a storm." [illustration: a tarantasse.] "it is, indeed," was the reply; "and to obviate this the russians have a vehicle called a _tarantasse_, which is larger, better made, and in every way more comfortable than the telega. a traveller going on a long journey, and able to afford the expense, buys a tarantasse at starting, and sells it at the end of his ride. he thus avoids the necessity of changing at every station; and if he has a servant to attend to the payments and other matters, he can sleep through the night with comparative comfort. "we started from stratensk in a telega, as we could not find a tarantasse for sale or hire, and changed at the next station. luckily for us, the smotretal had a tarantasse, which we hired as far as stratensk, about sixty miles from our starting-point. it was old, and somewhat rickety, but it was better than nothing at all, and we gladly engaged it. "there are three classes of paderojnia for the russian post-roads. the highest is for government couriers and great officials; the second for officials not on government business; and the third for civilian travellers. my companion had a courier's pass, while i had a paderojnia of the second class; consequently his was the best to use. "a traveller with a courier's pass is never detained for want of horses, while others must take their chances. the second-class passport takes precedence over the third, and in a very summary way at times. "suppose smith has a second-class paderojnia, and jones one of the third class. smith reaches a station and finds jones with a team ready to start. if there are no more horses, the station-master detaches jones's horses and gives them to smith; jones must wait until he can be supplied; it may be an hour, a day, or a week. [illustration: changing horses at a siberian station.] "three horses must always be kept ready for couriers, and the changes made very quickly. if all the horses belonging to a station are out when a lower-class traveller arrives, he must wait till a team returns and has rested. if he is willing to pay something extra rather than wait, he can be accommodated; the smotretal will obtain horses from the villagers at whatever advance on the regular price that he thinks the traveller will stand. here is where the station-master has a chance to make something, and he usually makes it. "the horses are small and shaggy, but they are capable of great speed and endurance. they are never blanketed, even in the coldest weather, and their hair is thick and soft like the fur of a fox. sometimes they kept up a steady gallop from one station to another, and did not seem to suffer by the speed. frequently they travelled ten miles an hour, and when we were going down hill they did better than that. the way to go from one hill to another is to dash down the slope and across the level at full gallop, and thus obtain an impetus for mounting the next. many of the hollows have corduroy bridges over the little streams that flow through them, and when we crossed these bridges at full gallop the tarantasse or telega received a very lively shaking." turning to doctor bronson, mr. hegeman suggested that the former should tell the youths about the search in siberia for sir john franklin and his crew. the doctor smiled as he recalled the story, which he gave with a preliminary explanation: "the russians apply the term 'equipage' to any kind of vehicle, whether on wheels or runners. the same word is used in russian as in french to denote the crew of a ship. "a few years after the disappearance of sir john franklin, the english admiralty requested the russian government to ascertain if any traces of that officer and his party had been found on the coast of siberia. a general order was sent to all officials in siberia to make inquiries about the 'english captain john franklin and his equipage.' in due time came reports that nothing could be found, except in a single instance, where a petty official wrote as follows: "'i have made the proper inquiries. i can learn nothing about the english captain, john franklin, but in one of my villages there is an old sleigh that no one claims, and perhaps it is his equipage.'" [illustration: the right of way in russia.] "to return to the road," said mr. hegeman, when the laugh created by the story had subsided. "we carried one, and sometimes two bells on the yoke of our shaft-horse, to indicate that we were travelling by post; every humbler vehicle was required to give us not only half but the whole of the road--at any rate, it was expected to do so. sometimes we had it, and sometimes we did not; if the drivers of the approaching vehicles were awake they usually turned out, but very often they were asleep, and their horses had their own way. when this happened, our driver brought his whip-lash heavily across the sleeper as he passed him. the driver of a post-carriage has the right to thrash a common driver who does not get out of his way, and rarely lets the opportunity pass." fred suggested that in this way he probably obtained some revenge for the kicks and cuffs he received from his superiors. the rest of the party assented to the idea of the youth. doctor bronson remarked that the most cruel of the slave-drivers of the southern states of america in former times were the negro slaves who were placed in authority over their fellows, and he thought the same rule held good throughout the world in general. [illustration: getting out of difficulty.] "it had been raining before we arrived at stratensk, and consequently we found a great deal of mud on the roads. several times we were mired, and had to send to neighboring farm-houses for additional horses, and twice we removed all our baggage and put our own shoulders to the wheel to get out of trouble. one of these performances was during a shower, and did not improve our condition or temper. i was ready to vote siberian travelling a first-class nuisance, and felt downhearted at the immense distance that lay between me and the railway-station at nijni novgorod. "to make things worse, our cossack servant had placed our pillows and blankets on the wet ground, and piled heavy baggage on top. for this stupidity my companion, the captain, remonstrated in very strong language, but all that he said could not dry our property. at the next station we stopped for dinner; while we were eating our meal the dampened articles were somewhat improved by being placed in front of the kitchen fire. "once while descending a hill at full speed a wheel of the tarantasse came off, but no damage was done beyond bringing us to a very sudden stop. the two axles of the vehicle were about twelve feet apart, and connected by a pair of stout poles which had a great deal of 'spring' in them. properly made, a tarantasse is by no means an uncomfortable vehicle to ride in, provided, of course, you are travelling over good roads." "what did you get for dinner at the station?" frank asked. "we had the _samovar_, with some tea and sugar, from our own stock, and then we had boiled eggs and bread. they had some cold mutton, of which i ate liberally, as i had an appetite like a tiger, but my friend would hardly touch it. he told me that mutton was rarely eaten by the russians, and during my journey through siberia i do not remember seeing it on the table, except in a few of the way-side stations. this was all the more singular when there were great flocks of sheep in the country where we were travelling. the sheep belong principally to the bouriats, a mongol people who were the occupants of the country before the russians went there. "eggs and bread are the only articles of food you can rely upon getting at the stations, and sometimes even the eggs are wanting. bread is made from rye flour rather than from wheat, and its complexion is darker than that of the boston brown bread of america. it is the bread of the peasant from one end of the empire to the other, and a good many of the nobility prefer it to white bread. for my own part i never liked the black bread of russia, but often ate it for lack of anything else. "up hill and down dale we went, and on the second morning of our journey the broad and beautiful valley of the nertcha river lay before us. two or three miles above the point where the nertcha joins the shilka lies the town of nertchinsk, a well-built place with five or six thousand inhabitants. it has an air of wealth and solidity, and large fortunes have been made there by men interested in gold-mining. we entered the town through an arched gate-way, and drove to the house of a rich gold-miner with whom my friend was well acquainted. hardly had we thrown off our wrappings before the _samovar_ was steaming on the table. we were urged to stay to dinner, and, much to my satisfaction, the invitation was accepted by my companion." "haven't i read about nertchinsk as a place of exile?" said one of the youths. "quite likely you have," was the answer. "nertchinsk and its gold-mines have a prominent place in the history of siberian exile. would you like to hear about it?" "of course we would," the youths eagerly responded. it was agreed that the journey through siberia should be suspended until the new subject was disposed of. [illustration: valley of the amoor above ouk-se-me.] chapter xvi. the exiles of siberia.--the decembrists and their experience.--social position of exiles.--different classes of exiles and their sentences.--criminals and politicals.--degrees of punishment.--perpetual colonists.--how exiles travel.--lodging-houses and prisons.--convoys.--thrilling story of an escape from siberia.--secret roads.--how peasants treat the exiles.--prisoners in chains. "there are many errors in the popular mind of england and america concerning the system of exile to siberia," said mr. hegeman, as he settled into a chair to begin his discourse on this interesting subject. "one error is that exiles are treated with such cruelty that they do not live long; that they are starved, beaten, tortured, and otherwise forced into an early death. "no doubt there have been many cases of cruelty just as there have been in prisons and other places of involuntary residence all over the globe and among all nations. exiles are prisoners, and the lot of a prisoner depends greatly upon the character of his keeper, without regard to the country or nation where he is imprisoned. siberia is no exception to the rule. with humane officials in power, the life of the exiles is no worse, generally speaking, than is that of the inmates of a prison in other lands; and with brutal men in authority the lot of the exile is doubtless severe. "in the time of the emperor nicholas there was probably more cruelty in the treatment of exiles than since his death; but that he invented systems of torture, or allowed those under him to do so, as has been alleged, is an absurdity. "let me cite a fact in support of my assertion. after the revolution of , just as nicholas ascended the throne, two hundred of the conspirators were exiled to hard labor for life. they were nearly all young men, of good families, and not one of them had ever devoted a day to manual occupation. reared in luxury, they were totally unfitted for the toil to which they were sentenced; and if treated with the cruelty that is said to be a part of exile, they could not have lived many months. "the most of them were sent to the mines of nertchinsk, where they were kept at labor for two years. afterwards they were employed in a polishing-mill at chetah and on the public roads for four or five years, and at the end of that time were allowed to settle in the villages and towns, making their living in any way that was practicable. some of them were joined by their wives, who had property in their own right (the estates of the exiles were confiscated at the time of their banishment), and those thus favored by matrimonial fortune were able to set up fine establishments. [illustration: interior of an exile's hut.] "some of the decembrists, as these particular exiles were called, from the revolution having occurred in december, died within a few years, but the most of them lived to an advanced age. when alexander ii. ascended the throne, in , all the decembrists were pardoned. some of them returned to european russia after thirty-one years of exile, but they found things so changed, and so many of their youthful companions dead, that they wrote back and advised those who were still in siberia to stay there. my first visit to siberia was in , forty-one years after the december revolution. at that time there were ten or twelve of the decembrists still living, all of them venerable old men. one was a prosperous wine-merchant at irkutsk; another had made a fortune as a timber-merchant; others were comfortable, though not wealthy; and two or three were in humble, though not destitute circumstances. now, if they had been treated with the cruelty that is alleged to be the lot of all siberian exiles, do you think any of them would have reached such an advanced age?" silence gave assent to the query. after a short pause, frank asked what was the social standing of these exiles, the decembrists. [illustration: exiles passing through a village.] "it was nearly, though not quite, what it was in european russia before their exile," was the reply. "they were received in the best siberian families, whether official or civilian, and were on terms of friendship with the officials in a private way. they were not invited to strictly official ceremonies, and this was about the only difference between their treatment and that of those who were not exiles. of course i refer to the time when they were settled in the towns, after their term of forced labor was ended. before that they were just like any other prisoners condemned to the same kind of servitude. "there were two of the decembrists (prince troubetskoi and prince volbonskoi) whose wives were wealthy, and followed their husbands into exile. when relieved from labor and allowed their personal liberty, these princes came to irkutsk and built fine houses. they entertained handsomely, were visited by the officials, went very much into society, and in every way were as free as any one else, except that they were forbidden to leave siberia. nicholas was not of a forgiving disposition, and not till he died were the decembrists free to return to st. petersburg. [illustration: a town built by exiles.] "a bit of social gossip adds to the interest of the siberian life of prince volbonskoi. there was some incompatibility of temper between the prince and his wife, and for a long time they were not particularly friendly. she and the children and servants occupied the large and elegantly furnished house, while the prince lived in a small building in the court-yard. he had a farm near the town, and sold to his wife such of the produce as she needed for household use." fred wished to know how many kinds of people are sent to siberia. "there are three classes of exiles," was the reply: "political, religious, and criminal offenders. the political ones include nihilists and other revolutionists, and of course there is a great majority of poles among this class; the religious exiles are certain sects of fanatics that the government wishes to suppress; and the criminal ones are those who offend against society in all sorts of ways. none of them are ever called 'prisoners' or 'criminals' while in siberia, and it is not often you hear them termed 'exiles.' in ordinary conversation they are called 'unfortunates,' and in official documents they are classed as 'involuntary emigrants.' "there are about ten thousand 'involuntary emigrants' going every year from european russia to siberia. these include criminals of all kinds, a few religious offenders of the fanatical sort, and some nihilists and other revolutionists. at every revolution in poland the number of exiles for the next few years is greatly increased. after the revolution of twenty-four thousand poles were sent to siberia, and other revolutions have contributed a proportionate number." "do they all have the same kind of sentence, without regard to their offences?" one of the youths asked. [illustration: banished for five years.] "not at all," was the reply. "the lowest sentence is to three years' banishment, and the highest is to hard labor for life. sentences vary all the way between these two categories--for five, ten, fifteen, or twenty years' banishment, without labor, or for the same number of years with labor. a man may be sentenced to a given number of years' banishment, of which a certain designated portion shall be to hard labor, or he may be sentenced for life, with no hard labor at all. the punishment is varied greatly, and, from all i hear, the sentence is rarely carried out to its fullest degree. the time of exile is not lessened until a general pardon liberates entire classes, but the severity of the labor imposed is almost always lightened. [illustration: banished for three years.] "then, too, the exiles are distributed throughout the country, and not allowed to gather in large numbers. the object of the exile system is to give a population to siberia, and not to cause the death of the banished individual. every effort is made to induce the exile to forget the causes that brought him to siberia, and to make him a good citizen in his new home. his wife and children may follow or accompany him into exile at government expense, but they cannot return to european russia until he is personally free to do so. this permission is denied in the cases of the worst criminals who are sentenced to hard labor and must leave their families behind. "figures i was glancing at this morning show that in one year , persons were sent to siberia, accompanied by women and children over fifteen years old, and by under that age. of the whole number of exiles mentioned, were sentenced to hard labor, and were drunkards and tramps. the status of the rest is not given, but they were probably sentenced to various terms of deportation without labor. "i should say further, in regard to this family matter, that an exile is regarded as a dead man in the place from which he is sent, and his wife, if she remains in europe, is legally a widow, and may marry again if she chooses. the wifeless man in siberia is urged to marry and become the head of a family, and whenever he marries, the government gives him a grant of land and aids him in establishing a home. as long as an exile conducts himself properly, and does not try to escape, he does not find existence in siberia particularly dreadful, provided, of course, he has not been sent to hard labor, and the officers in charge of him are not of a cruel disposition." frank asked what work was done by those sentenced to hard labor, and how the men lived who were simply exiles and had not a labor sentence attached. [illustration: colonist's village in winter.] "those sentenced to _katorga_, or hard labor, are employed in mines or on roads, and in mills and factories of various kinds. several years ago an order was issued that exiles should no longer be kept at work in mines, but i am told on pretty good authority that this humane decree has been revoked since the rise of nihilism. in the mines of nertchinsk, in the latter part of the last century and the early part of the present one, the labor was fearful. the prisoners were in pairs, chained together; they were often kept working in mud and water for fourteen or sixteen hours daily; their lodgings were of the poorest character, and their food was nothing but black bread and occasionally a little cabbage soup. the great mortality in the mines attracted the attention of the government, and the evils were remedied. "down to the end of the last century, criminals condemned to the mines were marked by having their nostrils slit open, but this barbarity has not been practised for a long time. "those sentenced to lighter labor are engaged in trades, such as making shoes, clothing, or other articles. those who are simply exiled without labor can work at their trades, if they have any, precisely as they would do at home. if they are educated men they may practise their professions, give instruction to young people, or find employment with merchants as book-keepers or other assistants in business. some years ago the permission for exiles to engage in teaching anything else than music, drawing, and painting was revoked, when it was discovered that some of them had been using their opportunities to spread revolutionary doctrines. whether this order is yet in force i do not know. "the next thing to hard labor in siberia is the sentence to become 'a perpetual colonist.' this means that the exile is to make his living by tilling the soil, hunting, fishing, or in any other way that may be permitted by the authorities; he must be under the eye of the police, to whom he reports at regular intervals, and he must not go beyond certain limits that are prescribed to him. "the perpetual colonist has a grant of land, and is supplied with tools and materials for building a house; he receives flour and other provisions for three years, and at the end of that time he is supposed to be able to take care of himself. where he is sent to a fertile part of the country, his life is not particularly dreadful, though at best it is a severe punishment for a man who has been unaccustomed to toil, and has lived in luxury up to the time of being sent to siberia. many of these colonists are sent to the regions in or near the arctic circle, where it is almost continuous winter, and the opportunities for agriculture are very small. only a few things can be made to grow at all, and the exile doomed to such a residence must depend mainly upon hunting and fishing. if game is scarce, or the fishing fails, there is liable to be great suffering among these unhappy men. "the friends of an exile may send him money, but not more than twenty-five roubles (about $ ) a month. as before stated, the wife of an exile may have an income separate from that of her husband, and if she chooses to spend it they may live in any style they can afford. "many criminal and political exiles are drafted into the army in much the same way that prisons in other countries are occasionally emptied when recruits are wanted. they receive the same pay and treatment as other soldiers, and are generally sent to distant points, to diminish the chances of desertion. most of these recruits are sent to the regiments in the caucasus and central asia, and a good many are found in the siberian regiments. "all money sent to exiles must pass through the hands of the officials. it is a common complaint, and probably well founded, that a goodly part of this money sticks to the hands that touch it before it reaches its rightful owner. the same allegation is made concerning the allowances of money and flour, just enough to support life, that are given to exiles who are restricted to villages and debarred from remunerative occupation." [illustration: exiles leaving moscow.] "did you personally meet many exiles while you were in siberia?" frank inquired. "i saw a great many while i was travelling through the country," mr. hegeman answered, "and in some instances had conversations with them. at the hotel where i stopped in irkutsk the clerk was an exile, and so was the tailor that made an overcoat for me. clerks in stores and shops, and frequently the proprietors, were exiles; the two doctors that had the largest practice were 'unfortunates' from poland, and so was the director of the museum of the geographical society of eastern siberia. some of the isvoshchiks were exiles. on one occasion an isvoshchik repeated the conversation which i had with a friend in french, without any suspicion that he understood what we were saying. hardly a day passed that i did not meet an 'unfortunate,' and i was told that much of the refinement of society in the siberian capital was due to the exiles. in talking with them i was careful not to allude in any way to their condition, and if they spoke of it, which was rarely the case, i always managed to turn the conversation to some other subject. [illustration: tagilsk, centre of iron-mines of siberia.] "when on the road i met great numbers of exiles on their way eastward. five-sixths of them were in sleighs or wagons, as it has been found cheaper to have them ride to their destinations than to walk. those on foot were accompanied by their guards, also on foot; there was a wagon or sleigh in the rear for those who were ill or foot-sore, and there were two or more men on horseback to prevent desertions. formerly all prisoners were obliged to walk to their destinations. the journey from st. petersburg to nertchinsk required two years, as it covered a distance of nearly five thousand miles." "do they sleep in the open air when on the road, or are they lodged in houses?" inquired fred. "there are houses every ten or fifteen miles, usually just outside the villages," was the reply. "in these houses the prisoners are lodged. the places are anything but inviting, as the space is not large. no attempt is made to keep it clean, and the ventilation is atrocious. in winter it is a shelter from the cold, but in summer the prisoners greatly prefer to sleep out-of-doors. sometimes the guards will not grant permission for them to do so, owing to the danger of desertion, but the scruples of the guards may be overcome by a promise obtained from all that no attempt will be made to escape, and that everybody shall watch everybody else. [illustration: a siberian valley.] "from fifty to two hundred exiles form a batch or convoy. they are sent off once or twice a week, according to the number that may be on hand. all the convoys of exiles go to omsk, in western siberia, and from there they are distributed throughout the country--some in one direction and some in another. those that travel on foot rest every third day, and the ordinary march of a day is about fifteen miles; those in carriages are hurried forward, only resting on sundays, and not always then." "do the guards of a convoy go all the way through with the prisoners?" "no, they do not; they go from one large town to another. in the large towns there are prisons which serve as depots where exiles are accumulated, and the distribution of prisoners is generally made from these points. the officers and soldiers in charge of a convoy take their prisoners to one of these depots and deliver up their charges; receipts are given for the number of men delivered, just as for so many boxes or bales of goods. the guard can then return to its starting-point, and the prisoners are locked up until the convoy is ready for the road again. "the guards are responsible for their prisoners, both from escape and injury. if a man dies on the road his body is carried to the next station for burial, so that the station-master and others may certify to the death; and if a man is killed while attempting to escape, the same disposition must be made of his body. "some years ago a polish lady who was going into exile fell from a boat while descending a river. she had a narrow escape from drowning, and the officer in charge of her was very much alarmed. when she was rescued from the water, he said to her, 'i shall be severely punished if you escape or any accident happens to you. i have tried to treat you kindly, and beg of you, for my sake, not to drown yourself or fall into the river again.'" "but don't a good many escape from siberia, and either go back to their homes or get to foreign countries?" "the number of escapes is not large," mr. hegeman answered, "as the difficulties of getting out of the country are very great. in the first place, there is the immense distance from the middle of siberia to moscow or st. petersburg, or, worse still, to poland. nobody can hire horses at a station without showing his paderojnia, and this is only issued by the police-master, who knows the name and probably the face of every exile in his district. even if a man gets a paderojnia by fraud, his absence would soon be discovered, and his flight can be stopped by the use of the telegraph. "if an exile should try to get out of the country by going northward he would be stopped by the shores of the arctic ocean. if he goes to the south he enters china, or the inhospitable regions of central asia, where it is difficult, if not impossible, for a european to travel alone. "occasionally some one escapes by way of the amoor river, or the ports of the okhotsk sea; but there are not many ships entering and leaving those ports, and the police keep a sharp watch over them to make sure that they do not carry away more men than they bring. i once met in paris a pole who had escaped from siberia by this route. by some means that he would not reveal to me, he managed to get out of the amoor river and cross to the island of saghalin. the southern half of the island was then in possession of the japanese, and he lived among them for several months. then he got on board an american whaling-ship, and worked his passage to san francisco, where he found some countrymen, who helped him on his way to paris. [illustration: two exiled friends meeting.] "i know another man, a russian nobleman, who escaped from siberia and went back over the route by which he had come. for convenience i will call him ivanoff, though that was not his name. he accomplished it in this way: "he had concealed quite a sum of money about his person, which the guards failed to find after searching him repeatedly. his offence was political, and he was sentenced to twenty years' exile. while his convoy was on the road between krasnoyarsk and irkutsk, he arranged to change names with petrovitch, a criminal who had been sentenced to three years' banishment, and was to remain near irkutsk. ivanoff was to go beyond lake baikal, whence escape is much more difficult. for one hundred roubles the criminal consented to the change, and to take his chances for the result. "the substitution was made at the depot in irkutsk, where the names were called off and the new convoys made out. the convoy for the trans-baikal was first made up, and when ivanoff's name was read the burglar stepped forward and answered the question as to his sentence. the officers who had accompanied them from krasnoyarsk were not present, and so there was no great danger of the fraud being discovered; the convoy was made up, the new officers moved off, and that was the last my friend saw of his hired substitute. [illustration: escaping exiles crossing a stream.] "ivanoff (under his new name of petrovitch) was sent to live in a village about twenty miles from irkutsk, and required to report twice a week to the police. he found employment with a peasant farmer, and managed to communicate with a friend in irkutsk, though not without much difficulty. the peasant used to send him to market with the produce of the farm, as he found that ivanoff could obtain better prices than himself; the fact was he generally sold to his friend, who purposely overpaid him, and if he did not find his friend he added a little to the amount out of his own pocket. ivanoff and his friend haggled a great deal over their transactions, and thus conversed without arousing suspicion. "things went on in this way for some months, and the good conduct of the apparently reformed criminal won him the favor of the police-master to whom he was required to report. his time of reporting was extended to once a week, and later to once a month. this gave him the chance of escaping. "by a judicious use of his money he secured the silence of his employer and obtained a paderojnia of the second class. the day after reporting to the police he went to fish in the angara, the river that flows past irkutsk and has a very swift current. as soon as he was missed his employer led the search in the direction of the river. the coat, basket, and fishing-rod of the unfortunate man lay on the bank; it was easy to see that he had been standing on a stone at the edge of the water, and the stone having given way the river had swallowed ivanoff, and carried his body away towards the arctic ocean. some money was in the pocket of the coat, and was appropriated by the officers. [illustration: ivanoff's cave.] "but instead of being drowned, ivanoff was safely concealed in a cave under a large rock in the forest. he had found it on one of his hunting excursions, and had previously conveyed to it a quantity of provisions, together with some clothing supplied by his friend in irkutsk. there he remained for a fortnight; then he went to irkutsk, and started on his journey. "people leaving irkutsk frequently drive to the first station in their own vehicles, and there hire the carriages of the posting service. so one evening ivanoff rode out to the station in a carriage hired in front of the hotel. he did not tell me, but i suspect that his friend supplied the carriage, and possibly handled the reins himself. "at the station he boldly exhibited his paderojnia and demanded horses, and in a few minutes he was on the road. safe? well, he could never tell whether he was safe or not, as the telegraph might at any moment flash an order for his detention. "on and on he went. he pretended to be, and really was, in a great hurry. he was liberal to the drivers, but not over-liberal, lest he might be suspected. suspicion would lead to inquiry, and inquiry would be followed by arrest. but he obtained the best speed that could be had for a careful use of money, and was compelled to be satisfied. "several times he thought he had been discovered, and his feelings were those of intense agony. at one of the large stations the smotretal came to him with an open telegram which said a prisoner was missing, and orders had been sent along the line to watch for him. "ivanoff took the telegram and read it. then he noted down the description of the fugitive (happily not himself), and told the smotretal to take no further trouble till he heard from him, but to keep a sharp watch for all new arrivals. 'unless i telegraph you from the next town,' said he, 'you may be sure that he has not passed any of the intervening stations.' "he went on, and heard no more of the matter. at another point he fell in with a russian captain going the same way as himself. the captain proposed they should travel together, for the double purpose of companionship and economy. much as he disliked the proposal, he was forced to accede, as a refusal might rouse suspicion. "luckily for him, his new friend was garrulous, and did most of the talking; but, like most garrulous people, he was inquisitive, and some of his queries were decidedly unpleasant. ivanoff had foreseen just such a circumstance, and made up a plausible story. he had just come to siberia, and only three days after his arrival was summoned back by the announcement of his father's death. his presence was needed in st. petersburg to arrange the financial affairs of the family. [illustration: exiles among the mountains.] "by this story he could account for knowing nobody in siberia; and as he was well acquainted with st. petersburg he could talk as freely as one might wish about the affairs of the capital. he was thrown into a cold perspiration at one of the stations, where his garrulous companion proposed, as a matter of whiling away the time after breakfast, that they should examine the register for the record of their journeys eastward. ivanoff managed to put the idea out of his head, and ever after made their stay at the stations as short as possible. "imagine ivanoff's feelings when one day the other said, "'exiles sometimes escape by getting forged passports and travelling on them. wouldn't it be funny if you were one? ha! ha! ha!' "of course ivanoff laughed too, and quite as heartily. then he retorted, "'now that you mentioned it, i've half a mind to take you to the next police-station and deliver you up as a fugitive. ha! ha! ha! suppose we do it, and have some fun with the police?' "thereupon the serious side of the affair developed in the mind of mr. garrulity. he declined the fun of the thing, and soon the subject was dropped. it was occasionally referred to afterwards, and each thought how funny it would be if the other were really a fugitive. "they continued in company until they reached kazan. there they separated, ivanoff going to nijni novgorod and moscow, and from the latter proceeding by railway to smolensk and warsaw. from warsaw he went to vienna. as soon as he set foot on the soil of austria he removed his hat and, for the first time in many months, inhaled a full breath of air without the feeling that the next moment might see him in the hands of the dreaded police. he was now a free man." "and what became of his companion?" "when they separated at kazan, the latter announced his intention of descending the volga to astrachan. it was fully a year afterwards that my friend was passing a café in paris, and heard his assumed name called by some one seated under the awning in front of the establishment. turning in the direction of the voice, he saw his old acquaintance of the siberian road. "they embraced, and were soon sipping coffee together. ivanoff talked freely, now that he was out of danger of discovery, and astonished his old acquaintance by his volubility. at length the latter said, "'what a flow of language you have here in paris, to be sure. you never talked so much in a whole day when we were together as in the hour we've sat here.' "'good reason for it,' answered ivanoff. 'i had a bridle on my tongue then, and it's gone now. i was escaping from a sentence of twenty years in siberia for political reasons.' "'and that's what made you so taciturn,' said the other. 'i was escaping from the same thing, and that's what made me so garrulous. when we met at that station i feared you might be on the lookout for me; and much as i hated doing so, i proposed that we should travel together.' "they had a good laugh over the circumstances of their journey, where each was in mortal terror of the other. the one was talkative and the other silent for exactly the same reason--to disarm suspicion. [illustration: siberian peasants.] "i could tell you other stories of escaping from exile, but this one is a fair sample of them all. of those who attempt to leave the country not one in twenty ever succeeds, owing to the difficulties i have mentioned, and the watchfulness of the police. the peasants of siberia will generally help an escaping exile, but they do not dare to do it openly. many of them put loaves of bread outside their windows at night, so that the runaways can come and obtain food without being seen. they plant little patches of turnips near the villages for the same reason, and call them gifts to the 'unfortunates.' whenever the soldiers find any of these turnip-patches they destroy them, in order to hinder the progress of fugitives. "there is said to be a secret road or path through siberia known only to the exiles; it is about two thousand miles long, avoids all the regular lines of travel, and keeps away from the towns and villages. it winds over plains and among the mountains, through forests and near the rivers, and is marked by little mounds of earth, and by notches cut in the trees. "those who travel this road must undergo great hardship, and it is said that not more than half who undertake it are ever heard of again. they perish of starvation or cold, or may venture too near the villages in search of food, and fall into the hands of the police. the path must be travelled on foot, as it is not sufficiently broad for horses; and when any part of it is discovered by the soldiers the route must be changed. the exiles have means of communicating with each other, and no matter how closely the authorities may watch them, an occurrence in one siberian prison will soon be known at all others in the country." frank asked mr. hegeman if he had ever seen any prisoners in siberia wearing chains? [illustration: siberian milk-women.] "many of them," was the reply, "especially in the prisons in the towns, and at the places where they are kept at hard labor. the simple exiles are not required to wear chains; it is only those condemned to hard labor for a long term of years that are thus oppressed. by an old law of russia the chains must not weigh more than five pounds; there is a belt around the waist, and from this belt a chain extends to an iron band around each ankle. the clanking of the chains, either on the road or in the prisons, has a most horrible sound. "the continued use of this relic of barbarism is strenuously opposed by a great many russians. with the exception of the 'ball and chain,' which is a form of military punishment everywhere, no other christian nation now requires its prisoners to wear chains continually. if the emperor of russia would issue a decree that henceforth no prisoner shall be put in chains except for specially unruly conduct or other good cause, and abolish altogether the present regulations about chains, he would take a long advance step for his nation." doctor bronson and the youths agreed with him. fred was about to ask a question when one of the stewards made the announcement, "_obed gotovey, gospoda!_" ("dinner is ready, gentlemen!") siberia and its exiles were forgotten for the time, as the party adjourned to the dining-saloon of the steamer. [illustration: siberia in summer.] chapter xvii. character of the siberian population.--absence of serfdom, and its effect.--a russian fÊte.--amusements of the peasantry.--courtship and marriage.--curious customs.--whipping a wife.--overland through siberia again.--chetah and the bouriats.--in a bouriat village.--verckne udinsk.--siberian robbers.--tea-trains and tea-trade.--kiachta.--lodged by the police.--trade between russia and china. when the conversation about siberia was resumed, frank suggested that there must be a great many people in that country who were descended from exiles, since it had been for a long time a place of banishment, and the exiles were accompanied in many cases by their families. "your supposition is correct," said mr. hegeman; "the descendants of exiles are probably more numerous to-day than are the exiles themselves. eastern siberia is mainly peopled by them, and western siberia very largely so. all serfs exiled to siberia under the system prevailing before the emancipation became free peasants, and could not be restored to their former condition of servitude. "many descendants of exiles have become wealthy through commerce or gold-mining, and occupy positions which they never could have obtained in european russia. when i visited irkutsk i made the acquaintance of a merchant whose fortune ran somewhere in the millions. he had a large house, with a whole retinue of servants, and lived very expensively. he was the son of an exiled serf, and made his fortune in the tea-trade. "many prominent merchants and gold-miners were mentioned as examples of the prosperity of the second and third generations from exiles. of those who had made their own fortunes in the country the instances were by no means few. one, an old man, who was said to have a large fortune and a charming family of well-educated children, was pointed out as an illustration of the benefits of exile. forty years before that time he was sent to siberia by his master out of the merest caprice. in siberia he obtained fortune and social position. had he remained in europe he would probably have continued a simple peasant, and reared his children in ignorance. [illustration: an exile peasant and his friends.] "the advantages of siberia are further shown by the fact that a great many exiles decline to return to european russia after their terms of service are ended. especially is this the case with those who are doing well financially, or have families with them, either from their old homes or by marriage in siberia. i talked with several intelligent poles, who said they did not intend returning to poland. 'we were drawn unwillingly into the acts that caused our banishment,' they said, 'and may suffer again in the same way if we go home; in siberia there are no disturbing influences around us, and we prefer to stay here.' on the other hand, the love of home is very strong with many exiles, and they take the first opportunity of leaving the country of their banishment." fred asked if they had the same system of serfdom in siberia before the emancipation as in european russia. "at the time of the emancipation," said mr. hegeman, "there was only one proprietor of serfs in all siberia; he was the grandson of a gentleman who received a grant of land, with serfs, from catherine ii. none of the family, with a single exception, ever attempted to exercise more than nominal authority, and that one was murdered in consequence of enforcing his full proprietary rights. [illustration: a siberian landscape.] "siberia was a land of freedom, so far as serfs were concerned. the system of serfdom never had any foothold there. the siberians say that the superior prosperity enjoyed by the peasants of their part of russia had a great deal to do with the emancipation measures of alexander ii. the siberian peasants were noticeably better fed, clothed, and educated than the corresponding class in european russia, and the absence of masters gave them an air of independence. distinctions were much less marked among the people, and in many instances the officials associated familiarly with men they would have hesitated to recognize on the other side of the ural mountains." "it sounds odd enough to talk about siberia as a land of freedom," said fred, "when we've always been accustomed to associate the name of the country with imprisonment." just then the steamer stopped at one of its regular landings; and as she was to be there for an hour or more, the party took a stroll on shore. there were only two or three houses at the landing-place, the town which it supplied lying a little back from the river, upon ground higher than the bank. it happened to be a holiday, and there was quite a group at the landing-place. the peasants were in their best clothes, and several games were in progress. frank and fred hardly knew which way to turn, as there were several things they wished to see all at once. [illustration: girls playing at skakiet.] some girls were in a circle, with their hands joined; they were singing songs which had a good deal of melody, and the whole performance reminded the youths of the "round-a-ring-a-rosy" game of their native land. close by this group were two girls playing a game which was called _skakiet_ in russian. they had a board balanced on its centre, and a girl stood on each end of the board. the maidens jumped alternately into the air, and the descent of one caused her companion to go higher each time. mr. hegeman said it was a favorite amusement in the russian villages. it required a little practice, as the successful performer must maintain a perfectly upright position. two girls who are skilled at the game will sometimes keep up this motion for fifteen or twenty minutes without apparent fatigue. among the men there were wrestling-matches, which were conducted with a good deal of vigor. frank observed that some of the wrestlers received very ugly falls, but did not seem to mind them in the least. the russian peasantry are capable of rough handling. they are accustomed to it all their lives, and not at all disturbed by anything of an ordinary character. they resemble the lower classes of the english populace more than any other people. the women are more refined than the men in their amusements. singing and dancing are very popular among them, and they have quite a variety of dances. a favorite dance is in couples, where they spin round and round, until one of the pair drops or sits down from sheer fatigue. [illustration: a village festival.] as our friends strolled near the river-bank they came upon a group of women engaged in one of these dances. three or four of the by-standers were singing, and thus supplied the music; two women stood facing each other in the centre of the group, each with her hands resting on her hips. one of the singers raised her hands, and at this signal the whirling began. when this couple was tired out another came forward, and so the dance was kept up. fred thought the dress of the dancers was not particularly graceful, as each woman wore stout boots instead of shoes. they had already observed that the old-fashioned boot is not by any means confined to the sterner sex among the russian peasantry. some of the women wore flowers in their hair, but the majority of the heads were covered with handkerchiefs. doctor bronson explained to the youths that a woman may wear her hair loosely while she is unmarried, but when she becomes a wife she wraps it in a kerchief, or encloses it in a net. naturally this explanation by the doctor led to a question about marriage customs in russia. "courtship in russia is not like the same business in america," remarked the doctor, in reply to the query. "a good deal of it has to be done by proxy." "how is that?" "when a young fellow wishes to take a wife, he looks around among the young women of his village and selects the one that best pleases him. then he sends a messenger--his mother, or some other woman of middle age--to the parents of the girl, with authority to begin negotiations. if they can agree upon the terms of the proposed marriage, the amount of dowry the bride is to receive, and other matters bearing on the subject, the swain receives a favorable report. sometimes the parents of the girl are opposed to the match, and will not listen to any proposals; in such case the affair ends at once, the girl herself having nothing to say in the matter. quite likely she may never know anything about it. "the whole business is arranged between the elders who have it in charge. the custom seems to be largely oriental in its character, though partaking somewhat of the marriage ways of france and other european countries. "supposing the negotiations to have resulted favorably, the young man is notified when he can begin his visits to the house of his beloved. he dresses in his best clothes (very much as an american youth would do under similar circumstances), and calls at the appointed time. he carries a present of some kind--and the long-established custom requires that he must never make a call during his courtship without bringing a present. one of the gifts must be a shawl." "in that case," said fred, "the young men are probably favorable to short courtships, while the girls would be in no hurry. if every visit must bring a present, a long courtship would heap up a fine lot of gifts." "that is quite true," doctor bronson replied, "and instances have been known where the match was broken off after the patience and pocket of the suitor were exhausted. but he has a right to demand a return of his presents in such an event." "and, as has happened in similar cases in america," frank retorted, "he does not always get them." "quite true," said the doctor, with a smile; "but the family playing such a trick would not find other suitors very speedily. human nature is the same in all countries, and even the young man in love is shy of being defrauded. [illustration: russian peasant women.] "but we will suppose everything has gone favorably," the doctor continued, "and the suitor has been accepted. as a matter of fact, russian courtships are short, only a month or two, and possibly for the reason you suggested. a day is fixed for the betrothal, and the ceremony takes place in the presence of the families of both the parties to the engagement. the betrothal is virtually a marriage ceremony, as it binds the two so firmly together that only the most serious reasons can separate them. the betrothal ceremony is at the house of the bride's parents, and is followed in due course by the wedding, which takes place in church. "custom requires that the bride shall supply a certain quantity of linen and other household property, while the husband provides the dwelling and certain specified articles of furniture. between them they should be able to set up house-keeping immediately, but there are probably many cases where they cannot do so. among well-to-do people the bride provides a dozen shirts, a dressing-gown, and a pair of slippers for her husband; she is supposed to spin the flax, weave it into cloth, and make the shirts; but, as a matter of fact, she buys the material, and very often gets the garments ready-made. "for a day or two before the wedding, all the dowry of the bride is exhibited in a room set apart for the purpose; a priest blesses it with holy water, and friends call to gaze upon the matrimonial trophies. among the middle and upper classes the bridegroom gives a dinner to his bachelor friends, as in some other countries, the evening before the wedding; the bride on the same evening assembles her companions, who join in singing farewell to her. the bridegroom sends them a liberal supply of candy, cakes, bonbons, and the like, and they indulge in quite a festivity. "among the peasants the companions of the bride accompany her to the bath on the evening before the wedding, and both going and returning she is expected to weep bitterly and loudly. an english lady tells how she heard a russian girl, who was about to be married, giving vent to the wildest grief, while her companions were trying to cheer her by singing. the lady felt very sorry for the poor maiden, and rejoiced when she passed out of hearing. "a little later in the evening the lady went with a friend to call at the bride's cottage, and entered quite unannounced. the bride was supping heartily, her face full of expressions of joy; the englishwoman was startled and still more surprised when the girl asked, "'didn't i do it well?' "it then came out that the weeping was all a farce, though there may be cases where it is not so. [illustration: making calls after a wedding.] "on the day of the wedding the bride and groom do not see each other until they meet in church. after the ceremony the whole party goes to the house of the bride's parents, where a reception is held in honor of the event. when it is over, the young couple go to their own home, if they have one; the next morning all the parents and relatives go and take coffee with the newly married; then there are dinner-parties at the houses of both pairs of parents; other parties and dinners follow, and sometimes the feasting is kept up for a week or more. it is a trying ordeal for all concerned, and there is general rejoicing when the festivities are over. "among the peasantry it is the custom, at least in some parts of russia, for the bride to present a whip to her husband the day after the wedding. this whip is hung at the head of the bed, and, if report is true, it is not unfrequently used." "i remember seeing a whip hanging at the head of the bed in some of the houses we have visited," said fred, "and wondered what it was there for." "the curious thing about the matter is," the doctor continued, "that a good many wives expect the whip to be used. the same lady i just referred to says that one of her nurse-maids left her to be married. a short time after the marriage she went to the _nachalnik_, or justice of the peace, of her village, and complained that her husband did not love her. the nachalnik asked how she knew it, and the young wife replied, "'because he has not whipped me once since we were married!' [illustration: ceremony after a peasant's wedding.] "among the peasantry the married couple goes to the house of the owner of the estate to receive his blessing. he comes to the door and welcomes them as they bow in front of him till their foreheads nearly touch the ground." the steamer's whistle recalled the party, and in a little while they were again on their voyage. mr. hegeman resumed the story of his ride through siberia as soon as all were seated in their accustomed places. "i think we were at nertchinsk," said he, "when we turned aside to the mines where the exiles were formerly employed." "yes," replied fred; "you had just arrived at the house of the friend of your companion, and accepted an invitation to remain for dinner." "that was it, exactly," responded the traveller. "we had an excellent dinner, and soon after it was over we continued on our journey. we sent back the tarantasse which we had hired from the station-master, and obtained a larger and better one from our host. "two nights and the intervening day brought us, without any incident worth remembering, to chetah, the capital of the province of the trans-baikal. it is a town of four or five thousand inhabitants, and stands on the ingodah river, a tributary of the shilka. below this point the river is navigable for boats and rafts, and it was here that general mouravieff organized the expedition for the conquest of the amoor. a considerable garrison is kept here, and the town has an important place in the history of siberian exile. many of the houses are large and well built. the officers of the garrison have a club, and ordinarily the society includes a good many ladies from european russia. "i stopped two or three days at chetah, and my courier friend continued his journey. finding a young officer who was going to kiachta, on the frontier of mongolia, i arranged to accompany him, and one evening we started. i think i have before told you that a siberian journey nearly always begins in the evening, and is continued day and night till its close. the day is passed in making calls, and usually winds up with a dinner at somebody's house. after dinner, and generally pretty late in the evening, the last call is made, the last farewells are spoken, and you bundle into your vehicle and are off. [illustration: the mountains near chetah.] "from chetah the road steadily climbed the hills, and my companion said we would soon be over the ridge of the yablonnoi mountains, and in the basin of the arctic ocean. from the eastern slope of the mountains the rivers flow through the amoor to the pacific ocean; from the western slope they run into lake baikal, and thence through the outlet of that lake to the great frozen sea that surrounds the pole. the cold rapidly increased, and when we crossed the ridge it seemed that the thermometer went ten degrees lower in almost as many minutes. "the country through which we passed was flat or slightly undulating, with occasional stretches of hills of no great height. there are few russian villages, the principal inhabitants being bouriats, a people of mongol origin, who are said to have been conquered by the hordes of genghis khan five hundred years ago. they made considerable resistance to the russians when the latter came to occupy the country, but ever since their subjugation they have been entirely peaceful. [illustration: a bouriat village.] "some of the bouriats live in houses like those of the russians, but the most of them cling to the _yourt_ or _kibitka_, which is the peculiar habitation of the nomad tribes of central asia. even when settled in villages they prefer the yourt to the house, though the latter is far more comfortable than the former. "we changed horses in a bouriat village, where a single russian lived and filled the office of station-master, justice of the peace, governor, secretary, and garrison. i took the opportunity of visiting a yourt, which proved to be a circular tent about eighteen feet in diameter, and rounded at the top like a dome. there was a frame of light trellis-work covered with thick felt made from horse-hair; at the highest point of the dome the yourt has an open space which allows the smoke to pass out, at least in theory. a small fire is kept burning in the middle of the floor during the day, and covered up at night; the door is made of a piece of felt of double or treble thickness, and hanging like a curtain over the entrance. "i had not been two minutes inside the yourt before my eyes began to smart severely, and i wanted to get into the open air. the pain was caused by the smoke, which was everywhere through the interior of the tent, but did not seem to inconvenience the bouriats in the least. i noticed, however, that nearly all their eyes were red, and apparently inflamed, and doubtless this condition was caused by the smoke. "a family of several persons finds plenty of space in one of these tents, as they can be very closely packed. the furniture is principally mats and skins, which are seats by day and beds by night. they have pots and kettles for cooking, a few jars and bottles for holding liquids, sacks for grain, half a dozen pieces of crockery, and little else. a wooden box contains the valuable clothing of the family, and this box, with two or three bags and bundles, forms the entire wardrobe accommodation. "my attention was drawn to a small altar on which were tiny cups containing oil, grain, and other offerings to the deities. the bouriats are buddhists, and have their lamas to give them the needed spiritual advice. the lamas are numerous, and frequently engage in the same callings as their followers. by the rules of their religion they are not permitted to kill anything, however small or insignificant. whenever a lama has a sheep to slaughter he gets everything ready, and then passes the knife to his secular neighbor. "the bouriats are not inclined to agriculture, but devote most of their energy to sheep-raising. they have large flocks, and sell considerable wool to the russians. their dress is a mixture of russian and chinese, the conveniences of each being adopted, and the inconveniences rejected. they decorate their waist-belts with steel or brass, shave the head, and wear the hair in a queue, but are not careful to keep it closely trimmed. with their trousers of chinese cut, and sheepskin coats of russian model, they presented an odd appearance. the women are not generally good-looking, but there is now and then a girl whose face is really beautiful. "we were called from the yourt with the announcement '_loshadi gotovey_' ("horses are ready"), and were soon dashing away from the village. our driver was a bouriat; he handled the reins with skill and the whip with vigor, and in every way was the equal of his russian competitor. for two or three hundred miles most of our drivers were bouriats, and certainly they deserve praise for their equestrian abilities. at many of our stopping-places the station-masters were the only russians, all the employés being bouriats." frank asked whether the bouriats had adopted any of the russian manners and customs, or if they still adhered to their mongol ways. [illustration: a wandering priest.] "they stick to their customs very tenaciously," was the reply, "and as for their religion, the russian priests have made no progress in converting them to the faith of the empire. two english missionaries lived for many years at selenginsk, which is in the centre of the bouriat country, and though they labored earnestly they never gained a single convert. "buddhism is of comparatively recent origin among these people. two hundred years ago they were _shamans_, or worshippers of good and evil spirits, principally the latter, and in this respect differed little from the wild tribes of the amoor and of northern siberia. about the end of the seventeenth century the bouriats sent a mission to lassa, the religious capital of thibet, and a stronghold of buddhism. the members of this mission were appointed lamas, and brought back the paraphernalia and ritual of the new faith; they announced it to the people, and in an astonishingly short time the whole tribe was converted, and has remained firm ever since. "we spent a day at verckne udinsk, which has a church nearly two hundred years old, and built with immensely thick walls to resist the earthquakes which are not uncommon there. in fact there was an earthquake shock while we were on the road, but the motion of the carriage prevented our feeling it. we only knew what had happened when we reached the station and found the master and his employés in a state of alarm. "the gostinna dvor contained a curious mixture of russians and bouriats in about equal numbers, but there was nothing remarkable in the goods offered for sale. an interesting building was the jail, which seemed unnecessarily large for the population of the place. a gentleman who knew my companion told us that the jail was rapidly filling up for winter. 'we have,' said he, 'a great number of what you call tramps in america; in summer they wander through the country, and live by begging and stealing, but in winter they come to the jails to be lodged and fed until warm weather comes again. after spending the cold season here they leave in the spring--as the trees do.' "he further told us there was then in the jail and awaiting trial a man who confessed to the murder of no less than seventeen people. he had been a robber, and when in danger of discovery had not hesitated to kill those whom he plundered. on one occasion he had killed four persons in a single family, leaving only a child too young to testify against him." fred wished to know if robberies were common in siberia. "less so than you might suppose," was the reply, "when there is such a proportion of criminals among the population. they are mostly committed in summer, as that is the season when the tramps are in motion. the principal victims are merchants, who often carry money in large amounts; officers are rarely attacked, as they usually have only the money needed for their travelling expenses, and are more likely than the merchants to be provided with fire-arms and skilled in their use. my companion and myself each had a revolver, and kept it where it could be conveniently seized in case of trouble. we never had any occasion to use our weapons, and i will say here that not once in all my journey through siberia was i molested by highwaymen. [illustration: crossing the selenga.] "when we left verckne udinsk we crossed the selenga, a river which rises in chinese tartary, and after a long and tortuous course falls into lake baikal, whence its waters reach the arctic ocean. there was no bridge, and we traversed the stream on a ferry. the river was full of floating ice, and the huge cakes ground very unpleasantly against the sides of the craft which bore ourselves and our tarantasse. the river was on the point of freezing; there was just a possibility that it would close while we were crossing, and keep us imprisoned until such time as the ice was thick enough to bear us safely. as this would involve a detention of several hours where the accommodations were wretched, the outlook was not at all pleasant. "all's well that ends well; we landed on a sand-bank on the other side, and after a little delay the boatmen succeeded in getting our carriage on shore without accident. about six miles from the river the road divided, one branch going to irkutsk and the other to kiachta, our destination. away we sped up the valley of the selenga. the road was not the best in the world, and we were shaken a good deal as the drivers urged their teams furiously. "on this road we met long trains of carts laden with tea. each cart has a load of from six to ten chests, according to the condition of the roads, and is drawn by a single horse. there is a driver to every four or five carts, and he has a bed on the top of one of his loads. the drivers were nearly always asleep, and their horses showed a good deal of intelligence in turning out whenever they heard the sound of our bells. if they did not turn out they received a reminder from the whip of our driver, who always had an extra stroke for the slumbering teamster." frank asked where these carts were going. "they were going to irkutsk," said mr. hegeman, "and from that city the most of the tea they carried was destined for european russia." "oh, now i remember," said frank; "doctor bronson told us about the tea importation from china, and how it all came overland down to , with the exception of one cargo annually." "many persons still prefer the tea brought by land, as the herb is thought to be injured by passing over salt-water, although packed in air-tight chests. at the time i speak of, not less than a million chests of tea were taken annually from kiachta to european russia, a distance of four thousand miles. to kiachta it came on the backs of camels from the tea districts of china, so that camels and horses in great number were employed in the transport of tea. "each chest is covered with rawhide, which protects it from rain and snow, and from the rough handling and shaking it receives. across siberia it is carried in carts in summer, and on sledges in winter. the horse-caravans travel sixteen hours out of every twenty-four, and the teams rarely go faster than a walk. the teams are the property of peasants, who make contracts for the work at a certain price per chest. "for the latter part of the way the road was hilly and sandy, and our progress was slow. about nine in the evening we reached kiachta; and as there is no hotel there, we went to the police-master to obtain lodgings." "not at the police-station, i hope," said fred. "not at all," mr. hegeman responded, with a slight laugh. "in many towns of siberia there is not sufficient travel to make hotel-keeping profitable, and consequently there are no hotels. by custom and law the inhabitants are required to receive travellers who may require accommodation, and all such lodging-places are registered with the police. for this reason we went to the police-master and received the name of the citizen who was to be honored with our company. [illustration: finding lodgings at kiachta.] "it was about ten o'clock when we reached the house, accompanied by two soldiers who brought the mandate of the office and showed us the way. everybody was in bed, and it required a good deal of knocking to rouse the servants and afterwards the master, who came to the door in his night-shirt. he stood shivering while our explanations were made, and did not seem to realize his ludicrous appearance until we were admitted to the mansion and our baggage was landed." frank inquired if it was often necessary in siberian towns to obtain lodgings in this way, and whether they were paid for? "it was only the lateness of the hour and the fact that neither of us had ever been in kiachta that compelled us to apply to the police-master. travellers are unfrequent in siberia, and the few strangers that go through the country are cordially welcomed. officers are entertained by their fellow-officers, and merchants by their fellow-merchants. lodgings obtained as we obtained ours are paid for exactly as they would be at a hotel. we were invited to move the next day, but were so well lodged that we chose to stay where we were. "the morning after our arrival we delivered our letters of introduction and made numerous calls, the latter including a visit to the _sargootchay_, or chinese governor of mai-mai-chin. which of you has read enough about the relations between china and russia to tell me about these two places--kiachta and mai-mai-chin?" frank was the first to speak, which he did as follows: "kiachta and mai-mai-chin were built in for the purposes of commerce--mai-mai-chin meaning in chinese 'place of trade.' the towns are about a hundred yards apart, one thoroughly russian and the other as thoroughly chinese. from to nearly all the trade between the two empires was conducted at this point, and the merchants who managed the business made great fortunes. women were forbidden to live in mai-mai-chin, and down to the present day the chinese merchants keep their families at urga, two or three hundred miles to the south. the same restriction was at first made upon the russian merchants at kiachta, but after a time the rule was relaxed and has never since been enforced. until quite recently, strangers were forbidden to stay over-night in kiachta, but were lodged at troitskosavsk, about two miles away." "i should say right here," remarked mr. hegeman, "that my friend and myself were really lodged in troitskosavsk and not in kiachta. the latter place had about a thousand inhabitants, and the former four or five thousand. at a distance only kiachta is mentioned, just as a man may say he lives in london or new york when his home is really in a suburb of one of those cities." "i have read somewhere," said fred, "that the russian and chinese governments stipulated in their treaty that the products and manufactures of each country should be exchanged for those of the other, and no money was to be used in their commercial transactions." "that was the stipulation," said doctor bronson, "but the merchants soon found a way to evade it." "how was that?" [illustration: chinese cash from mai-mai-chin.] "the balance of trade was greatly in favor of china, as the russians wanted great quantities of tea, while they did not produce or manufacture many things that the chinese could use. furs were the principal articles of russian production that the chinese would take, but their demand for them was not enough to meet the russian demand for tea. the treaty forbade the use of gold or silver coin under severe penalties, but somebody discovered that it did not prohibit articles of russian manufacture being made of those metals. so they used to melt gold and silver coin, and cast them into chinese idols which were sold by weight. the government prohibited the melting of its coin, and then the merchants bought their crude gold and silver directly from the miners. with this source of supply always at hand they were able to supply 'articles of russian manufacture' without difficulty. as late as every visitor to kiachta was searched, to make sure that he had no gold coin in his possession." [illustration: articles of russian manufacture.] chapter xviii. general aspects of mai-mai-chin.--dinner with a chinese governor.--a theatrical performance.--lake baikal: its remarkable features.--a wonderful ride.--irkutsk.--its population, size, and peculiarities.--social gayeties.--preparations for a long sleigh-ride.--list of garments.--varieties of sleighs.--farewell to irkutsk.--sleighing incidents.--food on the road.--siberian mails.--advantages of winter travelling.--sleighing on bare ground.--a snowless region.--krasnoyarsk. "you have been in china, i believe," said mr. hegeman, during the pause that followed the story of how the russian and chinese merchants circumvented the stipulations of the treaty. [illustration: scene in a chinese temple.] "oh yes," frank responded. "we were at peking, which is, i think, only eight hundred miles from kiachta. we went from peking to the great wall of china, so that we were less than seven hundred miles from the point where you called on the sargootchay. you can learn about our journey in 'the boy travellers in japan and china.'" "i shall read the book with great pleasure," was the reply, "now that i have met the youths whose travels are described in it. as you have seen the chinese at home, and know their manners and customs, i won't take your time by telling you what i saw in mai-mai-chin, which is just like any other chinese city in nearly every respect. "i may add that it is said to be the cleanest town in all china. it is only half a mile square, carefully laid out, and its streets are swept daily. only the merchants and their employés, with a small garrison of soldiers, are allowed to live there, and consequently there is no poor population such as you always find in the other cities of the empire." "that must be a great relief," fred remarked. "wherever we went in china we saw so much degradation and suffering that it destroyed a great deal of the pleasure of the journey." "i didn't see a beggar in mai-mai-chin," continued mr. hegeman, "nor anybody who looked like one. there were plenty of laborers employed in handling the tea and other merchandise, but they all appeared to be well cared for. outside the town there was quite a camp of mongolians with their camel-trains, which are employed in the transportation of goods across the great desert of gobi. "the sargootchay invited me to dinner, and i went there with the governor of kiachta and some of his officers. the sargootchay was polite, and we tried to talk, but had a good deal of difficulty in doing so on account of the numerous translations. "what i thought in my own language i said in french to one of my russian friends. he spoke in russian to his russian-mongol interpreter, who spoke in mongol to the mongol-chinese interpreter of the sargootchay. remarks and responses thus had to pass through four tongues to reach their destination. [illustration: theatre at mai-mai-chin.] "the dinner was probably like what you had at peking or canton, and so i will not take the time to describe it. after dinner we went to the theatre, where we sat under a canopy and witnessed a performance which included, among other things, a procession of fictitious wild beasts. that they were very fictitious was shown by the accident of the tiger's mask falling off and revealing the head of an astonished man. [illustration: the tiger.] "the thermometer was below the freezing-point, and as the theatre was in the open air, i was very glad that the performance was short. "from kiachta i returned to verckne udinsk, and then proceeded to irkutsk by way of lake baikal. this lake is said to be the largest body of fresh water in asia. it is four hundred miles long by about fifty broad, and is fourteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. the quantity of water flowing into it is said to be ten times as much as passes from it by its outlet, the angara river. what becomes of the other nine-tenths is a mystery that has puzzled many scientific men; none of them have been able to establish a theory which the others have not completely upset. "i crossed the lake in a steamboat, and during the voyage listened eagerly to the description of the winter passage which is made on the ice. i will give it as nearly as i can remember in the words of my informant, a gentleman who filled the position of superintendent of public instruction in eastern siberia: [illustration: a natural arch on lake baikal.] "'the lake does not freeze over until quite late in the autumn, and when it does the whole surface is congealed in a single night. in a few days the ice is from three to six feet thick, and perfectly transparent. the first time i crossed it was from the western to the eastern shore. the former is mountainous, while the latter is low and flat. as we began our ride the land on the other side was quite invisible, and it seemed to me very much like setting out in a sleigh for a voyage from queenstown to new york. when i leaned over and looked downward, it was like gazing into the depths of the ocean. it was not until i alighted and stood on the firm ice that i could dispel the illusion that we were gliding over the unfrozen surface of the lake, as the natives believe its guardian spirit walks upon the waters without sinking beneath them. "'at night every star was reflected as in a mirror, and i saw the heavens above me, beneath me, and all around. as the rising moon lighted up the faint horizon of ice and sky, i could half believe i had left the world behind me, and was moving away through the myriads of stars towards the centre of another solar system distinct from our own.' "the natives have many superstitions concerning the baikal," mr. hegeman continued. "in their language it is the 'holy sea,' and they consider it sacrilege to call it a lake. it is very deep, soundings of two thousand feet having been made without finding bottom. it is more like a sea than a lake in some of its peculiarities; gulls and other ocean birds fly over it, and it is the only body of fresh water on the globe where the seal abounds. there are banks of coral in some parts of it, in spite of the high northern latitude and the constant coldness of the water. the natives say that nobody is ever lost in the lake; any one drowned in its waters is thrown up on the shores." "it must be a long drive from one side of the lake to the other," one of the youths remarked. "it is, indeed," was the reply. "formerly they had a station on the ice in the middle of the lake, which was removed at the approach of spring. one season the ice broke up unexpectedly, and the entire station, with all its men and horses, was swallowed up. since that time no station has been kept there in winter, and the entire journey across, about fifty-five miles, is made without a change. the horses are carefully selected, and as the road is magnificent they go at great speed, stopping only two or three times for a rest of a few minutes. [illustration: caverns on lake baikal.] "the western shore is mountainous, and in places very picturesque. there are steep cliffs that come down to the water, and in some of these cliffs you find caverns and arches which recall the pictured shores of lake superior. earthquakes are not unfrequent, and many persons believe that the lake occupies the crater of an extinct volcano whose internal fires are determined to keep themselves in remembrance. a village on the shore of the lake was destroyed by one of the shocks. half of it was carried below the level of the water, and the other half thrown up to a considerable height above its former position. "so much for this remarkable lake. from the western shore to irkutsk (about forty miles) the road follows near the bank of the angara, which is very swift. the river does not freeze until after the lake has been covered with ice, and for two or three miles below the point where it emerges from the lake it never freezes even in the severest winters. there is a great rock in the stream at this point which is regarded with superstition by the aboriginal inhabitants. they perform religious ceremonies when passing it, and formerly it was a place of sacrifice. hundreds, if not thousands, of men, women, and children have been tossed from this rock to be drowned in the swift current flowing below it. "it had been my original plan to reach irkutsk on wheels, and remain there till the winter roads were formed, so that i could continue from that city in a sleigh. a snow-storm began an hour before i reached the city, and indicated that i had made a very good calculation; it cleared up soon after we passed the gate-way, and for several days thereafter the weather was delightful. my reception was most cordial; americans were rare visitors in the capital of eastern siberia, and i was the first that many of the people had ever seen." one of the youths remarked that he believed irkutsk was a city of considerable size and importance. [illustration: part of irkutsk.] "it is the largest city in siberia," said mr. hegeman, "and has a population of about thirty-five thousand. the governor-general of eastern siberia lives there. he has many officers attached to his staff. there are many wealthy citizens. the houses are large, well built, and furnished, and the style of living is liberal. "the winter opens with a long list of balls, parties, dinners, concerts, and other festivities, which are kept up until the coming of the lenten season. every family keeps open house through the winter, and it is customary to drop in whenever one chooses, and take tea at eight o'clock. there is no formality about the matter. one of the ladies of the house presides at the _samovar_, and the others of the party are scattered around the parlors wherever it is most convenient or agreeable to be. my recollections of irkutsk are of the most pleasant sort, and i greatly regret the place is so far away that one cannot easily revisit it. [illustration: view of the principal square in irkutsk.] "since i was there irkutsk has suffered by a fire that destroyed more than half the buildings, and caused a vast amount of distress. for a time it was thought the city would not be rebuilt, but i hear that it is being restored very rapidly, and in a few years will be more attractive than it was before the conflagration.[ ] [ ] the fire occurred on july th and th, . about thirty-six hundred buildings were destroyed, of which one hundred and more were of stone or brick, and the rest of wood. six russian churches were burned, and also two synagogues, one catholic and one lutheran church; five bazaars, the meat-market, museum, club-house, custom-house, and other public edifices were consumed. the loss was about fifteen millions of dollars, and many persons formerly in good circumstances were rendered penniless. the wealthy inhabitants who escaped loss or ruin gave liberally to relieve the general distress, and the government made substantial provision for the unemployed. [illustration: dressed for the road.] "when the winter roads were reported in a condition for travelling i began my preparations for leaving irkutsk on a sleigh-ride of thirty-six hundred miles. the thermometer went to twenty degrees below zero soon after the first fall of snow, and my russian friends told me to prepare for forty below. under their advice i employed a tailor who knew his business, and when his work was completed my room resembled a clothing store of modest proportions. here is what i bought: a sheepskin coat with the wool inside; the garment fell below my knees, was without a collar, and buttoned tight around the neck. it was intended for wearing outside my ordinary suit of clothing. outside of this was what the russians call a _dehar_; it was made of deer-skin, with the hair outward, and as i walked it swept the floor like a lady's ball-dress. the sleeves were six inches longer than my arms, and very inconvenient when i wished to pick up any small article; the collar was a foot wide, and when turned up and brought around in front completely concealed my head. then i had a fur cap, circular in shape and with lappets for covering the ears. a lady made, from a piece of sable-skin, a mitten for my nose. "for my foot-gear i discarded my leather boots. outside of my ordinary socks i had a pair of squirrel-skin socks with the fur inside, sheepskin stockings with the wool inside and reaching to the knee, and outside of these were deer-skin boots, with the hair outside, and reaching up nearly to the junction of my lower limbs. added to these garments for excluding cold was a robe of sheepskins with the wool on, and backed with heavy cloth. it was seven feet square, and something like a dozen skins were required for making it. at one end it was shaped into a sort of bag for receiving the feet." fred suggested that such a costume must be very inconvenient for walking, and it must be no easy matter to enter and leave a sleigh when thus wrapped for a cold night. "you are quite right," said mr. hegeman; "it is the work of a minute or more to turn over at night and change one's position, excepting, of course, when the sleigh turns over first." "did that happen often?" "fortunately not," was the reply, "but the few experiences of this kind that i had were quite sufficient. one night we were upset while going at full speed down a hill. i was asleep at the time, and without the least warning found myself in a mass of baggage, hay, furs, and snow. my first thought was that an earthquake had hit us, and it was several seconds before i realized what had happened. one of the horses broke loose and ran away; the driver mounted the other and went after the fugitive, and for half an hour my companion and myself were left alone with the sleigh and its contents. we kept ourselves busy trying to get things to rights, and as we had only the light of the stars to work by, we did not get along rapidly. "we found one of the shafts and also a fender broken; otherwise the vehicle had suffered no material damage. but i'm getting ahead of the story. "i arranged to leave irkutsk with some russian friends who were going to krasnoyarsk, the next provincial capital. after getting my furs, the next thing was to buy a sleigh, and again i took advice. [illustration: a vashok.] "there is a sleigh called a _vashok_, which is much like a small omnibus. it has doors at the side and is very capacious, but it has the disadvantage that you are completely enclosed in it, and can see nothing of the country you are passing through. a better vehicle is the _kibitka_, a sort of tarantasse on runners, and suggestive of the american chaise in the arrangement of its front. there is a hood which can be lowered and fastened to an apron rising from the wooden box, in which your feet are pushed when you enter the vehicle. by day you can see the country and enjoy the fresh air, and at night or in storms you close the hood and are very well protected from the weather. ladies and invalids prefer the vashok, while healthy men have a decided liking for the kibitka. [illustration: my kibitka.] "at the rear of the kibitka there is usually a frame of poles, covered with a net of half inch rope. it is a convenient receptacle for extra baggage, and also serves to break the force of horses running against the sleigh from behind. "the driver of the vashok sits on a seat much like that of an ordinary carriage, while on the kibitka he is seated on the boxed front, with his feet hanging over the side. the position is one that requires constant vigilance to prevent falling off. the driver of a vashok might possibly sleep a little without danger, but not so the driver of a kibitka. "my kibitka was made in european russia, and was said to have travelled six thousand miles before i owned it. in my possession it went thirty-six hundred miles, and was certainly good for several thousand more. in the whole ride it cost me about five dollars for repairs, principally to the shafts and fenders. i gave eighty roubles for the sleigh in irkutsk, and sold it at nijni novgorod for ten. [illustration: farewell to irkutsk.] "the day of my departure was spent in making farewell calls and getting the baggage in readiness. a russian gentleman was to accompany me in my sleigh; two ladies, mother and daughter, were to be in another; and two servants of the ladies, a man and a maid, were to be in a third. the ladies lived in irkutsk, and we were to dine at their house and start from it. at the appointed time we went there. "there was a gay party at the dinner, and when it was over the starting signal was given. all present seated themselves around the parlor, and a few moments were given to silent prayer, the travellers asking, and the others wishing for them, a safe journey. on rising, all who professed the religion of the eastern church made the sign of the cross before the _ikon_, or holy picture, and bowed towards it. every true russian scrupulously observes this ceremony before starting on a journey, whether by land or water. "the angara sweeps gracefully around two sides of irkutsk, and many of the houses are on the bank. there is a swinging ferry to connect the opposite shores; the boat is at the end of a strong cable, anchored nearly a mile up the stream, and it is swung across through the force of the current against its sides. starting for moscow it is necessary to cross the river, and i was told there would be some friends at the ferry to see me off. we had a good deal of seeing off, as nearly a dozen sleighs, filled with friends of my companions, were to accompany us to the first station. "when we reached the bank it was the close of the day; in fact, dusk was about coming on. the ferry-boat was coming from the other shore. i looked, and saw it was dressed in flags and chinese lanterns; i looked again, and there were american flags!--four american flags and one russian. it was the first time my national standard had ever been hoisted at irkutsk. "there was a lump in my throat and a film over my eyes as i raised my cap and tried to give three cheers. my voice proved to be husky, and the effort was not crowned with distinguished success. it was a surprise planned by several of my russian friends; when it was all over, i remembered how one of the ladies had asked me several days before how the american flag was made, and obtained from me a drawing showing the arrangement of stripes and stars. there wasn't an american flag in irkutsk, and they had caused these to be made for the occasion." "what a hospitable people they must be at irkutsk!" said frank. fred echoed the sentiment, and so did doctor bronson. the latter said it was only those who had been a long time from home who could appreciate the feeling that comes over a man when he sees his country's flag thus displayed. "after many expressions of good-will and good wishes for everybody, and hand-shakings without number, our sleighs were driven on the ferry-boat, and we swung across the angara. at the first station we made a merry party till a late hour; then the friends who came to see us off returned to irkutsk, while we travellers took to our sleighs and went comfortably to sleep, while our horses dashed gayly over the smooth road. "for the first fifty miles after leaving irkutsk the road follows the bank of the angara; at times we were close to the dark waters, and never far away from them. a dense fog, or frost-cloud, lay on the river; the night was cold, and the moisture congealed on everything where it could find a resting-place. in the morning every part of my sleigh save the running portion was white with hoar-frost. each little fibre projecting from the canvas and matting that formed the cover had been turned to a stalactite or a stalagmite, and the head of every nail and bolt resembled oxydized silver. horses were white without regard to their natural color, and even the garments of the drivers had come in for their share of the congelation. [illustration: work of the frost-king.] "many times afterwards i had occasion to remark the beauties of the work of the frost-king. houses and fences were cased in ice, its thickness varying with the condition of the weather. trees and bushes were covered with crystals, and in the morning sunlight they sparkled as though coated with diamonds. sometimes the trees resembled fountains caught and frozen when in full action. the pictured delineations of the frost had all the varieties of the kaleidoscope, but without its colors. "during the night i slept well, in spite of several severe thumps received from sleighs going in the other direction. russian sleighs are so built that two of them can run together with considerable force without serious consequences. look at the picture of a vashok and you will understand it. "the runners are about thirty inches apart, and generally shod with iron. on each side there is a fender, which consists of a stout pole fastened to the forward end of the runner, and extending downward and outward to the rear, where it is about two feet from the runner and held by strong braces. on a level surface it is just clear of the snow, but when the vehicle tips ever so little the fender sustains the weight and prevents an overturn. when two sleighs moving in opposite directions come together, the fenders slip against each other like a pair of fencing foils. "occasionally the shock of meeting is so severe that the fenders are broken. an accident of this kind happened one day to my kibitka, the fender on one side being completely torn off. at the next station i summoned a carpenter and had the missing fender restored and made stronger than it was before." frank asked how the traveller's baggage was carried in a siberian sleigh? "baggage is spread over the bottom of the sleigh," said mr. hegeman, in reply to the question. "wooden and other solid trunks must be discarded, and in their place the russians have what they call _chemidans_. the chemidan is made of soft leather, very broad and flat, and must not be filled with fragile articles. for ladies' bonnets and other crushable things there are chemidans which more resemble the packing-case of a framed picture than anything else; they fit easily into the bottom of a sleigh or tarantasse, and are strong enough to bear the weight of the traveller. baggage is spread over the bottom of the vehicle, and the chinks and crevices are filled with straw or hay to make as level a surface as possible. over this is spread a rug of sheepskins. there is no seat as in an ordinary vehicle, but you sit there very much as you would on the carpet in the corner of a room. each traveller has a corner of the sleigh, and wedges himself into a comfortable position by means of pillows; he may lie down, recline, or sit bolt upright as he chooses." "did you carry your provisions for the road, or could you rely upon the stations to furnish them?" fred inquired. [illustration: interior of a russian inn.] "we could rely upon the stations for the _samovar_ with hot water, and for bread and eggs," was the reply, "the same as in the tarantasse journey i have already described, but everything else that we wanted had to be carried along. we had our own tea and sugar, likewise our roast-beef, cabbage-soup, and _pilmania_." "what is pilmania?" "the best thing imaginable for this kind of travelling. it consists of a piece of cooked meat--beef or mutton--about the size of a grape, seasoned and wrapped in a thin covering of dough, and then rolled in flour. we had at starting nearly a bushel of these dough-covered meat-balls frozen solid and carried in a bag. when we reached a station where we wished to dine, sup, or breakfast, we ordered the _samovar_, and said we had pilmania, before getting out of the sleigh. a pot of water was immediately put on the fire and heated to the boiling-point; then a double handful of our pilmania was dropped into the pot, the water was brought to the boil again and kept simmering for a few minutes. the result was a rich meat-soup which delmonico could not surpass. "the bag containing the frozen pilmania seemed to be filled with walnuts. our cabbage-soup was in cakes like small bricks, and our roast-beef resembled red granite. we carved the beef with a hatchet, and then thawed out the slices while waiting for the _samovar_. we had partridges cooked and frozen. with all the articles i have named for dinner, what more could we wish, especially when we had appetites sharpened by travelling in the keen, pure air of siberia?" "wasn't there danger, while you were in the stations eating your meals, that things would be stolen from the sleigh?" was the next interrogatory by one of the youths. [illustration: mail-driver and guard.] "i had fears of that before starting," was the reply, "but my friends assured me that thefts from vehicles on the post-roads were very rare. there were always several employés of the station moving about, or engaged in harnessing or unharnessing the teams, so that outsiders had little chance to pilfer without being discovered. the native siberians have a good reputation for honesty, and the majority of those exiled for minor offences lead correct lives. according to my experience, the siberians are more honest than the inhabitants of european russia. after passing the ural mountains we always employed somebody to watch the sleigh while we were at meals in the station, which we did not do while in siberia. "the gentleman who rode with me was an officer in the russian service; he, like myself, carried a second-class paderojnia, but the ladies had only a third-class one. on the second day of our journey, just as we had finished dinner and our teams were ready to start, it was announced that the post with five vehicles was approaching. we donned our furs very quickly, while our servants gathered up our part of the dinner equipment. leaving enough money on the table to pay for what we had received from the station, we bundled into our vehicles and hastened away. there was no danger of our losing the two teams which had been secured on the second-class paderojnias, but we were not at all certain about the other. if there had not been sufficient horses at the station for the post, our third team would have been taken from us, and we might have waited for hours before obtaining horses. the best way of solving the problem was to be out of the way when it came up for solution. as the man said of a railway accident, 'presence of mind is good, but absence of body is better.' [illustration: distant view of a siberian village.] "we obtained excellent speed from the horses where the roads were good, as we gave a fee to the drivers at the end of their routes, proportioning it according to the character of their service. my sleigh generally took the lead, and we always promised a liberal gratuity for extra rate of progress. the regulations require that vehicles not on government service shall go at a pace of ten versts (six and two-third miles) an hour, provided the roads are in good condition. if a driver just came up to the regulations and no more, we gave him eight or ten copecks; if he was accommodating and energetic, we increased his gratuity accordingly. fifteen copecks was a liberal reward, twenty munificent, twenty-five princely, and thirty imperial. we went at breakneck pace where the roads permitted, and often where they did not. occasionally we stimulated the drivers to a race, and then our progress was exciting, as well as dangerous. "the post was carried twice a week each way, and we frequently encountered it. the bags contained merchandise in addition to letters and newspapers, as the government does a sort of express business through the post-office, to the great convenience of the public. this accounted for the large number of vehicles employed. travellers may purchase tickets and have their carriages accompany the post, but in so doing they are liable to a good many extortions. each convoy is accompanied by a postilion or guard, who is responsible for its security; he is usually a soldier, and must be armed to repel robbers. sometimes these postilions were so stuck around with pistols that they resembled travelling arsenals, and must have been very dangerous to themselves." frank asked how many horses were required for the service of the post at each station. "the rules require each station-master to keep ten troikas, or thirty horses, ready for use; many stations had forty or fifty horses each, and the villages could generally supply any reasonable demand after those in the station were exhausted. fourteen _yemshicks_ (drivers) are kept at every station; they are boarded by the smotretal, and receive about four dollars each a month, in addition to whatever gratuities they can pick up. when the post was expected they generally whispered that fact to our man-servant, so that we could get away as soon as possible. they preferred our service to that of the post, as we could be relied upon for gratuities, while none were obtainable from the inanimate bags of the government mail. "our good road lasted for two days and into the early hours of the third; then the snow became very thin, and at times we were dragged over bare ground for considerable distances. from very cold the weather turned to warm, and threatened to spoil our provisions as well as the roads. "winter is by far the best time for travelling in siberia, though at first thought one would suppose the summer preferable. in summer the weather is hot, there are clouds of dust when no rain falls, and long stretches of mud when it does; there are swarms and swarms of mosquitoes, flies, and all sorts of winged things that trouble traveller and horses to a terrible degree. there is one kind of fly that drives the horses into a frenzy, so that they sometimes break away from the carriages or become unmanageable. a russian gravely told me that this siberian horsefly could bite through an iron stove-pipe without hurting his teeth, but i'm inclined to doubt it. [illustration: soldiers in siberian ferry-boats.] "then, too, there are many streams to be crossed by fording or ferrying, and often there are long delays at the ferries. fresh provisions can only be carried for a day or two at most, and a traveller must load his vehicle with a liberal stock of canned goods or run the risk of a very hard time. the frost seals up the rivers, causes the mosquitoes, flies, dust, mud, and kindred annoyances to disappear, and preserves your provisions for an indefinite period, except when a 'thaw' comes on. if you ever make a journey through siberia, by all means make it in winter. "the last hundred miles of our ride, from irkutsk to krasnoyarsk, was made over more bare ground than snow. in some places we had five or six horses to each carriage, and even then our progress was slow. fortunately it became cold again, but the sky was cloudless; we longed for snow to cover the ground and improve the condition of the roads. "the last morning we took breakfast at a station fifty versts from krasnoyarsk, and learned that for the last thirty versts before reaching the city there was absolutely no snow. very curiously the snow extended up to the door of the station, and disappeared not more than a yard beyond it! looking one way there was bare ground; looking the other the road was good for sleighing. [illustration: view of krasnoyarsk from the opposite bank of the yenisei.] "over cakes and tea we arranged our programme, which resulted in the ladies leaving their vashok until their return to irkutsk, and riding into town on a telega. my sleigh and the other were unloaded, the baggage was piled into telegas, the sleighs were mounted on wagons which we hired from the peasants, and with very little trouble the whole difficulty was adjusted. altogether we were not at the station more than an hour, and at least half that time was taken for lunch." fred asked how it happened that there was good sleighing in one direction and hardly any snow in the other. "it is a climatic peculiarity," mr. hegeman explained, "and is not confined to that locality. you remember i mentioned chetah, the first provincial capital as you go west from the amoor river. at chetah very little snow falls in the winter, and sometimes for the entire year wheels must be used. krasnoyarsk is in the valley of the yenisei river, and they told me that very little snow falls within twenty miles of the town, and in some winters none at all. i must leave the scientific men to explain it. "i heard a story at krasnoyarsk of an englishman who was travelling alone through siberia a few winters before the time of my visit. finding no snow there on his arrival, he decided to wait until it fell, and the roads would be good enough for him to proceed. he waited days and days, but no snow. the days grew into weeks, and the weeks into months, but still no snow. he remained sullenly at the hotel or wandered about the streets; the hotel-keeper did not enlighten him, as he was a good customer, and the stranger did not seek counsel of any one else. he might have been there to this day had he not met in the hotel a fellow-countryman who was travelling eastward. the latter explained the climatic conditions of the place to his long-detained compatriot, and then the latter made arrangements for proceeding on his journey. "before i forget it," continued mr. hegeman, "let me say that the russians have several songs in which the delights of sleighing are described. here is one of them, which may possibly need the explanation that the duga is the yoke over the shaft-horse's neck, and valdai is the place where the most famous bells of russia are cast. you already know that a troika is a team of three horses harnessed abreast-- "'away, away, along the road, the fiery troika bounds; while 'neath the duga, sadly sweet, the valdai bell resounds. "'away, away, we leave the town, its roofs and spires, behind, the crystal snow-flakes dance around as o'er the steppe we wind. "'away, away, the glittering stars shine greeting from above; our hearts beat fast as on we glide, swift as the flying dove.' "i will tell you of a sleigh-ride in which there is less poetry than in the song i have quoted. "an english gentleman was stopping with some siberian friends, and one day it was proposed to take a ride in a sledge. the englishman had taken his seat and the driver was about mounting to his place, when the horses made a sudden start and dragged the reins from the driver's hands. [illustration: a dangerous ride.] "all that the englishman could do was to hold on, and this he did to the best of his ability. the horses made straight for a ravine two or three hundred feet deep; the unfortunate passenger and his friends thought he was going to certain death, but as they reached the edge of the ravine the horses whirled about and ran in the opposite direction. "the sledge in turning was swung over the abyss, and hung for an instant in the air; the team ran two or three miles before it was stopped by one of the horses stumbling among some logs. severely bruised and with his hand half crushed, the englishman got out of the sledge, and concluded he had had all the riding he desired for that day at least." chapter xix. position and character of krasnoyarsk.--a lesson in russian pronunciation.--market scene.--siberian trees.--the _oukhaba_.--a new sensation.--road-fever and its cause.--an exciting adventure with wolves.--how wolves are hunted.--from krasnoyarsk to tomsk.--steam navigation in siberia.--barnaool.--mines of the altai.--tigers and tiger stories.--the _bouran_.--across the baraba steppe.--tumen and ekaterineburg.--from europe to asia.--perm, kazan, and nijni novgorod.--end of the sleigh-ride. frank asked what was meant by the word krasnoyarsk: was it derived from a river, a mountain, or did it belong to an individual? "_krasnoe_," said mr. hegeman, "means 'red,' and krasnoyarsk gets its name from the red cliffs of the yenisei on which it stands. all around the town the soil is of a reddish hue, and so are the hills that form the horizon in every direction. the yenisei is a fine river, one of the largest in siberia, and where it passes krasnoyarsk it is fully half a mile wide. in summer there are two or three steamboats running to the arctic ocean from a point a little below krasnoyarsk; rapids and shoals prevent their coming up to the town. the tributaries of the river are rich in gold deposits, and many of the residents have grown wealthy by gold-mining. "krasnoyarsk has a population of about twelve thousand, and in a general way is a sort of pocket edition of irkutsk. it is the capital of the province of yeniseisk, and the centre of trade for a wide extent of country. markets, churches, and buildings in general are like those of irkutsk, and there is an appearance of prosperity throughout the place." fred asked how it happened that the names of nearly all the towns in siberia ended in "sk." they had been hearing about irkutsk, yeniseisk, selenginsk, and he didn't know how many others. dr. bronson came to the young man's relief as follows: "i think you learned in st. petersburg that the termination 'sk' is equivalent to 'of' in english?" "certainly," replied fred, "i learned that 'vitch' means 'son of.' paul ivanovitch, for example, being paul, son of ivan. i understand also that alexandrovsky was named after alexander, petrovski after peter, nicolayevsk after nicholas, and so on through the list of russian saints and emperors. but i've not heard of any distinguished personages with the names i've just quoted belonging to towns or cities." [illustration: beggar at a siberian station.] "these siberian names really assist the memory in a geographical way," the doctor answered, "as they tell us where the town is located. selenginsk is on the selenga river; irkutsk is on the irkut, where it empties into the angara; yeniseisk (province) is in the valley of the yenisei, and the town of that name is on the river's bank. in the same way omsk is on the om, tomsk on the tom, tobolsk on the tobol, irbitsk on the irbit, and kansk on the kan. the list could be extended to great length." "i must make a note of that," said fred, "as it will be of use to students of geography in the schools at home. but what hard words they are to pronounce!" "they are not as difficult as they seem at first sight," said the doctor. "the chief difficulty comes from our knowing they are russian, and expecting they will twist our tongues. three consonants together are terrible--in russian; in english they are easy enough." "i quite agree with you," said mr. hegeman. "after i went to america, on my return from siberia, many of my friends complained of the jaw-breaking names of the places i had visited, and declared they never could speak them. a lady of my acquaintance tried in vain to pronounce irkutsk; its three consonants, _t_, _s_, and _k_, were too much for her, but she had not the slightest difficulty in asking me about the fasts and feasts of the church. the _s_, _t_, and _s_ of 'fasts' and 'feasts' are consonants, and just as difficult of pronunciation as the others; but the one set is russian and the other 'english, you know.' "let me suggest an easy way of wrestling with the russian terminals _tsk_, _nsk_, _msk_, and the like: "if you're struggling with irkutsk take the word 'coot,' which is perfectly familiar to you. put an _s_ to it and make 'coots,' and then a _k_ to that and make 'cootsk' or 'kutsk.' with the prefix _er_ you have the capital of eastern siberia before you. "in the same way dispose of kansk by building up the word 'can' till you have reached the end. the other terminals which seem so difficult may be rendered perfectly innocuous to the organs of speech if kindly and intelligently treated. "to return to krasnoyarsk and its snowless district. "a description of the place, its buildings, markets, and other features would be nearly a repetition of that of irkutsk, but on a smaller scale. in the market i was particularly interested in the character and abundance of the fish offered for sale. among them were pike, sturgeon, perch, and others with which i was familiar, and there was one fish which closely resembled the smelt. another that i had never before seen had a bill resembling that of a duck and a long and thin body. all these fishes came from the yenisei or its tributaries; some of them dwell permanently in the river, and others ascend in the summer from the arctic ocean. "there is a fish called _omulli_ by the russians, and evidently a member of the trout family. it lives in the smaller streams of siberia, and furnishes a caviar that is greatly prized. the omulli's caviar is of a golden color, and quite in contrast with the black caviar made from the roe of the sturgeon. "the yenisei at krasnoyarsk has a swift current, and resembles the mississippi at st. louis, according to the descriptions they gave me. of course i could not verify the statement, as the river was frozen over at the time of my visit. the width and volume of the yenisei gave interest to a story which was told by one of the residents: [illustration: policeman at krasnoyarsk.] "one of the good citizens of krasnoyarsk had been attending a wedding on the other side of the river, and started for home rather late at night, with the intention of reaching the ferry about daylight. he was in a telega drawn by two horses; on the way from the wedding he fell asleep, and the horses took their own course. when they reached the river they were doubtless hungry, and impatient to return to their stable. the ferry-boat was on the other side, and the animals did not choose to wait. they plunged in and started across; the telega, being wholly of wood, had sufficient buoyancy to keep it afloat, but the occupant was awakened by the cold bath. though frightened half to death, he had the good sense to lie perfectly still and make the best of the situation; the hardy beasts took him safely over, but he never cared to repeat the adventure. the few individuals that saw him coming in the early daylight could hardly believe their eyes; and one, at least, thought it was neptune in his chariot ascending the waters of the yenisei." "another illustration of the excellence of the horses of siberia," said fred. "i long to travel in that country, and have the experience of riding behind them." frank asked mr. hegeman if there were any high mountains in the neighborhood of krasnoyarsk. [illustration: hills near a siberian river.] "there are not," was the reply, "only some low hills and rounded peaks that do not rise to the height and dignity of mountains. i believe most geographers are agreed on applying the term 'mountain' only to elevations of fifteen hundred feet and more, everything below that figure being called a hill. under this restriction there are no mountains on the road through siberia between lake baikal and the ural range. most of the country is flat and uninteresting; sometimes it is a perfectly level plain, and in other places it is undulating like a rolling prairie in kansas or nebraska. along the rivers it is broken by ranges of hills, but as soon as you go back from the rivers you come to the plain again. "hour after hour, and day after day, we rode over this monotonous country, the landscape, or rather snowscape, presenting very little to attract the eye. this feature of the country makes the siberian journey a dreary one, not unlike the journey from the missouri river to the rocky mountains before the days of the transcontinental railway." fred asked if this level part of siberia was treeless like many portions of our western country. "there is a vast amount of treeless land," said mr. hegeman, in response to the inquiry, "but it is not all of that sort. there are many forests of birch, pine, spruce, and larch. in some localities birch is the only wood for building purposes, in others larch, and in others pine or spruce. other siberian trees are willow, fir, poplar, elm, and maple. central and southern siberia are well wooded, but the farther we go towards the north the fewer trees do we find. the plains bordering the arctic ocean are treeless; the poplar disappears at ° north latitude, the birch at °, and the pine and larch at °." "i thought i had read about a species of cedar that grows over the plains to the far north," said the doctor, "and that it serves to make that region habitable by furnishing fuel for the natives." "i was about to mention the trailing cedar," said mr. hegeman. "the russians call it _kedrevnik_, and some of the native tribes regard it as a special gift of providence. it spreads on the ground like a vine, and has needles and cones similar to those of the cedar; the trunks are gnarled and twisted, very difficult to cut or split, but vastly preferable to no wood at all. thousands of miles of country are covered with the trailing cedar, and in winter it is found by digging in the snow. "on leaving krasnoyarsk," continued mr. hegeman, "i travelled with a gentleman who had been northward to the shores of the arctic ocean during the previous summer, he accompanying me in my sleigh, while his own was occupied by a servant and a goodly amount of baggage. for thirty miles there was no snow, and so we mounted our sleighs on wagons and sent them to the beginning of the snow road, while we followed in a telega a few hours after their departure. we overtook them just at the beginning of the snow road, and were glad enough to change from the telega. the vehicle had no springs, and we were shaken in it worse than if tossed in a blanket. the frozen ground was rough, and reminded me of a nutmeg-grater on a brobdingnagian scale. "we had started with the intention of overtaking the sleighs before sunset, but our slow progress over the rough roads had so delayed us that the evening was well advanced before our destination was reached. the transfer of baggage was made in the moonlight; one or two small articles disappeared in the operation, but whether stolen or accidentally lost we never knew. [illustration: jumping an "oukhaba."] "in irkutsk i had been told that a new sensation awaited me in the siberian _oukhaba_, and i found it on the first night's travelling after leaving krasnoyarsk. what do you suppose it was?" both the youths shook their heads and said they didn't know, while doctor bronson preserved a discreet silence. "the oukhaba of the siberian road," mr. hegeman explained, "is the equivalent of the 'hog-wallow' of the american one; the former is formed in the snow, and the latter in the bare ground. it is caused by the snow lying in drifts or ridges when it is blown by the wind, and also by the roads being worn with much travel. the road is a succession of ridges and hollows; the drivers go at full speed, without the slightest regard to the pitching and tossing of the sleigh, and the result is a severe trial of one's nerves. the motion causes a rush of blood to one's head, and develops what the russians call 'the road-fever.' "i did not escape the road-fever, and to this day i shudder when thinking of this part of my experience, the most disagreeable feature of the journey. my body was sore and stiff; at every jolt it seemed as though the top of my head would fly off; sleep was next to impossible; and when i did manage to slumber, my dreams were something frightful. my temper was spoiled, and a quarrel might have been created with anything and anybody without the least effort. the fever runs its course in two or three days, but may last longer; as long as the roads are bad the inexperienced traveller is liable to it. sometimes the sleigh made a clear jump of five or six feet, and the wonder was that the vehicle did not go to pieces and leave us hopelessly wrecked." fred asked if any wolves were seen in this part of the journey or elsewhere in siberia. "occasionally we saw wolves," was the reply, "but not often. there are plenty of wolves in siberia, but they have enough to live upon in the game that abounds everywhere, so that they are not likely to attack travellers. siberian and american wolves are much alike, but the former are said to be larger and fiercer than their american cousins. "i can tell you some wolf stories, but they do not belong to siberia. it is only in western russia and in poland that travellers are attacked by wolves, and then only in the severest winters, when game is very scarce and hunger has made the animals desperate." "please tell us one of those stories," said frank. "i have read accounts of men being chased by wolves, but have just now forgotten what they were." the request was echoed by fred, and mr. hegeman kindly gratified their wish. "to begin with," said he, "the horses are the object of attack and not the men in the vehicle; but of course when the horses are overpowered the wolves make no distinction and devour everything edible. when desperate they will venture to the farm-yards to kill sheep and cattle. their favorite article of food, other than wild game, is a pig, and the squealing of a pig is an appeal that no hungry wolf can resist. [illustration: wolves attacking a buffalo.] "advantage of this propensity is taken by those who go out to hunt the wolf for amusement. on a moonlight night two hunters go out with an open sledge drawn by two horses; they carry their guns, with plenty of ammunition, a pig tied by the feet, and a bag of hay, together with furs and robes to keep them warm. when they reach the middle of the forest where the wolves abound, the horses' heads are turned towards home, the bag of hay, fastened to a rope from twenty to forty feet long, is thrown out, and the pig's ear is pinched until the poor creature squeals in his loudest tones. if a wolf is within hearing he comes at once, and if there are other wolves they follow him and his example. the pig's ear is continually twisted; the squealing resounds through the forest, and when the wolves come in sight they mistake the bag of hay for the animal they seek. they rush for it, and as they come within range are shot down. the sleigh does not stop to pick up the game, but continues its course at a walk or slow trot, provided the driver can restrain the terror-stricken horses. the next day the dead wolves, if any, are gathered for the sake of their skins. "sometimes a dozen or more wolves will be killed in this way in a single night, but more frequently the hunters return empty-handed. sometimes the wolves come in great numbers, and with so much fierceness that the hunters are obliged to flee for their lives--not always successfully. "and now comes the wolf story i promised; it was told to me by a russian officer some years ago, and i will endeavor to give it as nearly as possible in his own words. imagine that he is talking to you as he talked to me: "'i was stopping for a part of the winter at the house of a fellow-officer near vilna, where he had a large estate. his name was selmanoff, and he was noted for his excellent horsemanship and his love for all kinds of hunting sport. "'the winter was one of the worst that had been known for a long while, and two or three times we heard of travellers through the forest having been pursued by wolves. of course this led to a wolf hunt, which selmanoff proposed and i heartily accepted. "we made our preparations, selecting a broad sledge open all around, and formed of wicker-work, so that it was light as well as strong. we carried two short, smooth-bore guns of large calibre--rifles are not desirable on these hunts, as it is impossible to take accurate aim from the moving sledge in the moonlight. the guns were breech-loaders, and the charge was a heavy one of buck-shot and ball. "we had two horses, young and powerful beasts, and the driver was one of the best on the estate. after dining heartily we started about sunset and drove some twenty miles or so into the middle of the forest, over a good road which had been trodden by the peasants carrying their produce to the market at the nearest town. our decoy pig lay quietly among the furs, and gave no sign of his presence save an occasional grunt of dissatisfaction at his uncomfortable position. [illustration: a siberian wolf.] "'at the spot where the hunt was to begin we turned about and threw out our bag of hay; then we twisted the pig's ear and he protested with a loud squeal. "'an answering howl came from the forest, and seemingly not a dozen yards away. another howl and another followed quickly, and then the air was full of them. "'in a minute or so a dark form was revealed on the snow behind us, and making straight for the hay-bag. selmanoff gave me the first fire, and i took it. the wolf fell at my shot just as he was within a few yards of the bag. [illustration: summer and winter in russia.] "'but another came, and then another, and in a few minutes there were a dozen or more in sight. we shot them as fast as they came within range, but the numbers did not diminish. the shooting and the howling of the wolves frightened the horses, and the driver had a difficult task to restrain them. "'as the wolves increased in number, we saw we were in danger; the extent of the pack was far beyond our expectation, and the long-continued hunger of the brutes had made them very fierce. the shooting of one after another did not seem to restrain their ardor in the least; those that were untouched by our shot dashed madly ahead, and showed a determination to appease their hunger at all hazards. "'selmanoff told the driver to increase the speed of the horses. he gave the order not a moment too soon. just as the horses were put to a gallop, several wolves sprang from the forest at our side, and if we had been going slowly they would have easily reached the sleigh. as it was, we passed within a few feet of them, and their howls of angry disappointment rang in our ears. "'we cut the rope that held the hay-bag; it detained our pursuers only a few moments, as they quickly discovered it was not what they wanted. "'on they came again. we loaded and fired as fast as we could; there was no occasion to take accurate aim, as the road behind us was fairly filled with wolves, and it was quite sufficient to point our guns at the dark mass revealed against the snow. "'we had made six or eight miles on our return, when an additional danger that threatened us was suggested by my friend. there was a sharp angle in the road a mile or so ahead of us, and, at the pace we were proceeding, the sledge would certainly be upset in going around the angle. as we approached the point of peril we ceased firing, laid our guns among the furs, ordered the speed of the horses to be slackened--no easy thing to accomplish--and then both of us hung out as far as possible on the inner side of the sledge, to keep it from going over. "'as we made the turn the sledge was poised for some distance on one of its runners, and if we had not taken all the precautions i have named, it would have gone over. from this point was a clear and comparatively straight run homeward of ten or twelve miles, and the horses were put to their best work. they had no need of urging, as they knew the danger that threatened as well as we did. "'one horse stumbled and fell; he was up in an instant, but not before the wolves had actually reached the sledge. one of them jumped directly at it, but as he did so i pressed the muzzle of my gun to his head and fired. another sprang upon the fallen horse as he was rising to his feet, but was shaken off before he obtained a good hold with his fangs. "'the servants of the chateau heard us coming at full speed and our rapid firing. they knew something was the matter, and as we neared the house they began shouting and waving lanterns. the wolves slackened their speed and gave up the chase, but not until we were within a hundred yards of safety. [illustration: village on a russian estate.] "'we dashed into the court-yard, the gates were closed, and then selmanoff and i, both fainting from exhaustion after our terrible ride, were assisted from the sledge and into the house. you may be sure that since then i have never wished to undertake a wolf-hunt of this sort.'" "an excellent story," said frank. "it is certainly better than those wherein people are obliged to draw lots to see who shall be sacrificed to the wolves in order that the others may escape." "i agree with you," said fred. "there's quite enough of the sensational in having everybody get away safely after an exciting run, instead of being eaten up by their pursuers. if only the wolves are killed it is all right, as they are enemies of the human race, and do no good to any one except to furnish skins for sleigh-robes, rugs, and other useful or ornamental things." it was agreed unanimously that the best known use for a wolf was to convert his skin into something of the kind described. when this decision had been reached, the conversation reverted to the sleigh-ride through siberia. "we left the road in pursuit of wolves, while travelling westward from krasnoyarsk," said mr. hegeman. "jumping oukhabas," suggested one of the youths. "yes, that was it exactly. well, we jumped oukhabas, rode over bare ground, were caught in a snow-storm, and had a tough time generally till we reached tomsk, the next provincial capital. it takes its name from the river tom on which it stands, and is a prosperous place with about twenty thousand inhabitants. "as at irkutsk, there are many wealthy merchants in the city, and also a fair number of citizens who have made fortunes by mining for gold. the houses are spacious and well-built, and there is a large 'gymnasium,' or high-school, for boys, and an 'institute,' or high-school, for girls. many private teachers find employment in rich families who prefer educating their children at home. tomsk may be regarded as the most important place in siberia next to irkutsk. "there is a line of water communication between tomsk and tumen, a thousand miles to the westward, but of course it is only available in summer. fifteen or twenty steamboats are engaged in the traffic; they descend the tom to the ob, and the ob to the irtish, which they ascend to the tobol. then they follow the tobol to the tura, and the tura to tumen. with barges in tow, the journey occupies twelve days; without them it is made in a week. travellers are so few that it does not pay to run boats for passengers alone, and all the boats in use when i was there were mainly for freight purposes, and had limited space for passengers. if you look at the map of siberia, you will see that it possesses an excellent system of water communication. [illustration: a slight mishap.] "the only navigation of the tom that i saw was by a native who had fallen through a hole in the ice and just crawled out. he stood dripping on the edge for a moment, as though uncertain what to do; then, evidently realizing his danger, he sprang on his sledge and rode away, to reach home before he was frozen solid. "at the suggestion of my companion we decided to go to barnaool, which lies about three hundred miles south of the main road, and is the centre of the russian mining region of the altai mountains. we remained a day at tomsk, in order to see the governor and obtain his permission to leave our route, which was readily granted. "we started in the evening, and forty-four hours later drove into barnaool and alighted at the hotel. an officer who left tomsk a few hours in advance of us, kindly notified the station-masters of our approach, and thus caused them to have horses in readiness. if he had not done so we should have been seriously delayed, as the regulations require only three troikas to be kept at the stations on the side road, while ten are maintained along the great route. for the last part of the way the drivers took us to houses of their friends instead of going to the post-stations. the peasants through siberia have a good many horses, and are glad to earn money in this way by transporting travellers. [illustration: summer view near barnaool.] "barnaool is a prosperous town, depending partly upon the gold-mining interest, and partly upon trade with the kirghese and other people of central asia. it has a club, a geographical society, a large and interesting museum, together with smelting-works, factories, and machine-shops connected with the mining interests. social conversation has a good deal to do with gold and silver and other precious things, and in summer many of the officials are absent at the mining establishments in the mountains. the society is similar to that of irkutsk, and fully as accomplished and hospitable. they told me i was the first american that had ever been in barnaool, and i was most heartily welcomed and made to feel at home. "one day a gentleman invited me to call at his house, and said his daughters were under the impression that americans were black. 'i will not undeceive them,' said he, 'and if they appear astonished when they see you, you will understand it.' "when i called at the house and was presented to the family, i was immediately surrounded by three or four little girls, and they looked with great curiosity at my face. finally one of them sidled up to her mother and said something, of which i caught the words, '_nee chorney_' ("not black")." after frank and fred had laughed over this little anecdote, their informant explained that the impression that americans were black was not confined to the family of this gentleman at the foot of the altai mountains. he said he had been told of it on several occasions, not only in siberia but in european russia; but it was almost always confined to the lower class of people, or to children who had received their information from servants. "i had an odd experience of this impression about our national color a few years ago," said doctor bronson. "it was in a small city of austria where strangers do not often penetrate, and our countrymen are not as well known as in vienna and paris. "i was making a purchase in a shop, and while chatting with the saleswoman she asked my nationality. i told her i was an american. she shook her head doubtingly, and said she thought i must be an englishman, as i 'didn't look like an american.' "'why don't i look like an american?' i asked. "'there was an american gentleman here a few months ago,' said she, 'and he was just as black as your hat.' "i didn't follow the topic further," said doctor bronson, "but concluded to let her have her own opinion about my national complexion." "one of the most interesting things i saw at barnaool," said mr. hegeman, resuming the subject of conversation, "was the government museum. i spent the greater part of a day there, and only had time to glance over the admirable collection. there is a mining department which contains models of all the machinery used in gold-mining, and in many instances the machines themselves. some of the machines are nearly a hundred years old, and almost identical with those in use to-day. there is a letter from the empress elizabeth, bearing her autograph, giving directions about the working of the mines in her time; it is kept in an ivory box on the table around which the mining board holds its sessions. the first discoveries of precious metals in the altai region were made by one of the demidoffs, who was sent there by peter the great. a monument in the public square of barnaool records his services and keeps his memory green. "there are models of mines similar to those in the mining school at st. petersburg, so that the student can see what kind of work is before him. they showed me a steam-engine which is said to have been made at barnaool in , for the purpose of blowing the furnaces; the director of the museum claimed that it was on the principle adopted by james watt in , and therefore, he argued, the credit of the improvement upon the old engine of newcomen should be given to siberia rather than to scotland. [illustration: attacked by a tiger.] "very interesting was the collection of natural history, which included the skins of two enormous tigers killed a few years before in one of the southern districts of western siberia. both these tigers had histories, and were supposed to be murderers; one of them fell after a long fight in which he killed one of his assailants and wounded two others. the other tiger had sprung upon a man who was riding one horse and leading another; the man escaped by leaving the led horse for the tiger to devour. he rode to the nearest village where he could obtain weapons and assistance, and then returned to the locality of the attack. carefully creeping through the tall grass, he found the tiger busy over his meal; every few moments he raised his head and paused to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps, but so cautiously did the hunter proceed that he was not heard. "he managed to get within ten yards of the ferocious beast, and then by a well-directed shot stretched him on the ground. the fame he obtained for his prowess, and the money from the sale of the skin to the museum, compensated him for the loss of the horse, but it must be remembered that he ran a great risk in searching for the tiger as he did. [illustration: bearcoots and wolves.] "there were in the museum some fine specimens (stuffed) of the bearcoot, an enormous eagle of the altai mountains. it is considerably larger than the american eagle, and strong enough to kill easily a deer or a wolf. the kirghese tame these eagles and employ them for hunting purposes, just as hawks were employed in england centuries ago. a bearcoot will swoop down upon a full-grown deer and kill him in a few minutes; a deer running at full speed can be overtaken by a bearcoot in a course of little more than a mile, when he has the advantage of fully a mile at the start. "sometimes when a pack of wolves has run down a deer and killed it, a pair of bearcoots will appear and take possession of the game. two bearcoots are a match for a dozen wolves, and the latter acknowledge their inferiority by getting out of the way immediately. "some experiments on the power of the bearcoot to resist poison were made at barnaool shortly before my visit. half a grain of curara (deadly poison from brazil) had no effect beyond increasing the bird's appetite. four grains of strychnine caused his feathers to tremble fifteen minutes after swallowing the stuff, and five hours later threw him into convulsions from which he recovered next day. a week later seven grains of curara had no effect upon him for two days; then he went into convulsions, which lasted several hours and ended with his death. [illustration: the steppe in summer.] "but we are staying too long at barnaool, and must go to the road again. from barnaool we went northward and westward to tumen over the great baraba steppe; it is but a steppe from one place to the other, but the distance is a thousand miles, and we were a week in making it. we were caught in a _bouran_, or storm, analagous to the texas norther or the _bora_ of trieste. the wind blew violently, the snow whirled in blinding masses; the road was so buried that several times we lost our way, and finally concluded it safest to wait at a station till the storm was over. happily we were not long delayed. "in summer these _bourans_ or _ouragans_ (a word which is probably of the same origin as _hurricane_) are sometimes so severe that they sweep dry the bed of a small river in a few minutes, and create large clouds of dust as they pass over the land. the one we encountered was from the south, and therefore warm. a northern _bouran_ in winter is something terrific, as the thermometer goes very low and the intense cold added to the wind is destructive to animal life. men and horses have been lost in these _bourans_, and i was cautioned not to venture to face them if i could avoid doing so. "many tartars live on the baraba steppe, but we saw few of them, as we changed horses at the houses of the russian peasants. there was formerly a very small population of russians on the steppe between tumen and tomsk; the governor-general of siberia persuaded catherine the great to give him all the conscripts of a levy instead of sending them to the army. he settled them with their families in villages along the route across the steppe, and the present population consists of the descendants of these people, together with exiles and voluntary emigrants of the present century. "grain is produced in abundance on the steppe. wheat, rye, and oats are often as low as ten or twenty cents a bushel, as there is no market for produce beyond what can be sold to travellers. a railway is one of the hopes of the future, and when it comes the steppe will be prosperous. a great deal of hemp and flax is raised there; i bought about sixty feet of half-inch rope for thirty cents at one station, and afterwards learned that i paid too much. our harness was constantly breaking, and every few days it was necessary to buy a quantity of rope for purposes of repair. a russian mujik will perform wonders of harness-mending if you give him plenty of rope. "i will not weary you with describing in detail the rest of the long sleigh-ride. through tumen we went without delay, and from that place to ekaterineburg we had no incident of consequence. at ekaterineburg we stopped a day, and passed several hours among the shops devoted to the sale of semi-precious stones, which are cut into all sorts of fantastic shapes. the town is as famous for these things as is cologne for the perfumed spirit that bears its name, naples for coral, or benares for brass-ware. more than a thousand workmen are engaged by private employers or by the government in this industry. the _granilnoi fabric_, or government lapidary establishment, was closed at the time of my visit, which happened during christmas week. i understand it has since been sold, and is now in private hands. [illustration: specimen of rock-crystal.] "itinerant dealers in the streets offer the cut crystals to strangers, and the waiters at the hotels have stocks of them for sale. the collections at the dealers are a bewildering array of amethyst, beryl, topaz, tourmaline, chalcedony, jasper, aquamarine, malachite, quartz, and other stones. there are seals, paper-weights, beads, vases, statuettes, brooches, buttons, charms, and an endless variety of ornamental things. "there were imitations of leaves, flowers, and grapes tastefully arranged together, and formed of differently colored stones; there were miniature caves and grottos in which the stones were artistically grouped; and there were busts of the emperor of russia and other high personages in the empire, together with busts of the reigning sovereigns of europe. learning that i was an american, the proprietor of one establishment showed me a half-finished bust of president lincoln cut in topaz and about six inches high. "we left ekaterineburg one evening, and about midnight passed the ridge of the ural mountains and entered european russia. the urals at this point are a succession of low hills covered with fir-trees, and as you look at the range from ekaterineburg you would not suspect you were in the neighborhood of mountains. north and south of this point the mountains become more steep, but they nowhere attain to great heights. all this part of the urals is rich in minerals; there are extensive mines of iron, copper, and gold, those of iron being of the greatest, and the gold-mines of the least importance. "a very large part of all the iron used in russia comes from the urals, and the same is the case with the copper. the copper-money of the empire is coined at the _moneta fabric_, or mint, at ekaterineburg, and from an immense foundery a few miles away comes the russian sheet-iron which is so popular in america for the manufacture of parlor stoves and stove-pipe. the urals contain the only mines where malachite is found in quantities of any consequence, and when you look at a piece of this beautiful oxide of copper you can be almost absolutely certain that it came from the neighborhood of ekaterineburg. a mass of malachite weighing more than four hundred tons was found there about the middle of the present century, the largest single piece ever discovered. [illustration: monument at the boundary.] "at the boundary between european and asiatic russia there is a stone monument with the word europe on one side and asia on the other. it is only seventeen hundred feet above the level of the sea, and was erected to commemorate the visit of the emperor alexander i. to his siberian dominions. i stepped from the sleigh and stood for a few moments with a foot in either continent, but though i made careful observation i could not discover any difference between the soil, climate, productions, manners, customs, or social conditions of the occident and orient of the old world. [illustration: western slope of the ural mountains.] "down the western slope of the urals we drove as fast as our horses could carry us, making brief halts to change horses at the stations, jumping oukhabas that threatened to shake us and our vehicles to pieces, repelling the advances of beggars that solicited us at every stopping-place, riding sometimes for many miles at a time between double rows of birch-trees which the government has planted to mark the roads and prevent the snow from drifting, and now and then coming temporarily to grief through the breaking of our harness. we found the stations more numerous and more commodious than in asiatic russia, the country more densely peopled, and as the days of fasting had given way to days of feasting, we found an abundance of provisions wherever we stopped. we carried now only our tea and sugar, as everything else was easy to procure. "we passed through perm at night and in a snow-storm, and my recollections of the place are consequently few. from kazan my road lay along the frozen surface of the volga to nijni novgorod, where the sleigh-ride was to terminate. "sometimes the sleigh was left on the ice of the river while the drivers went to the station on the bank to change horses, and sometimes it was driven up the sloping road and then down again. going up was all right, but descending was occasionally perilous. [illustration: descending a hill side road.] "the sleigh manifested a tendency to go faster than the horses; there was usually no protecting wall or rail at the outer edge of the slope, and more than once we narrowly escaped being pitched down a steep cliff of frozen earth to the solid ice fifty or a hundred feet below. at such times the way of safety lay in forcing the horses ahead, in the hope that they would overcome the sideling motion of the sleigh. as there was a chance that they might stumble, and throw horses, sleigh, passengers, baggage, and driver all in a heap, the alternative was nearly as bad as the preliminary danger. [illustration: baptizing through the ice.] "on the th of january we passed several places where baptizings through the ice were in progress. this is one of the days that the church consecrates to baptismal ceremonies, and throughout the empire many thousands of devout worshippers are plunged into the icy water. we did not stop to witness the ceremony, but caught a glimpse of a priest reading from a book, while another was holding by the hands a man whose head just rose above the surface of the water. as fast as the baptized ones emerged from the hole through the ice they ran rapidly to the village, a short distance away. "there at last are the domes of nijni novgorod, and there i say farewell to my sleigh. [illustration: end of the sleigh-ride.] "i have passed two hundred and nine stations, with as many changes of horses and drivers. more than seven hundred horses have been attached to my sleigh, and drawn me over a road of all degrees of goodness and badness. in forty days from irkutsk i have spent sixteen in the towns and villages on the way. i have slept twenty-six nights in my sleigh, with the thermometer varying all the way from ° above zero to ° below, and have passed through four severe storms and perhaps a dozen small ones. "including the detour to barnaool, my sleigh-ride was thirty-six hundred miles long. from stratensk around by kiachta to irkutsk i travelled about fourteen hundred miles in wheeled vehicles, so that altogether my land journey from the steamboat at stratensk to the railway at nijni covers a distance of five thousand miles. "and now," said mr. hegeman, in conclusion, "if you want to cross siberia you can do it more easily than when i made the journey. from perm, which you can reach by steamboat in summer, there is a railway to ekaterineburg, and it will shortly be finished to tumen, if it is not already.[ ] from tumen take a steamboat to tomsk, if you don't mind roughing it a little, and from tomsk your land journey need not be terrifying. you can easily make out the rest of the route by taking my own in reverse. whether you descend the amoor or cross the desert of gobi to peking, you will have enough of novelty to compensate you for the fatigue." [ ] since the above was written, the author has received a letter from m. nicolai ostrowski, director of the ural railway, which says, "since october , , perm and ekaterineburg have been united by the ural railway. since january , , trains have been running regularly between ekaterineburg and tumen. a line is under construction from samara to ufa, which will probably be extended to ekaterineburg or tcheliabinsk, to form a direct line in the direction of omsk, the capital of occidental siberia." the youths thanked mr. hegeman most heartily for the entertaining account he had given them of his journey through siberia. doctor bronson added his acknowledgment to that of the youths, and the thoughts of the party were again turned to what was occurring around them. chapter xx. down the volga again.--russian reception ceremony.--simbirsk, samara, and saratov.--german settlers on the volga.--don cossacks.--astrachan.--curious population.--voyage on the caspian sea.--the caspian petroleum region.--tank-steamers.--interesting facts and figures of the new petrolia.--present product of the baku oil-fields.--excursion to balakhani, and visit to the oil-wells.--temples of the fire-worshippers.--antiquity of the caspian petroleum region.--marco polo and other authorities. while our friends were listening to mr. hegeman's account of the journey through siberia, the boat was continuing steadily on her course down the volga. one of her passengers was a russian count on the way to his estate, from which he had been absent for nearly two years. he had notified his people of his coming, and when the steamer stopped at the village where he was to land, there was quite an assemblage ready to meet him. doctor bronson ascertained that they would remain at the landing an hour or more, as there was a considerable amount of freight to be put on shore. the party prepared to spend the time on land, and quite unexpectedly frank and fred were treated to a curious and interesting spectacle. it was the welcome of the count by his people, in accordance with russian custom. as he ascended the bank to the village, he was met by a procession of men, women, and children. it was headed by four venerable men with long, flowing beards, and dressed in the sheepskin coats with which we have been made familiar. one of the men in front carried a dish on which was a loaf of bread, and his comrade had another dish filled with salt. one man of the second couple carried a jug or pitcher of water. the doctor explained to the youths that the presentation of bread, salt, and water was a ceremonial of russian hospitality of very ancient date. [illustration: offering of the villagers.] the men bowed low as they approached the count; on his part he urged them to stand upright and regard him as their friend. they halted directly in front of him, and then the bearer of the bread spoke in dignified tones as follows: "we come, most noble master, to give the welcome of our village, and present you such food as we can offer, according to the ancient custom of our country." in a few kindly words the count thanked them for their hospitality, and wished that their lives would be prosperous and happy. then he cut a slice out of the loaf of bread and ate it, after dipping it in the salt. next he drank a glass of the water, pouring it from the pitcher with his own hands. when he had finished he again thanked the men for their hospitality, and asked them to give his good wishes to all the people. this ended the ceremony, and the count was then at liberty to enter the carriage that stood waiting, and ride to his house, some distance back from the river. doctor bronson explained that bread and salt have a prominent place in russian ceremonials, not only of welcome, but at weddings and on other occasions. the bread is invariably the rye or black bread of the country, and the guest to whom it is offered would show great rudeness if he declined to partake of it. a knife lies on the top of the loaf; the guest himself cuts the loaf, and must be careful to dip the slice in the salt before placing it in his mouth. in their descent of the volga, our friends passed a succession of villages on either bank, and occasionally a town or city of importance. the day after leaving kazan they stopped at simbirsk, the capital of the province of the same name, and the centre of a considerable trade. it is on the right bank of the river, and has a population of twenty-five or thirty thousand. about a hundred miles farther down the volga is samara, which generally resembles simbirsk, but is larger, and possesses a more extensive commerce. a railway extends from samara to orenburg, on the frontier of siberia. on the other side of the volga samara is connected with the railway system which has its centre at moscow. with railway and river to develop its commerce, it is not surprising that the place is prosperous, and has grown rapidly since the middle of the century. mr. hegeman told the youths that many swiss and germans were settled along this part of the volga, and he pointed out some of their villages as the boat steamed on her course. the government allows them perfect freedom in religious matters, and they have an excellent system of schools which they manage at their own expense and in their own way. in other respects they are under the laws of the empire, and their industry and enterprise have had a beneficial effect upon their muscovite neighbors. the first of these settlers came here more than a hundred years ago; their descendants speak both german and russian, and form quite an important part of the population. larger than simbirsk and samara rolled into one is saratov, about a hundred miles below the city we have just described. it contains nearly a hundred thousand inhabitants; its houses are well built and spacious, and its streets are unusually broad, even for russia. our friends took a carriage-ride through the city, visited several of its sixteen or eighteen churches, and passed an hour or more in one of the factories devoted to the manufacture of leather goods. frank and fred thought the churches were fully equal to those of any other russian city they had seen, with the exception of a few of the most celebrated, and they greatly regretted their inability to make a fuller inspection of the place. but they consoled themselves with the reflection that they had seen the principal cities of the empire, and the smaller ones could not offer many new and distinctive features. in the province of saratov they were on the border of the region of the don cossacks, and at some of the landings they had glimpses of this primitive people. their country did not seem to be well cultivated, and doctor bronson told the youths that the don cossacks were more noted for skill in horsemanship than for patient industry. they prefer the raising of cattle, sheep, and horses to the labor of the field, and though many of them have accumulated considerable wealth they have little inclination for luxurious living. [illustration: shoeing an ox.] an amusing scene at one of the landings was the cossack method of shoeing an ox. frank thus describes it: "the poor beast was flung upon his side and firmly held down by half a dozen men, while his legs were tied together in a bunch. then he was turned upon his back, so that his feet were uppermost, giving the blacksmith an excellent opportunity to perform his work. the blacksmith's 'helper' sat upon the animal's head to keep him from rising or struggling; the unhappy ox indicated his discomfort and alarm by a steady moaning, to which the operators gave not the least attention. [illustration: knife-whip.] "at a shop in one of the villages we bought some souvenirs. among them was a whip with a short handle and a braided lash, with a flat piece of leather at the end. the leather flap makes a great noise when brought down upon a horse's sides, but does not seem to hurt him much; crackers, like those on american and english whips, seem to be unknown here, at any rate we did not see any. "the handle of the whip is sometimes utilized as the sheath of a knife. the one we bought contained a knife with a long blade, and reminded us of the sword-canes of more civilized countries." "we stopped at tsaritsin," said fred, in his journal, "and had a short run on shore. at this point the volga is only forty miles from the river don, which empties into the sea of azof, and is navigable, in time of high water, about eight hundred miles from its mouth. there is a railway connecting the rivers, and also a canal; the latter is much longer than the railway, and was made by utilizing the channels of some little streams tributary to the rivers, and connecting them by a short cut. "the don is connected with the dneiper as well as with the volga; the three rivers form an important part of the great net-work of water communication with which russia is supplied. the dneiper enters the black sea at kherson, near odessa; next to the volga it is the largest river of european russia, and flows through a fertile country. it is about twelve hundred miles long, and its navigation was formerly much obstructed by rapids and other natural obstacles. many of these hinderances have been removed by the government, but the river has lost some of its commercial importance since the railways were established. "from tsaritsin to astrachan there is not much of interest, as the country is generally low and flat, and the towns and villages are few in number. much of the country bordering the river is a marsh, which is overflowed at the periods of the annual floods, and therefore is of little value except for the pasturage of cattle. "as we approached the mouth of the volga we found the river divided into many channels; in this respect it resembles the nile, the ganges, the mississippi, and other great watercourses of the globe. on one of these channels the city of astrachan is built. it is not on the mainland, but on an island. another channel passes not far from the one by which we came, and maintains a parallel course for a considerable distance. [illustration: armenian bishop of astrachan.] "astrachan is the most cosmopolitan city we have seen in russia, even more so than kazan. the character of its seventy or eighty thousand inhabitants may be understood when i tell you that it has thirty-seven greek churches, two roman catholic, two armenian, and one protestant, and is the seat of a greek archbishop and an armenian bishop. then it has an indian temple, fifteen mosques, and a chinese pagoda. it has a botanical garden, an ecclesiastical school, schools of all the grades peculiar to the large towns of russia, a naval academy, and i don't know how many other institutions. books are printed here in russian, tartar, and other languages, and as you walk through the bazaars your ears are greeted by nearly all the tongues of europe and asia. "to get at the cosmopolitan peculiarities of the city we were obliged to go through narrow and dirty streets, which somewhat marred the pleasure of our visit. in this respect astrachan is more oriental than russian; its history dates beyond the time of the russian occupation of the lower volga, and therefore we must expect it to have oriental features in preponderance. "in commercial matters astrachan is important, as it stands between europe and central asia, and exchanges their goods. great quantities of raw and embroidered silks, drugs, rhubarb, hides, sheepskins, tallow, and other asiatic products come here, and in return for them the russians dispose of cotton and other manufactures suited to the wants of their kirghese and turcoman subjects or neighbors. "we are told that there are more than a hundred manufacturing establishments in astrachan. vast quantities of salt are made here or in the immediate vicinity, and the fisheries of the volga and the caspian sea, which is only twenty miles away, are among the most important in the world. unfortunately the harbor is so much obstructed by sand that only vessels of light draught can reach it from the caspian. since the opening of the railway connecting the caspian with the black sea, much of the commerce which formerly came to astrachan is diverted to the new route. "we landed from the steamer and were taken to a hotel which promised very poorly, and fully sustained its promise. but any lodging was better than none at all, and as we were to remain only long enough to get away, it didn't much matter. we breakfasted on the steamer just before leaving it, and had no use for the hotel for several hours. [illustration: a tartar khan.] "in our sight-seeing we went to a tartar _khan_, or inn, a large building two stories high and built around a court-yard, in accordance with the tartar custom. the court-yard receives wagons and horses, while the rooms that front upon it are rented to merchants and others who desire them. the master of the place will supply food to those who expressly ask for it, and pay accordingly, but he is not expected to do so. "travellers pick up their food at the restaurants in the neighborhood, and either bring it to their quarters or devour it at the place of purchase. a corridor runs around each story of the khan, and the rooms open upon this corridor. [illustration: tartar postilions.] "under one of the stair-ways there is a room for the tartar postilions who care for the horses of travellers. with their round caps, loose garments, and long pipes they formed a picturesque group around a fire where one of their number was watching the boiling of a pot which probably contained their dinner. [illustration: tartar palaces in southern russia.] "in the last few years astrachan has developed quite an important trade in petroleum, in consequence of the working of the wells at baku, on the western shore of the caspian. steamers and sailing-vessels bring it here in immense quantities, and from astrachan it is shipped by the volga to all parts of russia, and also to germany and other countries. there are several machine-shops for the repair of steamships, steamboats, and barges engaged in the oil trade. the oil business of the caspian region is growing very rapidly, and promises to make a serious inroad upon the petroleum industry of the united states. [illustration: gypsy family at astrachan.] "there is a line of steamers on the caspian sea for the transport of petroleum; they are constructed with tanks in which the oil is carried in bulk, and their engines are run by petroleum instead of coal. their accommodations for passengers are limited, but as the voyage is made in a couple of days we were not particular, and took places on the first vessel that offered. "owing to the shallowness of the lower volga the oil-steamers, excepting some of the smaller ones, do not come to astrachan, but transfer their cargoes at 'diavet foot' (nine feet), which is so called from its depth of water. diavet foot is eighty miles from astrachan, and on a shoal which spreads out like a fan beyond the mouth of the volga. a small steamer having several barges in tow took us to the shoal, where we were transferred to the _koran_, a handsome steamer two hundred and fifty-two feet long and twenty-eight feet broad. there was a large fleet of river-boats, barges, and sea-steamers at diavet foot, and we watched with much interest the process of transferring kerosene from the tank-steamers which had brought it from baku to the barges for conveyance up the river." an english gentleman, who was connected with the petroleum works at baku, kindly gave the youths the following information: [illustration: an oil-steamer on the caspian sea.] "there are nearly a hundred steamers on the caspian engaged in the oil traffic. they are of iron or steel, average about two hundred and fifty feet in length by twenty-seven or twenty-eight in breadth, and carry from seven hundred to eight hundred tons (two hundred thousand to two hundred and fifty thousand gallons) of petroleum in their tanks. their engines are of one hundred and twenty horse-power, and make a speed of ten knots an hour; they use petroleum for fuel, and it is estimated that their running expenses are less than half what they would be if coal were burned instead of oil. the steamers were built in sweden or england, and brought through from st. petersburg by means of the canals connecting the volga with the neva. some of the largest steamers were cut in two for the passage of the canals, the sections being united at astrachan or baku. "the oil-steamers for river work are from sixty to one hundred and fifty feet long; they are fitted with tanks, like the sea-steamers, and are powerful enough for towing tank-barges in addition to the transport of their own loads. they run from diavet foot to tsaritsin, four hundred miles up the volga, the first point where there is railway connection to western europe. some of them proceed to kazan, nijni novgorod, and other points on the upper volga, and also through the canals to st. petersburg, but the greater part of them land their cargoes at tsaritsin. "when you get to baku you will see how rapidly the loading of the steamers is performed. when a steamer is ready for her cargo, an eight-inch pipe pours the kerosene into her tanks, and fills her in about four hours. then she starts for diavet foot, where the oil is pumped into the river steamers and barges; she fills her tanks with fresh water, partly in order to ballast her properly, and partly because water is very scarce at baku, and then starts on her return. five or six days make a round trip, including the loading and unloading at either end of the route. "at baku the water is pumped into reservoirs, to be used in the refineries or for irrigating the soil in the vicinity of the works, and then the steamer is ready for her load again. from tsaritsin the oil is carried in tank-cars similar to those you have in america. i can't say exactly how many tank-cars are in use, but think the number is not much below three thousand. twenty-five cars make an oil-train, and these oil-trains are in constant circulation all over the railways of russia and western europe." frank asked if the enterprise was conducted by the government or by individuals. "it is in the hands of private parties," said the gentleman, "who are generally organized into companies. the leading company was founded by two swedes, nobel brothers, who have spent most of their lives in russia, and are famous for their ingenuity and enterprise. the petroleum industry of baku was practically developed by them; they originated the idea of transporting the baku petroleum in bulk, and the first tank-steamer on the caspian was built by them in , according to the plans of the elder brother. [illustration: tanks at a storage depot.] "bear in mind that the volga is frozen for four months in the year, at the very time when kerosene is most in demand for light. nobel brothers arranged for a system of depots throughout russia and germany, where oil could be stored in summer for distribution in winter. the largest of these depots is at orel, and there are four other large depots at st. petersburg, moscow, warsaw, and saratov. "the depot at orel can receive eighteen million gallons, and the four other large depots about three million gallons each. the smaller depots, together with the depot at tsaritsin, make a total storage capacity of between fifty and sixty million gallons of petroleum available for use when the volga is frozen and traffic suspended. [illustration: view in an oil region.] "all this was done before the completion of the railway between the caspian and black seas. the line from batoum, on the black sea, by way of tiflis to baku, on the caspian, was opened in , and immediately about two hundred tank-cars were set to carrying oil to where it could be loaded into steamers for transportation to the ports of the mediterranean and to england. a pipe-line similar to what you have in america to connect your oil regions with the seaboard, will probably be established before long between baku and batoum; the oil will be pumped from baku to the crest of the pass through the caucasus mountains, and from there it will run by gravity like a mountain stream down to the shores of the black sea. there it can be loaded into tank-steamers, or placed in barrels for distribution wherever it can find a market. [illustration: bits for drilling wells.] "perhaps i may be building castles in the air," said the gentleman, "since i am not of your nationality, but i look upon the european market for american petroleum as doomed to destruction. the baku petroleum has driven your american product from russia, and is rapidly driving it from the markets of germany, france, and austria. we think it quite equal to your petroleum, and in some respects superior. american oilmen claim that theirs is by far the better article, and as each side can bring the opinions of scientists to prove the correctness of its claim, the question resolves itself into one of cheapness of production and transportation. for the market of europe and asia we think we have a great advantage in being nearer to it. it is as far from batoum to england as from new york, and therefore you may be able to supply great britain with petroleum, by reason of the cost of transportation. "two plans are under consideration for overcoming the disadvantages of the closing of the volga route by ice for one-third of the year. look on the map of russia and see the position of vladikavkaz at the foot of the caucasus mountains. the railway reaches that point, and it has been proposed to extend it to a connection with the batoum-baku line at tiflis, a distance of one hundred and ten miles. the line would be very costly, as it must run through the caucasus range; a longer but less expensive line would be from vladikavkaz to petrovsk, on the shore of the caspian sea, half way between baku and the mouth of the volga. it could be reached in a day by the tank-steamers from baku, and communication is open for the entire year. "since either of these lines would be useful for strategic purposes as well as for commerce, it is probable that one or both of them will be built within the next few years. they would be useful for the supply of russia and germany in the winter season, and render the enormous storage depots less necessary than they are at present. [illustration: a spouting well.] "the baku petroleum is utilized not only for making kerosene, but for the manufacture of lubricating oils and for liquid fuel for steam-ship, railway, and other purposes. the oil refuse is burned on the steamer, and railways; for the last two or three years it has been employed by the tsaritsin-griazi railway company in its locomotives, where it has completely taken the place of coal. it is the only fuel used by the trans-caucasian railway from baku to batoum and poti, and wherever it has been tried in competition with coal brought from great distances, it has been adopted. i wonder you don't make use of it in america." [illustration: derrick and tanks in the american oil region.] doctor bronson suggested that probably the reason why liquid fuel had not taken the place of coal in america, was in consequence of the relative prices of the two substances. "in russia," said he, "coal is dear; in america it is cheap, and our coal-fields are exhaustless. three hundred thousand tons of coal have been carried annually from england to the black sea; it retails there for ten or twelve dollars a ton, which would be an enormous price in america. now what will your petroleum fuel cost at batoum?" "the present price," said his informant, "is twenty-six english shillings (nearly seven dollars) a ton. weight for weight, it is cheaper than coal; one ton of it will make as much steam as two tons of coal, and thus you see there is an enormous saving in cost of fuel. then add the saving in wages of stokers, the additional space that can be given to cargo, and the gain in cleanliness, as the liquid fuel makes neither smoke nor cinders. "the russian government is making experiments at sebastopol with a view to adopting _astaki_, as petroleum refuse is called, as the fuel for its men-of-war. i predict that as fast as the furnaces can be changed you will see all steamers on the black sea burning the new substance instead of the old. come with me and see how the liquid fuel works." "he led the way to the engine-room of the steamer," said frank, in his journal, "and asked the engineer to show us how the machinery was propelled. "the process is exceedingly simple. small streams of petroleum are caught by jets of steam and turned into vapor; the vapor burns beneath the boilers and makes the steam, and that is all. the flow of steam and oil is regulated by means of stopcocks, and steam can be made rapidly or slowly as may be desired. "our friend told us that a fire of wood, cotton-waste, or some other combustible is used to get up steam at starting. this is done under a small boiler distinct from the main ones, and it supplies steam for the 'pulverizer,' as the petroleum furnace is called. "when steam is on the main boilers the small one is shut off and the fire beneath it is extinguished. even this preliminary fire is rendered unnecessary by a newly invented furnace in which a quantity of hydro-carbon gas is kept stored and in readiness. we were told that the action of the pulverizer is so simple that after the engineers have adjusted the flame at starting and put the machinery in operation, they do not give them any attention till the end of the voyage. one stoker, or fireman, is sufficient to watch all the furnaces of a ship and keep them properly supplied with astaki." a good many additional details were given which we have not space to present. the study of the petroleum question occupied the attention of the youths during the greater part of the voyage, and almost before realizing it they were entering the bay of baku, and making ready to go on shore. frank and fred were astonished at what they saw before them. baku is on a crescent-shaped bay, and for a distance of seven or eight miles along its shores there is a fringe of buildings on the land, and a fringe of shipping on the water. thirty or forty piers jut from the land into the bay; some of the piers were vacant, while others had each from three to half a dozen steamers receiving their cargoes or waiting their turns to be filled. not less than fifty steamers were in port, and there were several hundred sailing craft of various sizes and descriptions riding at anchor or tied up at the piers. it was a busy scene--the most active one that had greeted their eyes since leaving the fair at nijni novgorod. they landed at one of the piers, and were taken to a comfortable hotel facing the water, and not far away from it. the youths observed that the population was a cosmopolitan one, quite equal to that of the fair-grounds of nijni; russians, armenians, turcomans, kirghese, persians, greeks, all were there together with people of other races and tribes they were unable to classify. the streets were filled with carts and carriages in great number, and they found on inquiry that almost any kind of vehicle they desired could be had with little delay. doctor bronson and his young friends had visited the petroleum region of their own country, and very naturally desired to see its formidable rival. they learned that the wells were eight or ten miles from baku, and as it was late in the day when they arrived, their visit was postponed till the following morning. securing a competent guide they engaged a carriage, and early the next day left the hotel for the interesting excursion. we will quote frank's account of what they saw: [illustration: an oil refinery with tank cars.] "we found the road by no means the best in the world," said the youth, "as no effort is made to keep it in repair, and the track is through a desert. on our right as we left baku is the _chorney gorod_, or black town, which contains the refineries; it reminded us of pittsburg, with its many chimneys and the cloud of smoke that hung over it. then we crossed the track of the railway, and the lines of pipe that supply the refineries with oil. right and left of us all over the plain there are reservoirs and pools of petroleum; there are black spots which indicate petroleum springs, and white spots denoting the presence of salt lakes. by-and-by we see a whole forest of derricks, which tells us we are nearing balakhani, the centre of the oil-wells. [illustration: tartar camel-cart at baku.] "passing on our left the end of a salt lake five or six miles long, we enter the region covered by these derricks, and our guide takes us to the droojba well, which spouted a stream of petroleum three hundred feet high when it was opened. two million gallons of petroleum were thrown out daily for a fortnight or more from this one well, and two months after it was opened it delivered two hundred and fifty thousand gallons daily. our guide said it ruined its owners and drove them into bankruptcy! "you will wonder, as we did, how a discovery that ought to have made a fortune for its owners did exactly the reverse. we asked the guide, and he thus explained it: "'the droojba company had only land enough for a well, and none for reservoirs. the oil flowed upon the grounds of other people, and became their property. some of it was caught on waste ground that belonged to nobody, but the price had fallen so low that the company did not realize from it enough to pay the claims of those whose property was damaged by the débris that flowed from the well along with the petroleum. in this region considerable sand comes with the oil. the sandy product of the droojba well was very large, and did a great deal of damage. it covered buildings and derricks, impeded workings, filled the reservoirs of other companies or individuals, and made as much havoc generally as a heavy storm.' [illustration: ancient mound near the caspian sea.] "the process of boring a well is very much the same as in america, and does not merit a special description. the diameter of the bore is larger than in america; it varies from ten to fourteen inches, and some of the wells have a diameter of twenty inches. oil is found at a depth of from three hundred to eight hundred feet. every year the shallow wells are exhausted, and new borings are made to greater depths; they are nearly always successful, and therefore, though the petroleum field around balakhani is very large, the oil speculators show no disposition to go far from the original site. to do so would require a large outlay for pipe-lines, or other means of transporting the product, and as long as the old spot holds out they prefer to stick to it. [illustration: curious rock formations.] "our guide said there were about five hundred wells at balakhani; there are twenty-five thousand wells in america, but it is claimed that they do not yield as much oil in the aggregate as the wells in this region. "from the wells the oil is conducted into reservoirs, which are nothing more than pits dug in the earth, or natural depressions with banks of sand raised around them. here the sand in the oil is allowed to settle; when it has become clear enough for use the crude petroleum is pumped into iron tanks, and then into the pipe-lines that carry it to the refineries in chorney gorod. "some of the ponds of oil are large enough to be called lakes, and there are great numbers of them scattered over the ground of balakhani. the iron cisterns or tanks are of great size; the largest of them is said to have a capacity of two million gallons. "there is no hotel, not even a restaurant, at balakhani, and we should have gone hungry had it not been for the caution of the hotel-keeper, who advised us to take a luncheon with us. the ride and the exertion of walking among the wells gave us an appetite that an alderman would envy, and we thoroughly enjoyed the cold chicken, bread, and grapes which we ate in the carriage before starting back to the town. we reached the hotel without accident, though considerably shaken up by the rough road and the energetic driving of our tartar coachman." while frank was busy with his description, fred was looking up the history of the oil-wells of baku. here is what he wrote concerning them: [illustration: modern fire-worshippers--parsee lady and daughter.] "for twenty-five hundred years baku has been celebrated for its fire-springs, and for a thousand years it has supplied surrounding nations and people with its oil. from the time of zoroaster (about b.c.) it has been a place of pilgrimage for the guebres, or fire-worshippers, and they have kept their temples here through all the centuries down to the present day. at surukhani (about eight miles from baku and four or five from balakhani) there are some temples of very ancient date; they stand above the mouths of gas-wells, and for twenty centuries and more the fire-worshippers have maintained the sacred flame there without once allowing it to become extinct. on the site of baku itself there was for centuries a temple in which the sacred fire was maintained by priests of zoroaster until about a.d. . the emperor heraclius, in his war against the persians, extinguished the fires and destroyed the temple. "since the eighth century, and perhaps earlier, the oil has been an article of commerce in persia and other oriental countries. read what marco polo wrote about it in the thirteenth century: "'on the confines of georgine there is a fountain from which oil springs in great abundance, inasmuch as a hundred ship-loads might be taken from it at one time. this oil is not good to use with food, but 'tis good to burn, and is used also to anoint camels that have the mange. people come from vast distances to fetch it, for in all countries there is no other oil.' "it is probable that the good marco means camel-loads rather than ship-loads--at least that is the opinion of most students of the subject. the fire-temple of the guebres is a walled quadrangle, with an altar in the centre, where the fire is kept; the sides of the quadrangle contain cells where the priests and attendants live, and in former times there were frequently several thousands of pilgrims congregated there. we were told that the place would not repay a visit, and therefore we have not gone there, as we are somewhat pressed for time, and the journey is a fatiguing one. [illustration: a burning tank.] "for a considerable space around the temple there are deep fissures in the ground whence the gas steadily escapes. before the russians occupied the country there was an annual sacrifice by the fire-worshippers. a young man was thrown into one of the fissures, where he perished, though some writers assert that he leaped voluntarily, through the persuasion of the priests. "though famous through many centuries, and carried thousands of miles east and west for purposes of illumination, the oil of baku was never gathered in large quantities until the present century, and the exploitation of the oil-fields on a grand scale is an affair of the last twenty years. [illustration: a fall in oil.] "in it was estimated that the yield of the baku oil-wells was about four thousand tons of naphtha, of which the greater part was sent to persia. the annual production remained about the same until , when it was tons; in it was tons; in , , ; and in , , tons. down to that time the government held a monopoly of the oil-fields, and levied a royalty for operating them. in the monopoly was removed, and the lands were offered for sale or long lease. [illustration: a rise in oil.] "there was a rush of speculators to the oil fields, stimulated by the knowledge of what had been accomplished in america. sixty-four thousand tons were produced in , , in , , in , , in , , in , and over , , tons in . in the total quantity of raw petroleum pumped or received from the wells was , , poods, or nearly , , tons. twenty-seven million poods, or nearly , tons, were distilled at baku. the largest portion, two thirds at least, was sent off by sea to astrachan, and thence up the volga, to be forwarded by tank-cars for distribution to all parts of russia and to baltic ports, and thence to germany and england. about , , poods have been shipped by the trans-caucasian railway to batoum, on the black sea, going thence to the danube, to odessa, to marseilles, and some by the suez canal to india and china. every day large trains of tank-cars leave baku _via_ tiflis for batoum, and a pipe-line from baku to batoum may be looked for before long. "down to the oil was taken from pits which were dug like ordinary wells; boring began in that year on the american system, and the first bored well went into operation, the oil being pumped out by the ordinary pumping machinery. "the first flowing well, or _fontan_ (fountain), as it is called here, was struck in . in that year there were only seventeen bored wells in operation, but by the end of there were upward of fifty. the flowing wells cease to flow after a time, varying from a few weeks to several months; one well spouted forty thousand gallons of oil daily for more than two years, and afterwards yielded half that amount as a pumping well. the history of many wells of this region is like a chapter from the 'arabian nights.' "we are in the midst of oil, and shall be as long as we remain at baku. there are pools of oil in the streets; the air is filled with the smell of oil; the streets are sprinkled with oil, as it is cheaper and better than water; ships and steamers are black and greasy with oil, and even our food tastes of oil. everybody talks oil, and lives upon oil (figuratively, at least), and we long to think of something else." note to second edition.--since the first edition of this book was printed the following telegram has been received: "baku, october , . at tagieff's wells a fountain has commenced playing at the rate of thirty thousand poods of petroleum an hour. its height is two hundred and twenty-four feet. in spite of its being five versts from the town, the petroleum sand is pouring upon the buildings and streets." thirty thousand poods are equivalent to one hundred and twenty-five thousand gallons; multiplied by twenty-four it gives the unprecedented yield of three million gallons a day. estimating thirty gallons to the barrel, we have a well flowing one hundred thousand barrels of oil daily! this is something never dreamed of by the wildest petroleum speculator in america. a single well of the baku district is producing more oil than the aggregate of all the petroleum wells in the united states. plans for a pipe line from baku to batoum, with an annual capacity of one hundred and sixty million gallons, have been completed, and the work will be pushed as rapidly as possible. the successful operation of this pipe line can hardly fail to have a serious effect upon the petroleum industry of america. chapter xxi. a glance at central asia.--russian conquest in turkestan.--war and diplomacy among the kirghese tribes.--russian taxes and their collection.--turcoman and kirghese raids.--prisoners sold into slavery.--fortified villages and towers of refuge.--commerce in turkestan.--jealousy of foreigners.--travels of vÁmbÉry and others.--vÁmbÉry's narrow escape.--turcoman character.--payments for human heads.--marriage customs among the turcomans.--extent and population of central asia. when our friends had completed their study of the petrolia of europe they looked around for new worlds to conquer. being in russia, they followed russian tendencies, and turned their eyes in the direction of central asia. "wouldn't it be a splendid trip," said frank, "to go through central asia to india and the far east? how long would it take, and would it be very expensive?" "i'm afraid there would be too many difficulties in the way," replied the doctor, with a smile. "in the first place the russians are not inclined to allow men of other nationalities to see what they are doing in the disputed country between their possessions and those of the english. they would treat us very politely, but, in one way and another, would keep us from crossing afghanistan to the english lines. we should not be welcome visitors among the english in northern india. most of them regard americans as more friendly to russia than to england in whatever concerns central asia, and the english officials in the disputed country would not aid our movements." "what would be our facilities for travelling, supposing we met with no official opposition?" "starting from baku," replied the doctor, "we could cross the caspian to mikhailovsk in a steamer in from sixteen to eighteen hours. mikhailovsk is in what was once the turcoman country, but is now russian territory. it was permanently occupied in , and since that time russia has been extending her possessions until she is now at the borders of india, with only a narrow strip of territory between the english possessions and her own. [illustration: camp scene near the altai mountains.] "from the time of peter the great to the present," the doctor continued, "russia has been steadily pressing farther and farther into asia. if inclined to be a punster, i should say she has advanced steppe by steppe; the kirghese and turcoman steppes have been conquered one after another--sometimes by fighting, and sometimes by diplomacy, but more frequently by a skilful combination of both forms of conquest. the russians have a thorough knowledge of asiatic people, probably because they have so much asiatic blood in their own veins, and in their dealings with the savage or half-civilized natives of this vast country they manage things much better than the english do. "a large part of the kirghese country was won without actual fighting, though with military assistance. it was generally in this wise: "two tribes might be at war with each other, and russia, after some negotiation, would come to the aid of the weaker. the presence of a russian battalion of cavalry would be quite sufficient to frighten the stronger tribe into keeping the peace, as its chief would understand that resistance might cost him his dominions. having made matters quiet, the russian commander would propose to leave, and let the chief whose cause he had been espousing take care of himself. [illustration: a kalmuck priest.] "the chief would then see for the first time the uncomfortable situation he would be in with the retirement of his ally; the stronger tribe would assail him, and be all the more bitter against him on account of his alliance with the russians. he begged the russians to stay. after some hesitation they consented, provided the management of affairs was handed over to them. they generally received what they wanted, and then proceeded to conquer the other tribe and make themselves master over both. "sometimes the russians follow another policy; they establish themselves with the weaker tribe, make peace between the two factions, and then build a fort and coolly announce that they will remain permanently. the tribes find it useless to resist, and thus they become subject to russia." "don't the english accuse the russians of stirring up trouble among the kirghese and turcoman tribes, so as to have an excuse for interference?" one of the youths inquired. "i believe they do," the doctor answered. "the russians indignantly deny that such is the case; of course they would deny it, even if confronted with unquestionable proof. [illustration: scene on the edge of the kirghese steppe.] "they have sent a great many military expeditions into central asia in the last fifty years. for a long time their base of operations was at orenburg, on the frontier of siberia, but latterly it has been transferred to the shores of the caspian. orenburg is now far in the rear, and its chief use is as a military post, from which order is maintained among the kirghese. "some of the russian expeditions have turned out disastrously, but they have always followed a disaster by a triumph. in one expedition every man was killed, captured, or perished of starvation or thirst in the desert, but immediately another army was put in motion, and the russians more than recovered the prestige they had lost. the list of the battles fought in central asia is a long one, but longer still is the list of bloodless conquests made through russian diplomacy. "khanates, chieftaincies, and principalities have been absorbed by russia in her southward and eastward march over the steppes and along the valleys of the rivers. the cities of tashkend, samarcand, khiva, kokan, and bokhara, have passed from the flag of the intolerant moslem to that of the tolerant russian, and with the cities have gone the khanates and principalities of which they were the capitals." fred asked if the subjugation of these territories had been beneficial to their inhabitants or not. [illustration: kirghese group.] "in every way it has been a benefit to them, and none of those who are peaceably disposed would care to return to their old condition. the russian yoke is easy upon the necks of the inhabitants; the russians make no interference with the religion, laws, manners, and customs of the people, excepting where they are manifestly cruel or tyrannical; they allow the natives to do exactly as they like, protect them in the possession of their property, give them facilities of trade never before enjoyed, and in every way better their condition. "in place of the outrageous taxes formerly levied by the moslem authorities whenever the khan or his officials wanted money, the russians have a fixed annual tax which is never above the easy ability of the subject to pay; it is generally asserted that the taxes in asia are much lighter than those of european russia, to make sure that there shall be no discontent among the people. the russian government requires that every subject shall pay a tax, not so much for the value of the article received as an acknowledgment of subjection. "in the settled portions of russia the tax is payable in money, but in the wilder regions taxes are collected 'in kind.' on the shores of the arctic ocean and through all the northern part of siberia the _yessak_, or tax, is one fox-skin; in kamtchatka it was formerly one sable-skin, but since the increase in the price of the fur, one skin is received for every four inhabitants, who arrange the division among themselves. in some of the grain-growing parts of the empire the tax is paid in grain; on the amoor river it is paid in fish, and among the kirghese and turcomans it is paid in cattle, sheep, or horses, which constitute the circulating medium of the country. [illustration: kirghese chief and family.] "in return for this tax, and provided the new subject in central asia behaves himself, he has the protection of a powerful government. the russian government has its faults, but it is immeasurably superior to the old way in which these countries were ruled. "by the religion of the moslem might makes right, and this was the foundation of the governmental system of the kirghese and turcoman tribes, together with the khanates previously mentioned. robbery was a recognized means of making a living; not robbery by detail, as practised by highwaymen and burglars, but wholesale robbery in which entire tribes were concerned. many thousands of people lived by raiding, and the raid was as legitimate a way of acquiring property as selling goods in a shop and making a profit on them." [illustration: caravan in russian territory.] frank and fred made an exclamation of surprise as the doctor continued: "the kirghese who occupy the region immediately south of the altai mountains, and are still found on the southern confines of the baraba steppe, are broken into many independent tribes; they are nomadic in their habits, wandering from place to place in search of pasturage for their immense flocks and herds. in winter they frequent the valleys among the outlying hills of the altai mountains, and in summer descend upon the plains. many of the tribes live altogether on the plains, and their range covers many thousands of square miles. "quarrels were numerous among them, chiefly growing out of disputes about pasturage or water, and these are the quarrels in which the russians interfered, both in the interest of humanity and the spread of their power. frequently these disputes led to raids for purposes of plunder; quite as frequently one tribe would make a raid on another with which it was at peace for the sole object of robbery. "attacks were generally made at night, and if they were successful the robbers would drive off the flocks and herds of the tribe assailed. men, women, and children were taken to be sold into slavery in the markets of khiva and bokhara, or kept among their captors. these slaves were treated with the greatest cruelty; they were severely beaten for the slightest offence or failure to perform what had been ordered, were poorly fed, and often compelled to wear chains. they were generally maimed for life, by means of a horse-hair run through the heel, in order to prevent their escape from captivity. "all this business was brought to an end by the russians when they occupied the kirghese country. they compelled the tribes to live peacefully with each other, and if any dispute arose about water or pasturage it was referred to the russian commander of the district for adjustment. if one tribe made a raid on another it was compelled to give up the stolen property, and furthermore a heavy fine was levied upon the raiders--half going to the russian government and half to the injured tribe. the russians generally made the fine heavy enough to furnish a percentage for the officers who took the trouble to adjust the differences. "russian goods were introduced among these nomadic people, markets were opened, and every facility was offered for the increase of commerce. long caravans were constantly in motion between orenburg, sempolatinsk, and other points in russian territory, and khiva, bokhara, and samarcand, far to the east. they traversed the kirghese and turcoman country, and wherever they went they found a material difference in the matter of safety, whether the territory was under russian rule or remained independent. if the latter, the caravans were constantly liable to attack and plunder; if the former, they were invariably free from molestation. "the capture of bokhara, samarcand, and khiva reduced the slave-markets of the turcoman raiders, but by no means put an end to their plundering expeditions. the independent turcomans were estimated to be about a million in number, divided into several tribes, who sometimes warred upon each other, but constantly upon the persians and other peaceable people. in the wars between khiva and bokhara, samarcand and kokan, they took sides with those who would pay the most for their services. [illustration: kirghese raid on a hostile tribe.] "down to very recently the whole of northern persia was subject to turcoman raids, and agriculture was carried on under great difficulties.[ ] the raids were sometimes carried up to within a hundred miles of teheran, or about five hundred miles inside the persian boundary. they were organized months beforehand, and sometimes as many as five or six thousand men were engaged in a single enterprise. a raid was called a 'chapow' by the persians; in the turcoman language it was an 'alaman.' [ ] in an article in harper's magazine for march, , mr. william simpson, an english artist and journalist, who went to the afghan frontier with the boundary commission, says it is only within a couple of years that the raiding was brought to an end. he frankly credits russia with the suppression of the raiding system, and says she deserves the thanks of the civilized world. "a turcoman leader would announce his intention of making an alaman, but the route was always kept secret through fear of betrayal. the turcomans are splendid horsemen, and while organizing an expedition they put their steeds under a system of training to enable them to make long and swift marches whenever occasion required. when everything was ready the party started; it travelled slowly until it reached the persian frontier, and was often weeks on the way. "passing the frontier, the hard work of the campaign began. the region selected for the raid was reached as soon as possible; then the invading force was divided into small parties, and each had a particular village assigned to it. their movements were made so as to catch the people at work in the fields, and capture the cattle before they could be driven into a place of safety. not only the cattle, but all the men, women, and children that could be seized were taken. the old and useless were slaughtered without mercy; the young or able-bodied were carried off, to be sold into slavery. a wealthy persian was held for a heavy ransom, but a poor man had no chance of redemption. "the plundering was kept up as long as there was anything to steal, and then the expedition returned to its own territory. sometimes in a single raid as many as a hundred thousand horses, sheep, goats, and other animals were captured, and a thousand or more people were carried into slavery." frank asked if the persian government made no provision for the protection of its people. "very little," replied the doctor; "the persian troops were in the cities and large towns, which the turcomans never attacked, and as there was no telegraph through the country, the raiders almost invariably got to a safe distance before a pursuit could be started. very often the persian officials on the frontier connived at the raids, and the people were forced to rely upon themselves for protection." "in what way could they do anything against the robbers?" was the very natural query that followed this statement. "their villages are built of mud, and may be called forts," the doctor replied. "the walls are from twenty to thirty feet thick, and about forty in height; they form a quadrangle, or circle, where cattle can be driven at night, and there is only a single door-way, too low to permit the passage of a man on horseback. the raiders never stop to besiege a place; all their work is done by a sudden dash, and the turcoman would never think of dismounting to pass the low door-way. inside there is a stone door which may be closed to prevent ingress; it is thick and strong, and once inside of their mud village the people are safe. [illustration: lasgird--a fortified village in northern persia.] "here is a picture of one of these villages," said the doctor; "it is called lasgird, and is about a hundred miles east of the capital of persia. you will observe that there is a double tier of dwellings on the top of the circular wall; the enclosed space accommodates the cattle and other live-stock of the village, and is also utilized for the storage of grain. on the outside, near the top, there is a balcony made of projecting timbers covered with branches of trees; it has no outer railing, and must be a very unsafe place for a promenade. inside of such a retreat the people had nothing to fear, as the turcomans have no artillery and did not care to stay long enough to batter down the walls." fred remarked that it must be difficult for those at work in the fields at any distance to get to the village before they were overtaken by the raiders on their swift horses. [illustration: tower of refuge.] "so it is," was the reply, "and to further protect themselves they had towers of refuge in their fields, where they could run in case of danger. some of the towers had ladders on the outside which were drawn up as the turcomans approached, while others were entered by narrow door-ways similar to those of the villages. on the hills there were signal-towers where watchmen were stationed; when the dust of an approaching alaman was seen, the watchmen gave warning and the people fled for safety." "what a life to lead!" said one of the youths. "always apprehensive of danger, and never knowing when the murderous turcomans might come!" "it was much like the life of the early settlers of new england," said the doctor, "when the indians were liable to come at any moment, and the men carried their guns to church on sunday. the same condition of things has continued until quite recently on our western frontier, and still exists in a few places in texas and new mexico. but the difference is that in our country it never lasted for many years in any one place, while in persia the situation was the same for centuries. "these turcoman thieves hampered agriculture in the way i have described, and they also restricted commerce by plundering the caravans. merchants travelled with an armed escort and in large numbers. even this did not save them from attack, as a great caravan was unwieldy, and often the robbers would dart in and seize a few camels laden with merchandise while the escort was so far away in another part of the line that it could not rush to attack the marauders until they had finished their work and departed. and remember that for centuries trade has followed this dangerous route! "a curious thing about these raids is that the departure of a plundering expedition was always accompanied by religious ceremonies. the mollahs, or moslem priests, gave their blessing to the thieves, and prayed for allah's favor upon the enterprise. when the party returned laden with plunder, and driving slaves and stolen cattle in great number, the same priests offered prayers in thanks for allah's blessing, and a portion of the proceeds of the expedition was set apart for the cause of religion." [illustration: framework of turcoman tent.] "then they must be of a different religion from the persians," fred observed, "as they would not be likely to make war upon people of their own faith." [illustration: the tent covered.] "unfortunately for your theory, that was not the case," the doctor answered. "persians and turcomans are all moslems; they have different sects, just as have the adherents of the christian religion, but in a general way they may be said to be of the same faith. moslems make war upon each other with very little hesitation; the only thing in which they appear to be united is in their hatred of all other religions than their own." "i suppose they have not received travellers with any courtesy," said frank. "do they permit foreigners to visit their country and study its character?" [illustration: interior of tent.] "not at all," was the reply, "if they can prevent it, and they are not at all particular about the mode of prevention. of course, since the country was occupied by russia there has been a change in this respect, and under russian protection a stranger may travel there with comparative safety. "in former times most of the europeans who ventured into turkestan (the collective name for the countries of central asia) paid the penalty of their temerity with their lives. russians, englishmen, germans, and others perished, and not one explorer in ten returned to tell the story of his travels. two english ambassadors, colonel stoddart and captain conolly, ventured into bokhara about , and were murdered, the former after four years' imprisonment, and the latter after a twelvemonth. "stoddart was repeatedly tortured, and finally was promised his freedom if he would embrace the moslem religion. to save his life he consented, and went through the required ceremony; the emir of bokhara continued to torture him, and finally ordered the heads of both conolly and stoddart to be cut off in the public square of bokhara. "stoddart was executed first, and then the emir offered conolly his freedom if he would become a moslem. 'no,' said he, 'i prefer to die. stoddart became a moslem and you have killed him. go on with your work.' the emir nodded to the executioner, and the work of execution was completed. "wood, another englishman, who went to bokhara to ascertain what had become of stoddart and conolly, was imprisoned for some time, and narrowly escaped with his life. a more fortunate explorer was arminius vámbéry, a hungarian, who travelled through central asia disguised as a dervish from constantinople. at the very outset of his journey he was obliged to wait for three-quarters of a year in teheran before he could find the right kind of party to travel with. in his character of dervish he associated with pilgrims like himself, who wished to visit the moslem shrines of bokhara and samarcand. they were twenty-four in number, and nearly all of them were distinguished for their poverty. they intended to beg their way through the country and back again; vámbéry had a little money, which he carefully concealed, as it would not be in accordance with his assumed character of dervish to be known to have any ready cash. [illustration: vÁmbÉry's reception by turcoman chief on the caspian shore.] "from teheran they went north to the turcoman country, which then extended westward to the shores of the caspian sea. on landing, they were greeted by the turcoman chief who ruled in that district; he was very hospitable, and entertained them for a whole month merely for the sake of having visitors. "in a caravan of turcoman horsemen they journeyed to khiva, crossing a desert region where for days they had only the water they carried on their saddles. they fell short of water, and while their suffering was severe they were relieved by the chief of the caravan, who had an extra store concealed in his baggage. as he doled it out to the pilgrims he said it had always been his custom to carry an extra supply of water while crossing the desert, and distribute it when most needed. but this same man had proposed a few days before to leave vámbéry to perish in the desert, on the mere suspicion that he was a european in disguise. "vámbéry gives an excellent description of the turcoman character, which has been fully confirmed by other travellers, and later by the russian conquerors of turkestan. they are honest in their dealings with each other, and often display much tenderness; at the same time they are the most brutal of slave-masters and man-stealers, and capable of the severest cruelty. vámbéry says that one day a turcoman said it was a sin to destroy a basket in the desert, because it had once been the seat of a man on a camel; the same man denied a drop of water to a slave whom he had fed on salt-fish for two days, and his delight at the suffering of his victim was equal to that of a countryman over the antics of a clown at a circus. [illustration: receiving payment for human heads--khiva.] "some of the tribes, in their wars with each other, cut off the heads of those whom they slay in battle, and bring them home as trophies; vámbéry happened to be present in khiva when, one day, the khan's treasurer was paying for human heads. as each warrior came forward he emptied his sack on the ground, and an accountant made note of the number of skulls and the name of their owner. [illustration: turcoman trophy--a russian head.] "the payment was not in money, but in robes of honor, which were of different colors, according to the number of slain to each warrior's credit. some received the robe of forty heads, others the robe of twenty, and others that of ten, five, or four. it was like the different degrees of the decorations awarded by the rulers of the nations of europe, or the rewards of merit issued by a school-teacher to diligent and well-behaved pupils. "another time vámbéry was in the public square of khiva when about three hundred prisoners of war were brought in. they were separated into two divisions, those who had not reached their fortieth year, and were to be sold as slaves or given as presents, being placed in one category. they were chained together and led away, and then the old men were brought forward for punishment; and what do you suppose it was? "these gray-bearded old men were tied hand and foot and placed flat on their backs on the ground. then their eyes were gouged out, the executioner kneeling on the breast of each to perform his dreadful work. each time when he finished with a victim he deliberately wiped his knife on the latter's flowing beard. vámbéry says the scene will make him shudder as long as he lives, and no wonder. "and yet he found the people of khiva full of pious charity. the same khan who had ordered this cruel treatment of prisoners of war, loaded the supposed dervish and his companions with presents, and showed them every kindness. when vámbéry left in the direction of bokhara, he was mounted on a good donkey, and had plenty of clothing, provisions, and money, which had been given him by the faithful. "vámbéry says he one day asked a robber who was noted for piety, how he could sell his brother religionists into slavery. the robber replied that the holy book, the koran, was certainly more precious than man, and yet it was bought or sold for a few small coins. he added that joseph, the son of jacob, was a prophet, but was sold into slavery without being any the worse for it. his argument was forcible, and the stranger concluded it was best not to oppose it." frank asked how the women of the turcoman tribes were treated by their lords and masters. "women among the turcomans have an inferior position, as in all moslem countries," the doctor replied. "they are far more the slaves of their husbands than their equals; sometimes they are treated with great kindness, but more frequently their lives are full of hardship. they perform most of the labor of the camp and village, the men being chiefly occupied with the care of the flocks and herds, making expeditions for the sake of plunder, or warring on neighboring tribes. "husbands sell their wives as they sell cattle or sheep, and the poor creatures have no redress for their wrongs. a husband buys his wife from her parents, and she has very little voice in the transaction; the price is generally based upon the social standing of the parties, and the ability of the purchaser to pay for the property. among nearly all the nomad tribes of turkestan the marriage ceremony includes a race for the bride; the game is called _kökbüri_ (green wolf), and is decidedly interesting. [illustration: kÖkbÜri--a race for a bride.] "the girl is mounted on a swift horse, and carries the carcass of a lamb before her on the saddle. she is given a certain start in advance of the bridegroom and his friends; they follow on horseback, and unless the bridegroom can take the lamb from her hands during the race the match is 'off.' she makes a show of resistance, and generally leads the party a long distance, but the affair having been negotiated beforehand, is pretty sure to end in the surrender of the lamb. in some tribes the girl must be lifted from the saddle by the bridegroom, who carries her on his own horse back to the point of starting. "there is this difference in the treatment of the women of turkestan and those of most other moslem countries," the doctor continued, "that they are not required to cover their faces. in turkey, egypt, and arabia the moslem woman who leaves her face uncovered commits an act of great impropriety, but this is not the case in turkestan. many of the women are quite pretty in their youth, but their good looks do not last long. the men are of good height and figure, and their manners are grave and dignified. the hair and beard are dark, and the complexion may be set down as a light shade of brown." frank asked how many tribes and people were included in turkestan or central asia, and how great was the population. [illustration: view of the citadel of khiva.] "that is a very difficult question to answer," said the doctor, "in fact it is impossible to do so exactly. the census-taker is unknown in central asia, except in the cities and towns; even there he does not enumerate the whole population, but only the heads of families and the men capable of bearing arms. turkestan includes all the country between the caspian sea and the th degree of longitude east, and from siberia southward to persia, afghanistan, and thibet. turkestan means 'the land of the turks.' on the maps it is generally divided into eastern and western turkestan, the former lying partly in the chinese empire, and the latter covering the vast plain of the caspian and aral seas. the population is variously estimated at from eight to twelve millions. russia has absorbed nearly all of western turkestan, and the russian officials think they have at least eight millions of people in their new possessions. "the tribes and provinces are divided and subdivided so that they are not easy to name. western turkestan was formerly known as independent tartary, and comprises the turcoman steppes, the khanates of khiva, bokhara, samarcand, and kokan, together with balkh and some smaller provinces which are in dispute between russia and afghanistan. these disputes have led to quarrels between russia and england, and quite likely will lead to war at no distant day. [illustration: an ozbek head.] "the people dwelling in turkestan are mainly of the turkish race; their language is turkish, and the country was the seat of the race that spread its boundaries by a career of conquests, which did not stop until it entered europe and pressed as far westward as the walls of vienna. briefly we may say the inhabitants of turkestan are ozbeks or uzbeks (the dominant race), turcomans, kirghese, karakalpaks, tajiks, persians, kipchaks, and a few arabs, hindoos, and jews. the ozbeks are the most civilized people of the country, and are mainly settled in the cities and towns; they fill most of the official positions, and their leading families can trace their descent for centuries. the persians are mostly descended from those who have been stolen by the turcomans and sold into slavery, and the arabs, hindoos, and jews may be regarded as wanderers who have been drawn there by business or accident. "i have already told you something of the kirghese, whose country was the first to be absorbed by russia. the other people of turkestan besides those just mentioned are not sufficiently numerous or important to deserve special description. if you wish further particulars, you will find them in schuyler's 'turkestan,' vámbéry's 'travels in central asia,' 'history of bokhara,' and shaw's 'high tartary, yarkand, and kashgar.'" the conversation was interrupted by a gentleman who called to ask if doctor bronson and his young friends would like to make a trip to the other side of the caspian sea. a steamer was to leave in two or three hours for mikhailovsk, and the next morning would see them landed in the country where, until quite recently, the turcomans reigned and robbed at will. the invitation was promptly accepted, and when the steamer left baku our friends were among her passengers. what they saw and heard will be told in the next chapter. chapter xxii. frank and fred in the turcoman country.--the trans-caspian railway.--skobeleff's campaign, and the capture of geok tepÉ.--english jealousy of russian advances.--rivers of central asia.--the oxus and jaxartes.--agriculture by irrigation.--khiva, samarcand, and bokhara.--a ride on the trans-caspian railway.--statistics of the line.--kizil arvat, askabad, and sarakhs.--route to herat and india.--turcoman devastation.--the afghan boundary question.--how merv was captured.--o'donovan and macgahan: their remarkable journeys.--railway route from england to india.--return to baku. [illustration: map showing the relations of russia and england in the east.] our young friends were up early, in their eagerness to see the country of the turcomans. they found themselves looking at a comparatively flat region, quite in contrast with the chain of the caucasus, that filled the horizon to the west of baku, and interposed a formidable barrier between the caspian and black seas. the steamer headed into a narrow bay which formed the harbor of mikhailovsk, the new town whence the trans-caspian railway takes its departure in the direction of india. [illustration: sand-storm in the desert.] everything indicated the newness of the place. houses, barracks, piers, railway-station, all were new, and many of the houses were not even finished. russian soldiers and russian officers were numerous in the crowd at the landing-place, and there were scores of mujiks busily engaged in handling goods destined for the railway or for the steamers, but they did not by any means have a monopoly of the labor market of mikhailovsk. tartars, kirghese, turcomans, persians, and other asiatics were there in considerable numbers. they appeared to be quite as industrious as the mujiks, and every way as keen to scent a job wherein money was to be earned. it is an interesting circumstance that the turcomans, now that they are forbidden to indulge in raiding, have turned their attention to steady industry, and promise to make good citizens. whatever may be their faults, they are not a lazy people; they gave up their raiding habits very unwillingly; but when once convinced that they must live by industry, they seem to have accepted the situation. [illustration: turcoman court of justice.] mr. ivanovich, the gentleman who invited our friends to cross the caspian, was connected with the management of the trans-caspian railway, as the line from mikhailovsk is called. during the voyage from baku he gave the youths an account of the building of the railway, and matters connected with it, of which frank made the following notes: "the trans-caspian railway," said mr. ivanovich, "owes its existence to a military necessity that arose in . when the russians first occupied the turcoman country they built fortifications, and settled down to stay. general skobeleff always claimed that we made a great mistake in doing so; the government did not think it safe to make a movement directly into the turcoman country, and consequently several years were occupied in doing what skobeleff thought should have been done in one. the turcomans knew nothing about regular warfare, and we might have crushed them in a little while with our trained battalions. but we waited so long that they learned how to fight, partly through our own instruction, and then it required the best of fighting to defeat them. "it looked at one time as if the turcomans would altogether prevent us from getting any foothold in their country beyond the shores of the caspian. skirmishes almost without number occurred, in which sometimes the russians and sometimes the turcomans had the best of the contest. skobeleff, then a captain, was one of those who landed at krasnovodsk in . he made more successes in the fighting with the turcomans than anybody else; but in he was called away in the campaign against khiva, and from that time to nothing of moment was accomplished. [illustration: kirghese tomb.] "in tekme sardar, a turcoman chief, submitted to the russians, and was received into their camp at krasnovodsk. he remained there several months, and then, for some real or fancied injury, fled from the camp, and collected his followers with the determination to make war on the invaders. at a place called geok tepé he formed a junction with other chiefs, and established a camp. "tekme sardar had made good use of his eyes during his stay among us. he showed his people how to build forts. about forty thousand turcomans, with their families, collected at geok tepé, and threw up an immense earthwork exactly like the defences built by the russians. general lomakin advanced against this earthwork in , and after a series of skirmishes outside the walls he attacked the turcomans in their stronghold, and was severely repulsed. he retired to the shores of the caspian, and thus ended the campaign for that year. [illustration: charge of russian cavalry against turcomans.] "general skobeleff was then appointed to the command of the turcoman district, and the government told him he could have anything he wanted in men or munitions of war. "the government had a hundred miles of railway material somewhere on its south-western frontier, which was intended for use in case of the failure of the berlin congress. skobeleff asked for this material, and it was at once transferred to the caspian. he changed the base of operations from krasnovodsk to mikhailovsk, and at once began the construction of the line. the whole movement was made so quietly that hardly anything was known of the work until the track had been laid about half-way to kizil arvat, one hundred and forty-four miles from mikhailovsk. "skobeleff could not wait for the completion of the railway. while the road was being constructed he pushed forward to bami, a strong point in the akhal oasis, where he built a fort, and gradually collected the materials for the siege of geok tepé. when everything was in readiness he advanced and began the siege, which lasted fully a month. "perhaps the following figures will interest you: the russians were between eight and ten thousand strong, of all arms, infantry, cavalry, and artillery. the artillery comprised sixty-nine guns, while the turcomans had no cannon to oppose them with. when the siege began, skobeleff found that his cannon made little impression upon the clay walls of the fort, so he ordered his artillery to fire over the walls and into the enclosed space, in order to demoralize the people within as much as possible. in fighting against asiatics, artillery always has a prominent part. its moral effect in frightening them is certainly ten times as great as its destructive power. [illustration: russian army on the turcoman steppes.] "during the siege the artillery fired from one hundred to five hundred shots daily, and the infantry used from ten thousand to seventy thousand rounds of ammunition in the same time. skobeleff sunk a mine under the rampart, and exploded more than a ton of gunpowder at a single blast. it made a wide breach, through which the russian army poured into the fort, with very little opposition on the part of the turcomans. the latter fled in the direction of merv, but were pursued by the russian cavalry. the slaughter is said to have been fearful, and the russians say that twenty thousand turcomans perished in the siege and capture of geok tepé. during the assault and pursuit the infantry fired , rounds, the cavalry , , and the artillery , ; military rockets were also used.[ ] [ ] marvin's "the russians at the gates of herat." "many careful students of the history of central asia," continued mr. ivanovich, "consider the siege and capture of geok tepé the most important victory ever achieved by the russians in turkestan. it opened the way for the russian advance to the frontier of india, and carried the boundaries of the empire southward to those of persia. in the interest of humanity it was of the greatest importance, as it broke up the system of man-stealing and its attendant cruelties which the turcomans had practised for centuries. the people of northern persia no longer live in constant terror of turcoman raids; the slave-markets of central asia are closed, and doubtless forever." frank asked if the english government was as well pleased with the result of the siege as were the russians. mr. ivanovich said he did not know exactly how the english regarded the victory, but from the tone of their press and the utterances of british statesmen, he did not think they would have mourned if the russians had been repulsed. "england," said he, "is jealous of russian advances in turkestan. lord salisbury believed that the turcoman barrier against russia would last his lifetime, and many other english statesmen and officers shared his belief. "no doubt they were very sorry for the sufferings of the persians, who were sold into slavery after seeing their homes plundered and their fields devastated, but i question if they were willing, for political reasons, to see the turcomans wiped out as they were at geok tepé. i think i have read much more in the english papers about the loss to english commerce by the russian occupation of central asia than of the gain to humanity by the suppression of the turcoman raids. "the interests of british trade are the first consideration of the british statesman. many thousands of africans and asiatics have died by british bullets and sabres that the commerce of england might be extended. unless i mistake the temper of the british government, i am afraid that the advisers of the queen would prefer the old state of things to the new on the turcoman steppes. the sale of a thousand bales of manchester cottons in the bazaars of turkestan is of more consequence to england than the enslavement of a thousand persians and the desolation of their homes. "but that is wandering from the subject," said mr. ivanovich, with a smile. "i may be prejudiced, but can't help regarding england as a disturber of the peace all over the world, whenever the disturbance will benefit her trade. she doesn't believe in monopoly, except where she can be the monopolist, and for that reason she is jealous of the way we russians are trying the monopoly business for ourselves. we have the trade of ten millions of asiatics: no great thing to be sure, but we don't propose to hand it over to england just because she wants it. we have cotton factories and other manufacturing establishments, as england has, and the more markets we can have the better it will be for us." the gentleman paused, and gave fred an opportunity to ask if there were any navigable rivers in turkestan, and, if so, what they were. [illustration: winter camp in turcomania.] "there is no navigation worth the name," was the reply. "central asia contains only two rivers of any importance--the oxus and the jaxartes. the oxus is sometimes called the amoo darya, or jihoon, and the jaxartes the syr darya. the oxus is the largest; it rises in the pamir district, in a lake fifteen thousand feet above the sea, and in the upper part of its course receives several tributary rivers that drain bokhara and the north-eastern part of afghanistan. it is about twelve hundred miles long, and flows into the aral sea; for the last eight hundred miles of its course it is navigable for small steamboats, but its mouth is divided into so many shallow channels that boats have great difficulty in entering it. the russians have half a dozen steamers on the aral sea, and as many more light-draught steamboats for navigating the oxus." "haven't i read that the oxus formerly emptied into the caspian sea?" said frank. "quite likely you have," said mr. ivanovich, "as there is little doubt that such was the case. the old bed of the oxus can be distinctly traced, and geographers are generally agreed that the river entered the caspian by three mouths. ptolemy and strabo both state distinctly that in their time the oxus flowed into the caspian, and formed the principal trade-route between europe and asia." "how came it to change its course?" [illustration: turcoman irrigating wheel.] "much of the region traversed by the oxus is a desert, and the only agriculture possible there is by irrigation. in order to increase the area under cultivation, the turcomans built dams that turned the oxus in the direction of a vast plain which contains the aral sea. since the occupation of the country by the russians, it has been proposed to return the oxus to its ancient bed, and bring it down to the caspian. it is not likely that this will be done, as the result would be that the whole lower course of the oxus, where there are many flourishing farms and gardens, would again become a desert waste. much less water flows through the oxus than in former times, and the engineers who have studied the question do not think the river would be navigable when returned to its ancient bed. [illustration: scene at a ferry on the oxus.] "the other river of central asia, the jaxartes, or syr darya, is smaller than the oxus, and about eleven hundred miles long. it rises in the pamir region, and empties, like the oxus, into the aral sea. its course is generally parallel to the oxus, and in the same way it fertilizes a large area of what would otherwise be desert. its volume has greatly diminished in the last few centuries, and is even known to be considerably less than it was sixty or eighty years ago. the oxus enters the southern end of the aral sea, while the jaxartes comes in considerably farther to the north. the diversion of these two rivers would probably result in drying up the aral sea, a shallow body of water two hundred and fifty miles long by half as many wide." [illustration: map of the russo-afghan region.] fred asked if the caspian was higher or lower than the aral sea. "they are of the same level, or nearly so," was the reply, "though some engineers say the aral is about one hundred and fifty feet higher than the caspian, and the indications are that the two seas were formerly connected. the whole plain of turcomania is thought to have been at one time an inland sea. at its southern extremity the aral is bordered by an immense marsh, and it is through this marsh that the oxus discharges its waters. "khiva stands near the oxus, in the midst of beautiful gardens, all nourished by the water from the river. khiva, bokhara, samarcand, and kokan would become masses of ruins if the oxus and jaxartes were dried up, and you may be sure the russians will give the subject careful consideration before disturbing the course of the waters. nowhere in the world will you see more careful irrigation than along these rivers, with the possible exception of the nile valley. all through central asia the only possible agriculture is upon the watercourses, or where there are never-failing wells. canals and irrigation-wheels are everywhere, and you will often see evidences of excellent engineering abilities in the construction of some of the artificial water-ways. "general annenkoff, the officer in charge of the construction of the trans-caspian railway, has a scheme for creating a new oasis, capable of supporting two hundred thousand people, near the disputed boundary between turkestan and afghanistan. he proposes to turn one of the tributaries of the oxus for that purpose, and is confident that he can make a fertile area of several hundred square miles by carefully utilizing the water of the stream." on landing at mikhailovsk, our friends were introduced to several russian officers, some of whom had been in america, and who heartily welcomed the trio of travellers from that far-away land. they were invited to the club-house, where they were lodged and cared for; the town did not boast an hotel other than a very indifferent khan, which had all the discomforts of the orient, with none of its good points. frank and fred endeavored to find the time-table of the railway, with a view to making an excursion into turkestan. their inquiries were rewarded with the information that there was no regular time for running the trains, as the business transacted on the line was nearly all of a military character. but a train was to leave in the morning for kizil arvat, one hundred and forty-four miles, and if they cared to make the journey they were at liberty to do so. finding they would have time to go to kizil arvat and return before the departure of the steamer for baku, they accepted the invitation, which included the doctor as well as themselves. early the next morning the train rolled out from the station; it consisted of a locomotive and ten or twelve carriages. one carriage contained the officers of a regiment of infantry that filled the remaining vehicles; the regiment was bound for the frontier, where england and russia have latterly been discussing the question of the boundary, and a discussion of this kind is materially assisted by the presence of soldiers. [illustration: turcoman woman spinning.] we will refer to fred's account of the railway journey in turkestan. "we were invited to seats in the carriage where the officers were riding. they did everything to make our journey agreeable, and we were indebted to them for a great deal of information about central asia. some of them had been to the british frontier, and one had visited cabul, herat, and candahar. "the route of the railway was partly across the desert, and partly along the valleys of two or three small rivers of no special importance except for their usefulness in supplying water for the line. for a considerable distance the line lies near the etrek, a river that was of great use to general skobeleff in his advance upon geok tepé. at times it is simply a dry channel, but water can generally be found by digging a few feet in the sand that forms, in the rainy season, the bed of the stream. [illustration: village of turcoman tents.] "the country is a plain, with here and there a few hills not worthy to be called mountains. sometimes the plain is flat for a long distance, and again it is undulating like the rolling prairies of our western states. vegetation is scanty at best, and a large part of the country is absolutely desert. the great need of central asia is water. if a million springs could be opened, all giving a copious flow like some of the great springs in our rocky mountains, the next ten or twenty years would see a great change in the aspect of turkestan. "one of the officers told me that the country was of the same general character all the way to the frontier of afghanistan. 'the railway can be extended without trouble,' said he, 'as far as we wish to carry it. there's not an obstacle at all formidable to railway engineers.' "i asked, with some hesitation, where they wished to carry their railway line. i knew the subject was not disconnected with politics, but the question was innocent enough, and he could answer it as he chose, and probably did. [illustration: the new russo-afghan frontier.] "'we built the line,' said he, 'first to kizil arvat, one hundred and forty-four miles, and then extended it to askabad, one hundred and ten miles farther. we are now building to sarakhs, one hundred and eighty-five miles from askabad, and there we may stop. perhaps it will be pushed on to herat, two hundred and two miles from sarakhs, but it can not be under the present political situation. afghanistan is under english control. you know the english government gives the ameer of that country a large annual payment of money for his friendship; and until we are willing to give a higher bribe he is not likely to permit us to build railways in his territory. "'from sarakhs our next line will be to merv, the rich oasis that came under russian control a few years ago, or possibly merv may be reached by a branch from askabad. perhaps there will one day be a line from merv to samarcand and bokhara, but this is far in the future. from merv a railway may be run along the valley of the murghab to herat; but it is not a direct route, and we are much more likely to reach herat by way of sarakhs, along the valley of the heri-rud. whichever way we take, the building of the road would not be at all difficult. the murghab route has the disadvantage of being longer than that of the heri-rud, but its cost per mile would be much less, as the country is smoother. "'i suppose,' he continued, 'that there is a sort of race between england and russia to get to herat with a railway. england is building north from india, while we are building south from the caspian. the terminal points of the two lines are now less than eight hundred miles apart, and it is very evident that the english and russian locomotives will be whistling in the hearing of each other, and blowing steam in each other's faces, within the next few years.[ ] [ ] early in the central asian railway was completed to kaakha, a distance of versts ( miles) from mikhailovsk. the line was completed to merv in april, , and the echoes of the turcoman oasis were awakened by the shriek of the locomotive. at the latest advices work was being pushed between merv and chardjuya, on the oxus, and general annenkoff had promised to complete the line to the banks of the historic river before the end of the year. the emir of bokhara has agreed to provide the material for a bridge across the oxus, and the russian engineers have completed the survey of the line as far as samarcand. it is hoped that the railway will reach bokhara and samarcand by the end of . the entire railway as planned will extend from mikhailovsk, on the caspian, by way of kizil arvat ( versts), askabad ( versts), kaakha ( versts), to merv ( versts, or miles); thence to chardjuya, on the amoo darya (oxus), and bokhara to samarcand, a total distance of versts ( miles), of which no less than five-sevenths is practically now completed. all the rails, sleepers, and rolling material for the trans-caspian railway are supplied from the russian crown depots. apart from this, the total cost of making the line from the caspian to the oxus is estimated at , , roubles, or about , roubles per verst. the russians have a grand scheme for another line of railway through asia, which was originally proposed by m. de lesseps. the first step would be to complete the railway connection along the lower volga, between tsaritsin and astrachan. the asiatic line would start from astrachan, pass through khiva, bokhara, and samarcand into chinese turkestan, where it would touch tang-kissar, kashgar, and yarkand, in addition to other cities and towns of lesser note. it would skirt the shores of lake lob, and after descending the valley of the kan (han) terminate at hankow, on the banks of the yang-tse-kiang, six hundred miles above the mouth of the great river of china. "'if we were not confronted by diplomacy we could reach herat considerably in advance of the english, as we have the shorter and easier line to build to get there. but with our scrupulous regard for treaties and agreements, we may be hindered in our railway building, and have the mortification of seeing our rivals there ahead of us. the english consider herat the key to india, and are determined that we shall not possess it. we don't care much for it anyway, but are perfectly willing to place it beneath the sheltering wings of the black eagle. "'when you are considering sarakhs,' he continued, 'remember that there are two places of that name. old sarakhs is a mass of ruins; only a single building remains, and that is a tomb in which the body of abel is said to rest. another tomb a few miles away is known as the tomb of cain, and there is a tradition that the garden of eden was in the neighborhood of sarakhs. the russians have occupied old sarakhs, and will establish a military post there of considerable importance as soon as the railway is completed. [illustration: old sarakhs.] "'old sarakhs is near the heri-rud river, which here forms a dividing line between persia and the turcoman country. the persians have built a town called new sarakhs on their side of the river, and protected it by a fort; they keep a small garrison there, and as we have no quarrel with persia, and are not likely to have, it is quite sufficient for all purposes of peace. "'i wish you could go with me through that country and see the effect of the turcoman raiding system which was continued through generations, and has only recently come to an end. centuries ago the valleys of the murghab and heri-rud contained a large population, and the same was the case over a wide extent of country. "'ride where you will, you find the traces of irrigating canals in great number. in the third century this region was said to contain a thousand cities, probably an exaggeration, but indicative of the dense population it sustained, and might still sustain. in many places the valleys of the murghab and heri-rud are several miles in width and perfectly flat. there are ruined canals all over these wide places, showing that they were once cultivated; they might be cultivated again and rendered fertile as of old by the same system that was once in vogue. the country is a desert because it is not tilled, and it is not tilled because it has no inhabitants. turcoman raids have made the desolation by enslaving, killing, or driving away the people that once lived here. [illustration: sarik turcoman woman.] "'since the raiding ceased the sarik turcomans, who were formerly as much addicted to it as any others, have turned their attention to agriculture. they have occupied parts of the murghab valley near pul-i-khisti and ak tapa, where they have cleared out the old irrigation canals, set their ploughs and other implements at work, and seem to be forgetting altogether their former mode of life. they have settled into villages, but live in kibitkas in preference to houses of mud or other solid materials. considering their recent subjugation, they are quite friendly with the russians; they know we will never allow them to resume their predatory life, but as long as they behave themselves they will find us to be kind masters, and our military and engineering work in their country will assure them a good market for their surplus produce.' "i asked the gentleman to tell me the difference between pul-i-khisti and pul-i-khatun, which we had read so much about in the newspapers, at the time of the conflict between the russians and afghans. "'pul-i-khatun is on the heri-rud or tejend river, a few miles south of sarakhs. in the persian language "pul" means bridge, and "khatun" lady, so that pul-i-khatun may be translated "bridge of the lady." the bridge that bears this name is said to have been erected in the time of tamerlane, the great conqueror, at the request of one of the ladies of his family. it is of brick, in six arches, and has not been repaired for a long time; the central arch is broken, but the others are in serviceable condition. [illustration: pul-i-khisti and ak tapa.] "'pul-i-khisti means "bridge of bricks," and is over the murghab river, where that stream unites with the kushk. it became famous as the scene of the fight between the russians and afghans, in the early part of . each party throws the blame of the affair upon the other; naturally enough i think the afghans were at fault, but as i may be prejudiced on the subject it is not worth while to discuss it. pul-i-khisti is close to penjdeh, which is nothing more than a mass of ruins where a town once stood; the russians may be able to make something out of it, and the next time i go there i shouldn't be surprised to find a strong fort. "'the english wanted to make the boundary so that it would leave penjdeh in the possession of the afghans, but we persuaded them that the place would be safer in our hands than theirs. you will find on the map the boundaries as they have been arranged, and as long as england keeps to her agreement there is not likely to be any trouble. of course we shall faithfully abide by our promises, but one can never tell when the treacherous afghans will cross the boundaries and make depredations upon our peaceful subjects. then we will defend our rights; it is for such defence we have built the railway on which you are now travelling, and we shall maintain a good-sized force of troops on or near the frontier. by means of our railways and steamers we can get to the frontier a great deal quicker than england can possibly reach it from her capital; and if she chooses to make war on us she will find us ready. [illustration: penjdeh.] "'with the vladikavkaz railway finished to petrovsk on the caspian, and the trans-caspian railway completed to sarakhs, we could bring troops from moscow to the latter point inside of a week. there would only be the crossing of the caspian, which is little more than a ferry, between petrovsk and mikhailovsk, to break the continuous journey by rail. from sarakhs to herat, as i before said, is about two hundred miles, which could be covered in two or three weeks by a russian army. we think we can get to herat more quickly than england can in case of war, but let us all hope that the necessity for the experiment may never come.'" fred thought there was a confident smile on the face of the russian as he pronounced the above words. it was very evident that the russians in central asia had an abiding faith in their ability to take care of themselves in case of a conflict with england. while conversing with another officer, the youths ascertained that he had accompanied the first russian expedition to the merv oasis, or rather the expedition that converted that stronghold of the turcomans into russian territory, with the loss of only one man. the gentleman said the oasis was watered by the murghab, which practically terminated there; the river was diverted into a great number of little streams, and the country included in these streams formed the oasis. the mervis were more peaceable than their fellow turcomans, but very jealous of strangers, and not willing to admit anybody to their limited territory. they had a fort larger and stronger than the one against which skobeleff's army was nearly shattered to pieces at geok tepé; it was an enclosure with high, thick walls of mud, and large enough to hold the whole population with their flocks and herds. the oasis is about one hundred and twenty miles from askabad and ninety from the nearest point on the tejend; it was formerly incorporated with the surrounding provinces of turkestan, but for many years has been independent. [illustration: colonel alikhanoff.] "we wanted merv," said the russian officer to whom allusion has just been made, "but we didn't want to fight for it; so we resorted to diplomacy, and through the skill of general komaroff and colonel alikhanoff, aided by a few others who were in the secret, we came into peaceful possession of the place. i have no doubt the mervis are all very glad we are there, now that the thing has been done. "colonel alikhanoff went from askabad to merv in company with a russian merchant who had a dozen camels laden with goods. they remained there a fortnight, and then returned safely, accompanied by several delegates from the mervis who wished to consult with the russian commander at askabad about some camels that had been stolen from them by the persians. the delegates were kindly received, and went home with a favorable report which ultimately led to the occupation of merv by a small force of russian cavalry and infantry. a fort was built, and a bazaar opened for the exchange of russian goods for the products of the oasis, and ever since then the russians and mervis have been on terms of friendship. of course there were some of the mervis who opposed the advent of our soldiers, but they are now our earnest advocates, and would be the last to ask us to leave. [illustration: the great highway of central asia.] "merv is about two hundred and forty miles from herat, and if we should ever be obliged to march against that afghan stronghold, the oasis will be an excellent point to start from after accumulating the necessary stores and material of war. it promises to be a good centre of trade, and its importance was easy to comprehend when the english government made such a fuss as it did about our taking it. "before we were established there," continued the officer, "an english newspaper correspondent, edmund o'donovan, went to merv by way of persia, and lived in the oasis for five months. at first the people treated him coldly, but he gradually won their confidence and convinced them of his friendliness. they made him one of their elders, and appointed him to a place on the governing council; he has told the story of his residence among these strange people in an interesting volume entitled 'the merv oasis.' "one of the most remarkable journeys ever made on the turcoman steppes," said the gentleman in conclusion, "was accomplished by another newspaper correspondent, an american named macgahan, during the campaign against khiva in . without an escort, and accompanied only by a servant and two guides, he started from fort peroffsky, on the jaxartes or syr darya river, near the aral sea, to overtake general kaufmann's army, that had gone to the attack of khiva. its exact whereabouts were unknown; he had eight or ten days of desert travel before him, and if he had fallen into the hands of the turcomans or kirghese who roam over the desert, his fate would have been certain death. "the russians at fort peroffsky refused to allow him to start, as they considered it impossible for him to make the journey, and he was obliged to slip out of the place in the night. he had several narrow escapes, but managed to get through all right and join general kaufmann's column just as the fighting before khiva began. the officers told him the chances of his getting across the desert with his life were not more than one in a hundred. he remained with our army till the end of the khivan campaign, and every officer who knew him felt that he had lost a personal friend when the news of macgahan's death came a few years later. the story of his adventures is told in his book--'campaigning on the oxus and the fall of khiva.' "in a similar journey was made by captain burnaby, an english officer of the guards. he has given an admirable account of his experience in a book entitled, 'a ride to khiva.'" "conversation such as this," writes fred in his journal, "beguiled the tediousness of the ride over the flat and desolate region through which the railway passes. at the few oases where we stopped, we saw little villages of turcomans, but they were so much alike that the descriptions you have already read will answer for them all. at kizil arvat we found an oasis containing altogether half a dozen square miles of tillable land, on which were several turcoman villages, and a russian town of perhaps a thousand inhabitants. "we call the town russian from the flag that waves over it, rather than from the nationality of those who live in it. they are russians, turcomans, kirghese, persians, armenians, and jews, and i don't know how many other races and kinds of people. there is a good deal of commerce, mostly in the hands of armenians and russians, but much less than when the railway terminated here. the business of merv and the penjdeh district is at the end of the railway; in this respect the commerce of central asia is much like that of our far-western country, and changes its base with each change of the means of transport. [illustration: turcoman farm-yard.] "there is a fort at kizil arvat, and also a bazaar, and we are told that askabad is similarly provided. whenever the russians establish themselves in any part of turkestan, they build a fort and a bazaar side by side. hardly has the army pitched its tents before the shops are opened and the natives are invited to come in and trade. all who come are kindly treated; in a little time whatever hesitation the natives may have possessed is gone, and the cheapness of the goods on sale converts the former enemies into friends. there is no doubt that russia thoroughly understands the asiatic nature, and deals with it accordingly. [illustration: map of turkestan, showing route of the trans-caspian railway.] "most of our return journey to mikhailovsk was made in the night, which we did not specially regret, where so much of the route was through the uninteresting desert. we were told that when the railway was started, it was intended to make a narrow-gauge line that would be taken up as soon as the capture of geok tepé had been accomplished. but the undertaking had not gone far before the plans were changed and a well-built railway, on the standard gauge of russia, was the result. the line is well equipped with cars, and at no distant day will form a link in the overland route from england to india. "when the russian and indian lines form a connection near herat or candahar, the vladikavkaz railway will be completed to petrovsk, on the caspian. the traveller may then go from london to bombay or calcutta in nine or ten days. his entire journey will be made by rail, with the exception of the passages of the english channel and the caspian sea, the former requiring two hours, and the latter an entire day. russia is already talking of an extension of the line from tsaritsin, along the lower volga and around the northern end of the caspian to a connection with the trans-caspian railway. should this line be made, the journey to india would be wholly a land route, with the exception of 'the silver streak,' between dover and calais." while our friends are musing on the possibilities of the railway to india, and its benefits to commerce and civilization, they have recrossed the caspian and are once more in the petrolia of europe. and now behold them seated in a train of the trans-caucasian railway for a ride to tiflis and the black sea. a letter in the _new york herald_ of april , , says: "the russians have established a military and naval station at novi golfe, on the caspian, twenty-two versts north-west of mikhailovsk, and connected it with the latter point by railway. in case of war with england, the russians are prepared to strike heavy blows in asia. they have two army corps in the caucasus, and another in turkestan ready for service on their south-eastern frontier. the vessels of the kavkas and mercury steamship company, noble's naphtha fleet, and the greek and armenian vessels on the caspian (which all fly the russian flag), would be immediately pressed into the service. the russians believe that, barring bad weather, they could, with these steamers and a number of sailing-vessels in tow, transport sixty thousand men across the caspian from astrachan, baku, and petrovsk to novi golfe and mikhailovsk in three days. [illustration: crossing a river in central asia.] "the russians would thus dispose of about one hundred and fifteen thousand men--army of the caucasus, sixty thousand; turkestan, thirty thousand; and fifteen thousand turcoman auxiliaries. these latter will supply the advance of the russian columns heading southward from askabad and merv. "the russians have shown great tact and cleverness in the management of their turcoman subjects. there is at merv a skeleton army, or _cadre_, of three hundred turcomans, under the command of a cossack officer named kalotine. of the three hundred, one hundred are from merv, one hundred are tekkes, and the remainder from other tribes. these men (irregular horse) remain in the service six months. during that time they are paid twenty-five roubles a month, and at its expiration are discharged with the rank of sergeant, but remain liable to military duty in time of war. this plan was adopted to secure good native non-commissioned officers for the fifteen regiments of irregular cavalry. the son of the last khan of merv is now a russian sergeant. ten native turcomans hold the rank of captain in the russian army, and four that of lieutenant, besides which many decorations have been given to those who took part in alikhanoff's foray. "the construction of the railway between askabad and merv presented great difficulties, on account of the absence of water in many places. to overcome this, artesian wells were dug. the width and current of the tegend-bud necessitated an iron bridge at kara-bend. the trans-caspian railway is built upon the model of the trans-caucasian one, the stations on both being near together, solidly built and comfortable. there are sixteen stations between mikhailovsk and askabad (four hundred and twenty-two versts). _mikhailovsk to_ mallakara versts. bala ischen " aidin " paraval " atchai-komm " kasandjik " ossausan " ouchak " kizil-arvat " koteh " barni " arolman " baharden " keli-atta " geok-tepé " besmeni " askabad " [illustration: a native traveller.] chapter xxiii. baku to tiflis.--the capital of the caucasus.--mountain travelling.--crossing the range.--petroleum locomotives.--batoum and its importance.--trebizond and erzeroom.--sebastopol and the crimea.--short history of the crimean war.--russo-turkish war of - .--battles in the crimea and siege of sebastopol.--visiting the malakoff and redan forts.--view of the battle-fields.--charge of the light brigade at balaklava.--present condition of sebastopol.--odessa.--arrival at constantinople.--frank's dream.--the end. for fifty miles after leaving baku the railway follows the coast of the caspian sea until it reaches alayat, where the government is establishing a port that promises to be of considerable importance at no distant day. the country is a desert dotted with salt lakes, and here and there a black patch indicating a petroleum spring. the only vegetation is the camel-thorn bush, and much of the ground is so sterile that not even this hardy plant can grow. very little rain falls here, and sometimes there is not a drop of it for several months together. at alayat the railway turns inland, traversing a desert region where there are abundant indications of petroleum; in fact all the way from baku to alayat petroleum could be had for the boring, and at the latter place several wells have been successfully opened, though the low price of the oil stands in the way of their profitable development. after leaving the desert, a region of considerable fertility is reached. the streams flowing down from the mountains are utilized for purposes of irrigation, but very rudely; under a careful system of cultivation the valley of the kura river, which the railway follows to tiflis, could support a large population. from baku to tiflis by railway is a distance of three hundred and forty-one miles, and the line is said to have cost, including rolling stock, about fifty thousand dollars a mile. in the work on the desert portion many of the laborers died from the effects of the extreme dryness of the atmosphere. the whole distance from baku to batoum, on the black sea, is five hundred and sixty-one miles. [illustration: looking down on the steppe.] tiflis is thirteen hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, and the point where the railway reaches its greatest elevation is eighteen hundred feet higher, or thirty-two hundred feet in all. the grades are very steep; there is one stretch of eight miles where it is two hundred and forty feet to the mile, and for a considerable distance it exceeds one hundred feet to the mile. it is proposed to overcome the steepest grade by a long tunnel which would reduce the highest elevation to little more than two thousand feet. our friends reached tiflis in the evening, after an interesting ride, in spite of the monotony of the desert portion of the route. frank will tell us the story of their visit to the famous city of the caucasus. "we were somewhat disappointed," said he, "with our first view of tiflis. we had an impression that it was in the centre of a fertile plain surrounded by mountains; actually the ground on which it stands is not fertile, and the surroundings consist of brown hills instead of mountains. the sides of the hills are barren, and there would hardly be a shrub or tree in the city were it not for the system of irrigation which is maintained. the prettiest part of the city is the quarter occupied by the germans, where there are rows and groups of trees and a great many luxuriant gardens. the germans are descended from some who came here in the last century to escape religious persecution. though born in tiflis and citizens of russia, in every sense they preserve their language and customs, and do not mingle freely with their muscovite neighbors. "there are about one hundred and ten thousand inhabitants in tiflis; nearly one-third are russians, rather more than a third armenians, twenty-three thousand georgians, and the rest are germans, persians, and mixed races in general. most of the business is in the hands of the armenians, and many of them are wealthy; nearly all speak russian, and mingle with the russians more harmoniously than do any of the others. the persians live in a quarter by themselves, and it is by no means the cleanest part of the city. the georgians preserve their dress and language, and, though entirely peaceful, are said to maintain the same hatred to russia as when fighting to preserve their independence. "many of the officials in the caucasus are armenians, and some of the ablest generals of the russian army belong to the same race. gen. loris melikoff is an armenian, and so are generals lazareff and tergoukasoff, as well as others of less importance. the armenians have four newspapers at tiflis, and four monthly reviews. there are nearly a million of these people in russia and the caucasus, and their treatment is in marked contrast to that of the eight hundred thousand armenian subjects of turkey who have been most cruelly oppressed by the sultan and his officers. "we had read of the beauty of the georgians, who used to sell their daughters to be the wives of the turks, and naturally looked around us for handsome faces. we saw them among the men as well as among the women; and we saw more handsome men than women, perhaps for the reason that men were much more numerous. the georgians are a fine race of people, and so are all the natives of the caucasus. the mountain air all the world over has a reputation for developing strength and intelligence among those who breathe it. "since the occupation of georgia and the other parts of the caucasus by russia, the people are no longer sold as slaves for turkish masters. whatever may be the faults of the russian rule, it is certainly far in advance of that of turkey. [illustration: view of tiflis.] "tiflis may be said to be in two parts, the old and the new. the former is on the bank of the river, and its streets are narrow and dirty; the new part is on higher ground, and has been chiefly built by the russians since they obtained possession of the country. in this part the streets are wide, and lined with many handsome buildings; in the old part there are several armenian churches and caravansaries, and the greater portion of the commerce is transacted there. "we saw a great many russian soldiers, and were told that a large garrison is always maintained in tiflis, which is a central point from which troops can be sent in any direction. the government offices and the palace of the governor-general are in the russian quarter, and of course there are plenty of russian churches, with their gilded domes sparkling in the sunlight. "we visited one of the churches, and also the armenian cathedral; we tried to see the interior of a mosque, but were forbidden admittance except on payment of more money than we chose to give. we drove to the hot baths, which are situated just outside the city; they are largely patronized, and have an excellent reputation for the relief of gout, rheumatism, and similar troubles. there are many hot springs in the neighborhood of tiflis that have been flowing for centuries, without any change in temperature or volume. "we wanted to go overland to vladikavkaz, for the sake of the journey among the caucasus, but our plans were otherwise, and we continued by railway to batoum. the mountains of this range are as picturesque as any we have ever seen. the passes are like those of the alps or the sierra nevadas, and as we wound along the line of railway to the crest of the divide, every moment revealed a new and splendid picture. we had distant views of elburz and ararat, two of the most famous mountains of this region, and greatly regretted our inability to visit the latter, which is revered as the resting-place of noah's ark. mount ararat has been ascended by several travellers; they describe the journey as very fatiguing, but were amply repaid by the magnificent view from the summit. "we left tiflis dry and dusty, and the dry air remained with us till we crossed the ridge and began our descent. then we entered the clouds, and as we passed below their level found ourselves in a pouring rain. the western slope of the caucasus is a rainy region, while the eastern is dry. baku has too little rain, and batoum too much; the western slope is luxuriant, while the eastern is an arid desert, and the fertility of the former continues down to the shore of the black sea. [illustration: the pass of dariel, caucasus.] "grapes and melons were offered at every station, at prices that were a marvel of cheapness. two cents would buy a large melon, and the same money was gladly accepted for a bunch of grapes which would furnish a dinner for a very hungry man. a great deal of wine is raised in this region; three hundred thousand acres are said to be devoted to the culture of the grape in the caucasus, and about forty million gallons of wine are made annually. wine is plenty and cheap; the russians refuse to drink the wine of the caucasus, just as californians affect to despise that of their own state. we are told that a large part of the so-called foreign wine sold in tiflis and other cities of the caucasus is really the product of the country under fictitious labels. [illustration: governor-general of the caucasus.] "we have already mentioned the use of petroleum in the locomotives of the trans-caucasian railway. where we stopped for fuel and water the petroleum-tank was side by side with the water-tank, and there was no sign of wood-yard or coal-heap. a few minutes charged the tender with petroleum and water, in separate compartments, and then we moved on, just as on any other railway line. "it is delightful riding behind a petroleum locomotive, as there are neither cinders nor smoke. after the fire is started the furnace door is not opened; the fireman regards the flame through a hole about two inches square, and regulates it just as may be desired. they told us that steam could be more evenly maintained than with coal or wood; there was no excess of steam while waiting at stations, and consequently no necessity for 'blowing off.' wonder what railway in america will be the first to adopt the new fuel? "the trans-caucasian railway was begun in ; its starting-point was at poti, which has a poor harbor and stands in marshy ground, so that fevers and malaria are altogether too common. in russia came into possession of batoum, which has a good harbor, and immediately a branch line sixty miles long was built from that city to connect with the railway. now nearly all the business has gone to batoum. poti is decaying very rapidly, but for military reasons it is not likely to be abandoned. "by the treaty of berlin batoum was made a free port, and the russians were forbidden to fortify it; but they have kept the turkish fortifications, and not only kept them uninjured, but have repaired them whenever there were signs of decay. on this subject the following story is told: "the casemated fortress which commands the port required to be strengthened in certain points, and the contractors were asked for estimates for the work. one man presented an estimate which he headed 'repairs to fortifications.' the general commanding the district immediately sent for the contractor, and said to him, "'there are no fortifications in batoum; they are forbidden by the treaty of berlin. your estimates must be for "garrison-barrack repairs." remember this in all your dealings with the government.' [illustration: ruined fortress in the caucasus.] "we were only a few hours in batoum, as we embraced the opportunity to embark on one of the russian company's steamers for sebastopol and odessa. batoum is growing very rapidly, and promises to be a place of great importance in a very few years. the old town of the turks has given place to a new one; the russians have destroyed nearly all the rickety old buildings, laid out whole streets and avenues of modern ones, extended the piers running into the sea, drained the marshes that formerly made the place unhealthy, and in other ways have displayed their enterprise. we were told that there is a great deal of smuggling carried on here, but probably no more than at gibraltar, hong-kong, and other free ports in other parts of the world. [illustration: ruined church near batoum.] "and now behold us embarked on a comfortable steamer, and bidding farewell to the caucasus. our steamer belongs to the russian company of navigation and commerce, which has its headquarters at odessa; it sends its ships not only to the ports of the black sea, but to the levantine coast of the mediterranean, through the suez canal to india, and through the strait of gibraltar to england. a line to new york and another to china and japan are under consideration; it is probable that the latter will be established before the trans-atlantic one. the company owns more than a hundred steamers, and is heavily subsidized by the russian government." the first stop of the steamer was made at trebizond, the most important port of turkey, on the southern coast of the black sea. it has a population of about fifty thousand, and carries on an extensive commerce with persia and the interior of asiatic turkey. latterly its commerce has suffered somewhat by the opening of the caspian route from russia to persia, but it is still very large. frank and fred had two or three hours on shore at trebizond, which enabled them to look at the walls and gardens of this very ancient city. frank recorded in his note-book that trebizond was the ancient trapezius, and that it was a flourishing city at the time of xenophon's famous retreat, which every college boy has read about in the "anabasis." it was captured by the romans when they defeated mithridates. the emperor trajan tried to improve the port by building a mole, and made the city the capital of cappadocian pontus. [illustration: quarantine harbor, trebizond.] the trebizond of to-day consists of the old and new town, the former surrounded by walls enclosing the citadel, and the latter without walls and extending back over the hills. it has two harbors, both of them unsafe at certain seasons of the year. a few millions of the many that turkey has spent in the purchase of cannon and iron-clad ships of war would make the port of trebizond one of the best on the coast of the black sea. great numbers of camels, pack-horses, and oxen were receiving or discharging their loads at the warehouses near the water-front. fred ascertained on inquiry that there were no wagon-roads to persia or the interior of asiatic turkey, but that all merchandise was carried on the backs of animals. one authority says sixty thousand pack-horses, two thousand camels, three thousand oxen, and six thousand donkeys are employed in the persian trade, and the value of the commerce exceeds seven million dollars per annum. [illustration: view of erzeroom.] "we are only a hundred and ten miles from erzeroom," said fred, "the city of turkish armenia, which is well worth seeing. wouldn't it be fun to go there and have a look at a place that stands more than a mile in the air?" "is that really so?" frank asked; "more than a mile in the air?" "yes," replied his cousin, "erzeroom is six thousand two hundred feet above the level of the sea, and two hundred feet higher than the plain which surrounds it. it had a hundred thousand inhabitants at the beginning of this century, but now has about a third of that number, owing to the emigration of the armenians after the war between turkey and russia in . it is frightfully cold in winter and terribly hot in summer, but for all that the climate is healthy." "how long will it take us to get there?" "about fifty hours," was the reply. "we must go on horseback, but can return in forty hours, as the road descends a great part of the way from erzeroom to trebizond. isn't it strange that with such an immense trade as there is between that place and this--for the road to persia passes through erzeroom--the turks have been content with a bridle-path instead of a wagon-road, or, better still, a railway. besides--" further discussion of the road to erzeroom and the possibilities of travelling it were cut short by the announcement that it was time to return to the steamer. an hour later our friends saw the coast of asiatic turkey fading in the distance, as the steamer headed for southern russia. her course was laid for sebastopol, the city which is famous for the long siege it sustained during the crimean war, and for possessing the finest natural harbor on the black sea. doctor bronson suggested that the youths should dispose of the time of the voyage by reading up the history of that celebrated war, and particularly of the siege and capture of sebastopol. the weather was fine enough to tempt them to idleness, but frank and fred had a rule that when they had anything to do they would do it. accordingly they busied themselves with the books at their command, and made the following condensed account of the contest of russia with the nations of western europe: "the crimea was conquered by russia in the time of catherine the great, and immediately after the conquest the russians began to fortify the harbor of sebastopol (sacred city). when they went there they found only a miserable tartar village called akhtiar; they created one of the finest naval and military ports in the world, and built a city with broad streets and handsome quays and docks. in it had a population of about fifty thousand, which included many soldiers and marines, together with workmen employed in the government establishments. "in there was a dispute between france and russia relative to the custody of the holy places in palestine; there had been a contention concerning this matter for several centuries, in which sometimes the greek church and sometimes the latin had the advantage. in , at the suggestion of turkey, a mixed commission was appointed to consider the dispute and decide upon it. "the porte, as the turkish government is officially designated, issued in march, , a decree that the greek church should be confirmed in the rights it formerly held, and that the latins could not claim exclusive possession of any of the holy places. it allowed them to have a key to the church of the nativity at bethlehem, and to certain other buildings of minor importance. [illustration: turkish authority.] "if you want to know how the christian churches are now quarrelling about the sacred places in the east, read chapters xxii., xxiii., and xxiv. of 'the boy travellers in egypt and the holy land.' "france accepted the decision, though she did not like it; russia continued to demand that the latin monks should be deprived of their keys, and finally insisted that the czar should have a protectorate over the greek christians in turkey. the porte said such a protectorate would interfere with its own authority, and refused the demand; thereupon the russian minister left constantinople on the st of may, . "this may be considered the beginning of the war between russia and turkey, though there was no fighting for several months. "france came to the aid of turkey; england came to the aid of turkey and france. representatives of england, france, austria, and prussia met at vienna and agreed upon a note which russia accepted; turkey demanded modifications which russia refused; turkey declared war against russia on the th of october, and russia declared war against turkey on the st of november. "a turkish fleet of twelve ships was lying at sinope, a port on the southern shore of the black sea. on the th of november the russians sent a fleet of eleven ships from sebastopol which destroyed the turkish fleet, all except one ship that carried the news to constantinople. then the allied fleets of the french and english entered the black sea, and the war began in dead earnest. for some months it was confined to the danubian principalities and to the baltic sea; on the th of september, , the allied army landed at eupatoria, in the crimea, and the extent of their preparations will be understood when it is known that forty thousand men, with a large number of horses and a full equipment of artillery, were put on shore in a single day! "on the th of september the battle of the alma was fought by fifty-seven thousand english, french, and turkish troops, against fifty thousand russians. the battle began at noon, and four hours later the russians were defeated and in full retreat. the russians lost five thousand men, and the allies about three thousand four hundred; the allies might have marched into sebastopol with very little resistance, but their commanders were uncertain as to the number of troops defending the city, and hesitated to make the attempt. "on the th of october the siege began. a grand attack was made by the allies, but was unsuccessful, and eight days later the famous charge of the light brigade at balaklava was made. on the th of november the russians attacked the allies at inkermann, and were repulsed. the battle of inkermann was fought in a fog by forty thousand russians against fifteen thousand french and english. the latter had the advantage of position and weapons; the allies frankly credited the russian troops with the greatest bravery in returning repeatedly to the attack as their battalions were mowed down by the steady fire of the defenders. "during the winter the siege was pushed, and the allied army suffered greatly from cholera, cold, and sickness. the siege continued during spring and summer; the allies made an unsuccessful attack on the malakoff and redan forts on the th of june, , and all through the long months there were daily conflicts between the opposing armies. "the russians sunk several ships of their fleet in the harbor of sebastopol soon after the battle of the alma, but retained others for possible future use. on the th of september the french captured the malakoff fort, the english at the same time making an unsuccessful attack on the redan. the russians evacuated sebastopol during the night, crossing over to the north side of the harbor, burning or sinking their fleet, and destroying their military stores. "this gave the allies the possession of the city, and though the two armies confronted each other for some time, there was never any serious fighting after that. other warlike operations were conducted along the russian shores of the black sea. proposals of peace were made by austria with the consent of the allies, and finally, on the th of march, , the treaty of peace was signed at paris. the allies had begun the destruction of the docks at sebastopol, but so extensive were those works that with all the engineering skill at their command they were not through with it until july th, when they evacuated the crimea." "will that do for a condensed history of the crimean war?" said frank, as the result of their labors was submitted to the doctor. "it will do very well," was the reply. "perhaps some of your school-mates who are not fond of history may be inclined to skip, but i think the majority of readers will thank you for giving it." "perhaps they would like a few words on the war between turkey and russia in - ," said fred. "if you think so we will give it." doctor bronson approved the suggestion, and an hour or two later fred submitted the following: "in and ' there were disturbances in constantinople and in several provinces of european turkey. the sultan of turkey was deposed, and either committed suicide or was murdered. there were revolts in herzegovina and bulgaria, and the troops sent to suppress these revolts committed many outrages. servia and montenegro made war upon turkey on behalf of the christian subjects of the porte; russia came to the support of servia and montenegro. there was a vast deal of diplomacy, in which all the great powers joined, and on several occasions it looked as though half of europe would be involved in the difficulty. [illustration: view of sebastopol.] "turkey and servia made peace on march , . the principal nations of europe held a conference, and made proposals for reforms in turkey which the porte rejected. russia declared war against turkey april , , and immediately entered the turkish dominions in roumania and armenia. [illustration: ruins of the malakoff, sebastopol.] "the war lasted until march , , when a treaty of peace was made at san stefano, near constantinople. many battles were fought during the war, and the losses were heavy on both sides; the severest battles were those of the shipka pass and of plevna. the fortune of war fluctuated, but on the whole the successes were on the side of russia, and her armies finally stood ready to enter constantinople. her losses were said to have been fully one hundred thousand men, and the cost of the war was six hundred million dollars. "after the war came the berlin conference of , which gave independence to some of the countries formerly controlled by turkey, made new conditions for the government of others, regulated the boundaries between russia and turkey, giving the former several ports and districts of importance, and required the porte to guarantee certain rights and privileges to her christian subjects. england interfered, as she generally does, to prevent russia from reaping the full advantages she expected from the war, and altogether the enterprise was a very costly one for the government of the czar." "a very good summary of the war," said the doctor. "you have disposed of an important phase of the 'eastern question' with a brevity that some of the diplomatic writers would do well to study. you might add that for two centuries russia has had her eye on constantinople, and is determined to possess it; england is equally determined that russia shall not have her way, and the other powers are more in accord with england than with russia." the steamer entered the harbor of sebastopol, and made fast to the dock. frank and fred observed that the port was admirably defended by forts at the entrance. doctor bronson told them the forts which stood there in were destroyed by the allies after the capture of the city, but they have since been rebuilt and made stronger than ever before. as they neared the forts that guard the entrance of the harbor, a russian officer who was familiar with the locality pointed out several objects of interest. "on the left," said he, "that pyramid on the low hill indicates the battle-field of inkermann; still farther on the left is the valley of the alma; those white dots near the inkermann pyramid mark the site of the british cemetery, and close by it is the french one. in front of you and beyond the harbor is the mound of the malakoff, and beyond it are the redan and the mamelon vert. those heaps of ruins are the walls of the marine barracks and arsenal; they are rapidly disappearing in the restoration that has been going on since , and in a few years we hope to have them entirely removed." there was quite a crowd at the landing-place, variously composed of officers, soldiers, and mujiks; the former for duty or curiosity, and the mujiks scenting a possible job. our friends proceeded directly to the hotel, which was only two or three hundred yards from the landing-place. as soon as they had selected their rooms and arranged the terms for their accommodation, dr. bronson told the proprietor that they wished a carriage and a guide as soon as possible. a messenger was despatched at once for the carriage, while the guide was summoned from another part of the house. "i suppose you will go first to the cemetery," said the host of the establishment. "we don't care for the cemetery," said the doctor, "until we have seen everything else. if there is any time remaining, we may have a look at it." "then you are americans," exclaimed the landlord. "all englishmen coming here want to go first to the cemetery as they have friends buried there, but americans never care for it." doctor bronson smiled at this mode of ascertaining the nationality of english-speaking visitors, and said it had been remarked by previous visitors to sebastopol. [illustration: russian carpenters at work.] when the guide and carriage were ready, the party started on its round of visits. from the bluff they looked down upon the harbor, which was lined with workshops and bordered in places by a railway track, arranged so that ships were laden directly from the trains, and trains from the ships. the railway connects with the entire system of the empire. doctor bronson said that if it had existed at the time of the war, the capture of sebastopol would have been out of the question. russia had then only a primitive means of communication by wagon-road; she had an abundance of men and war material, but no adequate mode of transportation. the crimean war taught her the necessity of railways, and she has since acted upon the lesson for which she paid such a high price. [illustration: cossacks and chasseurs.] frank and fred climbed quickly to the top of the malakoff, and the doctor followed demurely behind them. the lines which marked the saps and mines of the allies have been nearly all filled up, and the traces of the war are being obliterated. from the top of the casemate the guide pointed out many places of interest. with considerable animation he told how for twenty years after the war the ruins of the city remained pretty nearly as they were when the allies evacuated the crimea; whole squares of what had once been fine buildings were nothing but heaps of stones. but now sebastopol is being restored to her former beauty, and every year large areas of the ruins are making way for new structures. "sebastopol will be a greater city than it ever was before," said doctor bronson, as they stood on the malakoff. "it was a naval port before, and not a commercial one; now it is both naval and commercial, and by glancing at the map of the black sea you can perceive the advantages of its position." then the guide pointed out the new dock-yards and barracks, the warehouses and docks of "the russian company of navigation and commerce," the railway-station close to the shore of the harbor, and the blocks of new buildings which were under construction. then he showed the positions of inkermann, the tchernaya, and the redan, and indicated the lines of the french and english attack. when the scene had been sufficiently studied, the party returned to the carriage and continued their ride. the driver was instructed to go to balaklava, stopping on the way to show them the spot which history has made famous for the charge of the light brigade. as they passed along the level plateau or plain of sebastopol, they saw everywhere traces of the camps of the armies that besieged the city. the guide showed the route of the railway which connected the harbor of balaklava with the camp, the wagon-roads built by the allies, the redoubts that served as defences against attacks in the rear, and the ridges of earth which marked the positions of the huts where officers and soldiers had their quarters during the terrible winter of - . naturally the conversation turned upon the charge of the light brigade. one of the youths asked the doctor what he thought of it. "there has been a great deal of controversy about the matter," was the reply. "it is difficult to arrive at the exact facts, as captain nolan, who brought the order for the cavalry to advance, was killed in the charge. comparing the statements of all concerned in issuing, receiving, and executing the order, it is evident that the order was 'blundered' somewhere. this was the understanding immediately after the controversy; tennyson's poem on the affair originally contained the following: "'then up came an order which some one had blundered.' afterwards these lines were stricken out, and do not appear in the poem as printed in the editions of tennyson's works. [illustration: british soldiers in camp.] "the commander of the french army justly remarked of this charge, _'c'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre_' ("it is magnificent, but it is not war"). twelve thousand russians had attacked the english with the intention of taking balaklava and its port, but they were compelled to retire to the end of the valley. they had re-formed, with their artillery in front, and infantry and cavalry immediately behind. by the misunderstanding of the order of lord raglan, the british commander-in-chief, lord lucan, who commanded the cavalry division, ordered lord cardigan to charge with his light cavalry. "in other words the light cavalry, six hundred and seventy strong, were to attack twelve thousand russians with thirty cannon on their front. the charge was over a plain a mile and a half long, and the russians had a battery of field artillery on each side of the valley within supporting distance of that at the end. consequently there is an excellent description of the scene in tennyson's lines, "'cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in front of them, volley'd and thunder'd.' "the charge was made very reluctantly by lord cardigan, as you may well believe, but he had no alternative other than to obey the order of his superior. there was never a more brilliant charge. the column advanced at a trot for the first half of the distance, and afterwards at a gallop; the russian cannon made huge gaps in the ranks, but they were closed up, and on and on swept the heroes, up to and beyond the russian cannon-- "'sabring the gunners there, charging an army, while all the world wonder'd: plunged in the battery-smoke, right thro' the line they broke; cossack and russian reel'd from the sabre-stroke shatter'd and sunder'd. then they rode back, but not, not the six hundred.' [illustration: alfred tennyson.] "according to one authority, out of six hundred and seventy british horsemen that went to the charge, only one hundred and ninety-eight returned. another authority gives the total loss in killed, wounded, and captured as four hundred and twenty-six. five hundred and twenty horses were lost in the charge." "here is balaklava," said the guide, as the carriage stopped at a turn in the road overlooking the valley. our friends stepped from the vehicle and sat down upon a little mound of earth, where they tried to picture the scene of the dreadful october day of . of the actors and spectators of that event very few are now alive. the doctor completed the recitation of the poem, and his youthful listeners felt down to the depths of their hearts the full force of the closing lines: "honor the brave and bold, long shall the tale be told, yea, when our babes are old, how they rode onward. when can their glory fade? o the wild charge they made! all the world wonder'd. honor the charge they made! honor the light brigade! noble six hundred!" from the battle-field the party went to the village of balaklava and hired a row-boat, in which they paddled about the little, landlocked harbor, and out through its entrance till they danced on the blue waters of the euxine sea. frank and fred could hardly believe that the narrow basin once contained a hundred and fifty english and french ships; it seemed that there was hardly room for a third of that number. [illustration: a broken tarantasse.] on their return journey they passed a party with a broken tarantasse. they stopped a moment and offered any assistance in their power, but finding they could be of no use they did not tarry long. when they reached sebastopol the sun had gone down in the west, and the stars twinkled in the clear sky that domed the crimea. the next morning they rambled about the harbor and docks of the city, and a little past noon were steaming away in the direction of odessa. a day was spent in this prosperous city, which has a population of nearly two hundred thousand, on a spot where at the end of the last century there was only a tartar village of a dozen houses, and a small fortress of turkish construction. odessa has an extensive commerce, and the ships of all nations lie at its wharves. its greatest export trade is in wheat, which goes to all parts of the mediterranean, and also to england. the black sea wheat formerly found a market in america, but all that has been changed in recent years through the development of the wheat-growing interest in our western states and on the pacific coast.' immediately on their arrival they sent their passports to receive the proper permission for leaving the country. everything was arranged in the course of the day, and on the following afternoon they embarked on a steamer that carried them to constantinople. [illustration: the bosporus.] the second morning after leaving odessa they entered the bosporus, the strait which separates europe and asia, and connects the waters of the black sea with the sea of marmora and the mediterranean. as they looked at the beautiful panorama, which shifted its scene with every pulsation of the steamer's engine, frank said he had had a dream during the night which was so curious that he wanted to tell it. "what was it?" the doctor asked. "i dreamed," said frank, "that england and russia had become friends, and made up their minds to work together for the supremacy of the world. england had supplied the money for completing the railway to india; she had built a tunnel under the british channel, and it was possible to ride from london to calcutta or bombay without changing cars. the turks had been expelled from europe; european turkey was governed by a russian prince married to an english princess; the principality had its capital at constantinople, and a guarantee of neutrality like that of belgium, to which all the great powers had assented. war and commercial ships of all nations could pass the bosporus and dardanelles as freely as through the suez canal, and the restrictions made by the treaty of paris were entirely removed. england and russia had formed an offensive and defensive alliance, and all the rest of the world had been ordered to keep the peace. and they were keeping it, too, as they dreaded the combined power of england's money and russia's men." "a very pretty fancy!" said the doctor. 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[illustration: map showing the russian empire routes as described by "the boy travellers."] the rivers and streams of england agents america the macmillan company & fifth avenue, new york australasia the oxford university press flinders lane, melbourne canada the macmillan company of canada, ltd. st. martin's house, bond street, toronto india macmillan & company, ltd. macmillan building, bombay bow bazaar street, calcutta [illustration] [illustration: the derwent, high tor, matlock, derbyshire] the rivers & streams of england painted by sutton palmer described by a. g. bradley [illustration: colophon] published by soho square adam and charles london, w black mcmix preface though this is not a book on angling, a life-long attachment to the fly-rod on the part of the author, and to the delightful scenes into which such predilections notoriously lead one, makes it at once more difficult and more easy to write than if one were approaching the subject as a stranger to the atmosphere, and merely to "write round" the pictures mr. palmer has so admirably painted. but in my case it is by no means only this. a predilection for british landscape in general, and all that thereby hangs, has stimulated a far wider acquaintance with it than any mere angling rambles could achieve, and resulted in the publication of several books concerned with such things, and covering more or less about twenty counties. i feel this explanation is desirable, lest the note of intimacy with many far-sundered streams, in allusion and otherwise, that must occur in these pages may be suspect. the more so, as from the fascination of the cook's ticket or what not, comparatively few of my countrymen have any considerable knowledge of their own land. the rhine is certainly better known than the wye, and the danube probably than the severn. but these very experiences made the first proposal to write a book, other than a mere encyclopædia, within a brief space on such a big subject, seem almost hopeless. rivers and streams from every direction, by scores, came surging out upon the memory at the very thought of it, in quite distracting fashion. it was finally agreed, however, that the literary part of the book should take shape in a series of essays or chapters dealing with the rivers mainly in separate groups or water-sheds, leaving the proportions to my discretion. capricious in a measure this was bound to be. selection was inevitable. it is not of supreme importance. _caeteris paribus_, and without diverging more than necessary from the skilful illustrator, i have dealt more freely with the rivers i know best, and also with those i hold to be more worthy of notice. there are, of course, omissions, this book being neither a guide nor an encyclopædia, but rather a collection of descriptive essays and of water-colour sketches covering, though necessarily in brief, most of the groups. in this particular subject there is happily no need for author and illustrator to keep close company in detail. what inspires the pen, and in actual survey stirs the blood, is often unpaintable. what makes a delightful picture, on the other hand, tells sometimes but a dull tale in print. i have had to leave to the artist's capable brush, owing to the necessary limitations of the letterpress, several subjects; a matter, however, which seems to me as quite immaterial to the general purport of the book, as it is unavoidable. but otherwise i think we run reasonably together. at first sight the omission of the thames in description may seem outrageous. a moment's reflection, however, will, i am sure, conduce to a saner view. illustration is wholly another matter; but to attempt ten or fifteen pages on that great and familiar river, dealt with, too, in bulk and brief by innumerable pens, that could serve any purpose or gratify any reader, seems to me a fatuous undertaking. the severn, on the other hand, as great, almost as important as the thames, and still more beautiful, is by comparison an absolutely unknown river, and we have given it the first place. a. g. b. contents chapter i page the severn chapter ii the wye chapter iii the chalk streams chapter iv the border rivers chapter v two avons chapter vi the rivers of devon chapter vii the rivers of the south-east chapter viii the yorkshire dales chapter ix an east anglian river list of illustrations . the derwent, high tor, matlock _frontispiece_ facing page . the severn, near arley, shropshire . the severn, bridgenorth, shropshire . the severn, near cam, gloucestershire . chepstow with wye and severn . the wye, haddon hall, derbyshire . the wye, hay, breconshire . the wye, ross, herefordshire . the monnow, old bridge, monmouth . the wye, symond's yat, herefordshire . the wye, tintern, monmouthshire . the thames, looking towards henley . the avon, near salisbury . the thames, the bells of ouseley, old windsor . stapleford on the wiley . the itchen, st. cross, winchester . the itchen, and st. giles' hill, winchester . the dove, dovedale, derbyshire . the tyne, hexham, northumberland . the coquet, and warkworth castle, northumberland . the eden, samson's chamber, near carlisle . the eden, near lazonby, cumberland . the derwent, grange, borrowdale . skelwith force, near ambleside, westmoreland . the derwent, borrowdale, cumberland . the brathay, langdale, westmoreland . the thames, backwater by the islands, henley . the avon at clifton . the avon, stratford, warwickshire . a glimpse of the thames, kew . the hamoaze, devonport, from mount edgcumbe . the dart, dittisham, devon . the erme, ivy bridge, devon . the tamar, cotehele, cornwall . the tamar, near calstock, cornwall . the tavy, tavistock, devon . the okement, oakhampton, devon . on the west lynn, lynmouth, devon . the exe, countess weir, devon . the exe, topsham, devon . the axe, axmouth, devon . the thames, eton . the thames, richmond . the arun, arundel castle, sussex . the arun, amberley, sussex . the ouse, near barcombe mills, sussex . the ouse, near lewes, sussex . a stream, near leith hill, surrey . the rother, fittleworth, sussex . the wey, surrey . the medway, aylesford, kent . the wey, elstead, surrey . the medway, maidstone, kent . the medway, rochester . the trent, nottingham . the wharfe, bolton abbey, yorkshire . the wharfe, the strid, yorkshire . the wharfe, barden tower, yorkshire . the nidd, knaresborough, yorkshire . the ure, near ripon, yorkshire . the ure, aysgarth force, yorkshire . the swale, richmond, yorkshire . the swale, richmond, yorkshire . the swale, richmond, yorkshire . the swale, easby abbey, yorkshire . high force, tees, yorkshire . the tees, cotherstone, yorkshire . the tees, barnard castle, durham . the stour, bergholt, suffolk . the ouse, near st. ives, huntingdonshire . the ouse, huntingdonshire . the ouse, houghton mill, huntingdonshire . the ouse, hemingford abbots, huntingdonshire . the ouse, near holywell, huntingdonshire . the stour, near dedham, essex _sketch map at end of volume._ rivers and streams of england chapter i the severn there is surely some peculiar fascination in the birthplace of a famous river when this lies in the heart of moors and mountains. for myself, i admit at once to but scant interest in the infant springs of even such slow running rivers as i have some personal affection for. there is neither mystery, nor solitude, nor privacy about their birth. they come into the world amid much the same surroundings as those in which they spend the greater part of their mature existence--amid ploughed fields, cattle pastures, and villages, farmyards, game covers, and ozier beds. when full they are inevitably muddy, and when empty are very empty indeed; lifeless, and mute at the best, at the worst actually dry. the river of low-country birth acquires, in short, neither character nor quality worthy of consideration till as a full-grown stream it can trace a shining coil in the valley, or reflect the shadow of spire, bridge or mill, of willow or poplar. how different is the source of a mountain-born river, above all when it boasts some name famous in story, and is to become the feeder of historic cities and bearer of great navies. its hoarse voice plashing amid the silence of the eternal hills strikes the chord responsive to such scenes as these with singular force, and a little louder perhaps than its comparatively nameless neighbour, which leaves their common watershed for some other sea. as the lowland landscape of england is unique, so the mountain and moorland solitudes of these two islands are quite different from anything else in the whole universe. the mountain regions of england and wales, scotland and ireland, exhibit, to be sure, some slight variety of detail, due partly to human and partly to natural agencies. but such differences are positively trifling compared to the contrast they each and all present to any other of the waste places of the earth, unless perhaps some wilder portion of brittany may be a qualified exception. this delightful singularity, to my thinking a wholly favourable one, is not sufficiently understood or appreciated. there are tremendous masses of snow and crag and evergreen timber, as well as marvellous formations of naked rock, in four continents appealing to practically another sense. there are lower ranges, too, on the scale of our own mountains, in many parts of the world draped in timber from base to summit, which again are of another family, and those who have lived or been much among them know how unsatisfactory by comparison are their limitations, how obstructive both of free movement and of outlook. but there is nothing anywhere resembling our open hills where heather and bog grasses of many hues, where emerald turf, spreading bracken and golden gorse, broken with cliff and crag and scaur, invite the wanderer to a delightful and easy intimacy with their innermost haunts. here you may ramble practically at will, with the unobstructed glories of earth and air always before your eyes, the fresh tempered breezes of our gulf-stream-washed island in your lungs, your feet pressing upon plants and grasses all instinct of a soil that knows nothing of fierce heats and binding frosts as those terms are understood in most other lands. and then, again, how futile to parade the altitude of our british mountains as evidence of insignificance. they laugh to scorn all such arithmetic, and many times in a single day will wrap themselves in some magic veil, and lift their peaks and shoulders round you, till scale and altitude as expressed in figures become practically a thing of naught. the obvious of the past garish and sunny hour, when their modest measurement proclaimed itself to any reasonably experienced eye, has vanished, and you find yourself confronted by heights that lack absolutely nothing in stature and dignity, and are in effect mountains of , feet. everything that shapely form and atmosphere can achieve in the way of effect these little mountains of ours are capable of. our much maligned climate not merely clothes them in a chequered mantle of green and russet, of grey, purple, or saffron, only less in winter than in summer, but gives them those ever-changing moods and aspects that few people who know both would as a permanency exchange for all the sun glare of the earth. and how solitary are the hollows of these hills where rivers rise: nay, often more than that, and little short of awesome. here again, perhaps, comes in the quite undisturbing reflection that there is a railway within five miles and a town possibly within ten! what does it matter, when nobody ever comes here, and there is not a trace visible anywhere of man's handiwork but possibly the dark line of some stone dyke built two centuries ago? the very consciousness that this is in populous britain makes the wild wilder, the silence stiller, the solitude more solitary. for myself, i know of a score of such valley heads in the north and wales, whence streams and rivers have their birth, that provoke a feeling of positive and pleasurable creepiness, such as the wildest woods and the remotest prairies never touched me with. whether opening and shutting in a driving winter mist, or with their high rocky shoulders turned gloomily from the sun on a fine autumn morning, these inner sanctuaries and water-sheds where so many of our english rivers rise seem as if they gathered the silence of unlimited wastes and distilled its very essence. the very sounds that break their solitude, intensify it: the plashing of the tiny stream when it has struggled out of the meshes of the high bog that gives it birth, and is taking its first leap for liberty and independence down the rocky ledges of the precipice towards the world below, the mournful call of the curlew, the fitful, plaintive bleat of the mountain sheep, or the faint rattle of stones misplaced by its nimble feet. poets have written of the "startled air," and some of them perhaps have used the phrase but tritely, and themselves but half suspecting the true felicity of the metaphor. in these sombre chambers of the hills, walled in upon every side, the stillness seems literally to grasp at every slight sound and cling to it with strange vibrations and lingering echoes, which remind one how utterly alien to these places are the common sounds of the everyday world that pass unnoticed--a world so ridiculously near and yet so infinitely remote. among the outstanding geographical facts which used to be hammered into the heads of schoolboys was that of plinlimmon being the parent of both the severn and the wye. many poems both in welsh and english have been inspired by this picture of two infant streams springing from the bosom of the same mountain, and after following widely sundered courses through various counties, meeting again as great rivers, just in time to mingle their waters before merging them in the brine. it would be a pretty conceit even if it were not in the case of these two rivers an actual fact. whether [illustration: the severn, near arley, shropshire] [illustration] it is on this account, or because of the huge bulk and prominent situation of plinlimmon, many "eminent geographers" of not very remote days wrote it down for the benefit of generations of misguided students as the third loftiest mountain in wales. but it is not even in the first rank, being less than feet. there are several mountains in south wales alone of greater altitude and more graceful shape. but plinlimmon, all the same, is a fine upstanding mass of wild bog, linked upon both sides to far-spreading solitudes, and worthy to be the mother of the greatest and of the most beautiful river respectively in england or wales. that the former deserves the epithet is a mere geographical fact. that the wye contains a greater mileage of the highest types of british scenery than any other river, will surely be conceded by any one sufficiently equipped with a knowledge of british rivers to pronounce an opinion worth having and not disqualified by too intimate personal association with some other possible claimant. for it is the only river in the country that rises to the highest scale of physical beauty and distinction as we know them in britain, both in its earlier and its later stages. a few large rivers, notably the cheshire dee, the usk, the tynes, the tees, and of course many smaller ones in the north and west, compare with the wye, though few surpass it in their higher reaches, being all distinguished by the same type of rugged and mountainous scenery. but none of them, after they have left such associations behind and become by comparison low-country rivers on their progress to the sea, break out again like the wye for such a long period of their later course in scenes that vie with those of its youth and are among the recognised gems of british scenery. the fountain springs of the severn and the wye are less than a mile apart on the long slope of plinlimmon. the one flowing north-east, the other south-east, there is little to choose between them as they fume and fret in their sombre mountain cradles or sparkle among the narrow stone-walled meadows, the little white-washed sycamore-shaded homesteads of the upland farms. the wye has greater things in store for her than even the wild foothills of plinlimmon as she dashes off into the mountain gorges of radnorshire and brecon. but the severn, though flowing always from source to mouth through a landscape consistently fair and often striking, seldom rises to the level maintained by her younger sister for more than half of her journey to the sea. the severn, called hereabouts the hafryn by the welsh, may be said to emerge into civilization near the little montgomeryshire town of llanidloes, noted for its sheep fairs and its fish poachers. here it meets, to follow northwards the only railroad which even now links north and south wales. this will have brought with it over the wild heathery moorland watershed between wye and severn, where dark brooding hills enclose the region of pant-y-dwr (hollow of the waters), the brown streams of the tylerch. the clywedog meeting the other two just below their junction, the severn now becomes a lusty little river, brawling incessantly upon a wide stony bed. of the thousands of tourists who every season travel on the cambrian railway to the welsh watering-places, few probably realise that the little trout stream which prattles in and out of the line in the high country around moat lane junction bears the name of the greatest, though truly the second in fame, of english rivers. from first to last the severn is faithful to montgomeryshire as the welsh county of its birth. from blaen hafryn, its source on plinlimmon, just within the county bounds, for some miles straight measure along its valley--all the way, indeed, from llanidloes to the breiddon hills--it waters the richest pastures and the fattest corn lands of the ancient kingdom of powys fadog. but if the severn drains the richest portion of this most delectable and highland country, it must not be supposed that its environment is tame or its streams lazy. everywhere to the right and to the left lofty hills, though for the most part somewhat back-lying, bound the limits of the vale, while now and again a glimpse of some distant mountain serves to remind one that montgomeryshire is in the main a mountain county. for the severn valley is so intercepted with small hills, so richly wooded, so ornate in places with the park lands and foliage of country seats, so sprinkled with pleasant villages, one is apt to forget that the little streams hurrying down to the river from the north come from a really wild wales beyond, while lying back to the south the regions of kerry and clun speak in their very names to the initiated of the spirit of solitude. but the human or certainly the historic interest of montgomeryshire and much of its visible wealth clusters along this broad and broken vale of the severn. newtown and its flannel industries and the name of pryce-jones will strike a responsive note in the ear of every british housewife. but the stern fragments of montgomery castle, perched on the summit of a rock feet above the river, is perhaps more in harmony with the mood in which we should follow an historic artery through this border country. the little town, absolutely the smallest and most somnolent county capital in the two countries, lies behind the rocky castle height. the norman, roger of montgomery, was granted this country by his friend and chief william the conqueror, who appears to have assumed it was in shropshire, because offa's dyke crosses the river near by. this misconception soon became apparent, and though the well-nigh impregnable castle, called always tre-faldwin by the welsh after roger's constable, baldwin, was retained in anglo-norman hands, it is not too much to say that it was a centre of strife between the welsh and english for years, till edward the first completed the conquest of wales and created the north welsh counties, this one being fortunate in acquiring the sonorous name which had clung to the castle and lordship. the actual building, whose scant fragments are now so conspicuous and suggestive, was erected by henry the third, who in his troubles with his barons was compelled to promise llewelyn the second or "the great" that this should be the uttermost western limit of his pretensions to dominion. but a more accessible celebrity than either henry the third or llewelyn, seeing that he has left us one of the raciest autobiographies in the language, owned and lived in montgomery castle, to wit, lord herbert of chirbury. his period was the first half of the seventeenth century, but his exploits were not confined to montgomeryshire, as his reputation for courage, brains, and eccentricity was a national one and something more. his literary remains, which are numerous, are matter, perhaps, for the specialist, but his autobiography, which in a reprint can be bought for a shilling or two, is the most delightful picture in brief of country and domestic life, of courts and camps abroad and at home, of social london, and, above all, of the point of view of a shrewd, original, experienced and travelled man of the world, warrior, courtier, scholar, and theologian. chirbury is the adjoining parish, and this sombre-looking fortress above the severn may in a sense be regarded as the cradle of the great race of herbert, which with its many noble branches and varied achievements is perhaps the most illustrious in england. one branch, in the persons of the earls of powis, is still very much represented here on the severn. for as the river tumbles along in occasional pools where the salmon ought to rise to the fly, but for some inscrutable reason refuse to do so, and in long gliding deeps to welshpool, powis castle, the "castell goch," the "red castle" of old border days, rises out of its wooded park lands on the left bank. known locally as "pool," welshpool was a border town like berwick-on-tweed and hay-on-wye. two nations dwelt there in separate quarters in a sort of armed neutrality in days when nationality at intermittent periods meant life or death, and still dwell there in long-mingled unity. shropshire runs close up to the severn at montgomery castle upon the south bank, and english only is spoken by the welsh population all down the valley from moat lane, though with the spring of the hills to the northward the native tongue still everywhere asserts itself. around welshpool, too, the jones's, hughes's, and williams's begin to display the shropshire type of man as opposed to the welshman, whether english-speaking or otherwise. but the severn turns away and clings to its native county for yet another miles. receiving the first of its three important affluents, the vyrnwy from the north, it finally takes leave of wales beneath the shadow of those imposing twins the breiddons, which like a pair of huge sentinels stand guarding the gateway from the plains of north shropshire into the hills of wales. indeed, the exit of the severn, by this time a considerable river, from welsh territory is finely marked, for when it has run a pleasant, uneventful course, touching by the way no place of note, to shrewsbury, the westward view from the latter is significant and striking. to the last mile of montgomeryshire, wales stands finely out above the rich undulations of this once frontier and much harassed county, with singular distinction. the properly constituted salopian as he stands upon the western outskirts of his town, where his famous school has in recent times perched itself above the high banks of severn, sees his past laid out before him, like a page of history; the fat saxon lowland spreading westward for a dozen miles, and the sharp rampart of wales from north to south as far as the eye can see, height after height, range after range, almost precisely delimiting the outworks behind which for centuries lay a vigilant, unforgetting, and alien people, ready to strike at the first sign of over-confident negligence. this to the indifferent eye may seem ancient history, but it was real enough even as late as the days of henry the fourth, when for ten years glyndwr kept the border counties in a continual state of apprehension. part of the walls are still standing, while the severn, bending in horse-shoe shape round the town, still runs under both the _english_ and the _welsh_ bridge, and the castle rises above the river-bank whence henry the fourth and his army marched out on that july morning years ago to meet the percies on the bloody field of haytely. shrewsbury is a fine old town, and the encircling severn adds no little to its pride of pose. it sprang into being on the ashes of the neighbouring brito-roman city of uriconium a few miles down the river, so ruthlessly destroyed by the saxon pagans. first as pengwern, then as schrobbesberie, the principal city of the middle march, it gave in time its name to a county, and kept chief watch and ward against the welsh of powys land and of north wales. it has a great story and stout traditions like all border towns, and looks it. of late years it has begun to share the attentions of over-sea visitors with chester, a fact in no way surprising. for though its antiquities are not so definite and obviously on show, shrewsbury, unlike the other, is far removed from the disfiguring industrial atmosphere of the north. it is nothing, to be sure, but the historic market-town of a great district; but the latter is so large, so important and interesting, including as it does both english and welsh territory, that shrewsbury has at once the peaceful air of a country borough with the size and dignity of something very much more. it is rich in ancient half-timbered houses, often standing in their original narrow wynds or rows. its sixteenth-century market-hall is one of the best in england. there are some beautiful old mansions too, that were the town-houses of great salopian families in the days when counties or groups of counties were a social unit unto themselves, and london a far-away rendezvous for great nobles or pronounced courtiers only. shrewsbury is justly proud of its old churches. the abbey is a fine norman building with later additions and much recent successful restoration, and will be the cathedral when shropshire--only a matter of time--becomes a diocese. st. mary's, however, is the more interesting, being of large dimensions and exhibiting almost every style of architecture from norman onwards, and lifting a lofty and beautiful spire heavenwards. in its windows is a wealth of old stained-glass, brought at various times from various places both in the locality and on the continent. battlefield church, beyond the town, was raised over the burial pits of the many thousand dead who fell at that great encounter, to say masses for ever for their souls and for those of henry the fourth and the pious founders. with its fine tower planted amid the quiet fields upon the site of the very shock of battle it seems to tell a strange story, and to have long outlived the prodigiously important function it was destined for, if numbers counted for responsibility in the repetition of masses. it was here, of course, that our old friend falstaff was almost at his very best in the scene of the fight between hotspur and prince henry. to return to fact, however, it was in shrewsbury market-place that hotspur's naked body, after being three days buried, was set up between two mill-stones to show the world that the lion of the north, the terror of his enemies, was in truth dead. it was on severn's banks at berwick, close to shrewsbury, that this paragon of his day and type, whose very defects of speech the golden youth of england affected, spent the last night of his life; and in the morning, when he was told the name of the place, turned pale and said that "he had ploughed his last furrow," for a wizard in northumberland had told him he should die at berwick, meaning, as he supposed, that more famous one in the north, where every generation of percy in those days fought and bled. he traced the outline of his hand with a dagger on an oak panel of the house, and it became a tradition of the bettons, the owners, that if the panel was lost berwick would go with it, and sure enough the double disaster occurred within quite recent times. near a century later, mytton, the governor of shrewsbury, refused to open the gates to henry the seventh as he was marching to fight for that title on bosworth field, swearing he should only enter the town "over his belly." matters having arranged themselves pleasantly, however, the too protesting governor, to save his oath, lay on his back in the gate while henry stepped over him. the severn is in sober mood for much of its progress round shrewsbury, providing both the school and the townsfolk with an admirable boating course, after which it breaks out again into [illustration: the severn, bridgenorth, shropshire] [illustration] those interludes of shallow rapids that mark its normal course. soon after leaving shrewsbury, having run under the high ridge of haughmond hill and the ruinous abbey of that name, the river swerves southward, and for the rest of its long course holds more or less to that point of the compass. in spite of increasing volume from various small affluents--the meole at shrewsbury, the condover brook and the little river tern which joins it just below--the severn still retains, in subdued fashion, the qualities of a big hill-born stream running from long pike-haunted deeps into shallow rapids, where persevering anglers still catch occasional trout, and up which the salmon run in high water as they head for their breeding-grounds among the montgomery hills. it is a sore point among severn anglers that for some occult reason no severn salmon can be persuaded to take a fly--one of those mysteries with which the king of fishes continues to bewilder and exasperate generations of experts. here all the way up through shropshire and montgomery are the fish, the water, and the conditions that make the salmon a fly-taker more or less in every other river of this pattern in great britain. nay, its very tributaries, the wye and the usk, though you would expect, to be sure, greater things of them than of the severn, are conspicuous in this particular. salmon are taken occasionally on a minnow above welshpool, but so rarely on a fly as not to be worth noting. running under the picturesque church and bridge of atcham the river soon passes uriconium or wroxeter, the partly excavated roman british city some six miles below shrewsbury. the wall of the basilica (as supposed) at uriconium is, i think, the only ruin south of the roman wall country that has weathered the storms of centuries and the hand of man above ground--the only one, at any rate, like this one springing out of a lonely rural landscape,--and thus sitting against the skyline with a turnip-field as a foreground, it seems to move one even beyond a norman or a saxon church--and no wonder. how the "white city" was utterly destroyed by the west saxons after the battle of deorham in is told us vaguely in the wail of llywarch hen, whose sons perished in the carnage. still winding through a pleasant undulating region, passing the high red cliff and the deep dingle near hamage and the wooded slopes about shadwell, the severn runs within a mile or two of the wrekin, which rises some feet high to the eastward. away to the west wenlock edge, caradoc, and the longmynd, approaching feet in altitude, show their shapely forms. at buildwas the beautiful ruins of its norman cistercian abbey overlook the river, while those of much wenlock priory, once the greatest and most powerful in shropshire, cover twenty acres not far from its banks. just above buildwas the severn begins to accelerate its pace in the deep trough it has cut in the limestone hills, and enters the mining district of coalbrook dale, where for a few miles what must once have been a beautiful gorge has been for ages smirched with many disfiguring industries; for here in the seventeenth century iron is said to have been first smelted with coal. the phase, however, is a very short one, for with coalport the smoke and turmoil are left behind, and through peaceful and delightful scenes the river forges on to bridgenorth. here, perched on a high promontory between the river and a tributary ravine, with the leaning wall of its ancient castle upon the summit and its houses clinging to the steeps, the historic little shropshire town makes a brave show. and from this point, by hampton wood and highley, to arley and bewdley the severn runs in a narrow valley with woody hills pressing upon the right and left, and oftentimes rolling glades of birch and bracken about its banks, and the entire distance beautifully varied with foliage and meadow. below arley, a place of renown for its scenery, the severn may be said to abandon definitely all semblance of a mountain river, to cease from intermittent fretting on rocky channels, and to sober down for good--a procedure due in part no doubt to certain weirs below--into a fairly fast but smooth, deep, and navigable stream. bewdley, though but a small town now of some souls, is a place of peculiar interest in severn annals; for in times remote, those of the saxon and the roman at any rate, it was certainly the head of the swampy lagoon through which the river wandered from here to the bristol channel, and the head consequently of navigation. but much more interesting than this, bewdley was, till the period of canals, a great shipping port for birmingham and other midland centres. long barges travelled down to bristol, and it can be readily understood what this meant in days when roads were practically useless for transportation. bewdley, moreover, at one time manufactured as a monopoly the famous "monmouth caps" worn by soldiers, sailors, and others when sumptuary laws ordained in what manner each rank of life should array itself. but canals which struck the severn lower down, followed in due course by railroads, destroyed bewdley. it is now, however, a singularly interesting illustration of a queen anne and georgian town left commercially derelict in the full career of its prosperity. a long row of substantial buildings once full of merchandize spreads along the river-bank, while a wide street runs inland up the hill slope bordered with houses, which speak eloquently, to any one who can read such messages, of the prosperous provincial merchant of the jacobean and georgian period, put to such humble modern uses as an insignificant agricultural market-town can find for them. with its sombre queen anne church, its placid old-world air, and leafy hills mounting high in pleasant confusion above it, and its fine stone bridge spanning the river, bewdley is a place to remember among the severn towns. always celebrated for its beauty of situation, old leland, brief and curt to the verge of humour, broke out in its presence into verse: deliciis rerum bellus locus undique floret fronde coronatus viriarae, tempora sylvae. here, too, as an occasional alternative to ludlow, was held the court of wales and the marches. of bewdley forest nothing is left but some great oaks scattered over meadow and park land, but that of wyre, near by, still rolls back from the severn, ridge upon ridge of scrub oak woodland, covering about twenty square miles with dense foliage scarcely anywhere broken but by the trail of the little streams that prattle down its narrow glens. there is nothing quite approximating to wyre forest remaining in england--this dense mantle of scrub oak, laid over a large tract of uninhabited hilly country. in autumn this uniform sea of russet, splashed about with the dark green of stray yew trees, rolling over hill and dale for many miles, presents a sight common enough in some other countries, but quite unfamiliar in english landscape. stourport, a little outpost of murky industry, soon follows, with the tributary of the stour from the birmingham country, together with the canal that in pre-railroad days virtually killed bewdley. but from here to worcester the severn steals serenely on, through pastoral scenes of quiet but engaging charm. hills of moderate height, and muffled betimes in foliage, trend upon the narrow vale, which is always one long carpet of meadow, while a weir or two at long intervals now checks any natural tendency the wide river might have had to retain the livelier habits of its youth, being now everywhere navigable for boats, barges, or small steamers. but the severn, unlike its famous twin the thames, remains for all that a lonely river. at certain spots of course, such as bewdley, holt, fleet, and worcester, midland holiday-makers paddle about within limits, but, fine boating river in a practical sense though it must everywhere be, in its long solitary journey from point to point the pleasure-boat is conspicuously absent. probably the high, bare, grassy banks which are almost continuous, and must shut out the surrounding country from any one down on the surface of the stream, has something to do with this. once a day, perhaps, in summer a small steamer from worcester or tewkesbury carries a load of holiday-makers between those places or up to bewdley, while occasionally a long line of tarpaulin-covered barges, drawn by a tug, lashes the brown sombre river into great commotion. save for these rare interruptions, however, sabrina in her pilgrimage through worcestershire is a lonely stream; at close quarters even a thought sombre and moody, swishing noiselessly between those high grass embankments and half-submerged willows, over the top of which she gets up so readily when the fountains of the welsh hills are loosed. seats of old renown lie here and there upon the ridges to the right and left. hartlebury palace is near by, where the bishops of worcester are still seated in the jacobean halls of their gorgeous predecessors, behind moats and ramparts that sheltered much earlier prelates even than these; past the many-hundred-acred wood of shrawley and past astley, where are the remains of hermitages cut in the cliff, used in quite recent years for profane purposes, but of old by pious recluses who exchanged benedictions with the severn boatmen for small coin. thence to ombersley, the seat and village of the sandys, who were foremost among worcestershire loyalists in the civil war; and holt castle, where the elizabethan chancellor, the first of the bromleys, set up house and founded the present family. close by, too, are the ancient oaks of whitley, almost brushing the costly fountains and terraced gardens of the earls of dudley, till the uplifted glades of hallow park, where queen elizabeth stayed with a little retinue of horses, and shot a buck, makes a fitting approach to worcester, whose cathedral stands out conspicuously above the town, which lies sloping upwards from the river-bank. plain though stately in exterior and nobly poised, worcester cathedral holds the visitor rather by the richness of its interior and the many successive styles of architecture it displays, including the original crypt--almost the best in england--of bishop wulfstan, the eleventh-century founder of the present fabric. little of the latter indeed but this norman crypt is left, for the church of the great monastery of worcester suffered sorely from fire and mischance in the middle ages, while during the civil wars, the city being nearly the whole time "in action," as it were, was more fleeced and knocked about than almost any other in england. the first small battle of the war, fought by rupert, which struck a long and serious misgiving into the minds of the raw mounted troopers of the commonwealth, took place at powick bridge over the teme, near the city. the last battle of the second brief war, as every one knows--a fierce and bloody one--was also fought at worcester. otherwise it was occupied for a brief time by essex's raw army, who worked havoc among the monuments, windows, and ornamentation of the cathedral. thenceforward the "ever faithful city" was held for the king, though at the cost of much hardship and constant exactions for his cause, till near the end of the struggle, when it was captured. modern worcester is singularly fortunate in the wide range of its industries, gloves and porcelain still claiming pre-eminence. it still retains, however, among much of that reconstruction inevitable to a busy town, quite a large number of sixteenth and seventeenth century half-timbered houses. that occupied by charles the second, at the great battle of worcester, and from which he escaped by only a hair's breadth to pursue the adventurous course of a hunted fugitive, is still standing, as also is the yet finer old house which was the headquarters of the scottish commanders, and in which the duke of hamilton died of his wounds. it would be out of place, even if space permitted, to dwell here on the peculiar position which worcester, and the county of which the severn valley is so important a part, occupied from the norman conquest to the reformation. it was of all english counties the one where the church had most property and most power, and the influence of great lay magnates was least. while here too, and above all while treating of the severn, the fact must be emphasized what an influence the river had on the drift of race and political balance in england. in british, roman, and probably for most of the saxon period, the severn was by no means the well-behaved river, a hundred or so yards broad, flowing between well-defined banks, that we see to-day, but the whole valley through which it now flows was a marshy lagoon. beyond the valley was a strip of forest wilderness, and beyond the wilderness was wales and its dubious borderland. worcester first came into being as the chief passage of the severn, since roman, british, and saxon roads, and the route of travel for long afterwards, all converged here. as a historical boundary no river in england has played such a part. even in that more or less authentic compact known as the tripartite convention, caricatured by shakespeare, between owen glyndwr and the percies in the early fifteenth century to divide england and wales into three kingdoms, the severn was the natural frontier of the western dominion. its west bank even to-day has a faint celtic flavour, while nothing to the eastward of the river could possibly suggest anything but the saxon. leaving worcester for its twenty-mile run to tewkesbury, the severn almost immediately receives the teme, that famous trout and grayling river which from here to its source in the radnor moors has scarcely a dull mile. whether brawling in the woody limestone gorges of downton, gliding under the storied walls of ludlow, slipping from pool to rapid through the pleasant meads of herefordshire, or running its worcestershire course through the deep romantic vale between tenbury and powick, the teme is always beautiful. with this final contribution from the welsh mountains, the severn pursues its sombre, smooth, fast-gliding course between the same high banks of red sandstone soil, held together by tufted grass for the better resistance of winter floods, and the low willows which trail and dip in the stream. occasionally some slope of woodland makes a brief change in its character. but no villas nor country-houses to speak of venture on the river edge, nor vary its somewhat monotonous character of foreground detail with their ornate accessories, such as display themselves in one shape or another on most of our famous rivers. neither punts nor skiffs nor house-boats, nor flannelled youths nor gay parasols, ever brighten its broad silent stream. but as a natural feature in a typical english landscape of more than common beauty, rolling majestically along between [illustration: the severn, near cam, gloucestershire] [illustration] wide ox-pastures and meadows that in june are busy with haymakers and instinct with pastoral life, it leaves little to be desired. one feature, however, here adds abiding lustre to the severn valley; for the malvern hills, by far the finest range for their modest altitude in all england, rise within easy distance of its western bank, and following in the same direction make a mountain background to a scene that even without them would be fair enough. while noting contrasts, too, though in this case not anywise concerned with the physical attributes of thames or severn, what a curiously different tale is told in the ownership of their respective banks. along the former, for instance, with its gayer surface, its more ornate and gregarious shores and splendid mansions, how few occupants of these last have any hereditary association with the soil, how utterly broken are most ties with the past! along the worcestershire severn, on the other hand, the ancient stocks hold their ground with singular tenacity. above worcester something of this has been indicated; and again, as one follows the river downwards and recalls the names of lygon (earl beauchamp), hornyold, berington, lechmere, coventry, temple, or martin--all but the last two, who are about a century later, representatives by descent of tudor ancestors--it seems to cover almost every seat of note within hail of the river, and probably the greater portion of the land abutting on its banks to the county's limit: and this for modern england anywhere is extremely creditable and rare enough. upton, a little town of some importance in the more primitive times of severn navigation, has now scarcely anything but a bridge and small market to live upon. in the churchyard and predecessor of the present abandoned and conspicuous georgian church was fought a desperate skirmish between the scots and fleetwood's vanguard, just before the last battle of worcester. approaching tewkesbury the river runs out into a wide expanse of meadow land, and through this, under the walls of the beautiful old town with its superb abbey church rising conspicuously above its banks, shakespeare's avon, having now run its course by warwick, stratford, evesham, and pershore, rolls its classic waters to their confluence. tewkesbury has some claim to be the most picturesque of the severn towns, though lying absolutely upon the flat. it is small, unsmirched by any industry, and undoubtedly contains in its two long streets a greater proportion for its size of really good sixteenth and seventeenth century houses than any of its neighbours on either severn or avon, rich beyond measure in this respect as both these valleys are. then the abbey church alone would make a town famous. to dwell upon this imposing pile, practically a cathedral, is here out of the question. its massive norman tower with its wealth of rich external arcading is one of the finest in england. its long nave with vaulted roof resting upon massive cylindrical norman pillars is of scarcely less renown. its aisles and transepts, choir and chapels, its pointed windows with their old stained-glass, its many monuments, and above all its superb west front, make a subject almost foolish to touch upon in half a page. one may state, however, that its lay founder was that celebrated robert fitzhamon, earl of gloucester, who in the time of rufus added to his earldom by a romantic adventurous exploit, well remembered in wales, the province of glamorgan. his body lies, too, where it should lie, in his own abbey, beneath an elegant chantry raised nearly three centuries later to his memory by a pious abbot. it would be ill omitting, however space may press, all mention of the battle of tewkesbury, when on may , , the yorkist forces under edward the fourth encountered the lancastrians under queen margaret outside the town in the final battle of the long wars of the roses. the latter were defeated with prodigious slaughter; a place near severn's bank being still known as the _bloody meadow_. but the slaughter was not confined to the battle: the lancastrian fugitives, when all was long over, were hunted and hounded to death, and with their chief, who had sought sanctuary in the abbey, were dragged in great numbers to the scaffold. after this a solemn thanksgiving was held in the abbey by the bloodthirsty victor, whose notions of a benignant deity, like most of his kind in those pitiless days, was merely the god whom he fancied had interfered in his favour. swishing silently onward between its high, monotonous banks of red earth and green tufty turf and unaspiring willows; stirred perhaps once a day by a trail of steam-dragged barges, but otherwise noiseless always, unless for the occasional plunge of a fish on its reddish-brown surface, the severn rolls towards gloucester through a fat and [illustration: chepstow with wye and severn] [illustration] teeming country. peaceful hay meadows of ample acreage, astir but for a week of june, save when some winter flood rolling over them makes for their yet greater silence. towering elms and yet older oaks, following some flood ditch or hedgerow along the river's edge or across the flat valley, which give a certain sense of dignity and opulence to this part of the severn's course, and not least when a summer wind is ruffling their thousand leaves and curling over these great seas of mowing grass. farms and cottages shrink backward a couple of fields' length from the river-bank on to the edge of the upland for obvious and sufficient reason. and so by deerhurst with its part saxon church and wholly saxon chapel, by apperley court and ashelworth ferry to the outskirts of gloucester. here the navigation of the river, helped by a canal cut across to sharpness point miles below, assumes an ocean-going character and considerable importance for small ships. the well-known "bore" or tidal wave rushes up the severn periodically, often achieving the height of feet and a speed of miles an hour, and special embankments have been made below gloucester to preserve the land from its attacks. when the severn begins to open out into wide watery flats, and below gloucester to take on the muddy qualities of a tidal river, there is little occasion to follow it. the general outlook, however, during the last forty-mile stretch of the severn, is worthy of its fame, for on both sides the uplands spread back in deep lofty ridges. the cotswolds upon the one hand, with mayhill and the forest of dean upon the other, give character and interest even to the shining flats of salt marsh, sand, and mud, through which the severn, from any height, can be seen coiling like a serpent to meet the wye, and with the later advent of the avon to merge into the bristol channel. but gloucester is the real port of the severn, a clean and pleasant city, and like worcester has two long main streets meeting where an ancient cross stood, and still in name stands; for the heart of the city, unlike the other, is a mile from the severn as well as lower lying, and its navigation is effected by canals. as an historic town in the middle ages gloucester counted for much, its earldom carrying for many reasons extraordinary power, and its situation on the edge of the welsh marches, and on the lowest bridge of the severn, having alone a significance that can scarcely be realised without some understanding of the military and political importance of this corner of england and wales before the wars of the roses. centres of influence shift, and when the archer and the man-at-arms under the clares and mortimers ceased to be a potent factor in english political life, the country between and about the severn and the wye, the original home of english archery, lost its peculiar significance and took rank by mere geographical and commercial considerations. in the civil war, however, gloucester came again to the front. its stubborn retention by the parliamentary party in a royalist country, and its defence by massey, entitles it to rank with royalist worcester as among the most conspicuous centres of strife in that distressing conflict. but strangers nowadays only visit gloucester to see the cathedral--an expedition well worth the making. belonging to the middle group of cathedrals in size, this one is chiefly celebrated for its beautiful tower and cloisters, both of the perpendicular period. most of the nave, however, retains the original norman character in piers and arches with exceptional grandeur of elevation; elsewhere it is much obscured by perpendicular casing. gloucester boasts also one of the four eleventh-century crypts and the largest east window in england, still containing a good deal of the old painted glass. originally a benedictine monastery, the burial within its walls of edward the second, murdered at berkeley castle near by, and afterwards held as a martyr, brought pilgrims, money, and additions to the church, which became the cathedral of the new see of gloucester, cut off from worcester by henry the eighth. a fragment too of llanthony abbey, the twin sister, though in fact the unfilial daughter, of that stately ruin, that other llanthony in the welsh vale of honddu, still stands amid the modern litter of the docks. [illustration: the wye, haddon hall, derbyshire] [illustration] chapter ii the wye if the severn under its infant name of hafren leaps towards such modified civilization as llanidloes and the lonely trail of the cambrian railway implies, amid solitudes profound, the wye, though running even longer in the wild, has the company almost from its source of that ancient coach-road that in the good old stay-at-home days took even persons of condition on their wedding tours to aberystwith. it was a wild and long way though, and its solitudes must have struck something like terror into the hearts of a midland or east anglian squire of the regency period, getting outside the hedges as it were for the first time in his life, and looking possibly for the only one, upon actual mountains and tumbling streams. the severn running north-east, and drawing mainly on the fountains of north wales in its way to welshpool and shrewsbury, taps another country from the wye. the latter is soon swollen into quite a large river by many lusty affluents from one of the wildest and most prolific watersheds in england or wales. birmingham, some of us may regret, has already discovered and laid this last under tribute. london engineers have had it all surveyed this ten years, and some day it is to be feared london will make it a burning question. the ordinary londoner of intelligence, however, knows nothing about it outside possibly the path from aberystwith to the top of plinlimmon and back. of its great lonely heart, tuneful only with the noise of waters, the bleat of sheep, and the plovers' cry, of its romantic girdle of crag and wood, of little white-washed sycamore shaded homesteads and rude hoary shrines of british saints through which these bog-fed torrents break, the outer world knows absolutely nothing at all. here, however, are about to square miles of more continuously wild upland than anything even in north wales, all lying in a block, to which the counties of montgomery, radnor, brecon, cardigan, and caermarthen each contribute a slice. a land penetrated by no roads south of the upper wye, though pricked around its edges by rough and short-lived arteries [illustration: the wye, hay, breconshire] [illustration] for local use. a region whose hidden charms are for the stout pedestrian alone, but have remained so far undiscovered even by him, for practically no human form but the welsh-speaking sheep farmer on his pony or some more than commonly adventurous angler or occasional grouse shooter ever breaks upon the solitude of this far-reaching mountain waste even in mid-august. this barrier, so broad, so lofty, and so long, which counted for so much in welsh history, was known by the men of old as "the mountains of ellineth." they have now no composite name, and there is not a range in britain needs one more. it is as if dartmoor and exmoor, which could be together dropped into this other one, each lacked a concrete designation. the wye draws little further on this watershed, till after miles of wandering in the wilderness, growing gradually less savage, and playing all the tunes and chords known to little trout streams amid the pastures of llangurig, it meets the marteg and the elan, near rhayader, and begins to take itself seriously. this indeed is the real beginning of the wye, for most of those who know its upper reaches. for here it achieves maturity and enters the world; and a beautiful world too, of waving woodlands and overhanging mountains, but one which many pass their lives in and others visit, and traversed by a good valley road and a railway. the elan but a few short years ago came from the west out of this ellineth wilderness, bringing with it the waters of the claerwen through a deep vale, unforgettable by those who knew it for the exquisite combination of luxuriant low ground and the fine grouping of its overhanging mountain walls. if cwm elan was retired from the world in the ordinary sense, it is a familiar enough name to all students of shelley, whose cousins then owned it, and who himself settled here for a time with his young, hapless, and ill-suited wife. the hills and crags, however, that inspired the poet's earliest muse, those jagged peaks that frown sublime, mocking the blunted scythe of time, look down now upon far different scenes, though perhaps in their way not less lovely ones. deep waters now glimmer from hill to hill where the elan ran but yesterday through wood and pasture to join the wye; and yet deeper into the hills, where the claerwen leaped from the wild into this now submerged arcadia, is another lake, thus laying both the main stem of the valley and its forks under the same vast sheet of water. if this chain of lakes is the work of the birmingham corporation and not of nature, they are of this last at any rate a good imitation, and reflect upon their bosoms no shadows less harmonious than those of the everlasting hills. the wye is a delightful river from its source to its mouth; scarcely a suggestion of industrial defilement comes near it anywhere. the, in this respect, utterly guileless cathedral town of hereford is, indeed, the only place above the scale of a small market-town within touch of its banks. everywhere, even between the rapids, the river itself is instinct with the sense of buoyancy. after leaving the black mountains above hereford it becomes at intervals for pleasure-boats a navigable stream; but till it leaves wales it has all the boil and rush and stir of a salmon river. it is easy to pick out those sections of the wye, charming as they are in a quiet, pastoral, severn-like fashion, which are the least distinguished. and that they form collectively much the smaller portion of a river running a course of miles, says something for its qualities. the wye divides itself readily into four distinct stages. the first, its infancy as a mere mountain stream to rhayader; the second, its course thence for some odd miles as a considerable river fretting in a rocky channel, and pressed between the heavily-wooded feet of hills and mountains, to boughrood with a few reaches more of less violent perturbation, but imposingly guarded by the black mountains, to hay or clifford. the third stage may be reckoned as covering the rich and broken low country of herefordshire; while the fourth begins near ross, where the river enters that series of magnificent scenes which, opening with symond's yat, continues for above miles, past monmouth to tintern, the wyndcliff and chepstow, maintaining a standard of beauty and grandeur altogether above the scale that you would look for, even in the more than pretty region through which it cuts its way. it is by means of this lower stage that the wye seems to defy a rival; for as regards its upper reaches between rhayader and hay, beautiful as they are, the dee through the vales of edeyrnion and llangollen, the usk between brecon and abergavenny, the north tyne, and one or two yorkshire rivers, could show miles of as noble a torrent, equally beautiful in environment. but none of these rivers, after they have abandoned their highland glories and settled down into the comparative quiet of the low country, wake again as they near the sea as the wye awakes, and repeat, though with a difference of detail that is the more charming, the glories of their prime. which of the two sections of the wye is the more beautiful it would be ill saying. their contrast, happily, makes comparison foolish. no other english river of any size can offer at once such a spectacle as symond's yat on the wyndcliff, near its mouth, and the long gorge between aberedw and the epynt in its higher reaches. this it is which crowns the wye as fairest of english rivers by a practically indisputable title. so, carrying thus the elan and the spare water of its many lakes with it, the wye thunders on in rocky channels or heaves in wide swirling pools, beneath woods of oak and ash and larch, with the green or purple crests of the great hills looming high above. plunging past doldowlod and llysdinam it receives the sprightly ithon, which, born in the kerry hills and gathering in its course half the waters of radnorshire, has twisted between its red crumbly banks with much sound and laughter through miles of that most delectable little county. dividing brecon here from radnor, two unknown shires that outside north wales and the lake district it would be hard to match, counted as one, for their high qualities of form and detail, the wye rages down those jagged stairways known as "builth rocks," and noted as a famous stretch of salmon water. here on the western bank a large tributary, and itself at times no mean salmon river, the irfon comes pouring in its amber bog-fed streams. born far away in the very heart of the high moors, within hail of the resounding struggles of the infant towy in the gorges of fanog; cradled in unvisited hollows beneath raven-haunted crags of old silurian rock; fretting amid the lush bracken glades and indigenous mountain oaks of abergwessin and "the steps of the wolf," this bewitching stream drives downward through a rich and narrow vale encompassed by lofty hills, till, fuller by a half-score of mountain brooks, it meets the wye near that historic spot where llewelyn the third, the last prince of wales, fell in battle at an unknown soldier's hand. flowing under the many-arched stone bridge of builth, that ancient little mart of sheep and cattle, and receiving the edw from radnor forest, the wye now enters on perhaps the most inspiring of all its upper reaches. for here on the radnor shore the bold ridge of aberedw lifts its [illustration: the wye, ross, herefordshire] [illustration] rock-plated sides some feet above the fretting river which upon the brecon bank chafes the green and woody feet of the high sheep-walks of epynt. what makes, too, for the exceeding beauty of these particular reaches of the wye is not alone the lofty hills which press upon its here tempestuous streams, but the further fact that every downward view of the river has for a background the line of the black mountains waving at a great height against the skyline. breaking at length out of its own pent-up channels, and turned back by the formidable barrier before it, which protects the vale of usk, the wye now swings to the east and down the broader meadowy vales of glasbury and hay; the black mountains of brecon looming high and abrupt on the right, the radnor moors rising more gradually upon the left, each bank from time to time ornate with some country-seat set back against the base of the hills. this is the spot to remind the reader, if such be needed, that the wye is a famous salmon river, and that its fish, unlike those of the severn, share the normal habit of all other salmon, mysterious and unaccountable though that instinct be, of rising in more or less capricious fashion to what we facetiously call, and the salmon most certainly does not consider to be, a fly. the upper or rockier portion from rhayader to glasbury is perhaps the best of the river, but all the way down, till it meets the tide at the proper and appointed casts, the wye is a true salmon river in the angling sense of the word. to discuss its ups and downs, or to dwell upon the tribulations that this one in common with most salmon rivers has experienced in some recent years, is not our province. but the wye is cursed with the pike, a gentleman that the salmon loathes--not, of course, like the trout, from bodily fear, but he shuns his presence and neighbourhood as a fastidious mortal moves from a neighbourhood invaded by vulgarians. the llyfni comes with slowish current into the wye above glasbury from the neighbouring reedy lake of tal-y-llyn, otherwise savaddan, set like a gem in the rich basin between the brecon beacons and the epynt hills, and it is by this route that the unwelcome aliens are said to make their entry. the wye is also a trout river from its source to near its mouth, though of vastly varying quality, which we need not dwell on here. but in its mountain reaches two generations ago, if the local grandfather is veracious, it was equal to the usk or dee or teify. these halcyon days till you get well above builth are no more; for not only pike but the chub has pushed in, and in pellucid rocky pools where he has no business whatever, you may now have as fine fly-fishing for chub as anywhere probably in great britain. but the trout whose native and perfect haunt it is, has retired a good deal into the background. he exists, to be sure, everywhere, and may with luck be caught anywhere, but the fisherman can no longer as of yore wade up the rapids of erwood or aberedw and kill his -lb. basket, on a good day, with fly, though he may take a few on a minnow. hay (le haie, as the normans called it) marks the boundary on one bank between england and wales. it was of old a sort of small berwick-on-tweed, and many a fight has taken place in its neighbourhood. as at welshpool the english, mainly the dependants of the norman castle, now a residence, lived in the east, the native welsh in the west part of the town, and the memory of such divisions survives even to this day in the respective districts of english and welsh hay. just below hay the ruined towers of clifford castle, whence came fair rosamond, cast their shadows on the stream. it is sixteen miles from here to hereford. the black mountains recede from the river's southern shore and droop to the lower ridges, in whose parallel troughs the monnow, the honddu, and the dore, their backs here turned upon the wye, hurry southward to meet it at monmouth, miles below. the radnor moors on the north bank, too, have already fallen back, and the river has broken out into england and the plains of herefordshire--if so diversified a country may be called by comparison a plain--and to a quiet life, unvexed by mountain spurs and unchafed by resisting rocks. the wye, however, keeps plenty of life within it, tumbling oftener over gravelly shallows than the severn, loitering less sullenly in long reaches, and lurking less frequently between high grassy banks--a brighter and more joyous river altogether to be with, and clearer too, for there is practically nothing to defile its waters. shooting swiftly under the old bridge of bredwardine, or stealing quietly through the park lands of moccas, or winding among the pastures of monington, where owen glyndwr is thought to have spent his closing years at his daughter's home, the wye is always the best of company. sleek hereford cattle, the most decorative of all breeds to english landscape, are everywhere. the high wooded ridges, so characteristic of herefordshire, rise now on one bank and now on the other, while always the long line of the black mountains fills the western sky. fish of every kind worth having are in the river that offers such variety of lodging--the salmon in his season, the trout, the grayling, the pike and chub and perch, and all the lesser fry. and thus to byford and bridge sollars where offa's dyke, having run from north wales, ends its course, and leaves the wye for the rest of its journey to form the eighth-century line of demarcation between welsh and saxon, or, more literally perhaps, between those who knocked under to the mercian kings and those who would not. not much of a boating river as will have been gathered is the wye, but as it draws near hereford there is a mile or two of deep water and a good deal more that is available to the energetic oarsman: sufficiently so, at any rate, to make the little cathedral city a boating centre in a modest way. below the ancient bridge, over which so many armed hosts have marched to fight the welsh, the wye spreads into rapid shallows and thus skirts the city; fair meadows upon one side, upon the other the bishop's palace and the cathedral, and the broad castle green, where that vanished fortress once stood. and now upon high terraces the citizens of hereford muster in strength when the sun shines, with a fine prospect over the broad rippling river and over the most wooded of landscapes, to the dark masses of the black mountains, behind which the sun sets. hereford is a clean and pleasant old town, quite unsmirched by any factory chimneys, and largely concerned in cider-making, county business, and matters educational and ecclesiastical: a typical cathedral town, with the virtues and failings of its type in great perfection. it is not so rich in tudor architecture as shrewsbury, ludlow, or tewkesbury, but has a fair sprinkling of seventeenth-century houses, and many restful byways of queen anne or early georgian type. the cathedral is of course one of the lesser ones in size, but is of great interest. built at the end of the eleventh century to replace a humbler predecessor burnt by the welsh, it has a great deal of the original norman work, as, for instance, the piers of the nave, with much of the choir and south transept. as for the rest, there is much fine work, early english, decorated and perpendicular. [illustration: the monnow, old bridge, monmouth] [illustration] the building is double cruciform in shape, with a massive central tower. it has several rich chantries of perpendicular date and some fine cloisters. it was much injured by the fall of a west tower in the eighteenth century, and still more by the inept reparation of the damage by wyatt, that misguided architect who gained the favour of an uncritical generation and ran amuck among such english cathedrals as were unfortunate enough to demand attention during his lifetime. hereford may be dismissed with the perhaps serviceable remark that it is the best centre for seeing the wye valley--using the latter term in the proper sense, not merely as applicable to the reaches between ross and monmouth, the conventional limitations of tourist literature. the second stage of the river's third or lowland section, if so geometrical a term is in order, that, namely, from hereford to ross, must merely be indicated as of the same quality, though in detail perhaps more emphatically picturesque, as the stage from hay to hereford. the delightfully inconsequent outcropping wooded heights and ranges of herefordshire press more closely on the river, particularly on its eastern banks, and amid the stately purlieus of holm lacy. from the gate of wales to hereford, ever charming though the river itself be, one looks always westward and up stream to the dominant welsh hills and mountains as the outstanding feature and background of the canvas. below hereford, as wales grows dim, the valley begins to supply more prominent characteristics of its own--not such as it achieves later, but quite sufficiently distinguished in height and opulence of colouring to save its reputation from the reproach of a single commonplace interlude. just below hereford, too, the lugg, bringing with it the waters of the arrow, joins the wye. both these rivers rise in the radnor hills, and have been always noted for their trout and grayling, particularly the latter, a fish now fairly distributed, but a generation ago only found in the comparatively few rivers where it was indigenous. among these the lugg, like the teme, held high rank. after running out of wales through the deep woody glens about presteign and aymestry, and then traversing the battlefield of mortimers cross, it turns due south at leominster, and ripples brightly over a stony bed, amid lush meadows and ruddy banks, down the heart of herefordshire towards the wye. ross is, of course, quite a noted little place, and has associated itself with the glories of the wye with a particularity that is, i think, just a trifle unfair to hereford, which as a town is of course incomparably more interesting, and even as a vantage point on the wye has some advantages. but ross is the place where oarsmen, with a trip to chepstow in view, usually hire their boats, and if not archæologically inspiring, it is picturesquely seated on a ridge above the river, with a fine church crowning it, and a good jacobean town hall. also a "man of ross," an estimable and philanthropic eighteenth-century country gentleman no doubt, whom pope made fortuitously famous by a line or two, but as a claimant on the interest of the outsider is now made something of a bore by ross literature. it is at goodrich castle, where sir thomas meyrick once kept his celebrated collection of armour, with its norman keep and imposing modern substitute half a mile away crowning the steeps, that the first premonitions of the transcendent beauties of the lower wye show themselves, and lofty hills begin to trench upon the river-banks. at symond's yat begin those remarkable lower reaches of the wye, which in a sense challenge comparison with the welsh section, and are far better known. but this should not be, for they are quite different. the latter lie among the moors and mountains. the wye is there what you expect to find it--a characteristic mountain river. down here, however, its suddenly uplifting qualities and transcendent beauty burst upon you in the nature of the unexpected. in a series of quite extraordinary loops it burrows in deep troughs for many tortuous miles, overhung on both sides by masses of woodland. these almost perpendicular walls of foliage, to feet in height, are buttressed, as it were, by grey bastions and pillars of rock that project in bold and fine contrast to the soft curtain of leaves that hang in folds round them. the noted view from the summit of symond's yat is as bewildering as it is beautiful; for the river here makes a loop of miles, the neck of which is but a few hundred yards wide. for over miles, in alternate moods of shallow rapids and quiet deeps, the wye is forcing itself in violent curves through this strange group of lofty sandstone hills. roads scarcely penetrate them, but the railway from ross to monmouth, with the help of tunnelling, gets through with stations at lydbrooke junction and symond's yat. at the latter place is a good hotel attractively situated, besides accommodation of other kinds. all this district is now crown property, which greatly simplifies the question of exploring it. escaping from this delightful and stupendous entanglement of cliff and wood, the wye runs down to monmouth through a most exquisite valley, and between hills of goodly stature verdant to their summits with green pastures, criss-crossed by straggling hedges or belts of woodland. small farms and cottages, with brightly-tinted walls, perched here and there upon a ledge on the steep face of the hills, are a characteristic feature too of all this lower wye. away to the south-east, stretching almost to the river, spreads the forest of dean. to the west the rolling surface of monmouthshire, luxuriant in verdure and opulent in colouring, is cloven by the valley of the monnow, which well-nourished and rapid stream meets the wye at monmouth. rising at the head of the outermost eastern gorge of the black mountains, the monnow runs a course from its source to its mouth of unremitting loveliness. met at the base of the mountains by the honddu, coming fresh from the sacred pastures of mountain-girdled llanthony, the united streams are still further reinforced at pontrilas by the waters of the golden valley. thence, running under the high-poised ruinous castle of grosmont, through the chase of kentchurch court, where another daughter of glyndwr lived and her descendants live to-day, and onward yet down a deep, narrow vale overhung by hills over a thousand feet in height, washing the ivy-clad ruins of skenfrith castle, the beautiful stream slacks something for the last half-dozen miles of its pilgrimage to monmouth. for the number and average weight of its fish the monnow is perhaps the best trouting stream on the whole welsh borderland, which is saying a good deal, though the introduction of grayling has not been favourable to its maintaining its former high standard. it has given its name at any rate to a town, a county, and a king. a great king too was harry of monmouth, of whose birthplace, the castle, there is not a great deal left, beyond the very perfect gateway on the monnow bridge. regarding the county whose boundary against herefordshire the monnow forms for the greater part of its career, this was named, of course, from the town when henry the eighth created it out of many lordships. it would be ill forgetting, however, geoffrey of monmouth, whose "study," by a pious fiction, is pointed out to the stranger in a fragment still remaining of a twelfth-century benedictine priory. whether geoffrey as a historian was over-credulous or a bit of a wag does not matter. the later poets and their readers are much indebted to him for the arthurian legend. if arthur did not hold his court at monmouth, he held it at caerleon, in the next valley, and the glorious usk, child of the black mountains, and almost the wye's equal in its upper reaches, is nowhere an english river--happily for our space. with the memory of many a ramble by the teme and lugg, the monnow and the honddu, it goes hard enough to pass them by, but the passing of the usk in such light fashion would be harder still. as for monmouth itself, there is nothing else remarkable about it, nor yet, fortunately, is there anything calculated to disturb the peaceful and romantic nature of its setting. for the ten succeeding miles to tintern abbey the wye valley is only less delectable of aspect than above monmouth, while below tintern, retaining almost to the last some of the stir of a salmon river in its maturer stages, it has all the charm of a broad one, flowing in a narrow valley between hills at once lofty in altitude and opulent in detail. for a time, however, below monmouth the river flows in what approaches to a gorge with heavily wooded sides. at redbrook, too, where a stream comes in, there is just a smirch of industrial life from the forest of dean. but this quickly passes, and the vale again opens. the lush wandering hedgerows again climb the steeps; the little white houses blink through orchards upon high-pitched terraces. here still are the rich red patches of tillage, the woodland drapery, the country-seats, conscious no doubt that they have an atmosphere to live up to. all these are grouped with an effect peculiar to the wye, for the simple reason that no other english river valley combines the luxuriance of a soft and forcing climate with a physical environment so consistently distinguished in scale and altitude as does the wye for the odd miles between ross and chepstow. there are interludes, of course, where both lofty sides of the vale are clad with an unbroken mantle of wood, and it is this variety of decoration that is so alluring. what is left of the great cistercian abbey church of tintern stands in a somewhat ampler opening in the vale, just wide enough to spread a generous carpet of meadow, as it were, on which to lay so beautiful a fabric. tintern has been so celebrated in prose and [illustration: the wye, symond's yat, herefordshire] [illustration] verse and by the artist's brush, it would seem almost futile to deal in paragraphs with this glorious specimen of the decorated period, raised by the great border house of clare for the cistercian order, whose genius for selecting a site seems to have been in no way inferior to the lavish splendour of their architectural conceptions. just beyond tintern this wonderful valley makes its greatest and almost its final effort. whether the wyndcliff or symond's yat be its greater achievement matters nothing. the latter, of course, combines its scenic splendours with extraordinary physical conditions. the wyndcliff is simply a most superb wall of woodland and outstanding limestone crag upon a large scale, which from its summit displays a noble prospect of the final passage of the wye out on to the severn levels; a glittering, sinuous trail through a fold of precipitous wood-clad hills opening on to shining flats and infinite distances beyond. fortunate is the wight who is privileged to enjoy the wyndcliff on some still, sunny morning when that stupendous curtain of foliage is fully lit by the fires of autumn, into a blaze of gold and russet, broken here and there by columnar limestone crags, and those sombre patches of yew that upon all the cliffs of the wye seem purposely introduced to set off the contrasting brilliance of the autumnal foliage. but the glories of the wyndcliff in only a modified form extend the whole way upon one bank or the other to chepstow, and here on the very verge of a low precipitous cliff, washed by the wye, are the still considerable ruins of the great castle of chepstow or striguil; and a more appropriate and significant ornament to what is practically the mouth of the river could not be imagined. in these few pages we have had to concern ourselves mainly with the physical aspects of this the most consistently beautiful of rivers. but to those, few enough it is to be feared, who care for the stirring story of this borderland, the wye is a great deal more than a long procession of ever-changing and enchanting scenes. every stage of its course from its wild fountain-head, above which glyndwr first flew his dragon flag to the castle of the clares on this frontier of the lordship of lower gwent, resounds, for those that have ears to hear, with the long clash of arms, rich in the memories and traditions and legends that are always thickest where two contentious and hostile races have for centuries kept each others' [illustration: the wye, tintern, monmouthshire] [illustration] wits and limbs alert, and each others' swords from rusting. the guide-book may lead you to infer, with perhaps a shrewd estimate of its public, that the principal interest of chepstow castle lies in the incarceration there of one of the many regicides in the matter of charles i. these hoary walls, whose shadows fall on the now tidal stream of the wye, were something more than a seventeenth-century jail, by which time, indeed, their mission and their story was long done with. but we will let that pass, and reverting once again to those physical and visible charms of a river that may well abide by those alone, close this chapter with the reminder that wordsworth, steeped to the heart and lips in an atmosphere that might well make such a part and parcel of it as he was, hyper-critical as regards all others, succumbed absolutely before the glories of the wye: how oft-- in darkness and amid the many shapes of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir unprofitable, and the fever of the world, have hung upon the beatings of my heart-- how oft, in spirit, have i turned to thee, o sylvan wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, how often has my spirit turned to thee? chapter iii the chalk streams particular distinction may be fairly ascribed to what is commonly known as the chalk streams. there are not many of them in the world, and nearly all of them are in england, being even here the possession of but a few counties. for wilts, hants, dorset, and berks, with bucks, kent, and herts in a less degree, contain practically all the rivers of this type, and of these the two first-mentioned are more exclusively the home of the chalk stream. wiltshire gives birth to the kennet, the christchurch or salisbury, avon, and the wiley--all notable rivers of this class; the upper part of the first, most of the second, and the whole of the third being within the county, while hampshire has the itchen and the test, of the same class and rank. the quality of the chalk stream lies in its exceeding clarity. the water filtering through [illustration: the thames, looking towards henley] [illustration] the great masses of dry chalk upland, where it meets the clay or greensand on which they lie, breaks out of the base of the hills as pellucid in texture as the springs that rise in the limestone countries of the north and west, and form their more rocky streams. in the valleys of the chalk counties, too, the beds of the rivers are apt to wash out hard and clean, and set off to great advantage the crystal currents that glide or ripple over them. they combine the clearness of a mountain stream with only a degree more current than the slow-running rivers of central or eastern england. they savour, in short, of the unexpected. there is no stir nor movement of water on the hillsides, as in wales or devonshire, to suggest the natural corollary of a clear torrent in the valley below. the hills here, though graceful and delightful in their peculiar way, are more waterless than any clay ridge in northamptonshire or suffolk, for reasons already given. nor does the chalk stream usually run like a western river. it moves at most times but little faster than the rivers on which men go boating or float-fishing for roach. its environment is smooth, its course is peaceful, and its fall gradual. it is all this that gives the flavour and charm of the unexpected, when you arrive at the bank and find a stream gliding past your feet as translucent as if it had just gushed out from a limestone mountain in cumberland. the chalk stream gives best evidence of its quality in being the natural home of the trout and grayling, fish that do not often flourish in, and are never indigenous to, slow-running streams of other than chalk origin. there are two avons in wiltshire which illustrate the contrast to perfection: the one which runs westward through the fat pastoral regions, the clays and greensands of north-west wilts towards bath and bristol; the other, which rises in the marlborough downs, and cuts through the heart of salisbury plain, as translucent as a mountain stream. the last alive with lusty trout; the other, which moves slowly with murkier current over a muddier bottom, breeding only coarser fish and belonging to another family of rivers. the kennet is assuredly of noble birth; for it is the offspring of the once sacred upland pastures of avebury, where stand the uncanny fragments of the great prehistoric temple of the sun, and twines its infant arms around the mighty and mysterious mound of silbury: the child, in fact, of one of the [illustration: the avon, near salisbury] [illustration] three great wonders of britain, leaving stonehenge to its rival the southern avon. the head of the kennet, like that of most chalk streams, however, is a winter bourne--a fact sufficiently proclaimed by the names of two villages about its source, as in many similar cases throughout the chalk counties. its upper channels, that is to say, relapse into a dry bed through the summer months above the point where some strong unfailing springs, welling up beneath the chalk, mark the commencement of the perennial flow. after laving with thin and feeble streams the skirts of some half-dozen downland villages, keeping company in the meantime with the london and bath road, the kennet, with a rapid accession of vigour from subterranean sources, approaches marlborough as quite a well-grown little river. brushing the walls of the little norman church at preshute, and skirting its chestnut-shaded graveyard, it now coils through the level meads, beyond which spring the stately groves that half conceal the ancient queen anne mansion of the seymours, with its wide lawns and terraces and clipped yew-trees and lime walks, where the college has been so felicitously seated for nearly seventy years. hugging the foot of granham hill, where one of the five white horses of wiltshire, cut large upon the chalk, is conspicuously displayed, it plunges into a mill pool, and then soon afterwards, stealing beneath an old brick bridge, disappears into a maze of orchards, gardens, and foliage, which spread back from the old high street of marlborough. parallel with the river, and lying back on the gentle slope that rises from it, the quaint, wide, tilted-up street runs a long straight course from church tower to church tower. of roundhead proclivities in the civil war, but much battered and held for the king through most of it, and burned nearly to the ground soon afterwards, marlborough is beyond question the most characteristic and interesting of the kennet towns. it was a great coaching place, of course, but of more than ordinary bath-road notoriety, since for a long time the seymour mansion and grounds, the present college, was the finest hostelry in england, and extremely popular with fashionable travellers for what we should now call "week ends." during the middle ages a royal castle stood on its site, and was constantly the abode of kings and queens. upon the ridge, just across the river from the town, which commands a fine view of the kennet valley, the poet thomson, when a guest of lady hertford at the seymour house, wrote his "spring," the first of the _seasons_; and, farther on, the spreading beeches of savernake forest look down on the stream as it comes coiling out into the meadows again below marlborough. increased considerably just below the town by the og, another winter bourne which issues from the heart of the downland to the north, the kennet slips down through narrow water-meadows from mill to mill, till it enters ramsbury chase. here, held back by a weir, it expands into a broad sheet of water before the lawns of another queen anne mansion, that of the burdett family. indeed, by the banks of kennet in this part of its course great things have been done; for in the predecessor of this house cromwell stopped on that famous march to ireland which resulted in the sanguinary affairs of drogheda and wexford. in the same house forty years later, when dutch william was marching to london, king james's commissioners under halifax, who came out to treat with him, tarried for several days, while william himself lay at littlecote, whose beautiful tudor gables and chimneys stand on the opposite bank of the stream miles below. who again has not heard of wild darrell of littlecote, who flung his base-born child into the fire, and, as uncritical locals have it, bought his life from judge popham, who tried him for murder, with the reversion of the estate, even yet held by his name and lineage. on these same pleasant river-banks, too, at ramsbury, in saxon times, were seated bishops, their diocese covering most of wiltshire. and altogether, throughout the miles or so of its course within the county, the kennet, in all these natural features that gather round such a one as this, is not merely a clear, wholesome, and well-favoured stream, but from its cradle at avebury and silbury, by marlborough, savernake, ramsbury, and littlecote, it has constantly watered scenes not only of more than ordinary beauty, but of more than ordinary fame in their several degrees. a river too, above all a chalk stream, cannot possibly be dissociated from its fish. it is perhaps hardly too much to say that the waters of ramsbury and littlecote, always, however, most strictly preserved, have enjoyed for all time that matters a reputation for trout in point of numbers, quality, and undoubtedly size unsurpassed in england. a trout of lbs. was once taken from the kennet, and several have been registered of from lbs. to lbs. [illustration: the thames, the bells of ouseley, old windsor] [illustration] a fish of lbs. to lbs. is discovered almost annually, and very occasionally caught with a rod between here and hungerford. one curious natural phenomenon is incidental to the kennet, namely, that the may-fly, not merely the joy of fish and fishermen, but one of the most graceful in form and flight of all nature's creations, though abounding, as in other chalk streams, as far up as the ramsbury water, there suddenly ceases to breed. at hungerford the kennet passes into berkshire, where the grayling begin to put in an appearance, and, a little later, that ravager of trouting streams, the pike. flowing through gradually widening water-meadows between low hills, the river flows by kintbury and newbury to the thames at reading. the salisbury avon rises hard by the foot of martinsell, that fine, upstanding, camp-crowned headland of turf down that drops almost perpendicularly for or feet into the vale of pewsey, near marlborough. while still but a brook it crosses the village street of pewsey and ripples westward through withy beds and by plough land and meadow. turning a mill-wheel here and there on its way, it passes manningford bruce with its notable little norman church, and so onward to a junction with the upper avon brook, after which the united waters, making something more of a stream, turn southward and head for a gap in the long rampart of salisbury plain close at hand. it is a narrow trough, and for that very reason perhaps an interesting and picturesque one, that carries the avon to salisbury by way of its famous plain. a succession of picturesque, old-world thatched-roofed villages, clustering around their ancient churches of flint or stone, follow one another at every bend of the valley: upavon, chisenbury, enford, netheravon, figheldean, durrington, and so to amesbury. amid its narrow belt of meadow the clear little stream gleams brightly in its sinuous course, now jumping over a hatchway into a churning pool, now brushing an osier bed noisy with the splash and cries of water-fowl, now rippling merrily over gravelly bottoms, or held up betimes by the dam of some old mill, to disappear below into the lush foliage enveloping some homestead or hamlet. mighty, rook-haunted elms, which flourish greatly in the chalk valleys, strike here and there a fine contrasting note, with the silvery thread of the river twisting about their feet, and the broad-backed down rising upon either hand and spreading away into solitude. cobbett in his racy and delightful _rural rides_, pays much attention to this valley of the upper avon. as poet and farmer he declares with enthusiasm that no journey ever gave him so much pleasure in his life as one he made along its banks. as reformer, in those days when in truth there was much to reform, he finds unlimited scope for that strenuous invective in which his honest soul but unbridled tongue delighted. the bursting stackyards in the ample homesteads of the vale, the sheep clamouring in their hurdled folds upon the lower slopes, the strange silence of the vast unchanging downs above, green escarpments notching their crests, and the low burial mounds dimpling the skyline, each eloquent of prehistoric strife and the mysterious dead,--all the generous abundance gathered in fold and stackyard in this thinly-peopled land, stirred the perfervid but observant and much-travelled democrat to admiring periods. then the other side of the picture, as witnessed in the 'twenties of the last century, lashed cobbett to fury. "where are the small country gentry?" he cries, that once lived in these snug little manor houses perched here and there by the river-bank. a question he promptly answers himself in unmeasured indictments of the "great and grasping landlords who have gobbled them all up." then he turns to the labourer, as indeed he could well turn in that day with much oratorical effect, and demands what share of the abundance falls to the men who through storm and sunshine have been mainly instrumental in producing it. here again the answer was simple enough in the sum total of s. a week, and it had only been a shilling more when the wheat they were producing was fetching from s. to s. a quarter! but times have changed on the banks of the avon, and not merely in these matters in which all rural england has changed. for though the river steals as of old from mill to mill by grey old church towers, thatched hamlets, and homesteads, private ownership has nearly all been swept away and the crown has entered into possession. netheravon, formerly the seat of the hicks-beach family, the most notable place of recent abode on the upper avon, is now the quarters of colonels and majors. at any moment, too, you may meet on the uplifted highway above the stream a group of cavalry scouts, watching for a distant glimpse of imaginary teutonic invaders, or a train of military waggons rumbling northward to the pewsey vale and the great western railroad. every one knows that the crown has recently purchased a portion of salisbury plain for the better prosecution of military manoeuvres, and it is this avon and eastern district that they have preëmpted. the small, unsightly "aldershot" of brick and corrugated iron is in the south-east corner in the tidworth country, and does not as yet greatly affect the avon even between netheravon and amesbury. the larger farmers are still there upon its banks as tenants of the crown, under special conditions. and in the seasons for mimic warfare, cavalry and infantry sweep over the stubbles and pastures, and sheep and cattle are shifted for the time being. the little trout stream of former days, though still almost everywhere in the full enjoyment of its pristine simplicity, has acquired a quite curious notoriety through its strategetic importance in the national military manoeuvres. indeed the topography of this little corner of the world is on every breakfast-table, in rough maps and big letters, for two or three weeks of most autumns. the "fords of the avon" are fought for by contending armies, and become for the moment places of renown. sometimes the whole course of the little river from salisbury to its source is proclaimed by the makers of the great war game to be the coast of england, while marlborough is constituted its chief seaport, and crowded with the troops and transport of an army that is supposed to be invading britain. amesbury, not touched happily by the new camps, which as yet all lie away to the eastward, is an ancient spot, something better than a village, and always, as now, the little metropolis of salisbury plain. beneath its sombre but stately and minster-like cruciform church, part gothic and part norman, the avon, expanding somewhat, sweeps with smooth swift current under the road to stonehenge, and curves away in graceful loops through the meadows below the village. it has already flowed through the woods of amesbury abbey, a country-house, standing on the site of a nunnery which was founded by the saxon queen elfrida, and flourished greatly till the dissolution. the daughter of edward i. among many noble dames was a nun here, and here also that king's mother took the veil, died, and left her dust. katherine of arragon, too, was lodged at amesbury on her arrival in england, and we have, of course, the authority of geoffrey of monmouth and tennyson that queen guinevere had fled the court, and sat there in the holy house at amesbury. rural, village-like, and till lately a long coach-drive out of the world, a great deal, nevertheless, has happened at amesbury. it was granted at the dissolution to the protector somerset, and his descendant lord hertford, on bringing his third wife here as a bride, unwittingly provided the neighbourhood with an unforgettable tragedy; for poor sir george rodney, whom this third lady hertford, fickle and beautiful, had thrown over for the greater match, went out with the crowd as if to greet the home-coming of the happy pair, and fell on his sword a dead man at the very feet of his fickle sweetheart, the affrighted bride. later on the duke and duchess of queensbury were in possession, and as the kennet at marlborough watered the elaborate grottos and gardens of a great early georgian hostess and patroness of poets, and inspired the muse of thomson, so at amesbury, too, a duchess maintained a rival arcadia and another poet, in the person of gay. in the jacobean period, too, and later, this then sequestered spot was famous throughout england for its clay pipes. in short, they were the fashion, and a gentleman was not properly equipped unless he had a pipe bearing the magic brand of "amesbury." amesbury is now, as always, the objective point for stonehenge, a mile and a half distant. it is miles from here to salisbury, and the river continues to plough its deep furrow through the plain. but the atmosphere by this time is a less aloof and more populous one, the river-side road more travelled, for british, american, and foreign pilgrims from salisbury to stonehenge will in summer time be frequently in evidence upon it. the villages are still thatch-roofed, and flint-walled after the chess-board pattern common to wiltshire, and the cult of flowers, that generations of low wages have not extinguished in the wiltshire peasant, add to their charm. the high downs on either hand no longer suggest such a solitary hinterland. a thicker foliage mantles from time to time in the vale. the river skirts the lawns of some country-seat such as lake house, one of the best tudor buildings in wiltshire, and a little below, again, of heale, where charles ii. on his flight from worcester lay concealed by its then owner, mrs. hyde, for nearly a week. often performed twice a season and generally by men wading in with scythes, weed cutting is a regular operation in the life of such streams as this; nowadays, particularly, since trout fishing has become so valuable, these rivers for the most part are kept assiduously clean. nor is any aspect of a chalk stream perhaps more beautiful than where some swift-gliding current is running a couple of feet over the growing water-weed, all swaying and flickering in green streamers with every motion of the pellucid and wayward current. the avon, too, is a prolific and notable trout river, where the disciples of the modern cult of the dry-fly leave no half-mile of water going begging for a lessee, and the may-fly here hatches out right up to the river's source. but salisbury is, of course, the place with which the avon for the best of reasons is chiefly identified; for here the river races clear and buoyant over a gravelly bed through the very heart of the picturesque old town. the big trout can be seen sucking in flies beside its busiest streets, as well as later, where its lively streams wash the ivied walls and woody banks of the cathedral precincts. here beneath the shadow of the loftiest spire in england, in a wide sweep of water-meadow lying amid encircling downs, and interlaced with silvery threads of clear bubbling waters, is a famous meeting-place of streams. the "sink of the plain" was the designation bestowed by ancient writers on the capital of wiltshire. from every quarter of salisbury plain, using the term in the wider and physical sense, come the limpid chalk waters hurrying to meet the avon. from the bounds of dorset, and familiar to all habitual travellers on the south-western main line, comes the nadder. born upon the edge of wiltshire, watering in infancy the glades of wardour and the ancient house of arundel, and fed by affluents from the wooded heights of font hill of notorious association, it runs, a now lusty trout stream, through mellow lowlands where penruddocks and windhams have sat for centuries. past dinton, where the great lord clarendon and lawes the musician and friend of milton were both born, the nadder completes its existence as a separate river in the gardens of wilton house. its hitherto untrammelled moods now curbed and bent to the needs of some former landscape gardener of the house of pembroke, it here laves the lawns on which philip sidney is confidently said to have written much of his _arcadia_, and then almost immediately joins the wiley, the confluence occurring just below the ancient town of wilton, once the capital of wiltshire and of wessex. thence a couple of uneventful miles save for their passage by the little church and rectory of bemerton, where george herbert spent his latter days, brings them to the greater meeting with the avon beneath salisbury spire. but what of the wiley, or wylye? for this by no means insignificant little river has never yet achieved finality in the matter of spelling! unquestionably it gave the county its name, being quite obviously responsible for wilton, which lies on its banks, and is most certainly in its turn the god-parent of wiltshire. if we were to believe cobbett, who was no native, the wiley valley is the most beautiful in the world! i am myself inclined to think it is perhaps the most engaging of all the chalk-stream vales. coming down from warminster and heytesbury, it cuts its way, like the avon, in a deep trough where charming old-world villages nestle, through the wild downland. it divides what is more definitely known as salisbury plain from the south-western block of the same vast tract, still spoken of sometimes as the south plain. the camp-crowned heights stand up on either side of the vale with even more significant distinction than those which guard the avon. no disturbing element has yet intruded upon the perfect peace which reigns for miles upon the high chalk uplands whose heart the tortuous valley cleaves; nor is there any place the world wots much of between warminster and wilton, or, in other words, upon the river's whole course. but hoary villages, half muffled in stately elms and rich as any in england in thatched eave and gable and in bright cottage gardens, look over to one another across the rich carpet of meadowland upon which the wiley lays its shining coils. grey old churches lift their towers or spires along the vale, and cover many a sculptured tomb and many an effigy of the men and women who ruled long ago in the small tudor manor-houses that still in many cases survive to fill a lowlier rôle. perhaps what greatly helps in giving some especial charm to the wiley valley are the fine unimpeded vistas all up and down it, which it affords the traveller at each little rise he mounts on one or other of the valley roads that lie along the toes of the down. nor is any other stream coming out of the wiltshire chalk quite so translucent, i think, as the wiley. most of the river, so far as the fishing is concerned, is held by a famous angling club that many years ago migrated here from the kennet at hungerford, and whose fortunate members hail from every part of the south of england. [illustration: stapleford on the wiley] [illustration] what they have achieved by care and constant stocking in a naturally fine trout stream can be seen by any strollers upon the bank. the smaller trout of wild rapid streams, who take the fly so much more readily, rush madly for safety the moment you show yourself upon the bank above a pool. but the big chalk-stream trout, so much more wary of the deadly fly, is comparatively indifferent to the mere spectator. possibly the superior education that has quickened his perception in the matter of artificial flies and their method of presentation has also taught him that in them alone danger lurks, and in mere man as such there is none whatever. so it comes about that in the wiley you may look down in places through three or four feet of crystal water, and at quite close quarters watch every movement of a score or so of great trout or grayling of from to lbs. weight, as they lie poised above the clear gravelly bottom; a beautiful and interesting spectacle only possible in the chalk streams, and, one might almost add, only in those that modern fish-culture and science have been busy with. so between the banks of what is still called the avon, all these chalk streams and a few others of less size and note pour their united waters in broader and more chastened current from salisbury towards the sea. they have a long and pleasant journey yet, however, before they meet the tide at christchurch. by the great seats of longford, clarendon, and trafalgar the avon makes its way down a rich valley to fordingbridge. thence, with the skirts of the new forest rising above its narrow opulent valley upon one side and the high country of dorset upon the other, this whole burden of clear wiltshire water, every drop curiously enough that the county produces south of the thames or the bristol avon watersheds, urges its now chastened course to ringwood and christchurch. it has often struck me, when standing by one or other of the great surging mill-pools which make such delightful interludes in this pleasant valley between fordingbridge and ringwood, as a curious and pretty thought that the entire overflow of the most romantic and famous chalk region in england should be thus chafing in a single hampshire pool beneath one's feet; that not a drop from all this vast wild wiltshire upland should have escaped elsewhere, but that every welling spring beneath the downs from savernake forest to cranborne chase, from warminster to ludgershall, should here find its inevitable destiny. clear as the waters of the avon for this reason still remain, the trout by now have gradually yielded to the pike and perch, which for their size and quality have made these lower reaches of the river somewhat celebrated among anglers who follow that branch of the craft. but at the old-fashioned market-town of ringwood, where the last ten-mile stretch of the river begins, is a famous hostelry known as "the white hart." i use the epithet advisedly, for near ringwood the avon having degenerated in the matter of its inhabitants from trout to pike, now aspires to greater honours than ever, and ends its days as a salmon river, and one, too, with a reputation for harbouring the largest of the royal race of almost any river in england, though in no great numbers to be sure. the "white hart" has been the immemorial trysting-place of the few anglers who assemble here to catch the avon salmon, a fish more notable, as i have said, for weight than numbers, and not infrequently running over lbs. the blind cambridge tutor and postmaster-general of a generation ago, professor fawcett, a native of south wilts, was in his day a well-known member of this band. the avon and the test, also in hampshire, are, i think, the only two chalk streams up which the salmon runs, though in both, of course, but for a limited distance, and rises to the fly. this fact has naturally always given the final stretch of the avon, below ringwood, peculiar interest among those concerned not merely with angling but with the natural history of rivers, which might almost be accounted, however, a branch of the craft. so, leaving the great fir-sprinkled heaths, a continuation, as it were, of the new forest, to spread westward towards bournemouth, our river flows uneventfully onward through meadow flats to christchurch and the sea. christchurch abbey, at the avon's mouth, is, of course, the goal of innumerable excursionists from the neighbouring bournemouth; but salisbury, a beautiful old town in itself, and a cathedral matchless of its kind and cathedral precincts matchless for their beauty, without any reservation is, of course, the avon's glory. usually called the "hampshire," sometimes the "christchurch" avon, it should, of course, by rights be called the salisbury avon, for it is pre-eminently a wiltshire river, bearing, as we have seen, the waters of half that county to the sea through a strip of hampshire without receiving any contribution of consequence from that fair county. but there is, one must remember, another wiltshire avon, which runs through the lower-lying greensand and dairy country of north wilts, and curiously enough, like its southern chalk-stream namesake, gathers all the waters of north wilts that the kennet or infant streams do not bear away eastward, into its bed. this avon, of quite another quality, and one more akin to that of shakespeare's farther north again, finds a world of fame and consequence in its lower reaches at bath and bristol, far different from such as ringwood and christchurch with their lb. salmon can lend to the mouth of the purer and otherwise more beautiful stream. but hampshire need not quarrel about terms, nor resent the suggestion that she merely gives right of way to the waters of half wiltshire, for has she not the itchen and the test? now, what measure of importance their names suggest to the ear of those unconcerned with such things i do not know. but among the great army of disciples of old izaak these names, with that of the kennet, form a classic trio, which of their kind have no equivalent. they do not clash with the rivers of the north, of wales, or of the west country in any one's ears when their names are sounded. but i venture to think that to thousands of persons who never even threw a line these names vaguely suggest, as does leicestershire to those who do not hunt, the headquarters, as it were, of one of the three principal field-sports of england. the outsider, indeed, has probably a more exaggerated view of the supremacy of these rivers in this particular than the fisherman himself who knows his southern counties, but, nevertheless, would not hesitate to give priority to the itchen and the test if it came to the point; while in general reputation, bracketed, as i have said, with the kennet, they stand as a type quite alone. some readers may resent my taking this aspect of a stream so seriously, but if they were on intimate terms with such rivers they would understand what a part the trout and grayling play in riparian life. for it is not merely the privileged few who pay high prices for casting their flies upon these sacred waters that are interested; but every rustic in the villages along the bank talks trout and takes a sort of second-hand interest in the doings of fishermen, and can tell as tall stories of bygone performances as the performers themselves, or even taller ones. the beautiful purling streams of the itchen, as they sweep in broad current over the gravelly shallows of itchen abbas, beloved by charles kingsley, or slide under [illustration: the itchen, st. cross, winchester] [illustration] twyford bridge into the shade of the shawford chestnuts below, one half fancies to be sounding an almost self-conscious note of the fame they have acquired in the past thirty years. for when, nearly half a century ago, the present writer as a diminutive schoolboy at this same twyford on itchen--from a home oddly enough on the banks of the kennet--used to behold his tutor sallying forth on a half holiday with long wobbly rod to cast two wet-flies on these now sacred waters, it is quite certain that few outsiders save an occasional angler ever heard of the itchen--unless some glimmer from their school-room days reminded them that it was the river upon which winchester stood. in those days local proprietors up and down the river gave their neighbours a day or two's fishing, no doubt, when they asked for it, as men do to-day upon obscure rivers. and the old-time sportsman, with no sense of a priceless favour conferred, went to work and cast his two wet-flies across and down the swifter streams, and took his chance of cut or uncut weeds and his modest share of trout, pure-blooded lineal descendants of those the monks of winchester netted for their stew ponds in the days of old. but heaven knows what might be the ancestry of a modern itchen trout! then came the great revolution, the art of the dry-fly with a big a, which first developed itself on this very itchen and its neighbour the test. the elderly angler needs no telling what a revolution was this, breaking the tradition of centuries, and sending its echoes all over the world wherever men angle for trout; changing the method of thousands, upsetting old standards--fruitful, too, of much misunderstanding, of recrimination even, and a good deal of foolishness which still prevails. but the great fact remains that it exalted the chalk stream from a rather dull field for the angler's operations compared to the mountain river, into a valuable heritage ranking almost with the deer forest and the grouse moor. this inevitably brought in its train a certain amount of vulgarity as well as a good deal of pose and affectation, vices from which the honest sport of angling alone had hitherto been absolutely free. in short, it came perilously near to one of those essentials that a would-be sporting parvenu thought he ought to possess. this, however, is a trifle. the chalk-stream trout became all at once an epicurean of the first degree, and in time such a mixture of selected stocks it would puzzle him to know his own father, handsome fellow though he be. his habits, indeed, have undergone within easy memory an absolute transformation. he will now very often look you steadily in the face for half an hour at close quarters, but when it comes to business will only consider an oiled and floating fly placed above him in thoroughly up-to-date fashion. most of us really know that he cannot always maintain this high standard that is expected of him--but it is not the thing to say so. to fish for him now in the old wet-fly way would be regarded much as the shooting of pheasants rising at your feet, since mr. chalk-stream trout is assumed to regard as a positive insult the offer of a fly after the fashion in which the trout of tweed or usk like it offered, and as his own ancestors, or at any rate predecessors, used themselves to be content with. this sounds paradoxical. the whole thing, indeed, savours somewhat of contradiction, but not so much so as these over-frank and irreverently enumerated truisms might suggest to the uninitiated. i have, however, seen myself, from the overlooking vantage-point of a highway traversing the kennet valley, three partners in an angling syndicate well out of sight of one another, flogging a noted dry-fly water down and across with a wet-fly before a light breeze, and probably not without success. it was delightful to the wayfaring angler to watch these furtive and guilty souls, each thinking no eye but that of some unconscious waggoner could peradventure behold their crooked deeds, and safe at least from one another. alas, weak human nature! it was delicious to think how differently any fish that might take those draggled "chuck-and-chance-it" flies would be killed again in the smoking-room that night. but we are now on the itchen, and of course such things are never done here. no reader with any sense of humour or proportion will, i presume, look here for a boiled-down treatise on the oldest and historically the most famous city in england next to london. as we left the shyer charms of salisbury, with its wealth of mediæval and tudor architecture, lawn and towers, elms and glistering waters, with its fine flavour of those trollopian chronicles of barset which it inspired, to the unaided intelligence of the wanderer by the avon, so, much more in these brief pages, must we leave alone the kindred but more voluminous subject of winchester. unlike salisbury, however, where the avon tumbles through the heart of the town before skirting the sacred groves where mrs. proudie once reigned, the itchen only skirts the older city, which lies like salisbury in the lap of downs. it is near enough, however, to associate itself in the landscape with the great cathedral, lately in such peril of collapse, with the famous school whose domain actually touches its banks, with the beautiful old fabric of st. cross and its norman tower lying in the meadows beyond. the life of the itchen is singularly short, considering the volume of water and the measure of fame it at once gathers in so brief a space. twenty minutes in a motor, or forty on a cycle, up its banks from winchester would bring you to the head of it; for above alresford, where three streams unite, fortified by many independent springs, the itchen is hardly worth considering. down the river again from winchester, to continue this form of reckoning, about the same expenditure of time would bring you to bishopstoke, after which the buoyant stream soon begins to feel the influence of the tide from southampton water, which it then approaches. twenty miles by road along the valley would easily cover all that counts of the famous itchen. the prettiest half, undoubtedly, is that above winchester, and the road practically follows the river for several miles to alresford, through the successive hamlets of headbourne and abbots worthy, itchen abbas and itchen stoke. out in the wide water-meadows the crystal streams of the river, flowing often in two or three separate channels, pursue their twisting courses. below winchester the slopes of the vale are somewhat marred by the natural desire of southampton citizens and others to perch themselves where delectable scenery and a good train-service co-exist. in these upper reaches there is little of this, but the immediate slopes of the valley wear, nevertheless, not only an air of physical luxuriance but of rural opulence, so significant not merely of the presence of great landlords but of a popular neighbourhood, where in lodges and granges and other attractive snuggeries prosperous aliens, with fishing proclivities in most cases, spend a part at least of their days. it is in this feature that the scenery and atmosphere of the itchen, though naturally very similar, differs from that of the wiltshire rivers, which are for the most part severely local. but here, after all, we are more in the world, and though the high downs, as in wiltshire, rise above the luxuriant foregrounds, save for st. catherine's hill, of wykhamist traditions, which drops bare and abrupt right into the itchen valley, they lie more aloof and remote. [illustration: the itchen, and st. giles' hill, winchester] [illustration] in travelling up the alresford road on the west banks of the river, past the gates of pleasant residences and the thatched cottages of typical hampshire hamlets, one might pause under other conditions to make acquaintance with the interesting old churches of headbournworthy and itchen abbas. but, as it is, one would rather, i think, take every opportunity of following the short lanes that at intervals run down from the highway to the meadows and to the banks of the brimming buoyant stream. it is almost as captivating, i think, to watch the gurgling sweep of a chalk stream as the more boisterous humours of her wilder sister of the mountain. the itchen, having regard merely to the water between its banks, is singularly beautiful. as pellucid as the wiley, there is a life and movement and rush over the gravel greater even than in that engaging stream, whose surroundings, however, like those of the upper avon, are far more natural and characteristic than the slightly conventional atmosphere of the itchen. but the almost constant stir and the melodious voice of the latter river are infinitely pleasing: singing now over a pebbly bottom whose water-polished stones show varied and almost radiant colours upon a gleaming chalk-bed, now swishing silently over streaming green weeds that in another month will fall beneath the cutter's scythe lest they choke the stream. and as to the fat trout, they are everywhere in evidence, splashing perhaps at the iron blues or olive duns as they fall before the light puffing airs upon the stream's surface, or lying motionless, but for their slightly swaying tails, in mid-current, surfeited with a recent meal, or quietly absorbing such subaqueous morsels and atoms as drift along. how rich, too, in colour are the low green banks whose very rims these brimming chalk streams, even in the dryest season, seem ever to press against, whether in early days before the first may-fly heralds the itchen's carnival, and the cuckoo-flower and the kingcup star the growing grass; or again, later, when the purple willow-herb blazes behind the waving sedges, and the glorious meadow-sweet, in feathered ivory masses, ladens the fresh moist air that moves above the stir of so many waters. many, to be sure, of our winged friends that are always with us in the streams of the north and west are absent here. the white-breasted dipper will have nothing to say to chalk streams. the migrant sandpiper from the sea-coasts, with rare exceptions, holds absolutely with the dipper, and hies him away for the breeding season to share with his dark-frocked, white-throated friend and permanent resident there the snugger bank-harbourage of the bosky western torrents. but there are water-fowl here at any rate, if of a less elusive and more clamorous kind; for the osier beds by the chalk streams are strident by day with the various notes and boisterous antics of the breeding moor-hens, and often melodious by night with the song of the reed-warbler. the willow-wren keeps you company in the pollards, the rare kingfisher loves the chalk stream, and there is nothing in which the corncrake more delights than to grind out his monotonous love notes--for all the world like a gigantic salmon reel--in a water-meadow put up for hay. but even the itchen does not exist wholly for the trout, and like other chalk streams submits itself to the hand of the irrigator. and over the broad meadows its numerous runlets fertilize, it is always pleasant to pick one's way by such paths as bridge the numerous channels spouting and shining, fresh, cool, and lusty in the lush grass, be the weather ever so torrid. avington park, where the merry monarch and nell gwyn spent some time, with its long stretches of fringing wood, is a prominent feature upon the east bank of the river between winchester and alresford. and as you draw near the latter, one of the three streams that form the itchen comes pouring down rapid and shallow over a radiant gravelly bed. follow it up for a mile, and lying low in trees, with a park spreading above it on the one side and an old church perched high upon the other, is the doubly famous mansion of tichborne. for as the ancient abode of probably the oldest landed family of distinction in hampshire it would call for notice. but much more than on such account as this would it appeal to any middle-aged wight whose memory has not badly failed him, for that _cause célèbre_ of the early 'seventies, which lasted for so many years, rent england into factions, broke up families, and severed friendships in the amazing partisanship and excitement it engendered. alresford is a pleasant, old-fashioned, wide, open, typical south-country market-town. beneath it is a pool or mere, covering, perhaps, three or four acres. though not literally such, this might be roughly held as the source of the itchen, since above it the river loses all claim to consequence, while below it come in the candover and the tichborne, brooks of equal volume to itself. yet more, for, as already mentioned, there are several curious welling springs in the outskirts of alresford which contribute almost as much water to the river as its three parent streams. the test is of the same quality in all respects as the itchen, and as large if not larger. as a dry-fly trouting river it stands perhaps at the actual head of the list, and like the avon is also a salmon river in its lower reaches, which fall into southampton water just to the west of the mouth of the itchen. travellers on the main line of the south-western from london to exeter must be familiar with its infant efforts if they have any sort of eye for a country. for after an hour or so out of london, of monotonous pine and heather region varied by cemeteries, golf links, and jerry-built suburban-like villages, the train bursts over a valley's head and gives a beautiful breezy glimpse of altogether another kind of country. a limpid chalk stream, obviously near its source, trails down towards an old-world-looking town. the latter is whitchurch, and the tiny clear stream is the famous test. we cannot follow it here. no places of high renown stand upon its banks, unless the old abbey of romsey may retrieve its reputation in this respect. but lovers of the test do not rest their affections on such things as these. it is enough for them that in their opinion it is the finest trouting river in england for the display of what they regard as the quintessence of scientific fly-fishing. in this sense it is known throughout the english-speaking world much as the pytchley and the quorn hunts are known. in short, like the itchen, it is classic ground, and there we will leave it. though it is not our business here to catalogue the streams of england, one cannot dismiss the chalk streams without a word of reference to the colne and the gade, whose clear buoyant waters strike such a pleasant and even unexpected note within or miles of london, in the fat and formal luxuriance of hertfordshire. born in the chalk ridges of the chilterns, they show in their quite considerable span of existence many a delightful vista of fresh glancing waters amid opulent forest or park scenery, flowing as they do through a county that for generations has, more perhaps than any other, been associated with the country-seat of the city magnate. [illustration: the dove, dovedale, derbyshire] [illustration] chapter iv the border rivers northumberland is a county of generous limits as well as of character and distinction far above the common. for the entire space of its greatest length--which runs north and south, speaking freely, or from the tweed to the roman wall and the south tyne--a deep belt against its western frontier, spread the solitudes of cheviot. here, as in south wales, is a vast watershed, covering a little matter of or square miles of silent mountain and moorland, not to reckon its overlap into roxburgh and cumberland, which, like the other, the outside world knows absolutely nothing about. crossing the head waters of the south tyne and the eastern derwent, which last divides durham and northumberland, the cheviot range (not locally thus designated for the whole distance) merges at length into the durham moors on the one hand and the pennines on the other. a fine block of mountain solitude this, and, judged by our english standards, of really vast extent, as well as of worthy altitude; for the "great cheviot" on the north is feet, and cross fell on the pennines, a range familiar in the distance, at any rate, to lake tourists, is higher still. humped up between the irish channel and the north sea these highlands pour their waters copiously to the right and left through the intervening low country into either ocean. eastward go the north and south tyne, the allen, the wandsbeck, the aln, the coquet, and the till, the last alone swerving northward, and, as every one who knows their scott will remember, flowing by flodden field into the tweed. most of its farther waters flow westward into scotland, save the eden and the irthling, while the liddel at any rate touches cumbrian soil. one may remember, too, that northumberland owns the right bank of tweed for its last miles, and both banks at its mouth. but one turns to the tyne instinctively--though durham has claims upon one shore in its final uproarious stages--as the typical, as it is much the greatest, of northumbrian rivers. one shrinks, however, amid such an atmosphere [illustration: the tyne, hexham, northumberland] [illustration] as lies between the covers of this book, with something of dismay from the smoke, the uproar, and the resounding clamour through which the tyne moves from newcastle to the sea, with its busy shipyards, its coal-mines, its foundries. but from another point of view it is well worth the voyage down by one of the little steamers that ply continually to tweedmouth, in which brief hour or two the very heart and vitals of the industrial north reveal themselves at close quarters; for the tyne, though full of the largest ships, is comparatively narrow to its mouth both on the durham and northumbrian shores, each resounding with human energy in its noisiest and most strenuous forms. a striking feature of the tyne, too, is the alacrity with which at the last moment it shakes all this off, and flows out under the ruinous abbey of tynemouth and over the narrow bar, between yellow sands and woody cliffs, into the fresh blue sea, as if the murky pandemonium had been but a hideous dream. almost every one knows the look of newcastle, seeing how imposing is the view of town and river from the lofty railroad bridge on the highway to scotland. nor from that point is it easy to realise that, or miles above, this same river is brawling wide over a stony bed, with trout and samlets leaping in its clear streams. the "tynesider" is the product of this lower and industrial stretch of the river, and not by any means a person who lives anywhere upon its banks. he is a type unto himself, and speaks a vernacular all his own, and the most unintelligible to the stranger of all north-country dialects. his ancestors were, for the most part, ordinary rural northumbrians, dalesmen or otherwise. but the atmosphere of the coal trade, carried on quite actively since the tudor period, has formed a type of man blunt of manner and raucous of speech, into which all who come are absorbed. such is the tynesider in the true meaning of the term. as a matter of fact, the colliery district of northumberland is extremely small, and mainly confined to the south-eastern corner of the county, the rest of which is as sweet as westmoreland. twenty miles up the river, and half-a-dozen beyond the limits of the smirched country, the finely situated uplifted town of hexham, crowned with its exquisite abbey church, stands near the parting of the streams. if the tyne is relatively narrow at newcastle for the navies it floats, it is extremely wide at hexham for a river of its boisterous quality. the sober interludes in which both wye and severn indulge between their shallows are brief and rare upon the tynes. severally and in their final partnership they remain gigantic mountain brooks almost to the end, and this is why they have punished newcastle so fearfully in former days. in the eighteenth century the main bridge, covered then with dwellings, and full at the time of sleeping inmates, was swept into space and darkness in a few seconds. few of the bridges on either tyne have failed to succumb at one time or another to its fury. that at hexham has seven arches, which will indicate the breadth of the river. even when parted just above, each branch forms a salmon river of the first class as regards size, while the north tyne is so in the more literal sense. the south tyne, rather the smaller, and though always imposing and often beautiful the least so of the two, comes up from the very south-east corner of the county. rising just over the cumbrian border at alston, tapping the gorges of the wild, shapely, mountainous hills which girdle that racy and romantic little market-town, the river brawls northward through a deep and tortuous vale to haltwhistle. gathering _becks_ from the cumbrian fringes and further _burns_ as it descends--for the change from a scandinavian to a saxon etymology is here well defined--the south tyne now turns sharply eastward, and runs along the foot of the ridge bearing towards hexham. here too it meets the carlisle and newcastle railroad, which follows its valley the whole way to the sea. receiving the allen at the mouth of allendale, the south tyne becomes a fair-sized river, and haydon bridge, which in the old raiding days was the only one on the south tyne, and was "chained" in periods of alarm, rests upon six arches, through all of which the clear impetuous currents shoot even in low water. it is a formidable thing for any one on tolerably intimate terms not merely with their banks but with their traditions and literature, to be confronted by the tynes and but a few pages at disposal. it is the severn and the wye over again--the border atmosphere surcharged with memories and traditions and many things beguiling to a discursiveness that must be at all costs resisted. but here we have all the physical sternness of the north, above all of the north-east. the bed of a salmon river or a rocky trout stream whether in breconshire or northumberland differs nowise. the swirling pools, the gliding shallows, the angry rock-fretted rapids, the mossy crags and fringing woods or fern-clad banks, are approximately the same on tyne or wye, on dove or dart, and of a kind that has never yet bred satiety in those whose ways have lain much beside them. the same music, in all its infinite variety of tone and chord, is played by the coquet, the monnow, or the wharfe; the same familiar flies, the drakes and duns, the alders and march-browns, dance to the familiar harmonies, while the white-breasted ousel and his summer visitor the sandpiper are as inevitably in evidence on the tyne as on the tamar. it is outside the immediate fringe of such a river that local character and features assert themselves. the south tyne, from haltwhistle to hexham, sweeps bravely down a valley of grass farms, with here and there a village of stern uncompromising stone and slate set on its banks. there is no charm of village architecture in northumberland, or scarcely any. nor on the lofty slopes of tynedale does the rose-embowered, orchard-girdled, thatched-roof cot that wordsworth saw on the high terraces of the wye, and sang of, send up its smoke wreaths. the northumbrian is practical and rectangular in his handling of the landscape. in other words, he is an advanced farmer and generally a big one, only surpassed by the scotsman in those merits which are fatal to picturesque detail in landscape so far as it can be controlled. the northumbrian dalesman was a picturesque cattle-lifter, or constant fighter of cattle-lifters, long after the rest of england had settled down to humdrum respectability, and even the welsh border had for two centuries buried the hatchet. but when he reformed he did so to some purpose, and has for some generations been very far ahead of the others in eliminating all those luxuriant irregularities of nature that in the south make for artistic foregrounds. but northumberland is in many vital respects altogether too much for him. he can trace big rectangles with stone dykes or bridled hedgerows, and lay out well-drained fields in the broader valleys, and erect square, comfortable, unlovely homesteads of whinstone that would stand a siege; but the spirit of the country in its uplifted hills, its wild moors, remains untouched in spite of him. if the modern dwelling by the tyne, scattered enough in any case, is deplorable from the artist's point of view, the nearer hills to the southward trend upwards gradually in mile-long sweeps to wild and lonely moors, from which come, winding down to the main valley, beautiful glens like those of the two allens or the devil's water, even still more exquisite. it was in the dense woods of dipton dene, upon the latter stream, that queen margaret, abandoned after the second battle of hexham in the wars of the roses, threw herself and infant son on the mercy of the bandit, and, as we all know, was safely harboured by him. at its mouth, too, on the tyne, and just below hexham, are the ruined towers of dilston, home of the ill-fated derwentwater, who was lord of all this country till the jacobite rising of the "fifteen" cost him his head and his heirs their vast estates. if there are no half-timbered cottages or few tudor homesteads upon the tyne, the valley still abounds in the remains of peel-towers and bastel houses, redolent of the raiding days; while here and there a great castle suggestive of some dominant name, some warden of the march or keeper of the dale, broods over the stream with its four grey towers and lofty curtains, and strikes a fine stern note against the waving background of the moorish hills of hexhamshire. dilston, as related, is below hexham, and so is prudhoe, the whilom fortress of umfravilles and percies, whose massive walls are yet more proudly perched. this south tyne valley was thick with ridleys and featherstonhaughs, a very cradle of many families of which these were the chief. men did not wander about the country and set up houses anywhere and everywhere in the old border days. they were wanted at home, and by no means in demand in other dales, the stamping ground of other and probably unfriendly stocks, though some of them were badly enough wanted in another sense. clans or "greynes" had to stick together both for purposes of offence and defence, and fighting men were valuable. constant raids of elliots, armstrongs, kerrs, and scotts from beyond cheviot and the necessity for retaliation kept both long dales of tyne on the alert. nowadays so thinly peopled, in the time of the tudors and the early stuarts they contained more of these wild and lawless people than the country could legitimately support. "honest men all, but who did a little shifting for their living," as a contemporary play puts it with some humour; the despair alike, together with their scottish equivalents across the cheviots, of english and scottish kings, of parliaments and officials. williemoteswyke, a chief stronghold of the ridleys, whence came the celebrated martyr bishop, still survives by the south tyne, a later farm-house built into the ancient towers. but all along the line of the river, from haltwhistle eastwards, within two or three miles for the most part, and cresting the second ridge to the northward for the entire distance, is a monument much older than the peel-towers of ridleys or featherstonhaughs. the roman wall, as perhaps needs no telling, ran here from sea to sea. much of it was destroyed in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. half the farm-houses, cottages, and barns to the north of the river are built of its stones, quarried and squared at the expense of imperial rome in the second century. but parallel with this stretch of the south tyne, for many miles the wall still pursues with an average height of to feet its direct and lonely course along a wild and rugged skyline. edging the face of the rock escarpments, plunging into deep ravines, dividing the comb of lofty whinstone ridges, this old northern barrier of the roman empire forges always onward, regardless of obstacles, in its undeviating pursuit of the highest points in an uplifted and lonely land. to the south of the wall, in the green troughs and broken ridges that divide it from the south tyne, lie the scattered homesteads of small sheep-farms, built at the expense of its diminished stature, for even in the time of elizabeth it still retained its original height of some or feet. to the northward the roman soldier, whether bred in spain or gaul or on the rhine, looked down over what is even to-day an unpeopled wilderness stretching far away over bog and heather and moor grass, to dim and distant hills that mark the windings of the north tyne. no reminders of the roman occupation in all england, no excavated towns, no dug-up villa foundations among the haunts of men, are comparable in dramatic significance with this persistent pile of masonry, punctuated with the remnants of its walled camps and watch towers, in which rome traced, through this remote and wild land, the limit for three centuries of her imperial rule. about , men lay here perpetually along the miles between carlisle and newcastle. we know precisely, too, from the roman army list and the corroborating testimony carved upon scores of tablets and altars, what regiments they were: which were the cavalry and which the infantry stations. we know also the names of numbers of their officers, for memorial tablets to the dead and inscriptions of honour to the living are abundant. we see the officers' quarters, the men's barracks, the baths, the market-houses; the narrow double gateways, their stone lintels deeply rutted with the waggon wheels of this mysterious and remote age. an amphitheatre here, a shrine there, confronts one with rows of altars to forgotten gods, gathered upon the walls of local museums. here again is a milestone, elaborately inscribed to the glory of emperors and pro-consuls, and ending like any county council finger-post with the mileage to the nearest camp. but we know nothing more of this wonderful and exasperatingly dark period, of three long centuries at least, when england was mute, peaceful, and the sharer in an advanced exotic civilization. one certainty amid the darkness we are sure of, namely, that this perilous and war-like frontier above the tyne, now so lonely, was, by virtue not merely of its permanent garrison but of the tributary communities which ministered to their service and support, one of the most populous parts of england. hexham, standing at the forks of tyne, was the ancient entrance to the raiding dales. beyond it the stranger would have most assuredly needed the very best of introductions, while over the altars of its abbey church the heady champions of tynedale hung their gloves for him to pluck who held himself a sufficiently stout man to take the consequences. scott remembered this in _rokeby_-- edmund, thy years were scarcely mine, when, challenging the clans of tyne, to bring their best my brand to prove, o'er hexham's altar hung my glove; but tynedale, nor in tower nor town, held champion meet to take it down. the seventeenth-century evangelist, dr. gilpin, on his first appearance in hexham church, says a well-known story, terrified the more peaceful souls around him by plucking one of these profane gauges of battle from the sacred wall. only his piety, eloquence, and undaunted front saved the doctor from rough treatment at the hands of those sons of war who had gathered from the dales to hear such an arraignment of their wild ways as they were not accustomed to. founded late in the seventh century by st. wilfrid, then bishop of york, the crypt, largely fashioned of roman stones from the great station at corbridge, still remains of the original abbey, ultimately destroyed by the danes. endowed by queen etheldreda with her own dowry, the lands, still comprised in the three large upland parishes south of the tyne, and known as _hexhamshire_, remained with the monastery till the dissolution. rebuilt in by another prelate of york, the church was again practically destroyed by the scots. but what we now see used as the parish church is a choir, tower, and transepts of beautiful early english work throughout, save for a recently and badly restored east end. whether the original nave was ever completed or not is a matter of contention. a new one at any rate is being now built--a proceeding which provokes a good deal of reasonable dissension from archæologists. the wide, square market-place of hexham was quite recently the most picturesque in the north. modern innovations have much damaged its reputation; but it still possesses, fronting the abbey, the edwardian moot hall with its gothic archway surmounted by towers, warlike of aspect in their corbels and machicolations, and yet another tower behind of equal age and imposing look. our artist's admirable and suggestive sketch of hexham leaves us little to add regarding its felicitous pose and charm of site and outlook. if, like the salmon, we prefer the north to the south tyne, it is after all but a selection between good things; for the valley of the former, winding for miles to its source just over the scottish frontier, is, together with its tributary the rede, the absolute embodiment, the quintessence, not merely of border and cheviot scenery, but of that stirring past which gives the anglo-scottish border an atmosphere all its own. the welsh marches are instinct with the same spirit. the difference in their detail for those to whom both have made their appeal furnish an interesting and instructive contrast with which we have no business here. but rivers after all play such a conspicuous and romantic part in both. the streams of wye and dee, of usk, severn, and towy on the one hand, of tyne and coquet and till and tweed on the other, blend their music with the harp of the bard or the voice of the minstrel, and their names bite deep into every page of the moving chronicle. the one has upon the whole a note of a pathos, something of the wail of a conquered race, not as the saxon was conquered, but of a small people contending long and heroically against hopeless odds to a climax that in the long run brought little to regret. the other, robust and racy of retrospect with the consciousness of equal struggle. the one celtic to the core, clad in a tongue unknown to the conquerors, who in their turn celebrated, so far as i know, no single triumph in ode or ballad, and accompanied two centuries of mortal strife with no single verse. in the other we have two communities, bone of the same bone, flesh of the same flesh, furnished with almost the same racy variety of the same rich tongue, who flung ballads across the border as they shot arrows or crossed spears. but above all, they left off quits, and amid a hundred fights have always a flodden for a bannockburn, and a homildon hill for an otterburn. "i never hear," wrote sir philip sidney, "the old song of percy and douglas that i find not my heart more moved than by a trumpet." one luminous and sufficiently accurate fact may be remembered in this connection, namely, that the end of one long struggle was the beginning of the other; that the same iron hand which, speaking broadly, crushed the last gleam of welsh independence, permanently alienated by efforts of similar intent the hitherto not unfriendly northern kingdom. for till the scottish wars of edward the first and the days of bruce and wallace, border feuds in the full meaning of the term had little significance. the very border line upon the north tyne and rede was vague. scotland and england fought occasionally and vigorously, but there was no rancour nor unfriendliness when the game was over. redesdale and liddesdale cut each other's throats and lifted each other's cattle no doubt, as did other dales, promiscuously, but not as scot and southern and as bitter hereditary foes. nowhere in its whole course is the north tyne more striking in its actual bed than for the last mile before its confluence at hexham, when its amber peat-stained waters fret amid a huge litter of limestone crags and ledges between the woods of warden. it is curious, too, in time of spate to watch the powerful rivers rushing into one another's arms at the meeting of the waters; the one a yellowy-brown, the other a rich mahogany-black, as if no fallowed field or muddy lane had cast a stain upon it. a few miles up, in a stretch of park land on the very banks of the river, is chesters, one of the principal roman stations on the wall, which last here leaped the stream. much skilful excavation has been done, laying bare the foundations and the lower walls of a large cavalry station, for all to see on the day of the week when those in possession, who have performed this admirable labour of years, admit the public. here too, in a normal state of the water, you can yet see the remains of the roman bridge which have defied the floods of tyne for all these centuries. as one travels up the river, pursuing its narrow and for a time much-wooded vale, places of ancient fame or the scene of border ballads hold one at every mile. houghton castle, long restored and inhabited, but still plain and grim, with much of the old fabric and its ten-foot walls, stands proudly upon a woody steep above the wide churning stream. built in the thirteenth century by a swinburne when north tynedale was scottish ground, it was occupied by his descendants through much of the turbulent period; for when the border was shifted it became the nearest castle of importance to the scottish raiding valleys, and many a moss-trooper has languished in its dungeons. a space farther up on the other bank is chipchase castle, the ancient seat of the herons, where is still the original peel-tower, bearing a roof of six-foot flagstones with battlements corbelled and machicolated, circular corner towers, and the wooden fragments of a portcullis still embedded in its pointed archway. annexed to this is a beautiful late tudor house of , the first, no doubt, of its kind on this wild frontier. in the sixteenth century chipchase was the headquarters of a corps of light horsemen, stationed here for the policing of tynedale under the command of its "keeper," who was generally a swinburne or a heron, subject in turn to the orders of the warden of the middle march, very often a dacre. but the little village of wark, where a modern bridge crosses the river, still some or yards wide, was in older times than this the capital of north tynedale. here law was administered and the visiting scottish judges sat, before the embittered border feuds began to make any law other than that of the sword almost a farce. above wark the valley grows wilder and more open, the river losing nothing, however, of its size, and still proceeding, in a succession of rapids and splendid salmon pools, between woods of birch and larch and ash. dark burns come splashing down anon from the high moors through bosky denes, and an innocent-looking stream, not much bigger, pipes quietly in on the east bank, and gives the name of reedsmouth to a trifling hamlet. this is the far-famed rede, and this the mouth of redesdale, that dark and bloody ground, that inmost artery of border feud. for over miles the little river goes winding away amid the moors and sheep-farms of the cheviots, with a village here and a hamlet there, till at the reidseweir by carter fell, scene of a famous border fight, it finds its source in the watershed and the scottish border. the main road that in a stretch of miles climbs the cheviots into scotland now runs up redesdale, and the frequent motor traffic along it seems something of a jarring note amid the solitude of the great hills and the wide sweeping moors. it is an old main highway nevertheless, and the world hurrying through it in flying fragments at intervals seems incongruous in method rather than in act; for redesdale was not only a favourite pass for border raiders, but for large scottish and english armies. the valley forms a v with that of the north tyne, both leading up to a pass over the spine of the cheviots. though the rede carries, as always, the highway, the tyne, with but a rough route for wheel traffic, has now a little railroad, which at long intervals awakes its echoes. redesdale, like tynedale, from its mouth to its source is a string of landmarks that tell of doughty deeds, of triumph and defeat, of valour and treachery. at otterburn by the rede, as every one knows, took place that most famous of all true border fights, when hotspur and douglas, with a great force of borderers behind either, maintained the most ferocious struggle known even to froissart, through most of a moonlight night, to the death of douglas, the capture and worsting of the percies. between rede and tyne is a pathless solitude of moor and fell. between north tyne and the roman wall, as already related, is just such another. the not unpicturesque village of bellingham, effectively poised on a high bank above the river, is now the capital of the dale and the rendezvous of its widespread sheep industry. the descendants of the men who formed the greynes or clans of tyne, soldiers, moss-troopers, cattle-lifters, the terror of the low countries, are all here in absolute possession--charltons, robsons, hedleys, dodds, halls and milburnes--great sheep-farmers many, landowners still some of them. but tempting as it is to pursue this wild and beautiful valley to the springs of tyne on the scottish watershed, with its still surviving peel-towers, its wealth of tradition and legend, it is necessary to forbear, for i have already somewhat exceeded the limits of my space. "coquet" and northumbrians, like the scots, it may be noted, are addicted to dropping the article in alluding to their larger rivers, which conveys a pleasant suggestion of greater intimacy and affection,--coquet, then, rises also in the cheviots, and, not far from rede, pursues her way through the same class of scenery, and boasts more or less the same stirring story as the tynes. a fine, lusty, peat-tinged stream after a long pilgrimage through fern and heath-clad uplands, amid which scott laid the opening chapters of _rob roy_, the river finally parts company with the cheviots at the pleasant town of rothbury, that nestles beneath their outer ramparts, at this point of considerable height and more than common shapeliness. thence for miles the river urges its streams over a clean rocky bottom, through the undulating lowlands of northumbria to the sea. coquet holds the affections of northumbrians, i think, above all their rivers. there is an obvious feeling in the county that it is their typical representative stream, partly perhaps because it flows right through the centre of it, and is more generally familiar than the remoter dales of tyne. the north tyne, as a river, has a greater volume of water, and is more imposing. both have a stormy and dramatic past, but that of tyne and rede, since they were notable passes into scotland, is on a more imposing scale, though the raider was in no way bound to beaten routes. but coquet is a fascinating and delightful river, and one understands the point of view which makes it the darling of its county and the subject of much local verse, racy and vigorous or sentimental, within the last century. northumberland, yorkshire, wales, and other regions of like character are the true land of the angler. wiltshire, hampshire, and their prototypes have great reputations. but the native to any extent worth mentioning is not a trout fisherman. he neither knows nor cares aught about it, nor has any opportunity for contracting the habit or love of trouting. the conditions are all against him. the fat trout of these "dry-fly" countries, to put the matter in technical but concrete fashion, are the quarry of a few individuals: groups of men mainly strangers, or, in any case of necessity, persons of means or the friends of such. it is like pheasant-shooting. the farmer and the well-to-do tradesmen, much less the labourer or mechanic of these counties, have scarcely more instinct for fly-fishing than if they lived in the fens. but in counties like northumberland and many others dealt with in this book, the rivers are objects of popular affection or at least of general understanding. every third man can throw a fly in some sort of fashion, or cast a worm for trout in clear water. opportunities in recent years, owing partly to the increase of fishing among [illustration: the coquet, and warkworth castle, northumberland] [illustration] wealthy townsmen and partly to an ignorance of the whole subject on the part of many new landowners, have been enormously curtailed for the humbler sportsman. but the instinct is an inheritance of all classes in those counties where hills mount high and streams run fast. the north tyne is a good salmon and sea-trout river and a splendid trout stream. it is a little remote, and withal, of late years, somewhat exclusive; but the coquet is naturally as good. it has always been, and even still is, more accessible to the northumbrian angler. the salmon, the bull trout, the sea trout, and the brown trout thrive in its clear mountain waters. now the laymen, even such as are in the highest degree susceptible to the charms of nature and scenery, cannot easily realise the hold that streams of this type and their localities acquire over the affections and imaginations of anglers; not all, of course, for the fraternity includes every kind of temperament. but to a considerable proportion, and by no means of necessity only those whom education and culture make susceptible to such emotion, the appeal of the river, quite apart from the mere act of killing fish, is overmastering. it is no figure of speech but a mere simple statement of fact that, compared to the trout fisherman's familiarity with a stream, the relationship of the rest of the world to it is a mere nodding acquaintance. long days are spent in the closest intimacy with its ever-changing surface and the ever-changing melodies it plays. miles of water, much of it buried in woody dingles from every eye but the fisherman's, its only visitor, are traversed by him on the bank edge, or in the stream itself, over and over again, till every eddy and pool, every rock and pendent bough, becomes printed in the mind, and hung, so to speak, in its picture gallery. weeks or months of days, from youth to age, on many streams gives the properly constituted disciple of old izaak a feeling towards them that can have no counterpart outside the craft, and at the best could be but vaguely realised. a man would be a dull dog to be continuously exposed, in what are, _primâ facie_, among the happiest hours of his life, to surroundings that are the most perfect of all nature's efforts and not grow to associate them with something more than a mere love of killing things; and there are fewer dull dogs among trout fishermen, one may fairly hazard the statement, than in the ranks of any other sport or pastime. there is a poetry in all field-sports. but in most others there are also accessories which attract the crowd, which conduce to vanity, or popularity, or give a leg up to the social climber. there is usually an audience of some sort, the applause of a circle or a multitude. the fisherman, in this respect at least, is beyond suspicion. he is at any rate genuine and the real thing. very often, indeed, he is a poet, generally of course an inarticulate one, and unconscious of any such label. but his gratification belongs in part to the higher senses: the romance of the river is strong within him, and it would be strange indeed, seeing the sort of scenes among which he spends his hours, if it were otherwise. the fishermen of the coquet, however, are not all inarticulate. the river has invoked a good deal of verse on the part of its frequenters, which, if not swinburnian, is melodious and from the heart, and reveals the love of the northumbrian angler for its winsome streams. heaven forbid i should suggest that only an angler can appreciate the glories of a mountain stream; i have but attempted to indicate the more intimate affection for it that men must have, and do have, whose happiest hours are associated with its inmost haunts and with its thousand moods, and whose very ears sing in the evening of long days with its unending melodies. in the northern counties, as in wales, the rivers play a greater part in local lore and in the affections of the people generally than in the south. they are intertwined with their legends and their folklore, their ordinary interests. they stimulate the local imagination by their capricious moods, their fury in flood-time, their tempestuous qualities. even the untutored rustic, one may think, feels insensibly the influence of the cataract, or the charm of the summer shallows where as an urchin he paddled or tickled trout. they riot beside his village street, and their little tributaries plunge beside his cottage door. the southern or midland river is apt to steal noiselessly through interdicted water-meadows, and seems to feel neither storm nor drought till one day, perchance, the valley gradually fills with gently oozing water that recedes with unexciting deliberation. the considerable remains of brinkburn priory, an augustinian house, stand near the banks of the coquet, while at felton bridge, a village of some note in northumbrian story, it has been forced to cut a channel through hard ledges of rock, which results in some fine grouping of foam and foliage. our illustration, however, represents the final stage of the river, where in its more peaceful mood it winds beneath the renowned castle of warkworth towards the sea. though abandoned for centuries as a residence, its great keep, built in the third edward's stirring days by a percy in star-shape fashion, with eight lofty clustered towers, is practically intact and eminently imposing, while some of the outer walls and other buildings still survive around the great outer bailly. originally a fortress and manor of the claverings, it was granted by the same edward to henry percy in payment for his expenses as warden of the march, and also as a recognition of his share in the defeat of the invading scots at neville's cross, while the king and his army were fighting the campaign of crecy. it was their chief seat, rather than alnwick, for some generations, including that of hotspur. shakespeare, it will be remembered, here lays the scene in which that fiery soul is planning his intended revolt against henry the fourth which ended on the fatal field of shrewsbury, and repels his curious wife's persistent sallies anent his moody ways and broken, restless nights. the second part of the same play also opens here at warkworth, where the old earl awaits the news from shrewsbury, and receives the messenger announcing the rout of his friends and hotspur's death. warkworth, like alnwick, fell into decay during the long absence of the percys from the north, a compulsory absence but little broken for generations, and wholly due to the fear of them felt by the tudors, who were strong enough to coerce those they feared. when in the person of the first duke they returned during the eighteenth century to a permanent residence in northumberland, it was a mooted question whether alnwick or warkworth should be restored, the former, as we know, being selected. and if the alne, winsome little river though it be, cannot compare with the coquet, it has some compensation in the miles of beautiful and diversified park it waters, and in the honour of laving the feet of the proudest and greatest castle in all england. on arriving beneath the high-perched towers of warkworth, the coquet has relapsed into a smooth gliding stream, and in a red sandstone cliff abutting on its banks, just above the castle, is a quite remarkable cell or hermitage, like those on the severn near bewdley. but this one is more elaborate by far, and uncanny to a high degree. a flight of steps hewn in the rock mounts up from the river bank to a cave, entered by an ecclesiastically-fashioned porch. the interior itself was cunningly wrought some six centuries ago into the form of a chapel of gothic design, some twenty feet by seven, with a two-light window, an altar, and a vaulted roof with central bosses supported by short circular columns, all being hewn out of the solid rock. to the south of this altar, under the window, is the rather gruesome explanation of these pious labours. for here lies the rude and greatly worn figure of a female, with a man seated at her feet resting his head upon his hand, and though much worn by time still eloquently indicating an attitude of remorse and despair. over the outside of the door is carved a latin inscription signifying, "my tears have been my meat day and night," while within is another chamber of a ruder kind. the story runs thus, that the man is a bertram of bothal and the lady a widdrington, his intended bride, whom he killed by mistake, and then, fashioning this hermitage, mourned her here in seclusion for the remainder of his life. how the mistake arose and the tragedy came about is too long a tale for these pages. hotspur's son, when an exile in scotland, after his father's death and attainder, is supposed to have contracted a stealthy marriage with a daughter of the rival marcher house of neville, whom he afterwards publicly espoused, in this same hermitage. just beneath the cliff is a small ruinous building on the river bank, built of hewn rock in the fifteenth century; concerning this, however, there is no mystery though some interest, as the cell of a priest attached to the percy family under ordinary conditions, which are still preserved in writing. the inevitably sombre, but in a sense rather picturesque little town of warkworth, with its market cross, straggles up from the fifteenth-century bridge, guarded by an old turreted gateway, to the castle in most suggestively feudal fashion. so soon after this does the coquet join the sea that warkworth considers itself something of a watering-place, though no disturbing evidences of anything of the kind mar the bygone flavour of dominant castle and tributary townlet which it still so pleasantly retains. passengers to and from scotland on the main line must assuredly be familiar with these proud towers standing out above the bare fields, a mile or two eastward against the sea. not so obvious is a beautiful glimpse of the coquet which must be snatched at precisely the proper moment. but as the train crosses the river some four miles from its mouth, it may be seen for a few brief seconds down a long straight half-mile trail of glancing light between luxuriant walls of woodland. the till, though not one of the artist's subjects on these pages, must have a brief word, if only because it is quite unlike any other river on the border, and is, moreover, the only english stream that feeds the tweed. rising, like the alne, and not far from it, in the cheviots about half-way down their course, it fails to achieve the other's feat and break through that isolated central block of north northumbrian moors between the cheviots and the sea. thus baffled and turning away to the north quite in its infancy, it runs along the eastern base of the cheviots to the tweed. passing chillingham and thence to wooler, the till winds with extraordinary contortions through broad level meadows, the great humpy masses of the northern cheviots, reaching here the height of feet, towering majestically above it. rippling gently over gravelly shallows of singularly lustrous colouring and many hues, it lingers long and constantly, so slight is the fall, in sullen deeps, into which the high crumbling red sandstone banks are continually toppling. in actual appearance the till is almost a replica of those famous hereford grayling rivers the teme and the lugg, and, as is but natural, that useful and handsome fish, which was only introduced here fifteen years ago, now swarms in its streams somewhat to the ousting of the trout, its natural denizens, and no doubt to the disgust of its autumn visitors, the salmon and the sea-trout. these, however, pass on for the most part up the brawling tributaries which the grayling do not face, and it is an interesting sight to watch the "sea-fish," as inland northumbrians call the salmon tribe, leaping the dam on the wooler burn in a half flood. mild as it looks and gently as it murmurs, the till is formidable in flood for the wide grazing lands it submerges at short notice, when the fountains of the cheviots are loosed. beautiful burns hurry down from the not very distant heart of this narrow but lofty northern point of the range, into the till, babbling through deep glens, clad like the hills above with bracken, sprinkled in fine confusion with birch and alder, and littered with fragments of grey rock. the stone bridge over which surrey led the english army as he marched down its valley to flodden, whose high green ridge confronts you everywhere, still spans the till. above it, abrupt and bare, like a lower buttress to the cheviot range, rises homildon hill, where hotspur defeated ten thousand scots under another douglas with fearful slaughter by archers alone, and no great force of them, without moving a single horseman from his ranks--the only instance of the kind known, according to experts, in mediæval warfare; a battle by no means after hotspur's heart, extraordinary triumph though it was, and more particularly as most of these triumphant archers were welsh mercenaries. but the till, opening straight to scotland and to the tweed, is literally steeped in such doings, and lest i find myself drifting into the tale of flodden field, in which the "sullen till" played so notable a part, it will be prudent to cross the watershed at once without further delay or palaver. anent the leisurely habits of the till, however, they are commemorated on the border by the time-honoured jibe with which tweed greets the appearance of its only english tributary, and the latter's effective rejoinder:-- said tweed to till what gars ye rin sae still? said till to tweed though ye rin wi' speed and i rin slaw, whar ye droon ae man i droon twa. it is in those central highlands south of the tyne, made up of portions of the counties of northumberland, durham, westmoreland, and cumberland, that the tees, with its tributaries the greta and lune, also the swale and lancashire lune, and last, but not least, the eden, all find their source, not merely in this wild upland, but actually within the confines of west westmoreland. the eden, though nowhere touching that famous district known as lakeland which the two counties mostly share, is by far the foremost river in westmoreland or cumberland. the very fact of its propinquity to the lake district makes for its isolation as regards the stranger in search of the picturesque, just as the pennines, which at crossfell almost touch feet, are obscured by the near neighbourhood of the lake mountains, whose shapes, like those of wales, as much as their heights, exalt them beyond comparison with the most inspiring and the wildest of round-capped moorlands. between the pennines and the lakeland mountains, always with a north-westward course, the eden urges its quickly gathering waters through westmoreland, with a swish and swirl and ripple rather than any great show of agitation, traversing the pleasant pastoral and agricultural [illustration: the eden, samson's chamber, near carlisle] [illustration] valley amid which appleby, the little capital of westmoreland, lies astride the stream. to the east of the eden for practically its whole journey to carlisle, spreads an unbroken wilderness of moor and fell. upon the west, from kirkby stephen, above which it rises, through appleby to near penrith, and reaching to the edge of the lake country, lies a picturesque, broken region of small valleys, secluded villages, and farms. from the pennines and its eastern fringes, numerous becks hurry to the eden, and from the west, by long courses with the grain of the country, many little rivers eventually reach the generous shingly bed of the same hospitable stream. from penrith, on the edge of cumberland and but four miles to the west, comes down the beautiful river eamont, which is the outlet of ulswater, just as the lowther, another arrival at the same moment, brings the burden of haweswater. this westmoreland eden has also a particular interest as the open valley of the west marches and the natural channel for such scottish raids as broke past penrith and its surrounding group of fortified houses. this whole corner, indeed, between the eden and the latter town and just around it still proclaims to the observant wanderer what a vital spot it was. the fortified granges of yanwath and blencowe, the perfect little fortalice of dacre, the numerous peel-towers such as clifton, and those embodied in the later mansions of brougham, newbiggin, or hutton john, and the fine old red ruins of brougham castle itself, with many others that recur to memory, lend an abiding interest to this particular neighbourhood. a broad gap was this between the rugged chaos of lakeland, which offered the scots nothing to the south but a possible ambush of hardy mountaineers, and the pennine wilderness upon the inner side. over the levels of central cumberland horsemen could travel anywhere once carlisle was evaded or disposed of. the narrow streets of penrith again, all converging into open spaces for the better safe-guarding of herds of cattle and other valuables, are significant enough of the perilous days of old for the few to whom such things appeal, whilst up on the crest of the ridge above the town there is still the iron cage in which flared the beacon light of war, when all heights to the northward twinkled with the ominous news that the scots had crossed the solway. in broad and surging current the eden now courses between more precipitous steeps with greater commotion and of more inspiring character than marked the pleasant but gentler murmurs of its previous wanderings. at kirkoswald, crossfell displays its smooth but lofty brow, the virtual peer of skiddaw and helvellyn in all but the little matter of quality and distinction, in something like intimacy with the river, and spreads its skirts almost to its eastern shore. at kirkoswald, too, is an ancient monastery, developed at the dissolution into a manor house acquired by the featherstonhaughs, who still possess it, and on the hill slope are the scant remnants of "one of the fairest castles," says an elizabethan writer, "that ever eyes beheld." won by a dacre, who raiding south on a certain occasion instead of north, carried off its heiress from warwick castle, it gathers some added interest from having been the fortress whence the dacre of flodden fame marched to that immortal field with his thousand cumbrian horse, the only cavalry on the english side. a detached church belfry, standing high and alone near the castle site, gives pause to the ecclesiologist as an almost unique spectacle in the north, and from its summit presents a delightful view to such chance visitors as might light upon kirkoswald of the eden valley and the pennines. the river has already swept past salkeld, with its red embattled church tower and traditions of dick whittington and the first lord ellenborough, who were both born here. nearly opposite kirkoswald is lazonby, on whose high banks our artist, it will be seen, has set up his easel. below kirkoswald is the nunnery, an ancient manor house celebrated for its walks and woods and waterfalls upon the banks of the river. farther on towards carlisle is ormathwaite, where for a time the eden ceases from troubling and is overhung by crags and woods and the ancient castle of the skeltons. just before reaching carlisle the irthling, a mountain river of some length and volume, comes down from the wildest portion of the old middle march, just north of the upper tyne beyond gilsland and about bewcastle, whose moss-troopers and cattle-lifters were perhaps the most incorrigible of all english borderers. it is a common saying among old men, with probably a half truth in it, that the king's writ within their memory did not run in bewcastle. and at carlisle, too, comes in the petteril, which has run northward from near penrith through the vanished forest of inglewood, a parallel course to the eden and quite near to it. here the calder arrives almost at the same moment from the far back of skiddaw forest, [illustration: the eden, near lazonby, cumberland] [illustration] watering in its infancy the hill village of caldbeck, which john peel has made famous, and murmuring by the churchyard where that hero lies beneath a tombstone decorated with the emblems of the chase. the eden then, it will have been gathered, is a great and important river, as our english standards go, watering a broad region of singular beauty and romantic interest, and drawing tribute both from the lake country, the pennines, and the lower cheviots. the city of carlisle, which rises on its sandstone ridge above the eden, steeped in the stirring deeds of centuries, must for that very reason be passed lightly by. the river, however, it should be noted, had its share in the roman wall of hadrian, which crossed it here upon a bridge and finished at stanwix, just below carlisle, where stood the roman station of lugubalium. roman carlisle with its camps, roads, and garrisons, was of extreme importance, but the later carlisle, from the time when it ceased to be scottish ground in the thirteenth century till the rebellion of , when so many things happened here, is altogether too racy and stirring a subject to mock at with a page or paragraph. in connection, however, with this last leisurely progress of the eden to the solway estuary, it is worthy of note that the seven or eight miles of country through which it winds, the corner lying between carlisle and scotland, that is to say, is a dead level; a melancholy expanse of reclaimed moss, as the prevalent fir-woods significantly proclaim, while peat hags even yet show here and there between the grey fallows and pale pastures. it was along here, too, just to the east of the eden, that runaway couples in former days galloped hot foot before their pursuers to gretna green, which lies at the farther end of it. but as a matter of fact this belt of level country, over which the castle walls of carlisle look so proudly to the scottish hills across the solway, strikes a perfect note in this romantic and significant border topography. the eden could not possibly contrive a more harmonious finish than in this complete change of scene and demeanour, this silent progress through unadorned, infertile, almost uncared-for looking levels, that for this very reason seem to keep a firmer hold of the grim spirit of the past; a tramping ground of hostile armies, a cockpit of lawless clan warfare, a treacherous galloping ground of the moss-trooper with the rope dangling for him on carlisle castle, each in their day and generation. this even still rather thinly peopled [illustration: the derwent, grange, borrowdale] [illustration] region terminates near the mouth of esk, where solway moss of old renown, bristling with scrub pine-trees and waist deep in spongy heather, still spreads a quaking bog for many a level mile, while the once threatening dales of esk and liddel open significantly in whole or part for any traveller with a soul within him who pursues the shaking highway across the moss. but these levels of the eden and the solway mouth are even in a mere physical sense a fitting complement to this wide prospect of the western march. for away in their rear, where carlisle springs at its southern edge, and away again behind the low indefinite undulations of agricultural as opposed to mountainous cumberland, the pale cone of skiddaw with its lesser satellites leaps high into the southern sky. on the north the dark dumfriesshire moors fill a long horizon with their billowy forms, and all about the mouth of the eden are the wide-spreading yellow sands of the solway estuary, white with sea-fowl and blended with blue waters just flaked, as they come back to me, with the snowy caps of a breezy june morning. here, perhaps, under other conditions, the more sombre memories of redgauntlet would be uppermost, or on the bridge of esk the shadows of dandie dinmont and guy mannering might displace the sterner realities of the grahams of netherby--those watch-dogs of the western march--of musgraves, armstrongs, or scotts of buccleuch. the eden, being a clean, unpolluted river, is naturally the haunt in season of the salmon and sea-trout. but above all it is a trouting stream of the very highest class, often ranked by those well qualified to judge as the best of its kind in the whole north of england, yielding to the expert hand heavy creels of fish, which average two to the pound, a standard which the _habitué_ in rapid waters knows well is more often a paper than an actual one. and now what is one to say about those beautiful but short-lived streams that in lakeland link lake to lake, and which all the world after a fashion knows so well? their identity is in a sense lost, absorbed and merged in the famous and familiar region, to whose well-nigh matchless beauties, however, they so materially contribute. hitherto we have been for the most part beside rivers of great individuality, but by comparison with these others unknown, save by name, to the outer world; rivers steeped in history and tradition, and that have themselves helped much in the making of both. here, on the other hand, we are in a little [illustration: skelwith force, near ambleside, westmoreland] [illustration] enchanted land that, speaking relatively, has no history. a democracy in the past of yeomen or peasant owners, with little story but their own extremely racy and domestic one, they owed nothing to landlord, chief, or king but the service of military tenure by which they held their farms, and which they rendered when called upon by the warden of the western march, but offering small temptation to the predatory instincts of the scottish raider. the lakelanders were neither raiders nor border fighters in the same sense as the men of the tyne and eden, or only incidentally so. they led comparatively humdrum lives. their ancient condition is one of no little economic and social interest, but not of the kind to stir the blood of the stranger as does that which existed on the solway, the irthling, the tynes, the coquet, and the tweed. the modern literary associations of lakeland have absolutely obscured any ancient story it might have to tell, while the temperament of neither wordsworth, southey, the coleridges, nor de quincey turned in any appreciable degree to the past of the country that so closely held their affections. others have done so, if not in very popular or accessible fashion, for those to whom such things appeal. if wordsworth, however, did not sing much of the past, he sang of his native streams to such effect that it seems likely they will play accompaniments to his verse in the ears of such visitors as have got any so long as time lasts. the rothay into which the brathay runs might seem, perhaps, to have the greatest claim on wordsworth or he on it, since it plunged beneath his very gate on its journey from rydal to windermere. but wordsworth was everywhere. he did not stay indoors all day like the industrious southey, who must, nevertheless, have accomplished most of his life's work with the song of the keswick greta in his ears. wordsworth lived in the open, was possessed of a stout pair of legs as well as an unrivalled imagination, and looked like a country farmer, little enough as he resembled one. his outward man fitted his environment as a grey mossy rock blends with a mountain stream; and one likes to have it so, for the nature poet is sometimes in habit and person rather painfully at odds with the scenes of which he sings. one is now among beauteous short-lived rivers and becks innumerable that almost everybody--for who has not been in lakeland?--is more or less familiar with. since crossing the pennines, too, we have been in a country where scandinavian [illustration: the derwent, borrowdale, cumberland] [illustration] blood and etymology is everywhere in striking evidence; whereas on the east of them the saxon is held to be almost untouched with norse blood. we there walked by "burns" and "forces" and beneath "laws." of "becks" and "ghylls" there were none, nor scarcely any "fells," till the spine of the dividing range was almost reached. many of the lakeland streams run under their original name to the sea; the kent, rising behind mardale and flowing by kendal to morecambe bay; the leven, carrying the waters of windermere under newby bridge by a short course to the same destination; the esk, rising under scafell and pursuing its own delightful dale to ravenglass on the coast of cumberland. the irt bears the burden of wastwater to the same destination, while the ehen carries the waters of ennerdale to the coast upon its own account. the duddon, which wordsworth invoked so freely, rising near langdale pikes, runs a long course, dividing cumberland from lancashire to broughton-in-furness and its own well-known estuary. but these streams themselves, save while nameless becks, are not so familiar to lakers--to use an obsolete term--as the derwent, which, gathering size above rossthwaite within a very short space, races down borrowdale into derwentwater, a beautiful and lusty river. indeed, the head of the lake knows derwent well: when raging down in flood from the rainiest watershed in england, to lift its surface over field and roadway. every one, too, knows the derwent during its three-mile run through the meadows by portinscale into bassenthwaite. thence it leaves the rather circumscribed bounds of the lake tourist, and, running a rapid picturesque course to cockermouth, where the cocker brings down to it the waters of buttermere and crummock, soon afterwards passes into the sea at workington amid much signs of coal smoke, of which there was little enough when mary queen of scots made the landing here which sealed her fate. but amid such a maze of spouting rivers, a score of which will leap to the memory of those who know and love this glorious bit of england, it will be seen at once how futile it would be to single out any one or two of them merely to dwell in ineffective prose upon their natural charms. chapter v two avons two avons join the severn, if that of bristol may be accounted a tributary at so late a period of its entry. such hair-splitting, however, matters nothing, for, as the other wiltshire avon has claimed so much notice in our chapter on chalk streams, no process of selection would quite justify another pilgrimage by what is, on the whole, a less seductive stream. if the tidal reaches of a river count for aught, however, the north wilts avon should rank with the thames, the mersey, and the tyne; for all the world knows it is the life-blood of the great port of bristol, and that ocean liners load and unload within its mouth. the harbourage aspect of rivers, however, as already stated, does not come within our survey. even eliminating this, it may fairly be said that the bristol avon, as the world usually designates it, is no mean river above its tidal ways, and washes no mean cities. indeed, from the beautiful old town of bradford, where the river leaves its native county--a town that boasts at once the most perfect saxon church, and in the eyes at any rate of an international exhibition committee the most perfect tudor mansion in england--on to bath and by keynsham to brislington above bristol, the avon winds through singularly gracious scenery with all the distinction natural to a region of lofty hills. below bristol, too, on its tidal way to the severn, all the world knows personally or by illustration the striking gorge over which nearly half-a-century ago was flung the famous suspension bridge of clifton. nor would it be fair to omit that, before leaving its native county, this more sluggish avon has gathered into its bosom all the waters of north-west wilts. obscure streams most of them, one or two bursting from the chalk of the marlborough downs, but, heading the wrong way, soon to lose their qualities and efface themselves in sluggish partners which draw nourishment from the clays and greensands. beside these waters, however, of the avon or its immediate feeders, rises on its rocky seat the noble half-ruinous pile [illustration: the brathay, langdale, westmoreland] [illustration] of malmesbury. on the main river, too, are the abbey and village of lacock, which, taken together as a survival of fifteenth and sixteenth century england, have no match within my knowledge in the whole of wessex. calne, chippenham, trowbridge, and westbury are all upon the avon or its tributaries; and, if these run sluggishly and gather mud after the manner of those in the midlands, they have their moments of inspiration. it can be said, too, for the wiltshire basin of the avon, that it is not only rich in village architecture, both of the bath or cotswold stone, as well as the half-timbered and thatched type, but excels by comparison even more in its profusion of fine country houses of great traditions, from the tudor to the georgian age. nor is this a mere accident, but for a good reason which stands out for those who know anything of old england. it is worth noting, too, of this north wilts avon, that it is from all these accessories, and from its association with such scenes and memories, rather than from any particular charms of its own beyond such as are inseparable from any combination of water, meadow, and woodland, that its merit arises. further, that almost at the moment it leaves wiltshire it leaves the purely arcadian behind it; and, as it drops down through scenes beyond measure more naturally beautiful, civilisation of another and denser sort, industrial or residential, takes at the same time something from it. a river, however, that is concerned with almost everything which makes north-west wilts a region of more than common interest, that washes bradford, and flows through two places so famous and in such different ways as bristol and bath, might well claim to be the avon of avons. in any such dispute its sister of south wilts might fare badly, even with a cathedral town and stonehenge to its credit. but then it belongs in itself to the order of chalk stream, and consequently ranks among the aristocracy of rivers. in the ears of many persons, however, probably a majority of my readers, neither the salisbury nor the bristol avon have such a familiar ring as that one of shakespeare, the mouth of which we passed at tewkesbury with scant notice, having in mind this brief return to it. the "stratford avon," as usually entitled, deserves some fame even apart from its uncommon claim to notoriety; for of all the rivers of its type and class, the reedy and the leisurely, it is surely the most beautiful. it is of no use pretending [illustration: the thames, backwater by the islands, henley] [illustration] that its waters are pellucid or its streams melodious, for they are neither, unless urged to unwonted activity by a weir or one of the many old brick water-mills that may be accounted among its indisputable charms. like all such rivers, it is in maturity, not in youth, that it shines. yet if the avon were in need of further associations, which it assuredly is not, it might boast among other distinctions of its birth on the field of naseby in northamptonshire, and, while still young, of figuring on the immortal pages of _tom brown_ as the familiar haunt of rugby boys. but though in the deer park at stoneleigh its streams really frolic upon gravel and turn corners with a hurried swish almost like a herefordshire grayling river, it is in later stages drifting idly with a pair of oars on its quiet surface that the avon commends itself so irresistibly to those--and they are many, nay, almost a multitude--who know it. the wider expanse of water at guy's cliff, the beautiful stretch above which warwick castle rises so superbly, are as familiar to almost as large a public as the reaches of the thames at windsor. stratford, also, with its two bridges, and the stately church wherein lies shakespeare's dust, all casting shadows on the widened surface of the river, is a scene of even more world-wide note. no river of secondary size in england has so many places of distinction upon its banks. rising at naseby, skirting rugby, and washing leamington, warwick, and stratford, is a fine record for the upper part of a single river. this is the group of names with which the world chiefly associates the avon; but the world knows much less of its lower half, which is far the most naturally beautiful, and has to its credit the more or less ample remains of three great abbeys, evesham, pershore, and tewkesbury. it is a river of locks and weirs, so to cast its leisurely progress in its teeth coming fresh from the teme or the dart or the itchen would not be fair, as the avon was harnessed by an enterprising tudor squire of the sandys family and made navigable for freight boats between evesham and the severn, a wonderful benefit we are told to the people of the vale if only by introducing them to the use of coal. moreover, it is just as well that a midland stream should be thus artificially held back. its natural antics tended probably to spreading and oozing and trickling amid weeds and willows and muddy channels rather than to the sparkle and rush of a mountain burn or a chalk stream. but when dammed back, the water in [illustration: the avon at clifton] [illustration] some reaches brims well up to the buttercup-spangled bank, with its purple fringe of willow herb, or laps among the long battalions of quivering flags, all making for quality and greater beauty in these slow rivers. and the avon, too, gathers about it a fine wealth of foliage, often stealing for long periods between screens of drooping alder and willow; avenues of verdure quivering again in the glassy depths, as the oar dips into the greenwood fantasy which would cheat one into forgetfulness of the muddy bottom, and the fact that the waters are not as those which come from the black mountains or from the wiltshire downs. but such waters as these are for dreaming on in the full flush of summer, for catching the moods of summer skies, or doubling the splendour of autumn woods; for reflecting the ruddy glow of old brick bridges, the moist and lichen-covered walls of old brick mills. and after all this peace comes now and again in delightful contrast those interludes in which the avon so often rejoices: the white rush of the water over a long sloping weir of rugged stones, a fine spread of swirl and ripple over a gravelly bottom racing away in tortuous channels between small bosky islands of tangled verdure. and not least, there is the ancient mill of mellow brick, its wheel often missing, but occasionally still rumbling on as of yore, with the white water tearing over it from the mill-stream into the churning pool below. and round about the mill there are generally some tall trees, veteran oaks or beech or ash that clutch with their long roots at the mossy walls, which hold the steep bank against the rush of the water. if the warwick and stratford reaches of the avon are best known, as is only natural, its lower portions as a river are beyond question the more beautiful. in the former the scenery through which it flows, though possessed of the graciousness of the midlands, has also its limitations. halfway between stratford and evesham, however, as the traveller tops the hill which runs down into the riverside village of bidford, the traditional scene of shakespeare's drinking bout, the avon would seem to be entering into almost another country as the vale of evesham lies spread before him. for this is something more than glorified midland in scale and distinction, and the flavour of the west country would almost seem to be upon it. the cotswolds rise steadily to the heights of broadway and cleeve upon the south; the great humpy mass of bredon hill seems to lie right athwart the vale, while in the no remote distance the amazingly bold peaks of the malverns look like some range of welsh mountains that have strayed eastward and lost their way. the people of evesham, like those of warwick and stratford, have widened and beautified the avon as it washes the foot of the green slopes on which the noble belfry of abbot lichfield, barely finished at the dissolution, alone marks the site of the once splendid abbey. between stratford and evesham the long ridge of edgehill, where the first great battle of the civil war was fought, rises away to the south, and the villages by inference or evidence associated with shakespeare's life are all about the stream. the avon has already passed by many scenes characteristic of its sober charms--wellford bridge and bidford, cleeve prior and offenham. flowing through the garden of england, the vale of evesham, where thousands of acres of plum and damson, apple and pear make a matchless blaze of bloom in springtime, there is not a dull mill upon its banks between here and its confluence with the severn. swollen by the entry of the stour near stratford, it runs henceforward a good brimming stream, where in many parts two or three boats can row abreast. shooting down the weir and with great stir below upon gravel reaches about chadbury mill, gliding peacefully under the woods and lawns of fladbury to another weir and another mill, it winds along to pershore, the second of its three abbey towns, with the beautiful portion of its great abbey church still standing intact. drawing near the foot of bredon hill the last twelve-mile stage of the avon is occupied in curving around it on its tortuous way to tewkesbury. and continually beside or near its banks, from stratford down, but above all in the evesham and bredon neighbourhood, are rural villages, that for consistency of architectural beauty are as a whole surpassed in no part of england. cleeve prior and abbot's cleeve, norton, cropthorne, birlingham and the combertons, elmley castle and bredon, will occur at once to any one who knows the avon, with their wealth of half-timbered black and white buildings, in which the country of the wye, the severn, and the stratford-avon so pre-eminently excel. most of the great army of worshippers at the stratford shrine and the banks of avon content themselves with a visit to two or three of the surrounding villages which either evidence, speculation, or inference have associated [illustration: the avon, stratford, warwickshire] [illustration] with shakespeare or his relatives. comparatively few realise what a beautiful stream of its kind it is, what a wealth of architectural treasures--churches, manor-houses, and cottages--are clustered along its banks. nor had any river in england more concern with the great war between king and parliament, watering as it were the very cockpit of the strife. naseby and edgehill, as we have seen, were both fought upon or near its banks. but they were almost as nothing compared with the constant skirmishes and minor sieges, the burning and harrying that for four years went on along the banks of the worcestershire avon. the upper or warwickshire avon was held for the parliament, the lower or worcestershire portion for the king, nearly all through the war. but the fords and bridges of the river, being vital points between oxford and the west, were constant scenes of strife. evesham was the scene of siege and battle then as it had been four centuries earlier, when simon-de-montfort heard his last mass in the abbey church and fell that same day upon the banks of avon. charles and rupert, maurice and massey, essex, waller, and cromwell himself knew the lower avon as well as a modern general commanding on salisbury plain knows the avon of south wilts, and in grimmer fashion. its mouth was dyed crimson with lancastrian blood at tewkesbury in the last sanguinary battle in the wars of the roses, and tewkesbury itself was taken and retaken no less than eleven times in the wars of king and parliament. and then inseparable from the story of the avon is that of the three great monasteries upon its banks, from the legends associated with their inception in saxon times down to the great power they became in the west midlands prior to their fall at the dissolution. finally, the avon can boast, not merely of all the shakespeare and warwick glories, and of its great abbeys, but yet further of what in regard to its wealth of tudor and jacobean buildings is perhaps the most striking country town in england. tewkesbury abbey would alone be sufficient glory for any little town, but even without its abbey tewkesbury would be very hard in its own style to find a match for anywhere. [illustration: a glimpse of the thames, kew] [illustration] chapter vi the rivers of devon devonshire is notoriously prolific in bold streams, a fact due to the presence of those two great areas of spongy moorland, dartmoor and exmoor, which lie in whole or part within her borders. next to her splendid sea-coast, both north and south, the streams of devon and the deep valleys they have cut are her chief glory. the actual moorland--dartmoor, for instance, exmoor being largely in somerset--owes its celebrity in a great measure to the unexpected nature of its situation: a patch of south wales or yorkshire dropped, as it were, into the heart of a warm southern county. the uplands of the moor, save for a scantier supply of heather, are practically identical in appearance with hundreds of square miles in south and mid wales, or the northern counties of england, that have no notoriety at all outside their own districts. the same indeed may be said for the beautiful devonshire streams. they are merely the streams of the north and of wales disporting themselves in an unexpected quarter. or, to put it more lucidly, the contrast between the soft low-pitched, bridled landscape, with its gentle streams of the neighbouring southern counties and the moors of devonshire, with the impetuous rivers that they send spouting through the humpy low country, upsets the equilibrium of people not widely acquainted with their native land, and gives rise to a good deal of ill-instructed gush. again and again in fiction, on the stage, or in fugitive articles, you find the devonshire village glibly quoted as the ideal of english rustic architecture and bowery cosiness. as a matter of fact, with the exception of cornwall, devonshire stands easily last in this respect of all the southern and west midland counties, including the rural counties of south wales. the wanderer by devon streams other than those on the dorsetshire side of the county must not expect, save in a few favoured districts, to find the picturesque villages that will confront him everywhere on the chalk streams, or by the slow rivers of warwickshire, gloucester, or worcester, or the livelier brooks of shropshire, hereford, and [illustration: the hamoaze, devonport, from mount edgcumbe] [illustration] monmouth, or even by the mountain streams of radnor, brecon, carmarthen, and rural glamorgan. there are such villages to be sure, but nothing like so many as in all these other districts, for the rustic builder in devon has revelled this long time in slate and stucco and bare stone fabrics of painful angularity. in architecture of the class above the cottage again, of the farm and manor house type, that is to say, the county is comparatively sterile, as every archæologist knows. as a matter of fact, a majority of devonshire villages do not nestle by the river bank in a sunny combe embowered in orchards as depicted by the writers of stories and essays in london, but are much more often perched, together with their fine churches, on the bare summit of extremely steep and windy hill-tops, and have the appearance of being contrived with a view mainly of defying the driving moisture. devonshire is, in truth, a county of extraordinary contrasts. large portions of it are extremely beautiful. almost as large regions again are as devoid of every essential of the picturesque in a general survey as any english landscape could possibly be; mile upon mile of bare humpy hill-top, ruthlessly shorn of every stick of timber and laid out in small and largely arable fields with painful chess-board regularity. no one would guess, for instance, when standing upon any elevation between the dart and plymouth, that through this almost forbidding prospect the avon and the erme cut deep channels which are perfect dreams of beauty, hidden away amid this patchwork of cultivated upland unsurpassed in any part of england for uncompromising, unrelieved monotony. this region to the west of the dart covers the little matter of some square miles, and has given a rude shock in the prospect to many a stranger possessed of the very generally preconceived notions of the county. considerable parts of north devon again present almost the same singular spectacle, redeemed, as here, at intervals by the deep-cut valleys of moorland bred streams, that, wherever they may be, diffuse an atmosphere of charm and beauty about their banks. devonshire, as i have said, thanks to its moorlands, abounds in such streams. cornwall has relatively as many, but its physical shape so curtails their scope, whether flowing to the north or to the south, that as a county of streams it is almost insignificant compared to its greater neighbour, so fortunate and so opulent in this invaluable asset. the large slices of cornwall too that have been made desolate in appearance by the mining enterprise of centuries, combined with the overwhelming reputation of its sea-coast, have tended to obscure its many picturesque and unspoiled valleys, particularly in the north-east of the county, that are practically counterparts of their equivalents across the tamar. the subject of devonshire rivers is a matter of _embarras de richesses_ indeed. to the writer, who has trodden the banks of most of them at one time or another from earliest youth, and spent long periods on intimate terms with many, some preferences due to such associations are well-nigh unsurmountable. but no impartial soul who knows the county well will, i think, dispute the claim of the dart to be absolutely the queen of devonshire rivers. in the wild dartmoor wanderings of its two branches to their junction at dartmeet it has all the qualities and atmosphere which we look for, and many of us greatly love, of a typical moorland peaty stream. when it escapes through the high gateway of the moor, through that fringing country between the absolutely wild and the wholly domestic in which transitional condition devon is always at its best, the dart has perhaps no equal in the county. from some distance above the deservedly famous chase of holne till it approaches the little town of buckfastleigh the exceptional altitude and abruptness of the hills through which it breaks its impetuous way, the lavish display of verdure--mostly, as in other devonshire valleys, of oak--which clothes the steeps, the rugged character of the rocky ledges where the streams are now lashed to white-capped fury, or now pent into narrow rushing flumes of deep black water, are nowhere excelled. released from this beautiful tangle of woods and the rugged bed over which it has fought its way out from the solitudes of the moor, the dart sobers down into a typical salmon river of the less riotous order. for when it shoots under the bridge at buckfastleigh it has attained quite imposing dimensions in a wonderfully short space of time, and for the seven or eight miles that remain to it before meeting the tide at totnes makes a fine display, in alternate moods of speed and quiet, of deep and shallow, in the green vale between the now much lowlier hills. buckfastleigh is not a dream of wood and stone, but it does no great violence to the charm of its site, and has an old benedictine abbey, which has been recently restored and occupied by french [illustration: the dart, dittisham, devon] [illustration] ecclesiastics of that order. high above the streams of the dart, too, in holne vicarage, charles kingsley was born nearly a century ago. after passing through the village of staverton the dart spends the last mile or two of its fresh-water career before tumbling over the totnes weir in the slower tree-shaded waters that bound the grounds of dartington hall. this is the ancient and present seat of the champernownes, whose ancestor was a quite distinguished member of that group of enterprising devonian squires who shed such unforgettable lustre on the county in the elizabethan age. though the present house at dartington is more or less of that period, what more particularly constitutes it one of the memorable houses of devonshire is the still ample ivy-clad shell of the noble fourteenth-century banqueting hall, the great clock tower, and many subsidiary buildings of an extremely early date. not very far across the river, too, are the splendid ruins of berry pomeroy castle, one of the best existing mediæval monuments of the kind in the county. the little town of totnes, where those celebrated tidal reaches, to which the dart owes perhaps a somewhat disproportionate measure of its fame, begin, is about the most picturesque inland town in a county by no means architecturally rich in this particular. with its castle, its quaint and steep narrow high street climbing from the river level through an embattled gateway, its penthouses and fine church, totnes has something to show on its own account to the great numbers of people who come here for the sole purpose of making the beautiful trip by steamer to dartmouth. there are still, moreover, in totnes, some fine old houses where its merchants dwelt when devon did such a roaring trade with the newfoundland fisheries and the mediterranean in the seventeenth century, to say nothing of a little profitable buccaneering, when the spaniards were so well worth robbing, and the beard of their king requiring to be so frequently singed. in due accordance with the nonsensical habit of labelling the natural beauties of england after stock scenes on the continent, this tidal stretch of the dart has been advertised ever since most of us can remember as the "english rhine." anything more utterly different from the banks and waters of the rhine than the banks and waters of the dart it would be difficult to conceive. one is reminded of the gushing lady who, while walking upon one occasion with the venerable bishop philpotts of exeter above the cliffs near torquay, asked the bishop if he did not think the prospect was very swiss like. "very, ma'am," snapped the bored prelate, "only here there are no mountains and in switzerland there is no sea." britons of average powers of observation, with an intelligent knowledge of their own country and a sufficient one of others, know very well that great britain, whether in its wilder or its tamer aspects, resembles no other country in the least little bit, but is absolutely unique in almost every detail, natural and artificial, that goes to make a landscape. the very atmosphere that many of us abuse for its moisture and lack of clarity is no small factor in wrapping this favoured isle in that mantle of velvet, which the graces of english rural life have perfected into a land without equal in mellow finished beauty. only britons who have never experienced banishment seem to be unconscious of what kind of a land they live in. let them ask an intelligent foreigner or an american how it strikes them on first seeing it! the dart is no more like the rhine than torquay is like switzerland or cornwall like the riviera, or north wales like the alleghanies or the grampians like the mountains of the moon. it is absolutely english. the woodlands that mantle so richly about sharpham could not possibly be anything else, still less the brilliant pastures that cling like velvet to the slopes of the folding hills, nor yet the cottages that lie amid the orchards of dittisham, nor the homesteads sprinkling the high slopes, nor the tracery of the fields that enclose their groups of red devon cattle or the long-wooled sheep of the south hams. nobody with sense could imagine this looked like anything but england. as one nears dartmouth the spirit of british seamanship, ancient and modern, dominates everything and seizes the imagination. the old _britannia_, lying where she has lain ever since we can remember, and the new naval college standing out upon the hillside above, speak loudly enough of the present, while the home of hawkins, whose brave parting words as his ship foundered off the coast of newfoundland are historic, greets us from the opposing heights. of raleigh, too, and his first pipe of tobacco smoked on a rocky islet in the river, dartmouth has much to say. but if devonshire rivers lead us to discuss devonshire harbours and all that they mean, we shall become involved in the heroic west country age of the great eliza, and of the protracted epoch of the newfoundland fisheries, which so profoundly affected devonshire life to its inmost recesses for two centuries afterwards. and this will not do. it will be enough to say that the mouth of the dart is worthy of the river's deserved reputation; a fine deep, winding harbour, channelled between lofty hills and embellished at its narrow mouth with the keep of an ancient castle. dartmouth town is, in its different way, as picturesque as totnes, and if it were not, its great memories would hallow the homeliest walls. but in treating of devonshire villages and country houses one has hardly in mind the abodes of sea-goers and fishermen. they belong to another type altogether, and one regards them with different eyes. when you get to the mouth of a river, for instance, you no longer look for thatched cottages or half-timbered houses or tudor homesteads. you expect hard-featured, storm-smitten tenements of stone, and seek the picturesque with probable success in narrow tortuous streets, in steep stairway wynds, in low-browed taverns soaked in mariners' tales. we have nothing to do with these things here. it may be said that rivers whose storm-sheltered mouths are so intimately concerned with sea-going have much to do with them. but it is not with that side of a river's influence at any rate which in the main this book aspires to deal. between the dart and plymouth, or, to be more precise, between the dart and that beautiful little stream, the erme, a glimpse of which adorns these pages: between dartmoor again on the north and the sea to the south, lies that block of devon known as the south hams. as i have said, it is not precisely a part of the county which a patriotic devonian, not obsessed by his patriotism, would select for taking, let us say, a herefordshire friend up on to a high place and asking his opinion of devonshire. but furrowing its way southward from dartmoor to the sea, hidden from the eye till you are right down beside it, runs one of the most entrancing little rivers in devonshire. larger and longer than the erme, which at ivybridge has some outside notoriety, the avon is quite as beautiful, with the advantage of comparative obscurity. this is an inversion, too, of what one might look for, since from south brent junction on the great western main line, where the avon breaks from the fringes of the moor, a little railway follows down its woody mazes, hugging it closely for most of its journey to the sea, and culminating at kingsbridge, whence travellers go by road or water to [illustration: the erme, ivy bridge, devon] [illustration] salcombe, another harbour on the dartmouth pattern, but even more beautiful. the avon, like all its sisters, starts life as a peaty burn prattling for many miles through the silence of the moors. then comes the beautiful fringe country, where it plunges in many a cascade through woods and ravines, and thence emerging sparkles down through the meadows beneath the village of brent into what might be called the low country, if the phrase in devonshire were not absurd. a country "all 'ills and 'oles," as a venerable suffolk cook within my knowledge curtly and pithily summed up devonshire to east anglian friends, after visiting her old mistress, who had migrated westward. if the hills of the south hams are mostly a bare patchwork of cultivation, the "holes" through which the avon flows are a long delight. leaving villages, such as huish, dipford, woodleigh, and loddiswell, to face the south-west storms on windy brows, away upon either hand the avon urges its bright impetuous streams for a dozen or so miles beneath an almost unbroken canopy of foliage; churning here over mossy rocks, rolling there over gravelly beds, or lingering in some deep and broad pool shadowed by fern-tufted, mossy crags or by some giant trees of the woods, waxed mightier than common, as if conscious that long arms were needed to join hands across the expanded stream. green strips of meadow spread now and again along one bank or the other. but even then the foliage bristles upon the river's immediate edge and screens its waters from every attempt at undue familiarity on the part of the casual wanderer. betimes, too, some old stone bridge festooned with trailing ivy gives a more perfect finish to the vista of water that dances through flickering bands of sun and shade beneath the swaying boughs. but after all, it is only the angler down in the water who penetrates these inner sanctuaries of devon streams, and others like them, and gathers of their best. occasionally some little farm with an orchard abuts upon the bank, or a water-mill where in a big kitchen the miller's wife will serve the angler, wearied with battling knee deep in the rocky rapid stream--for no other strangers come this way--with a grateful confection in which clotted cream and honey play a treasured part. but for much of the way wild woods towering to the skyline several hundred feet above, often, too, pathless, trackless woods, hold hill and stream alike in their sylvan grip. and what a spangled carpet it is that nature stretches here upon the cool mossy ground, above all, perhaps, in the season when april wanes and the shy leaves of may have as yet shut out but half the sunshine. what a continual blaze is here of primroses and violets and wild geranium, of star of bethlehem, of celandine, which in these moist cool shades all linger on till the kingcup and the bluebell have burst upon the mossy floor with something more than the promise of their coming splendour. the oak is the staple tree of these devon valleys, and, as the latest to put forth its leaves, the bloom of spring flowers in which these vales are equalled by few and surpassed by none, shows upon the woodland banks in all the more bewitching brilliancy. though the oak is the groundwork of woodland colouring in devon valleys, the ash and the alder, the willow, the birch, the rowan, and the larch all play their part in the riotous foliage of the stream. one misses the opulent sycamore, that precocious harbinger of summer by the streams of wales and the north country, for they are much scarcer in devon. one misses, too, with thankfulness the stiff and sombre pine wood beloved by economists and afforestation enthusiasts, from which the streams and hills of this county are, as a rule, singularly and happily free. an inspiring sight, beyond doubt, is a well-grown ruddy-barked scottish fir, standing out alone or one of a small group, but a poor thing as a forest; acceptable enough in a common-place country, but intolerably superfluous in those of shapely outline and strong characteristics. most of us will agree with wordsworth, who bitterly resented the growing practice of obscuring the heather and crag and diversified mountain colouring of the lake district with the dull, stiff monotone of the pine wood. devonshire, at any rate, may be thankful that her valley slopes are the natural home of the oak. but i should not have ventured to spend so much time on the banks of a comparatively obscure west country river if it had not always seemed to me about the most complete example of an ideal devon stream within my knowledge. on a less exalted scale than the dart in the south or the lynn in the north of the county, and little known outside its own district, it is the better qualified to be the river of one's fancy, and the typical stream of the west country. as a trouting stream, so far as regards the dozen miles or so here lingered upon, it is perhaps the best in devonshire; the size of its fish, for some inscrutable reason, considerably excelling as an average the over modest weight that distinguishes most of the rivers of the county. a moderate payment to the association who preserve the water from below brent to the sea will make the stranger free of it. but to hope for any substantial success he must be thoroughly familiar with the art of upstream wet-fly fishing in clear water, and that too among almost continuously overarching foliage. furthermore, he must be physically strong, for wading all day upon a rocky bottom against strong currents is a labour compared to which an ordinary day's partridge-shooting under modern conditions is an easy lounge. both salmon and peal (the west country term for sea-trout) run up the avon to spawn, but they take the fly so sparingly as scarcely to be worth mentioning among the attractions of the river. the tamar, which for nearly all its course divides devon and cornwall, is a river that, in the matter of size, ranks with the dart and exe. but as regards its estuary, being the principal affluent of plymouth harbour, acquires by this a distinction far above these other streams of purely local fame. it rises within five miles of the bristol channel, but turning its face at once away from this northern coast, runs southward by a course that, reckoned as the crow flies, is over fifty miles, and by the bends of the river must be at least half as much again. for the whole of this distance, with the exception of a short-cut through an intrusive arm that devon flings into cornwall, it forms the boundary between the two counties. its fountain springs are close to those of the torridge, which would seem to start with some intention of running a race against the other in its long journey towards southern seas, and then changing its mind, comes northward again, almost upon its own tracks, to rival the elizabethan glories, at any rate of plymouth, in forming the once famous harbour of bideford. by the time it arrives at the nearest point to launceston, a mile or so, the tamar has achieved that measure of importance which marks the somewhat subtle and capricious border-line between the mere stream and the full-grown river, as we count such things in england. launceston, locally pronounced "larnston," is so near its banks as to count for a tamar town, and is well worth a visit. it is beautifully situated in a fair country, with the softness of detail common to the better parts of devonshire, and looking out towards that block of cornish moorland [illustration: the tamar, cotehele, cornwall] [illustration] which appears like an outline of dartmoor, and in the person of brown willy rises to something like its height. this north-east corner is the choicest part of inland cornwall, and is practically undisfigured by the havoc of abandoned mines. it suggests nothing less than a continuation of devonshire, with another dartmoor on a smaller scale for a background, and a like profusion of mountain streams, which spout down pleasant valleys to the tamar or the sea. launceston too, in spite of a lack of those more pronounced architectural notes of antiquity which mark the ancient towns east of devonshire, has the look of one nevertheless, if viewed through west country spectacles. indeed, it has a mediæval gateway still actually _in situ_, the ruins of a castle, and a most beautiful church, the outside walls of which are entirely faced with carved stone in a manner calculated to make the wandering ecclesiologist rub his eyes at a spectacle so singular, if not quite unique, in england. at greystone bridge, where the high-road from tavistock to launceston crosses it, the tamar will have run more than half its course, and already achieved the size of the largest devonshire rivers in their fresh-water stages, such as the dart, the exe, the torridge, and the taw. like these, though not in this particular case rising in the moors, the water of the tamar is clear in texture, and tumbles along over a gravelly or rocky bed from rapid shallow--or stickle, as the west country term has it--to swirling pools, and so far it remains unpolluted with the mine refuse that is the scourge of some of its lower tributaries. the scenery of the upper half of the tamar is that of a normal devonshire stream away from the moors. from greystone bridge downwards the great height of the country on both banks gives a distinction of environment to the tamar above most of its fellows. on looking over the landscape through which it flows, from any high point, it gives the impression of a mighty gorge wriggling tortuously through an upheaved country. not that you can actually see the tamar till you get to quite close quarters with it. it is a most difficult river for the casual stranger to acquire an intimacy with, from the fact that it flows in so deep a trench. few roads or lanes follow its banks, and all the ordinary arteries of travel lie back on the ridges above. here and there, as at newbridge and again at calstock, steep ways descend in perpendicular fashion for a mile or so to the valley, but no assistance from wheels of any kind either up or down it could much benefit the less robust adventurer. the tide runs a long way up the tamar from plymouth harbour, even to the weir below morwell crags in the tavistock neighbourhood. the scenery is, beyond question, imposing; the cornish bank rising in these middle reaches to over a thousand feet of altitude and terminating in wild moorish summits, each, however, unfortunately surmounted by the unmistakable signs of the mining industry which, alive or dead, to a sensible extent smirches the beauty of this otherwise striking outlook. the villages too, both those on the river-bank, like calstock, or on the hill-top, like bere alston, are mainly the abode of miners, or those who would like to be such if work were active, and have all the forbidding qualities of their kind, or most of them. there is a fine old tudor manor-house of the edgcumbe family, with picturesque grounds, at cotehele near calstock, and a few miles higher up, in the fresh-water reaches of the river, is endsleigh, a box of the duke of bedford's, with delightful surroundings. in ancient times, before mining and other obstructions discouraged the salmon, the river seems to have had a great reputation, as one can well believe. of late years efforts have been made, by means of ladders on the weirs, to attract that noble fish once more. but the upper tamar is something better than a second or third rate salmon river, since it is a really first-class trout stream, equal to the avon in the average weight of its fish, with a much greater length as well as breadth of water. it is rigidly preserved, however, the duke of bedford being the largest riparian owner. the mention of this powerful house turns one's thoughts to tavistock, whose broad abbey lands fell to the russells at the dissolution. now tavistock is the centre of a perfect network of small rivers, and is in itself the most ornate, cheerful, and in some respect picturesquely situated country-town in devonshire. the influence of the house of bedford has, no doubt, much to do with the quite distinguished appearance of the little borough as regards its most conspicuous quarters, while nature has done much by means of the impetuous waters of the tavy, which wash its lawns and pleasure-grounds. what with its townhall, guildhall, library, and its great hotel, once a ducal residence, with other pleasant buildings set in an ample umbrageous square around the stately perpendicular church, the native town of drake is calculated to give quite a shock of pleasant surprise to the stranger expecting [illustration: the tamar, near calstock, cornwall] [illustration] the somewhat undistinguished atmosphere of an average west country town. there are just sufficient remnants of the once famous abbey visible here and there, amid other buildings, to remind the visitor both of the origin of the town and of the bedford influence. as for the rest of tavistock, it is quite pleasing in the older streets, and still more in the many attractive residences in and about it, though scarcely any ancient houses now remain. the site of that of tavistock's great son, francis drake, is just outside the town, though covered by a later house, while a bronze statue to the hero, a replica of the one on plymouth hoe, greets the visitor approaching by the plymouth road. another honoured native of tavistock should be mentioned, namely, william browne, the poet and friend of drayton, if only for the fact that in his _britannia's pastorals_ he celebrates the streams and rivers around his native place with obviously intense affection--as well he may. for when we come to these same streams the difficulty of the devonshire river, as the subject of a single chapter, bursts on us with fresh force. a perfect network of bright waters dance in the numerous valleys that they have furrowed so deep in the neighbourhood of tavistock. most of them, to be sure, are tributaries of the tavy, though some, like the lydd and the lew, break westward to the tamar. these last come down from the sequestered groves near the edge of the moor, where that venerable oracle of devonian lore, that "vates sacer" of the west, mr. baring-gould, is so felicitously seated in the home of his fathers. the plym, least in size of the three fair rivers which meet at the great seaport, but compensated by the greater glory of its name, runs an independent course. indeed, the very traveller on the railroad to tavistock from plymouth makes such acquaintance with the quite remarkable beauties of this little river, as is not often vouchsafed even to those who do not read picture magazines or tit-bits, like the average briton when going through the choicest portions of his own country for the first time. for many miles up the enchanting vale to bickleigh, the fortunate wight who has the right-hand window seat can look down upon the little river churning its way far below through a deep trough between a continuous maze of oak forests, till at length he may see its course break away towards the moor, where it has its birth, and into the wilds of the eternal granite-crested hills. the meavy, the plym's weaker half, will still be left beside the railroad in the meadows playing hide-and-seek amid the alders and the orchards, with all the normal humours of a devon stream, till we leave it and cross the walkham on its way to join the tavy. but it is the tavy, of course, with which tavistock, and we too, perhaps, should be chiefly concerned. for the tavy is a very assertive stream, and its friends hold it as second to none in the county for natural beauty, to say nothing of its repute as a peal river. the first claim i am quite prepared to endorse, for the simple reason that i do not know any stream of importance in devonshire that i would deliberately place in the second rank. the dart stands out as _prima inter pares_ at least, because it adds tidal distinctions to its other charms. nor do i honestly think there is any _coup d'oeil_ in devonshire quite equal to that presented by the uniting valleys of the east and west lynn above lynmouth. but these are mere details. the tavy, at any rate, has not a dull mile. its early career in the moor is a long one, and that portion of it known as tavy cleeve is one of the wildest ravines on dartmoor. it enters civilisation about four miles above tavistock, near the village of mary tavy, a name of ill-omen, from the fact that mining has been more or less always carried on here for a very long time, and the truth must be told that the waters of the tavy assume henceforward for a very long way down the colour of milk. this matter has been the source of continual disputes between those interested in the fishing, or merely in the purity of the tavy, and those concerned in delving for copper and arsenic. many years ago a sudden inflow of mine refuse destroyed every fish in the river, a void which time and re-stocking, however, have long rectified. but though the more poisonous matters are no longer let into the stream, there are occasional difficulties with weirs erected for mining purposes, which, unless fitted with ladders, obstruct the run of salmon and peal in the breeding season. the law settles these matters nowadays, though not always so satisfactorily as to clear the air between the conflicting interests, and allays the perennial friction between the angling community and the less concerned but still sympathetic public on the one hand, and the mine-owners with some local labour following on the other. a mine-owner on the river expressed his point of view to me recently, as one stranger to another with characteristic frankness. [illustration: the tavy, tavistock, devon] [illustration] "they'd sooner i lost all the money i have put in here, and threw a hundred men on the rates, than that three or four salmon a year should be stopped coming up by my dam." his random selection of a confidant was not in this case a happy one; but that was nothing, for it is instructive at least to hear both sides of a question. the tavy is not a good salmon river, but not quite so indifferent a one as the hyperbolic statistics of my rather sore-headed mineralogist would suggest. but it is about the best peal river in devonshire, the larger ones running up in april or may and the smaller coming up in greater numbers in july and later. the tavy and tamar unite in their estuary just above plymouth, and it is a singular natural phenomenon that the ascending salmon in a vast majority select the tamar, while practically the whole bulk of the peal turn up the tavy. another curious fact is, that neither the trout nor the salmon species take apparent hurt from even the permanent discoloration of a river, provided certain poisonous ingredients are kept out. the tavy, to be sure, clears itself below tavistock, and is not an extreme case. but in many known to the writer, that fastidious lover of clear water, the trout, has accommodated himself without apparent inconvenience to the most untoward transformation of his once pellucid haunts. the beautiful mawddach, familiar to every one who knows dolgelly, coming down through its glorious mountain glens the colour of milk is a case in point. another equally familiar is the glenridding beck, which pours into the crystal depths of ullswater a ceaseless volume of lead "hush"; and though it soon sinks in the deep lake, collects the trout from all parts to feed at the inpouring of its milky waves. the fish again of the upper wear, in county durham, seem to thrive amid the stained waters, while the sea-trout still run up the once beautiful rapids of the ogmare in glamorganshire, which are, i think, the foulest of them all. but in any case it is a piteous sight to see a mountain stream, perhaps the most beautiful of all nature's works, flowing befouled through the fair scenes of which it should be the centre and the chief adornment. the tavy, however, as already stated, runs virtually clear again, when, with the added waters of a strong brook just below tavistock, and those of the still larger walkham, pursues its devious way through deep-wooded vales, only severed from the tamar by a single lofty ridge. the junction of the walkham and the tavy, known as "double waters," is a spot that abides in the memory, so does the romantic scenery just below and around the _virtuous lady mine_, which has in its day produced much copper and other treasure, and derives its name from the great elizabeth, who, as we know, imported german miners freely, and always took good care to get her full share and often a good deal more out of every enterprise she encouraged. no one, indeed, knew that better than tavy's great son, francis drake, though his enterprises were of a more adventurous kind. one remembers the occasion on which he lay in plymouth harbour with a ship full of spanish gold, waiting to hear from the illustrious lady, who was actually his business partner in the venture, whether she intended to disown him and cut his head off as a pirate or amicably divide the spoils. we know at any rate which she did. nowhere in devonshire would the stranger be able to command so much that is beautiful and interesting in this county, and make a wider acquaintance with devonshire streams than at tavistock, since this town is not merely on the south western main line from exeter to plymouth, but is also served by its rival the great western. not only the moor itself, whose swelling tors, each capped with their mysterious cluster of upstanding crags, but the district, is richer than any part of devon in prehistoric remains, in "round huts," cytiau gwaeddeold, as the welsh call them, in crosses and inscribed stones. the churches, though ancient and interesting, are not often ornate, owing, it is supposed, to the difficulty of carving the hard granite of which they are composed. but high above all, on the sharp summit of brent tor, between the tavy and the lydd, is the most wonderfully situated church in devonshire, nay in england. a couple of ruined castles in wales, that of dinas bran above the dee at llangollen, and cerrig cennen near the towy at llandilo, alone within my knowledge have such pride of pose. but no church in which service is still held in the whole kingdom approaches this "cloud compelling" shrine of north brent. the main line to exeter passes beneath it, and space limits me here to a mere passing mention of the gorgeous view which may be had even from the train window of the okement, as fresh from the wild foot of yes tor, the highest peak of dartmoor, it glitters down the rich luxuriant vale to okehampton, with the towers of a ruined castle, in real welsh fashion, perched high above its streams. the okement, and its greater neighbour and cradle companion the taw, are the only dartmoor rivers that flow north into the "severn sea," that euphonious term which kingsley substituted whenever possible for the infelicitous and unpoetic designation of "bristol channel." this is natural, for north devon offers the shorter course; much more natural, indeed, than the forsaking of exmoor itself upon the north coast for southern seas, as do the exe and barle. many a time, in days now unhappily remote, both in winter and summer have i looked down from the high bogs, where the barle rises over the whole sweep of the channel and the shadowy mountains of south wales beyond it, and fancied these united rivers as rejecting the brief inglorious career which seemed their destiny, and facing southwards into strange lands to win a foremost place in volume and importance among the rivers of the west. fancy too might credit the tamar, born within sound of the severn sea, with the same vaulting ambition. the tamar, by the way, is almost certainly taw-mawr (the great taw), and the tavy most likely is taw-vach or bach (the welsh diminutives for vechyn, little). then, again, there are in north devon the rivers taw and torridge (taw-ridge), while south wales has two notable rivers of the same etymological origin, towy and tawe, both pronounced as the former is spelt. it is natural enough that celtic names should prevail in a corner abutting on cornwall, the old west wales, that obviously shared in those dim irish invasions which so complicate the story of the cymry. our thoughts can then follow no better course than that of the railway from okehampton to yeoford junction, and there abandoning the exeter train take the one coming up for barnstaple and north devon. for then in a very short time you will be upon the banks of the taw, the chief river of north devon, where it is yet a modest stream, and keep it quite intimate company till it spreads, a shining estuary, laden with historic memories, into barnstaple bay. still sticking to your seat by the window you will see instow and appledore rising, significantly if you know your west country lore, out of the broad glistening tide. you will round the corner into bideford and behold the taw's twin sister, the torridge, sweeping under the many-arched and ancient bridge. on yet, with delightful glimpses of that fine river, shrunk from [illustration: the okement, oakhampton, devon] [illustration] an estuary into a bold salmon water sweeping along the meadowy vale, till beneath the high-perched little town of torrington the railway comes to a peaceful end, and dumps you out on the eastern fringe of that unknown rugged block of devonshire which devonian farmers, hunting men, and true provincials often speak of as "the west country." but this is anticipating a little. nor do i make any sort of apology for taking the train for this brief interlude. no one shall say that there is no poetry in the corner-seat of a railway carriage! such a man would be a dull, unimaginative soul indeed. rhapsodies are being daily written on motoring, as a revelation of the glories of england by persons who have apparently lacked the enterprise or inclination to discover them before, accessible as they have been for all time to the cyclist, the horse keeper, or the pedestrian. the cyclist with an eye to the landscape can go easily along as slowly as he chooses with scarcely a glance at the road; the keen motorist, who nearly always drives himself, can scarcely take his eyes off it. indeed, whether as his neighbour beside him or a stranger upon the road before him, heaven forbid that he should take to admiring the scenery! it seems practically impossible to travel at dog-cart pace--the organism of the machine seems to resent it. at any rate, no motorist ever does. so whatever measure of enjoyment in the landscape may belong to the process is the privilege only of the passengers. but what i should like to know is why the poetry of rapid motion through rural england has never been associated with the corner-seat of a railway carriage. you are free from wind, from noise, and the spasmodic motions incidental to meeting traffic. the rhythmical beat of a train is notoriously stimulating to the brain and the imagination. there is nothing corresponding to it in the motion of an automobile, whatever the comparison may be worth in the mere question of luxury. it is surprising, too, what long stretches of some of our most beautiful rivers and streams can be seen to real advantage as passing acquaintances from a train window. i have lived long enough to have cursed in my heart, like many others, the making of a line up many a well-known and familiar stream, cherished for its sequestered beauties. i have lived to discover how little, how extraordinary little, difference to the charms of the river-side the terrible thing has actually made. for one thing, it is only at long intervals that your local line gives any sign of life at all, and then but for a few brief seconds. for the rest, foliage wraps it in kind embrace, and flower-spangled turf soon clothes its once ragged edges. the very birds of the air and the beasts of the field show a confidence in the single track, with its prolonged periods of certain repose, its immunity from restless, prying individuals, that they never give to a highway. and now when this last has become in varying degrees a place of noise and rush and betimes of danger, its echoes strike far more frequent discords in your ear down by the stream than the rumble of the rarely passing train. but to that corner-seat again. how finely it commands the stream in the valley, lifted, as it often is, much higher than the road, and striding the river, for the most part of necessity, far oftener than the other which is apt to creep behind fences along the hill-foot. what glorious vistas of foaming water gleaming between avenues of bordering foliage disclose themselves at this bend or at that, and if the vision is fleeting it is at least frequent. and if the stream is an old friend; if its pools and eddies, its bridges, its bordering homesteads, its water-mills, its moments of frenzy, and its periods of calm have remained among many others engraven on the page of memory, how delightful to thus snatch a fortuitous half-hour with them again in a long succession of fleeting, but no less significant and suggestive, glimpses in that they are momentary. it would be preposterous to deny that there is both poetry and sentiment in the corner-seat of a railway carriage--every one with a spark of sensibility must have felt it. the taw is a thought more leisurely than most devon rivers after passing eggesford, where the late lord portsmouth a generation or two ago maintained so great a name among the gentry of the west. it swishes fast round gravelly bends into large eddying pools where in their season the salmon and peal lie. it runs in smoother fashion along broad reaches between red crumbly banks comparatively free from timber, and fringed by verdant meadows where the red cattle of north devon supply the inevitable complement to every devon landscape. at portsmouth arms comes pouring in with strong and lusty current the first contribution from exmoor, to wit, the mole, or bray, whichever you like at this point, but the bray where it rises far away in a deep exmoor gorge behind the village of challacombe. and still the bray as it burrows for miles along the skirts of the moor through hanging woods of oak, and under ivy-covered bridges hugging the base of rounded hills on whose summits pony-riding farmers dwell in slate-roofed, windy homesteads, with one eye on the exmoor slopes where their sheep graze, and the other on the narrow ribbon-like meadows where they cut their hay: men knowing in the ways of stag or fox or hare, and ready to mount their little shaggy cobs at the first note of the horn which sounded so often, and still, no doubt, sounds upon the banks of the bray. such at least was this beautiful valley in the days of my youth, that golden period in which heaven knows one needs no poet to tell one a glory shone upon wood and stream of a kind that shines no more. scores of my readers will have abiding with them some such river: "that ran to soothe their youthful dreams, whose banks and streams appear more bright than other banks and other streams." so of the bray, and there is nothing more to be said unless to record that it flows through castle hill, where the noble house of fortescue represents probably the widest possessions and the most abiding influence in north devon, and that it spends its last hours among the pleasant woods and meadows of kings nympton. of barnstaple and bideford, lying at the mouth of the torr and torridge respectively, it is impossible to say anything worth having in a paragraph. they belong to the sea-rovers and their story, which the reader of _westward ho!_ at any rate--and who has not read it?--knows something of. Æsthetically, however, you must look at these famous towns in detail with the eye of faith--not of an artist nor an archæologist. but they will pass, being neither unsightly nor in serious conflict with their traditions, which are great. now the torridge, like the tamar, rises in no moorland. in fact their infant springs are close together hard by the north coast. for this reason, though both are clear and rapid rivers, they have scarcely anywhere the turmoil of the dart, the tavy, or the avon. the torridge, as mentioned earlier, after running a heady, youthful course far southward, would seem to change its mind as if loth on second thoughts to leave the country of its birth; for, doubling back again, it hurries northward, and with a course parallel to its upper reaches rolls in fine broad sweeps of alternate deep and rapid beneath torrington perched on its high hills, to bideford and the sea. now the region between the lower or northward-flowing half of the torridge, extending west to the tamar and [illustration: on the west lynn, lynmouth, devon] [illustration] cornwall, is a land unto itself, and, as already noted, commonly alluded to by devonshire farmers, cattle buyers, hunting men and such like as "the west country." it is watered by the upper torridge flowing southwards through it, and covers some two or three hundred square miles. in appearance it is normal devonian; a succession of high red ridges of tillage and pasture, heavily fenced to their round summits, and traversed by narrow precipitous roads hemmed in between lofty, flower-spangled banks. cold grey church towers stand out here and there above some small, clustering, slate-roofed village on a windy hill-top, and at intervals some deep, wooded glen bearing a noisy runlet to the torridge throws a redeeming ray of beauty through a country otherwise open to criticism for a certain monotony of outline and detail, like many other parts of devonshire. but this "west country" or land of the upper torridge has the merit, one may almost say the charm, of unconventionality. for within its whole wide bounds there is scarcely a gentleman's residence but the indispensable vicarage, and even scattered cottages are rare, there being few labourers. the entire country, in fact, hereabouts is occupied by yeomen farmers, many of whom have lately bought their farms, and who mostly do their own work. it is the most sequestered and unknown part of habitable devonshire. scarcely any one but its occupants know anything about it, except such few as may penetrate it behind a hunted fox or as purchasers of stock. there is nothing, indeed, to bring any one in here, while the labours of locomotion except on horseback are prodigious. no social functions occur within it; no railroads disturb its calm; while the motor, nay, even the cycle, give it a wide berth. the farmers ride ponies, and, fifty years hence, will probably be riding ponies still. if it were a wild pastoral country, this land of the upper torridge, there would, of course, be nothing worthy of remark in all this. but, on the contrary, it is a quite normal district. the land is not very good, nor its occupants very progressive, so the formality of the country is delightfully broken by stretches of golden gorse, by moorish, ill-drained fields where snipe are numerous, by whole hillsides that nature has clothed after her own fashion with birch and alder, blackthorn, or ash, straggling about waist deep in open brakes of fern or broom, and these are the haunt in winter of great numbers of woodcock--a country, indeed, full of birds, those of [illustration: the exe, countess weir, devon] [illustration] prey or otherwise, for there is no one to molest them. the keeper and the form of sporting he now represents is as non-extant as the garden-party. throughout this west country of the west country the sportsman still follows a brace of setters in arduous but pleasant quest of the indigenous partridge after the fashion of bygone days. and if, while standing in the bosky shallows of the torridge, one hears the call of a cock-pheasant, it will be the voice of no coop-raised, grain-fed sybarite, but a bird and the descendant of birds well able to take care of themselves and quite experienced travellers. and the torridge itself, which wanders in and out of woodland and thicket, running upon a gravelly bed and scooping out the red crumbly banks of narrow meadows, where lively red yearlings caper with justifiable amazement at the apparition of the rare stranger, calls for no further comment here. it is in its northward-flowing lower reaches that it acquires distinction, swelled, moreover, with the considerable streams of the okement. it is a far cry from the taw and torridge estuary to lynmouth and lynton--that gem of devonian, nay of english, coast scenery. but though many small streams cleave their way through that iron coast into the severn sea, at watermouth, at combe martin, and, most beautiful of all, at headons mouth, there are none approaching the dignity of a river till you come to the outpouring of the recently united waters of the east and west lynn on the very borders of somerset. here, indeed, looking out through a great open gateway as it were in the most imposing stretch of cliff scenery in england, cornwall not excepted, is a vision of a tumbling stream and hanging woodland that as a mere picture, and having regard to its composition, is not surpassed, i think, even upon the upper dart. then, again, the near presence of the sea in the prospect seems to place lynton on a pinnacle to itself. from bristol to berwick there is surely nothing quite like it upon our coast--this really noble curtain of woodland hung from so great a height and folding away inland, out of whose green recesses the white waters come spouting on to the very shore. both the east and the west lynn come down from exmoor, leaving the comparative plateau of the moor at a distance of some four miles from the sea, and in that brief space falling about a thousand feet through continuously wooded gorges. the east lynn, however, is the more noteworthy, dividing again at that famous sylvan spot known [illustration: the exe, topsham, devon] [illustration] as "waters meet." up the western of the two forks cut high up the steep hillside, commanding beautiful views of the winding gorge beneath, runs the road to brendon, climbing the steepest hill in devonshire, if such a thing is conceivable, on any known highway. at brendon, emerging from the woods, the moor opens wide before you, the land of the red deer and the exmoor pony, and, what with many persons is even more to the point, the land of blackmore's celebrated novel _lorna doone_. the eastern fork of the little river, known on the moor as the badgworthy (badgery) water, soon reached from brendon, is more immediately concerned with this, leading immediately up as it does to the famous doone valley. hundreds of pilgrims, both in frivolous and pious fashion, journey up here nowadays, literal persons sometimes, looking for cataracts where are only the normal gambols of an ordinary moorland stream, and inveighing against poor mr. blackmore who, sublimely unconscious that he was creating classic ground, took quite legitimate liberties with the little waters of the infant lynn. lynton and lynmouth had acquired even before this some outside fame for their extraordinary beauty, and had their modest share of summer visitors. but of literary or historical associations no valley in devonshire could have been more absolutely bereft than that of the badgworthy water. no book that ever was published, not any one even of scott's novels, gave a hitherto obscure spot such permanent fame as did _lorna doone_ in the matter of the head-waters of the lynn. i can state with the confidence of personal knowledge and recollection that before that delightful book was written these upper waters, and what is now known as the doone valley, had no more significance for local people than any other obscure glen on exmoor, and by strangers were never seen, for stag-hunting then attracted comparatively few outsiders. now from the upper lynn to the sources of the barle and exe there is a carriage road pursuing a wild course over the moor to simonsbath, some dozen or so miles distant. long before arriving there, however, it crosses the infant exe, a peaty brook piping in feeble strains amid the silence of the hills. not far to the southward rises its sister and later partner, the barle, in a high bog to merge immediately in the deep and desolate tarn of pinkerry--in truth a reservoir made nearly a century ago by a visionary landowner for impracticable purposes of no consequence here. [illustration: the axe, axmouth, devon] [illustration] dripping out of this black eerie pool, which in my youth had stimulated the then lively imaginations of the turf-cutters from challacombe, who almost alone ever set eyes on it, to some racy superstitions, the barle in a few miles becomes a stream of consequence, and during its passage through the moor has all the wild charm of a moorland river still struggling in its cradling hills. within the writer's memory, which goes back to the time before exmoor was discovered by the tourist and the up-country stag hunter, great changes have come over this country of the upper barle and exe. the heather, which once held the black game in considerable numbers, has sensibly diminished before draining and increased sheep-grazing. bank enclosures have eaten deep into the once wild fringes of the moor; but the solitude and the silence still remain. the curlew still calls in the breeding season upon the long ridges above the barle; the ponies and the little horned sheep of the moor, and the black-faced highlander still have the waste to themselves. simonsbath, the little metropolis of exmoor forest, with its church, vicarage, manor-house, and shepherd's cottages, at one time occupied mainly by scotsmen, sits upon the barle. all this country and that about the upper exe is now familiar, in fact, to the great numbers of persons who in one way or another follow the chase of the stag, and, in name, to far more who read the voluminous literature on the subject. it is curious to recall exmoor before it became the fashion, when its very name conveyed no meaning in ordinary company, when a strange face on the banks of the upper barle was a cause of astonishment, when the villages on the moor edge were rich in original characters, content with a tri-weekly post, and quite independent of newspapers. most of the moor, including the exe and barle, is just within the county of somerset. just below dulverton, on the barnstaple and taunton line, noted now as a stag-hunting quarter, the barle and exe join, passing at the same moment into the county of devon. thence through a pleasant pastoral and agricultural country with less hurry and commotion than the majority of devonshire rivers under the name of the exe, the river flows by tiverton to exeter. beneath that ancient cathedral city it winds with broad and slow current, and, meeting the tide, becomes a navigable river; while its wide estuary, as it flows into the sea between exmouth and dawlish, is familiar to every traveller on the great western main line which skirts its shores. south-east devon, that block of country between the exe and dorsetshire, is watered through its very heart by the otter and on its extremity by the axe. there can be little question but that, of all the west country which lies aloof from the moor, this south-east corner of devon, watered mainly by the otter and familiar to many strangers who visit the watering-places of seaton, sidmouth, or budleigh, is the most beautiful in general landscape. the contour of the hills is more varied and effective, nor have they been denuded of timber about their more conspicuous portions as in most other parts of the county. the bank-fences too are more umbrageous, and the bright red soil has here an uncommon fertility, which gives an even added verdure to the grass and a brighter glow to the fallows. this gracious region has all the hill qualities of devonshire, with a general look of luxuriance and abundance which is absent from the chess-board bareness that is the characteristic of such large tracts of the county. the otter, though bright and clear, is not a moor-bred river. but as it sweeps and swirls free of timber upon a pebbly bed, amid open meadows of extraordinary verdure and between banks of a most brilliant ruddy hue, it always seems, in company with its immediate neighbour the axe, to claim a place of its own among devon streams. here too the devonshire village of the alien idealist, the novelist, and the play-wright is more in evidence, for the simple fact that east devon approximates in some respects--cottage architecture among them--with the neighbouring counties where the old-fashioned picturesque thatched village is still much more of an every-day reality. [illustration: the thames, eton] [illustration] [illustration: the thames, richmond] [illustration] [illustration: the arun, arundel castle, sussex] [illustration] chapter vii the rivers of the south-east the physical attractions of the three south-eastern counties--surrey, sussex, and kent--owe little in comparison with the regions hitherto treated of to their rivers. but use and custom are all powerful even in the appeal which nature and landscape make to persons genuinely susceptible to their influences. it is tolerably certain that to the great numbers of such for whom these counties and others, practically of the same class, represent the rural england with which they have any sort of intimacy, this want of water, or at any rate waters of an inspiring kind, ceases to be felt. one might almost say it becomes a lost sense, from lack of familiarity; and that the standards of perfection in landscape from this point of view arrange themselves, regardless of what to another temperament is an irreparable blemish. no alien, for instance, from the north or west, who has the spirit of these things within him at all, ever gets over the loss of the rapid stream. the stir of clear and moving waters, though automatically, of course, the invariable note of the highest expressions of british scenery, can never be dispensed with by those reared among them. the sluggish and turgid river consoles them scarcely more than the entire absence of any kind of water. sometimes it is almost an irritant from the contrast it suggests. natives of what for brevity we may call the dry counties, can admire a welsh or yorkshire stream as sincerely as a welshman or a yorkshireman, but they would not often be able to understand how great is the effect of their absence in landscape on the northern or western temperament. the rivers of sussex have at least some marked peculiarities. for though none of them are chalk streams, yet all but one cut their way through a high chalk range to the sea. it is only, indeed, as they come within the influence of salt water and begin to feel its tides, that they have any distinction at all; since above this they dwindle either into insignificant brooks or into straight-cut, canal-like waterways, into which [illustration: the arun, amberley, sussex] [illustration] many of them indeed were fashioned in the canal era. the rivers of sussex worthy of mention can be numbered precisely on the fingers of one hand, and run into the sea at fairly regular intervals. they have considerable character of a kind, shared, with one exception, by them all, and are unlike any other rivers in england. they are of small service to the inland scenery of the county and little account in it, but they add immensely to the interest of the sea-coast strip. the noteworthy rivers counting from west to east are the arun, at littlehampton and arundel; the adur, at shoreham; the ouse, at lewes and newhaven; the cuckmere near seaford; and the eastern rother, at rye. all but the last break through the coast range and are sussex rivers from their birth. the eastern rother--thus distinguished since the arun has a considerable tributary of that name--rises in sussex near robertsbridge, and flowing eastward forms the boundary against kent for some distance, and in the days of old wound through the heart of romney marsh into the sea at lydd. one of those great storms, however, of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries which so greatly changed the coast, turned the rother into the present sussex channel past rye and so into the sea. every one of these rivers makes up in some way for the deficiencies of its earlier and fresh-water period by the manner of its approach to the sea. in the case of the rother, for instance, though the inland valleys it flows through are in themselves not unpleasing, it is difficult to warm towards a river that has every characteristic of a canal, contracting eventually into a respectable ditch. at rye, however, the rother becomes part of one of the most picturesque and most painted scenes in the south of england. beneath the rock on which the most striking by far of south coast towns clusters, the rother abandons its canal-like habit and at high tide coils gleaming seaward for its last two miles through the sussex end of romney marsh, the worthy centre of probably the most curious and striking outlook between pool harbour and the humber. two other lesser streams, the brede and the tillingham, come into it through the meadows. but as late as tudor times all these rivers formed together a large estuary serving the then ports of rye and winchelsea. these are typical sussex rivers, flowing down valleys whose least pleasing feature might almost be said to be the actual streams that made them. the rich meadows in the flat, the old [illustration: the ouse, near barcombe mills, sussex] [illustration] homesteads, the hop-fields upon the slopes, the charming villages, and the still surviving windmills surmounting the ridges are of the best that tranquil southern england has to offer. but the dyked-in waters themselves, flowing sullenly and monotonously over their muddy bottoms between raised turf banks, with rare exceptions contribute nothing and are powerless to charm. the most easterly of the four chief rivers cutting through the coast range is the cuckmere. as one drops down the long westward slope from beachy head into a sequestered and far-spreading down country this little river, cleaving a narrow way into the sea below, without port or harbour or village or anything but an isolated homestead or two within apparent touch of it, seizes one's fancy not a little. for this reason the cuckmere as a replica in miniature of the ouse and arun, but of curiously sequestered habit on this otherwise rather populous coast, has a place of its own somewhat apart from its fellows. the ouse, the next, going westward, to cut through the downs, is a very much larger stream. it breaks through the here narrow but lofty chalk range some five miles from the sea at lewes, and then winds through the meadows as a tidal river to newhaven--a stretch of country familiar enough to every one using this route to the continent. the cleft in the downs made by the ouse below the ancient and picturesque town of lewes is one of the boldest and most precipitous scenes of its kind in the whole chalk system. looking down from the top of the prodigiously steep streets of lewes, or from the summit of the castle, the opposite down rises like an inaccessible green wall for five or six hundred feet, and one might fancy there was scarcely room for the slow running river to push its way through what one is almost tempted to call the defile below. the ouse rises in many feeders about the edges of ashdown forest but is quite insignificant till, after the manner of sussex rivers, it makes this fine effort at lewes. hence strong tides rush up and down the seven miles or so of channel which winds through the banked-in meadows to newhaven. the adur, which joins the sea at shoreham, between brighton and worthing, follows the same tactics, and is a still more insignificant stream up the country, but winds for some way through the chalk range, from bramber, where it has some claim to be a river to the two shorehams, the old and the new. but the arun, the most westerly of all the sussex [illustration: the ouse, near lewes, sussex] [illustration] rivers, is the best known and the most important. it, too, draws near the sea by amberley and arundel to littlehampton with a rapid transformation from comparative insignificance to scenes that always compel one's interest and sometimes one's admiration. meeting the western rother at the old roman station, now covered by pulborough, which lifts itself above the flat, the two little streams make together one of a reasonable size that, flowing on through wide water meadows, enters the gap in the downs at amberley, and there, under the influence of the tide, begins to rise and fall upon a muddy bed. arundel castle, raised above the town with its wooded park swelling up the face of the down behind, makes a really noble background to the reaches of the arun, both above and below. it is an awkward river for boating on account of the pace with which the tide rushes up its reedy, muddy bed, and the distance over which it makes its force felt. but it is perfectly feasible, if forethought be taken, to ascend with the tide for many miles above arundel, and return with it to great advantage. the swell of the downs, clad above arundel with beech-woods approaching at places close to the bank, and the rich scented meadows, through which the river winds for miles, aloof from dwellings or villages, more than compensate for the slightly deterrent qualities of the turgid and muddy waters. even these blemishes, however, are obscured when the tide is high. but it is not well, when it has begun to turn, to tie the bow of your boat to a tree trunk and take an unwary siesta beneath its shade in the stern, or, as once happened to the present writer, you may peradventure be awakened by the water running over your shoulders and the nose of the boat pointing heavenward at an angle of forty-five degrees. from arundel bridge the river runs a navigable course through salt meadows for some seven miles to its mouth at littlehampton with no appreciable widening of its channels. the arun above arundel and all the way up past amberley is a noted haunt of the humbler class of london anglers, whom the railroad, for a quite trifling sum, brings down here by hundreds. at intervals along the banks for miles you find the patient bream-fisher from the east end, having spent the night often beneath the sky, watching his float throughout the day with unremitting concentration. the only two surrey rivers of any consequence, the wey and the mole, rise in the weald country and cut through the chalk ranges of the northern [illustration: a stream, near leith hill, surrey] [illustration] [illustration: the rother, fittleworth, sussex] [illustration] downs on their journey to the thames, precisely as the sussex rivers cut through the south downs on their passage to the sea. the mole is a little river of character and considerable beauty. rising in the neighbourhood of redhill it burrows under the chalky heights of box and so by leatherhead, cobham, and esher to the thames at moulsey. through so ornate a residential region, too, its streams are made the most of in many a pleasant lawn and grove, and by many a country mansion and villa. it runs quite a pace too, here and there over yellow gravel, and sometimes, as between cobham and esher, abandons the trammels of civilisation, and slips, in quite wanton fashion, through wild and tangled woodland. but this would bring us within the orbit of the great river-haunting public of the metropolis, and the ever-widening circles which are part of it. as all mention of the thames is eliminated from these pages as a subject at once too voluminous, too familiar in fact and in descriptive literature, its surrey tributaries may fairly be left here to the accomplished brush of the artist. kent is less rich in rivers even than sussex, though happier in the quality; of the only three of recognisable name it possesses the medway, the stour, and the darenth. the latter, which rises at westerham and flows through the chalk downs northward to meet the thames at dartford, is a small stream with a sometimes swift current, more noted perhaps as a natural trout stream among anglers than on any other account, farningham having been a well-known tryst of many famous fly-fishermen in days when locomotion was less easy than now. but the medway is the most important of kentish rivers, both for the length and quiet beauty of its inland reaches and the world-wide fame of its anchorage as it spreads out to meet the thames. rising on the borders of sussex about penshurst it flows north by three of the most important kentish towns--tonbridge, maidstone, and rochester--the last, of course, virtually including its straggling and busy neighbour of chatham. a slow-running river always, the most representative and typical portion of the upper medway is the twelve miles or so between tonbridge and maidstone. for much of the distance it flows in a valley sufficiently narrow to display to singular advantage the richness of the steep slopes on either side, the country seats, the upstanding villages, the hop-fields, and the orchards. it runs, too, in sufficient volume to make a fine [illustration: the wey, surrey] [illustration] broad trail in the valley, and be the occasion for several ancient stone bridges of many arches, such as complete the measure of a river's beauty. from yalding, where the little streams of the teise and beult--strange names for so homely a locality--come in, to maidstone is the cream of the river. indeed, till these three unite the medway can hardly be said in the matter of size to challenge much attention. for a few miles below maidstone it maintains somewhat the same characteristics till, broadening out under the influence of the tide at aylesford, it begins its passage through the high walls of the north downs. a curious passage it is, too: a struggle as it were between frequent groups of the tall chimneys of cement works belching out smoke, and scenery that before the modern industrial period arrived to smirch it, must have been singularly fine. for some half-dozen miles the river continues to roll through an ever-widening but necessarily contracted channel in a quite deep gorge, the downs rising on either side to a height of five or six hundred feet. the last bridge is at rochester, still around its cathedral a quaint old town redolent of dickens, with the contrasting clangour and pitiless prose of chatham spreading, unsightly but significant, far over the heights, and looking down on the broad harbour into which the medway, having achieved its passage through the range, now expands itself towards the thames. the whole north fringe of kent, as every one knows who has travelled the road from canterbury to rochester, or in other words the line of watling street, is a bleak, cheerless country to look upon; the more so, if the suggestion of paradox be permitted, because so highly cultivated. but looking northward from the high ground about faversham or sittingbourne one may forget this in the fine views over the swale, and sheppey island, and the mouth of the thames that are everywhere disclosed, and finest of all is that of the wide, island-studded estuary of the medway in all its memorable significance. what the medway is to west kent the stour is to east kent, though in most respects a very different type of river. from its source near ashford to its mouth near sandwich its characteristics are entirely and absolutely rural; a quality rather emphasised than otherwise by its picturesque progress through the famous old town of canterbury. from ashford to canterbury is the pick of the stour which makes the best of company for the traveller, who, whatever his method [illustration: the medway, aylesford, kent] [illustration] of progress, must of necessity go with it. the village of wye, clustering around its ancient church amid the fields through which the river runs, is a most prepossessing spot, and calls for notice as having acquired much deserved reputation of recent years as an active centre of agricultural science. still but of modest size and running clear though slow, the stour skirts the foot of godmersham park and the high hills that to the northward are clothed with forests still covering many thousands of acres. by meadowy and woodland ways, hurrying a little here and there as if to remind one that, unlike the medway, it is a trout stream of old renown, the stour runs onwards to chilham where a little village rests on its banks that from an artistic point of view would do credit to shakespeare's avon. thence by chartham, with its ancient church and less engaging paper-mill, the stream pursues an even course through narrow meadows, washing the lawn of harton manor, with its fourteenth-century chapel in the yard, and the grounds of milton just below, with a similar interesting and curious survival attached to them; while in the woods high above chartham the "pilgrims' way" to canterbury can still be traced with ease between its well-defined banks. the stour has certainly a high distinction in watering the earliest shrine of english christianity, and being at its mouth the landing-place of st. augustine, the creator of it. it traverses in two channels, made picturesque either by carefully tended foliage or fortuitous rows of old houses, the clean and ancient city of canterbury. the stranger to this corner of england is apt to forget how comparatively remote and countrified a place this famous town still is. such a considerable slice of west kent is now involved in the residential districts tributary to london, and the busy shore of the thames, the county as a whole is apt to take the colouring of these prominent and populous districts in the imagination both of those familiar with them and of others who do not know kent at all. the whole course of the stour from its source to its mouth is as continuously and genuinely rural, with as little flavour but that of the soil and its accessories, as any river in somerset or shropshire. it is out of reach of all those influences which either disfigure at intervals or give an over-prosperous, artificial, and too decorative touch to so many of the rivers within fifty miles of london. the old families to be sure, as elsewhere in kent, have practically vanished, but there is [illustration: the wey, elstead, surrey] [illustration] little surface evidence of this, nor of a new plutocracy of various grades with or without acres being in possession. there is nothing, for instance, of the atmosphere of surrey or hertfordshire or north sussex or east berks. all along the stour it is quite obvious that people are wholly concerned with wheat and grass, with hops and fruit and cattle. one is out of range of the season-ticket, and in this sense in more of a true arcadia than even in the upper valley of the medway. and so as regards canterbury. with the mind impressed from childhood by its outstanding ecclesiastical importance, one is apt to forget that it is only a clean country town, though a large one, lying remote from any place of importance, and as far from london by rail as salisbury! yet its importance in history is overwhelming, its interest as a place of pilgrimage in the modern sense prodigious. its cathedral, associated with such a trio as st. augustine, lanfranc, and becket, with several unique features and possessions, is probably the most complete illustration of the procession of english ecclesiastical architecture that we have. there are large sections, too, of the city walls still standing at a considerable elevation, and on foundations, at any rate, dating back to roman times. the finest embattled entrance gate of any surviving in english towns greets the approaching visitor, and quite a good display of ancient houses is still preserved in one that takes a proper pride in itself; though from the vandalism of two or three generations ago even canterbury has not escaped. soon after leaving the city, the stour runs out in its easterly course towards the sea through wide, marshy meadows that are more interesting than picturesque from the knowledge that they lead to the ancient town of sandwich, which, like its younger but more conspicuously striking rival at the mouth of the rother, occupies a place to itself, resembling nothing else in england. as rye, till the sea receded and left it virtually high and dry, was one of the chief seaports of england, the object of assault, and the seat of counter-strokes continually with our hereditary foes, the french, so at an earlier period was sandwich the oldest of the cinque ports, which was finally shut off from the sea about four hundred years ago. sandwich, though on the flat and not raised high upon a rock, savours even more of the remote past than rye, which is a place of business and residence and still lives and moves in a small way far more within the [illustration: the medway, maidstone, kent] [illustration] world's orbit than the other; for the famous golf links with which sandwich has again, in widely different fashion, made its name familiar throughout england, affect the old town itself but little. a walk now runs along the old walls within which the beautiful norman tower of st. clement's church rises above the low roofs. open spaces and gardens lie easily about in the little town which, as an unchanged survival from tudor or mediæval times, has no equal in england. before the norman conquest it was the chief port of the nation. as late as its harbour, now dry land, is described by a german ambassador as "wonderful, the resort of ships of all sizes from all parts of europe." by the water-gate at the entrance to the old bridge over the stour is the barbican. but the behaviour of the stour as it draws towards the sea under present conditions is the most remarkable; for when within half a mile of the south end of pegwell bay opposite ramsgate it bends suddenly southward, runs for or miles parallel with the east coast to sandwich, and then doubles back upon the same course to meet the sea at the spot where its original intention of ending its career seems obviously to have been. close to its mouth upon the other side is the shingle spit of ebbsfleet, where not merely st. augustine, but more than a century earlier hengist and horsa, first planted their pagan feet upon british soil. on the very banks of the river are the long embankments still strewn with tiles and pottery, marking the site of the roman rutupium, a station of sufficient importance to be the headquarters of the second legion in the third century, or, in other words, of a garrison of about men. and in scarcely any part of england has such a mass of coins been recovered, while on the rising ground the graves of the early saxon settlers and invaders lie thick amid the chalk. but the mouth of the stour, where the action of the sea alone during the long centuries since roman times affords in itself a fascinating subject, is so rich besides in human memories that i should be in danger of slipping too deeply into the maritime aspect of english rivers, which i have described as having no immediate concern with the nature of this book. still, it must be admitted, though less with the kentish than the sussex rivers, that their real interests and their physical attractions only begin with the first breath of the sea. [illustration: the medway, rochester] [illustration] chapter viii the yorkshire dales the rivers of yorkshire present to the writer of these pages much the same embarrassment of riches and problems of compression on an only lesser scale than those presented by the general title of this work. one thing, however, reduces the rather bewildering amplitude of the subject as expressed upon the map by not a little, and that is the natural reluctance in a work like this to linger by rivers after they have lost their purity from the refuse of mines and factories, and most certainly after they have actually entered the industrial districts. another thing which tends to further simplification is that the country generally known as the "yorkshire dales," comprising the upper and most beautiful portion of the best of the rivers, is the district that is associated in the minds of most people with the typical river scenery of this great county. and this region may be roughly described as covering the north-west quarter of yorkshire, and including the upper and cleaner portions of nearly all its important rivers. from hence come the tees, the swale, the ure, the nidd, the wharfe, and the ribble, with their many tributaries. it is a curious fact, too, that with the exception of the first and last, every one of them takes a south-east course, and every one eventually pours its waters into the ouse near the humber estuary. the tees, whose northern bank is durham territory for nearly the whole of its course, flows into the north sea, having its own ample and busy estuary at middlesborough. through the centre of yorkshire, running north and south, is the great plain, or by comparison a plain with which the traveller on the great northern railroad to scotland is so familiar, and whence thousands of persons no doubt derive their impressions of this distinguished county. but at intervals any such traveller with an eye to the country may see rising far away in the east as on the west, those lofty hills and moors that in the minds of as many others represent the yorkshire which their memory turns to. i have spoken of the north-western highlands, usually known as the yorkshire [illustration: the trent, nottingham] [illustration] dales, with their rivers pouring away to the south-east. but before dealing with them in greater detail, in accordance with the plan of this chapter and the drift of mr. sutton palmer's skilful brush, i should like to remind the reader that the greater part of east yorkshire, from north to south--from the tees, that is, to the humber--also consists of either moors or chalk wolds. the former, practically filling the north-east quarter of the county (i leave the three ridings alone as they have no physical significance), also gives birth to many streams. but the esk alone breaks its way eastward into the north sea, having its mouth at whitby. with the exception of a few trifling brooks all the other rivers of these north-eastern moors, as well as the few small streams of the south-eastern wolds, flow south or south-west to find their way eventually into the ouse or its estuary the humber. it is quite curious how, south of the esk watershed, practically every brook turns its back on the neighbouring north sea. the infant springs of the derwent, which eventually carries all the waters of these northern moors between thirsk and scarborough to the ouse, are situated within or miles of the east coast. but to return to the dales, which more immediately concern us here, the ribble is the only river among them all that breaks away to the west. entering lancashire near clitheroe, it flows through that county by way of preston to morecambe bay. it rises in the same block of moors--a southern extension of that pennine range known in outline at least so well to tourists in the lake country--as the rest of this group of yorkshire rivers, and is quite a good-sized stream when it arrives at the picturesque little town of settle, the first place above the size of a hamlet upon its banks. the limestone crag of castleberg rises finely to a height of feet above the town, while at thrice that elevation in the near neighbourhood is one of those caves whose discovery in various parts of england excited so much interest early in the last century. this one, like the rest, has been prolific of mammalian fossils and celtic remains. giggleswick, with its embarrassing name and well-known grammar school, almost adjoins settle. flowing with strong and rapid current through a vale of verdant pasture land, bounded upon either side by rolling grouse moors, the ribble finds fresh beauties among the woods of gisburn, the seat of lord ribblesdale, and in the yet more striking gorges beneath bolton hall, [illustration: the wharfe, bolton abbey, yorkshire] [illustration] the ancient seat of the pudsays, whose effigies in the parish church tell a long tale of predominance in this craven country. the hall is the oldest house in the district, and intimately associated with the wanderings of henry vi. after his defeat at the battle of hexham, for the pudsay of that day gave the hapless king a safe asylum for some weeks. the panelled room he occupied is still preserved, and a spring in the grounds still bears his name. yet more to the point, a glove, a boot, and a spoon, relics of his sojourn with them, remained in the family till they lost bolton in the middle of the last century, and are still preserved. a beautifully wooded cliff rising high above the broad rapids of the ribble near the house has great local notoriety under the name of _pudsay's leap_. for tradition tells how the owner of bolton, in the reign of elizabeth, had acquired great favour at court, but having discovered silver on the estate proceeded to set up a mint of his own, thereby bringing down upon his head the rough arm of the law. escaping on horseback from the sheriff and his party, this greatly daring pudsay is said to have baffled pursuit by leaping his horse down this wooded precipice above the ribble, and, thence riding to london at incredible speed, thrown himself at the feet of the queen, with whom he had been a favourite. confessing his crime, he extracted a pardon from a monarch notoriously exacting where the precious metals were concerned. an old local ballad celebrates the daring pudsay's feat: out of the gates himself he flung, ranistire scaur before him lay; now for a leap or i shall be hung, now for a leap quo' bold pudsay. as the river sweeps on past clitheroe, which is just in lancashire, the long ridge ending in the uplifted gable end of pendle hill, celebrated of old for its witches, rises finely on the east, and the moors of the forest of bowland, or bolland, are equally conspicuous on the west. the large tributary of the hodder, after a beautiful and devious course through the last-named moors, swells the ribble considerably below clitheroe, whose ruined castle keep, lifted high above the town, strikes an appropriate note in the centre of a noble scene. the calder coming down from burnley and more tainted sources joins the ribble on the opposite bank, and henceforward the latter loses in great measure the charm of unpolluted waters and a pastoral atmosphere among the gathering signs of industrial life that mark its course to preston. there are many places of interest in the corner where the ribble, swelling in volume and altering somewhat in character, leaves yorkshire for the county palatine. the farmhouse of waddington, where henry vi. after spending several months was eventually captured, is still standing. the ruined abbeys, too, of shawley and whalley are both near clitheroe. so also is the great roman catholic college of stonyhurst. and one uses the epithet advisedly, as on the nucleus of a fine tudor country-house and a large estate, acquired a century ago, additions have been made to the buildings by the thrifty jesuit managers at a cost of something like £ , , a figure that might set even the wealthiest of our public schools agog with envy. indeed, the banks of the ribble are as closely associated with the ancient faith both to-day and yesterday as any district in england. one is not likely to forget what hopes were placed by both the first and second pretender on the gentry of this then remote part of england, nor what befell them at the ancient town of preston, now so expanded and so busy, on the ribble's banks. of the five rivers--for i have omitted mention of the aire since it is absorbed so early into the industrial districts of leeds and bradford--which flow down the north-western dales towards the central plain of yorkshire and the humber, the wharfe is as notable as any. it is also, next to the aire, the first to cross the route of any one going northward and across the grain of the country. it is surprising how soon all signs of the vast and murky industries of leeds are shaken off. for where or miles to the north of it the n.e. railroad crosses the wharfe and stays near it for a time, the prospect is one of a broad and strenuous river sweeping through a noble vale. spacious and undefiled woods and homesteads and country houses adorn the slopes, and great yorkshire fields of meadow or pasture spread back from the banks apparently unconscious of the very existence of the prodigious stir and uproar which beneath vast canopies of murk and smoke is going forward less than a dozen miles away. far away the most celebrated spot upon the wharfe, and one of the most visited of the kind perhaps in all england, is bolton abbey. to those who have never seen it the very fact, perhaps, of its propinquity to the industrial districts, and the familiarity of its name, might suggest a scene if not actually overrated at any rate so overrun as to impair its charms. the first is certainly not the case; and as regards the second, though thousands [illustration: the wharfe, the strid, yorkshire] [illustration] in all come here every summer, there are probably more summer days than not in which, owing to the space covered by the grounds and their variety, you could enjoy them in your own company to practically any extent you chose. bolton abbey as a place of pilgrimage consists of the ruins themselves and the deep valley for two or three miles up, down which the wharfe pursues its rapid rocky course beneath hanging woods of great beauty. art, to be sure, has to some extent stepped in and cared for the luxuriant timber as it would be cared for in a park or private grounds, which indeed these actually are, though the duke of devonshire's residence here is only a glorified shooting-box and used as such. paths have been cut high up through the woods for the better displaying of the river as it surges far below with all the restless humours of a northern trout stream, while above the woods the high moors, purple in august with abundant heather, raise their rounded crests. at the upper extremity of the demesne - / miles from the abbey ruins which stands on the banks of the river at the lower entrance to it, the latter contracts into that singular gut or flume known as the stridd. every one upon familiar terms with rivers of this type knows many such spots where the waters are forced through a narrow channel between walls of rock. that the wharfe just here has to submit to these conditions in a pronounced degree is fortunate, since it exhibits to countless souls whose ways do not lead them by the secluded banks of mountain rivers, a very fine instance of a not uncommon but always beautiful characteristic of their nature. the artist here renders superfluous any verbal description of this beautiful and boisterous portion of the wharfe, and the same remark applies to the glorious reach above in which barden tower will be seen perched among its woods high above the fretting stream amid the grand sweep of the surrounding moors. barden tower is a building of no ordinary personal interest. originally one of the peel-towers erected in the middle ages for the keepers of barden forest under the cliffords of the north, it became at the close of the wars of the roses the residence of that henry lord clifford whose romantic story every one who knows their lake country or their wordsworth is familiar with. son of the fierce and formidable black clifford, whose life and property the yorkists deprived him of on the first opportunity, he was sent for safety as a child to a shepherd in the keswick country, in whose family, and in all respects as one of them, he grew to man's estate. when with the advent of henry vii. the clifford estates, including skipton and barden, were restored, their owner was nearly thirty, with the life and uprearing of a peasant as the sole equipment for his new and high position. but heredity counted for much in this case, though curiously enough it took the form of peaceful rather than warlike enterprises. social instincts, too, seemed to have been effectually stamped out upon the lonely skirts of saddleback and skiddaw. for the "shepherd lord" improved the peel-tower above the wharfe into a sufficient residence for his doubtless modest estimate of comfort and dignity, and there seems to have lead a life of retirement for the next forty years, cultivating astronomy and the sciences. when called to action, however, he was not wanting in ability and common sense, and at sixty years of age had marched with the yorkshiremen who formed such an important element in surrey's victorious army at flodden. he married twice, and his descendant anne, countess of pembroke, who, by an extraordinary succession of deaths, was left sole heiress of the clifford estates in the time of the commonwealth, was a lady of enormous strength of character. for when over sixty she returned to the north, and in spite of cromwell's protests, restored all her dilapidated castles from brougham by keswick to this of barden on the wharfe, in order that the sun of her race, for she had no heir, might set at least in splendour. she took her seat, against all precedent and much opposition, as high sheriff of westmoreland (a clifford inheritance), and sat upon the bench between the judges of assize and did many other racy and forcible things which we cannot tell of here. the ruins of the abbey, lifted on a gentle elevation about a hundred yards from the rapid amber streams of the wharfe, possess every charm of situation that one would wish for in a relic of the great days of ecclesiastical predominance with all its powers for good and evil, its scorn of concentration in crowded haunts, its eye for the beautiful and the remote, and for romantic streams where toothsome fish abound. bolton hall, the duke's residence, and the ancient rectory lying upon the same green meadow with venerable timber all about, and the stir and glitter of the moorland waters in their wide bed, [illustration: the wharfe, barden tower, yorkshire] [illustration] make for a peace that in the many intervals when the groups of tourists have gone on their way is as profound as one would ask for, and throughout the six months of the year one may feel sure is practically unbroken. the abbey, or, literally, priory church and buildings, were begun in by a fraternity of the order of st. augustine, under the endowment of one william de meschines, a saxon by blood, and his norman wife cecilia. the church was cruciform in shape, and is now all ruinous but the nave which does duty as the parish church. it is more lofty than common, and in the main early english with some decorated windows. but an interesting feature is the west tower, whose completion, like that of so many others, was prevented by the cataclysm of the dissolution. it is rather melancholy that a general ardour for further building in the stateliest perpendicular style should seem to have broken out just before the shattering blow fell and left all over england so many pathetic instances of incompleted work. here in bolton it is held by those most intimate with its story that divine service has been performed without any intermission since the foundation of the abbey. the nave was spared, it is said, at the dissolution of the house in for a parish church in consideration of the building having been the site of an early saxon chapel. there was at one time the usual central tower. but as the ruinous choir and one transept now shows a decorated upper part and norman base, it seems likely that the original tower, like so many others, crashed down carrying ruin with it. the canons' stalls on each side of the choir under intersecting norman arches still remain, and as many on each side nearer the high altar, also under arches of the same period. the remains may be seen, too, of a chantry opening into the south side of the choir through a highly ornamental archway. this was the burial-place of the cliffords of the north, though it seems to have been ravaged of their remains. the next valley going northward to the wharfe is that of the nidd--and on a high plateau between these two rivers and not far from the latter one, stands the great watering-place of harrogate. though possessing none of the immediate beauty of outlook and environment enjoyed by buxton, malvern, or llandrindod, it has in addition to its invaluable waters an atmosphere scarcely equalled in the kingdom for its stimulating qualities. this is worthy of mention, as for any one inclined to explore the yorkshire dales in a general way, harrogate is a most admirable centre. railways carry you from thence in a short time, and upon special terms to practically all of them, leaving a long day to be spent in the investigation of their beauties by any method that the visitor may choose. the nidd is smaller than the other rivers. its best-known point, partly no doubt because it is near and accessible, is knaresborough, a quaint and clean old town which rises steeply in tiers and terraces above the river bed, crowned by the ruins of a great castle which perches with fine effect upon the summit of a lofty cliff that drops almost sheer into the stream. held back by a mill the naturally impetuous nidd runs in a deep and slow channel beneath the town. on its farther shore thick woods fringe the water, and a lofty viaduct, not always an object of beauty but here extremely effective, spans what may in this case be fairly called the chasm. in these fringing woods are some curious dripping crags which fossilize every article submitted to their influence. within them, too, there is a cave associated with the celebrated mother shipton, and all conscientious pilgrims to knaresborough are ferried over the river and pay their respects to these local deities, the more encouraged, no doubt, to such adventure by the delightful woodland walk thereby entailed. the guide-books call knaresborough the "switzerland of yorkshire." it is difficult to imagine for what reason unless it be that the town is essentially of the old yorkshire type, and that the castle is particularly characteristic of the mediæval english fortress that was concerned with scottish or welsh border wars. it belonged in its day to many famous people, hubert de burgh, piers gaveston, and john of gaunt among them. but of chief interest, perhaps, it was the refuge of the four knights who slew thomas à becket. in later times, during the civil war it stood a siege for the king against the troops of fairfax fresh from the victory of marston moor, surrendering with honour. there is a fine church, too, containing some interesting tombs and effigies of the now extinct slingsby family, who were prominent here for many centuries. some of my readers will remember the sensation caused throughout england, just forty years ago, by the drowning of the last baronet and many companions as in the course of a day's hunting they were capsized while crossing the river on a ferry-boat. [illustration: the nidd, knaresborough, yorkshire] [illustration] the nidd, though of much shorter course, runs down exactly parallel with the wharfe, one lofty wall of moors alone dividing them. a single-track railroad runs high up the dale by the river-side to pateley bridge, and is one of those instances alluded to in a former chapter that afford frequent and charming views of what in this case is a fascinating and wayward little moorland river, playing hide-and-seek among the meadows and alders. the vale here is narrow, the hills on both sides steep woodland or pasture-field to near their summits, where the outer rim of the heathery moorlands falls down over the nearer ridge. pateley bridge is a dark and sombre little town of miners and quarrymen, but all around is beautiful. upon the opposite or west bank of the stream thick woods climb far up the hillsides, terminating in a line of cliffs along whose brows the heathery edge of the moorland mantles. a light railway, for serving more than one reservoir now in making amid the moors, runs up to the head-waters of the nidd, and is of further assistance to the explorer of this fine country. not far above pateley bridge the nidd disappears into an artificial lake some two miles long which quite fills the narrow valley, and one learns with surprise that this is merely compensation water for a much larger reservoir that the corporation of bradford are in process of forming some miles higher up for their actual supply. one gets up here into a wild and lonely country. a reasonable day's walk across the high wall of moors to the north or to the south would bring the traveller into uredale or wharfedale respectively. but there is one considerable drawback to hill walking in much of yorkshire, for the grouse moors carry such a heavy stock of birds, and are so valuable, that they are regarded almost as sacred against the disturbing intruder as pheasant coverts, and are constantly watched by keepers on this account. the trees that most flourish in the woods, which clothe the slopes of the lower hills in all these yorkshire dales, till, with the shrinking stream the country gets too high for any wealth of them, are the ash, the sycamore, and the wych, or, as sometimes called, the "scotch" elm. firs are effectively mingled with the others, but one sees less of the stiff purely fir plantation looking down upon the yorkshire rivers, than in similar situations in northumberland and scotland. the hedges, too, till you get right up into a stone wall country, have none of the meagreness of those north of the tyne, nor yet the prim trimness to which the practical scotsman reduces them, but they luxuriate here amid the grass fields with almost the picturesque redundancy of the midlands and the south. the nidd not far from harrogate passes ripley, chiefly distinguished for the castle of the ingilbys, a family seated there for centuries, and whose chatelaine in the civil war treated cromwell, while sheltering within it after marston moor, with a frigidity before which even that man of iron is said to have quailed. farther down the nidd runs into the ouse, a few miles above york; and the ouse is first formed not very far again above this junction by the ure and swale, which are the next two dales in the order mentioned, as we move still northward. the ure is quite a generous as well as a rapid stream, and requires bridges of many arches to span it successfully. the little cathedral city of ripon is, of course, its presiding genius; a pleasant old market-town of agricultural, clerical, and residential habit. it manufactures nothing now of moment, though once upon a time it turned out spurs by the thousand, known as ripon rowels, which were in great request among the border prickers. the "wakeman's horn" is still blown at nine o'clock in the evening, a curious old custom among others that are still cherished in a place which, like richmond and knaresborough, looks an appropriate storehouse for such ancient survivals. the cathedral, though not among the most interesting, has many striking characteristics, both historical and architectural. in the first sense, it is memorable as virtually the foundation of one of the greatest of northern ecclesiastics during the saxon periods, namely, st. wilfrid, bishop of lindisfarne and hexham, and for a time of york, but always with a second home at his monastery of ripon, where his dust lies; a man of character, of varied and strenuous life, and of deathless fame from yorkshire to the tweed. upon, or near the site of wilfrid's foundation, the present structure was begun in the twelfth century. like many others of the great northern churches, it was burned by the scots: in this case, during the misfortunes to the english arms following the death of edward the first and the battle of bannockburn. only partially injured, as was usual with such massive buildings, the central tower was rebuilt in the next century, and in two more the almost inevitable, in the case of mediæval [illustration: the ure, near ripon, yorkshire] [illustration] churches, happened, and the wooden spire of the tower crashed down and destroyed the roof of the choir. this so alarmed the authorities that they removed the spires which then stood upon the two western towers. i must not linger over the details of a cathedral here; but, in accordance with an inclination throughout these pages, to say what little space admits to be said of the less written of, and less hackneyed subjects that confront us, i may pause to note that the west front of ripon, with its severe but compact early english windows, doorways, and arcading, is the chief pride of the cathedral. archbishop roger's norman nave was supplanted by the present one in the perpendicular period, but some of his work, in the shape of three bays, may still be seen on the north side of the choir, which portion was not ruined by the fall of the central tower after the scottish burning. the rest of the choir is perpendicular and decorated, suggestive of the period following the fiercest blaze of anglo-scottish hostility. thus, as in most of our northern churches, the varied styles do not merely proclaim the procession--one must not say the progress--of the builder's art but tell the story of domestic strife. the chapter-house and vestry supported by a crypt, however, are mainly norman, and supposed to be of anterior date even to archbishop roger's church. below the nave is the most singular thing in the whole church--a small crypt of probably seventh-century work, resembling that one beneath wilfrid's other church at hexham, except that the latter is obviously made of stone taken from roman buildings. in both places they were probably used for the exhibition of relics. ripon is one of the smaller cathedrals, and also rather encompassed by buildings, but being slightly elevated it makes a fine picture from any point in the country round, standing well up above the rest of the peaceful little town--particularly when the foreground is occupied by the rapid streams of the ure which are here of no mean breadth. though not actually on the ure but on its little tributary the skell, whose waters have been made to contribute so vastly to its adornment, stands the most magnificent ecclesiastical ruin in england. if the abbey church of fountains, still roof high and the length of ripon cathedral, with the mass of monastic buildings which in various stages of arrested decay still surround it, has rivals, its beautiful environment and the unique approach to it would dispose, i think, of their claims. studley royal, the marquis of ripon's seat, is two miles from ripon, and it is through a couple more of park, laid out in the eighteenth century in lavish arrangement of lake, lawn, walk, and woodland, that the visitor, who for a shilling is free of practically the whole, approaches the glorious remains of the great cistercian house. there is not here, to be sure, the wild natural beauty of bolton, or tintern; but it is landscape gardening on such a prodigious scale, and so cunningly contrived, that the picture of the vast and glorious fabric to which it leads bursts on the visitor without warning in such fashion as to convey an irresistible impression, whatever one's experiences may have been, that there is nothing equal to it in england. this indeed is, i believe, the generally accepted verdict. for many miles above ripon, the lower part in fact of the famous wensley dale, the ure, sparkling often over broad shingly flats, runs through but a slightly depressed fertile valley--the back-lying moors not as yet pressing into prominent notice. some half-dozen miles up the dale the old church and ruined tower of tanfield stand by the river bank. the tower and gate house represent what is left of the ancient seat of the marmions, and the church contains many of their tombs. scott has thrown such a halo round the name that, though we know out of his own mouth that the grim and haughty warrior who fell at flodden was the creation purely of his own brain, i could tell of a true marmion who, under a vow to carry a fair lady's guerdon where danger was thickest, rode alone and in cold blood beneath the walls of norham castle against a whole squadron of scottish horse, and was rescued alive by sheer good luck. three miles higher up is the extremely picturesque little town of masham, its old stone houses standing since times remote around the four sides of a great square, and flanked by a fine church in which are the monuments of danby's former lords, and an extremely fine recumbent alabaster effigy of sir thomas wyvern, whose mother was a scrope, which historic family also once owned the manor. in the churchyard my eye fell accidentally on two adjoining headstones. the one was "to the memory of christopher craggs of gilling-by-the-foot," the other to that of "robert ayscough of grimes hall," and both ear and instinct seemed to provoke the irrepressible reflection that nowhere outside yorkshire could such a sturdy harsh collection of names appear in combination. four miles from masham, too, is another famous abbey, that [illustration: the ure, aysgarth force, yorkshire] of jervaulx, to whose monks at one time this church and town belonged. wensley dale drags its beauteous length for many a long mile upward, noted for its cheeses, its cobby horses, and its peculiar breed of sheep; while, as only natural, so great a dairy country takes infinite pride in its cattle. the grass land is of the finest quality, the farms trim-looking, prosperous and well cared for. middleham with its castle sits upon the stream. bolton castle is near by, where mary, queen of scots, spent the first and pleasantest period of her confinement after leaving carlisle, and made every young gallant in the neighbourhood her slave for life. at bolton, too, a great square pile, the scropes had flourished since the days of that archbishop who shook the throne of the fourth henry, and lost his head for it. aysgarth force--the latter word of norse origin and the equivalent in north yorkshire and durham for waterfall--is the most conspicuous physical feature of the ure, and with its peaty waters is most happily portrayed on these pages by mr. sutton palmer. far away in the high moors the ure rises in a deep crevice of a bog appropriately named hell gill. camden alludes to its source as in "a dreary waste and horrid silent wilderness where goats, deer, and stags of extraordinary size find a secure retreat." nor has the region altered much since camden wrote save in the nature of its feræ. if england has changed generally to such an extent that a mediæval monk of agricultural bent would not recognise it in those moors and mountains at least which we so rejoice in, and that the men of old not reared in them so hated, we may still see the landscape almost as they saw it in every detail. it is worth noting that the traveller journeying by train from leeds to darlington crosses all of the rivers that water four out of the six west yorkshire dales, and at almost equal interludes, namely, the wharfe, the nidd, the ure, and the swale; while the main line of the great northern and north eastern only crosses the ouse, which is bearing, however, the combined waters of all these tributary rivers seaward. of these the last and the most northerly, the swale, is claimed by those who live upon it to be the most consistently rapid. as the pace of all these yorkshire rivers is sufficient to give them all the qualities and the beauty of mountain-born streams, such hair-splitting is of small interest. but the swale can claim, at any rate, the most romantically situated and most picturesque old [illustration: the swale, richmond, yorkshire] [illustration] town in yorkshire, for richmond might fairly be called a glorified knaresborough. it stands just within the hill country looking westward over a sea of waving moorland interspersed with the contrasting luxuriance of old abiding places. the town climbs up a long slope crowned in turn by the massive norman keep of the castle whose precincts cover a broad plateau, while its curtain walls hang over the brink of a rocky precipice, beneath which the swale urges its clear impetuous streams round a partial circuit of the town. richmond is the centre of an ancient district, once known and still often referred to as "richmondshire," a division of northumbria, later on, with its two hundred manors, termed "the honour of richmond." a marked historical peculiarity of this district is that from the norman conquest till the time of henry vii. it was a fief of the dukes of brittany, who included the earldom of richmond in their titles. on this account richmond became occasionally a fief of the king of france, not breaking with this curious foreign ownership till the tudor period, when france and brittany were united. this overlordship, however, so far as the life of the district was concerned, is a matter of purely academic interest. many people will no doubt be surprised to learn that the nowadays more conspicuous richmond on the thames took its name while a hamlet from the yorkshire town. while to turn to comparative but familiar trifles the well-known eighteenth-century song, "the lass of richmond hill," does not refer to a suburban maiden but to frances l'anson, the daughter of a rich london solicitor who had estates in yorkshire and for a country residence "hill house," still standing on high ground above the town. the author was a barrister, one leonard mac nally, who subsequently in married the subject of his impassioned ode, and the song was first sung at vauxhall. it is worth noting too, perhaps, that byron's wife, miss milbanke, a yet more famous beauty, came also from the hill house at richmond. the town is the centre of a great agricultural and pastoral district. market-day in its spacious, old-fashioned market-place, on the high slope of the town, is an animated spectacle. purveyors from the manufacturing districts, which, though left now a long way behind us in actual distance, are comparatively near by rail, throng here to purchase supplies. it is a country of small and moderate-sized farmers, all of whom, however, are of sufficient substance to [illustration: the swale, richmond, yorkshire] [illustration] keep a trap of some kind, and in no market-town in any part of england within my experience, which is pretty considerable, have i ever seen such long arrays of unhorsed vehicles awaiting the termination of their owner's business transaction or his social obligations. this is the most characteristic and spacious part of richmond, and the stone houses of commerce which border it have an unmistakable flavour of antiquity in spite of the touching up and re-fronting which is inevitable to even a rural market-town not prepared to accept commercial and physical decay. on one side of the market-place is the ancient church of the trinity, between the tower and body of which an entire house and shop intervene, while the gallery which adorns the interior rests upon more shops. the curfew bell is rung in this, which was probably the old parish church, both morning and evening, the situation of the house of the town-crier being so conveniently situated that he is said to be able to ring the morning bell from his bed, an advantage of incalculable significance. the parish church, however, stands near the foot of the hill, restored beyond the bounds of any great surviving interest. there is an old grammar school, too, with some new buildings erected in honour of a famous headmaster who flourished near a century ago, dr. tate, canon of st. paul's, whose scholarship and personality made his name and his school famous throughout the north, and keeps his memory yet green. most interesting of richmond's ecclesiastical monuments, however, is the fine perpendicular tower that alone remains of its monastery of the grey friars. it was only just finished at the dissolution, and is pathetically suggestive of the litchfield tower at evesham, and one or two other unconsciously expiring efforts of pious abbots. but the castle is, of course, the most interesting spot in richmond, to a stranger at any rate, for the beautiful views, above all from the top of the keep over feet high, which it affords of this moorland country on the one side and the fatter central vale of mowbray on the other; and again away beyond this to the cleveland hills, and the high country on the north-east of the county, while on a clear day the towers of york minster are distinctly visible. up the valley of the swale down which the surging waters of the river, after stormy weather, gleam in their green meadowy trough beneath the folding hills, the outlook hence is indeed a very memorable one. the high castle-yard [illustration: the swale, richmond, yorkshire] [illustration] covers five acres, and though in partial use by the depôt of the yorkshire regiment as sergeants' quarters, is quiet and spacious enough and partly surrounded by the remains, in various stages of ruin, of ward rooms, chapels, state rooms, kitchens, and the curtain-walls of this once great and proudly placed fortress. here again the artist will give a better notion of the distinction of richmond, its fine pose above the river with the old bridge as a foreground, than any amount of description. but there are many old tortuous by-streets and wynds on the steep slopes of richmond well worth exploring. and as "brave pudsay" made a famous leap from the top of a cliff into or over the ribble, so here one williance has likewise immortalised himself and given his name to a height above the swale outside the town. this leap was almost contemporary with that of pudsay, and some special providence indeed must have watched over these redoubtable elizabethans. but williance's performance was not prompted by the pursuing peril of a sheriff's posse, but by a runaway horse at a hunting party. the hero himself was a successful trader of ripon, and, as indicated above, his horse bolted in a fog and leaped from the top of whitecliff scaur, falling on a ledge feet below and thence toppling over another precipice of similar height. the horse was killed, but the rider, marvellous to relate, escaped with a broken leg. getting out his hunting-knife he ripped open the dead animal's belly and put the injured limb inside it to keep the cold out till help arrived. this hardy and resourceful person saved his life at any rate, but not his leg, which was amputated. in gratitude for his miraculous escape he set up three stones upon the spot, inscribing them with his thanks to the almighty. he buried his leg in the churchyard, and ten years later was himself laid beside it as alderman of richmond, a man of note and substance, as his will shows; and a piece of plate bequeathed to the corporation is still in their possession. nothing need be said, or rather nothing can be said, here of the upper course of the swale growing wilder as it approaches its romantic source upon the borders of westmoreland in the clefts of the pennine range above kirby stephen. a mile or more down the river from richmond, set upon the edge of the stream, whose amber waters here as everywhere fret and foam beside them, stand the still ample ruins of easby abbey. founded in , it was richly endowed by the scropes, many [illustration: the swale, easby abbey, yorkshire] [illustration] of whom lie here in untraceable graves. it was occupied by canons of the præmonstratentian order. the entrance gateway is still practically perfect, and throughout the buildings there are evidences of considerable magnificence: fine window tracery, groined arches, and the walls of one room of the monastery over feet long, still in good preservation. large portions of the guesting hall, the frater house, and the chapter-house are standing. the mass, as a whole, makes a most imposing picture in this scene of quiet peace beside the babbling river. to say that one yorkshire dale is like another would be a poor way of expressing the fact that all are beautiful to those over whom moorlands and solitude cast their spell--the present writer, as no doubt will have been gathered from these pages, belonging very much to that particular following. so with the reader's leave we will conclude this chapter on yorkshire rivers with a few words about the most northerly, and in some ways the most distinguished of all of them, to wit, the tees. however much moderns may carp at sir walter scott's free-flowing verse, he struck the note that flings the glamour of action and romance over natural scenery in a way that no other british poet of recent times has approached. comparison, though, is of course absurd. it is easy enough to pick to pieces, under the canons of poetic art, scott's simple stirring rhyme and his pages of sustained cadence. swinburne was undoubtedly a greater poet. swinburne, too, was a northumbrian of northumbrians by birth, and has written several much-admired poems on the borderland of his fathers, but the poet lived for choice in putney. genius though swinburne was, it is not in the least likely that his verse will in any way contribute to the greater glory of rede or tyne--nor in his case because it lacks lucidity, cadence, or vigour, or is in the least obscure. perhaps as a rough basis for deductions that we are not concerned with, and which, after all, are dependent on varying temperaments, one may remark that it is impossible to conceive walter scott living in a london suburb! the personality of the man is so absolutely in harmony with the atmosphere through which his stirring verses move. that atmosphere is essentially of the north--not the north of an august holiday as interpreted by some minor poet of "precious" utterance, who probably despises scott, but a rugged all-the-year-round north, rejoiced in by a son of the soil with a mind imaginative, [illustration: high force, tees, yorkshire] [illustration] robust, and racy. here was a genius that baffles all the latter-day critics who, with easy logic, pulverise the hopelessly lucid and deplorably musical measures of _marmion_ or the _lady of the lake_. they have much within them, no doubt, but not the root of the matter to which scott appeals, and it is their misfortune. they could not see the tweed, the tees, or a northern dale through the glasses in which scott beheld them to save their lives. the sense is denied them, withered possibly in the attenuated atmosphere of a hot-house civilization. whether the appeal of scott can be called popular in the ordinary meaning, i doubt; but there are thousands of persons even yet to whom the sense is not denied, and to whom a landscape or a noble sweep of river valley is not merely a subject for a painter's brush or for a sonnet, but something infinitely more. a sense of the past would inadequately perhaps represent the quality of the missing ingredient, and one, much more often implanted than cultivated in the human breast, which those denied it cannot distinguish from what appears to them a merely tiresome taste for history or archæology, but is in fact a deep emotion. scott, of course, had it prodigiously, and his appeal is made to those who, without his gifts, share in this particular his temperament. to such at least he is infinitely and always stimulating. he is absolutely the right man in the right place. if his verse has the demerit of being lucid and musical, he is not assuming to interpret nature, to suggest problems, or to pronounce conundrums. your mood wants none of the two last, and may have its own conceptions of the first. but scott is playing, as it were, a fine melody in harmony with the streams, the mountains, and the woods, and you feel that the musician is a master of his subject. the music may not be classical, but somehow it makes every subject that it touches classic. the upper tees has been thus illumined. _rokeby_, to be sure, is not so inspiring a lay as _marmion_, nor so familiar. but it has at least made the tees classic ground. the songs, no doubt, are forgotten. two or three generations have passed away since young ladies sang in drawing-rooms of how "brignall woods were fresh and fair and greta woods were green," and that they would "rather rove with edmund there than reign an english queen," and were succeeded at the piano by young gentlemen with melting tenors who replied with: o lady, twine no wreath for me, or twine it of the cypress tree. these were but the culled flowers of the lay which in six cantos achieved a wide popularity and took scott sixteen months to write. for myself, i turn to the tees with a touch of personal sentiment that in my case the other yorkshire streams do not arouse--for the simple but sufficient reason that it was my privilege in youth, and with the glamour of _rokeby_ fresher, alas! than now, to follow the river more than once to its fountain-head, and to spend more than one night in rough quarters amid the dalesmen within sound of the thunder of cauldron snout. the tees rises under crossfell, that monarch of the pennine range whose rounded summit contrasts so painfully with the rugged crests of the lake mountains, whose altitude it emulates beyond the eden. but for the whole miles of its course, before it makes the fine though broken plunge of feet at cauldron snout, its surroundings are wild indeed--a waste of rolling moors and of black bogs carrying great stocks of grouse; while below cauldron, in the partially tamed treeless valley spreading downwards to high force, are specks of whitewashed houses flecking here and there the bare stone-wall country. as the tees approaches the cliff at the cauldron, it lingers for a long distance in a most unnaturally sluggish deep, black and gloomy in appearance from the peaty water and known as the weald, or wheale. great trout, in contrast to the little fellows in the rapid streams below the falls, were supposed to lurk here, and expectancy, when a wind curled its surly surface, accompanied the alighting cast--with but slight justification, if memory serves me right. some of the highest fells in yorkshire are about us here, micklefell reaching the altitude of feet. below the falls the maze beck runs in, of importance merely as dividing the counties of westmoreland and yorkshire, and, as the east bank of the tees is in durham, creating a point where three counties meet. an extremely probable incident used to be told of a sportsman who had flushed some grouse or partridges in durham, having dropped his right bird in westmoreland and his left in yorkshire. from cauldron snout to the great falls of the tees at high force is about miles, and the bed of the river is thickly obstructed for much of the way by the roundest and most slippery boulders i have ever encountered in any mountain river, the brown water slipping in a thousand obscure runlets between them. [illustration: the tees, cotherstone, yorkshire] [illustration] the whitewash which has always marked the duke of cleveland's buildings is distinctly effective on the wide treeless waste, while some fine crags known as falcon clints follow its course and overlook the tees on the yorkshire side. high force is fortunately depicted on these pages more effectively than words could serve such a purpose. cauldron snout is, i think, the highest cataract in england with any volume of water, and high force is certainly the finest one on a good-sized river, no slight vaunt for a single stream within the space of half a dozen miles. a good deal has been done in the way of ornamental planting around high force, while a hotel, once a shooting-box of the duke of cleveland, has stood here ever since i can remember. one is now getting into the _rokeby_ country, for a few miles down is middleton, a large village and the chief centre of upper teesdale. looming on the west are the wild highlands of lune and stainmore forests. to the east are more wilds that lead over to the wear valley at st. john's and stanhope, while near middleton comes in the "silver lune from stainmore wild." the tees grows apace in volume, and at barnard castle both the famous fortress and the fast-swelling river contribute to the measure and quality of the striking picture they together make. the castle stands on the durham bank of the tees and derives its name from its scottish founder, barnard balliol. like every other northern fortress, particularly as one on the wrong side of the river, it had its troubles in the long scottish wars and raids. the county of durham, the fat palatinate of an always mighty bishop, was struck at by every generation of scottish raiders that broke through the northumbrian marches. like many other castles in this country, too, it was brought to richard iii. by his wife anne neville. the visitor may still climb the tower with scott's warder and survey the beauteous scene with, no doubt, a far greater measure of appreciation than any felt by that romantic figure. where tees full many a fathom low wears with his rage no common foe, nor pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, nor clay mound checks his fierce career. condemned to mine a channell'd way o'er solid sheets of marble grey. this applies to the course of the river a little below barnard castle, where the hard limestone is freely mixed with marble and gives a fine blend of colouring to the bed of the river. [illustration: the tees, barnard castle, durham] [illustration] from this same castle tower, too, in the words of scott: nor tees alone in dawning bright shall rush upon the ravished sight, but many a tributary stream each from its own dark dell shall gleam. but the greta, on whose banks rokeby, as well as the fortified manor-house of mortham, still in good repair, are situated, comes in just below barnard castle; a lovely stream roaring between rocky terraces, sweeping the base of limestone cliffs and burrowing in the dark shadow of luxuriant woods. the beautiful grounds of rokeby which include the greta are much, i think, as they were when scott stayed here with his friend mr. morritt the owner. there has always seemed to me a suggestion of bathos in associating the scene of rokeby and greta banks with _nicholas nickleby_ and the hideous but world-famous picture of dotheboys hall. but the great old bare posting-house at greta bridge, where dickens stayed, is still standing and much furbished up as the "morritt arms." there seems no doubt that this arcadian corner of yorkshire had a justifiably evil reputation for institutions of the kind. in a letter written from here by dickens to his wife but eight years after _rokeby_ was published, he describes with some humour having actually travelled up on the coach with the proprietress of one of them who gradually drank herself into a state of happy insensibility. one would fain, i think, associate the tees with the flavour of _rokeby_ rather than of dotheboys hall, with bertram rather than with squeers! a spot more profoundly out of touch with a dickens atmosphere it would be difficult to find in all england. the ruins of eggleston abbey are here too on the banks of tees, and the remains of a roman station at greta bridge. these upper reaches by no means exhaust either the beauty or the interest of the tees, but henceforth the scenery becomes lower and less inspiring, and the high romance fades as the river pursues a more conventional course towards the busy town of darlington. [illustration: the stour, bergholt, suffolk] [illustration] [illustration: the ouse, near st. ives, huntingdonshire] [illustration] chapter ix an east anglian river the ouse may fairly be called the most characteristic of east anglian rivers, as it is unquestionably the most important of them. for in its higher reaches it has all of such sober charms as the leisurely streams of the east may boast of, while in its lower ones it loses itself in the great artificial canal-like arteries by which it drains the fen country. it rises near brackley in northamptonshire, begins to assert itself as it passes the town of buckingham, and by the time it reaches olney, of name familiar as the home of the poet cowper, is large enough to be a prominent note in the landscape. a dozen times, within as many recent years, it so happens i have come down the hill into olney from the north and have learned to hail as a welcome relief to a not very stimulating miles of midland highway, the pleasing view which the ouse here discloses on a sunshiny day, spreading its bright coil down the valley below to where in fine isolation the great parish church stands beside its banks. the ouse, from its source to its mouth, is at least distinguished for the character and variety of the ancient towns it washes. olney, a quiet typical little old-world country town, of a single street, has lately asserted its position so vigorously as the shrine of cowper that the world which had begun to forget the fact is not likely, with its new passion for tardy justice to inadequately honoured celebrities, to forget it again. from olney to bedford, some dozen miles, is perhaps the prettiest stage of the ouse. at the delectable and ornate village of turvey there is a fine whirling mill-pool, and through the meadows beyond and particularly about bromham, there is some very charming river scenery of the willow, the mill-pool, and the country-house type. in bedford, through which town it flows, the ouse is a conspicuous and ornamental feature. indeed, it may be truly said to adorn every town it touches. the old bridge, the long reach bordered with pleasant houses or bowery garden walls, the life stirring upon it incidental to a great educational centre given much to boating, are all of an inspiring [illustration: the ouse, huntingdonshire] [illustration] kind. but bedford is, of course, a unique type of place: an old town which would no doubt be given over to john bunyan, as its obscure neighbour olney is to cowper, if the presence of some school boys and girls and their much less occupied belongings had not submerged its past in a whirl of modernity at work or play. gliding slowly onward, full of lusty chub and hungry pike, of bream and roach, amid scenery that a certain school of landscape painter dearly loves, and so slowly that the weeds in places almost choke its bed, the ouse drops down another dozen miles to st. neots. this place, which seems to have some affinity with the same saint that is honoured in a cornish town, is very much on the ouse. it is a fine broad river by this time and washes the back gardens of the houses as you enter the main street of the town, which is dominated by an imposing church of the late perpendicular period. hence both the highway and the great northern main line follow the valley of the ouse to huntingdon. much the most important person--though of course fortuitously so, and merely because he kept an invaluable journal which has escaped destruction--associated with this stage of the river is samuel pepys, whose house at brampton is still standing. at godmanchester, only a mile short of huntingdon, the ouse contributes more conspicuously than ever, assisted by a great mill-pool, to the beautifying of an old-fashioned place where, as at st. neots, and just beyond at huntingdon, are numbers of those pleasant old eighteenth or early nineteenth century residences standing just back from the road in well-timbered grounds or bowery gardens. huntingdon follows quickly, and of course the memory of the great protector altogether dwarfs that of the poet cowper, who resided here with the unwins in a house still standing near the church before he moved to olney. one ought to quote one or other of the various lines and couplets that this very gentle bard has devoted, incidentally as it were, to this very gentle stream. but it is not, i think, fair to a poet of merit and letter-writer of much more than merit, to print fragments that, taken by themselves, have in this case none whatever. but huntingdon bridge with its six arches is much older than either cowper or cromwell, being almost certainly of early mediæval origin. in the heart of the pleasant town, where its long narrow high street opens into a square, is "all saints church," with its battlements and crocketts and its fifteenth-century origin written all over it. [illustration: the ouse, houghton mill, huntingdonshire] [illustration] immediately opposite is the little old grammar school where both cromwell and pepys--the latter before going to westminster--were educated; a beautiful little twelfth-century building with a recessed and lavishly moulded norman doorway surmounted by norman windows and arcading. originally the hospital of st. john the baptist, when the writer visited it recently the voice of the pedagogue, mingling with that unmistakable subdued murmur of schoolboys in their bridled hours, met us at the entrance in a manner so appropriate to the retrospective nature of the fabric as to more than make up for the loss of anything to be seen inside. hinchinbrook, now and since the cromwells sold it prior to the civil war, the home of the earls of sandwich, is the "great house" of the huntingdon neighbourhood. many will have to be reminded that the cromwells were not such by actual right of name, but were descended from one williams, a cadet of a respectable glamorganshire family who, as a relative and favourite of the great thomas cromwell, earl of essex, took his name for obviously practical purposes. this richard cromwell, _alias_ williams, acquired much church property at the dissolution, hinchinbrook among the plums. a man of parts, he became great and wealthy. his son sir henry more than sustained his reputation, and built the great mansion more or less as we see it now at hinchinbrook. royalty was several times entertained there, but with the third generation and sir oliver, that knight's continuously lavish living caused the transfer of the property to the montagues. his younger brother robert, however, had a generous portion in the huntingdon estate, as every one knows except some foolish people who think because his only son oliver is supposed to have had a brewery, and certainly was also a farmer, that he was not what the world calls a gentleman. cromwell's position was of course far better than that of most younger sons of landed families, who had rarely any land and were only too glad of an opening in trade--even a humble one. for half a dozen miles through a flat country the road follows the ouse to st. ives. on the farther bank are the two hemingfords, where tall luxuriant timber, mellow old buildings of various degrees, a large mill and wide-spreading mill-pool and forests of tall reeds, strike a fine contrasting note amid the far-spreading meadows. as you approach st. ives, a huge old tithe barn at some cross roads would arrest the attention from any distance. it is called [illustration: the ouse, hemingford abbots, huntingdonshire] [illustration] after the protector from a tradition that within it he drilled his first local levies. st. ives had no connection, like st. neots, with the cornish equivalent, but finds its origin in the incredible visitations of a persian missioner, one ivo. however that may be, the town was known till near cromwell's day as slepe, and at slepe hall, a large mansion within it only removed in modern times, the protector dwelt when he was farming the surrounding lands. the town of course contains abundant matters of interest, but is in itself perhaps less attractive to the passing visitor than those higher up the ouse. but the river itself, now increased considerably here, makes the finest display of all, skirting the houses in wider current and spanned by a bridge of six arches very like its fellow at huntingdon. two of the arches are of only queen anne date, but the others are lost in the mists of time. the special feature of the bridge, however, is a curious sexagonal chapel of apparently four stories and one room thick. it was originally a chapel, but since the dissolution has served in many capacities--even that of a public-house--and is now a private dwelling. at the end of the bridge is an ancient tudor building once the manor house. altogether the bridge at st. ives with its fine swell of waters, its old quays and gable ends on one bank and pendent trees on the other, with the view upstream over spreading meadows and down-stream towards the spacious fen lands, is a notable one, a paradise for oarsmen and the joy of the bottom fisher. in the market-place of st. ives, too, stands a statue to cromwell on the strength of his long residence here and general association with the neighbourhood. many, no doubt, of those who formed the early companies and troops of the "new model" came from st. ives. the parish church is a fine specimen of the decorated style, while its tower has had the unusual experience of losing two spires by wind and collapse in quite modern times. one is here at the very edge of cambridgeshire, and well on towards the fen country. the ouse below st. ives is no longer confined to its natural course, but canalised and manipulated in various ways for drainage purposes of this great far-reaching fen-land. it is about miles from here to ely by road, and the journey along it takes the traveller into another kind of country from the ordinary grass and fallow and timbered hedgerow, sometimes flat and sometimes undulating through which the ouse has hitherto meandered. [illustration: the ouse, near holywell, huntingdonshire] [illustration] it must be conceded that the fen country is forbidding. no doubt it has its compensating moments and aspects, but the intervals of waiting for them must be oppressive. enthusiasts may be heard anon chanting its praises (theoretically) even as a region of permanent abode, but there is not a little posing nowadays in such matters. in the middle ages in the dead of winter the fen country must have been imposing; but the fen from st. ives to ely in the height of summer, with its continuously unfenced cultivation, its ever-recurring grain-fields, its lack of wood and of english landscape-graces generally, is very depressing. it is most interesting, however, to watch the isle of ely rising out of the fat levels and drawing gradually nearer till the road itself at last rises on to it, and the beautiful cathedral, lifted high above the fen-land and above the east anglian levels that are not fen, looks southward to where the striking mass of king's chapel rises beneath the faint smoke-cloud which marks the famous town of cambridge. we meet the ouse again at ely. since university rowing began it has been associated with cambridge as an object of pilgrimage to enterprising oarsmen, and in a more professional way the time-honoured seat of the annual race between the university trial eights. for i trust it is not necessary to remind the reader that the river cam or granta flows into the ouse near ely. at this preternaturally quiet and diminutive little cathedral town we must leave the ouse to find its devious and much-bridled way to king's lynn and to the north sea. ely cathedral is, of course, distinguished for the abundance of perfect norman work that survives within it, while the old red brick episcopal palace contiguous to it, and the precincts generally, with their snug gardens and whispering leaves, are, as in such a place they should be, the veritable haunts of ancient peace. [illustration: the stour, near dedham, essex] [illustration] index _the references in black type refer to illustrations._ abbot lichfield, abbot's cleeve, abbots worthy, aberedw, , , abergwessin, aberystwith, adur, the, aire, the, allen, the, , aln, the, , alnwick, , alresford, , , , alston, amberley, , amesbury, , , , , amesbury abbey, apperley court, appleby, appledore, arley, , armstrongs, the, arrow, the, arun, the, , = =, = =, , , arundel, , , ashelworth ferry, ashford, astley, atcham, avebury, , avington park, avon, the bristol, , , , = = the devon, , , , the salisbury, , = =, , - , , , - , , , , , = =, , avon, the stratford, axe, the, = =, , aylesford, aymestry, aysgarth force, badgworthy, , balliol, barnard, barden, , barden tower, baring-gould, barle, the, , , , barnard castle, , barnstaple, , barnstaple bay, bassenthwaite, bath, , , battlefield church, becket, thomas à, , bedford, , duke of, , bellingham, bemerton, bere alston, berkshire, , berry pomeroy, bettons, beult, the, bewcastle, bewley, , , , , bickleigh, bideford, , , , bidford, birlingham, birmingham, , , , bishopstoke, blackmore, black mountains, , , , , , blaen hafryn, blencowe, bloody meadow, bolland, bolton abbey, , , , castle, hall, , border rivers, the, - boughrood, bournemouth, box hill, brackley, bradford, , , brampton, brathay, the, , = = bray, the, , brecon, , , brede, the, bredon hill, , bredwardine, breiddon hills, , brendon, brent, , , , brent tor, bridgenorth, bridge sollars, brighton, brinkburn priory, bristol, , , , , channel, , , broadway, bromham, bromleys, brougham, , castle, broughton-in-furness, brown willy, browne, william, bruce, buckfastleigh, buckingham, , budleigh, buildwas, builth, "builth rocks," bunyan, john, burgh, hubert de, buttermere, byford, caermarthen, caldbeck, calder, the, , caldron snout, , , calne, calstock, cam, the, cambridge, camden, candover, canterbury, , , , cathedral, caradoc, cardigan, carlisle, , , , , carter fell, castle hill, chadbury mill, chalk streams, the, - challacombe, , charles ii., , , chartham, chatham, , chepstow, , , castle, = =, , chesters, cheviots, the, , , , , , , chilham, chillingham, chipchase castle, chippenham, chirbury, chisenbury, christchurch, , civil war, claerwen, the, clare, clarendon, lord, clares, the, claverings, the, cleeve, prior, , cleveland hills, duke of, clifford, clifford, black, castle, henry lord, cliffords, the, clifton, clitheroe, , , clun, clywedog, the, coalbrook dale, coalport, cobbett, cobbett's _rural ride_, cocker, the, cockermouth, cogham, coleridges, the, colne, the, combertons, the, condover brook, coombe martin, coquet, the, , , , , , , , corbridge, cornwall, , , , , cotehele, cotswolds, the, , cowper, the poet, , , , craven country, cromwell, , , , , , , , cromwell, sir henry, cropthorne, crossfell, , , crummock, cuckmere, the, , cumberland, , , cwm elan, dacre, fortalice of, dacre, lord, danby, darenth, the, darlington, , dart, the, , , , = =, , , , dartford, dartington hall, dartmeet, dartmoor, , , , , , dartmouth, , , dean, forest of, , , deerhurst, de quincey, derwent, derbyshire, the, _frontispiece_, = =, , , , the borrowdale, = =, = = the eastern, derwentwater, , devon, the rivers of, - devonshire, - duke of, dickens, , dilston, dinton, dipford, dipton dene, dittisham, doldowlod, dore, the, dorset, , dove, the, = = douglas, downton, drake, sir francis, , , duddon, the, dudley, earls of, dulverton, durham, , , , , durrington, eamont, the, easby abbey, ebbsfleet, eden, the, , , = =, = =, , , edgcumbe, edgehill, , edw, the, edward i., , , , ii., iii., iv., eggesford, eggleston abbey, ehen, the, elan, the, , , elfrida, queen, elizabeth, queen, , , ellenborough, lord, elmley castle, ely, , cathedral, endsleigh, enford, ennerdale, epynt, the, , erme, the, , , = = erwood, rapids of, esher, esk, cumberland, the, , the yorkshire, etheldreda, queen, evesham, , , , , exe, the, , , = =, = =, , exeter, , , , exmoor, , , , , , , exmouth, falcon clints, faversham, fawcett, prof., featherstonhaughs, the, , felton bridge, figheldean, fitzhamon, robert, fladbury, fleet, fleetwood, flodden, , , fonthill, fordingbridge, fortescues, the, fountains abbey, gade, the, gaunt, john of, gay, the poet, geoffrey of monmouth, , , giggleswick, gilpin, dr., gilsland, gisburn, glamorgan, glasbury, , gloucester, , cathedral, glyndwr, owen, , godmanchester, godmersham, goodrich castle, grahams of netherby, granham hill, greta, , gretna green, greystone bridge, , grosmont castle, guy's cliff, hafryn, the, hallow park, haltwhistle, , hamoaze, the, = = hampshire, , , harrogate, , hartlebury castle, haughmond hill, haweswater, hawkins, hay, , , haydon bridge, headbourne, headons mouth, heale, helvellyn, hemingfords, the, henry iii., , henry iv., , , henry vi., , henry vii., , , henry viii., herbert, george, herbert, lord, of chirbury, hereford, , , , , , cathedral, herefordshire, , , , heron family, hertford, lord and lady, , hertfordshire, hexham, , , , , , , , , abbey, battle of, hexhamshire, , heytesbury, high force, , , hinchinbrook, hodder, the, holm lacy, holne, holne chase, holt, castle, homildon hill, honddu, the, , horton manor, hotspur, , , , , houghton castle, huish, humber, the, , hungerford, huntingdon, , hutton john house, hyde, mrs., ingilbys, the, instow, irfon, the, irt, the, irthling, the, , itchen, the, , , , = =, , , , = =, , abbas, , , stoke, ithon, the, ivybridge, james ii., jervaulx abbey, katharine of arragon, kendal, kennet, the, , , , , , , , , , kent, , , , , kentchurch court, kerry, hills, keswick, greta, keynsham, kingsbridge, kingsley, charles, , king's lynn, kings nympton, kintbury, kirby stephen, kirkoswald, , , knaresborough, , , lacock, abbey, lake district, , house, lancashire, , lanfranc, langdale pikes, launceston, , lawes, lazonby, leamington, leatherhead, leeds, , leith hill stream, a, = = leven, the, lew, the, lewes, , liddel, the, liddesdale, littlecote, , wild darrell of, littlehampton, , , llangurig, llanidloes, , llanthony abbey, llewelyn iii., "the great," llyfni, the, llysdinam, llywarch hen, loddiswell, longford, longmynd, _lorna doone_, , lowther, the, ludlow, lugg, the, lune, the, , lydbrooke junction, lydd, the, , lynmouth, , , lynn, the, , = =, , lynton, , maidstone, , malmesbury, malvern hills, , manningford bruce, mardale, margaret, queen, , marlborough, , , , college, , downs, , _marmion_, marmions, the, marston moor, marteg, the, martinsell, mary queen of scots, mary tavy, masham, massey, mayhill, maze beck, meavy, the, medway, the, , , , , = =, , , = =, = = meole, meschines, william de, micklefell, middleham, middlesborough, middleton, milton, moat lane, moccas, mole, the, , monington, monmouth, , , , , "monmouth caps," monmouthshire, monnow, the, , = =, , montagues, the, montgomery castle, , , roger of, montgomeryshire, , , , morecambe bay, , morritt, mr., mortimers, the, cross, morwell, moulsey, mowbray, vale of, much wenlock priory, musgraves, the, mytton, the governor of shrewsbury, nadder, the, naseby, , , netheravon, , , neville, anne, neville's cross, newbiggin, newbury, newby bridge, newcastle, , , , new forest, , newhaven, , newtown, nidd, the, , , , = =, , , northamptonshire, , northumberland, , , , norton, offa's dyke, offenham, okehampton, , okement, the, = =, , , olney, , , , ombersley, otter, the, otterburn, ouse, the east anglian, = =, , = =, , , , = =, , = =, , , = =, the sussex, , = =, , , = = the yorkshire, , , , pant-y-dwr, pateley bridge, peel, john, peel-towers, pegwell bay, pembroke, anne, countess of, pendle hill, pennine range, , , , , , , , , penrith, , penruddocks, the, penshurst, pepys, samuel, , percies, the, , , , pershore, , petteril, the, pewsey, , piers gaveston, "pilgrims' way," pinkerry, plinlimmon, , , , , plym, the, plymouth, , , , , , , , pontrilas, popham, portinscale, portsmouth arms, lord, powick, bridge, powis castle, powys fadog, preshute, presteign, preston, , , prudhoe, pudsay's leap, pudsays, the, pulborough, queensbury, duke and duchess of, radnorshire, , , moors, , , , raleigh, ramsbury, chase, ramsgate, ravenglass, reading, redbrook, rede, the, , , , , redesdale, - , redgauntlet, redhill, reedsmouth, reidseweir, rhayader, , , ribble, the, , , , , richard iii., richmond, yorks, , , , , , castle, ridleys, ringwood, , , ripley (yorkshire), ripon, , , , , cathedral, marquis of, robertsbridge, rob roy, rochester, , , roger, archbishop, , _rokeby_, , , rokeby house, roman wall, , , , , romney marsh, , romsey abbey, rosamond, fair, roses, war of the, , , ross, , , , , "ross, man of," rossthwaite, rothay, the, rothbury, rother, the eastern and western , , , = =, rupert, prince, , russells, the, rutupium, rye, , , st. augustine, , , st. cross, st. ives, , , , bridge, st. john's, st. neots, , st. wilfrid, , , salcombe, salisbury, , , , , , salisbury plain, , , , , salkeld, sandwich, , , earls of, savernake forest, , scafell, scarborough, scott, sir walter, , , , , , , , scotts of buccleuch, the, scropes, the, , , seaford, seaton, settle, severn, the, - , = =, = =, = =, = = severn "bore," seymours, the, shakespeare, , , , sharpham, sharpness point, shawford, shawley, sheppey island, shoreham, , shrawley wood, shrewsbury, , , , , shropshire, , sidmouth, sidney, sir philip, , simon-de-montfort, simonsbath, sittingbourne, skell, the, skelwith force, = = skenfrith castle, skiddaw, , forest, skipton, slepe hall, slingsby family, solway, , somerset, , protector, southey, , south hams, , stainmore forests, stanhope, stapleton on the wiley, = = staverton, stonehenge, , stonyhurst college, stour, the kent, , , , , , , the midlands, the suffolk, = =, = = stourport, stratford, , , , , stridd, the, studley royal, surrey, , , sussex, , , , swale, the, , , , , = =, , = =, , = =, , = = swinburne, symond's yat, , , tal-y-llyn, lake of, tamar, the, , , , = =, , , , , = =, , , , , , , tanfield, tower of, tate, canon, tavistock, , , , , , , , , abbey, tavy, the, , , , = =, , tavy cleeve, taw, the, , , tees, the, , , , = =, , , , = =, , = =, teise, the, teme, , , , tenbury, test, the, , , , , , tewkesbury, , , , , tewkesbury abbey, , , battle of, thames, the, = =, = =, = =, = =, = =, , , , thirsk, thomson, the poet, tichbourne, tilbury, till, the, , , , tillingham, the, tintern abbey, , , , tiverton, torridge, the, , , , , torrington, , totnes, , , trafalgar, trent, the, = = trowbridge, tunbridge, turvey, tweed, the, tweedmouth, tyne, the, = =, , , , the north, , , , , , , , , , , "tynesider, the," tyne, the south, , , , , , , , ullswater, unwins, the, upavon, upton on severn, ure, the, , , = =, , , = =, uriconium, , usk, the, vyrnwy, the, waddington, walkham, the, , , wallace, wandsbeck, the, warden woods, wardour, wark, warkworth , town of, warminster, , warwick, castle, wastwater, watermouth, watling street, wear, the, wellford bridge, welshpool, wenlock edge, wensley dale, , westbury, westerham, westmoreland, , , , wey, the, , = =, = = whalley, wharfe, the, , = =, , = =, , , , , = =, , whitby, whitchurch, whitecliff scaur, whitley, whittington, wiley, the, , , , william, williance, williemoteswyke, wilton, , , house, wiltshire, , , , , , , , , , winchelsea, winchester, , , , windermere, , woodleigh, wooler, wooler burn, worcester, , , , , , battle of, , cathedral, worcestershire, wordsworth, , , , workington, worthing, wrekin, wye, the, = =, - , = =, = =, = =, = =, wyndcliff, , wyndhams, the, wyre forest, wyvern, sir thomas, yalding, yanwath, yeoford junction, yes tor, york, yorkshire, , yorkshire dales, - the end _printed by_ r. & r. clark, limited, _edinburgh_. transcriber's note: ################### this e-text is based on the edition of the book. minor punctuation errors have been tacitly corrected. inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling have been retained. italic text has been symbolised by underscores (_italic_); forward slashes represent small caps (/small caps/). caret symbols (^) signify subsequent superscript characters; oe ligatures have been substituted by the symbol [oe]. the following passages have been corrected or need to be commented: # p. vii (list of illustrations and maps; rivers of cornwall: 'new bridge' has been removed; there is no such illustration. # p. : 'as you please': 'e' had been printed upside down; this has been corrected # p. (caption): 'p. ' --> 'p. ' # p. : 'seige' --> 'siege' # p. : 'muninipal' --> 'municipal' # p. : 'page ' --> 'page ' # p. : 'are still call' --> 'are still called' # p. : 'an the bullocks' --> 'and the bullocks'; 'owers' --> 'towers' # p. (index): 'wynn, sir watkin willliams' --> 'wynn, sir watkin williams' the rivers of great britain _uniform with this work._ the royal river: /the thames from source to sea/. with several hundred original illustrations. _original edition_, £ s. "its illustrations surpass all that have previously adorned any book on the same subject"--_daily telegraph._ rivers of the east coast. with numerous highly finished engravings. _original edition_, £ s. "we have read with the greatest interest 'the rivers of the east coast of great britain.' all the articles are by pleasant writers, and the pages are lavishly illustrated by engravings after photographs."--_the times._ _popular editions of the above can also be obtained._ cassell & company, /limited/, _london; paris and melbourne._ [illustration] the /rivers of great britain/ descriptive, historical, pictorial _rivers of the south and west coasts_ [illustration] /cassell and company, limited/ _london, paris & melbourne_ all rights reserved [illustration] contents. the southern chalk streams.--_by william senior._ page general characteristics--the /canterbury stour/ and its branches: ashford and jack cade--horton and lyminge--canterbury--fordwich and izaak walton--isle of thanet--minster. the /lesser stour/: "bourne ground"--sandwich. the /brede/. the /rother/: bodiam--isle of oxney--winchelsea--seaford. the /cuckmere/: alfriston and lullington. /the ouse/: st. leonard's forest--fletching--maresfield--lewes. the /adur/: bramber--shoreham. the /arun/: amberley--arundel--littlehampton. hampshire rivers--the /arle/: the meon district--wickham and the bishop-builder--titchfield. the /itchen/: a curious example of instinct--alresford pond--cheriton--tichborne--the winnal reaches--winchester and izaak walton--st. cross--st. catherine's hill--southampton. the /test/: romsey and its abbey. the /beaulieu/: beaulieu abbey. the /lymington/ and the /medina/--the /hampshire avon/ and the /stour/: christchurch--salisbury--wimborne. the /frome/: dorchester--mr. hardy's country--poole harbour rivers of devon.--_by w. w. hutchings._ general characteristics--sources of the devon streams: exmoor and dartmoor. the /otter/: ottery saint mary and samuel taylor coleridge. exmoor streams:--the /exe/: its source in the chains--the barle--the batherm--tiverton and peter blundell--bickleigh bridge and the "king of the gipsies"--the culm--exeter--countess weir--exmouth. the /lyn/: oareford--the doone country--malmsmead--watersmeet--lyndale--lynton and lynmouth. dartmoor streams:--the /teign/: wallabrook--chagford--fingle bridge--chudleigh--the bovey--newton abbot--teignmouth. the /dart/: holne chase--buckfast abbey--dartington hall--totnes--the lower reaches--dartmouth. the tavy. the /taw/: oxenham and its legend--barnstaple--lundy. the /torridge/: the okement--great torrington--bideford--hubbastone. the avon, erme, and yealm. the /plym/: dewerstone--the meavy and plymouth leat--plympton st. mary and plympton earl--the three towns rivers of cornwall.--_by hugh w. strong._ the minor streams of cornwall--the /tamar/: woolley barrows--morwellham and weir head--morwell rocks--harewood--calstock--cotehele--pentillie--confluence with the tavy--saltash--the hamoaze. the /fowey/: a change of name--st. neot--lostwithiel--fowey. the /fal/: fenton fal--tregony--truro--tregothnan--falmouth the parret and the lower avon.--_by hugh w. strong._ the /parret/: its source--muchelney abbey--the tone and taunton--athelney island and alfred the great--sedgemoor--bridgwater--burnham. the /lower avon/: escourt park--malmesbury--chippenham--melksham--bradford-on-avon--bath--the frome--beau nash--bridges at bath--the abbey church--bristol--st. mary redcliffe and chatterton--the cathedral--"the chasm"--clifton suspension bridge--the lower reaches--avonmouth the severn.--_by the rev. professor bonney, d.sc., f.r.s._ chapter i.--/from the source to tewkesbury./--birthplace of the severn--plinlimmon--blaenhafren--llanidloes--caersws--newtown-- montgomery--welshpool--powys castle--the breidden hills--the vyrnwy. distant views--shrewsbury--haughmond hill--the caradoc hills--atcham--wroxeter--condover--the wrekin--benthall and wenlock edges--buildwas abbey--coalbrook dale--ironbridge--broseley and benthall--coalport--bridgnorth--quatford--forest of wyre--bewdley--stourport--worcester--the teme--ludlow--tewkesbury chapter ii.--/the upper or warwickshire avon./--the watershed of central england--naseby--rugby--the swift--lutterworth and wiclif--stoneleigh abbey and kenilworth castle--guy's cliff--the leam--warwick and its castle--stratford-on-avon and its shakespeare associations--evesham--pershore--tewkesbury chapter iii.--/from tewkesbury to the sea./--deerhurst-- gloucester--the "bore"--may hill--minsterworth--westbury-on-severn --newnham--berkeley castle--lydney--sharpness--the severn tunnel-- the estuary--a vanished river the wye.--_by e. w. sabel._ "the notorious hill of plinlimmon"--the stronghold of owen glendower--llangurig--rhayader gwy--llyn-gwyn--the elan, the ithon, and the yrfon--llandrindod--builth--aberedw and the last prince of wales--hay--clifford castle and the fair rosamond--hereford--the lug--"the wonder"--ross and john kyrle--goodrich castle--coldwell rocks--symond's yat--monmouth--the monnow, the dore, and the llonddu--wordsworth's great ode--tintern abbey--the wyndcliff--chepstow--the lower reaches the usk.--_by e. w. sabel._ the black mountains--trecastle--the gaer--brecon--the brecknock beacons--crickhowell--abergavenny--usk--caerleon and the arthurian legend--christchurch--newport rivers of south wales.--_by charles edwardes._ brecknock beacons--the /taff/: taff fawr and taff fechan--cardiff reservoirs--merthyr--the dowlais steel and iron works--the rhondda--pontypridd--castell coch--llandaff and its cathedral--cardiff and its castle. the /neath/: ystradfellte--the mellte and its affluents--the cwm porth--waterfalls and cascades--the sychnant--pont neath vaughan--neath and its abbey--the dulas and the clydach. swansea and its docks--morriston castle--swansea castle--the mumbles and swansea bay. the /tawe/: craig-y-nos--lly-fan fawr. the /towy/: ystradffin--llandovery--llandilo--dynevor castle--carmarthen and richard steele--carmarthen bar. the /taff/: milford haven--carew castle--pembroke castle--monkton priory--new milford and old milford--haverfordwest. the /teifi/: strata florida abbey--newcastle emlyn--cenarth--cardigan. the /ystwith/: the upper waters--aberystwith rivers of north wales.--_by aaron watson._ chapter i.--/the dovey, the dysynni, the mawddach./--glories of a wet autumn in north wales. the /dovey/: source of the stream--dinas mowddwy--mallwyd--machynlleth. the /dysynni/: tal-y-llyn--the "bird rock"--towyn. the /mawddach/: the estuary--the wnion--torrent walk--dolgelley--precipice walk--the estuary--barmouth--harlech castle--portmadoc--glaslyn--tremadoc and shelley--the traeth bach chapter ii.--/the seiont, the ogwen, the conway./--the /seiont/: llanberis pass--lakes peris and padarn--dolbadarn castle and cennant mawr--carnarvon and its castle. the /ogwen/: llyn ogwen and llyn idwal--bethesda--penrhyn castle. the /llugwy/: capel curig--moel siabod--pont-y-cyfing--swallow falls--the miners' bridge--bettws-y-coed. the /lledr/: dolwyddelen--pont-y-pant. the /machno/ and its fall. the /conway/: fairy glen--llanrwst--gwydir castle--llanbedr--trefriw--conway marsh--conway castle and town--deganwy--llandudno chapter iii.--/the clwyd and the dee./--the /clwyd/: rhyl--rhuddlan castle--the elwy--a welsh gretna green--st. asaph--denbigh--ruthin. the /dee/: bala lake--corwen--vale of llangollen and valle crucis abbey--dinas bran--the ceiriog--chirk castle and wynnstay--the alyn--eaton hall--chester--flint the mersey.--_by w. s. cameron._ a modern river--derivations--the tame, the goyt, and the etherow--stockport--northenden--the irwell and its feeders--manchester and salford--the ship canal--bridges over the irwell--ordsall--eccles--barton--warburton--irlam--warrington-- latchford--runcorn and widnes--the weaver--eastham locks--liverpool and its growth--its docks and quays--birkenhead and its shipbuilding yards--new brighton--perch rock lighthouse rivers of lancashire and lakeland.--_by william senior._ a birthplace of rivers--the /ribble/: ribblehead-- horton-in-ribblesdale--survival of old traditions--hellifield--the hodder--stonyhurst and its college--the calder--burnley--towneley hall--preston--its development as a port. the /wyre/: poulton-le-fylde. the /lune/: kirkby lonsdale--the greta and the wenning--hornby castle--lancaster--morecambe bay--the journey from lancaster to ulverston in coaching days--shifting sands. the /kent/: kentmere--kendal. the gilpin and the winster. the /rothay/ and the /brathay/. grasmere and wordsworth--rydal water--ambleside--windermere. troutbeck. esthwaite water. the /leven/: newby bridge--the estuary. the /crake/: coniston water--coniston hall--brantwood and mr. ruskin. the /duddon/: wordsworth's sonnets. the /esk/ and the /irt/: wastwater. the /liza/: ennerdale water. the /ehen/: egremont castle. the /derwent/: the vale of st. john's--the greta and keswick--the view from castlerigg top--derwentwater rivers of the solway firth.--_by francis watt._ the firth--a swift tide. the /eden/: the eamont--eden hall--armathwaite--john skelton--wetheral and corby castle--the caldew and the petteril--greystoke castle--carlisle, its romance and history--_serva pactum_--"kinmont willie" and the "bauld buccleuch"--executions of jacobites--the carlisle of to-day--the sark--gretna green. the /liddel/--hermitage water and castle. the /esk/: the tarras--gilnockie tower--carlenrig and johnnie armstrong--young lochinvar--kirtle water and its tragic story. the /annan/: the land of the bruces--thomas carlyle. the /nith/: dumfries--burns's grave--robert bruce and the red cumyn--drumlanrig and caerlaverock castles--the cairn and its associations--the new abbey pow and sweetheart abbey. the /dee/: douglas tongueland--threave castle. the /cree/: newton stewart--the "cruives of cree." the /bladenoch/: the wigtown martyrs rivers of ayrshire.--_by john geddie._ poetic associations--headstreams of the ayrshire rivers--"the land of burns"--the ayr and the doon--sorn--catrine--ballochmyle-- mossgiel--mauchline--barskimming--coilsfield house and the fail water--the coyl--auchencruive--craigie--ayr--the doon the clyde.--_by john geddie._ clydesdale and its waters--"the hill of fire"--douglasdale--"castle dangerous"--bonnington linn--corra linn and "wallace's tower"--lanark--the mouse water--stonebyres linn--the nethan and "tillietudlem"--"the orchard of scotland"--hamilton and its palace--cadzow castle and its associations--bothwell brig and castle--blantyre--cambuslang--rutherglen--glasgow--the city and its history--the quays, docks, and shipbuilding yards--the work of the clyde navigation trust--govan and partick--the white cart--dumbarton rock and castle--the leven valley--ben and loch lomond--greenock--gourock--the firth at eventide list of illustrations and maps. /cader idris, from the dolgelley road/ _frontispiece._ _the southern chalk streams_:-- pages distant view of canterbury--rivers of kent and sussex(_map_) --arundel castle--sandwich: the old bridge and barbican--general view of winchester--st. catherine's hill--winchester cathedral-- southampton docks--the royal pier, southampton--southampton from the water--romsey abbey--christchurch abbey--rivers of hants and dorset (_map_)--a new forest stream--the avon at amesbury--salisbury cathedral--the frome at frampton court--dorchester from the frome--poole harbour--wimborne minster - _rivers of devon_:-- bideford bridge--rivers of devon (_map_)--the wear water-- exeter--exmouth, from the beacon--watersmeet--lynmouth and lynton--"clam" bridge over the wallabrook--fingle bridge-- teignmouth--new bridge--buckfastleigh--staverton--the island, totnes--totnes--dittisham--mouth of the dart--barnstaple, from the south walk--the torridge near torrington--the plym from cadaford bridge--in bickleigh vale--plympton earl--the hoe, plymouth - _rivers of cornwall_:-- danescombe--rivers of cornwall (_map_)--tavistock new bridge--morwell rocks--cargreen--the hamoaze, from saltash--the fal from tolverne--falmouth harbour--falmouth, from flushing - _the parret and the lower avon_:-- the isle of athelney--the parret and the lower avon (_map_) --taunton church--malmesbury abbey--the avon near tetbury-- bradford-on-avon church, from the north-east--the avon at bath-- view from north parade bridge, bath--view from the old city bridge, bath--bristol, from the site of the old drawbridge across the harbour--clifton suspension bridge - _the severn_:-- chapter i.--/from the source to tewkesbury./--source of the severn, plinlimmon--the severn, from the source to tewkesbury (_map_)--valley of the severn, from plinlimmon--the first house on the severn, blaenhafren--moel-y-golfa and breidden, from welshpool--the vyrnwy embankment, before the flooding of the valley--a quiet nook on the vyrnwy--the boat-house ferry, between welsh and english bridges--shrewsbury castle--quarry walk, shrewsbury--english bridge, shrewsbury--buildwas abbey--the severn from benthall edge--ironbridge--the severn in wyre forest--near shrawley--old houses at bewdley--worcester cathedral, from the severn--ludlow--the severn at tewkesbury - chapter ii.--/the upper or warwickshire avon./--the avon near rugby--the warwickshire avon (_map_)--warwick castle--the avon from warwick castle--stratford-on-avon church--shakespeare's house--the avon at stratford--evesham--the avon at tewkesbury - chapter iii.--/from tewkesbury to the sea./--distant view of tewkesbury--the severn, from tewkesbury to the sea (_map_)--gloucester--the severn bridge, sharpness - _the wye_:-- a bend of the wye--views in the lower elan valley--the wye and the usk (_map_)--pont-hyll-fan, in the elan valley--the shaky bridge, llandrindod--the wye bridge and hereford cathedral--goodrich castle--ross church--symond's yat and the ferry--monmouth--the monnow bridge and gate-house, monmouth--tintern abbey, from the wye--the nave, tintern abbey--gateway at chepstow--chepstow castle--view from the wyndcliff--old monastery on the wye - _the usk_:-- near the source of the usk, talsarn-side--the usk at brecknock--bit of the roman wall at caerleon--usk--caerleon--newport: the bridge and castle - _rivers of south wales_:-- the brecknock beacons, from the taff--llandaff cathedral: the west front; the nave and choir; the west and north doors--rivers of south wales (_map_)--the bishop's gateway, llandaff--cardiff castle--st. mary street, cardiff--the drawing room, cardiff castle--in the vale of neath--neath abbey--outskirts of neath--north dock, swansea--morriston--the mumbles--carew castle--carmarthen quay--pembroke castle and monkton priory--the royal dockyard, pembroke dock--haverfordwest--milford haven--the teifi at kilgerran--aberystwith - _rivers of north wales_:-- chapter i.--/the dovey, the dysynni, the mawddach./-- dolgelley--rivers of north wales (_map_)--torrent walk, dolgelley--the lower bridge, torrent walk--between dolgelley and barmouth--barmouth bridge and cader idris--snowdon, from crib-goch--the estuary, barmouth - chapter ii.--/the seiont, the ogwen, the conway./--pass of llanberis--carnarvon castle--the swallow falls--miners' bridge, bettws-y-coed--moel siabod, from the llugwy--pont-y-pair--on the lledr--another view in the lledr valley--fairy glen, bettws-y-coed--on the conway--the conway, from conway castle--conway castle--the bridge, from conway castle - chapter iii.--/the clwyd and the dee./--view from rhuddlan castle--rhuddlan castle--st. asaph--denbigh--bala lake--valle crucis abbey--llangollen--eaton hall--the roodee, chester--the dee at chester, from the walls--chester cathedral, from the south-west--swing bridge over the dee near hawarden--the sands of dee - _the mersey_:-- the mersey at stockport--the mersey (_map_)--northenden--on the irwell--pendleton, from the crescent--manchester, from the grammar school, showing the cathedral, the exchange, the town hall, etc. --victoria and blackfriars bridges--steamer passing through trafford road swing bridge--the old and the swing aqueducts, barton--the irwell at ordsall, with worrall's works--runcorn bridge--the locks at eastham--st. george's landing-stage, liverpool--swing bridge over the entrance to stanley dock, liverpool--liverpool, from birkenhead--st. george's hall and lime street, liverpool--the perch rock lighthouse - _rivers of lancashire and lakeland_:-- stainforth bridge--towneley hall, burnley--rivers of lancashire and lakeland (_map_)--preston, from the west--lancaster-- windermere--rydal water--grasmere--newby bridge--another bit of the leven--the liza flowing into ennerdale water--the liza at gillerthwaite--coniston water--ennerdale--the greta between threlkeld and keswick--the derwent, with keswick in the distance--the derwent at crosthwaite--derwentwater and skiddaw--derwentwater from scafell--the cocker flowing from crummock lake--the cocker at kirkgate - _rivers of the solway firth_:-- the annan, near annan town--the eden, the petteril, and the caldew (_map_)--eden hall--the weir at armathwaite--wetheral bridge--view from brackenbank looking towards cotehill--cotehill island--view from the long walk, corby castle--rock stairway to the boathouse, corby castle--greystoke castle--carlisle, looking east--carlisle, looking west--rivers flowing south into solway firth (_map_)--the esk, near gilnockie--high street, dumfries--lincluden abbey--drumlanrig castle--caerlaverock castle--the dee at douglas tongueland--the cree at newton stewart - _rivers of ayrshire_:-- the ayr above muirkirk--sorn--rivers of ayrshire (_map_)-- ballochmyle--the ayr at barskimming--auchencruive--the twa brigs of ayr--the dam at ayr--the doon: the new and the auld brig--ayrmouth - _the clyde_:-- one of the sources of the clyde--the clyde (_map_)--douglas castle--bonnington linn--corra linn--roman bridge near lanark-- stonebyres linn--bothwell castle--glasgow university--the broomielaw landing-stage--the clyde at glasgow--partick--paisley-- dumbarton rock--loch lomond--greenock--gourock - /rivers of great britain./ [illustration: _photo: g. w. wilson & co., aberdeen._ distant view of canterbury (_p. _).] the southern chalk streams. general characteristics--the /canterbury stour/ and its branches: ashford and jack cade--horton and lyminge--canterbury--fordwich and izaak walton--isle of thanet--minster. the /lesser stour/: "bourne ground"--sandwich. the /brede/. the /rother/: bodiam--isle of oxney--winchelsea--seaford. the /cuckmere/: alfriston and lullington. /the ouse/: st. leonard's forest--fletching--maresfield--lewes. the /adur/: bramber--shoreham. the /arun/: amberley--arundel--littlehampton. hampshire rivers--the /arle/: the meon district--wickham and the bishop-builder--titchfield. the /itchen/: a curious example of instinct--alresford pond--cheriton--tichborne--the winnal reaches--winchester and izaak walton--st. cross--st. catherine's hill--southampton. the /test/: romsey and its abbey. the /beaulieu/: beaulieu abbey. the _lymington_ and the /medina/--the /hampshire avon/ and the /stour/: christchurch--salisbury--wimborne. the /frome/: dorchester--mr. hardy's country--poole harbour. the long and strong backbone of the north downs extends, roughly speaking, from kent, by way of dorking and guildford, to the source of the avon, north of salisbury plain; and the south downs run parallel, more or less, through sussex and hants to the dorset heights. from these green hills spring the streams which will be briefly traced from source to sea in this chapter. they are not rivers of first account in their aid to commerce; even the pair which combine in the formation of southampton water have never been reckoned in the nomenclature of dock or port. to the angler, however, some of these chalk streams are exceedingly precious--as they indeed ought to be, when a rental varying from fifty to a hundred pounds per mile per annum is gladly paid (and taken) for the right of fishing with rod and line. such choice preserves are stocked with trout of aristocratic quality, trout which can only be reared in streams issuing from the chalk; their water, when unpolluted by contact with towns, is crystal clear; and the beds of gravel and fine sand favour the growth of typical vegetation, which in its turn favours typical water insects and other food suitable for the highest class of non-migratory salmonidæ. wholly different from such noisy, turbulent, masterful rivers as those which distinguish north britain, these chalk streams enter into the very spirit of that sweet pastoral scenery which suggests repose, peace, and plenty. they maintain for the most part an even course, tranquilly flowing without fret or violence through level land, and pursuing their tireless journey seawards, unobstructed by the rugged rocks, obstinate boulders, and uneven beds which provoke your mountain-or moorland-born waters into thunderous roar, angry swirl, and headlong rapidity. for foam-flecked pools, and mighty leaps in romantic gorges, the south-country chalk stream offers forget-me-nots by the margin, and beds of flowers blossoming from its harmless depths. it is with rivers of this class we have now to deal, presenting such features as may be noticed within the limits which have been assigned to the present chapter. [illustration: rivers of kent and sussex.] beginning, as the sun in its progress would have us do, from the east, we introduce the reader to the fair county of kent. there are at least half-a-dozen stours, great and small, in england; and though the stream with which we start is entirely kentish (and might, therefore, take the name of the county), it is commonly distinguished by the name of the /canterbury stour/. there are others of its namesakes--one of which we shall meet with towards the end of our journey--of greater watershed, but there is no more interesting member of the family. as a rule, a river, with its tributaries, as seen on the map, offers the appearance of the root of a tree, with its branches gracefully following in a common direction towards the parent stream, on the principle that, as the main river ever has marching orders towards the ocean, all its feeders, in the same spirit, loyally join in a forward movement. our stour, however, is a notable exception. it assumes a respectable magnitude at ashford, but near that town, and almost at right angles to the subsequent direction of the main stream, two distinct branches join issue. the main stream from ashford to the isle of thanet runs almost due north-east; branch number one, that comes from the hills in the direction of maidstone, travels to ashford almost due south-west, and the other branch that rises north of hythe flows in a diametrically opposite course. these little rivers are of equal length, and flow, in their unpretending fashion, through purely rural country. the first-named of these branches rises near lenham, which takes its name from a feeder of the great river of the northern watershed of the county. visitors to the seat of the dering family at surrenden, where there have been derings since the time of the conqueror, and to little chart church, will be, at the latter place, not far from what is regarded as the real source of the river stour, but this brook must not be confounded with the beult at smarden, which belongs to the medway. our stream flows the other way, passing cale hill, hothfield, and godinton. hereabouts--if there is anything in tradition--is the country of troublesome jack cade, who must have known a good deal about the river, for the story is that he was born at ashford, and that the squire who had the honour of taking him into custody lived on the estate known in these days as ripley court farm. the southern branch takes its rise near postling, on the famous stone street, or roman road, which from westenhanger is a straight northerly highway to canterbury. the farmhouse at horton was a priory founded in the time of henry ii. naturally, in this part of england, where augustine landed, the countryside is rich in the earliest ecclesiastical reminiscences. at lyminge, for example, hard by, was one of the benedictine nunneries, and the church where the daughter of ethelbert was buried is often visited by admirers of roman and anglo-saxon masonry, for it is believed that the saxon church was built on the site of a basilicon. there are many parish churches in kent which are of exceptional interest, but that at lyminge is generally accepted as the first of them. the entire course of the stour is about forty-five miles, and its valley from ashford to canterbury is one of the loveliest features of a lovely county. overlooking it is eastwell park, which for many years was the country-house of the duke of edinburgh. the valley of the stour, seen from one of its higher knolls as on a chart, is not always so open as it is in this neighbourhood, though its narrowing means but the concentration of charming scenery, with wooded heights on the one side and open downs on the other. for a considerable distance the stour follows the railway line, and at wye, where there is one of the most lovely miniature racecourses in the kingdom, it is crossed by a bridge of five arches. thenceforth, it is a notable trout stream, gradually widening until it forms the distinctive feature of the well-known meadows, with the square-towered cathedral always a prominent object of the landscape. canterbury has been so often described, for it is frequently the scene of great ceremonials (as witness the impressive burial of archbishop benson in , and the enthronisation of his distinguished successor in ), that a few sentences only are required as we muse by the riverside. but it is impossible to visit canterbury without recalling its stirring and suggestive associations, and the distinction it had in times when other parts of the country were obscure. it was too near the water to escape the ravages of the sea-kings, who liked to land at sheppey and thanet, and it was more than once devastated by the danes. in it was taken by storm amidst scenes of death and desolation during which the cathedral and monastery were burnt, the inhabitants slaughtered in masses, and women and children carried away into captivity. there is no need to re-tell the story of that different kind of landing, glorified by the arrival of st. augustine and his missionaries. this also honoured the isle of thanet, which the saxon chronicle mentions as the place of disembarkation of hengist and horsa on their heathen mission to vortigern. the stour in its terminal portion has probably become much cabined and confined since that period, when it must have been a broad estuary. [illustration: _photo: j. white, littlehampton._ arundel castle (_p. _).] about two miles below canterbury is the village of fordwich, on the opposite bank of the stour. as the tide in old days reached thither, it ranked as a cinque port. according to izaak walton, the old name of fordwich was "fordidge," and as such he immortalised it in the "compleat angler" as the home of the fordidge trout, about which there was some mystery, until in the present century it was proved to be one of the migratory salmonidæ. an occasional specimen is now found. this fish does now and then run into some of our south-east rivers, and no doubt at the time when the thames was a salmon river and the waters were unpolluted, it was common in the stour, which throughout is an excellent trout stream. [illustration: _photo: poulton & son, lee._ sandwich: the old bridge and barbican (_p. _).] below canterbury, where the water becomes brackish and the conditions prosaic, the trout gives place to the ordinary coarse fish of our streams. grove ferry is one of the favourite holiday resorts of the citizens. at sarr, a few miles from fordwich, the ferry which now plies at grove ferry was formerly the means of communication with the isle of thanet. this historic island is formed by the stour separating right and left, the arm to the north finding the sea a little east of the reculvers; while the branch flowing in the opposite direction marks the boundary of the promontory which includes the watering-places of ramsgate, broadstairs, margate, and birchington, and has for the extreme tip of its snout the lonely north foreland. this divergence, which, on a smaller scale, corresponds with the curious right-angled course of the brooks at the source, used to have a name of its own: it was called the wantsum, with a well-known ford at st. nicholas-at-wade; and no doubt this channel was once an arm of the sea. the lesser stour, of which something will presently be said, falls into the navigable portion of the parent river below sarr. the lower branch runs through marshes by minster, which is a deservedly popular village to tourists exploring kent who are specially on the lookout for interesting relics of the past. king egbert, one of the christian kings of kent, founded a nunnery here by way of atonement for the murder of a couple of princely cousins, and he agreed to endow it with as much land as a hind would cover in one course. the danes had their will of the place. the restored church in its present form has a norman nave, with early english transepts and choir. minster is a favourite ramble for seaside visitors to ramsgate; it is well situated, and its high ground affords views of distant canterbury, the ruins of richborough castle, the coast country about deal, and a proper expanse of marsh. the stour, when nearly opposite the point of coast where it eventually falls into the straits of dover, takes a turn to the east, calling, as it were, at the ancient town of sandwich, and then proceeds due north to pegwell bay. rising somewhere near the source of the lower arm of stour major, the /lesser stour/ is another charming kentish trout stream. it flows through what may be designated bourne ground, as the names of many of its villages testify. the source is near bishopsbourne church, where the judicious hooker, a native of the place, performed the duties of parish priest. there are also patrixbourne, bekesbourne, nailbourne, and littlebourne. the last named is well known to tourists, for the village has a traditional association with the monks of st. augustine; here are an early english church with monuments, and the park at lee priory where sir egerton brydges worked his press; and within a quarter of an hour's walk is an old church formerly belonging to some of the canterbury priors. on the banks of the stream at bekesbourne are the remains of a palace of archbishop cranmer; and when the parliamentarians, according to their custom, laid it under contribution, in their ransacking they discovered the primate's will behind an old oak wainscoting. wickham breaux is another of the lesser stour villages, and all around are the fruit orchards and occasional hopfields which give a distinctive and agreeable character to the entire watershed. the lesser stour for a while runs parallel with its companion, which it joins at stourmouth, to assist in outlining the isle of thanet, and mingling therefore with the current which goes the round of sandwich to pegwell bay. it seems almost incredible that sandwich was once a great port, but if a quiet hour be spent in what is left of it, the town will be found to repay careful inspection. the barbican, as the old gateway tower is called, and the bridge indicate the haven in which refugees from france and the low countries found a safe home. * * * * * from hythe to the ancient and always interesting town of rye, stretches the royal military canal; the first stream to claim attention is the /brede/, though it is scarcely entitled to river rank. it takes its rise a few miles from battle, and its course is held to have been the old channel of the rother, near winchelsea. the "groaning bridge" is on the brede, and it was on this spot that the oxenbridge ogre of ancient legend was said to have been disposed of once for all by being divided across the middle with a wooden saw. [illustration: _photo: poulton & son, lee._ general view of winchester (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: poulton & son, lee._ st. catherine's hill (_p. _).] but the principal river in the rye and winchelsea district, so full of suggestion in its evidences of past prosperity and present decay, is the /rother/, known as the eastern, to distinguish it from another of the same name in the western part of the county. at bodiam is a famous foss, fed by the river, encircling the excellently preserved castle, with its round tower, great gateway approached by a causeway, spacious central court, outer portcullis, and portions of hall, chapel, and kitchen. this is held by antiquaries to be one of the best of the feudal fortresses in sussex. in monkish days the stream was no doubt one of great value. near the source, at gravel hill, is robertsbridge, or rotherbridge, where a cistercian abbey, secluded almost from the world by the river, was visited by edward ii. and edward iii. there are still fragments of the abbey on a farm which occupies at least a portion of the site. the rother is a river of many tributaries, one of them acting partly as the boundary of sussex and kent. its scenery is somewhat commonplace, but it is navigable for a considerable portion of its course, which has much altered since the old chronicles were inscribed. two of its branches enclose the isle of oxney, a flat so easily flooded that the villagers within its bounds often find the use of a boat a necessity. [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ winchester cathedral (_p. _).] the railway crosses the rother by a stone bridge, then comes rye harbour, and at a distance of two miles, set upon a hill so that it cannot be hid, is the old-world borough of winchelsea, which the sea has left high and dry, though it had been the abode of great kings, and the witness of battles by sea and land. at hastings the downs supply sufficient rivulet-power to maintain glen, waterfall, and dripping well, for sea-side visitors. following the coast-line to seaford, the quiet and unpretending watering place which was once a cinque port, and which returned members to parliament until it was disfranchised by the reform act, a short walk over the downs brings the tourist to the pretty broken country of east and west dean. * * * * * [illustration: _photo: f. g. o. stuart, southampton._ southampton docks (_p. _).] the stream crossed by exceat bridge is the /cuckmere/, of which it need only be said that it has ceased to be a feature of importance to shipping people. it is worth while, nevertheless, to follow it up from the reaches where barges still find resting-place. at alfriston british, roman, and saxon coins have been found; there is a rare sixteenth-century inn, supposed to have been built as a house of call for canterbury pilgrims, a market cross, a church on the plan of a greek cross, sometimes designated "the cathedral of the south downs," a parish register dating from --possibly the oldest in england--and a half-timbered rectory of still earlier date. there is some doubt as to which is now the smallest church in great britain, but the claim has been made for lullington, which is on the slope of cuckmere vale. in rambling by this little river the tourist will make acquaintance with the south downs free and unadulterated. the cuckmere flows into the sea about two miles from seaford, having escaped through the opening which takes the name of birling gap. * * * * * within an area of four square miles, and almost in touch with st. leonard's forest, three important sussex streams take their rise--the ouse, adur, and arun. this was the centre of the ancient iron industry of sussex, and the position would not have been possible without water supply for the hammer ponds. the /ouse/ is crossed by the london and brighton railway a little north-west of lindfield. the river afterwards winds round the well-wooded seat of the earl of sheffield; and at fletching common, hard by, the baronial army spent the night before fighting the battle of lewes. gibbon the historian was buried in the church, which is noted also for an ancient rood screen and the mausoleum of the neville family. maresfield, where the furnaces and forges of the old sussex iron-masters clustered thick, retains vast expanses of the cinder and slag they created centuries ago. it is beautified by the trees of ashdown forest, and sends a tributary to the ouse; another tributary presently arrives from buxted, where the first cast cannon ever seen in europe was made in . the ouse is the river of the pleasant county town of lewes. this rare old town, on its chalk hill, with downs surrounding it, and with the ouse, on whose right bank it is spread, adding to its attractions, ranks in interest with chester and durham. the great battle which was fought on may th, , is the event of which the local historians are most proud. as we have seen, it was at fletching common that de montfort encamped his soldiers, and thence he sent a couple of bishops the day before the battle on a fruitless errand to the king, who was quartered at the priory. the most sanguinary slaughter appears to have taken place south of the town, where the ouse was crossed by a bridge; and the river with its marshy flats assisted in the destruction, for many knights were discovered after the battle stuck in the swamp, "sitting on their horses, in complete armour, and with drawn swords in their lifeless hands." the ouse cannot be said to be picturesque; at lewes it has long lost the sparkle which characterised it in the forest outskirts; but from any elevated point of lewes castle, notably the western keep, the easy stream may be seen as it is about to disappear between the hills. the disestablished locks between cuckfield and lewes indicate a brisk bygone barge traffic. early in the present century the river was navigable for barges of forty tons burden for ten miles without interruption, and thence beyond lindfield in the hayward's heath country. in early times it was probably a broad estuary extending to lewes itself, and at some time found an outlet to the sea at seaford, three miles to the east. this, however, is very ancient history, for the river was brought back to its present channel in the sixteenth century. shoreham, the humble and dull attendant upon brighton, has an advantage over the great watering-place--which is streamless--in being situated on a river. it is not a beautiful place, but it has something of a harbour, in which you may find port in a storm, and it has a bridge across the /adur/. this river comes down from openings in the hills, having passed through pretty country, with such villages as bramber (where there was once a broad estuary in which vessels anchored) and steyning. the source of the adur on the borders of st. leonard's forest has been previously mentioned; but there are at least two other rills that have an equal claim. from henfield the river runs south, through pasture land, and, as we have seen, winds past bramber, supposed to be the portus adurni of the romans. there is very little of the castle left, and that is almost hidden by trees. at new shoreham the adur turns eastward, and runs for a while parallel with the seashore. these sussex rivers which are projected from the neighbourhood of st. leonard's forest can scarcely be considered as akin to the pure, bright chalk stream which was described at the commencement of this chapter; and the most important of the trio, the /arun/, does not in this respect differ from its fellows. something more than passing glimpses of it are obtained from the carriage windows by the railway traveller as he speeds through the imposing scenery around arundel. it is navigable for an unusual distance, and whatever beauty it possesses it owes to its surroundings. of late years the river has become the mecca of members of the london angling clubs, who charter special trains and invade the districts by hundreds on sundays. the first stopping-place of any account from this point of view is pulborough, the site of an old roman settlement, with traces of camp and buildings, which will not, however, be found on arun-side, but at hardham and elsewhere. amberley was rescued from oblivion, and from the desertion enforced upon it by neighbouring marshes, by the railway; and the scenery between it and arundel has always been prized and worked at by artists. swanbourne mill as a picture is probably familiar to many who have never entered the county. the splendidly kept castle at arundel has not been dwarfed by the cathedral-like roman catholic church built by the duke of norfolk, and dedicated to st. philip neri. even now it looks like the splendid stronghold that it was, and the most venerable in the land that it is, on its commanding terminal of swelling down, with the stream from the weald narrowing between the hills through its beautiful valley, to the characteristic marsh flats beyond. the river hence to the sea does not call for admiration or comment, save that there is a remnant of a priory at tortington, a point of view from which arundel with its castle-crowned heights looks its best. littlehampton, four miles from arundel, is better known as a port of departure for steamships than as a watering-place competing with the pleasure resorts in more favoured situations on the coast. * * * * * hampshire is a well-watered county, and classic ground for that new school of anglers who are classified as "dry-fly" men. the masters thereof graduated on the itchen and the test, most famous of all south-country chalk streams, and honourably mentioned in angling literature. to know that a man is a successful fisher upon either is tantamount to a certificate of the highest skill. the hampshire rivers, other than these celebrated feeders of the southampton water, are few, and modest in character. there is, it is true, a small trout stream at fareham, a busy little seaport which owes its standing to its proximity to portsmouth harbour, and its attractions as a district abounding in country seats to the rampart of portsdown hill, affording at once protection from the north and opportunity for overlooking the solent and the isle of wight. less than three miles west, across the peninsula that sustains gosport, is a considerable stream, little known outside the county, but an ever-present delight to the villages through which it lightly flows to the eastern shore of southampton water. this is the arle, or titchfield river. [illustration: _photo: perkins, son, & venimore, lewisham._ the royal pier southampton (_p. _).] [illustration: southampton from the water.] in its course of some score of miles the /arle/ takes its share in a diversity of scenery of a soothing rather than romantic character. rising in the south downs, it begins by mingling with village and hamlet life in a sequestered valley; then it proceeds through an open forest country, and becomes navigable at titchfield. the source of the stream is but a few miles west of petersfield, but it begins with a sweep to the north and a loop round a southerly point, passing so much in the meon district that it is often marked on the maps by that name, which was probably its only one in the past. meonware was a pictish province when there was a king of the south saxons, and saint wilfrid preached christianity to the british heathen. indeed a portion of corhampton church, across the stream, is ascribed to that prelate. wickham, most beautifully situated on the arle, is celebrated as the birthplace of william of wykeham, the great bishop-builder. warton the poet lived his last days at wickham, and died there in the first year of the century. [illustration: _photo: a. seeley, richmond._ romsey abbey (_p. _).] references to william of wykeham continually occur in county hants: thus in the district under consideration there are a wykeham chancel at meonstoke, a wykeham foundation of five chantries near the coast at southwick, and a reputed wykeham aisle in the church at titchfield. the remains of funtley abbey are naturally not far from the stream. they are close to titchfield, and mark the site of a priory founded by bishop de rupibus in the reign of henry iii. the house which sir thomas wriothesley built upon the place acquired in the usual way at the dissolution was "right statelie" when leland described it; and this was the titchfield house where poor charles stuart found temporary refuge between the flight from hampton court and the grim lodging of carisbrooke. the /itchen/, as next in order on our westward progress, must receive first consideration, though it is the smaller of the streams which pay tribute to the solent at calshot castle. the itchen and the test have many things in common: they both rise out of the chalk downs which stretch from the stour in kent, through hants, to the confines of wilts; they both give southampton importance; they are both salmon rivers, but to so unimportant a degree that they have never yet been considered worthy of governance by a board of conservators; and they have the distinction of being the only salmon rivers in england that may be fished without a rod licence. but these rivers are so distinct in one characteristic that they may be quoted as evidence of almost miraculous instinct. the salmon of the test hold no communion with those of the itchen; no fisherman acquainted with the rivers would be likely to mistake the one for the other; yet, while the itchen fish, on return from the salt water, unerringly turn to the right, and pass the docks on their way to woodmill, the salmon of the test swim straight ahead, and pause not till they reach their own river beyond the furthest of the western suburbs of southampton. [illustration: _photo: poulton & son, lee._ christchurch abbey (_p. _).] when a river issues from a lake it is the custom to regard the latter as the headwaters. in this sense alresford pond may be set down as the source of the itchen. locally, a brook at ropley dean, about eleven miles from winchester as the crow flies, has been nominated for the distinction, but there are other rivulets from the high land between alresford and alton which might be brought into competition. the bishops of winchester formerly had a summer palace at bishop's sutton, and it is somewhat of a coincidence that in our own times archbishop longley was one of its vicars. there are stores of pike and mammoth trout in alresford pond, and no doubt they had ancestors there when richard i. was king. even now, in its reduced size, this beautiful sheet of clear water covers sixty acres. [illustration: rivers of hants and dorset.] the tributaries are inconsiderable; but it is a land of innumerable watercourses, and of carriers, kept in action for the flooding of the pastures. hence the meads are found in a perpetual freshness of "living green," and the verdant pastures in the late spring are magnificent with their marsh-marigolds and cuckoo flowers marking the lines of the meadow trenches, while the hedges and coppices are a dream of may blossom. noble country houses are set back on the slopes, real old-fashioned farmhouses and thatched cottages are embowered in every variety of foliage, and the background is frequently filled in by gently ranging upland clothed with the softest herbage. here a village with its mill, and there a hamlet with its homely old church, mark the stages of the crystal clear river, every foot of which is the treasured preserve of some wealthy angler. there are golden trout upon the gravel, and in the deeps, while the shallows, many of which have been fords from time immemorial, are open to the eye of the wayfarer who quietly pauses on the rustic bridges to watch the spotted denizens as they cruise and poise. at cheriton the royalists received a crushing blow on the march day when lords hopton and forth led their army of , men against an equal force of waller's roundheads. the engagement was fatal to the royal cause, and it gave winchester and its fort to the parliamentarians. of tichborne this generation heard somewhat in the seventies, and the notorious trials brought for many years an increase of visitors, who would interrupt the discourse upon sir roger de tychborne, and the tychborne dole founded by the lady mabell (whose monument is in the church on the hill), with questions about the claimant and the lost sir roger. martyr's worthy, king's worthy, and abbot's worthy are within sound of the sonorous cathedral bells; and after these villages are the loved winnal reaches of the stream, one of them sadly marred by the didcot and newbury railway, which, within the last few years, has been opened with a station south of the town. the nun's walk is to the right as you follow the itchen downwards, often over planks half-hidden in sedges. sleek cattle graze in the water-meads; beyond them is the clustering city and its cathedral, which at a distance resembles nothing so much as a long low-lying building that has yet to be finished, the squat tower seeming a mere commencement. the bye-streams, of which there are several, meet at the bottom of the town, and the strong, rapid, concentrated current has much mill work to do before it recovers perfect freedom. [illustration: a new forest stream (_p. _).] izaak walton lived a while at winchester, in the declining years of his long and--who can doubt?--tranquil life. he had friends among the bishops and clergy, and wrote the lives of contemporary divines. so he came to winchester, where a room was kept for him in the bishop's palace, and in this city he died on december th, . his grave is in the cathedral, marked by a black marble slab, and within the last few years a memorial statue has been placed in one of the niches of the newly-erected screen. [illustration: the avon at amesbury (_p. _).] the ancient hospital of st. cross is one of the best-known features of the itchen in the neighbourhood of winchester, but there are charming country-seats along the whole remaining course--fair homes of english gentlemen, planted above the grass land whence the evening mists of summer rise to shroud the winding stream and far-stretching water-meads, and adorned with smooth-shaven lawns intersected by gravel-walks, winding amidst shrubberies and parterres to the sedgy banks of the silently gliding river. but st. cross is unique with its gateway tower and porter's hutch, where the wayfarer may even now make the vagrant's claim for dole of beer and bread, the former no longer brewed on the spot, and for its own sake not worth the trouble often taken by sentimental visitors to obtain it. fine old elms surround the venerable home of the brethren of this cloistered retreat; the river flows close to its foundations; and, facing you across the stream, rises the bold rounded steep surmounted by the clump of beech-trees on st. catherine's hill. the speculative builder, however, has long been pushing his outworks towards this breezy eminence where the wykeham college boys of past generations trooped to their sports. [illustration: salisbury cathedral (_p. _).] the itchen as it narrows to serve the south stoneham water-wheels loses much of its beauty, and is finally, after its course of twenty-five miles, abruptly stopped at the flour-mill. through artificial outlets it tumbles into the tideway, and becomes at a bound subject to the ebb and flow of the solent. southampton, after a temporary depression due to the withdrawal of the peninsular and oriental company to other headquarters, has launched out into renewed enterprise; great docks have been added, and the extension is likely to continue in the future. queen victoria opened the empress docks in ; the graving docks were the next scheme, and in the new american line of steamers began to run. in her majesty, then the princess victoria, opened the royal (or victoria) pier, which was rebuilt in and re-opened by the duke of connaught; and from it and other vantage points commanding views are to be had of the estuary, and of the new forest on the further side. to meet this vigorous revival of commercial development, the suburbs have pushed out in all directions, and the estuary of the itchen, from the salmon pool at south stoneham to the docks, is now bordered by modern dwellings, and presents an appearance of life in marked contrast to the dreariness of a quarter of a century ago. in its general characteristics the test resembles the itchen. it is ten miles longer, and has a tributary assistance which its sister stream lacks; but there are in its valley similar country mansions, ruddy farm-houses, picturesque cottages and gardens, water-meads and marshy corners, mills and mill-pools, rustic bridges, and superb stock of salmon in the lower, and of trout and grayling in the higher, reaches. it springs from the foot of the ridge on the berkshire border, and is joined below hurstbourne park by a branch from the north-east. for the first few miles it is the ideal of a small winding stream, and is established as a chalk stream of the first class at whitchurch. it skirts harewood forest, and takes in a tributary below wherwell. the principal feeder is the anton, which is of sufficient magnitude to be considered an independent river. for quite sixteen miles the test runs a sinuous course, as if not certain which point of the compass to select, but eventually it goes straight south. stockbridge is the only considerable town, and that owes its reputation to ample training downs, and to the periodical races which rank high in that description of sport. between this and romsey there are many bye-waters, and it requires one accustomed to the country to distinguish the main river. occasionally a salmon, taking advantage of a flood, will ascend as high as stockbridge, but this does not happen every year. at romsey, however, gentlemen anglers find their reward, though anything more unlike a salmon river could not be found, unless, indeed, it should be the stour and the avon, to which we shall come presently. the test in its upper and middle reaches is seldom so deep that the bottom, and the trout and grayling for which it is justly celebrated, cannot be clearly seen. it gets less shallow below houghton mill, and at romsey there is water enough for salmon of major dimensions. but the current is even and stately, salmon pools as they are understood in scotland and ireland do not exist, and there are forests of weeds to assist the fish to get rid of the angler's fly. the most noted landmark on the banks of the stream is romsey abbey, long restored to soundness of fabric, yet preserving all the appearance of perfect norman architecture. near it the first berthon boats were built and launched on the test by the vicar, whose name is borne by this handy collapsible craft. the test enters southampton water at redbridge, which is in a measure the port of lading for the new forest. [illustration: _photo: w. pouncy, dorchester._ the frome at frampton court (_p. _).] there are tiny streams in the recesses of the new forest little known to the outer world. the /beaulieu/ river is worthy of mark on the maps, and when the tide is full it is a brimming water-way into the heart of the forest. the acreage of mud at low-water, however, detracts from its beauty, and the upper portion, from near lyndhurst to the tidal limit, is small and overgrown. the ruins of beaulieu abbey, set in the surroundings of an exquisite new forest village, far from the shriek of the locomotive whistle, or the smoke and bustle of a town, are truly a "fair place." beaulieu is one of the most entrancing combinations of wood, water, ruins, and village in the county, and the abbey is especially interesting from its establishment by king john, after remorse occasioned by a dream. the /lymington/ river, the mainland channel opposite yarmouth, in the isle of wight, is tidal to the town, a tortuous creek in low-water, the course, however, duly marked by stakes and beacons. the great poet laureate, tennyson, used to cross to his freshwater home by this route, and in the late 'fifties the writer of these words often took passage by the isle of wight boats for the privilege of gazing from a reverent distance at the poet, whose cloak, soft broad-brimmed hat, and short clay pipe filled from a packet of bird's-eye, filled the youthful adorer with unspeakable admiration. [illustration: dorchester from the frome (_p. _).] the isle of wight, garden of england though it has been called, is poverty-stricken in the matter of running water, and it is not rich in woods. tho principal river is the medina, which, flowing from the foot of st. catherine's down to the solent at east cowes, divides the island into two hundreds. the pretty village of wootton is situated on fishbourne creek, also called wootton river. there are two yars--the yar which rises at freshwater, and is tidal almost throughout to yarmouth harbour; and the eastern yar, at the back of niton. * * * * * the famous salmon of christchurch, so much in request in the spring, when the end of the close time brings out the nets in the long open "run" between the town and the bay, come up from the english channel on their annual quest of the spawning grounds of the avon and the stour. these rivers unite almost under the shadow of the splendidly situated church and the priory ruins. the church was restored by the architect who performed a similar office for romsey; and it is under the tower at the west end of the nave that the singular shelley memorial is erected. the avon has the finest watershed in the south of england, and its feeders water much of hampshire and a large portion of wilts. its tributaries are numerous; even one of the two branches of its headwaters is formed by the junction of minor streams at pewsey. it has a winding way from upavon, becomes a goodly stream at beautiful amesbury, where it traverses the pleasure grounds of the abbey, and crosses direct south by salisbury plain to old sarum. the wiley and nadder are the largest tributaries, the former entering the avon near the seat of the earl of pembroke at wilton. the valleys of main stream and tributaries alike are a succession of fine landscapes, made distinctive by the downs of varying height, rising on either side, clothed at intervals with grand woods, and protecting sequestered villages and hamlets nestling at their feet. the environs of salisbury are intersected in all directions by the abundant water of avon or its feeders, and the clear murmuring runnels are heard in its streets. the lofty tapering spire of the glorious cathedral is the landmark of avon-side for many a mile around, but the river equally forces itself upon the notice of the stranger. there is no cathedral in england better set for a landmark than this, and of none can it be more literally said that distance lends enchantment. it is on the watermead level, and probably owes its position to the river. old sarum, perched upon its conical hill, had its fortified castle and many an intrenchment for defence, had its norman cathedral and the pomp and power of a proud ecclesiastical settlement; but it was exposed to the wind and weather, and the sarumites looked with longing eye at the fat vale below and its conjunction of clear streams. wherefore, under richard le poer, its seventh bishop, there was migration thither; the present cathedral was commenced, the site, according to one legend, being determined by the fall of an arrow shot as a token from the old sarum ramparts; and the new town soon gathered around it. at first the cathedral had no spire; that crowning glory of the structure was added nearly a hundred years later, and about the time when the work of demolition at old sarum had been concluded. the stone used in the new cathedral was brought from the hindon quarries a few miles distant, and purbeck supplied the marble pillars. the best view of the cathedral, and of the straight-streeted and richly-befoliaged city, is from the north-eastern suburb; and so gracefully is the building proportioned that it is hard to realise that the point of the spire is feet in air. [illustration: poole harbour (_p. _).] the /stour/ rises at six wells, at stourhead, in wiltshire, and joins the hampshire avon, as previously stated, at christchurch, but is essentially a dorsetshire river. it touches somersetshire, and receives the cale from wincanton, and other small tributaries, passing gillingham, sturminster, blandford, and wimborne, where it receives the allen, which flows through more critchell. canford hall, an elizabethan mansion which received many of the assyrian relics unearthed by layard; gaunt's house and park; and st. giles' park, reminiscent of "cabal" cooper and the other earls of shaftesbury, are also features of the stour country. the clean little town of wimborne, where matthew prior was born, is made rich and notable by its ancient minster, which as it stands retains but little of the original foundation, though the fine central tower dates from about , and the western tower from the middle of the fifteenth century. the next river in dorsetshire is the /frome/, formed, as seems to be the fashion in wessex, of two branches, both uniting at maiden newton. frampton court, the seat of the sheridans, is in this neighbourhood. the county town of dorchester rises from the bank of the river, and has magnificent avenues as high-road approaches. the black downs that interpose between the country that is fairly represented by the blackmore vale of the hunting men further north, and the sea at weymouth, are bare enough; dorchester is surrounded by chalk uplands, and it is, no doubt, because there were few forests to clear that the entire neighbourhood is remarkable for its roman and british remains. the trees around the town have fortunately been sedulously planted and preserved, and the avenues of sycamores and chestnuts on the site of the old rampart have somewhat of a continental character. the well-defined remains of ancient camps are numerous on the slopes overlooking the frome, maiden castle and the roman amphitheatre being wonderfully perfect in their typical character. yet, old-world as dorchester is in its associations, it has few appearances of age, standing rather as a delightful example of the clean, healthy, quiet, well-to-do country town of the victorian era, pleasantly environed, and boasting several highways that were roman roads. flowing through the sheep country so graphically described by mr. hardy in his novels, the frome arrives, after an uneventful course, at wareham, and is discharged into poole harbour, a place of creeks and islands, sand and mud banks, regularly swelling with the incoming tide into a noble expanse of water. /william senior./ [illustration: wimborne minster.] [illustration: bideford bridge (_p. _).] rivers of devon. general characteristics--sources of the devon streams: exmoor and dartmoor. the /otter/: ottery saint mary and samuel taylor coleridge. exmoor streams:--the /exe/: its source in the chains--the barle--the batherm--tiverton and peter blundell--bickleigh bridge and the "king of the gipsies"--the culm--exeter--countess weir--exmouth. the /lyn/: oareford--the doone country--malmsmead--watersmeet--lyndale--lynton and lynmouth. dartmoor streams:--the /teign/: wallabrook--chagford--fingle bridge--chudleigh--the bovey--newton abbot--teignmouth. the /dart/: holne chase--buckfast abbey--dartington hall--totnes--the lower reaches--dartmouth. the tavy. the /taw/: oxenham and its legend--barnstaple--lundy. the /torridge/: the okement--great torrington--bideford--hubbastone. the /avon/, erme, and yealm. the /plym/: dewerstone--the meavy and plymouth leat--plympton st. mary and plympton earl--the three towns. among the charms which make devonshire, in mr. blackmore's words, "the fairest of english counties," one need not hesitate to give the first place to its streams. they who know only its coasts, though they know them well, may walk delicately, for of much that is most characteristic of its loveliness they are altogether ignorant. but anyone who has tracked a typical devon river from its fount high up on the wild and lonely moorland to the estuary where it mingles its waters with the inflowing tide, following it as it brawls down the peaty hillsides, and winds its way through glen and gorge until it gains the rich lowlands where it rolls placidly towards its latter end, may boast that his is the knowledge of intimacy. commercially, the devonshire streams are of little account, for nature has chosen to touch them to finer issues. yet, for all their manifold fascinations, they have had but scant attention from the poets, who, instead of singing their graces in dignified verse, have left them, as mr. j. a. blaikie has said, to be "noisily advertised in guide-books." at first sight the omission seems curious enough, for the long roll of devonshire "worthies" is only less illustrious for its poets than for its heroes. perchance the explanation of what almost looks like a conspiracy of silence is that the streams, full of allurement as they may be, are not rich in associations of the poetic sort. of legend they have their share, but for the most part it is legend uncouth and grotesque, such as may not easily be shaped into verse. their appeal, in truth, is more to the painter than to the poet. for him they have provided innumerable "bits" of the most seductive description; and neither against him nor against the angler--the artist among sportsmen--for whom also bountiful provision has been made, can neglect of opportunity be charged. [illustration: the rivers of devon.] it is in the royal "forests" of exmoor and dartmoor that nearly all the chief rivers of devon take their rise. of these moorland tracts, the one extending into the extreme north of the county from somersetshire, the other forming, so to speak, its backbone, dartmoor is considerably the larger; and in high willhayse and in the better known yes tor, its highest points, it touches an altitude of just over , feet, overtopping dunkery beacon, the monarch of exmoor, by some feet. between the two moors there is a general resemblance, less, however, of contour than of tone, for while exmoor swells into great billowy tops, the dartmoor plateau breaks up into rugged "tors"--crags of granite that have shaken off their scanty raiment and now rise bare and gaunt above the general level. both, as many a huntsman knows to his cost, are beset with treacherous bogs, out of which trickle streams innumerable, some, like the wear water, the chief headstream of the east lyn, soon to lose their identity, others to bear to the end of their course names which the english emigrant has delighted to reproduce in the distant lands that he has colonised. not strange is it that with loneliness such as theirs, exmoor and dartmoor alike should be the haunt of the mischief-loving pixies, who carry off children and lead benighted wayfarers into quagmires; of the spectral wish-hounds, whose cry is fearsome as the wailing voice which john ridd heard "at grey of night"; and of the rest of the uncanny brood who once had all the west country for their domain. exmoor, too, is almost the last sanctuary, south of the tweed, of the wild red-deer; and hither in due season come true sportsmen from far and near to have their pulses stirred by such glorious runs as kingsley has described. [illustration: the wear water.] of the streams that have their springs elsewhere than in the moors, the axe, which belongs more to dorset and somerset than to devon, may, like the sid, be passed over with bare mention. but the /otter/ must not be dismissed so brusquely, for though it cannot vie with its moorland sisters in beauty of aspect, it has other claims to consideration. rising in the hills that divide devon from south somerset, it presently passes honiton, still famous for its lace, and a few miles further on flows by the knoll which is crowned by the massive towers of the fine church of ottery st. mary, the clavering st. mary of "pendennis." it was here, in , that samuel taylor coleridge, most gifted scion of a gifted stock, was born. his father, vicar of the parish and headmaster of the free grammar school, and withal one of the most amiable and ingenuous of pedants, whose favourite method of edifying his rustic congregation was to quote from the old testament in the original hebrew, as "the immediate language of the holy ghost," died when samuel taylor was in his ninth year; and the pensive child, who yet was not a child, was soon afterwards entered at christ's hospital. a frequent resort of his was a cave beside the otter, known as "the pixies' parlour," where his initials may still be seen. nor is this his only association with the stream. "i forget," he writes, "whether it was in my fifth or sixth year ... in consequence of some quarrel between me and my brother, in the first week in october i ran away from fear of being whipped, and passed the whole night, a night of rain and storm, on the bleak side of a hill on the otter, and was there found at day-break, without the power of using my limbs, about six yards from the naked bank of the river." the experience may well have left its mark upon his sensitive nature, but it is clear that he carried with him from his native place a store of agreeable recollections of the stream, of whose "marge with willows grey" and "bedded sand" he afterwards wrote in affectionate strains. [illustration: _photo: denney & co., exeter._ exeter (_p. _).] * * * * * leaving the otter to pursue its pleasant, but not exciting, course to the english channel, we pass at a bound from the sunny south to one of the weirdest parts of exmoor, where the most important of the streams that rise in the northern "forest" have their birth. the chief of them, and, indeed, the longest of all the devonshire rivers, the /exe/, which has a course five-and-fifty miles long, oozes out of a dismal swamp known as the chains, in somerset county, some two or three miles north-west of simonsbath; and within a space of not more than two miles square are the sources of three other streams--the barle, which merges with the exe near exbridge; the west lyn, which flows northwards to the finest spot on the devon coast; and the bray, a tributary of the taw. looking around, one sees in every direction a waste of undulations rolling away to the horizon like a deeply-furrowed sea. far away eastwards rises dunkery, his mighty top now, as often, obscured by clouds which the western winds are slowly driving before them; on the other hand stretches the north molton ridge, culminating in span head, which comes within about fifty feet of the stature of dunkery himself. [illustration: _photo: h. t. cousins, exmouth._ exmouth, from the beacon (_p. _).] the infant exe and the barle are both brown, peaty streams, and their valleys, separated from each other by one of the exmoor ridges, and following the same general south-easterly trend, have much in common, though that of the barle is the less regular and more picturesque of the two. it is when they have each sped in the merriest-hearted fashion somewhere about a score of miles that they meet, forming a current which, as it rushes tumultuously beneath the arches that give to exbridge its name, must be a full fifty yards wide. now the exe becomes a devonshire stream, with a predominantly southerly course; but as it approaches oakford bridge it bends to the west, then curving round to the east to meet the batherm, fresh from its contact with bampton, an old market town celebrated all over the west country for its fairs and markets, whereat are sold the shaggy little exmoor ponies and the bold and nimble porlock sheep. the main stream still shows no disposition to play the laggard, but by this time it has left the moorland well behind, and, as we follow it among luxuriantly timbered hills, it presently brings us to tiverton, agreeably placed on its sloping left bank. here it takes toll of the loman, which has been in no haste to complete its course of ten miles, or thereabouts, from the somerset border. of twy-ford-town--for so the place was called in former days, in allusion to its fords across the exe and the loman at the points where now the streams are spanned by bridges--the most salient feature from the banks of the larger water is the perpendicular tower of the church of st. peter. the body of the church was virtually reconstructed in the 'sixties, with the fortunate exception of its most interesting feature, the greenaway chapel, founded nearly four hundred years ago by the merchant whose name it shares with the quaint almshouses in gold street. what remains of the ancient castle, which stood hard by the church, has been converted into a modern dwelling and a farmhouse. the old grammar school, too, on loman green, is now divided up into private houses, a more commodious structure, in the tudor style, having been reared a mile or so out of the town to take its place. who will begrudge good old peter blundell the immortality which this famous school has conferred upon his honest-sounding name? a native of tiverton, he began life as an errand-boy. with his carefully-hoarded earnings, as prince tells the story in his "worthies," he bought a piece of kersey, and got a friendly carrier to take it to london and there sell it to advantage. so he gradually extended his operations, until he was able to go to town himself, with as much stock-in-trade as a horse could carry. in london he continued to thrive, and in due course was able to fulfil the ambition of his life by establishing himself in the town of his birth as a manufacturer of kerseys; and here he remained until his death, at the ripe age of eighty. "though i am not myself a scholar," the good old man would say with proud humility, "i will be the means of making more scholars than any scholar in england." and the school founded under his will in has not failed to justify his boast. the roll of "blundell's boys" includes a brace of bishops and an archbishop, the present occupant of the throne of canterbury, who, before his translation to london, ruled with abundant vigour the diocese to which tiverton belongs. yet, without disrespect to spiritual dignities, one may be pardoned for remembering with deeper interest that it was here that "girt jan ridd" had his meagre schooling, and fought his great fight with robin snell. john, by the way, who left blundell's at the age of twelve, must have been considerably less stupid than he appeared to his contemporaries, for when long afterwards he came to describe the combat he was able to say that he replied to his antagonist "with all the weight and cadence of penthemimeral cæsura"; and although he modestly protests that he could "never make head or tail" of the expression, it is clear from his epithets that he knew perfectly well what he was writing about. but we have paused at the town of the fords too long, and must gird up our loins to follow the exe southwards to the county town, through scenery which, if on the whole less picturesque than that above tiverton, is pleasing as one of the most fertile of devonshire vales cannot but be. four miles lower down we find ourselves at bickleigh bridge, one of the prettiest spots in this part of the exe valley. close by is bickleigh court, long a seat of the devonshire carews, and still belonging to members of the family, though sunk to the uses of a farmhouse. bickleigh is of some note as the birthplace, towards the end of the seventeenth century, of bampfylde moore carew, "king of the beggars." son of the rector of the parish, he was sent to blundell's school, whence he ran away to avoid punishment for some trifling escapade, and threw in his lot with a tribe of gipsies. next he emigrated to newfoundland, but after a time came back, and soon signalised himself by eloping from newcastle-on-tyne with an apothecary's daughter, whom, however, he was afterwards good enough to marry. having rejoined the gipsies, he became their king, and ruled over them until he was transported to maryland as an incorrigible vagrant. before long he contrived to escape, and lived for a while with a band of red indians. when he returned to civilisation it was in the guise of a quaker, a part which he successfully played until he grew weary of it, and once more came back to his native land and his nomadic life. some say that he was afterwards prevailed upon to adopt more settled habits, but of his closing years little is known. the hill to the right, a little below bickleigh bridge, is known as cadbury castle, a roman encampment, and from its summit may be seen, away to the south-east, athwart the river, dolbury hill, which, according to the legend, shares with cadbury a treasure of gold, guarded by a fiery dragon, who spends his nights flying from one hoard to the other. now the exe, flowing with a dignity befitting its maturity, receives the tribute of the culm, which comes from the blackdown hills, on the somerset border, passing culmstock and cullompton, and killerton park, a finely placed and magnificently wooded demesne of one of the most honourable of devonshire houses, the aclands. over against the point of junction is pynes, the seat of another family of high repute, the northcotes, now earls of iddesleigh, looking down on the one side upon the valley of the exe, and on the other upon that of the creedy, a western affluent after which the town of crediton is named. as it approaches the ever-faithful city, lying like tiverton on the left bank, the exe is bordered by a green strath, with swelling hills on either hand. no sooner is the suburb of st. david passed than there comes into view the eminence which formed the limits of the ancient exeter, its summit crowned with trees that half conceal the meagre remains of the norman castle, while from its southern slope rise the mighty towers of the cathedral. pointing out that, although surrounded by hills higher than itself, exeter is seated on a height far above river or railway, freeman remarks that we have here "what we find so commonly in gaul, so rarely in britain, the celtic hill-fort, which has grown into the roman city, which has lived on through the teutonic conquest, and which still, after all changes, keeps to its place as the undoubted head of its own district. in wessex such a history is unique. in all southern england london is the only parallel, and that but an imperfect one." and he goes on to say that the name teaches the same lesson of continuity that is taught by the site. it has been changed in form but not in meaning. caerwise, "the fortress on the water," as it was in the beginning of things, "has been latinised into isca, it has been teutonised into exanceaster, and cut short into modern exeter; but the city by the exe has through all conquests, through all changes of language, proclaimed itself by its name as the city on the exe." [illustration: _photo: e. d. percival, ilfracombe._ watersmeet (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: e. d. percival, ilfracombe._ lynmouth and lynton (_p. _).] the castle of rougemont is represented by not much more than an ivy-clad gateway tower of norman date, and portions of the walls, which on one side have been levelled, and the timbered slopes converted into a pretty little recreation ground, known as northernhay, where, among the statues of men whom devonshire delights to honour, is one of the first earl of iddesleigh, gentlest of protagonists. of the cathedral little can be said in this place except that it admirably exemplifies the development of the decorated style, which here reaches its culmination in the venerable west front, its lower stage enriched with figures of kings and apostles and saints. the massive transeptal towers that distinguish exeter from all other english cathedrals, and, indeed, from all other english churches, with the single exception of that of ottery st. mary, built in imitation of this, are much earlier than the rest of the fabric, for they were reared early in the twelfth century by bishop warelwast, nephew of the conqueror, and were left standing when, towards the end of the thirteenth century, the reconstruction of the rest of the fabric was begun. disproportionately large they may be, in relation both to their own height and to the body of the church; but, if they cannot be said to contribute to the harmony of the design, it must be allowed that in themselves they are exceedingly impressive. the transformation of the cathedral, begun by bishop bronescombe, was continued by his successor, peter quivil, whose plans appear to have been pretty faithfully followed by those who came after him. not until the year was the nave finished, under grandisson, the bishop who re-built the church of ottery st. mary in its present form; and even then it was left to bishop brantyngham to add the rich west front. what most strikes one about the interior, which was restored with no lack of vigour by sir gilbert scott, is the prolonged stretch of graceful vaulting, extending through all the fourteen bays of nave and choir, with, of course, no central tower to break the line. there is much beautiful carving, both ancient and modern, in the church, but the bishop's throne, attributed to bishop stapledon ( - ), is perhaps of rather diffuse design, although the craftsmanship merits all the admiration that has been lavished upon it. around the close, and in a few of the older streets, some interesting specimens of domestic architecture are to be seen; but, the cathedral and its adjuncts apart, exeter is less rich than might be expected in memorials of the distant past. of its public buildings, the only one which may not be ignored is the guildhall, a stone structure dating from the end of the sixteenth century, with a balustraded façade resting on substantial piers, and projecting over the pavement. the ancient bridge over the exe, connecting the city with st. thomas, its western suburb, was destroyed in , and replaced by the present one. hundreds of years have come and gone since the cliffs of exeter were lapped by salt water. towards the end of the thirteenth century isabella de redvers, countess of devon, was pleased to cut off the city from the sea by forming the weir which has given name to the village of countess weir, and it was not till the reign of henry viii. that, by means of a canal to topsham, communication was re-established. early in the present century this waterway was widened, and now exeter is accessible to vessels of about tons. it is at topsham, four miles below the city, that the river, augmented by the waters of the clyst, expands into an estuary. from this point to the embouchure its course lies through delightful scenery. on the right bank are the woods of powderham castle, the ancestral seat of the earls of devon, stretching from the water's brink to the summit of the high ground behind; away to the west, haldon's long ridge rises as a sky-line, dividing the valley of the exe from that of the teign; and finally comes starcross. on the left bank, about midway between topsham and exmouth, is lympstone, a pretty, straggling fishing village. to exmouth, lying over against starcross, belongs the distinction of being the oldest of the numerous tribe of devonshire watering-places. a port of some consequence in very early days, it presently fell into an obscurity from which it was only rescued in the last century through the agency of one of the judges of assize, who, sojourning here for the good of his health while on circuit, was so advantaged by its genial breezes that he spread abroad its praises, and so gave it another start in life. its attractions may be less insistent than those of other places that were mere fishing villages long after it had become a popular resort, but it has a pleasant beach and a very respectable promenade, and with still more reason is it proud of the views to be had from the beacon. * * * * * the /lyn/, sometimes called the east lyn, to distinguish it from the west lyn, is one of the shortest as it is one of the most wilful of the devonshire streams, its length not exceeding a dozen miles, while in a direct line its outlet is only half that distance from its source. rising on exmoor, a little to the north of black barrow down, its upper valley is bleak and bare, and in this part of its career there is little to differentiate it from other moorland waters that hurriedly leave the dreary solitudes in which they have their birth. above oareford it dashes and splashes along over boulders and rocky ledges, the hills that rise from either bank being bare of aught but ling and brake and heather, save that the lower slopes bear here and there a group of wind-swept scrub-oaks; it is only lower down that the ravine assumes the combination of wildness and luxuriance in which lyn is excelled by none of its sister streams. how can we pass oareford without recalling that we are in the country of john ridd and the doones? it was in the parish of oare that the giant yeoman was born and bred; it was in the little perpendicular church of st. mary that he married the lovely but elusive lorna doone; it was from its altar that he sallied forth to pursue the man whom he believed to have slain his bride, his only weapon the limb of a gnarled oak which he tore from its socket as he passed beneath it. many there be who come into these parts to spy out the land, and to such it is a pleasant surprise to find that there are still ridds of the doones engaged upon the soil at oare. less palatable is the discovery that mr. blackmore has thought fit to mix a good deal of imagination with his word-pictures. the badgworthy "slide," in particular, which the hero was wont to climb in order to get speech of the captive maiden, has been the occasion of grievous disappointment. it is at malmsmead that the badgworthy water--the dividing line between devon and somerset--falls into the lyn, and "makes a real river of it"; the "slide," a mile or so up the "badgery" valley, as they call it hereabouts, is simply a succession of minute cascades formed by shelving rocks over which a little tributary stream glides down out of the doone valley. the novelist has not scrupled to take ample liberties with such of his characters as are not purely imaginary, as well as with his scenes; but, unless tradition is a very lying jade, the doone valley really sheltered a gang of robbers, said to have been disbanded soldiers who had fought in the great rebellion. one may still see traces of what are believed to have been their dwellings, though one writer profanely identifies them with pig-sties; and it is credibly stated that the destruction of the miscreants by the country-folk was provoked by the cruel murder of a child, as described in the romance. nor may one doubt that the mighty john was an actual personage, though it were vain to seek for his history in biographical dictionaries. as to lorna, what if mr. blackmore has invented her? is that to be counted to him for unrighteousness? [illustration: _photo: chapman & son, dawlish._ "clam" bridge over the wallabrook.] from malmsmead, with its primitive bridge of two arches, to watersmeet, where the brendon water plunges down a charming glen on the left to lose itself in the larger stream, the lyn ravine is a very kaleidoscope of beauty and grandeur. watersmeet, "an exquisite combination of wood and stream, the one almost hiding the water, the other leaping down over rocky ledges in a series of tiny cascades," must tax the painter's pencil, and is certainly no theme for a prosaic pen; and of lyndale the same despairing confession must be made. every turn in this lovely glen reveals some new beauty, until, with lynton lying in the cup of a hill on the left, one reaches lynmouth, where, just before the river plunges into the sea, it receives the waters of the west lyn as they merrily tumble out of glen lyn. southey, whose description of these and other features of the place has been quoted to the point of weariness, was one of the first to "discover" lynmouth; and in these days it has no reason to complain that its unrivalled attractions are not appreciated. for some years it has had its little mountain railway, to spare those whose chief need is exercise the fatigue of walking up the hill to lynton; and now the lines have been laid which bring it into touch with the south western and great western systems at barnstaple. let us hope that it will not presently have to complain of defacement at the hands of the lodging-house builder, and of desperation inflicted upon it by hordes of day-trippers, with their beer-bottles and greasy sandwich-papers! * * * * * [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ fingle bridge (_p. _).] dartmoor is a much more prolific "mother of rivers" than exmoor. in one of the loneliest and dreariest regions of the southern "forest," no great way from its northern extremity, is the quagmire known as cranmere pool, and from this and the sloughs that surround it ooze all the more important of the devonshire streams except the exe and the torridge. out of cranmere pool itself--a prison, according to local legend, of lost spirits, whose anguished cries are often borne on the wings of the wind--the west okement drains, to flow northwards to the torridge; and at distances varying from half a mile to a couple of miles, the teign, the dart, the tavy, and the taw have their birth. the okement will be noticed presently, when we have to do with the torridge; of the other rivers, the /teign/ rises in two headstreams, the north and the south teign, near sittaford tor. as is the way of these moorland waters, they are soon reinforced by tributary rills, among them the wallabrook, which flows by scorhill down to join the north teign. scorhill down has in its stone circle one of the most remarkable of those mysterious relics of an immemorial past in which dartmoor abounds. at one time all such remains were regarded, like those at stonehenge, as druidical monuments, but this theory of their origin is no longer in fashion, and antiquaries now prefer to say nothing more specific than that they usually have a sepulchral significance, and betoken that regions now abandoned to the curlew and the buzzard once had a considerable population. near scorhill the wallabrook is bestridden by a "clam" bridge, which, interpreted, means a bridge of a single slab of unhewn stone resting on the ground, as distinguished from a "clapper" bridge, consisting of one or more such slabs pillared on others, with no aid from mortar. the north and the south teign merge at leigh bridge, close by holy street and its picturesque mill, which has furnished a theme for the pencil of many an artist besides creswick. then the teign flows under the old bridge at chagford, a village overhung on one side by two rocky hills. the fine air of the place and its convenient situation for the exploration of dartmoor bring to it many visitors in the summer; but it is certainly no place for a winter sojourn. the story goes--and racy of the soil it is--that if a chagford man is asked in summer where he lives, he replies, as saucily as you please, "chaggyford, and what d'ye think, then?" but if the question is put to him in winter, he sadly answers, "chaggyford, good lord!" at chagford the valley broadens out, but soon it again contracts, and, sensibly quickening its speed, teign plunges headlong into what is perhaps the very finest of all the gorges in devonshire. near the entrance is a "logan" stone, a huge boulder of granite about a dozen feet long, so finely poised that it may with a very moderate exercise of force be made to rock, though it is less accommodating than when polwhele, a century ago, succeeded in moving it with one hand. the finest view of the gorge is that to be got from fingle bridge, a couple of miles lower down, where, looking back, one sees how the stream has wound its way amid the interfolded hills, of which the steep slopes are clad with coppice of tender green. here, on the left, is prestonbury, and on the right the loftier cranbrook, each crowned with its prehistoric "castle." of the narrow, ivy-mantled bridge, simple and massive, an illustration is given (p. ) showing the wedge-shaped piers which serve to break the fury of the torrent in time of spate. but we must hurry on past clifford mill and its bridge to dunsford bridge, another spot of singular beauty. on the right heltor, on the left blackstone, exalt their towering heads, both crowned with large "rock basins," in which the rude fancy of our forefathers saw missiles that king arthur and the great adversary hurled at each other athwart the intervening valley. so, passing more and more within the margin of cultivation, we come to chudleigh, with its rock, yielding a blue limestone, known to the builder as chudleigh marble, and its lovely, richly-wooded glen, down which a little tributary dances gaily into the teign. not a great way beyond, our river is swollen by the waters of a more important affluent, the bovey, which, from its source on dartmoor, has followed a course not dissimilar from that of the teign, lilting along through a rich and often spacious valley, past north bovey, manaton, lustleigh, with its "cleave," and bovey tracy. at newton abbot, pleasantly placed a little to the south of the teign, in a vale watered by the lemon, we may have fine views of the valleys of the teign and the bovey by ascending the hills up which this neat little town has straggled. its most memorable association is with the glorious revolution, and there still stands in front of a perpendicular tower, which is all that is left of the old chapel of st. leonard, the block of granite from which the prince of orange's proclamation was read. [illustration: _photo: g. denney & co., teignmouth._ teignmouth (_p. _).] now swerving sharply to the east, the teign develops into an estuary, and with a background of hills on either hand, those on the left rising into the broad downs of haldon, hastens to discharge itself into the sea, flowing beneath what claims to be the longest wooden bridge in england, which connects teignmouth on the north with shaldon on the south. teignmouth is an ancient fishing-village which has grown into a watering-place. if the story that it suffered at the hands of danish pirates in the eighth century is an error due to confusion between teignmouth and tynemouth, it was indubitably ravaged by the french at the end of the seventeenth century. in these days its chief feature is the den, a sandbank due to the shifting bar that obstructs the mouth of the river, but now converted into an esplanade, whence, looking inland, one sees the twin peaks of heytor and other outlying hills of dartmoor, while to the south, along the shore-line, appears the bold promontory known as the ness, and on the north stand out the quaint pinnacles of red rock which the patient waves have carved into shapes that have won for them the designation of the "parson and the clerk." [illustration: new bridge.] * * * * * [illustration: buckfastleigh.] the /dart/ may be said to attain to self-consciousness at dartmeet, where in a deep and lovely valley the rapid east and west dart mingle their foaming waters. the two streams rise at no great distance from each other, in the neighbourhood, as we have seen, of cranmere pool; and they are never far apart, but the western water follows a somewhat less consistently south-east course, past wistman's wood--a grim assemblage of stunted, storm-beaten oaks, springing up amidst blocks of granite--and crockern tor and two bridges; while the eastern stream, from its source at dart head, speeds by post bridge and bellaford, crossed at both places by "clam" bridges. hurrying impetuously along over a shallow rocky bed, with a monotonous clatter which is locally known as its "cry," dart washes the base of benjay tor, and rushing beneath new bridge--a not unpicturesque structure, despite its unpromising name--enters a richly timbered glade. presently, as its valley deepens, it makes a wide circuit to wander past the glorious demesne of holne chase. beyond the woods which stretch away for miles to the north-east, buckland beacon rears his giant form; on the other side of the stream is the little village of holne, birthplace of charles kingsley, whose father was rector here. a mile or so above buckfastleigh, on the right bank, are the ruins of buckfast abbey, consisting of little more than an ivy-clad tower and a spacious barn. originating in the tenth century, this house was re-founded in the reign of henry ii., and grew to be the richest cistercian abbey in all devon. from the dissolution till the beginning of the present century the site remained desolate. then a mansion in the gothic style was built upon it, and this is now occupied by a community of benedictine monks from burgundy, who have in part re-built the monastery on the old foundations. [illustration: staverton.] beyond smoky buckfastleigh and its spire, the dart flows among lush meadows and around wooded hills, past dean prior, with its memories of herrick, and staverton, where it is crossed by a strongly buttressed bridge. now it again makes a bend eastwards to enclose the fine grounds of dartington hall. the house, partly in ruins, is commandingly placed high above the densely wooded right bank; and the oldest part of the structure, the great hall, dates from the reign of richard ii., whose badge, a white hart chained, appears on one of the doorways. soon totnes comes into view, climbing the steep right bank and spreading itself over the summit, its most salient features the ruined ivy-draped shell of the norman castle on the crest of the hill, and the ruddy pinnacled tower of the church. totnes has not scrupled to claim to be the oldest town in england, and, quite half way up the acclivity, far above the highest water-mark of the dart, they show the stone on which brute set foot at the end of his voyage from ruined troy. few places can better afford to dispense with fabulous pretensions, for the evidences of its antiquity declare themselves on every hand. its name is allowed to be anglo-saxon, and it is thought to be not improbable that its castle mound was first a british stronghold. a considerable part of the ancient wall is left standing, and the east gate still divides high street from fore street. very quaint and charming are many of the old houses in the high street, with their gables and piazzas; and the venerable guildhall preserves its oaken stalls for the members of the corporation, with a canopied centre for the mayor. below the town is the graceful three-arched bridge which connects it with bridgetown pomeroy, on the left bank; and from this one may descend by steps to the tiny island in mid-stream, some years ago laid out as a public garden. [illustration: the island, totnes.] [illustration: totnes.] it is the ten miles or so of river between totnes and dartmouth that have earned for the dart the title of "the english rhine." the absurdity of likening the inconsiderable dart, with its placid current and its backing of gently-sloping hills, to the broad and rushing rhine, flanked by lofty, castle-crowned steeps, has before been exposed, but the nickname is still current, and while it remains so the protest must continue. yet how manifold and bewitching are the graces of the stream in these lower reaches, where it curves and doubles until from some points of view it appears to be resolved into a series of lakes, embosomed among hills of softest contour, their braes either smooth and verdant as a lawn or rich with foliage! not long after leaving totnes one sees, on the right, sharpham house, surrounded by lawns and parterres and by magnificent woods, which border the stream for at least a mile. sandridge house, on the opposite bank, is notable as the birthplace of john davis, the elizabethan navigator, who discovered the straits which are known among men by his name; and presently we shall pass the well wooded grounds of greenway, where was born sir humphrey gilbert, another of the heroes of great eliza's "spacious days," who established the newfoundland fisheries. between these two points comes dittisham, with its grey church tower, its famous plum orchards, and its bell, which is rung when one wants to be ferried over to greenway quay. soon the dart begins to widen out, and, threading our way among yachts and skiffs, we come within sight of the _britannia_ training-ship, and find ourselves betwixt dartmouth on the right, and kingswear on the left. [illustration: dittisham.] dartmouth, rising from the bank in terraces, wears an aspect hardly less ancient than that of totnes. it was incorporated in the fourteenth century, but for hundreds of years before that was of note as a harbour. william the conqueror is said to have sailed herefrom on his expedition for the relief of mans; a century later the english fleet, or a part of it, gathered here for the third crusade; and did not chaucer think that probably his shipman "was of dertemuthe"? the castle, close to the water's edge, at the mouth of the harbour, is something more than the picturesque remnant of an ancient fortress, for the wall and foss which surround it enclose also a casemated battery of heavy guns. on the crest of the hill behind are the ruins of gallant's bower fort. nearly opposite is kingswear castle, which claims an even more remote origin; and crowning the hill at whose base it lies are some remains of fort ridley, which, like gallant's bower, was wrested from the parliamentarians by prince maurice, both strongholds, however, being afterwards stormed by fairfax. the harbour, though a fine, broad sheet of water, is almost landlocked, and the entrance to it is through a strait channel known as "the jawbones," which in more primitive days than these was protected by a strong chain stretching from one bank to the other. * * * * * [illustration: mouth of the dart.] of the two remaining streams that rise in the morasses around cranmere pool, the /tavy/ runs a course which, though not long, is remarkable for the grandeur and the richness of its scenery. did space permit, one would be glad to follow it from its peaty spring under great kneeset tor, through the grand defile known as tavy cleave, on between peter tavy and mary tavy to tavistock, with its statue of drake, who was born hard by, and its associations with the author of the "pastorals"; thence past buckland abbey, rich in memories of sir francis and of the cistercian monks from whom the neighbouring village of buckland monachorum gets its distinctive appellation, and so to tavy's confluence with the tamar. pleasant also would it be to trace its principal tributary, the walkham, down its romantic valley, nor less so to track the lid from its source, a few miles above lidford, through its magnificent gorge, and onwards to its union with tamar. but the sands are fast running out, and we must pass on to sketch very rapidly the career of the taw as it flows first north-eastwards, then north-westwards, to meet the torridge in barnstaple bay. in the first part of its course the /taw/, which the exe exceeds in length by only five miles, is as frisky and headstrong as the rest of the moorland streams, but as soon as it has got well within the line of civilisation it sobers down, and thereafter demeans itself sedately enough. the first place of interest which it passes is south tawton, where is oxenham, now a farmhouse, but formerly the seat of a family of this name who lived here from the time of henry iii. until early in the present century. of these oxenhams it is an ancient tradition that a white-breasted bird is seen when the time has come for one of them to be gathered to his fathers. the last appearance of the portent was in , when mr. g. n. oxenham, then the head of the house, lay dying at , earl's terrace, kensington. his daughter and a friend, the latter of whom knew nothing of the legend, were sitting in the room underneath the chamber of death when, to quote from murray's "handbook," their attention "was suddenly roused by a shouting outside the house, and on looking out they saw a large white bird perched on a thorn tree outside the window, where it remained for several minutes, although some workmen on the opposite side of the road were throwing their hats at it in the vain effort to drive it away." an interesting occurrence, certainly; but if we are to see in it more than a coincidence, what is to be said of the puffin, the only one of its tribe ever recorded to have visited london, which, having found its way so far inland, flew into the rooms of the president of the british ornithologists' union? must we believe that the adventurous bird was moved to call there in order that its feat might be duly recorded in the proceedings of the institution? it is below nymet rowland that taw changes its course. thenceforward it placidly flows amid rich meadows agreeably diversified with woodland. at eggesford it is overlooked by the earl of portsmouth's seat, peeping out from the trees which climb the left bank. at chulmleigh it gathers up the little dart; and beyond south molton road station the mole, which gives name to north molton and south molton, brings in its tribute from the border of exmoor. having laved the foot of coddon hill, from whose rounded top one may have far views of the valley in both directions, the taw flows by the cosy little village of bishop's tawton on the right; along the other bank stretches tawstock park, the demesne of the bourchier-wreys, set about with fine old oaks. then with a sudden bend it comes within sight of barnstaple bridge, and beyond the south walk, on the right bank, bordering a pretty little park, appear the graceful tower of holy trinity church--an unusually effective piece of modern perpendicular work--and the ugly warped spire of the mother church. the "metropolis of north devon," as this comely and lusty little town proudly styles itself, is a very ancient place, which had a castle and a priory at least as far back as the time of the conqueror; but these have long since vanished, and save for a row of cloistered almshouses dating from , and its bridge of sixteen arches, built in the thirteenth century, it is indebted for its savour of antiquity mainly to the venerable usages that have survived the changes and chances of the centuries. like bideford, long its rival among north devon towns, it fitted out ships for the fleet which gave so good an account of the spanish armada. during the civil war it declared for the popular cause, but was captured by the king's forces in ; and although it soon succeeded in flinging off the royal yoke, it was re-captured, and remained in the king's hands until nearly the close of the war. just below the hideous bridge which carries the south western line across the taw is the quay, on the right bank, and beyond it, lined by an avenue of ancient elms, is the north walk, now unhappily cut up for the purposes of the new railway from lynton. the stream, by this time of considerable breadth, widens out yet more during the five or six remaining miles of its course; but its channel is tortuous and shifting, and only by small vessels is it navigable. a few more bends, and instow and appledore are reached, and torridge is sighted as it comes up from the south to blend its waters with those of the sister stream. then far away over the curling foam of barnstaple bar we get a full view of lundy, its cliffs at this distance looking suave enough, though in truth they are not less jagged than when the spanish galleon fleeing from amyas leigh's _vengeance_ was impaled upon their granite spines; while on the left hartland point boldly plants its foot in the atlantic, and on the right baggy point marks the northern limit of barnstaple bay. [illustration: _photo: vickery bros., barnstaple._ barnstaple, from the south walk (_p. _).] it is at no great distance from hartland point that the /torridge/, most circuitous of devonshire rivers, rises. first flowing in a south-easterly direction past newton st. petrock and shebbear and sheepwash, it presently makes a bend and follows an almost precisely opposite course north-westwards. in about the middle of the loop which it forms in preparing to stultify itself, it is augmented by the okement, which has come almost due north from cranmere pool, brawling down a valley which, near okehampton and elsewhere, is finely wooded. past yew bridge and dolton and beaford, torridge continues its sinuous course; and as it approaches great torrington, set on a hill some feet above its right bank, its valley presents the combination of smooth haugh and precipitous rock shown in our view (page ). torrington has a history, and little besides. even the church, enclosed in a notably pretty god's acre, graced with avenues of beeches and chestnuts, has no special interest save that it contains the carved oak pulpit in which the great john howe preached before his ejectment in ; for it had to be rebuilt after the civil war, having been blown up by the accidental explosion of a large quantity of gunpowder while it was being used as a magazine and prison. two hundred royalists were confined in the building at the time, and these, with their guards, all perished. winding round torrington common, gay in due season with gorse and bracken, our river glides on past wear gifford--an idyllically beautiful spot incongruously associated with a melancholy tragedy--to the "little white town" described by charles kingsley in the opening paragraph of his one great story. white it hardly is in these days, but this is the only qualification that strict accuracy requires. the famous bridge of four-and-twenty arches dates from about the same period as that at barnstaple, which it considerably exceeds in length. the town itself lays claim to a much higher antiquity, for it traces its origin to a cousin of the conqueror, founder of the illustrious line which came to full flower in the richard grenville who, as he lay a-dying, after having matched the _revenge_ against the whole spanish fleet of three-and-fifty sail, was able proudly to say, in a spirit not unlike that of a later naval hero, that he was leaving behind him "an everlasting fame of a valiant and true soldier, that hath _done his duty_ as he was bound to do." he it was who revived the fortunes of bideford after a period of decline, and so increased its prosperity by attracting to it trade from the settlements in the new world that it was able to send seven ships to join the fleet that gathered in plymouth harbour to fight the spaniard. with memories such as these, the town may surely abate its eagerness to have accepted as armada trophies the old guns which have been unearthed from its dustheap. pleasant the course of the stream continues to be, past "the charmed rock of hubbastone," where sleeps an old norse pirate, with his crown of gold, till, with instow on the right and appledore on the left, torridge meets her sister taw, and the two with one accord turn westward and roll towards "the everlasting thunder of the long atlantic swell." * * * * * [illustration: the torridge near torrington (_p. _).] [illustration: the plym from cadaford bridge.] [illustration: in bickleigh vale.] of the streams that have their fountains on dartmoor, the longer ones rise, as we have seen, in the northern division of the "forest"; the shorter ones, the avon, the erme, the yealm, and the plym, come to being in the southern division, at no great distance from each other, and amid surroundings not unlike those of cranmere pool; and all of them flow into the channel on the western side of bolt head. neither of them is without charms of its own; but the /plym/ is easily chief among them, and with a rapid sketch of its course from plym head, some three miles south of princetown, to the sound, the present chapter must end. flowing by rugged, flat-topped sheepstor on the right, and trowlesworthy tor on the left, plym presently reaches cadaford bridge, where it plunges into a rocky ravine, the precipitous hillside on the left crowned by the church of shaugh prior, while from the hill on the right, smothered with oak coppice, projects a huge crag of ivy-clad granite, the dewerstone, celebrated for its views. at shaugh bridge the stream is swollen by the meavy, which, not far from its source on the moorland, is tapped to supply plymouth leat--a work for which the plymouth folk are indebted to sir francis drake. afterwards the meavy runs by the grey granite church of sheepstor, where, under the shadow of a noble beech, is the massive tomb of sir james brooke, of sarawak fame. richly-wooded bickleigh vale is one of the beauty spots of the plym; another lovely scene is that at plym bridge, where, close to the mossy bridge, is the ruined arch of a tiny chantry, built by the monks of plympton priory that travellers might here pray to heaven for protection before adventuring into the wilds beyond. of the priory, founded in the twelfth century to replace a saxon college of secular canons, nothing remains but the refectory and a kitchen and a moss-grown orchard, which may be seen close to the lichened church of plympton st. mary, if we care to wander a little eastwards from the river. not far off is the other plympton, with its scanty fragments of a castle of the de redvers, earls of devon. more memorable is plympton earl from its association with sir joshua reynolds, who was born here, and sat at his father's feet in the quaint cloistered grammar school, where, too, three other painters of note were educated--sir joshua's pupil and biographer, northcote, the luckless haydon, and the fortune-favoured eastlake. reynolds was not without honour in his own country, at any rate during his life. the corporation of plympton once chose him mayor, and he declared to george iii. that the election was an honour which gave him more pleasure than any other which had ever come to him--"except," he added as an afterthought, "that conferred on me by your majesty." a portrait of himself, which he painted for his native town, was long treasured in the ancient guildhall, but the virtue of the corporation was not permanently proof against temptation, and at last the picture was sold, for £ . this happened a good many years ago. below plym bridge the river begins to expand into the estuary, known in the upper part as the laira and in the lower as the catwater, the division between the two sections being marked by the laira bridge, five hundred feet long. of "laira" various derivations have been suggested, the most ingenious, and perhaps, therefore, the least likely, being that since "leary" in the vernacular means "empty," the name may be taken as pointing to the large expanses of mud and sedge left bare by the tide--larger in the days before the stream was embanked than they are now. saltram, a seat of the earls of morley, the first of whom both built the bridge and constructed the embankment, is on the left shore, embosomed in woods. below the bridge the estuary curves round northwards, and, sweeping by sutton pool, its waters lose themselves in one of the noblest havens in the world, studded with craft of all shapes and sizes, from the grim battleship and the swift liner to the ruddy-sailed trawler. to get a _coup d'[oe]il_ of plymouth and its surroundings, let us take our stand on the limestone headland known as the hoe, where, according to the tradition which kingsley has followed, drake was playing bowls with his brother sea-dogs when the armada was descried, and refused to stop until the game was ended. in these days it is surmounted by a statue of the hero, by the armada memorial, and by smeaton's lighthouse, removed from the eddystone from no defect of its own, but because the rock on which it was based was becoming insecure. on the east the hoe terminates in the citadel, an ancient fortification which has been adapted to modern conditions; on the low ground behind crouches plymouth, effectually screened from the sea-winds; on the west, beyond the great western docks, lies stonehouse, and west of this again is devonport, its dockyards lining the hamoaze, as the estuary of the tamar is called. seawards, restraining the rush of the broad waves of the sound, is the breakwater, a lighthouse at one end, a beacon of white granite at the other, and in the middle, as it seems at this distance, but really on an island just within it, a mighty oval fort of granite cased in iron. about half-way to the breakwater is drake's island, another link in a chain of defences which has, one may hope, rendered the three towns invulnerable to assault either from sea or from land; and over against this, bordering the sound on the west, are the woods and grassy slopes of mount edgcumbe, the noble domain which the spanish admiral, medina sidonia, is said to have designed for himself. away in the dim distance the new eddystone rears its lofty head. how the first of the four lighthouses which have warned mariners of this dangerous reef was washed away, and the second fell a prey to the flames, every schoolboy knows. familiar, too, is the story of the third; yet as we turn to look at it, now that it is retired from active service, we may be pardoned for recalling how, from this very spot, smeaton was wont to watch the progress of the work which was to be his title to enduring fame. "again and again," says dr. smiles, "the engineer, in the dim grey of the morning, would come out and peer through his telescope at his deep-sea lamp-post. sometimes he had to wait long until he could see a tall white pillar of spray shoot up into the air. then, as the light grew, he could discern his building, temporary house and all, standing firm amidst the waters; and thus far satisfied, he could proceed to his workshops, his mind relieved for the day." [illustration: plympton earl. (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: w. heath, plymouth._ the hoe, plymouth.] plymouth, beginning as sutton prior, an appanage of the augustinian monastery at plympton, the original harbour being what is now known as sutton pool, has a history extending at least as far back as the domesday survey. stonehouse is a comparatively modern extension; and devonport, though its dockyards date from the days of william iii., was long in growing into the consequence which now it possesses. those who know their boswell well will remember that johnson, coming into devonshire with sir joshua, visited plymouth at a time when great jealousy was being felt of the pretensions of devonport, then just beginning to assert itself. half in jest and half in earnest he vigorously espoused the prejudices of the older town; and when, in time of drought, devonport applied to plymouth for water, he burst out, "no, no. i am against the dockers; i am a plymouth man. rogues! let them die of thirst! they shall not have a drop!" since then devonport has gone to dartmoor for a water supply of its own; and plymouth, while not oblivious of its glorious memories, is well content to take a maternal pride in the prosperity of the younger towns. / w. w. hutchings./ [illustration: danescombe (_p. _).] rivers of cornwall. the minor streams of cornwall--the /tamar/: woolley barrows--morwellham and weir head--morwell rocks--harewood--calstock--cotehele--pentillie--confluence with the tavy--saltash--the hamoaze. the /fowey/: a change of name--st. neot--lostwithiel--fowey. the /fal/: fenton fal--tregony--truro--tregothnan--falmouth. comparatively insignificant though they may be, the rivers of cornwall have peculiar interest alike for the geographer and the geologist, and are rife with the charms of natural scenery which attract every lover of the beautiful. if we except the camel, which is the only river worthy of mention that flows into the bristol channel, the county has a southern drainage, this arising from the fact that the watershed of cornwall is almost confined to the country contiguous to the north coast. perhaps it is by way of compensation to the camel, or alan, that it has two sources. by lanteglos and advent its course runs through a romantic country of wood and vale, and it meets the tide at egloshayle, thence passing wadebridge, eight miles below which it falls into padstow harbour. of the streams possessing something of historic interest and scenic charm, the looe must be mentioned because of the lovely vale through which it flows between duloe and morval and the association of the river with the ancient parliamentary boroughs of east and west looe at its mouth. the seaton, the st. austell river, the hayle, the gannel, and the hel, each and all have their individuality, owing allegiance to no other river tyrannous of its tributaries; but the three principal streams of the county, the tamar, the fowey, and the fal, which have been selected for special notice here, have a virtual monopoly of interest and attention. the /tamar/ possesses, in a singular degree, the more striking characteristics of the cornish rivers, and is fairly entitled to the distinction of first consideration at our hands. having its rise at woolley barrows, in the extreme east of the westernmost county, a short distance from its source tamar becomes the boundary between the counties of devon and cornwall, and so continues during nearly the whole of its course, some forty miles. flowing distinctly southward, the river leads a quiet life for at least a league, till, gaining in size and importance, it gives its name to the pretty village and parish of north tamerton. thenceforth "its tranquil stream through rich and peopled meadows finds its way." at st. stephen's-by-launceston it receives the werrington stream, and expands into a beautiful lake in werrington park. below the lake the impetuous attery stream joins the now brimming river, which, passing under poulston and greston, reaches tavistock new bridge, where we are on the "scientific frontier" of devon and cornwall. at this point, too, the tamar enters upon a new stage of its existence, leaving its lowly moorland birth and quiet ordinary youth behind it, and beginning a career which is henceforth the cynosure of all eyes. hurrying by gunnislake, the busy little hamlet of workers in clay and stone, at weir head the river literally leaps into fame. from the coaching hamlet it has slided on through a woodland glade of bewitching beauty, which wins a spontaneous outburst of admiration from the visitor who, haply, has chosen to approach the favoured scene by the serpentining sylvan walk from morwellham to weir head. here its waters break in a pretty cascade over the artificial ridge of rocks that reaches from bank to bank. then they prettily describe a circle about the islet in mid-stream, gaining new life and movement from the impetus. with the briskness of a waterslide the tamar rushes on to morwellham. a charming variety of river-glimpses may be gained through the luxuriant foliage at weir head, the views hereabouts having become the objective of the highly popular steamer-trips from plymouth, devonport, and saltash, which have constituted "up the tamar" quite a colloquialism in the west. the winding river gains a new glory from its beautiful and impressive surroundings as it flows at the base of morwell rocks, those wonderful examples of nature's carvings, set in the midst of luxuriant foliage that here hides their shaggy sides and there throws into bold relief an awe-inspiring pile. the rocks are unique in their romantic beauty, even though they figure among the many objects of interest in a highly picturesque neighbourhood. the chimney rock and the turret rock are happier instances of descriptive nomenclature than usual. bolder still is that most striking specimen of natural architecture, morwell rock, the massiveness of which doubtless gained for it the capital distinction. to the giddy height of the topmost rock, above the far-stretching woodland of morwellham, scarce a sound of the rippling river comes; but the silver thread of its serpentine course may be traced afar through the romantic valley, winding about okel tor and the great bend that forms the peninsula between morwellham and calstock, and then taking its favoured way through cherry orchard-groves on to the haven under the hill. [illustration: the rivers of cornwall.] the river is navigable to weir head, but morwellham is the highest point reached by the steamers. pursuing the line of least resistance, the tamar now makes a tremendous sweep about the hill on which calstock church stands. but ere the first view of the "two-faced church" is caught, an interesting riparian residence is skirted--harewood, the scene of mason's play of _elfrida_, now the office of the duchy of cornwall, but formerly one of the trelawny properties. calstock, if it please you, is the centre of the old "cherry picking" district, though to-day its strawberry gardens must rival the orchards in their remunerative return to the industrious population of the quaint little town that seems to have grown away from the water's edge to the pleasant cornish country beyond tamar bank. still, if you would see calstock in its daintiest garb and most delightful beauty, come you when the pretty cherry blossom decks the groves by the river, and the tender pink and white clothes the orchard lawns to the uplands. [illustration: tavistock new bridge (_p. _).] from calstock on to cotehele, and thence almost to the junction of the tamar and the tavy, the same delightful eccentricity of the river-scenery presents itself--every prominent feature re-appearing in an entirely different aspect, scarce five minutes of the river-trip passing without a variation of the point of view. a last glimpse of calstock church, and we are encompassed by woodland. everywhere a luxuriant living green meets the eye. apparently, the swelling woods and orchard lawns approach ahead and form a _cul-de-sac_; but the tamar makes a sharp detour to the right or to the left, and another glory of the leafy way bursts upon the sight. again and again the pleasing experience is repeated ere a human habitation relieves a monotony that for once is wholly charming. beyond the limekilns of cotehele appears the lodge gate of cotehele house, one of the residences of the edgcumbe family, and a place of some historic interest. by far the most prominent feature in the fine landscape which may be viewed from a tower at the highest point of the grounds is kit hill, the loftiest eminence on hingston down, which was the scene of a last desperate battle between the britons of cornwall and the invading saxons in the year . a beautiful valley near cotehele, known as danescombe to this day, is said to have taken its name from the allies whom the cornish called to their aid in this sanguinary struggle. immediately below cotehele the zig-zag course of the tamar is most strongly marked, and nowhere are its revelations of new views and fresh charms more entrancing than where it winds about the extensive grounds of pentillie. shortly after we have doffed our caps in deference to the pious sir richard edgcumbe, devout worshipper of the holy mother, who erected a church by the river-bank to commemorate his miraculous escape from the soldiers of the royal richard, we catch a fleeting but impressive glimpse of another stately residence of a county family, on a hilly eminence clothed to its crown with thickly grown woods, the castellated mansion emerging from dense leafy environs well towards the crest. all suddenly the coquetting stream swerves to the devonshire side, as speedily returns to caress the fair meads of cornwall, and another glorious prospect is disclosed. a nearer view is now to be had of pentillie castle, lying embowered in the far-stretching woodland, the gothic features of the lordly pleasure-house which the late owner, mr. john tillie coryton, built for himself admirably harmonising with its beautiful surroundings. below pentillie, the tamar, in its ampler waters and wider course, has to be satisfied with less interesting associations. a last big bend in the river, and, past the pretty hamlet of cargreen, we shortly find ourselves abreast of the church of st. dilpe, at landulph, erected very near the river-bank, on the cornish side. the tower of st. budeaux church, whose melodious bells chime cheerily across the water, rises high above the devon bank. here the tavy makes common cause with the tamar, and the twin rivers flow on by saltash into the hamoaze. nearly opposite the mouth of the tavy, on the cornish side, is the ecclesiastical parish of st. stephen-by-saltash, with the ruins of trematon castle at the summit of a well-wooded hill. the castle is believed to have been built at the period of the conquest, and was subsequently held by the earls of cornwall. [illustration: morwell rocks (_p. _).] at saltash--as the western men will not forget to remind the boasting cockney--the tamar is wider than the thames at westminster. saltash itself, by the way, was originally (according to carew) villa de esse, after a family of that name, and to this was added "salt," on account of its "marine situation." the busy little waterside town has this great dignity--that its mayor and corporation take precedence of those of plymouth and devonport. saltash has gradually, through many generations, built itself up a steep, rocky acclivity until the habitations extend to the summit of the hill at longstone, from which favoured eminence the prospect is very fine. here may we see the broadened river where the ebbing tide swirls by the _mount edgcumbe_ training-ship, that is swinging round on its tidal pivot just above brunel's great bridge; thence, flowing beneath the wondrous iron link of the two westernmost counties with which the engineer spanned the river, here half a mile across, the tamar, now joined by the lynher from the west, loses its identity in the all-embracing hamoaze, with its wood-fringed shores; the river passing unremarked into plymouth harbour, from the harbour to the sound, and from the sound to the channel--forgotten now in the great affairs of navies, and the thrilling stories of the seas on which drake and hawkins, raleigh and grenville, sailed to fight the spaniard. from haunts of peace, the tamar, itself a pleasant stream, has flowed through scenes of rare beauty to these so warlike surroundings, where its current eddies about the decaying hulks on whose decks the old sea-dogs died, where its waters wash arsenal, dock, and victualling yard, and where it oft bears on its broad bosom a mighty fleet of men-of-war. * * * * * [illustration: cargreen (_p. _).] at the foot of brown willy, cornwall's highest hill, in the parish of st. breward, there is an aqueous locality in which the water-finder might exercise his art of divination with the utmost confidence, if, indeed, he did not find his occupation gone by reason of the abundance of the surface water. this is foy-fenton, and here the /fowey/ rises. as, to this day, fowey becomes "foy" in the naming of the boats that boast the prettiest harbour in the county for their port, one may easily discover a close association in the nomenclature of the sites and scenes at the beginning and the end of this very charming stream. in its course, curiously enough, the river changes its name. where it flows southward through the moorlands between st. neot and st. cleer, it is called the dranes (or dreynes) river; and fishermen from the "model borough" of liskeard, who love to flog its pleasant waters for the toothsome trout that they harbour, would be prepared to contend, in the face of the maps and in the presence of geographers, that it is the dranes river, and no other. in flood-time a strong stream that gives the road-surveyor endless trouble, the fowey, leaping along its bouldered way, here and there lightening its journey by falling in picturesque cascades, scattering its showers of iridescent spray over the thick foliage that everywhere clothes its banks, runs almost level with the main road to st. neot--a village noted for its window-pictured legend of st. neot and the miraculous supply of fish, in the parish church--where it receives a goodly stream of that name. increasing the beauty and interest of its course with every mile it travels, the river by-and-by glides into the far-stretching woodland of glynn, the seat of lord vivian, and then becomes one of the principal contributors to the scenic charms of the railway-side from devonport to par, which miss braddon describes as the most delightful of all journeys by rail. [illustration: the hamoaze from saltash (_p. _).] after leaving its moorland haunts, and in order to reach glynn, the fowey took a westerly turn, but, bodmin once skirted, the river runs directly southward again, under resprin bridge and past lanhydrock house, the cornish home of that lord robartes who was the leader of the parliamentarian forces in these parts. the ancient mansion, of the tudor period, passed through many crises, and, together with modern additions, was practically destroyed by fire in , and rebuilt in - . the next object of interest seen from the river is the ruin of restormel castle, on the summit of a bold headland a mile from lostwithiel. the building of the castle is ascribed to the cardenhams, who flourished hereabouts in the reign of the first edward; and it was once the residence of the earls of cornwall. at lostwithiel--the uzella of ptolemy--the fowey is crossed by an ancient and narrow bridge of eight pointed arches, erected in the fourteenth century. the bridge is very strongly buttressed, and over each buttress is an angular niche. a silver oar, which is among the insignia of the corporation, bears the inscription: "_custodia aquæ de fowey_." the celebrated colonel silas titus, author of "killing noe murder," member of parliament for the borough - , was the donor of the oar. lostwithiel, where the river meets the tide, at once becoming navigable for small vessels, boasts great antiquity, and in was the headquarters of the parliamentarian forces in cornwall. here, below lostwithiel's ancient bridge, let us take boat and taste of the ineffable enjoyment which laureates of the fowey have attributed to a sail or a row down the romantic stream to the mouth of the harbour, where the sailors sing their chanties as they work the merchantmen out between the old towers whence chains were stretched across the harbour in the stirring days when the spaniard sailed the main. sing hey, sing ho, for indeed life is worth living when the soft zephyrs blow, and we glide by the prettily placed church of st. winnow, and catch the musical chiming of its melodious peal of bells. "youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm," our delight knows no surcease, but rather grows as, something less than three miles below the old parliamentary borough, the banks open out, and we behold that daydream of scenic beauty, the sunlit reaches of the river winding away toward the sea. one branch of this estuary, by-the-by, flows to st. veep, which has an interesting church. the lerrin and st. cadoc creeks yet further enrich a river which nature has endowed with charms so abundant. bodinnoc ferry is a name to conjure with in yachting circles, since there is not one log among the many of the pleasure-boats that make for the "little dartmouth" of the far west in the height of summer but contains some fine compliment to the rare beauty of the view, landward and seaward, from this familiar tacking point. no wonder that fowey harbour shares with its devonshire rival the generous tribute of sportsmen, who have lavished upon each of these picturesque ports effusive praise that has its point in the proud title of the "yachtsman's paradise." long ere these pleasure-seeking days was the discovery of fowey's possession of a safe and commodious harbour made: "the shippes of fowey sayling by rhie and winchelsey, about edward the iii^{rd} tyme, would vayle no bonnet beying required, whereupon rhie and winchelsey men and they fought, when fowie men had victorie, and thereupon bare their arms mixt with the arms of rhie and winchelsey, and then rose the name of the gallants of fowey." but leland knew that they deserved the title long years before, as "the glorie of fowey rose by the warres in king edward i. and iii. and henry v.'s day, partly by feats of warre, partly by piracie, and so waxing rich fell all to merchandize." fowey took so naturally and keenly to the practice of piracy that the "gallants" had a little affair at sea with the french on their own account and against the king's treaty and commandment, in the reign of the fourth edward, who appears not to have been well pleased, since he took the head of one of their number, imprisoned the captains, and sent men of dartmouth down to seize their ships and remove the chain then drawn across the mouth of the haven. but the "gallants" were nothing daunted, and in the time of charles ii. their successors beat off eighty dutch ships of war that, greatly daring, had chased a fleet of merchantmen into fowey harbour. st. finbarrus, first bishop of cork, is said to have been buried in the church, which is dedicated to him, and is a handsome structure. place house, the seat of the treffry family, besides being a noble mansion, gloriously dight with very fine specimens of cornish granite and porphyry, is of great historic interest. it was elizabeth, wife of thomas treffry--an ancient statue of whom stands in the grounds--who, in the absence of her husband, headed his men and beat off the french in an assault on place house in july, . * * * * * along its course of but twenty miles, four of which are tidal, the /fal/ divides the county into two nearly equal parts. fenton fal, in tregoss moor, is the birthplace of the stream; and from the moorland it receives the tributary waters of many peaty rivulets before gaining entrance to the romantic vale of treviscoe, which gives us a foretaste of that feast of the beautiful which the fal affords in its lower reaches. compared with what goes before and follows after, the course of the stream by grampound (the voluba of ptolemy), through creed valley, where it leaves tregony on its left bank, and on to ruan, is somewhat lacking in interest, and the river itself is of no great strength. ere tin-streaming and the sandbanks had done their mischief, you might have reached tregony on the top of the tide; nowadays the ebb and flow affect the river no farther than ruan. yet this has sufficed to gain for the fal a glorious name. perhaps the finest compliment ever paid to the river fell from royal lips. when the queen, accompanied by the prince consort, made the trip down the fal from truro in , she was visibly impressed with the beauty and splendour of the scenery, and particularly charmed with the view about tregothnan. her majesty was reminded by it of the rhine, but thought it almost finer where winding between woods of stunted oaks, and full of numberless creeks. at truro, the two little rivers, kenwyn and allen, flow through the city into a creek of the fal, known as truro river; the first-named separates st. mary's from st. paul's, while the second divides the parish of st. mary from that of st. john. the little kenwyn is "personally conducted" through the streets of the cathedral town by the corporation, in open conduits, and forms a not unpleasant feature of the tiny city in western barbary whose inhabitants were once said to have a good conceit of themselves: "the people of this town dress and live so elegantly that the pride of truro is become a by-word in the county." the most modern of our english cathedrals is a monument to the pious zeal, marvellous industry, and unquenchable enthusiasm of dr. benson, the first bishop of truro, afterwards archbishop of canterbury. the prince of wales laid the foundation stone in , and its consecration took place seven years later. the style is early english of the thirteenth century, and at present the cathedral but partially realises the ambitious design of the architect, who planned a very imposing edifice, which, in the event of its ultimate completion, must inevitably challenge comparison with the most notable of modern achievements in the gothic. already it possesses several splendid windows and many beautiful specimens of modern sculpture. [illustration: _photo: f. argall, truro._ the fal from tolverne (_p. _).] the prettiest parts of our river lie between king harry's passage and roseland. below tregothnan, where the fal unites with the truro river and st. clement's creek, both shores are beautifully clothed with wood, and the fine expanse of water at high tide lends a nobility and magnificence to the scene which affords ample occasion for the high-flown descriptions and lavish praise bestowed upon the fal. on the right are the grounds of trelissick; and a picturesque glimpse of the stream may be caught near the estuary called malpas road, by the ferry at tolverne. after dividing mylor from st. just, the river loses its identity in forming carrick road, and shortly expands into the splendid haven of falmouth harbour. the inner part, between trefusis point, pendennis, and the town, is called king's road. carrick road, where the river enters, forms the middle of the harbour, and midway between the entrance--which is from pendennis point to st. anthony's head--there lies the ominously-named black rock, around which the mayor of truro sailed in june, , when he sought to exercise jurisdiction over the port and harbour of falmouth. but the citizens of the port themselves had had a powerful friend at court, in the person of king charles ii., who had given falmouth a charter overriding the ancient claims of truro, by which the mayor of the latter town had levied dues on all goods laden or unladen in any part of the fal, from truro to the black rock; and a trial at law in the same year finally established home rule in falmouth harbour. [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ falmouth harbour.] though to-day its prosperity is scarcely commensurate with its natural advantages, the harbour still remains almost unrivalled. first port of call for homeward-bound vessels, with a depth of water and safe anchorage that many another harbour might envy, and sheltered from all the winds that blow save those from the south-south-east, it is so capacious that the whole british fleet could ride at anchor in its waters. falmouth as a town owes its existence to these striking features of its harbour. beholding them, it struck the shrewd sons of the house of killigrew, lords of arwenack (there is an arwenack street to this day), who flourished in the time of james i., that there was no earthly reason why vessels should go seven miles to truro, or two miles to penryn, for a port when an infinitely better one might be created at the very mouth of the harbour. vested interests, as represented by the communities of truro, penryn, and helston, offered stout opposition. but the silver-tongued lords of arwenack prevailed in the argument before king james, and it was not long ere falmouth was the first port in cornwall. its great era of prosperity exemplifies the adage that it's an ill wind that blows nobody good, for, during our wars with the french, falmouth became a mail packet station, and flourished exceedingly on "government service." it was the boast of proud falmouthians that a hundred vessels could ride in the creeks of falmouth harbour and yet that no two should be in sight of each other. how this might be may be understood in part when it is explained that, besides many smaller arms, there are five principal creeks. of these branches not the least is that which was probably the earliest used, to penryn; there is a second to restronguet and perranarworthal; a third, also of ancient use, to truro and tresillian bridge; a fourth running up to st. mawes and gerrans; and the fifth and greatest, to king harry's reach, toward tregony, which is the main stream of our fal. /hugh w. strong./ [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ falmouth, from flushing.] [illustration: the isle of athelnly (_p. _).] the parret and the lower avon. the /parret/: its source--muchelney abbey--the tone and taunton--athelney island and alfred the great--sedgemoor--bridgewater--burnham. the /lower avon/: escourt park--malmesbury--chippenham--melksham--bradford-on-avon--bath--the frome--beau nash--bridges at bath--the abbey church--bristol--st. mary redcliffe and chatterton--the cathedral--"the chasm"--clifton suspension bridge--the lower reaches--avonmonth. of the even, placid course of the /parret/ one sententious writer has said, "there is nothing remarkable in it, the country being flat." a spark of imagination and the merest glimmering of historic interest would have spared us this dull commonplace. surely the stream which saw the dawn of intellect in england, which witnessed the very beginnings of our modern civilisation, which watered the self-same mead where walked the first royal patron of learning that the country boasted, is notable, even if it does not attain to higher rank among our english rivers. the parret--pedred of the saxon chronicle--is not of native somerset birth, since it has its uprising a mile over the southern boundary, at cheddington copse, in the dorsetshire parish of south perrott. flowing in a south-easterly direction, by crewkerne and the dorsetshire border, its basin occupies that portion of the bridgwater level lying between the mendips and the quantock hills. at crewkerne we have wide glimpses of its broad green valley, the busy little market town itself rising in the midst of the natural amphitheatre formed by the distant, unpretentious hills, lying low, like shadows on the horizon. the fine cruciform church of st. bartholomew, whose only real rival among somersetshire churches is that at ilminster, in precisely the same style of architecture, occupies a pleasant situation westward of the river. the ruins of muchelney abbey rise above the marshy banks of the river in the hamlet bearing the same name, which the ancient chronicler would have us accept as a facile corruption of "muckle eye," or great island. of athelstan's abbey there are but scant remains, though these are most suggestive of a structure of imposing size and great architectural interest and beauty. by the interesting little town of langport the dividing hills are broken, and the parret receives the waters of the isle from the left, and of the yeo (so common a river name, with its obvious derivation), or ivel, from the right. swollen by these tributaries, the parret's lazy waters now creep on under a bridge which unites the banks that marked the limits of the dominions of the belgic and danmonian tribes. [illustration: the parret and the lower avon.] hereabouts we do indeed appear to be at the very beginnings of english history, for but a little below the confluence, at aller, the danish king, guthrum, is said to have received the rite of baptism in the river, his conqueror, alfred the great, magnanimously standing sponsor to the fallen foe; whilst eight centuries later a fiercer warrior, filled with zeal for what he conceived to be his righteous cause--fairfax, to wit--routed the royalist forces, giving no quarter, as he had asked none. before we take up the other thread of the historical tale, there is the tone to be reckoned with. born in a bog on the brendon hills, this most important of the affluents of the parret is seen at its greatest in the picturesque vale of taunton dean. imparting its name to the handsome town of taunton, it passes at least one splendid specimen of ecclesiastical architecture in st. mary's church, which rears its lofty tower in the midst of a delightful neighbourhood, of which taunton is the attractive capital. below the hill-top village of boroughbridge the tone joins forces with the parret, and in the slack water at their confluence rises that little plot of ground made for ever sacred in english eyes by reason of its being the remote retreat of alfred the great when he sought to escape the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. hurrying thither from his fierce enemies, the danes--and, if the fable is in the least to be trusted, from the equally-to-be-feared anger of the neatherd's wife--he found a peaceful haven, where he might heal him of his wounds, recruit his resources, and lay his plans for the meditated rally. and so, by bold forays from this natural stronghold, he regained the confidence of his adherents, won over the waverers, and paved the way for his eventual triumph over the pagan foe and the complete recovery of his power. [illustration: taunton church (_p. _).] to the honour of st. saviour and st. peter, his patron saints, the pious hero of athelney raised a monastery on the island, where, in their holy orisons, the monks chanted the praises of the god who had so confused the heathen by the shores of the river that stayed its course and stagnated where the reeds and rushes caught the water-sprite, heavy with sleep, in their toils. barely two acres in william of malmesbury's day, yet covered by "a forest of alders of vast extent"(!), the historic spot is now known as athelney farm, a stone pillar telling its great story in this concise inscription: "king alfred the great, in the year of our lord , having been defeated by the danes, fled for refuge to the forest of athelney, where he lay concealed from his enemies for the space of a whole year. he soon after regained possession of his throne; and, in grateful remembrance of the protection he had received under the favour of heaven, he erected a monastery on the spot, and endowed it with all the lands contained in the isle of athelney. to perpetuate the memory of so remarkable an incident in the history of the illustrious prince, this edifice was founded by john slade, esq., of maunsell, the proprietor of athelney, and lord of the manor of north petherton, /a.d./ ." [illustration: _photo: william hanks, malmesbury._ malmesbury abbey (_p. _).] history in its heroic elements still clings to parret's banks, for, as the river flows on near weston-zoyland, washing the parish on the south and south-west, sedgemoor, the duke of monmouth's fatal field, comes into view, and one looks upon the scene of what in macaulay's words was "the last fight deserving the name of a battle that has been fought on english ground." emerging from the marsh of sedgemoor, the parret now takes upon itself the new office of patron and benefactor of populous, busy bridgwater, two miles to the south-west of "sowyland." it is the river which at ebb and flood tide deposits that peculiar sediment of clay and sand that goes to make "the bath brick," of which product bridgwater has the monopoly. but why "bath"? well, presumably, because the best market for the brick was originally found in beau nash's town, with the result that it eventually became the principal centre of trading in the commodity. from half a mile above to half a mile below the three-arched bridge which walter de briwere--the first of that ilk--commenced, and sir thomas trivet completed, in the reign of edward i., the brickworks stretch, giving employment to a large number of hands, and forming a source of considerable revenue. the current which nearly overwhelmed general fairfax in bridgwater's stirring days of is said to advance with such rapidity and boldness on the parret as to rise no less than two fathoms on one wave. but, judging from the statement of another authority, this must be but a moderate estimate of the dimensions to which the bore occasionally attains, since it is asserted that the upright wave-phenomenon of the parret has repeatedly reached nine feet in height! this much, however, is positively ascertained--that spring-tides in the bristol channel rise a full feet at the mouth of the parret. king john gave bridgwater its charter in , but the briwere family, one of whom began the building of the great bridge over the parret, were the real founders of the town and the actual authors of its commercial prosperity. the most striking landmark in the birthplace of admiral blake, the great republican commander, whose glorious achievement it was to defeat the "invincible" van tromp, is the tall tower and fine spire of the parish church of st. mary, feet in height, and, therefore, one of the loftiest in england. a splendid altar-piece, said to have been taken from a spanish privateer, is one of the features of the church. six miles from the sea at bridgwater, the parret, as if loth to lose its individuality, lingers in the rich valley, doubling the distance by its circuitous course to the bristol channel. at burnham, just before the severn sea claims them, its waters are still further swollen by those of the brue, a considerable stream, which, like the parret, has a wealth of historical association, and is of some commercial significance. to the wharves at highbridge, above burnham, vessels of many tons burthen are borne by the tide; here also are the gates and sluice-locks of the glastonbury canal navigation. then the united streams fall into that part of the bristol channel which is known as bridgwater bay. a few miles to the north the axe indolently pours into uphill bay the waters which it has brought from the flanks of the mendips, where it runs a subterranean course some two miles long before issuing forth in a copious flood from wookey hole--a cavern famous for the prehistoric treasures which it has yielded to the explorer--to flow through a picturesque glen, and presently to drain the level plains of west somerset. * * * * * watering three counties, to the scenic interest and beauty of each of which it lends an infinitude of charms, the /lower avon/ is not to be measured for its importance by its length (seventy-five miles), since there are far longer streams that one would willingly exchange for half the romantic valleys and the rich country of this river, which has its source in a piece of ornamental water at escourt park, in the neighbourhood of great thurston, where the boundaries of wiltshire and gloucestershire almost meet. distinction is immediately given to the stream. just below the village it enters the grounds of pinckney house, and after it has passed eastongrey and a dozen little thorpes, the river claims proud association with historic malmesbury--the british caer bladon, and the anglo-saxon ingelburne--which it enters on the west. this ancient town stands on the ridge of a narrow hill, sloping down steeply on its southern and northern sides, and is nearly surrounded by two streams which, uniting at its southern extremity, form the avon. on the highest point of the ridge are seen the ruins of the famous malmesbury abbey, which once covered forty-five acres of ground. leland, writing in the time of henry viii., described it as a "right magnificent thing." the present remains are small; but the south porch is one of the finest specimens of norman work in the country. a portion of the structure is still used as a church. another notable feature of the town in which william of malmesbury, the historian, was educated, is a quaint fifteenth-century market-cross, to which also leland gave none but honest praise when he styled it "a righte faire piece of worke." malmesbury--which, by the way, was the birthplace of "leviathan" hobbes--has been built on the peninsula between the tetbury stream, flowing down from the gloucestershire town, and the first beginnings of the avon, which here accepts its earliest tributary. [illustration: _photo: j. clark, tetbury._ the avon near tetbury.] bending southward at somerford, another branch is caught up, this subsidiary stream hailing from the neighbourhood of wootton bassett. by this time the avon has become no mean river, and in its course by dauntsey and seagry to woody christian malford it forms a very prominent feature in the fine landscape that may be viewed from the high hill to the eastward, on the summit of which stood bradenstoke priory, now converted to the use--we will not say ignoble--of a comfortable farmhouse. fast gathering its supplementary forces, the avon after passing kellaways and before reaching chippenham welcomes the waters of the marlan. chippenham, pleasant in itself, but made still more interesting by reason of its surroundings in the fertile valley, is well nigh compassed about by the avon, which here is a clear stream and of sweet savour. later in its history it may deserve the description of a dark and deep river, except where shallows interfere. in its lower reaches it will be largely affected in colour by storms, wiltshire floods tinging it with the whitish hue of the chalk hills, and the somersetshire rains with the red of the ochre beds. but here it is a placid, pleasant stream, which makes a bold sweep round the environs of the town, driving its mill-wheels and lending that dignity and interest which a river peculiarly affords. [illustration: _photo: r. wilkinson, trowbridge._ bradford-on-avon church, from the north east (_p. _).] hitherto the avon's gliding way has lain by the low-lying dairy lands of north wiltshire, through peaceful pastoral scenes, its banks clothed with the brightest flowers of the field, and here and there shaded with willows and elms, but now, beyond chippenham, it embarks upon the chequered and romantic phase of its career. the country becomes more hilly directly we near the clothing district of wiltshire. for a short space the avon renders the useful service of a boundary, effectually dividing wilts and somerset. the scenery of chippenham vale, through which the river flows on to melksham, trowbridge, and bradford--a trio of interesting towns, each watered by the same stream--is extremely beautiful. melksham, a town of one long principal street, is flanked by rich meadows, through which meanders the avon. the quaint, old-fashioned houses are built on the acclivity of an eminence which may fairly be ascribed to the river's wearing work through the ages; and the inhabitants are not without reason proud of their handsome four-arched bridge. again there comes a season of increase, in which the river gains, from this source and that, a considerable addition to its volume. at broughton gifford a brook by that name surrenders to the brimming river from the west, whilst from the east enters the whaddon streamlet. then, again, near staverton the little biss joineth the great avon. so our river swells with importance as it approaches romantic bradford-on-avon. the name of this town--from the "broad ford" over the river--is by no means its only indebtedness to the avon, for the highly picturesque situation of leland's "clooth-making" centre is entirely the outcome of nature's handiwork. immediately on the north side of the river a hill abruptly rises, and it is on the brow and along the sloping declivity of this eminence that most of the tastefully-designed dwellings have been erected. the deep and hollow valley of the avon now extends between two ranges, the hills here and there richly wooded to their summits; and pretty villages have scattered themselves along these bold acclivities. bradford-on-avon church is of considerable interest, and is remarkable for the success of its highly sympathetic restoration by canon jones, the vicar, a distinguished archæologist. two bridges here cross the avon; the most ancient, in the centre of the town, being described by aubrey, two centuries since, as "a strong handsome bridge, in the midst of which is a chapel for mass." bradford gained its original eminence in the woollen trade mainly from the introduction of "spinners" from holland in the seventeenth century, and lost it with the development of the greater bradford of the north, in the midst of the coalfields. before, following the more impetuous course of the now considerable river, we quit bradford and its seductive scenes, the peculiar loveliness of the valley of the avon in the vicinity of the town, and more particularly at such fascinating spots as freshfield, limpley stoke--just where the river leaves wiltshire and enters somerset--and claverton, to name but a few, must be remarked upon. then bladud's creation, "queen of all the spas in the world," "city of the waters of the sun," "queen of the west," "king of the spas," gives greeting to the noble river that plays so great a part in the beautification of the historic city lying at the foot of the valley of the avon, whence it has grown up its steep banks. below bradford the frome has become a tributary of the avon, bringing, besides its goodly stream, many most interesting reminiscences of its course. after flowing through the lower part of the agreeably situated town to which it gives its name, the frome adds its charms to the manifold attractions of the scenery of vallis bottom. just half a mile beyond the time-worn priory of hinton, which rears its ivy-clad tower amidst a grove of venerable oaks, frome merges itself in the avon. as if nature were here conspiring to make the river worthy of the city of "bladud, eighth in descent from brutus," at bathford the avon receives the box brook, from the vale of that name in wiltshire, and, after a loop to the west, is joined at batheaston by another small stream, the midford, which has enhanced the romantic interest of the vale of claverton; whilst a third brook descends from the heights of lansdowne, the fatal battlefield of sir basil grenville and his cornish friends, who lost their lives for the parliamentary cause under the ill-starred leadership of sir william waller. approaching the city of "beau nash" from the east, and passing between bathwick and bath proper, the avon washes "aqua solis" (or "sulis") of the romans on the south, and plays its part in the fair scene which, "viewed under the influence of a meridian sun, and through the medium of an unclouded atmosphere, presents to sight and imagination everything that is united with the idea of perfect beauty." and yet, with all the natural advantages of its situation, bath long awaited the touch of the wand of the modern magician--the man of enterprise and speculation. there lay the deep romantic valley, gloriously encircled by the triple band of splendid hills--towering lansdowne to the north, feet above the sea; claverton and bathwick to the east, some and feet in height respectively; with beechen cliff, sham castle, camden crescent, and lansdowne crescent, all fine natural view-points, below. compare with the bath of to-day the overgrown village to the practical government of which the famous beau nash succeeded in , when he followed the notorious gambler, captain webster, as master of the ceremonies, and you have some idea of the miracle of change and growth which has been performed. it was after the death of beau nash that the city, waxing great, extended its borders to bathwick, on the country side of the river. towards the close of the seventeenth century, private munificence caused a bridge to be thrown across the river, and bathwick itself, from being a daisied meadowland, became a thickly populated suburb. and even the bridge thus built was shortly occupied with rows of dwelling houses and shops, so that the connection between bath and bathwick was complete. long prior to the building of this, the poulteney bridge--nearly five centuries before, in point of fact--the avon was crossed by the st. lawrence's, or the old bridge, as it is now usually called. originally built in , it became a prey to the fever of building speculation which had marked the career of the elder wood, of the famous family of bath architects. out of date, and, we may presume, somewhat out of repair also, it was rebuilt in . the poulteney bridge, crossing to bathwick, followed in ; and half a century's growth of the popular lower suburb revealing the need for further means of communication that would relieve the congested traffic, the bathwick, or cleveland, bridge was added in . some years later the north parade bridge was built. with the advent of the iron horse there had, by this time, arisen a newer necessity still. in comparatively rapid succession the midland railway and the skew bridge--which justifies its name by the remarkable angle at which it crosses the avon--with three suspension bridges and a foot-passengers' bridge near the station, have followed. [illustration: _photo: j. dugdale & co., bath._ the avon at bath.] bath boasts at least one ecclesiastical structure of great interest, in the "lantern of england," as the tower of the abbey church has been styled, because of the unusual number and size of its windows. in the exceptional height of the clerestory and the oblong shape of the tower, the church is also distinguished from the general. out by the western gate the avon runs, with holloway hill and beechen cliff conspicuous landmarks on its left. by twerton--"the town on the banks of the avon"--there are large cloth-mills on the riverside, relics of the monastic industries established by the monks of bath so far back as the fourteenth century. fielding terrace, in this town, is the reputed neighbourhood of the residence of the novelist, who is said to have written a part of "tom jones" during his stay. [illustration: view from north parade bridge, bath.] [illustration: view from the old city bridge, bath.] now the avon is in its beloved valley, deep and green again. three miles, or a little more, from the city, a beautiful circling knoll seems to shut in the vale. the hill is crowned with a handsome house, and ornamented with woodland and lawn. kelston round hill, as this impressive eminence is called, is feet above the sea-level, the avon winding at its foot and the ascending groves of newton park reaching to the fine prospect and the highest hill in this part of somerset. ere, at this point, we bid a reluctant adieu to the beauties of bath, it should be pointed out that in most of the commanding and delightful views obtainable from all the vantage points in and about the city the avon and its fertile valley conspicuously figure, heightening the interest of each entrancing scene. it is no exaggeration to say that the neighbourhood of bath is rife with scenic charms. the cliffs, ravines, and deep excavations in the strata lend endless variety to the landscape, which is finely compact of hill, vale, rock, wood and water, the striking beauties of the avon's course ever and anon lending a crowning grace to the view. below kelston the more expanded vale of the keynsham hams succeeds. flowing round this rich tract of land, the avon becomes the dividing line between gloucester and somerset. just beyond, within the parish of keynsham, and midway between the sister cities of bath and bristol, the waters of yet another tributary, the chow, a stream which has come down from the north side of the mendip hills, are gathered up. contracted in its channel for more than a mile between lofty rocks at hanham, the avon, emerging from its straitened circumstances, diverts itself with the strikingly sinuous course which it then follows between brislington and st. george's, ere it is sobered and dignified by its contact with the traditional caer oder, "the city of the chasm," the birthplace of sebastian cabot, of southey, and of chatterton. before the river begins to be tidal, it has another, perhaps its greatest, recruit in the lower frome. after a picturesque course, the frome washes the bishop's palace at stapleton, enters bristol, and there loses itself in the lower avon. between modern bristol and the great port of the "spacious times" the difference is one of degree only, for the commercial spirit is still strong in the sons of cabot and canynge; and, amid the thick smoke that overhangs the very centre of the city, there rise e'en to-day the tall spars, fluttering pennons, and the rigging of the ships of the mercantile marine that made the name of the opulent city known in every port and on every sea, and brought to bristol by the tidal river the trade that trimmed her sails to the breeze of fortune and set her course fair on the voyage to fame and prosperity. one of the earliest chapters of the history of the city is connected with the river. it records the building of the first bridge over the avon in , an undertaking mentioned in a charter of henry ii. this bridge united the city with what was then the suburb of redcliffe. to-day, this association is splendidly preserved by that golden historical link, the "finest and stateliest parish church in england," as queen elizabeth pronounced the edifice of st. mary redcliffe on her visit to bristol in . the style is the early english, though the richly sculptured northern doorway and some other portions belong rather to the decorated period. the structure was founded about the year , but was enlarged, beautified, and, in fact, refounded by william canynge, whose effigy, with that of his wife joan, will be found at the end of the south transept. the upper part of the stone steeple was struck down by lightning in , and not rebuilt for upwards of four hundred years. it was in the muniment room of this church that young thomas chatterton professed to have found a number of curious mss. in prose and poetry, the boy-poet's ingenious deception long escaping detection. such success, which might never have attended the confessed productions of his own precocious genius, gave the gifted lad of seventeen the necessary stimulus, and his growing ambition led him to london, where he became a mere literary hack, and took a life threatened by starvation. a handsome monument in st. mary redcliffe churchyard pays bristol's tribute to her great, but unhappy, son. of st. mary redcliffe, the "pride of bristowe," camden said it was "the most elegant of all the parish churches i have ever seen." the present bridge replaced the thirteenth-century causeway in . it was in that the course of the frome was diverted to a new channel. anciently, the city boundaries were the two confluent rivers which environed it with a natural defence on all sides save one, where a castle stood, protected by a broad deep moat supplied with water from the frome, which at that time flowed by its northern walls. in bristol castle the son of the conqueror, robert, was shut up by his brother henry. though it has been justly said of the cathedral that it is remarkable neither for antiquity nor beauty, being far inferior to st. mary redcliffe in at least one of these respects, the berkeley chapel, forming the north aisle of the choir, is worthy of note as an elegant example of early english. the spacious nave, with side aisles and clerestory in the early decorated style, is a modern addition. among the animated busts are those of joseph butler, of "analogy" fame--one of bristol's famous line of bishops, two of whom were of the "glorious company" of seven--robert southey, and the "dorcas" of the city, miss mary carpenter. in our river became a fellow-sufferer with the frome. the course of the avon lay through the city, but now a new channel was dug for it on the south side, leaving the river to fall into its original bed at rownham ferry. for the rest, the old channels of both the frome and the avon were converted into a fine floating harbour, which, at cumberland basin, will accommodate some of the largest vessels afloat. "the chasm" itself, or, as it is more familiarly known, the gorge of the avon, lying just below the basin, is bridged by a triumph of modern engineering art. the clifton suspension bridge--our english "bridge of sighs" for suicides--admits to a magnificent view of the avon where it flows through the romantic defile of st. vincent's rocks. as the story runs, st. vincent, a rival, caught the giant goram asleep, and once and for ever determined the course of the river by cleaving the ravine through which the avon now runs to the sea. brunel's bridge, after a remarkably chequered history--its construction being actually suspended for a period of nearly thirty years!--was completed for the visit of the british association in . the foundations had been laid in . the chains of hungerford suspension bridge at charing cross were taken down and here re-hung. the centre span--one of the longest in the world--is feet in extent, and the entire length of the bridge is , feet. fifteen hundred tons in weight, the stupendous structure is a wonderful combination of strength and grace, adding a new interest and beauty to the impressive view rather than detracting from its great natural charm. [illustration: _photo: harvey barton, bristol._ bristol, from the site of the old drawbridge across the harbour.] when "cook's folly" and the "pitch and pay" gate, of mournful memory, have been passed, and we have reached sea mills on the right bank, there is a distinct softening in the character of the scenery. here is the supposed site of the roman station abona. the avon at this point is joined by the small river trym. leland, having the st. vincent legends clearly in remembrance, wrote of it: "some think a great piece of the depeness of the haven, from st. vincent to hungo-rode, hath been made by hande." as we pass pill, which furnishes pilots for the port of bristol, its ancient fish-like smell forces itself upon our attention. now we near the last reach of the avon, broad pill, where the river widens greatly. sinuous as well may be, and running between low banks, those "sea-walls" of rich marshland that lie about birchampton, the river's course beyond that pretty neighbourhood changes fast, and gathers a new and picturesque interest when the tide comes in. now we are at the mouth of the avon, and in that fine roadstead which the loyal bristol seamen would have styled king's road. from the decks of the great ships that here ride out the light gale in safety a glorious view, up river, along shore, and about the fine anchorage in the estuary of the avon and the severn, may be enjoyed. the pier and docks at avonmouth form another splendid enterprise, which, if it has not come too late, may retain for bristol something more than a remnant of its ancient glory as the first port of the kingdom, a training ground for the british navy, the haunt and home of sea-dogs who added many a gallant deed to the proud annals of our island story. /hugh w. strong./ [illustration: clifton suspension bridge (_p. _).] [illustration: source of the severn, plinlimmon.] the severn chapter i. from the source to tewkesbury. birthplace of the severn--plinlimmon--blaenhafren--llanidloes --caersws--newtown--montgomery--welshpool--powys castle--the breidden hills--the vyrnwy--distant views--shrewsbury--haughmond hill--the caradoc hills--atcham--wroxeter--condover--the wrekin--benthall and wenlock edges--buildwas abbey--coalbrook dale--ironbridge--broseley and benthall--coalport--bridgnorth-- quatford--forest of wyre--bewdley--stourport--worcester--the teme--ludlow--tewkesbury. the severn, though a much longer river than the dee, for it is the second[ ] in britain, is born among less striking scenery. the latter issues from an upland lake, enclosed by the peaks of the arans and the craggy slopes of the arenigs. but south of cader idris the mountains become less striking in outline, the cliffs fewer and lower, the summits tamer. it is a region not so much of mountains as of great hills, which stretch away into the distance, range after range, like rollers on the atlantic after a storm. the central point of this region, the loftiest summit of mid-wales, is plinlimmon, which, though so insignificant in outline, attains to a height of , feet, and is the parent of quite a family of rivers. of these, one is the wye, the other the severn; the sources of the two, though their paths are distinct unto the end, when they mingle their waters in the bristol channel, are some couple of miles apart. nor is the distance very great between the founts of the severn and the dee. if we suppose, as is generally done, the actual head of the latter to be on the flank of aran benllyn, the interval between the two is less than twenty-three miles. [illustration: the severn, from the source to tewkesbury.] but to return to the severn, which rises on the north-east side of plinlimmon, at maes hafren. our first illustration gives a good idea of the scenery near its source: not, indeed, striking in outline--upland moors without trees, hills nearly without crags, covered for the most part with herbage, coarse on the lower ground near the rivulets, rank in the not unfrequent bogs, but finer on the upper slopes; somewhat monotonous in its tints, yet not without a charm of its own--a sense of freedom and expansion, which is sometimes felt to be wanting among the towering peaks and precipitous ravines of the grander mountain ranges. at first, as is the wont of rivers among such surroundings, the severn wanders idly through the moorland, a mere brook rippling among stones and boulders; then by degrees it begins to fray out a path for itself and to cut down into the underlying rocks. the second illustration shows it at this stage of life--the child just beginning to feel its strength--and, besides this, gives a good idea of the character of the hill scenery in mid-wales, of which we have already spoken. the little severn has now begun to strike out a way for itself on its journey to the sea; the general plan of its course curiously resembling that of the dee. though the two rivers ultimately flow in opposite directions, and finish their courses at opposite ends of the principality, yet each rises well on the western side of wales--each, though here and there with some flexures, maintains for long an eastward direction; their paths only diverging when they arrive at the margin of the lowland among the foothills of the more mountainous region. but for some distance there is little material change in the general character of the scenery, except that the valleys gradually become more clearly defined. the next picture shows the youthful severn about a mile and a half below its source, at blaenhafren, the first house in the neighbourhood of its banks, the earnest of many a "thorpe and town" by which its waters will flow. a flattish valley bed, a few rather stunted trees, some stone walls, and a rough-built cottage, with great billowy hills behind, make up a scene which is characteristic of a good many square miles in central wales. [illustration: valley of the severn, from plinlimmon (_p. _).] this is, as we have said, a comparatively humble beginning for the second in length among the rivers of britain--for a stream which passes more towns of historic and antiquarian interest than any other in the land, and has been always the delight of poets. the britons knew it as hafren, the romans as sabrina, from which, obviously, the present name has arisen. for several miles from its birthplace its descent is comparatively rapid, but gradually the slope diminishes, the stream ceases to brawl among rocks and stones, the valley widens, and after a course of from a dozen to fifteen miles, according as its path is estimated, it arrives at its first town, llanidloes, where it is joined on the northern side by the clywedog, which flows through a pretty valley and seems to be a longer stream than the severn itself. at llanidloes the severn plunges abruptly into the bustle of life, for this is a town with some ten thousand inhabitants, which carries on a brisk trade in flannels. but, except for its church, which is one of the finest in wales, and has a handsome carved oak roof, there is nothing to hinder the uncommercial traveller. for another ten miles or so there is little to note along the course of the river; but on approaching a station rejoicing in the modern name of moat lane junction, where the line from machynlleth, descending the wooded valley of the carno, joins that which comes down from llanidloes, one comes to two places which will repay a halt. here we are carried back over seventeen centuries of history. here briton and roman in former days looked at one another with no friendly eyes across the river; the one, as was his wont, clinging to the mountains, the other to the valley and the river-side. the gods of the one were gods of the hills, those of the other loved the plain. the one preferred the eyrie from which, like the vulture, he could swoop to plunder, and to which he could fly for safety. the other made his hold sure on the fields, the river, and the roads; for where he came there he meant to stay. [illustration: the first house on the severn: blaenhafren (_p. _).] the british earthwork, cefn carnedd by name, from its bastion-like hill between the carno and the severn, commands a beautiful view overlooking both valleys. in plan it is a blunt-ended oval, the longer axis lying nearly east and west; on the latter side and towards the north it is enclosed by a triple ditch and rampart, but on the southern side a single entrenchment, owing to the steepness of the hill, suffices for defence. the enclosed area, about yards in length, rises slightly towards the west, and at this end about one-third of the whole is cut off by a ditch and rampart, apparently with the intention of forming a kind of keep. entrances may still be found and the approaches traced; these evidently were cunningly devised so as to be commanded by the defences; in fact, this must formerly have been one of the strongest and most formidable among the hill-forts of britain. there are others in the neighbourhood, though these are inferior to cefn carnedd. the roman fortress, caersws by name, is in the valley on the opposite bank of the severn, at a distance of some yards from the river. this, too, must have been in its day a place of great strength. it was enclosed by a high quadrangular rampart, with a ditch outside, which still remains in most places, though they have been injured here and there, and one angle of the _vallum_ has been destroyed to make a site for the railway station. caersws, the mediolanum of tacitus, evidently was once a stronghold of great importance, for three roman roads converge to it. the strategic advantages of the position are obvious. the valley of the severn is now broadening, and its scenery becomes richer and more fertile, although bare hills still rise in the background. about four miles lower down another manufacturing town is reached, which, however, is considerably smaller than llanidloes. this is newtown, a place comparatively modern--as the name implies--which, however, has a certain commercial status as the recognised centre of the welsh flannel trade, but is otherwise uninteresting, except for a carved rood screen and one or two more relics of an older building preserved in its modern church, and for being the place where robert owen, the father of modern socialism, was born and was buried. wandering on through scenery generally similar in character, pleasant, pretty, and hilly, but without any very bold features, the severn in a few miles reaches montgomery, a town which is peaceful enough now, but in former days was not at all suited for people desirous of a quiet life, for it was one of the fortresses of the marches, over which welsh and english fought like dogs over a bone. as can be readily seen, the castle was a place of considerable strength, for it stands on a scarped, rocky headland, overlooking the valley. but of its walls and towers not much remains. near at hand is a british camp, but the first castle was built in the days of william the norman. after being thrice demolished by the welsh, it became the residence of a noted family, the herberts of cherbury. the last episode of interest in its history was a struggle for its possession in the time of the civil war. the royalists were defeated, and the castle was ultimately "slighted" by the victors. at that time it was owned by edward, first lord herbert of cherbury, the eccentric philosopher, statesman, and gallant; and within its walls, his brother george was born, as noted for the strictness as the other was for the laxity of his religious views. in fact, this is the cradle of a distinguished race. the church is cruciform in plan, and contains old monuments of the herbert and the mortimer families. a romantic story is, or was, told about a bare cross visible in the grass of the churchyard; it marks the grave of one newton, who was hanged on a charge of robbery and murder. he died protesting his innocence, and prayed that the grass might never grow about his burial-place, as a witness to the injustice of his doom. near montgomery the severn begins to change its course, and to trend more towards the north. down a fertile valley it makes its way towards welshpool, practically the capital of the shire, for it is almost double the size of montgomery, and is the assize town. place and church date from olden times. near to the town--approached through a gateway in the main street--is the family seat of castell coch (the red castle, from the stone of which it is built), but more commonly called by the simpler title of powys castle. it has been greatly modernised, but a good deal is of elizabethan or of jacobean date, and some goes back to the thirteenth century. the site, a rocky knoll, descending steeply in natural terraces, has been occupied from the beginning of the twelfth century, and the earlier building had, of course, its due share of sieges, for, as the centre of the old district of powysland, it was a place of some importance. in the surrounding park are some fine old oaks, and the views from the terraces under the castle are noted for their beauty; they look over the wooded lowland and down the valley of the severn to the arched back of the long mountain, and the bolder outlines of the berwyns, of which one mass is foreshortened to be like a huge tumulus and the other forms a sharp pyramid. entrenchments of various kinds and sizes show that all the district round was formerly one of importance. the noted "offa's dyke" is only a very few miles away, and interest is added to the sometimes monotonous aspect of the long mountain by a large earthwork on the summit, where, according to tradition, was fought in the last battle for the independence of wales. the severn, still working in a direction more northerly than easterly, leaves the long mountain at the gap through which a railway passes towards shrewsbury, and then sweeps back into its former course as it rounds the feet of the breidden hills. it needs but a glance at their bold and rugged outlines to see that they must be carved from a different rock to that of which the long mountain and its neighbours is formed. they consist of masses of lava and of hard slaty rock, of a more ancient date than the mudstones of the adjoining district, forming, in fact, a kind of outpost of the ordovician or lower silurian rocks of the west. the highest point, moel-y-golfa, is as nearly as possible , feet above sea-level, and its pyramidal outline adds to its apparent elevation. another, the breidden proper, is a heavy mass like a flattened dome; it bears a pillar to commemorate rodney's victory in . the hills are well suited for a watch-tower, for they command a view far and wide--in one direction over the welsh hills, in another towards the shropshire lowlands. two or three miles further a tributary enters the severn, larger than any which it has hitherto received. this is the vyrnwy, which drains a considerable area south of a watershed extending from near aran mowddwy to the berwyn hills, though now a heavy tribute has been exacted from its waters by the town of liverpool. this great feat of engineering was completed, after years of labour, in . up to that time liverpool had drawn its main supply from reservoirs on rivington pike. a huge dam, as our illustration (page ) shows, has been built across the narrowest part of the vyrnwy valley. it is , feet in length and in height; the foundations, which at some parts had to be carried down to a depth of feet, resting on the solid rock. by this means a lake has been formed, four miles in length, which hides beneath its waters-- feet above sea-level--a little village and its church. a curious mound rises near the junction of the two rivers, designed, as some think, to guard the passage; and then the severn, turning again to the east, passes on towards shrewsbury. its valley now has become more open: parks and country houses here and there dapple the gentler slopes within no great distance of the river, and the views of the hills are always beautiful. [illustration: moel-y-golfa and breidden, from welshpool (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: j. maclardy, oswestry._ the vyrnwy embankment, before the flooding of the valley.] [illustration: _photo: robinson & thompson, liverpool._ a quiet nook on the vyrnwy.] the group of the breiddens is gradually left behind, then rises the steep mass of pontesbury hill, backed by the long ridge of the stiper stones, with their broken crests of rugged and hard white rock, and behind them the broad backs of the longmynds or the distant pyramid of corndon. but, of course, to enjoy to perfection views of the land which feeds the upper waters of the severn, it is necessary to quit the valley and obtain a pisgah sight from some commanding hill. thence we look over mile after mile of lowland, woodland, cornfield, and pasture, undulating downwards from bare rough hillsides on which the copses often are thickly clinging, to the margins of brooks and to the bed of the main river. to the west, line after line of hills recedes more dimly into the distance, till at last one shadow is pointed out as plinlimmon, and another, yet fainter, as cader idris, and sometimes an apex of a far-off pyramid is said to be snowdon. south of us, and yet more to the east, lie the nearer masses already mentioned, while in these directions the eye may detect, from some points of view, the peaked summits of the caradoc hills, or may rest upon the huge hog's back of the wrekin as it rises abruptly from the shropshire lowland. there are few prettier districts in our country than the borderland between england and wales; and that part of which we now speak can hold its own with most others. here and there, perhaps, the hills are a little bare, and we seldom find much boldness of outline. in the shelve district also, the lead mines with their white spoil-banks are distinctly an offence to the eye; but the wooded glens are often singularly beautiful, and the outlook from the heath-covered moorlands gives a sense of breadth and freedom, like the open sea. as it nears shrewsbury, the severn quits for a time the hill-country, though it is only near the waterside that the land is distinctly a plain. the town itself is at the edge of a low plateau, and some of its streets are fairly steep, though the ascents are not long. the situation is fine, and in former days, when the town was restricted to narrower limits, must have been much more striking than it is at present. the river bends in sharp curves, like a reversed s, as though the hills had made a final struggle to hold it in bondage. of these loops, that on the eastern side is the larger; and it forms a kind of horseshoe, almost enclosing a hilly headland of moderate elevation, which shelves down towards the neck of the isthmus, but falls steeply, sometimes almost precipitously, towards the river brink. thus, with the severn for a moat on more than three sides, and a comparatively narrow and defensible approach on the fourth, the position is almost a natural stronghold, and it was selected at a comparatively early date as the site of a fortified town. if we could believe certain chroniclers, the history of shrewsbury would begin more than four hundred years before the christian era; but we can hardly doubt that the town existed in the days of the romans. towards the close of the sixth century english invaders came marauding up the valley of the severn, and destroyed the old city of wroxeter. for a time the fugitives found a refuge in the fortified palace of the princes of powis, which then stood on the headland now occupied by shrewsbury; but before long that stronghold also became a prey to the plunderers, and the britons were forced to seek safety among the fastnesses of wales. then pengwern, as it had been called, became scrobesbyrig--"the burgh of bushes"--from which obviously it has obtained its present name. before very long its importance as a frontier town was fully recognised, but at first it remained small--probably because it was too near wales for merchants or for men of peace--so that at the date of domesday book, though it had four churches, it contained only houses. the castle was built a few years later by roger de montgomery, a norman earl, and a gateway leading to the inner court is a relic of his work. the enclosing wall of the town was completed in the reign of henry iii. this follows, as far as possible, the line of the ancient river-cliff, which on the southward side is parted from the severn by a strip of level land. portions of this wall still remain, and it can be traced more or less perfectly along the southern and eastern sides. the fortress resisted stephen, who besieged it in ; on its fall, by way of reading a lesson to his enemies, he hanged ninety-four of the defenders. later on, shrewsbury was twice betrayed by the welsh, and had one or two other "sensational" experiences, till the famous fight "for a long hour by shrewsbury clock." it was a race for the fortress between hotspur and henry iv., which was won by the king, who succeeded next day in forcing an action at a place since called battlefield, about a league north of the town, and a mile from the severn. the river figures more than once in the accounts of the marching and counter-marching connected with the battle, in which, as everyone knows, the king gained a complete victory, hotspur falling on the field. some of his principal associates felt the headsman's axe a couple of days after the fight. in the wars of the roses the town was for the house of york, and two sons were born to the duke within its walls: one died in infancy, and the other was the younger of the two lads murdered in the tower. in the great civil war the townsmen repaired their ruined walls and declared for king charles, who spent a short time in shrewsbury early in the struggle; but, later on, they were caught napping, for two parties of the parliamentary army effected an entrance during the night, one of them by scaling the steep slope below the old council house. this daring band was headed by captain benbow, who afterwards took part with prince charles, was captured at worcester, and was shot on the scene of his former exploit. he was buried in st. chad's church, "october y^e th, ," as may still be read on his tombstone. since then shrewsbury has dwelt in peace, and during the last half-century has increased greatly and prospered proportionally. it is now a very important railway junction; the station, too small for its present needs, being on the lower ground on the eastern side of the neck of land already mentioned. in former days the river was crossed by two bridges only, giving access to the headland--one from the eastern side, and so called the english bridge; the other, from the north-western, which, of course, bore the name of the welsh bridge. both were fortified in mediæval times, but they were rebuilt in more modern fashion during the eighteenth century. south of the welsh bridge the plateau occupied by the old town slopes more gently down to the brink of the severn. this part--a grassy space, planted with avenues of trees, which has long borne the name of the quarries, from some old excavations--now forms a public park, which, as may be inferred from the illustration (p. ), adds greatly to the attractions of the town. between the welsh and english bridges is the boathouse ferry. shrewsbury has produced its fair share of eminent men, among whom are the fighting old admiral, benbow, and the great naturalist, charles darwin; but for many years past its school has been among its chief glories. this was one of edward vi.'s foundations, but it assumed its present high position as a nursery of scholars under dr. butler, who was appointed headmaster about the beginning of the present century. a few years ago the ancient site had to be discarded, for more room had become imperatively necessary, and new buildings were erected on kingsland, an excellent site near the edge of the plateau to the south-west, looking towards the town across the severn. the old school buildings, which are on the left-hand side of the road going down to the railway station, are of considerable architectural interest, for they date from the end of the sixteenth century; they are now used for a town museum and free library. but to a lover of architecture, the especial charm of shrewsbury lies in its old black-timbered houses. in these it is richer than any town, even in the west of england, with the sole exception of chester. indeed, even after the "improvements" which have been rendered necessary by the development of commerce, the street architecture of shrewsbury is universally quaint and attractive; for we find, shuffled together like the cards in a pack, houses of all dates during the last three centuries. this gives a picturesque irregularity both to the façades and the sky-lines in the streets. but these black-timbered houses keep the chance visitor in a constant state of quiet excitement; he never knows what may be disclosed at the next turning, for shrewsbury is pre-eminently a town of pleasant architectural surprises. some of the houses are dated; as is usual, they generally belong to the later part of elizabeth's reign, and all probably were built during the half century centring on the year . the best specimens are ireland's mansion in the high street, and the group of old shops in butcher row, which is considered by mr. parker to be the finest example of the kind in england. [illustration: the boathouse ferry, between welsh and english bridges (_p. _).] [illustration: shrewsbury castle (_p. _).] but if the antiquary halts in shrewsbury he will not find it very easy to take his departure. two of the shrewsbury churches are unusually interesting; one, st. mary's, the principal church of the town, stands almost on the brink of the river-cliff, a little to the south of the castle, and its tall tapering spire adds greatly to the picturesque grouping, which, notwithstanding modern changes, the town still presents on the eastern side. st. mary's is a church of various dates, impossible to describe in a few words; for it has been altered and augmented repeatedly. there is norman work in the north and south porches of the nave and in the basement of the tower; early english in the transept; decorated and perpendicular in the body of the church, the east window being a very fine example of the former style. it has recently undergone considerable structural repairs, for the upper part of the spire was blown down in a gale early in the year , and its fall greatly damaged the roof of the nave and the fittings of the interior. holy cross, the other important church, commonly called the abbey, stands on the low ground, or in the foregate, on the english side of the fortress, on the right bank of the severn. it is a relic of an abbey founded by the first norman lord of shrewsbury. the vicissitudes which it has experienced are obvious at a glance. the rather low western tower, with the bays immediately adjoining, are evidence of a reconstruction in the fourteenth century; and perpendicular work is, on the whole, the more conspicuous in the western and older part. we rail often--and with good cause--at the restorers of our own age, but they of the century and a half before the reformation were no whit better, as this church can testify. the east end is modern, for it was destroyed after the dissolution of the monasteries, and was only rebuilt in ; but some fine massive norman work remains inside the church, especially in the pillars of the nave, and there are some interesting monuments. the conventual buildings have been destroyed, except a stone pulpit, which was once in the refectory, and now remains looking disconsolately at the rails and trucks in the goods-yard of the railway; for this occupies the site of the monastic buildings, and is on the opposite side of the severn to the station. [illustration: quarry walk, shrewsbury (_p. _).] [illustration: english bridge, shrewsbury (_p. _).] on leaving shrewsbury, the severn still continues to wind. immediately below the town, it strikes off in a north-easterly direction for well over a mile, then, again swinging to and fro, it almost touches the foot of haughmond hill, from which it recoils, still oscillating, in a direction rather east of south. it has now entered an undulating and fertile district, where in one place its waters flow by some river-cliff or wooded brae; in another, between fields which shelve gently down to its brink; in a third, through flat meadows, over which, as can sometimes be detected, it has taken in past ages more than one course. now more extensive views may be obtained, even from its stream--views to which a distinctive character and a special charm is often added by the peculiar shapes of the hills which here and there rise quite suddenly from the lowlands. of them, haughmond hill is one; the wrekin is another, but on a far larger scale; the caradoc hills are a third instance, but these form quite a little range. all have the same origin; they are wedge-like masses of very old and hard rock, the relics of primæval volcanos, which crop out here and there among the softer sandstones and marls from which the long-continued action of rain, stream, and river has carved the shropshire lowland. haughmond hill looks down upon the scene of the battle between the forces of henry iv. and of hotspur, and is associated with its memories, for the douglas, who had come to aid the percies, while seeking to escape along its craggy slopes, was so disabled by a fall that he was taken prisoner. on the western side of the hautmont--for that was the original name--a priory was founded by william fitzalan, in the days of king stephen. the monks soon found their way to royal, and even to papal, favour, for they were permitted to say the divine office in a low voice and with closed doors, even when the land lay under an interdict. then the priory became an abbey of the augustinian order, until at last it shared the fate of all others at the reformation, passing into lay hands and being cared for no longer. it is now a complete ruin; the church is gone, though just enough remains to show that it was cruciform in plan. the monastic buildings have been nearly destroyed, though a couple of norman doors remain, and the more important structures can be identified. the best preserved part is the chapter-house, in the west front of which are three fine arches in the transitional-norman style. the views from the slopes above are very attractive, as the eye ranges over the shropshire lowlands, with their rich alternations of pasture, cornfield, and wood, to the ridges already named, and still further towards the longmynds, the breiddens, the berwyns, and the yet more distant ranges of wales. [illustration: buildwas abbey (_p. _).] on winds the severn, gliding with steady flow by meadows, shelving fields or copses, till it comes at last to atcham, with its bridge and picturesque old church near the waterside. here was born ordericus, afterwards historian of william the conqueror. about a mile below, the little tern adds its waters to the severn, near the home of the berwicks; and yet another mile, and the river glides by the parish church of wroxeter, with its interesting norman work, and the site of the romano-british city of uriconium, on the famous watling street road; founded, as is supposed, about the reign of trajan, to guard the passages over the severn and the outlets from wales. in the year a band of west saxons forced their way, plundering and destroying as they went, up the rich valley of the severn. uriconium was taken, and, as the bard lamented, "the white town in the valley went up in flames, the town of white stone gleaming among the green woodland; the hall of its chieftain left without fire, without light, without song: the silence broken only by the eagle's scream--the eagle who had swallowed fresh drink--heart's blood of kyndylan the fair." the walls of uriconium were three miles in extent, and the area enclosed was larger by nearly a third than that of pompeii. excavations have been made which have disclosed a basilica, or public hall, a hypocaust belonging to the baths, and many foundations of houses; but no work of a high class, either in architecture or in decorative art, has been discovered. uriconium at best was only a provincial city, and that in distant britain; and even if it had possessed any important buildings, they would have perished, if not from the fury of the barbarian invaders, at least by the hands of those in later days, who used it as a quarry. most of the things dug up are preserved in the museum at shrewsbury. "in the corner of the hypocaust three skeletons were found--one of a man, and two of women; by the side of the former lay a heap of copper coins, numbering a hundred and thirty-two, which belonged to the days of the later emperors, and some bits of rotten wood and rusty iron, which may have been the fragments of a box. it is supposed that some poor wretches, perhaps servants at the baths, sought refuge here during the sack of the city, and then perished, either suffocated by the smoke of its burning or buried alive by the fallen ruins."[ ] [illustration: the severn from benthall edge (_p. _).] below wroxeter, the undulation of the country through which the severn now flows, for a time with a straighter course, becomes rather more strongly marked. the cound brook joins the river on the right, flowing down by condover village, with its hall, "a perfect specimen of elizabethan stonework," and its interesting church and monuments. then the severn glides under a red sandstone cliff and beneath the wooden bridge of cressage, with its memories of old oak trees; then through wooded ravines as the ground begins to rise. on its right bank copse-clad slopes enrich the view, while in one direction or another the great hill masses stand out against the sky. among these the wrekin is generally the most conspicuous, and now for a time it rises on the northern side of the river almost without a rival. it is the salopian's landmark--his olympus or parnassus--"all round the wrekin" is his toast. this is no wonder, for few hills in britain, considering its moderate elevation-- , feet above the sea--are more imposing in aspect, because it rises so boldly and abruptly from the lowland; and though the salopian could not assert that "twelve fair counties saw the light" of its beacon fire, as was said of the malverns, still, from far distances and from unexpected places the wrekin is visible. in shape it is a rather long ridge, steep on either side, capped by three fairly distinct summits, of which the central is the highest. but from many points the lower summits seem to be lost in the central one, and the wrekin assumes a form rudely resembling a huge tumulus. like several of the other hills, it is largely composed of very ancient volcanic rocks. as we look down the stream, the view before long appears to be closed by a wooded ridge, which seems at first to prohibit further progress. this is benthall edge, which may be said to begin at lincoln hill, on the left bank of the severn, and on the opposite side to join on to wenlock edge, to the south-west. it is formed of the wenlock limestone, belonging to the silurian system, and so called from the townlet of much wenlock. this owes its origin and part of its name--for "much" is a corruption of _monasterium_, like _moutier_ in french--to its priory, once famed as "the oldest and most privileged--perhaps the wealthiest and most magnificent--of the religious houses of shropshire." now it is only a ruin, except that the priory-house is still inhabited, and is a remarkably good instance of a domestic building of the fifteenth century. the ruins, however, are very extensive, and in parts most picturesque. but as they are a league away from the riverside, and are hid by the wooded slopes of wenlock edge, we must turn to another ruin, which stands on the level strath, almost by the waterside, just before the hills close in upon the severn. this is buildwas abbey, formerly an abode of the cistercians, which bears traces of that strict order in the simplicity of its architecture. still, its ruins are admirable in their noble simplicity. "they impress us with the power of its designer, who ventured to trust simply to the strength of his composition and the grace of his outlines, so as to dispense with almost all ornamentation whatever. it thus gives it a sense of calmness and repose, for which we seek in vain in works of more modern date."[ ] the style indicates the passage from norman to early english; the influence of the latter, on the whole, predominating. the church and chapter-house are still in fair preservation. the abbot's house--mainly thirteenth-century work--has been restored, and is inhabited. the date of the foundation is a little uncertain; but it is believed to have been about the middle of the twelfth century. buildwas was a wealthy abbey in its day, but made no figure in history. through the ridge of benthall edge the severn has sawn its way, so that the river-valley now becomes almost a gorge, along which, on the abrupt southern side, the severn valley railway has been conducted, and this not without considerable engineering difficulties. wooded steeps and grey crags on either side of the strong stream flowing at their feet form a series of exquisite pictures, though unhappily not for long, for a change comes where the dirty hand of man has smirched the face of nature. to the north and to the east of the limestone hills lies the most noted of the shropshire coalfields, that of coalbrook dale, which is rich also in iron, though its mineral wealth is becoming exhausted. dismantled engine-houses and great piles of dark rubbish are only one shade less unpicturesque than tall chimneys vomiting black fumes, smelting furnaces, the apparatus of the pit-mouth, and smouldering spoil-banks. but before the days of "smoke, and wealth, and noise," this part of the ravine of the severn, and even coalbrook dale itself, must have been very beautiful. ironbridge is a dingy-looking town, built on the steep hillside, which gets its name from the metal arch-- feet in span--by which the severn was bridged in the year . on the opposite side of the river, hardly more than a mile away, is broseley, noted for pottery and clay pipes; and another mile west of that, benthall, equally noted for encaustic tiles. the neighbourhood of the severn, as far as coalport, has fallen off in beauty as it has increased in wealth. but soon, in a geological sense, "the old order changeth, yielding place to new": the severn quits the coal-measures to enter once more upon the red rocks, which belong to a more recent period. smoking chimneys and spoil-banks are left behind, the valley widens, though the scenery continues to be far from tame, and we pass on by linley and by apley park; the river sometimes gliding beneath sandstone crags and steeply sloping woods, till in about four miles we reach bridgnorth. the situation is a striking one: the severn has carved out a deep and rather narrow valley in the sandstone rock, and a tributary stream has fashioned another after a like pattern. between these the upland forms a wedge-like promontory, defended on either side by a steep, almost precipitous, scarp. on this, not very much less than a couple of hundred feet above the river, the upper town, the church, and the castle were built. the town has gradually climbed down the eastern slope towards the severn, it has spread out along its margin, it has crossed the stream and has occupied the tract of level meadow on the opposite side, the two portions being connected by a bridge which is in part far from modern. from the lower town here to the upper one on the plateau is a steep ascent, even though the principal road winds up. the church stands near the edge of the scarp, on which the wall of its graveyard is built. needless to say, it commands a very striking view--sandstone crags, and steeply shelving woods and green fields beyond, with the river and the lower town in the glen beneath. the most interesting part of bridgnorth is its broad high street, bounded at one end by a gateway, with the old market hall--a black and white structure, of the date , which is supported on brick arches. this street also contains one or two fine houses of about the same era. others, again, will be found in or near to the churchyard, and yet another near the end of the street, which descends so steeply as the main way to the lower town. this, which bears the date , is a particularly good specimen of the black-timbered houses so abundant in the valley of the severn. here, in the year , percy was born, the collector and editor of the "reliques of ancient english poetry." bridgnorth castle also must not be forgotten; occupying the extremity of the promontory already mentioned, it was a place of great strength in olden days, and stood more than one siege. it was destroyed after holding out for a month for king charles. the most conspicuous remnant is a massive wall, a portion of the keep, which has heeled over to one side, at so great an angle--about degrees--that it looks actually unsafe. the adjacent church was designed by telford, the eminent engineer, to whom we are more indebted for the suspension bridge over the menai straits than for this rather ugly renaissance building. [illustration: ironbridge (_p. _).] [illustration: . the severn in wyre forest. . near shrawley. . quatford. . old houses at bewdley (_p. _).] for some miles below bridgnorth the valley of the severn is extremely pretty, the banks half slopes of pasture, half masked with trees. "now it is a little wider, now a little narrower, the hills a little steeper here or a little more wooded there, the grass by the riverside always green, the severn sweeping on as it swings from side to side of the valley," and breaking here and there into a series of little rapids. it passes quatford, the site of a saxon fortress, which was erected in the tenth century, and through the forest of morf, long since brought under cultivation. quatford was a place of some importance till some years after the conquest, when bridgnorth was built, and most of its inhabitants removed to the new stronghold. the river leaves on its western side the old forest of wyre, which, though it still retains some pretty woods, had lost its best trees even so long ago as the days of camden. it is now better known as a coalfield, though it is not one of much commercial importance. the severn glides on beneath the wide arch of an iron railway bridge and across the parting of shropshire and worcestershire to bewdley, pleasantly situated on a slope by the river-bank, and well worthy of its name, _beau lieu_. in olden times it had an extensive trade by means of the river, when it was a place of import and export, especially for the principality. all the country round is pretty, notwithstanding occasional symptoms of factories. the lanes are sometimes cut deep in the red sandstone, and here and there the rock is hollowed out into dwellings after a primæval fashion. three miles or so away to the east is busy but unpicturesque kidderminster, famed for its carpets. stourport follows, not less busy, and yet less picturesque, where the severn is joined by the river after which the place is named. here the construction of the worcestershire and staffordshire canal has turned a hamlet into a town. undulating ground on either hand, the long low line of the lickey hills some miles away to the east, the slightly more varied forms of the abberley hills on the west, limit a piece of country pleasant to the eye through which the severn flows for several miles, past shrawley and ombersley. then the valley becomes a little broader and flatter. the scarp of the cotswolds, with bredon cloud as an advanced bastion, replaces the lickey hills, and on the other side, as the tower of worcester cathedral grows more and more conspicuous in the view, the malvern hills, with their mountain-like outlines, divert the attention from their humbler advanced post on the north. there are no places of importance near the severn, though hartlebury palace, which has belonged to the see of worcester for over a thousand years, lies about a league away on the east. worcester has no special charm in point of situation, though the river itself and the distant hills are always an attraction, but some of its streets are quaint, and its cathedral is grand. the site, comparatively level, but raised well above the river, early attracted settlers, and it is believed to have been inhabited before the days of the romans. it figures from time to time in our history, but its most stirring days were in the civil war, when it took the king's side, was twice besieged, twice compelled to surrender, and twice suffered severely for its "malignity." but even the king's death did not bring peace to worcester, for it was occupied by the younger charles, and the decisive battle which crushed the hopes of the cavaliers was fought in its very streets. since the restoration it has been undisturbed, and has prospered, especially since it added the manufacture of porcelain to that of gloves, for which it has long been famed, the compounding of sauce to the potting of lampreys, and took to making bricks and yet more strongly scented chemicals. [illustration: _photo: harvey barton, bristol._ worcester cathedral, from the severn.] the cathedral overlooks the severn, its precincts being almost bounded by the river-bank. it is a noble pile, the tall central tower being a conspicuous object for many a mile away in the valley, though it has been, perhaps, overmuch restored. parts, however, of the fabric had become so decayed that it was thought necessary to re-build them. a crypt belongs to a building erected soon after the norman conquest, but the greater part of the present structure is early english, and very beautiful work of its kind, being begun about . the nave, however, is of later date, with the exception of one or two incorporated fragments of the preceding cathedral. some of the monuments also are interesting. though king john loved not churches, he lies in the middle of the choir, where his effigy remains, the earliest one of a royal personage in england; a beautiful chantry chapel commemorates prince arthur, the elder brother of henry viii., and no visitor is likely to forget the mysterious gravestone with its single and sorrowful inscription, "_miserrimus_." cloisters, chapter-house, and other portions of the conventual buildings still remain, though the fine old guesten hall was destroyed not many years ago. the town also retains some fairly interesting houses, though neither these nor the twelve parish churches are likely to divert the visitors' attention from the cathedral. below worcester the teme comes into the severn from the west. few rivers of its size pass through more charming or more interesting scenery. it collects a group of streams that have risen among the great hill-masses on the edges of radnor and montgomery, and in the southern part of shropshire. they have flowed by craggy slopes and wild moorland, by lonely farms and quiet villages, by ancestral oaks and ancient halls, by ruined forts and many a relic of primæval folk. but on these we must not linger; a glance at ludlow must suffice. it is one of the most attractive towns in england--church and castle crown a hill between the teme and the corve, and from it the streets run down the slope. in olden time ludlow was a place of great importance, for the castle was the chief of thirty-two that guarded the welsh marches, and here the lords presidents of wales held their courts. even after this state had passed away, the town was a centre of county society. the castle, a picturesque ruin, crowns the headland, the inner court occupying its north-western angle, and the main block of buildings overlooks a wooded cliff. these are of various dates, from norman to tudor; the most remarkable being a curious little circular chapel of late norman work, which now stands alone, its small chancel having disappeared. the castle witnessed sharp fighting more than once in the border wars, and finally surrendered to the troops of the parliament. here died arthur, prince of wales, son of henry vii.; here also milton wrote "the masque of comus" and butler part of "hudibras." the church--a grand building in the perpendicular style, on a commanding site--is justly designated one of the noblest parish churches in england. there are several good specimens of timber-work among the older houses; the most striking, perhaps, being the reader's house in the churchyard, and the feathers inn. the grand old trees in oakley park, the clee hills, stokesay castle, tenbury church, and st. michael's college, are but a few of the many attractions of the surrounding district. [illustration: ludlow (_p. _).] for some fourteen miles below worcester the severn flows through its wide and pleasant valley without passing near any place of special interest, unless it be kemsey, with its fine church standing within the enclosure of a roman camp, or upton, which makes much vinegar and enjoys, besides, considerable traffic up and down the river; for its bridge, in place of a central arch, has a platform which can be raised to let vessels pass. but the foreground scenery, fertile and wooded, is often very pretty: the scarp bounding the limestone uplands of the cotswolds is pleasant to see, and the range of the malverns is always beautiful. passing thus through a fertile land, we come to tewkesbury, with its abbey church, less magnificent but hardly less interesting than the cathedral of worcester, and its black-timbered houses not far behind those of shrewsbury. but as this town belongs to the avon even more than to the severn, it shall be described in connection with the former river. [illustration: the severn at tewkesbury.] [illustration: _photo: e. h. speight, rugby._ the avon near rugby (_p. _).] the severn. chapter ii. the upper or warwickshire avon. the watershed of central england--naseby--rugby--the swift--lutterworth and wiclif--stoneleigh abbey and kenilworth castle--guy's cliff--the leam--warwick and its castle--stratford-on-avon and its shakespeare associations--evesham--pershore--tewkesbury. the avon is a typical river of the english lowlands, and it is surpassed by few in the quiet beauty of its scenery or in the places of interest on its banks. it rises in the northern part of northamptonshire, on an elevated plateau, the highest spot on which is nearly feet above sea-level. this forms the watershed of central england, for on it also the welland and the nen begin their courses to the wash. but it is not only the source of an historic stream, it is also the scene of an historic event. almost on the highest ground is naseby church, and to the north of that, quite in the corner of the county, is the fatal "field" where the forces of charles and of cromwell met in a death-grip and the king's cause was hopelessly lost. it was more than a defeat, it was an utter rout. henceforth charles was "like a hunted partridge, flitting from one castle to another." from this upland country--pleasantly varied by cornfield, pasture, and copses--the avon makes its way to the northern margin of the county, and then, working round to the south-west, forms for a while the boundary between it and leicestershire. entering warwickshire, the avon passes near rugby. all know the great railway junction, immortalised by charles dickens, and the famous school, with its memories of old laurence sheriffe the founder, and dr. arnold, its great headmaster. then the river is joined by the tributary swift, which, while hardly more than a brook, has rippled by the little town of lutterworth. there, higher up the slope, is the church where wiclif ministered, the pulpit from which he preached. there, spanning the stream, is a little bridge, the successor of that from which the ashes, after his bones had been dug up and burnt by order of the council of constance, were flung into the water. so the swift bore them to the avon, and the avon to the severn, and that to the sea, to be dispersed abroad into all lands--"which things are an allegory." [illustration: the upper or warwickshire avon.] the avon flows on through the pretty, restful scenery of warwickshire, which has been rendered classic by the authoress of "adam bede," twisting in great curves gradually more and more to the south. it leaves, some three miles away from its right bank, the spires and ancient mansions of coventry--once noted for its ribbons, now busy in making cycles; it sweeps round stoneleigh abbey, with its beautiful park and fine old oaks, where a comparatively modern mansion has replaced a cistercian monastery. on the opposite side, half a league away, are the ruins of kenilworth castle, with their memories of leicester and queen elizabeth. it glides beneath guy's cliff, where the famous earl, the slayer of the dun cow, after his return from the holy land, dwelt in a cave as a hermit, unrecognised, till the hour of his death, by his own wife, though she daily gave him alms. a little further, and a short distance away on the left, on the tributary leam, is the modern town of leamington, which began a career of prosperity just a century ago on the discovery of sundry mineral springs. then the avon sweeps by the foot of the hill on which stands the old town of warwick. the site is an ideal one--a hill for a fortress, a river for a moat--and has thus been occupied from a distant antiquity. briton, roman, saxon--all are said to have held in turn the settlement, till the norman came and built a castle. the town retains two of its gates and several old timbered houses, one of which, the leicester hospital, founded in , is perhaps the finest in the midlands; and on the top of the hill, set so that "it cannot be hid," is the great church of st. mary. it is in the perpendicular style, more or less, for the tower and nave were rebuilt after a great fire in , the choir escaping with little injury. two fine tombs of the earls of warwick are in this part, but the glory of the church is the beauchamp chapel, with its far-famed altar-tomb and effigy of richard beauchamp, the founder. he died in ; and near him lie the earl of leicester, queen elizabeth's favourite, and other members of the house of dudley. [illustration: warwick castle.] warwick castle is one of the most picturesquely situated mansions in england. it stands on a rocky headland, which descends almost precipitously to the avon. one of our illustrations (p. ) may give some notion of the beauty of the view over the rich river-plain; the other (p. ) indicates the aspect of the castle itself. a mediæval fortress has been gradually transformed into a modern mansion, yet it retains an air of antiquity and not a little of the original structure. it incorporates portions of almost all dates, from the norman conquest to the present day. the oldest part is the lofty tower, called cæsar's tower, which must have been erected not many years after the victory at hastings. the residential part mostly belongs to the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, though alterations and additions have been made, especially during the restoration, which was rendered necessary by a lamentable fire in . we must leave it to the guide-books to describe the pictures, antiquities, and curiosities which the castle contains--relics of the civil war, when it was in vain besieged by the king's forces, the sword and porridge-pot of the legendary guy, and the famous warwick vase, dug up near tivoli at hadrian's villa. but the view from the windows is so beautiful that the visitor will often find a difficulty in looking at pictures on the walls; he will be well rewarded if afterwards he stroll down towards the old mill by the riverside. after leaving warwick the avon keeps winding towards the south-western boundary of the county till, before reaching this, it arrives at another and yet more noted town. stratford-on-avon is a household word wherever the english tongue is spoken. no american thinks his visit to the country of his ancestors is complete till he has made a pilgrimage to the birthplace and the grave of shakespeare--nay, even our distant kinsmen in germany are not seldom drawn thither by the same magnetic force. the town, till the days of railways, was a quietly prosperous, old-fashioned place, in harmony with the scenery of the neighbourhood. this is thoroughly characteristic of the midlands, and exhibits one of their most attractive types. "the avon, a fairly broad bright stream, sweeps silently along on its way to the severn, through level meadows, where the grass grows green and deep. the higher ground on either side rolls gently down, descending sometimes to the margin of the stream, but elsewhere parted from it by broad stretches of level valley. the slopes are dotted with cornfields, and varied by clumps of trees and lines of hedgerow timber. it is a peaceful, unexciting land, where hurry would seem out of place."[ ] the little house where shakespeare was born--in , on the rd of april, as they say--after many vicissitudes has been saved to the nation, and perhaps a little over-restored. it is a parcel-timbered dwelling without enrichment--one of those common in the midlands--such as would be inhabited by an ordinary burgess of a country town. [illustration: the avon from warwick castle (_p. _).] when shakespeare returned, a prosperous man, to his birthplace, he lived in a much better house near the church, which he purchased in . this, however, was pulled down by an ill-tempered clerical vandal in the middle of the last century. shottery, where we can still see the cottage of anne hathaway, whom shakespeare loved not wisely but too well, is a mile away; and about four times that distance is the picturesque old brick and stone mansion of charlecote, with its beautiful park. here dwelt sir thomas lucy, with whose deer the youth made too free, and on account of whose anger he ran away to london. the dramatist, it is said, took his revenge on the knight in the portrait of justice shallow, but when he looked back on the ultimate results of his flight from stratford he might have justly said, "all's well that ends well!" [illustration: stratford-on-avon church.] [illustration: shakespeare's house (_p. _).] in the month of his birth, , stratford church received the body of william shakespeare. "church and churchyard are worthy of being connected with so great a memory. the former is a fine cruciform structure, crowned with a central spire; the latter a spacious tract, planted with aged trees. an avenue of limes leads up to the church porch, between which, perhaps, the poet often passed to worship, and whose quivering shadows may one sad day have fallen upon his coffin. but there is a part of the god's acre where, perhaps, more than any other, we may think of him, for it is one which can hardly have failed to tempt him to musing. the avon bounds the churchyard, and by its brink is a terraced walk, beneath a row of fine old elms. on the one hand, through the green screens of summer foliage, or through the chequered lattice-work of winter boughs, we see the grey stones of the church--here the tracery of a window, there a weather-beaten pinnacle--then, through some wider gap, the spire itself. on the other hand, beneath the terrace wall, the avon slowly and silently glides along by bridge and town, by water-meadows, bright with celandine in spring and thick with lush grass in june."[ ] the church, once collegiate, is an unusually fine one, partly early english, partly decorated, but mostly perpendicular in style. to the last belongs the chancel, where shakespeare is buried, with his wife, daughter, and other relations. his monument, with the bust, is on the north wall, and his grave with the quaint inscription is near at hand, both too well known to need description; but though this one great memory pervades the place, almost to the exclusion of all beside, there are other tombs of interest, and the church of itself is well worth a visit. about a league below stratford, the avon becomes a county boundary, separating warwickshire from the north of gloucestershire. then it returns to the former county, and lastly enters worcestershire. its valley becomes more and more definitely marked as the river cuts its way through the upland, which forms the eastern limit of the broad vale of severn. on a peninsula of worcestershire made by a southward sweep of the stream, near the boundary of the two other counties, stands an historic town, evesham, which gives its name to the beautiful vale. a ruined archway and a noble tower are the sole relics of its once famous abbey. this was founded early in the eighth century, on a spot where they said both a swineherd and a bishop had seen a vision of the virgin. ultimately it was attached to the benedictine order, became one of the most wealthy monasteries, with one of the grandest churches in the west. it was exceptionally rich in relics and ornaments. the shrine of the founder was a superb specimen of the goldsmith's work; the forms of worship were unusually sumptuous. but at last the crash came, and the spoiler's hand fell with exceptional weight on the abbey of evesham. "the estates were confiscated and parcelled out, and the abbey was dismantled and given away to sir philip hoby, a gentleman of worcestershire, who shortly afterwards seems to have leased out the magnificent buildings of abbey and monastery as a quarry for stone, and thus it continued to be for many a day." so now "it can hardly be called a ruin";[ ] but the beautiful tower still remains, which stood at the entrance of the cemetery, and was meant for clock and bells. this was only completed just before the surrender of the abbey. near it are two churches, each of fair size, each with its own steeple, chapels founded by the monks for the use of the townsfolk. the three, as shown in our illustration (p. ), form a very striking group. but this quiet town in a peaceful valley was once disturbed by the noise of battle, and witnessed a crisis in english history. prince edward, son of henry iii., had contrived by masterly generalship to prevent the junction of the armies of simon de montfort and his son. the former was encamped at evesham. the prince's army blocked his one outlet by land; a detachment of it had cut off a retreat by the bridges over the river. the fight from the first was hopeless; de montfort's troops were inferior: "the welsh fled at the first onset like sheep, and were cut ruthlessly down in the cornfields and gardens where they had sought refuge. the little group of knights around simon fought desperately, falling one by one till the earl was left alone. so terrible were his sword-strokes that he had all but gained the hill-top when a lance-thrust brought his horse to the ground; but simon still rejected the summons to yield, till a blow from behind felled him, mortally wounded, to the ground. then with a last cry of 'it is god's grace,' the soul of the great patriot passed away."[ ] the beauty and richness of the vale of evesham are proverbial; it is a land of corn and orchards, and it widens out as the avon winds on in rounding the northern extremity of the cotswolds. after a time the stream makes a great undulating sweep to the northward, as if to avoid the outlying mass of dundry hill, and brings us to another country town and another fragment of a grand church of olden time. pershore was founded in the tenth century, as was evesham, and only a few years afterwards; it too passed under the rule of the benedictines, and was richly endowed by a pious saxon noble, not only with lands, but also with relics. pershore, however, was less uniformly prosperous than evesham. edward the confessor gave of its lands to his new abbey at westminster. william the conqueror took of them for himself or his courtiers. for all that, money was found for rebuilding, and for rearing a glorious structure, resembling those at gloucester and tewkesbury, in the latter part of the eleventh century. the choir was again re-built in the thirteenth; the central tower dates from the middle of the fourteenth. the reformation here, as elsewhere, was a time of plunder and destruction--nave, lady-chapel, and monastic buildings were pulled down; the people of pershore, to their honour, purchased the rest of the church, and thus saved it from annihilation. the north transept fell down at a later date; but what is left has been carefully repaired and restored, and this fragment has been justly called one of the noblest specimens of norman and early english work that our country possesses. though the foreground scenery, as the two valleys merge, becomes less striking, the more distant views are always attractive; for the scarp bounding the limestone uplands of the cotswolds forms a pleasant feature, and the range of the malverns is beautiful in its outline. at last, just before its confluence with the severn, the avon brings us to another interesting town--tewkesbury, on the left bank of the latter river, and within half a mile of the former one. tewkesbury has an abbey church, not so magnificent, but hardly less interesting than that of worcester, while it is not less rich than shrewsbury in black-timbered houses. here the course of the severn is interrupted by a weir and a lock, constructed in order to make the river navigable to worcester for vessels of larger tonnage, and is crossed by a fine bridge of iron. it receives the avon, by the side of which the town is built, and this stream is spanned by another and ancient bridge of stone. the streets, with their old timbered houses, are a delight to the antiquary: they usually have bay windows carried the whole height of the front, the "wheatsheaf inn" being one of the best specimens. the abbey, however, is the glory of the town, and in ancient days, before tewkesbury mustard became a proverb, made its name known all over england. it claims as its founder two kings of mercia, rather more than eleven and a half centuries ago, and in any case appears to carry back its history almost to this time. but the greater part of the present church was erected early in the twelfth century, though the choir was re-constructed about two centuries afterwards. yet this, though graceful decorated work in the upper part, maintains the massive norman piers below, the combination producing a rather unusual effect. but not only so, the choir terminates in an apse, a feature not very common in our english churches, and certainly not the least among the attractions of tewkesbury. central tower, transept, and nave are mainly norman; and the west end is peculiar, for it terminates in a huge arch, which occupies almost the whole of the façade, and in which a great perpendicular window has been inserted. it has a curiously incomplete look, so, possibly, the architect contemplated the addition of a façade with towers. the church also is unusually rich in chantries and ancient monuments, secular and ecclesiastical. [illustration: _photo: harvey barton, bristol._ the avon at stratford (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: harvey barton, bristol._ evesham (_p. _).] tewkesbury, too, has a place in english history, for on the meadows south of the abbey was fought the last battle between the houses of lancaster and york, and the red rose was trampled in the mire. margaret of anjou was taken prisoner; her only son, edward, was stabbed by the yorkists--it is said after the duke of york had struck him in the face with his gauntlet; and a large number of the chief men on the losing side were killed or were executed after the battle. some of them fled to the abbey for sanctuary. edward and his soldiers came in hot pursuit, but a priest, bearing the host, confronted them on the threshold, nor would he move until the victor promised to spare the lives of the fugitives. but on the third day afterwards a troop of soldiers broke into the building, dragged out the refugees, and promptly struck off their heads. revenge proved stronger than religion! [illustration: the avon at tewkesbury.] the young prince lies in a nameless grave beneath the central tower of the abbey; and other illustrious victims of the battle were buried within its walls. the building itself has had more than one narrow escape from destruction: it was seriously injured by a fire in the later part of the twelfth century; at the suppression of the monasteries it was placed on the list of "superfluous" buildings and doomed to be pulled down by the greedy vandals of that age. but the good folk of tewkesbury bought it for themselves, and thus preserved one of the finest and most interesting ecclesiastical buildings in the west country. they have well earned the gratitude of posterity. the monastic buildings, however, to a great extent have disappeared. the cloisters, which seem to have resembled those at gloucester, are unfortunately gone, but the monks' infirmary, with some adjacent buildings, has been incorporated into a mansion called abbey house, and the principal gateway still remains. tewkesbury, in short, is to the lover of architecture far the most interesting town of its size in the valley of the severn. [illustration: distant view of tewkesbury.] the severn. chapter iii. from tewkesbury to the sea. deerhurst--gloucester--the "bore"--may hill--minsterworth-- westbury-on-severn--newnham--berkeley castle--lydney--sharpness --the severn tunnel--the estuary--a vanished river. below tewkesbury several pleasant places, country-houses, parks and quiet villages are situated on the lowland, or on the gentle undulations which diversify the width of the valley, but few are of special interest, except the little church of deerhurst, standing near the waterside, which was built, as an inscription now preserved at oxford has recorded, in the year . the greater part of the comparatively lofty tower, with some portions of the body of the church, belongs to this age; but the latter to a considerable extent has been rebuilt at various dates, and its plan altered. there was a priory of earlier foundation, but of this nothing of interest remains. but for some miles a great tower has been rising more and more distinctly above the lush water-meadows, as did that of worcester on the higher reaches of the severn. it is another cathedral, on a scale yet grander than the former one, the centre of the old city of gloucester, which for not a few years has been rapidly increasing; but all about the precincts and in the original streets are many picturesque remnants of the last and preceding centuries, while its churches surpass those of worcester. gloucester, as it guards the severn, and is one of the natural approaches to wales, very early became a place of mark. an important station for the roman troops, it was in the days of bede a very notable town, not only in the mercian kingdom, but also in all britain. at gloucester the first of its christian kings founded a monastery about eighty years after the landing of augustine; and when the dane began to harry england the town had not seldom to fight and sometimes to suffer. saxon and the earlier norman kings often visited it. probably in few cathedrals out of london--except, perhaps, winchester--were royal worshippers so frequent. henry iii., a boy of ten, was crowned here, and had a particular affection for the town. hither the murdered edward ii. was brought for burial; parliaments were held in the city; and most of the kings up to the sixteenth century paid it at least one visit. but when the great civil war broke out, gloucester took the side of the parliament. so, presently, the royal troops and charles himself appeared before its walls. for about four weeks it was closely invested, and its defenders were in sore straits, till essex raised the siege. as a penalty the walls were destroyed after the restoration. that did no real harm; the city was quietly prosperous, till it was quickened to a more active life by becoming a railway junction, when the "break of gauge" provided many a subject for _punch_. [illustration: the severn, from tewkesbury to the sea.] the cathedral stands well within the old city, a good quarter of a mile from the severn. one rose on this site before the norman conquest, but that was destroyed by fire--the crypt beneath the choir being the only relic--and another building was erected in the last dozen years of the eleventh century. notwithstanding great and conspicuous alterations, the shell of this structure is comparatively intact. the nave has undergone the least change, and is a very fine example of the earlier work in that style. it resembles tewkesbury in the increased height of the piers and consequent dwarfing of the triforium, thus differing from, and not improving on, the great norman cathedrals of eastern england; the choir is also of the same age, though the older work is often almost concealed beneath a veil of perpendicular tracery; and the east window, of the latter date, is the largest in england. the roof also is a magnificent piece of vaulting. in fact, all the eastern part, including the transept, was remodelled between the years and , but the roof of the nave had been already replaced nearly a century earlier than the former date. the latest conspicuous changes in the cathedral were the additions of the grand lady chapel and of the central tower. the former was grafted on to its little norman predecessor in the last forty years of the fifteenth century, and its great perpendicular east window still preserves the stained glass with which it was filled on the completion of the structure. the east window of the choir also contains the original glass, which is a yet finer specimen of the art, and is older by nearly a hundred and fifty years. the central tower was begun at the same time, but was not completed till some thirty years later. it has few rivals in britain; some prefer that in the same position at lincoln, others bell harry tower at canterbury. gloucester, at any rate, is the most ornate, even if it be not the most beautiful. [illustration: _photo: h. w. watson, gloucester._ gloucester.] [illustration: _photo: hudson._ the severn bridge, sharpness (_p _).] the old stained glass, the exquisite tracery of its windows, walls and roof, give exceptional richness to the eastern half of the cathedral, but in addition to this, it possesses several remarkable monuments. the luckless robert courthose, eldest son of the conqueror, who died a prisoner at cardiff castle, was buried before the high altar. his tomb and effigy, contrary to the usual custom, are of wood (irish oak), but whether they are contemporaneous is uncertain. the yet more luckless edward ii. was brought from berkeley castle to lie under the central arch on the north side of the choir. there his son and successor raised a memorial, which is not surpassed by any in england. despised in life, this edward was honoured in death--such is the irony of fate. a constant stream of pilgrims flocked to his grave as to that of an uncanonised saint, and the magnificent reconstruction of the choir was the fruit of their offerings. telford spanned the severn with an arch of stone feet in diameter, and below gloucester the railway runs on a viaduct across the meadows, alney island, and the river. the valley now is becoming very wide, and seems to hint that before long the severn will broaden into an estuary. the river begins to swing in huge curves through the level meadows. the tidal wave, called "the bore," sometimes attains a considerable height, and is one of its "wonders." the malvern hills have receded into the background, and their place is taken by may hill, famous among geologists; on the opposite side the scarp of the cotswolds continues, though with a rather more broken outline; but outlying hills come nearer to the city. the severn ebbs and flows by minsterworth, where gwillim is buried, whose heraldry was beloved by country squires. the main high road, when possible, keeps away from the stream, for the land lies low and is liable to floods. westbury-on-severn is the first place of mark--a small town with a rather large church noted for having a separate steeple, the spire of which is of wood. the severn here has pressed against higher ground and has carved it into a low cliff, which affords sections well known to every geologist; and in the neighbourhood iron ore is worked, as it has been for many a century. newnham comes next, a market-town, and an outlet for the important mining district of the forest of dean, which lies a few miles away to the west. it still preserves a sword of state given to it by king john, and there is some old norman work in its church. the severn is now changing from a river to an estuary. no places of importance lie near the riverside, and its scenery is becoming marshy and monotonous; but some distance away to the east is berkeley, an old town with an old castle, memorable for the murder of the hapless edward; and on the other side is lydney, a quaint little town with a small inland harbour, a market cross, and a fine old church. in the adjacent park, on a kind of elevated terrace overlooking the valley, are the remains of a group of roman villas, from which many coins, pieces of pottery, and other relics have been unearthed. at sharpness, above lydney, a railway crosses the severn by a long bridge of twenty-eight arches, a magnificent work; but below it ferryboats were the only communication from shore to shore till in the completion of the severn tunnel linked bristol and the west more closely to the eastern part of south wales. at this point the river is more than two and a quarter miles across; but the tunnel itself is about double that length. this, the greatest work of its kind in britain, was completed by the late sir john hawkshaw. the banks become yet farther apart, the water is salt, the tide ebbs and flows, as in the sea. the estuary, indeed, continues for many a mile, still retaining the form of a river-valley. very probably there was a time when a severn flowed along a broad valley, where now the bristol channel parts england from south wales, to join another stream which had descended over land, now sunk beneath the irish sea, and the two rivers discharged their united waters into a more distant atlantic ocean; but that was very long ago, so that our task is now completed. we have followed the severn from its source to its ending--till our brook has become a river, and our river has become a sea. /t. g. bonney./ [illustration: a bend of the wye.] the wye. "the notorious hill of plinlimmon"--the stronghold of owen glendower--llangurig--rhayader gwy--llyn-gwyn--the elan, the ithon, and the yrfon--llandrindod--builth--aberedw and the last prince of wales--hay--clifford castle and the fair rosamond--hereford--the lug--"the wonder"--ross and john kyrle--goodrich castle--coldwell rocks--symond's yat--monmouth--the monnow, the dore, and the honddu--wordsworth's great ode--tintern abbey--the wyndcliff--chepstow--the lower reaches. like many another thing of beauty, the /wye/ is born amidst surroundings dreary and dismal. plinlimmon, the monarch of the vast waste of hills that forms the southern portion of the cambrian system, has three heads. but no one can point the finger of scorn at him on that account, for great are his cares as he stands there in that region of morass and bog, the father of five rivers. his chief head, towering to the sky, gathers from the heavy clouds as they drift across the land the raindrops and the mist, and these, trickling down his shoulders, are gathered into five different courses, and, hurrying on their way, form the five rivers--the severn, the wye, the rheidol, which flows to aberystwyth, and the dulas and the llyffnant, which by different courses flow to the dovey. moreover, the rugged, austere mountain has long been spoken lightly of; for a shepherd--it would never do to call him an humble shepherd--who, in the early part of the present century, had the right to sell ale and small beer in his cottage up amongst the mountain-tops, had a board hung out with this modest sentence, which, to be sure, soon became classic, painted upon it: "the notorious hill of plinlimmon is on these premises, and it will be shown with pleasure to any gentleman travellers who wishes to see it." so, what with the clouds and mists resting upon his head, the large family of rivers he has to feed, and the slighting language that is held towards him, the "notorious hill of plinlimmon" is bald and sad and sodden. unless, therefore, the traveller is fond of dreariness and dankness, he will scarcely find this a profitable journey to make--this climb to the very source of the wye. [illustration: _photos: hudson._ views in the lower elan valley (_p. _).] legend, however, weaves a charm over many an else dreary waste, and up amongst the scramble of hills of which plinlimmon is monarch, legend and history unapocryphal combine to fill the home of mists with interest for all who love a stirring tale. here, at the very source of the wye, owain glyndwr--the owen glendower of shakespeare's _king henry iv._--who could call spirits from the vasty deep, had his stronghold, and gathered around him his vicious little band of followers:-- "three times hath henry bolingbroke made head against my power: thrice from the banks of wye and sandy-bottomed severn have i sent him bootless home, and weather-beaten back." this he truthfully told his fellow-conspirators. plinlimmon and the surrounding country is rich in records and legends concerning this turbulent prince, whose very birth, on may th, , is said to have been attended by remarkable premonitions of coming trouble, for it is told that on that eventful night his father's horses were found in their stalls standing in a bath of blood that reached to their bellies. this is the popular account, but shakespeare's imagination created other and farther-reaching warnings to the world concerning the fiery spirit that had been ushered upon the scene:-- "at my nativity the front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, of burning cressets; and at my birth the frame and huge foundation of the earth shak'd like a coward." from this lofty region, half earth and half sky--for the wye can lay claim to trace its source to the very clouds that hang thick upon plinlimmon's head--the tiny rivulet bounds down the mountain-side, and the fates, catching at a myriad of still smaller rills, braid them into the main stream, as the tresses of a maiden's hair are woven together, till united they form a brook. for a number of miles the land through which the wye's course is laid continues to be melancholy in the extreme, and the torrent, like all urchins brought up amidst harsh, inclement surroundings, goes on its way brawling and turbulent, playing leapfrog with rocks, flinging itself over precipices, swirling in little maelstroms, and almost getting blown away in spray; and it is not until the pretty village of llangurig is reached that it comes in part to its senses, and, although still boisterous, shows itself amenable to the influence of civilisation. not only does the wye here meet for the first time with civilisation, but here, too, it becomes acquainted with that which later on in its life is one of its glories, almost its crowning glory--trees. the head and shoulders of mighty plinlimmon afford no gracious foothold for these children of fat lands and lusty air, scarcely a bush raising its branches in the bog and marsh of the mountain. but up to llangurig a few of them have straggled, to break the monotony of the mountainous region. here, too, a bridge--one of the few works of man that sometimes add to rather than detract from the effect of river-scenery, always provided that it is not a modern railway bridge of iron--crosses the young stream; and a church, the first of many on the banks of the wye, stands near by. a short distance below this village the stream spreads out in its valley, and flows more gently amongst huge boulders that have been hurled down from the sides of the mountains. between llangurig and the next village of any importance, rhayader gwy, to give it its full name, although most people are content to call it by its "christian" name only, leaving the "gwy" to take care of itself--between these two villages the wye enters radnorshire; and now the scenery, although still wildly mountainous, is of a more subdued description, trees becoming more plentiful, and the rocks, occasionally shaking their heads free from the thick covering of spongy morass, beginning to stand out bold and picturesque, and to take their proper place in the composition of mountain-scenery. a short distance above rhayader gwy the river marteg pours its tiny volume into the wye, and here is one of the choicest bits of scenery in all the upper reaches of our stream. nannerth rocks, lofty crags, confront the river, and narrow the bed so that the combined waters can only squeeze through at the expense of a mighty uproar and much plunging and dashing and flinging of spray and foam, the brawl of the forced passage being audible for a great distance. after its straitened course between these rocks, the river enters an easier bed and flows sulkily down to rhayader gwy. this village has a situation as wonderful as any in all the kingdom. on every side tower the great hills, not harsh and gloomy now, but clothed with oak forest thick and deep. not so many years ago there were, as the name of the village bears record, falls at rhayader gwy; but in building the bridge that spans the stream the good people, little caring for the picturesqueness of the place, removed the stones and widened the channel, and so reduced the falls to rapids. although the place is of little note now, being only a lovely village, once upon a time it was of considerable importance in the country, and saw stirring times. among other things, it had a strong fortress of its own, erected by rhys ap gruffydd, the prince of south wales; but this was so thoroughly rased to the ground by llewelyn, in , that not a vestige remains. at a later day a successor to this stronghold was built, but it, too, fell, in the stormy days of the parliamentary war, and only a mound marks the spot where it stood. near to rhayader gwy the wye, like a mountain chief exacting tribute from his weaker neighbours, secures the overflow from a quaint lake, said to be the only beautiful lake in radnorshire--the llyn-gwyn. in olden days many a pilgrim, full of faith in the miraculous powers of this little lake, made his way through the rugged district to bathe in its waters; and there can be little wonder at the hope inspired in their breasts by the sight of llyn-gwyn, for it is such a lake as is rarely found, dainty, clear, cool, its high wooded banks rising nearly perpendicularly--a veritable fairies' ocean. with the overflow from this the wye tumbles along, soon to find tributaries of much more importance. [illustration: the wye and the usk.] the first of these is the elan. this river receives the claerwen; and near to the juncture of the two streams is nantgwillt, a house which, in the momentous year , was occupied by the poet shelley, while at cwm elan lived harriet grove. the journey from rhayader to cwm elan, a distance of five miles up the valley of the little river, is very beautiful. mountains rise on every side, as though guarding the privacy of the delicious glen; inspiring sights are to be seen at every turn, dainty views of the wye and the elan pleasantly breaking the green of trees and grass, and the variegated colours of rocks. further up the valley is the scene chosen for the illustration on this page, where the waters of the elan splash along over the rocks that bestrew their course, until they come to a sombre and forbidding pool, which might well be bottomless. [illustration: _photo: j. owen, newtown, north wales._ pont-hyll-fan, in the elan valley.] next, the ithon, its waters drawn from the montgomeryshire hills, flows into the wye; and then, more considerable by far than any brecknock tributary, comes the yrfon, whose fountain-head is some ten miles from llanwrtyd. long time ago a cave near to the river-bank harboured rhys gethin, an audacious freebooter, who levied contributions from all and sundry, including his majesty the king himself. at the wolf's leap, a point on the yrfon worthy of a visit, the river may be said to run on edge, for the rocks close in so that the water, while some feet deep, is only a few inches across. this is the place where, if tradition is to be credited, the last welsh wolf took matters into his own paws, and committed suicide. the niche of land formed by the junction of the yrfon with the wye is pointed to as the spot where llewelyn, in , made his last stand against edward i. and his english hosts, and was there slain and buried. about an equal distance from rhayader and builth, up the valley of the ithon, is llandrindod, long famous for its pure air and healing wells. as long ago as the seventeenth century, the waters of these wells were known to have medicinal properties that made them of peculiar value to those suffering from scrofula and kindred troubles. the water flows out of the rock high up on a hillside, and guests at the pump-house and hotels enjoy a magnificent panoramic view of the valleys of the wye, ithon, and yrfon. in the last century an hotel of extravagant luxury was erected by the side of these wells, but, proving unprofitable, it soon became a favourite resort of gamblers, and continued to be the scandal of the country until a lady of practical piety became possessed of the property, and, so that there should be no doubt about her ideas on the subject of gambling, had the building torn down and utterly removed. that happened long ago, and now other hotels have taken the place of the one of evil repute; and llandrindod, having railway communication with the outside world, is prospering exceedingly. let us add that it has not, in its prosperity, come to feel ashamed of its shaky bridge--a primitive arrangement of planks and stretched ropes, which will some day, it is to be feared, be displaced by a more "imposing" structure. [illustration: _photo: hudson._ the shaky bridge, llandrindod.] builth, on the wye, is a fisherman's paradise. using the little town as a base, he has within easy reach the waters of the wye, the yrfon, the edw, the dihonw, and the chweffru, all waters rich in sporting fish; and in the seasons of the sport about as many artificial as natural flies skim the waters, for anglers come from far and near to a centre so celebrated. the authentic history of builth reaches back to roman times; and in later days the danes came with fire and sword, and levelled the place with the ground. the castle of builth was stormed and destroyed as often as it was rebuilt, the partisans of one chief after another wreaking their rage upon it, and now nothing but a mound marks the spot where once a succession of strongholds stood. history has no more romantic tale to tell, nor one that is more generally known, than that of the ride of the prince of wales, llewelyn, from aberedw, where on the banks of the wye he had a castle, towards builth, which refused to succour him. there is scarce an elementary schoolboy who has not heard of the ingenious blacksmith who hastily nailed to the hoofs of llewelyn's horse the shoes reversed, so that the tracks in the snow might mislead those who were in hot pursuit; and alas! heard, too, that the blacksmith, clever as he was at his trade, was not clever enough to keep the secret, but betrayed his prince to the enemy, so that the last authentic prince of wales was hounded to his death. it is a story destined to immortality, for it has drifted into folklore, and, like the curiously barbarous tale of little red riding hood, is crooned to each generation of children until every welsh child dreams at least once in its lifetime of the harried prince and the foaming steed, the new-fallen snow, and the marks of the seven-nailed shoes running, as it were, backwards. the tale has been transplanted to many quarters of the globe, but the wye knows that the prince fled along its banks from the castle to the cruel, inhospitable town. of the castle--llewelyn's--to be sure, almost nothing now remains; but the village is delightfully situated, and is much resorted to by anglers, and not by anglers only. the next place of particular importance is hay. from the river the streets of this picturesque and thriving little town rise rather too abruptly for the pleasurable convenience of vehicular traffic; but picturesqueness and practicability seldom go hand in hand, and what hay streets lack in the latter is fully made up in the former virtue. to crown them rises the ivy-clad fragments of the famous castle. [illustration: _photo: j. thirlwall, hereford._ the wye bridge and hereford cathedral (_p. _).] it is often found that the same hero ciphers through the history of a country or district with the persistence of a damaged note in an organ, although usually with a less irritating effect. in this quarter of the kingdom, which was once the buffer state between england and wales, the name of owen glendower crops up continually, and at hay among other places. at the head of his wild men from the hills, he came down like an avalanche upon the castle at hay; when he retired, the pile was a mass of ruins, and now nothing stands of the ancient fort but a gateway--the very stones grey with age--and part of a tower. legend, which has a pretty fancy and nimble brain, relates that the castle was built in one night by the celebrated maud de saint wallery, alias maud de hain, alias moll walbee. "she built the castle of hay" (to quote jones's "brecknock") "in one night, the stones for which she carried in her apron. while she was thus employed, a small pebble, of about nine feet long and one foot thick, dropped into her shoe. this she did not at first regard; but in a short time finding it troublesome, she indignantly threw it over the river wye into llowes churchyard, in radnorshire (about three miles off), where it remains to this day, precisely in the position it fell, a stubborn memorial of the historical fact, to the utter confusion of all sceptics and unbelievers." americans have long claimed for their chicago belles the largest feet; but from this well-substantiated fact it is doubtful if any one of them ever wore so spacious a shoe as the fair maud on the banks of the wye. king john, in revenge for succour refused, visited the town with his vengeance; and altogether its early history is as stirring as any to be met with in these parts. [illustration: goodrich castle (_p. _).] by the time hay is reached the wye is fast becoming a stream of considerable size. now entering herefordshire, it flows through a broad vale, cultivated and mellow, where clifford castle stands a hoary ruin. here, if history speak true, was born, in the reign of henry ii., one of great and general notoriety, whose name--or _nom de guerre_, as dryden has it--is woven richly into the ballads of that and later days; for doubtless her beauty, like her failings, was great, and her death untimely and cruel:-- "jane clifford was her name, as books aver; fair rosamond was but her _nom de guerre_." fair rosamond was born about the year . how much of the story coming to us through the medium of ballads and folk-tales be true, it is now quite impossible to discover, but popular fancy still clings to the idea of a lonely and innocently unfortunate girl installed at woodstock, protected by a nurse who proved insufficient when pitted against the cunning of a scandalised wife and queen. fair rosamond was buried at godstow, and upon her tomb was carved the famous epitaph:-- "hic jacet in tumba rosa mundi, non rosa munda: non redolet, sed olet, quæ redolere solet." the railway has not improved the situation of this old castle:-- "clifford has fallen--howe'er sublime, mere fragments wrestle still with time; yet as they perish, sure and slow, and, rolling, dash the stream below, they raise tradition's glowing scene,-- the clue of silk, the wrathful queen; and link in memory's firmest bond the love-lorn tale of rosamond." passing between wooded eminences, broad fields, and peaceful farms, the wye at length reaches the suburbs, and then the ancient city of hereford. [illustration: ross church (_p. _).] hereford was a town of importance even at the dawn of english history. outside its walls stood the palace of offa, the greatest of all the mercian princes; and during the reign of the mercian kings it was the principal town of mercia. ethelfleda, sister of edward the elder, governed the place with great skill, and she it was who constructed the castle that guarded the town, and constructed it so well that it proved to be one of the strongest in all england. leland has this to say of the keep: "high, and very strong, having in the outer wall ten semicircular towers, and one great tower within"; and adds that "it hath been one of the largest, fayrest, and strongest castles in england." here, again, the wily llewelyn comes upon the scene, for he led his men from the fastness of the upper wye, pillaged and burnt the place, murdered the bishop and his assistants, set the cathedral ablaze, and left what had been a fair town a mass of smouldering ruins. a visitor to this ancient city will find it hard to realise that anything but peace and goodwill ever reigned in all the district, for in these days of bustle and worry it would be difficult to discover in all great britain a more placid, steady-going, self-satisfied city than hereford. well laid out, clean, at least reasonably well-to-do--although it does not lay claim to be a place of great industry, relying more upon the church and the market than upon the manufactory--there seems to be a perpetual air of sunday hovering over the town. the very visitors--and they are many--move soberly about the streets, and appear to have become imbued with the spirit of the place. no one can be many minutes in hereford without detecting that not only the people but the very buildings take their key from the grand cathedral that, calmly gazing into the face of time, has seen of men and houses generations come and generations go. hereford as an ecclesiastical centre is one of the most ancient in great britain, but until the commission of offa's grievous crime it must have been comparatively unimportant, with a small wooden structure for a church. offa's perfidy changed all that. it will be remembered that the ruthless prince treacherously induced ethelbert, king of the east angles, to visit his court, where he had him foully murdered, and buried in the church. offa, of course, then seized ethelbert's crown. having secured this, and being safely installed in the place of his murdered guest, he found time to repent; and that his repentance might seem the more real, he endowed with great riches the church in which lay the body of his victim, and soon the wooden building gave place to a stone edifice. no doubt the king's offerings greatly assisted in founding hereford on a solid ecclesiastical basis, but the effect of his gifts was evanescent, compared with the value of his victim's bones, as an attraction to the devout. ethelbert's remains had not long been buried in the cathedral ere they began to work miracles, and soon great numbers of people from near and from afar sought the good saint's assistance, so that great riches flowed to the church and town; and from that day to this hereford has continued to prosper. for two hundred years the church built over the bones of ethelbert stood, before the welsh, as has been told, laid the place in ruins. in bishop robert of lorraine began to rebuild, and the work was not completed until early in the sixteenth century. this is the building--many times restored--that stands to the present day. more than a hundred years ago (in ) the western tower collapsed, bringing down with it most of the west front, and this, as well as many other parts of the cathedral, was rebuilt. inside the cathedral are many interesting monuments of men who played large parts in the history of england, and, besides these, the cathedral has a unique treasure in the far-famed "mappa mundi," a production of one de haldingham, who lived in the fourteenth century. this map, if not the oldest, is at least one of the very oldest in the world. havergal says of it: "the world is here represented as round, surrounded by the ocean. at the top of the map is represented paradise, with its rivers and trees; also the eating of the forbidden fruit and the expulsion of our first parents. above is a remarkable representation of the day of judgment, with the virgin mary interceding for the faithful, who are seen rising from their graves, and being led within the walls of heaven. the map is chiefly filled with ideas taken from herodotus, solinus, isidore, pliny, and other ancient historians. there are numerous figures of towns, animals, birds, and fish, with grotesque customs such as the mediæval geographers believed to exist in different parts of the world. the four great cities are very prominent--jerusalem as the centre of the world; babylon, with its famous tower; rome, the capital of the world ... and troy.... in great britain most of the cathedrals are mentioned, but of ireland the author seems to have known very little." truly a wonderful record of the geographical knowledge of the middle ages! hereford was the birthplace of nell gwynne, orange-seller, actress, and court favourite--short, red of hair or nearly so, and with feet so small as to cause general amusement. the street in which she was born is now called gwynne lane, and the place is still pointed out to tourists who are interested in the story of the famous beauty. david garrick also was born in the city. before leaving hereford, it may be worth while to note that here, as at many other places, it was once the custom to insert a clause in the indentures of apprentices "that they should not be compelled to live on salmon more than two days in the week." needless to say, no such clause is now necessary. in the wolves became so numerous about the outskirts of the city, that a proclamation called upon all the king's liege people to assist in destroying them. and now leaving the cathedral city, our river flows under the wye bridge, built so long ago as , with six noble arches, and proceeds on its way towards ross. four miles below hereford, the most important of all the tributaries that spill their floods into the winding wye is met with. this is the lug, which itself absorbs the waters of several smaller rivers on its way southwards. the meeting of the lug with the wye takes place at the little village of mordiford, where once upon a time an enormous serpent, winged and awful, used to betake itself from feasting upon men and women and little children to drink of the waters of the wye. this terrible serpent was destroyed by a malefactor, who was offered a pardon should he accomplish the task of ridding the good people of the sore pest; and it is sad to learn that in killing the serpent he inhaled so much of its poisonous breath that he died almost at the same time as the monster he had brought low. but the results of a later event, almost as important, and awe-inspiring, are to be seen not far from this part of the wye. they are known as "the wonder," a mile and a half from woolhope, in a parish which, one would think, should be called miracle, but is really called marcle. to best describe what "the wonder" is, we will quote sir richard baker's "chronicles of england" as follows:--"in the thirteenth year of queen elizabeth a prodigious earthquake happened in the east part of herefordshire, at a little town called kinnaston. on the th of february, at six o'clock in the evening, the earth began to open, and a hill, with a rock under it, making at first a great hollowing noise which was heard a great way off, lifted itself up and began to travel, bearing along with it the trees that grew upon it, the sheepfolds, and flocks of sheep abiding there at the same time. in the place from whence it was first moved it left a gaping distance foot broad and fourscore ells long: the whole field was about twenty acres. passing along, it overthrew a chapel standing in the way, removed a yew-tree planted in the churchyard from the west to the east; with the like force it thrust before it highways, sheepfolds, hedges, the trees; made tilled ground pasture, and again turned pasture into tillage. having walked in this sort from saturday evening till monday noon, it then stood still." surely, this is a record, even in the land of saturday-to-monday trips! [illustration: symond's yat (_p. _).] [illustration: the ferry, symond's yat.] between hereford and ross the wye flows quietly, and without many striking features, either as regards the scenery or the stream itself. upon its breast float pleasure-boats in great numbers, although in the dry season of the year, unless the midmost channel is rigidly adhered to, numbers of shallows interrupt the passage even of skiffs of light draught, for the river occasionally spreads out to a great surface, and runs proportionately shallow over rock and gravel. indeed, it is not until the ancient town of ross is reached that the wye becomes a general favourite with the floating population. ross, as seen from the surrounding country, appears to be standing a-tiptoe, trying to touch the sky with the tip of its beautiful spire. the church with its slender spire attracts the eye from a great distance--it is, to all appearances, the one prominent object in all the country round about--and the first sight of it has caused travellers to sigh, for to see it for the first time is to be a long, long way from it. here in this tiny town of ross lived and died a man whose name is known, one might say, not at all, but whose descriptive appellation, given to him whilst he was still alive, will be recognised the world over. this is john kyrle, "the man of ross." [illustration: monmouth (_p. _).] the history of the town of ross is principally a mass of details, authentic and apocryphal, regarding the life, times, and labours, the recreations, walks, works, and ways of "the man of ross." few places are so entirely given up to the memory of one man as is ross to the memory of john kyrle. everywhere in that quaint and clean little town, "the man of ross," in some form or other, meets the eye. here his favourite walk, there the park he gave to the people, again the pew in which he worshipped, the house in which he lived, the buildings he reared, the streets he made--everything tells of john kyrle. he was born in the year , and was educated at balliol college, oxford, where is still to be seen a silver tankard bearing his name. as this tankard holds five pints, it is to be inferred that the student who was to become "the man of ross" was a lusty drinker, although in after-life he proved himself to be a man of abstemious habits. his long life--he died aged eighty-eight--was devoted to doing good to all whom he could help, improving not only man but town and country as well:-- "but all our praises why should lords engross? rise, honest muse! and sing the man of ross: pleased vaga echoes through her winding bounds, and rapid severn hoarse applause resounds. who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? from the dry rock who bade the waters flow? not to the skies in useless columns tost, or in proud falls magnificently lost, but, clear and artless, pouring through the plain, health to the sick, and solace to the swain. whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows? whose seats the weary traveller repose? who taught the heaven-directed spire to rise? 'the man of ross,' each lisping babe replies." so says pope in his "moral essays," and, in saying this and much more about the good man, scattered the fame of john kyrle far and wide. it is pleasant to know that a man who showed himself so solicitous that others should taste of enjoyment was able himself to take great delight in simple things. "he dearly loved a goose," says leitch ritchie, "and was vain of his dexterity in carving it. during the operation, which he invariably took upon himself, he always repeated one of those old sayings and standing witticisms that seem to attach themselves with peculiar preference to the cooked goose. he never had roast beef on his table save and except on christmas day, and malt liquors and good hereford cyder were the only beverages ever introduced." the good man's bones rest in ross church, the spire of which he had repaired; and to this day are shown the trees that have forced a way through chinks in the wall and floor of the building, so that their branches and leaves might droop as though in the attitude of mourning over his grave. from the churchyard there is to be had a magnificent view of the wye sweeping in a great curve far below, the waters hastening on to lose themselves in the severn. from ross to the mouth of the wye, those who can afford the time should make the journey by boat. it will be well to discard the use of adjectives and exclamations in taking this trip, for the most gifted in the use of these parts of speech will speedily find themselves at their wits' end for words to express their admiration of the scenery. [illustration: _photo: r. tudor williams, monmouth._ the monnow bridge and gate-house, monmouth (_p. _).] midway between ross and monmouth stands goodrich castle, grandly seated upon a steep, heavily-wooded hill--a castle built so long ago that the memory of its beginning is lost, in the haze of ancient days. during the civil war it was besieged and at length successfully stormed by the roundheads, in . it is in form a parallelogram, having a tower at each angle, and a keep in the south-west part of the enclosure; and, viewed from the wye, it is a splendid ruin, trees that cling to the face of the cliffs heightening the effect of the picture. the wye, flowing swiftly, soon sweeps one's boat round its many bends, until the district known as the forest of dean is reached, lying between the wye and the severn. striking scenes of stream and forest-clad cliffs, of castles and courts, of abbeys haunted by memories of events rich in historical interest, now follow one another as rapidly as changes in a kaleidoscope. courtfield claims the honour of being the place where henry v. was nursed; and there is a cradle to substantiate the claim. after passing mailscot wood, the river forms itself into a loop like an elongated horseshoe. on one side of the narrow neck of land are the famous coldwell rocks, the beginning of the great limestone cliffs that, onward to the sea, hem in the stream, and carry on their rugged sides clinging woods and ivy. rains and storms have beaten these coldwell rocks into fantastic shapes, until to the traveller who first sets eyes upon them they seem to be castles cut out of stone by a race of mighty giants. "castles and towers, amphitheatres and fortifications, battlements and obelisks, mock the wanderer, who fancies himself transported into the ruins of a city of some extinct race."[ ] [illustration: tintern abbey, from the wye (_p. _).] anyone who has seen the beauty of both the moselle and the wye must be struck by the similarity between the two rivers. the moselle, to be sure, is in every way more important than the wye--in depth and breadth of stream, in height of the bluffs that at many points form the banks, and in the number of castles that crown the hills; but, notwithstanding these differences, they might almost be called twin rivers. there are no neatly-trimmed vineyards sloping down the sides of the wye heights, but, on the other hand, the moselle cannot show such grand forests as can the english stream. and each river, at least once in its course, doubles back upon itself, so that the spectator can trace the loop, and see the stream flowing far beneath on either hand. at symond's yat, a little below coldwell rocks, the neck of land that divides the wye from itself is only some yards across; and by standing on the rocky plateau, one may see the river flowing by on both sides. the prospect, one of the finest in all england, embraces large parts of gloucestershire, herefordshire, and monmouthshire, including coppet hill, huntsham, rocklands, whitchurch, goodrich castle, coldwell rocks, the forest of dean, courtfield, and--it is difficult to escape this--the spire of ross church. in hurrying between these gigantic cliffs, and sweeping round the loop, it is only natural that the wye, born with a turbulent disposition, should have many savage encounters with the rocks; and, now grown so mighty, the waters roar their anger in deep-lunged notes. many obstacles impede the course of the stream, for storms still continue occasionally to hurl great masses of rock from their positions; and altogether, were one to be given the choice of seeing only one part of the wye, symond's yat should be the chosen spot. [illustration: the nave, tintern abbey.] passing between lords wood and lady-park wood and skirting greatwood and newton court, the wye arrives at monmouth. encircled by hills, and itself seated high, this town, still unspoiled by the modern builder and restorer, occupies a position between the wye and the monnow. monmouth has had its ups and downs; for long before the conquest a fortress existed here, and to build a castle has ever been to invite a siege. in the days of henry iii. the castle was levelled with the ground so effectively that lambarde writes: "thus the glorie of monmouth had clean perished; ne hade it pleased gode longe after in that place to give life to the noble king henry v., who of the same is called henry of monmouth." john of gaunt lived here, and henry iv. also, and, as the ancient writer says, henry v. was born in the castle. this event has not been forgotten, for a statue of the popular king stands opposite the town hall in agincourt square, the centre of the town. in more ancient days monmouth was a walled town, and one of the four gates of the wall still stands; and a bridge built in , remarkably narrow, but sturdy and strong, still spans the monnow; while the meagre ruins of the castle look down from the brow of the river-cliff on the meadows by this tributary stream. st. mary's church has a spire feet in height; st. thomas's chapel, dating from the days of the normans, stands in the centre of the part of the town which used to be given up to the making of the renowned monmouth cap, of which fuller, in his "worthies," says: "these were the most ancient, general, warm, and profitable coverings of men's heads in this island. it is worth our pains to observe the tenderness of our kings to preserve the trade of cap-making, and what long and strong struggling our state had to keep up the using thereof, so many thousands of people being thereby maintained in the land, especially before the invention of fulling-mills, all caps before that time being wrought, beaten, and thickened by the hands and feet of men, till those mills, as they eased many of their labour, outed more of their livelihood." not far from the parish church is the picturesque remnant of a benedictine priory, founded in the reign of henry i. by wyhenoe, third lord of monmouth; and here it is not improbable that geoffrey of monmouth, compiler of the fabulous "history of the britons," out of which grew the poem of the table round, was educated. the monnow, which flows into the wye below monmouth, has for its chief tributary the dore, which winds its way through that delightful region known far and wide as the golden valley. this valley is fitly styled golden, though it has received its designation from a mistaken derivation of its name, which means "water"--that and nothing more--being but a form of the welsh _dwr_. round it ring the hills, not bald and craggy, nor morass-bound, but gentle and lush and green, for the valley lies just out of the grip of the mountainous districts of wales. here the fields are fresh, the undulations capped with glorious trees, and the whole valley is chequered with tints; for it is a region rich of soil, and highly cultivated. one of the most interesting places on the banks of the stream is the little village of abbey dore, where is the remnant of an ancient abbey, now forming the parish church. it was begun for the cistercians, by robert of ewias, in the reign of henry i., but was only finished in the days of the third henry. not less attractive to the antiquary is the tiny norman church of kilpeck, celebrated for the richness of its decorations. near by there once stood a castle, but of this nothing now remains but the mound, a deep moat, and fragments of the walls. another tributary of the monnow is the honddu, which flows down through the vale of ewias, past the ruins of llanthony priory. this famous house seems to have been founded in the early years of the twelfth century by william de lacy, a norman knight, and ernisius, chaplain to maud, wife of henry i. at first it had a prosperous career, but the wild welshmen soon fell upon it, and the prior and his brethren were forced to betake themselves to the more peaceable regions of gloucestershire. when men and times became quieter, however, the monks returned. the remains of the priory are still beautiful. in walter savage landor purchased the estate on which they stand, and set about making great improvements. mr. colvin, in his "landor," says: "he imported sheep from segovia, and applied to southey and other friends for tenants who should introduce and teach improved methods of cultivation. the inhabitants were drunken, impoverished, and morose: he was bent upon reclaiming and civilising them. the woods had suffered from neglect or malice: he would clothe the sides of the valley with cedars of lebanon. with that object, he bought two thousand cones, calculated to yield a hundred seeds each, intending to do ten times as much afterwards, and exulting in the thought of the million cedar-trees which he would thus leave for the shelter and the delight of posterity." all landor's schemes, however, came to nought. before long he found himself in embarrassed circumstances: llanthony was, by arrangement, taken out of his hands and vested in those of trustees, and his half-built mansion was pulled down. [illustration: gateway at chepstow.] a little below monmouth the trothey, a much smaller stream than the monnow, also joins the wye. the banks from monmouth onwards to the sea are steep and well wooded, and for the greater part of the way a splendid and well-kept road winds along the side of the right bank. far below, the river is continually appearing and disappearing; and the trees dig their feet into the rocks and seem precariously to cling as they dip down towards the stream. occasionally a cliff more than usually near to the perpendicular has managed to ward off the encroaching growths of forest and bush and ivy, and to stand bold-faced to the sun; but generally there is foliage to make more refreshing to the sight the precipitous banks. rivers have ever attracted to their banks poets, who of all men most closely search the heart of nature in her peaceful and gentle moods; but few streams have enjoyed the good fortune of the wye to have their very spirit caught and shaped into imperishable verse. wordsworth's noble poem, "lines composed a few miles above tintern abbey, on revisiting the banks of the wye during a tour, july th, ," breathes the inmost soul of river and hills, and of the tranquil, meditative atmosphere that fills the glorious valley. no poet has held his ear so close to nature's bosom as wordsworth, and in these lines he has pictured and glorified the wye as no pen may hope to picture and glorify it again. to quote but the opening score of lines:-- "five years have passed; five summers, with the length of five long winters! and again i hear these waters, rolling from their mountain springs with a sweet inland murmur. once again do i behold these steep and lofty cliffs that on a wild secluded scene impress thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect the landscape with the quiet of the sky. the day is come when i again repose here, under this dark sycamore, and view these plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, which at this season, with their unripe fruits, are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves among the woods and copses, nor disturb the wild green landscape. once again i see these hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines of sportive wood run wild; these pastoral farms, green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke sent up, in silence, from among the trees!" meditation, contemplation, serenity, each not unmixed with pathos, are the keynotes of this part of the wye valley; and our river would have done well enough if not another poet had ever afterwards sung of its banks and flood. but this was not to be its fate: for has not tennyson told us in "in memoriam" how "half the babbling wye" is hushed by the severn, whose mightier tide drives back its flood?-- "the wye is hushed, nor moved along, and hushed my deepest grief of all when filled with tears that, cannot fall i brim with sorrow drowning song. "the tide flows down, the wave again is vocal in its wooded walls; my deeper anguish also falls, and i can speak a little then." it is at the bargain pool, past the pretty village of llandogo, that the severn tide is first met. now, although the scenery is sublime, there can be no gainsaying that the rise and fall of the tide mars the beauty of the wye. instead of the clear mountain water, the stream is turbid, and at low tide the banks present great stretches of soft mud. for the first time the stream now takes on a commercial aspect, lazy barges floating up and down, and a few enterprising little steamers making their cautious way round the sharp bends. [illustration: _photo: harvey barton, bristol._ chepstow castle (_p. _).] but forgetting the blemish, if blemish it be, the traveller can set his thoughts upon and his face towards one of the most inspiring of all the ancient memorials of england's past, the home of the cistercian monks dedicated to the virgin mary--tintern abbey. coming round a bend in the river one catches sight of the beautiful ruin with startling suddenness. it stands close by the waterside, on what was once a meadow stretching away from the wye. here the hills rise in a complete circle, and nestling in the midst of this amphitheatre is the abbey, a ruin, it is true, yet not so mutilated by the hand of time as to make it impossible or even difficult at this day to imagine it as it stood in all its completeness and beauty. whether tintern, unspoiled by time and neglect, was as impressive as it is in its decay, though the greenest of green grass now grows on the floor once trodden by the white-robed monks, and the rooks sit in a jet-black line on the top of the roofless walls--one may very well doubt. those who have passed even a day in and about the ancient abbey will find it easy to believe that its history is one of serenity and peace. the hills that ring it round stand like a cordon of mighty giants to beat back all worldliness that would enter the charmed circle. the very air hangs heavy and still, and the river, forgetting its wild youth and stormy middle age, passes by, if one might so describe it, with bared head and hushed breath. here for hundreds of years lived successive generations of monks, having little, wanting little, passing their days in the deepest peace and solitude; and though they have long since vanished, they have left behind them what is perhaps the finest monastic ruin in the kingdom. shortly after the dawn of the twelfth century one walter de clare founded tintern for cistercian monks, and in the thirteenth century a lord of chepstow, roger de bigod, built the abbey. cruciform in shape, it was feet in length, feet high, and feet in breadth, with transepts feet long. when king henry viii. took possession of the monasteries, he allowed this to fall into rapid decay, and at length presented it to the earl of worcester. the ruins now belong to the duke of beaufort, and they are watched and guarded from further decay with admirable vigilance, each particular stone being carefully noted, and every moulded arch and mullioned window--indeed, the very ivy and grass--receiving close attention. the magnificent eastern window, feet in breadth, is but one feature of a ruin that attracts multitudes of visitors to the valley of the wye. between tintern and the little metropolis of the lower wye, chepstow, duty to one's sense of sight requires him to scale the summit of wyndcliff. once on top, nine counties, according to bevan, can be seen--to wit, gloucester, somerset, wilts, devon, glamorgan, monmouth, brecknock, hereford, and worcester. not only for the curiosity of a prospect which in its sweep takes in so many shires, but also for the beauty of the view, this ascent of the wyndcliff should not be missed. for an exquisite blending of rock and river, forests, mountains, and plain, towns and villages, ruins and farmhouses, roads like white-silk threads blown upon the face of the land, black railways, drifting ships, it is not too much to say that the finest views in all the land can do no more than claim to be its peer. after we have passed on the left llancaut and on the right pierce woods, the sturdy old town of chepstow comes into view. the castle, from the river, seems to have grown out of the living rocks, which here rise sheer from the water to a great height, and form a natural defence that must have rendered the fortress impregnable to all attack from the water. supposed to have been built in the eleventh and rebuilt in the thirteenth century, it experienced its most stirring times in the days of the civil war. it was held by the royalists; and there first appeared before it colonel morgan, who, with singular valour and determination, carried it by assault. later on sir nicholas kemys successfully surprised the place, which action brought before the battlements cromwell himself, who, however, could not spare the time personally to direct the operations. his substitute, colonel ewer, with great skill conducted the siege, and ultimately forced the king's men to throw open the gates. [illustration: view from the wyndcliff.] [illustration: old monastery on the wye.] several parts of an ancient wall that once surrounded chepstow still remain, with the watch-towers complete; and one gate dating from the sixteenth century--the town gate--still stands, a curious archway across the principal street, a thoroughfare that slopes steeply down to the wye. a church of great antiquity is chepstow church, built in the days of the normans, and containing several monuments of unusual interest, with the grave of henry marten, one of the signatories of king charles's death-warrant, who spent many long years as a prisoner in chepstow castle. one of the towers of the castle is called marten's tower, an unintended commemoration of the roundhead's imprisonment within its walls. bidding a final good-bye to towns and tributaries, but still retaining its rugged banks and, in a measure, its stately woods, the wye makes straight for the sea, where this child of the mountains, after swallowing the largess brought down to it by a score of smaller streams, is itself, in turn, swallowed in the greater flood of the severn. to the very last, however, the wye retains its individuality and character--picturesque ever, picturesque to the end. from its fount on plinlimmon to the end of its course of a hundred and thirty miles, where it gracefully rolls into the broad estuary, it has scarcely ever, even for a mile, been commonplace. /e. w. sabel./ [illustration] [illustration: near the source of the usk, talsarn-side.] the usk. the black mountains--trecastle--the gaer--brecon--the brecknock beacons--crickhowell--abergavenny--usk--caerleon and the arthurian legend--christchurch--newport. the wild and inclement black mountains, "fforest fawr," between carmarthenshire and brecknockshire, collect the first drops that, trickling down the side of the hills, gather volume and strength and in time become rivers that are the delight and pride of a country. three springs, clear and tiny, away up the dark mountain side, where talsarn towers to an altitude of more than , feet, are the fountain-heads of a river that, after an extended course of seven-and-fifty miles in the general shape of a bow, joins the sea at newport--the /usk/.[ ] not far away are the sources of many another river--the tawe and the neath, to name but two; but of all the streams that are born in this cheerless region the usk is by far the most important. hurrying on its way with the leaps and falls that are characteristic of mountain streams, our river is first joined by the henwen brook, a tiny stream that has the honour of forming a part of the boundary-line between two shires. beyond the wooded vale of cwm wysc the usk receives the hydfer, and at length comes to trecastle, once a place of rare show and importance, but now modest enough in all conscience. here may still be seen a mound and large earthworks of bernard newmarch's castle. below this village the usk receives the waters of drayton's "cray," the first stream of real importance that flows into the greater river; and, after leaping a ledge of rock in a beautiful fall, continues its way through a tract of country once the hiding-place of a swarm of determined robbers and outlaws--the forest of brecon. at one time this region lay at the mercy of these desperadoes; and it seems to have been necessary for edward iii. to build castles for the protection of people compelled to journey through the forest. henry iv. sojourned in one of these fortresses in , and thence issued a general pardon to all the rebels who would cease from troubling; but the chances are that this wild and well-nigh inaccessible district offered more attractions to the turbulent robbers than did the prospect of hard and honest work, coupled with the king's pardon. the usk now receives a goodly contribution from the yscir; and between the two streams are the remains of a roman camp, the gaer, rectangular in form and believed to have been in command of ostorius scapula. the ruins of this fort are remarkably well preserved, the walls in places standing six feet high, although partly overgrown with bush. many valuable coins and other curiosities belonging to the roman period have here been excavated. inclining to the south, the usk now flows through a lovely bit of wooded country, and reaches the village of llanspyddid, where an attractive view is to be had of the river, still in its youth, running with merry song over shallows and between high picturesque banks. brecon, occupying a highly picturesque situation, is the first place of any importance that the usk comes to in its flight from the mountains. two streams join the river at this point, the tarel and the honddu; and, as the town is ringed completely round with high mountains, it may be said to lie in the bottom of a huge bowl. near by, the beacons, twin peaks, the highest mountains in south wales, tower to the sky, and add grandeur to the beauty of the neighbouring hills. in the reign of good queen bess, churchyard was moved to verse at the sight of brecon and its surroundings. thus he sings:-- "the towne is built as in a pit it were by waterside, all lapt about with hill; you may behold a ruinous castle there, somewhat defaste, the walles yet standeth still. small narrowe streetes through all the towne ye have, yet in the same are sundrie houses brave; well built without, yea trim and fayre within, with sweete prospect, that shall your favour win. the river oske and hondie runnes thereby, fower bridges good, of stone stands on each streame." though a town of great antiquity, brecon, when compared with many places in wales, is almost modern, for it seems to have first come into prominence in the days of the normans, who out of the ruins of the old roman fortress already referred to built the first stronghold here. it was, of course, a walled town, with ten turrets and five gates, and traces of this old wall still exist. the castle was a strong one, occupying a commanding position. in one of its towers morton, bishop of ely, lay in prison, given into the custody of the duke of buckingham by richard iii., who was jealous of the bishop's power; and here the gaoler and prisoner, neither of them well disposed towards the king, plotted to marry henry of richmond with the lady elizabeth, and thus heal the breach between the rival houses of york and lancaster. so morton was allowed to escape, while buckingham, marching against the king, fell into his enemy's hands and lost his head at salisbury. the castle of brecon met its fate in sorry manner. when the great civil war broke out, and king and parliament came to blows, the people of the town, fearing that the fortress would be garrisoned by one party or the other, and that the place would be besieged and themselves visited with all the danger and suffering that waits upon active war, took matters into their own hands by demolishing the stronghold, of which only some ivy-clad walls, with the ely tower, now remain, overlooking the honddu. charles i., in his feverish flight, after the disastrous battle of naseby, put up for a time at priory house; and in a humble hostelry in high street, then known as "the shoulder of mutton," mrs. siddons, queen of actresses, was born in , her parents being temporarily resident here. the chief glory of the town in these days is the priory church of st. john, founded by bernard newmarch, in the reign of henry i., in the hope of atoning for the murders and other crimes that he had committed in hewing his way to the place of power he occupied in this part of wales. it is a building of unusual interest, predominantly norman in style, but with early english and decorated additions. another feature of brecon is the massive bridge of seven strongly buttressed arches which spans the usk. taking a south-easterly direction, the usk flows away from the county town, and soon receives a tiny river that comes from the towering heights of the beacons, locally called "arthur's chair," and forming one of the finest of the sights which wales offers to her lovers. "artures hille," says leland, "is three good walche miles south-west from brekenok, and in the veri toppe of the hille is a faire welle spring. this hille of summe is countid the hiest hille of wales, and in a veri cleere day a mannne may see from hit a part of malvern hilles, and glocester, and bristow, and part of devenshire and cornwale. there be divers other hilles by artures hille, the wich, with hit, be communely caullid banne brekeniane." wood, in his "rivers of wales," declares that "the well here mentioned does not exist," so that it would have been better, perhaps, if leland had done as churchyard did, who wrote of nothing he had not seen--if his verse is to be taken quite literally. he says:-- "nere breaknoke towne, there is a mountaine hye, which shewes so huge, it is full hard to clime. the mountaine seemes so monstrous to the eye, yet thousands doe repayre to that sometime. and they that stand right on the top shal see a wonder great, as people doe report; which common brute and saying true may bee, but since, in deede, i did not there resort, i write no more, then world will witnesse well." from the brecknock beacons there is a truly remarkable view; and for those unable or unwilling to climb, there is the sight of the mountains themselves. [illustration: the usk at brecknock.] continuing its course to the east and south, the usk passes on, skirting bwlch, a mountain over which the main road runs, offering glimpses on one hand of the valley of the wye, and on the other of the valley of the usk. presently, our stream passes by the meagre remains of dinas castle, which had the honour of being stormed by alfred the great's daughter, ethelfleda, and taken too, although garrisoned at the time by three-and-thirty valiant welsh women; for the men were all fighting far afield. through a lovely valley the usk reaches its second town of consequence--crickhowell. this "preatie tounlet stondith as in a valley upon wisk," leland says; and, indeed, its situation on the north-east bank of the river is beautiful. whichever way one looks, the scenery is charming in its attractiveness and rich in the romantic and the picturesque. close to the abergavenny road stand the ruins of what once must have been a castle of very considerable dimensions, which covered as much as eight acres of ground. even in the days of elizabeth this castle was nothing more than a ruin. no great distance from crickhowell is the well of st. cenau, eagerly sought for by the newly-married, for to drink its waters first was to secure command of the house for life:-- "'you drank of the well, i warrant, betimes,' he to the countryman said; but the countryman smiled as the stranger spoke, and sheepishly shook his head. 'i hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, and left my wife in the porch; but, i' faith, she had been wiser than me, for she took a bottle to church.'" [illustration: bit of the roman wall at caerleon (_p. _).] farther down stream is llangattoc park, with its roomy cave, known as eglwys faen, "the stone church"; and beyond is llangwryney, where richard, earl of clare, passing through the wood, preceded by pipers, was set upon by the welsh and murdered. here the gwryney joins the usk, which, flowing through scenery that has been called the "garden of wales," and passing from brecknock into monmouth, reaches the ancient town of abergavenny, lying in the shadow of the sugar-loaf mountain at the junction of the usk and the gavenny--"the brook that christneth abergeney." as is the case with so many welsh towns, abergavenny is wholly surrounded by high hills, but here the valley is spacious and fruitful. of this place churchyard, whose poetry is met with at every turn, says:-- "aborganie, behind i kept in store, whose seat and soyle with best may well compare. the towne somewhat on steepe and mounting hill, with pastor grounds and meddowes great at will: on every side huge mountaines hard and hye, and some thicke woods, to please the gazer's eye." "hard and hye" the mountains do rise and tower above the luxurious valley of "pastor grounds." not so long ago all the streets of abergavenny were narrow and crooked, but of late years there has been a great display of public enterprise. whether the changes that have been effected are to be regarded as improvements is questionable; for with the widening of the thoroughfares and the building of a new town hall and markets, and so forth, the individuality of a town is apt to disappear; but the residents may be pardoned for thinking themselves to be much better off than were their forefathers. to be sure, the town has scanty remains of a castle rising from a tree-clad hill to overlook the houses and the river. part of the castle area is covered with houses, and another part has been converted into public gardens. the associations of the fortress are none of the noblest, for historians tell us that "it was dishonoured by treason oftener than any other castle in wales." it seems to have been the practice of the norman lords of abergavenny castle to invite neighbouring welsh chiefs to feasts within the walls of the stronghold, and then treacherously murder them. wood tells of one of the most dastardly of these deeds. "soon after the murder of trahaern vechan, at slansavaddon lake, by william de braose (lord of abergavenny castle), the welsh, inflamed with resentment and revenge, commanded by sitsylt ap dyfnwald and other welsh chieftains, surprised the castle of abergavenny, and took the whole garrison prisoners. william de braose recovered his castle by composition; and after the reconciliation of the welsh lords to king henry, /a.d./ , he invited sitsylt, his son geofrey, and other men of note to a feast, under pretence of congratulation upon the late peace; when, contriving cause for dispute, he called upon his men, who were ready for that purpose, and most treacherously murdered the unsuspicious and unarmed welsh; then proceeded to sitsylt's house, slew his son cadwallader in his mother's presence, and, setting fire to the house, carried her away to his castle." once upon a time abergavenny was noted for flannels, but this industry has been wrested from it by more enterprising competitors, while the manufacture of wigs, for which it was once noted, has succumbed to change of fashion. st. mary's church, a fine fourteenth-century church, occupying the site of a norman church which was attached to a benedictine priory, contains many ancient monuments, amongst others that of sir richard herbert of coldbrook, who, together with his brother, was beheaded, after the battle of banbury, in ; and in the herbert chapel is "a jesse tree," of which murray's "handbook" says that it is "perhaps one of the most perfect extant." leaving this lovely town, the usk makes more directly for the sea. a few miles away to the east, in the valley of one of its tributaries, are the ruins of raglan castle, standing on a richly-wooded eminence not far from the village of the same name. it was begun not earlier than the reign of henry v., and apparently not finished until the time of charles i.; and so strong was it that it had the distinction of being one of the last fortresses in the kingdom to surrender to cromwell's men. it would be interesting to recall the story of the siege which it endured, and to describe the lovely remains of it; but it lies too far out of our course, and we must return to our river and follow it through the pretty scenery it traverses to the town to which it has lent its name. in days long gone by, usk had to bear many a sore blow from owen glendower, but now it has no more alarming invaders than the placid, contemplative wielders of the rod--for here the usk is famous for its salmon and its trout. standing upon a tongue of land formed by the confluence of the olwey with the main stream, usk has been identified with a roman station; and though the evidences are external rather than internal, the theory has been almost universally accepted of antiquaries. of its castle, occupying a commanding site near the river, and still retaining its outer walls in very fair preservation, with the gateway, towers, and keep, the precise origin is not known; but in the reign of henry iii. it was in the hands of robert de clare, earl of gloucester. from this family it passed to the mortimers, earls of march, and in the reign of henry vi. was granted to richard, duke of york, as nephew of the last of the mortimers. it became a favourite residence of this personage, and is believed to have been the birthplace of edward iv. and other princes. of the scathe which owen glendower had wrought at usk we have already spoken, but it remains to add that the citizens were at last avenged, for here he sustained a crashing defeat and had to flee to the mountains. flowing beneath the ancient stone bridge shown in our view (page ), the river passes on, through scenery that is never less than pleasant, to caerleon, prettily placed on the right bank; and here the usk takes toll of the afon. caerleon is one of the most interesting spots in all this part of wales. here was quartered the second augustan legion, and this was the principal roman town in the country of the silures. in those days it must have been a place of great magnificence and refinement as well as of war, for giraldus cambrensis, writing in the twelfth century, tells of the remains of splendid palaces, baths, theatres, and other public buildings; and though these have all vanished, an abundance of roman relics has been unearthed, which are treasured in a museum that has been built by an antiquarian society; and bits of the wall are still to be seen _in situ_. but the legendary associations of caerleon are even more memorable than its history; for here it was, according to one version of the arthurian myth, that the british prince, when, after the withdrawal of the legions, the land was laid waste by the "heathen hosts" and by the warfare of the native princes-- "thro' the puissance of his table round drew all their petty princedoms under him, their king and head, and made a realm and reigned." the roman amphitheatre consists of a grassy hollow enclosed by a bank, lying just outside the wall on the east; "arthur's round table" is a bank of earth some sixteen feet high. there is no reason to doubt that after the roman era caerleon became the centre of one of the british kingdoms. at a later time it was "threatened by the fleet of alfred, which, however, was recalled home before making an attack. in early days it had its martyrs--st. julius and st. aaron--and afterwards it became the seat of a bishopric, which for some time enjoyed the honour of being the metropolitan see of wales. after the norman conquest caerleon was a frequent bone of contention between the welsh and the invaders, and was alternately taken and retaken. a castle was built here by one of the norman barons; but it was not until the reign of edward i. that the english obtained undisturbed possession of the town, which, prior to the building of a castle at newport, was a place of considerable strategic importance."[ ] [illustration: _photo: a. dunning, usk._ usk (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ caerleon.] by this time the usk has become a tidal stream with a rapidly widening valley; and now it follows a devious course through rich meadows with wooded hills on either hand. a tomb in christchurch, on the road connecting caerleon and newport, was long believed to have miraculous powers of cure for sick children who touched the sepulchre on the eve of the ascension; and in as many as sixteen children were laid upon it to pass the night. newport, four miles from the mouth of the river, owes its prosperity mainly to the great output of iron and coal from the interior of wales that comes here for shipment. it has many railways to wait upon it, and its facilities in this kind have been greatly increased by the construction of the severn tunnel; and it is also furnished with abundant dock accommodation. of the castle, built by robert, earl of gloucester, a natural son of henry i., to command the usk, some of the walls and towers still remain, close to the famous bridge of five arches, reared at the beginning of the century and widened and improved in ; but the greater part of the stronghold has been either demolished or converted into business premises. the record of the town is, for the most part, one of peace and commercial development, and contains few episodes of violence, except the attack upon it by the chartists led by john frost in the year . the tower of the church of st. woollos, standing on an eminence overlooking the valley of the usk and the bristol channel, is said by wood to have been built by henry iii. in gratitude to the inhabitants of this place and surrounding districts, who, by a victory over his enemies, relieved him from captivity. newport may not have great attractions to offer to the tourist, but in these later days it has not been mindful only of money-making, as one may see from the many public buildings with which it has provided itself. [illustration: _photo: hudson._ newport: the bridge and castle.] leaving newport, the usk wanders through a plain of no particular interest, scenically speaking, and almost at its embouchure is joined by the river ebbw, which, rising on the border of brecknockshire in two headstreams that unite near llanhilleth, has run a course some twenty-four miles long. thus reinforced, usk merges itself in the larger life of the bristol channel. /e. w. sabel./ [illustration: the brecknock beacons, from the taff.] rivers of south wales. brecknock beacons--the /taff/: taff fawr and taff fechan--cardiff reservoirs--merthyr--the dowlais steel and iron works--the rhondda--pontypridd--castell coch--llandaff and its cathedral--cardiff and its castle. the /neath/: ystradfellte--the mellte and its affluents--the cwm porth--waterfalls and cascades--the sychnant--pont neath vaughan--neath and its abbey--the dulas and the clydach. swansea and its docks--morriston castle--swansea castle--the mumbles and swansea bay. the /tawe/: craig-y-nos--lly-fan fawr. the /towy/: ystradffin--llandovery--llandilo--dynevor castle--carmarthen and richard steele--carmarthen bar. the /taf/: milford haven--carew castle--pembroke castle--monkton priory--new milford and old milford--haverfordwest. the /teifi/: strata florida abbey--newcastle emlyn--cenarth--cardigan. the /ystwith/: the upper waters--aberystwith. the bold-headed, ruddy brecknock beacons and their neighbouring heights of the fforest fawr are, between them, to be held responsible for the nativity of three important streams of south wales: the taff, the neath, and the tawe. not one of these streams is navigable, and they all have courses trivial enough compared with the severn, the usk, or the wye. they are, however, quite strangely remarkable for their natural beauty, and for the scars on their beauty due to the mineral wealth of the valleys they drain. nowhere in great britain is there more fascinating glen scenery or more sequestered and picturesque waterfalls than on the neath and its tributaries. yet neath itself is a grimy town, and the river, which, ten miles to the north, wins admiration from everyone, here flows discoloured amid ironworks and coal mines, with all their ugly rubbish heaps. the taff and the tawe begin among heather and bracken, loftily and crystal clear; and they end alike, brown as canals in manufacturing districts, the one among the shipping of cardiff, and the other in the blackest and most forbidding part of swansea. [illustration: llandaff cathedral: the west front (_p. _).] in all wales there is no finer little group of mountain-tops than the brecknock beacons, as seen from the south. pen-y-fan, the highest summit, stands , feet above sea-level, and feet less above the town of brecon, some five miles to the north. the beacons are an isolated society, separated by the usk and its valley from the black forest mountains east, and by the deep glyn tarel from the irregular mountain mass whence tawe springs to the light. their bases lie set among charming pastoral nooks. above, they are good to see when autumn has made tawny the acres of their bracken; and at the summits they vie with each other in the redness of their precipices, that of pen-y-fan rightly winning the day with a sheer slide of rock some feet deep, at an angle of about degrees. many are the legends that animate the beacons. enough if we believe with certain of the bards that it was here, on pen-y-fan, that arthur called his chivalry together, and initiated the order of the knights of the round table. in the land of the red dragon, centuries ago, there could be no higher dignity than to be associated with him who was to appear for the glory of britain: "the lamp in darkness":-- "in forest, mountain, and in camp, before them moved the burning lamp; in blackest night its quenchless rays beckoned them on to glorious days." [illustration: _photo: f. bedford, by permission of catherall & pritchard, chester._ llandaff cathedral: the nave and choir (_p. _).] having clambered, not without considerable exertion, to pen-y-fan, the traveller, if he feels thirsty, has but to turn his back to the north, face the distant smoke clouds above the hills of merthyr and rhymney, and walk a few yards down the western slope of the mountain. here are two ice-cold springs, the parents of baby rivulets. below you see how briskly these rivulets broaden and unitedly carry the pure water to the south. this is, in fact, one of the two main sources of the /taff/. the other also is on the beacons. the two streams, taff fawr and taff fechan (the "great" and "little" taff), run parallel, in respective glens, among heather and rocks, for eight or ten miles, to join just above merthyr. pollution of all kinds comes to the stream as soon as it is thus fully entitled to be called the taff. even before merthyr is reached, taff fawr has learnt something of the pains and penalties of an industrial district. ere it has run five miles from its source, it falls into the hands of the cardiff corporation. its valley is here a characteristic mountain glen, with heathery solitudes on either side, and little clefts among the heather by which nameless affluents bring their pure tribute to the main stream. houses there are none. but of a sudden, in all this loneliness, you come to a huge dam built and building across the valley from east to west, and beyond you perceive the goodly lake of which the rising dam is to be the mighty northern boundary. [illustration: rivers of south wales.] yet farther south are other evidences of cardiff's great thirst. our taff is again enclosed, and flows through a second reservoir, proceeding out of it by a series of prepared waterfalls, not unpicturesque, though they have artificial flagged beds and precise parapets. here, however, one may almost look one's last at taff the pellucid. the area of toil and sophistication is at hand. yet some four miles above merthyr the river has one notable reach of beauty. there is a ruined turnpike house to hint of the time of "rebecca," when this part of wales rose in arms and fought toll-bars as ancient wales fought the normans of the marches; and high above the wrecked house are some precipitous limestone cliffs, with jackdaws always circling about their crests. taff lies in a deep bed here, with woods on the western slopes where its waters wash them. it rose in the old red sandstone of the beacons: it has now come to the carboniferous limestone and to the coal-measures to which south wales owes its phenomenal prosperity. merthyr would be a pretty place if it were not sullied by smoke beyond redemption. the hills, studded with chimneys, cumber each other; and in all the adjacent hollows, high up and low down, are manufactories. the people wear clogs. as in other such busy centres, they seem happy enough, and by no means tearful about the local desecration of nature. but it must be admitted that they are grimy, like their environment. of all the large manufactories round merthyr, those of the dowlais steel and iron works, two miles away (a constant ascent), are the most considerable. one may doubt, perhaps, if these are now the largest of their kind in the world, but they are still very extensive. a recent report tells us that they consist of eighteen blast furnaces, producing about tons of iron and , tons of steel rails per week, and that their collieries can lift , tons of coal daily. founded about a hundred and fifty years ago, they have been a staff of life to millions. few sights of the kind are more impressive than the manipulation here of the huge cruses of molten steel, and the methodical treatment of the ores, which develop in a few hours into red-hot steel rails from thirty to sixty yards long; or than the cutting of these substantial rails into sections by a serrated disc which makes some , revolutions a minute. the "dowlais lights," as they are called, flash at times high over the mountains to the north. the landlord of the little inn at devynnock called the writer out at night to see them. "it's a sign of rain, for certain," he said. tradition locally lays down this law; but tradition often errs, and on this occasion the dowlais lights, seen here twenty miles away, were, as it chanced, the augurs of a glorious autumnal morrow. [illustration: llandaff cathedral] [illustration: north door] from merthyr downwards taff flows fast, as if anxious to reach the sea from the uncomely rows of colliers' cottages which rise so thickly above it. it is still hedged about by mountains, but the mountains are not now "things of beauty." quaker's yard, aberdare junction, and pontypridd are names of industrial value. at each of these places, "coal" railways from lateral valleys join the taff vale line. with these tributary railways descend tributaries for the taff itself, the river rhondda (which itself bifurcates higher up into the rhondda fawr and fechan) being the most noteworthy for the volume of its water. the scenery of these affluents is, like that of the taff itself, imposing, with deep glens and wooded dingles, but mercilessly cut about by capitalists. pontypridd deserves particular mention for the famous bridge which gives it its name. in the words of a specialist, this bridge "is a perfect segment of a circle, and stretches its magnificent chord of feet across the bed of the taff, rising like a rainbow from the steep bank on the eastern side of the river, and gracefully resting on the western--the _beau idéal_ of architectural elegance." it is the supreme achievement of a local stonemason named edwards, who, a hundred and fifty years ago, devoted himself to the construction of bridges much as a mediæval artist devoted himself to the madonnas of his canvases or to his crucifixes. south wales owes much to edwards the bridge-builder: we shall meet with his work on the towy and the teifi as well as here. in this "_beau idéal_ of architectural elegance" showed to better advantage than now, when it is surrounded by the common buildings of a mining town; but it was never more useful than at present. [illustration: the palace gateway, llandaff (_p. _).] hence, now wide in a shallow bed, and now narrow and rushing deeply between high banks, gaily wooded in places and mere refuse-heaps in others, taff speeds towards llandaff. three or four miles ere it comes to this tranquil spot, a striking crag is seen on its left bank, with glorious beech woods clothing the steep red slopes of the rock. this is an historic spot: castell coch, or the red castle. it is such a site as in rhineland would at one time have given a robber-baron a superb base for his depredations. as such, in fact, it was utilised. we read how, in , ivor bach of castell coch descended upon cardiff castle and carried off the earl and countess of gloucester as prisoners: the event is set forth on canvas in the cardiff town hall. nowadays the turret that rises above the topmost trees of the crag tells of other exploits. castell coch belongs to the marquess of bute, and it is here that the wine is grown which, in the opinion of some, is convincing proof that england might, if she would, become a viniferous country. in the cardiff exhibition of a stall was devoted to the sale of castell coch wines. but the graceful spire and tower of llandaff soon appear, in the midst of green meadows and lofty old trees, to tell of yet other aspirations, with the myriad houses of expanding cardiff beyond. its name describes it: llan-ar-daf, "the church on the taff." it has been spoken of "as the most ancient episcopal see remaining on its original site in great britain." the old records go far to acclaim llandaff as both venerable and ancient. lucius, the great-grandson of caractacus, in the second century /a.d./, endowed, we are told, four churches from the royal estates, one being llandaff. a bishop of llandaff is also said to have died a martyr in the diocletian persecution. and yet, with such high associations, forty years ago this cathedral was the most desolate and neglected in the land. as it stands, it is eloquent of the whole-hearted labours of two men, chiefly: dean conybeare and dean williams. previous to , the cathedral was a picturesque ivied ruin of perpendicular tower and early-english roofless walls, with a ghastly eighteenth-century conventicle absorbing what is now half the nave and the east end of the building. the grand old norman doorways south, north-east, and west, and also the tower, seemed to have outlived their vocation; and the norman arch of the interior, above the present altar--perhaps the finest thing in llandaff--was plastered up and totally expunged. the present cathedral owes its origin to the norman bishop urban ( - ), who was dissatisfied with the church-- feet long, feet broad, and feet high--to the throne of which he had been raised; and its remarkable restoration to the llandaff architect, john pritchard, of recent times. it can no longer be described as, by bishop bull in , "our sad and miserable cathedral." alike within and outside it satisfies by its beauty and good order. the old and the new are well blended here. [illustration: _photo: alfred freke, cardiff._ cardiff castle (_p. _).] [illustration: _photo: valentine & sons, dundee._ st. mary street, cardiff.] as a village, llandaff is now hardly aught except a flourishing suburb of cardiff. still, it keeps its individuality, and declines to be incorporated with the great invading town. the remains of the old episcopal palace and the old market-cross consort amicably with the one or two single-storeyed thatched cottages of the village square. the palace gateway has quite a baronial look, but it leads to nothing of particular interest. bishopscourt, the modern palace, is a more cosy residence than that built by bishop john de la zouch early in the fifteenth century, of which this gateway is the most conspicuous relic. of cardiff, what can be said adequately in few words? it began the century with about a thousand inhabitants; in its population was , ; and now it is about double as much. the romans had a fort here, which the welshmen called caer didi, or the fort of didius (aldus didius): hence, caerdydd and cardiff. fitzhamon the norman, about , erected the castle, the substantial fragments of which adorn the grassy courtyard of the mansion of the marquess of bute, who--more than morgan ap rhys, or fitzhamon, who dispossessed morgan--may well be called the lord of cardiff. the prosperity of the present town began with the canal and sea-lock, early in this century, which enabled merthyr to send its coal abroad; but it was guaranteed by the enterprise of the father of the actual marquess of bute, who expended millions in the construction of docks. within the memory of men still living there was tidal mud close to the stately, if _bizarre_, outer wall of the marquess's residence, with its glass-eyed effigies of wild beasts perched on the stones. but the "welsh metropolis," as cardiff loves to call itself, will not again see those times. one cannot conscientiously say that there is much of romantic or even artistic interest in this thriving town--the castle, with its asiatic richness of decoration, apart. but the place is at least interesting, in its acres of docks, its prodigious machinery for the control of water-power and for the lading of vessels, and even its long ugly road of mean houses connecting it with the town of bute docks. this last is a cosmopolitan district. coal is in demand everywhere, and it is pre-eminently coal that cardiff thrives on. in , only , tons of it were exported hence; in , the amount was , , tons. one of the astonishing sights of the docks is to see a railway truck full of coal lifted by machinery as easily as if it were a penny loaf, emptied into the hold of a ship, and then, in less than a minute, be succeeded by another truck. [illustration: _photo: mr. francis bedford, camden road, n._ the drawing room, cardiff castle.] cardiff has every incentive and determination to go ahead. st. mary's, the main street, can boast of costly banks and hotels and a very great deal of traffic. it is singularly noisy at night; and that also, we presume, is evidence of the strong modern spirit of the place. the town in indulged in an exhibition on such a scale that its loss may be computed in scores of thousands of pounds; but the exhibition was an investment, and it is a proof of cardiff's wealth that it can afford thus to cast expectantly so many thousands upon the waters. the marquess's castle is as unique in its splendour as is cardiff among welsh towns in its development. of its external towers, one, the clock tower (with many quaint, arrangements for spectacular effect), is as modern as the residential part of the building. the other, or black tower (though it is of white limestone), dates from early times. it is also known as the duke robert tower, because it was here that robert duke of normandy was, by his own brother, robert of gloucester, son of henry i., confined for many years. [illustration: in the vale of neath.] taff has much to be proud of as it glides into the sea past the castle, though it has, for miles and miles ere this, lost its crystal purity. * * * * * the river /neath/, like taff, rises among lonely mountains, heather, bracken, and the bracing winds of the uplands. the three summits of the fforest fawr range--long-backed ridges, woeful to be lost upon--each give names to the tributaries that flow from them, and at pont neath vaughan form the neath river proper. y-fan-nedd, y-fan-llia, and y-fan-dringarth thus beget the little neath (the "dd" in welsh being equivalent to our "th"), the llia, and the dringarth. the two latter, after about five miles of independence, join just above ystradfellte, where another castell coch reminds us that wales had long ages of intestine and other strife ere she gave up unfurling the red dragon on her hilltops. we are here in the "fiery heart of cambria," where the rocks and morasses were such mighty fastnesses for the brave welshmen of old. but these times are long past, and cambria's fiery heart may now be said to depend literally upon the fuel in the bowels of the land. [illustration: neath abbey (_p. _).] there is little of exceptional interest in the upper reaches of the neath's tributaries. maen llia, or the stone of llia, is a huge boulder of granite some eleven feet high by the roman road of sarn helen, which, far up near the source of the llia, crosses the mountains with the recognised audacity of a roman thoroughfare. but few are the wayfarers, other than reckless tramps, who set eyes on this one among the many monoliths that decorate wild wales. it is at ystradfellte that the wonders of the neath's scenery begin. this little village stands more than feet above the sea-level, and the mellte (as llia and dringarth conjoined are named), in its fall of nearly feet in the five miles between ystradfellte and pont neath vaughan, is a succession of pictures so lovely, and yet so confined, that they excite as much admiration as despair in the mind of the artist who comes to paint them. the little neath runs parallel with the mellte during this course, separated from it by a high ridge, and scarcely a mile apart. this stream also gallops in a rocky bed, with soaring woods on both banks, and with waterfalls here and there of much beauty. but the mellte and its two affluents, the hepste and the sychnant, quite put the little neath in the shade in this respect. you may see it for yourself, and also judge by the opinions expressed without reserve by the many colliers and their families who come hither, on picnic bent, from hirwain and even merthyr, over the high eastern hills. the vale of neath would be accounted a wonder if it were in middlesex. but its remoteness keeps metropolitan tourists aloof; its charms are for the local colliers, and few besides. the cwm porth, or "river cavern," a mile below ystradfellte, is the first of the mellte's marked eccentricities. the combination of rocks and water and wood, with the added element of danger in exploring this rugged, echo-haunted perforation in the cliff, are attractive in the extreme to the able-bodied traveller. mellte, in time of flood, carries a deal of amber-tinted water in its rocky bed, and cwm porth is not in the hands of a company who charge for admittance, and guarantee smoothed paths, and ropes and handrails where there is a risk of broken limbs. this, indeed, is just the best of the mellte: you feel as if you are on virgin soil while scrambling at a venture in its steep woods, now on the edge of the roaring little stream fifty feet sheer above a waterfall, and now midway in the river itself, perched on a rock, with vistas of boisterous water up and down, and the river's banks, wooded to the sky-line, hundreds of feet on either hand, at an angle of forty-five or fifty degrees. the writer, on one memorable september afternoon, was for hours alone in these woods, passing from waterfall to waterfall, more by instinct than sure guidance, with the gold and bronze and crimson of foliage constantly betwixt him and the blue autumnal sky; nor did he see sign of other human being than himself, nor more than one white farmstead, when he climbed above the topmost trees and returned to the bleak and bare uplands beyond. the squirrels ran from bough to bough, the birds chirped in the infrequent grassy glades, where the sunlight made a bright spot in the midst of this dense, damp shade, and the waters filled the glen with their clamour. in all england there is nothing of its kind so admirable as the seclusion and beauty of this gorge of the mellte, with its tributary, the hepste, to the east. categorically, the chief waterfalls may be mentioned thus: the clun gwyn falls--upper, middle, and lower--and the two falls of the hepste. one cannot describe such things; each of these five has such individuality and beauty that on seeing it you prefer it to the others. their framing is perfect. even the heron that gathers up its long legs and whips across the stream out of your way is not wanted to complete your satisfaction in such pictures. yet in a three miles' flight a crow would reach coal mines and swart heaps of such refuse as you would not dream could lie within scores of miles of these divine solitudes. the great cilhepste fall, otherwise ysgwd-yr-eira (the spout of snow), though the best known of the valley's cascades, is, in the writer's opinion, the least convincing. the water is tossed in one curve over a ledge of rock, and falls about feet into a basin, whence it moves downwards to the far finer succession of furious white steps known as the lower hepste falls. the woods in autumn clasp it amphitheatrically with their green and gold. there is no fault anywhere. there is also this added eccentricity: you may walk under the fall from one side of the river to the other. the writer did it in time of heavy flood, and was soaked for his pains. afterwards he clambered, not easily, down to the lower falls, the disarray of which was much more to his taste. the ysgwd-yr-eira would please more if it had a flaw. as it is, it looks as if nature and man had conspired to make a cascade with surroundings that should be a model of their kind. yet even this criticism--which may well be held to be of the bilious order--will by most be regarded as highly flattering to the spout of snow. after the mellte, one is not profoundly stirred by the falls and sylvan graces of the little neath and its tributary, the perddyn. yet, they, too, are beautiful, especially the cascades of scwd gwladys (the lady's fall) and scwd einon gam (crooked einon's fall), in the latter stream. the sychnant, however, is a sensational little river. it joins the mellte at the foot of a rocky precipice, craig dinas, which, even with its mere feet of perpendicular rock, may be warranted to yield a thrill. from the grassy, hawthorned summit of craig dinas, one may peer into the deep-cut bed of the sychnant, where this cleaves through the mountains from hirwain, and also see its brace of waterfalls. but the glen is well-nigh impassably dense with undergrowth and trees, and bound about with precipices as emphatic, though not as high, as craig dinas. where the sychnant comes to the light from this dark embedded dingle, it is sadly spoiled by quarry men and others. but even these enterprising gentlemen will fight shy of its higher recesses, especially as they have nothing to gain by the intrusion. point neath vaughan is a snug little village, with none of the airs it might assume in pride of its position as key to the glories of these glens of the neath. its inns are homely, modest buildings. south, for the ten or twelve miles to the sea, the river neath flows through a broad and lovely valley, with wooded or bare mountains on both sides. from cefn hirfynydd (west) and craig-y-llyn (east) many a dashing little stream, with miniature cascades, makes great haste to swell the main river. but collieries are here, as well as fascinating scenery, and it is impossible to overlook them and their smoke. the town of neath neither gives to nor gains from its river much distinction where this moves through its midst, brown, and with tidal mud on its banks. it is a colliery town, pure and simple, surprisingly furnished with public-houses. the fragments of its castle that survive are pent about by dismal slums, so that a man must have a very keen antiquarian sense to discover them. nor are they much when found: just a gateway with its towers, the whole prettily hugged by ivy. richard grenville, of bideford, who founded it in the twelfth century, would not care to see it now. hence to the much more grandiose ruins of the cistercian abbey of st. mary and the holy trinity, which also owed its origin to the same richard grenville, is a walk of a mile or more--not a rural walk, by any means. you may, if you will, take a tram-car thither, with collier-lads or their womenfolk for your companions, and with black mud on the roadway. the ruins stand close-girt by canals and mines and ironworks. leland describes the abbey as, in his day, the fairest in wales; and in the year its glories, and especially the sweetness of its convent bells, were bardic themes. never was there so abject a change; and yet, after the dissolution, when it fell to the lot of sir richard cromwell, nephew of henry viii.'s minister and great-grandfather of oliver, it was for long an appreciated residence. the white stone mullions of the many windows of the parts of the abbey added by sir p. hoby, in or so, still gleam against the dark gritstone of the walls. [illustration: outskirts of neath.] in spite of its sordid surroundings, however, neath abbey is not despicable. the area of its ruins impresses; the jagged towering ends of the ivied walls of its church, with daws croaking about them, and the long-desolate aisle, tangled with coarse grass and brambles, are also impressive. the ecclesiastics who sleep in neath abbey may be said to lie fathoms deep under the accumulated soil. not a trace of one of them remains above the surface. the dark refectory of their convent, with its pillared roof, stands pretty much as it did in the sixteenth century, and of itself would dignify the ruins. but echo alone feasts in its damp, sombre hall. one remembers that it was here our edward ii. sought shelter after his evasion of caerphilly castle, and that it was a neath monk who betrayed him into that terrible custody of berkeley castle, where death awaited him; and, remembering this, one is inclined to be sentimental, and to talk about the curse that broods over the neath abbey ruins. in truth, however, smoke is the main brooder here. [illustration: north dock, swansea (_p. _).] the river neath glides on to its estuary by briton ferry, some two miles distant from the town. hills escort it right to the sea--not all with smoking chimneys on them. the town is indeed quite uniquely hemmed round with beauty, as well as ugliness. up the valleys of the dulas and the clydach, slim streams which join the neath near its mouth, are nooks and recesses as winsome as those of the mellte itself; and once on the tops of the mountains, in any direction, the pedestrian may readily forget coal and iron. * * * * * it is but seven or eight, miles from neath to swansea, where the /tawe/ comes to its end, foully enough, amid ironworks and "coalers." one may, for convenience sake, make the journey, and later rise with the river to its source. there is more satisfaction in seeing it gradually purify than in watching its progress from pellucidity to pollution; from the sweet-aired heather hills where adelina patti has fixed her quiet home, to the sulphureous atmosphere of landore and hafod. sweyn's ea (sweyne's eye or inlet), aber tawe--or swansea, as we modern english call it--is not what it was when sweyne the king and rover was wont to come hither as a base for his forays into the vales of south cambria. still, it can, if it cares to, brag stoutly of its ancient enlistment in the service of carbon. in it received a charter from william de brews (breos), great-grandson of the famous lord marcher, "to have pit coal." that was beginning an industrial career early indeed. four centuries later, in , its jurisdiction as a port extended from oxwich, in the gower peninsula, to chepstow--of course, including the then unborn and unthought--of cardiff. it began to smelt copper in , thanks to a charter given by queen elizabeth; and it is to copper and shipping, quite as much as to its position at the mouth of a great coalfield (estimated still to hold , , , tons of fuel underground), that swansea owes its fine fortunes and its population of about a hundred thousand. it seems an ungracious thing to say, but swansea is apparently somewhat hampered by its antiquity. in the struggle for supremacy with cardiff, it has not had cardiff's free hand in the matter of laying out a new town; nor, one may add, quite that powerful vigour of youth which carries all before it. hence, it has already been left behind. the duke of beaufort is not such a potentate in swansea as the marquess of bute in cardiff; yet he stands to this city somewhat like the marquess to cardiff. it was a duke of beaufort who cut the first sod of the north dock, or town-float, in ; and his grace has large representation in the swansea harbour trust, which has charge of the city's port affairs. the late lord swansea, speaking on behalf of this corporation, once said: "swansea, you may depend upon it, is destined to become the ocean port of england." cardiff, at any rate, laughs such words to scorn, and even a layman of england may be allowed to think the prophecy over-sanguine. the north dock has an area of acres, and is "connected with a half-tide basin of two and a half acres by a lock feet long and feet wide, having at its seaward entrance gates of feet, with a depth of feet over the sill at spring-tides and feet at neaps." this is, of course, but one of swansea's docks, and by no means the most important of them. cardiff's docks are undoubtedly finer than swansea's, with more gigantic fitments. swansea, though ancient, possesses few relics of its past. the castle tower, in the main street, with a clock set in it, is the chief of them. in the large hall of the royal institution of south wales--one of swansea's many meritorious establishments--may be seen divers drawings and engravings of the city one, two, and three centuries ago. in all of them the castle towers stand up as if they still had the feudal faith strong in them. green, pleasant, wooded hills form the invariable background. how changed the landscape now! the green hills are gone; cut bare and covered with mean mechanic tenements or smoking manufactories. on the summit of the most conspicuous of them are a few gaunt walls, which by night may, with the help of a glamorous moon, come near being deceptively picturesque. this is the so-called morriston castle, three miles north of the city, yet with the black suburb of morriston at its feet, an active contributant to swansea's fortunes. the "castle's" history is brief and ignominious. a hundred years ago sir john morris, a maker of tin plates, who gives his name to the suburb, erected a lofty and large building on this breezy hilltop, for the accommodation of four-and-twenty of his workmen and their families. healthier homes these could not then have had within easy reach of their daily labour. but the gradient of the hill soon wore out their enthusiasm, and, one by one, the families moved down on to the level. then the lodging-house, being abandoned, fell slowly but surely into ruin. the ruin is now morriston castle. swansea's castle has a more conventional history. it was built in its final form (which can only be conjectured from its remains) by bishop gower of st. david's, in the fourteenth century. after the usual vicissitudes of disestablished castles, it still, until , offered its dungeons for the confinement of recalcitrant debtors. in that year even these privileges were taken from it, and, ever since, civilisation has tried to crowd it out of existence. its body is lost in the various buildings and workshops that have encroached upon it, but the graceful arcaded clock-tower remains. it gives a pretty touch to swansea's main street, which it commands. little more can here be said about swansea, except that the visitor owes it to himself to leave the city (which was made a suffragan bishopric in ) as soon as possible, and make friends with the mumbles. the five-mile curve of bay thither has been compared to that of the bay of naples. the comparison is not a modest one. nevertheless, there is something uncommonly exhilarating about this swansea bay, with the red and white green-topped cliffs of the mumbles at its south-western horn. you soon get out of reach of the fumes of the city's copper and other metal works. the shipping of the mumbles has a nice clean look after that at the mouth of the tawe. and, save when the wind is north-east, the air is sweet here, as it is bound to be. mumbles--or oystermouth, as it used to be called--has an attractive old castle of its own, of the decorated period. but it is precious chiefly to swansea for its sea and the lighthouse islets at the extremity of the headland. the view hence towards the busy city, less than four miles across the water, is not gay. tall chimneys and a dense canopy of smoke: such is the erebus you behold from the pleasant mumbles cliffs. ere moving up tawe's valley, it seems quite worth while to tell of swansea's connection with the fortunes of john murray, the publisher. gower the poet, beau nash, and other celebrities, owed their birth to this city; and it was while living here in that one mrs. randell compiled the "domestic cookery," for which john murray paid her the solid sum of £ , , and which, dr. smiles tells us, was very profitable to the young publisher, and helped in a great measure to establish his position. it may be added, also, that in the parish churchyard at the mumbles lies the dr. thomas bowdler who busied himself so strenuously with shakespeare's plays, and gave to our dictionaries an awkward, ugly word. the tawe cannot be much more than twenty-five miles in length, from its source in the lakelet on the brecknock van, or summit, of the fforest fawr mountains, to the swansea docks. as fully half its course is through a colliery district, it may be supposed that its claims to beauty cannot be of the strongest. but the neath river has taught us that these south wales streams cannot be judged thus summarily. one must, therefore, proceed up the long valley of tawe in the hope of charms other than those that emanate from pit-gear, long chimneys, and factories. [illustration: morriston.] morriston has already been noticed for its "castle." it deserves a word also for its bridge over the river. this bears the look of one of edwards's constructions; its eyelet holes and graceful single curve remind one of pontypridd. from morriston to ystradgynlais, tawe is continually trammelled. in one part there is a cañon of slag heaps half a mile long for it to descend through. it is here shallow, and not more tainted than you would expect. the hills rise in high long banks on the outer boundaries of the valley, with wooded reaches above the lofty collieries, and crowned by the naked rock. just south of ystradgynlais the river receives its chief affluent, the twrch, which has as bright and lengthy a youth as tawe itself, rising under the carmarthen van, the rival peak of this fforest fawr range, which makes so commanding a mark on the two counties of brecknock and carmarthen. [illustration: swansea castle (_p. _).] [illustration: the mumbles (_p. _).] the ascent here begins to be steep, and it is constant to the source. the colliery villages become less and less assertive, and the woods greener. by coelbren a little stream hurries to the tawe through one of those deep, thickly-treed glens which the neath river knows so well. it is an enchanting spot, with the blue and green and russet of craig-y-nos across the valley to the north-west. the river gets quite near to the palace of our sweetest singer, whose conservatories can be seen gleaming for miles. in south wales patti holds a court other than that assured to her in all the world's capitals. she is at home here. her photographs are in the shop-windows of neath and swansea, and so are the photographs of the various luxurious rooms of her mountain palace; and she is praised for other virtues than those that proceed from her entrancing throat. people wonder how she can isolate herself here, where collieries are not so remote that they cannot be seen. but that is adelina patti's affair, and has nothing to do with us. she is queen of the tawe valley, in one sense, as well as the world's queen regnant of melody. at craig-y-nos, which is feet above sea-level, tawe is distant only five or six mountainous miles from its origin. it begins, like the taff, with numerous slender rills from red cuttings in the stony sides of the bleak uplands, all hurrying together, as if anxious to compose a little strength with their divided weakness. but its chief source is the lonely tarn (to borrow the north-country word) of lly-fan fawr, which never fails to keep it active. this is on the brecknock van. on the carmarthen van also there is a lake, lly-fan fach, some two miles from the source of tawe. from lly-fan fach comes the sawddy, one of the towy's band of tributaries, which enters that river at llangadock. * * * * * the /towy/, which now claims our notice, in a far nobler river than the others treated in this chapter. from its start in the desolate wet uplands of cardiganshire (less trodden than any other part of great britain) to the long channel south of carmarthen, where it enters the bay of that name, it knows nothing of such pollution as spoils tawe, taff, and neath. it is rural from first to last: savage almost in its upper reaches, beyond ystradffin, where it can be explored only at some not inconsiderable risks, and where its first company of eager affluents rush to it from all sides in glens and defiles, as deep, craggy, and yet beautiful, as its own. of its early affluents, the doethiau certainly deserves particular mention. hard by its junction with towy is a strikingly picturesque wooded hill, one of wales's many dinases. ystradffin is scarcely a village, but it boasts of attachment to the memory of a seventeenth-century cattle-raider named twm shon catti (otherwise tom jones, the son of catherine), who made use of a cave in the side of the dinas by towy for purposes of concealment. this hero of tradition at length determined to mend his ways, and, we are told, set about it by wooing an heiress. he secured her hand in the literal sense, and vowed to cut it off unless she gave it to him in the matrimonial sense. so stern a courtship was irresistible. afterwards twm shon catti became respectable, and died holding high office in the county. but the cave over towy keeps the memory of his naughty youth and early manhood still green. from ystradffin the river descends circuitously some eleven miles to the well-known fishing and tourist townlet of llandovery, gambolling gaily in its rocky pools as if resolved to make the most of its youth ere coming to the long green valley which extends from llandovery to carmarthen. here it receives two voluminous aids in the bran from the north-east, and the gwedderig from the east, both yielding pleasant prospects even for the few miles their valleys are visible from llanymddyfri (_i.e._ "the church amid the waters"), or, as we know it, llandovery. green hills embrace llandovery as if they loved it. the little town is not so interesting as its situation, apart from its old inn, the "castle," a mellow, time-worn house. the very rooms here in which you sup on eggs and bacon (if you are lucky enough) may have known that worthy, the vicar of llandingat, who, in the seventeenth century, daily came hither for his ale, attended by a goat as thirsty as himself. one day, it is said, this goat drank well rather than wisely, and thenceforward declined to cross the threshold of the "castle" with its master. one may hope that the vicar learnt a lesson from the goat. towy is here a great, clear, rapid stream, and so it continues for the remaining thirty miles of its career. famous view-points on it are the bridges of llandovery, llangadock, and llandilo, the bridges themselves as graceful as the valley. llandilo stands on a knoll on the west bank of the river, and rejoices in its superiority to llandovery as a market-town. this, to the stranger, is much less commendatory than its nearness to one of the most beautiful seats in south wales, dynevor, where the barons of that title have long held sway. the ruins of the old dynevor castle, on a hill crowded with oak, ash, and beech trees, are from the river quite ideally picturesque. it is a pity that the "common herd" of tourists have so misbehaved themselves that lord dynevor has felt compelled to deny free access to so charming a spot. golden grove, an estate as winsome as its name, on the other bank of the towy, opposite dynevor, has had its attractions sung by dyer, the poet, who was born in the neighbourhood, and died rector of coningsby, in lincolnshire, in : here is the grongar hill, where "often, by the murm'ring rill," one "hears the thrush while all is still." between llandilo (llan-teilo: the church of st. teilo, who died bishop of llandaff, in /a.d./ ) and carmarthen, towy's zigzags are many and eccentric. after dynevor another castle, that of dryslwyn, is soon passed. it is a mere ruin on a green hill. the nelson monument, high in the distance, on the south side of the river, is a more assertive feature in the landscape, though less welcome. midway towards carmarthen, we cross the cothi, the longest of all towy's affluents, and here, near its mouth, as great a stream as the towy at llandovery. looking up it, there is even here some suggestion of its fine upper gorges. at abergorlech, some ten miles nearer its sources, either artist or angler would find reason to rejoice in it, while higher still it absorbs streamlets right and left as greedily as the towy itself. one must, however, resist the temptation to loiter on cothi's bridge by llanegwad. there is nothing of especial mark to see by the way, save merlin's grotto, where the arthurian wizard fell a victim to the wiles of the fairy viviana, and where he is still imprisoned, and will be for all time. but you must carry a fine faith with you to be fitly moved by the legend, and it will not be inexcusable if you fail to find it. at the ivy bush hotel of carmarthen, whence there is a commanding view over the lower part of the valley, one may think tenderly of sir richard steele, who once lived in it. the tablet to his memory in the parish church of st. peter here describes him as the "first chief promoter of the periodical press of england." what would he say to the growth of the babe for which he is thus made responsible? [illustration: carew castle (_p. _).] this capital town, which in the time of giraldus had walls of burnt brick, is nowadays of the modernest. its castle, or what was left of it, has been turned into a jail; though you may discern some of its ancient stonework in the adjacent alleys. the town stands well above the river and the seven-arched bridge beneath which towy now moves with stately ease towards the sea, a navigable stream. there is a small quay here, and a larger one some three miles farther down, for local coasters. for five miles more towy holds its own against the ocean; and yet another five have to be passed ere, at carmarthen bar, the fresh waters gathered from the peaceful and fertile vales of carmarthenshire are wholly merged in the salt sea. * * * * * we have now come to a singular district of wales--a part of south wales that is not wales, but "a little england in wales." close by towy's mouth, another river taf (though with only one "f") enters the sea very broadly with the body of water yielded to it by the rivers dewi fawr, gynin, feni, and marias, which all have bright tortuous courses among the green hills of pembrokeshire. and four or five miles still farther west, the "llans" and "abers" which proclaim the land of the cymry end, and give place to names danish, norwegian, and norman. this continues until we are at newgale bridge, on st. bride's bay, eight miles from the thoroughly reverend and welsh city of st. david's. newgale bridge has a small ale-house adjacent, where they seem contemptuously ignorant of the existence of the welsh counties of carmarthen and glamorganshire to the east, so positively do they inform you that on one side of the streamlet spanned by the bridge it is england, and on the other side wales. [illustration: _photo: hudson._ carmarthen quay (_p. _).] the normans could not, in spite of their sternest efforts, make much impression on wales as a whole for a century or two after the battle of senlac. but they could, thanks to milford haven, nibble at its south-western extremity. this is what they did, and with the planting here by henry i. of a large colony of flemings the earlier stock seems to have been either absorbed or superseded. milford haven, with its arms of tidal water extending twenty miles into the heart of the country, was a grand aid to conquest in these parts. the norman lords who were invited hither to carve out careers for themselves had much success. they raised castles at the extremities of milford's water-ways, and thus assured to themselves broad controlling powers. enough if mention be made of only the important fortresses of pembroke, haverfordwest, and carew. the last of these may be first visited. its situation at the head of a dammed tidal inlet, low-lying and with no prominent hills near, is unworthy of so noble a ruin. but gerald de windsor, the norman lord who built it (having received the land as a dowry with his welsh wife, nesta, daughter of prince rhys ap tewdwr of dinefawr, or dynevor), probably cared little for the picturesque. the strong western towers still bear witness to him; but to the mere tourist by far the most interesting part of the castle is the east side, over against the water, with its high wall and the lofty great, flaunting skeletons of the windows of the palace above, their white mullions bowing forward with inimitable grace. unfortunately, one cannot romance about the rooms to which these majestic oriels and bays belonged. this part of the castle is of the sixteenth century, and was left unfinished. carew castle (caerau = fortified camps) still belongs to the carews. the windsors took the name of this possession of theirs, and held the castle for more than three hundred years. then their line of lordship was interrupted; and it was during this period that the great sir rhys ap thomas (whom henry vii. made a knight of the garter for the part he played before and at bosworth field in aid of the house of tudor) held such revels here as have made carew almost a by-word. among other shows was a "feate of arms" of five days' duration, to which knights flocked from all parts of england and wales. these guests filled the castle and more: five hundred, "moste of them of goode ranke," were accommodated with tents in the park adjacent, of which no trace remains. sir rhys himself, in gilt armour, on a "goodlie steede," attended by two pages on horseback and a herald, "was the judge of the jousts." this same mighty noble received henry vii. at carew before bosworth field was fought; and, if tradition speak true, with his own hands killed richard of gloucester, who would dearly have liked ere then to have killed him. sir rhys lies in the parish church of carmarthen, with about seven feet of armoured stone for a monument; and a very small effigy of a wife lies by his side. with the civil wars came the castle's destruction. the carews of crowcombe, in somersetshire, are now lords of the castle, and anyone may tread its grass and broken stones on payment of a threepenny bit. carew had the honour of entertaining henry vii., but pembroke had the higher honour of being his birthplace, margaret beaufort, his mother, being then only in her fifteenth year. five months later he was an orphan, and jasper tudor, his uncle, began his long, exemplary, and singularly fortunate guardianship. ere then this great castle, at the tip of the most southerly of milford haven's arms, had had nearly four centuries of existence. the first castle was only "a slender fortress with stakes and turf," says giraldus the chronicler. if so, however, it must soon have been ousted by the existing norman keep, which, with its feet of height and feet of thickness at the base, is anything rather than "a slender fortress." throughout england there is no better specimen left to us of a feudal keep than this of pembroke. the castle buildings, as a whole, measure some feet by feet within the walls; and, viewed, from the breezy summit of the keep (reached by broken steps and a rope), are, even in their ruin, a very instructive lesson in feudal history. the gate-house and the keep are by far the best preserved parts; these are both little less serviceable than they were in their prime. the central space, or outer ward, is now a grass-plot, kept trim for tennis. one cannot do more than touch on the conventional last scene in this castle's active history. the building was held for charles i. by colonel laugharne and two other royalists named powell and poyer. as was to be expected, they made a stout resistance even to cromwell, who came hither in person. eventually, however, supplies were cut off, and the castle surrendered. "the three leaders were condemned to be shot--though the sentence was reduced to one. lots were drawn, it is said, by a little girl. two were marked 'life given by god,' the third was blank, and fell to poyer, who was shot in covent garden, ." since then pembroke castle has accepted its _rôle_ as a ruin. the very peacocks that strut about its courtyard seem to understand that their haunt is a superb one. there is little else in pembroke save two of those pleasant white church-towers which are quite a characteristic, of the shire. monkton priory, one of these, has as lengthy a history as the castle. it was founded in , and belonged to a community of benedictines connected with jayes in normandy. anciently this church, which has a very long back, with the tower about midway in it, was divided by an inner wall between the monks of the priory and the local parishioners. its norman nave and decorated choir are well preserved: indeed, the original builders were as generous of material as they who raised the castle keep. externally, save for its tower (restored in ), and a norman south doorway, it has a very modern aspect, though its acre or two of gravestones in the churchyard bear witness against appearances. there are two pembrokes and two milfords on milford haven; in each case one old and the other new. our new pembroke, however, goes by the name of pater or pembroke dock, and a very important little town it is for the united kingdom, with its building slips, dry dock, and naval stores. if you chance to be going from old pembroke to pater between two and three o'clock any saturday afternoon, you will be tempted to form an exaggerated idea of the number of hands employed at this state dockyard. in fact, there are about , , though, of course, the figure is a variable one. from pater the view down the haven is uninterrupted as far as the watering-place of dale, eight or nine miles due west, just at the north corner of the entrance. the channel is there nearly two miles in breadth, and fortifications on the small island of thorn, to the south of dale, are designed to prevent undesirable interference with british property in the haven's recesses. [illustration: pembroke castle and monkton priory (_p. _).] [illustration: the royal dockyard, pembroke dock.] in less than five minutes you may cross the haven, by steam ferry, from pembroke dock to new milford or neyland, which calls for no particular notice. it is a creation of the great western railway, in connection with which steamers ply nightly to ireland. hence to old milford is a pleasant walk of three miles, with the water continuously to the left. the low green hills of the haven to the south are not very beautiful, and it is only on exceptional occasions that the great water-way holds more than half a dozen big ships in its midst. one or two ironclads on guard may, however, at all times be looked for. imogen, in _cymbeline_, inquires, as a significant aside-- "by the way, tell me how wales is made so happy as to inherit such a haven!" [illustration: haverfordwest (_p. _).] but wales's happiness in this possession is of the kind that depends more on the expectation of favours to come than on benefits actually enjoyed. milford haven was better appreciated in the middle ages than it is now. it was only natural, for example, that henry tudor should land here in his quest of the english crown. here too, earlier still, richard ii. set foot, on his anxious return from ireland, when henry of bolingbroke was troubling his realm. the french chronicler, de la marque, who was at milford at this time, finds much to praise in the conduct of the welshmen who were with the unhappy king. richard's english retinue deserted him and plundered his baggage, but the welsh could with difficulty be dissuaded from accompanying him in his march north to conway, and they fell upon such of the deserters as they could. "what a spirit! god reward them for it!" says de la marque. old milford is a prettily situated town terraced above the haven, with quays and embankments on its shore-line, ready for the traffic that is still withheld from it. master atkins's red coat helps to enliven it. the blue water, the green level ridges that run west to the sea, and the atlantic itself in the distance, all prepossess in its favour. but liverpool and holyhead both hold it aloof from the fortune it aspired to. before proceeding north to that little known yet seductive river, the teifi, haverfordwest, on one of the two cleddaus, which enter the haven at its northern and westernmost arms, must be briefly mentioned. it is an ancient town, as its castle--built about by the father of richard strongbow, that eminent castle-builder--testifies. among its other privileges was that of being county and capital town in one; also of having its own lord-lieutenant. here the flemings of the twelfth century most did congregate in this peninsula, and no doubt the little town's prosperity was largely due to them. nowadays, however, it is a waning place, in spite of its lively look and, considering its remoteness, its fine buildings. this is proven by the number of its maiden assizes in the later years of its independence, before its annexation to carmarthen for judicial purposes, as well as by other less agreeable tokens. it is, perhaps, the most hilly town in the kingdom. ere you are half a mile away from it on the road to st. david's, it is lost to sight; while, approaching it from milford, its situation seems quite alpine. * * * * * the /teifi/ (or tivy), like the towy, is little known to englishmen other than anglers; and again, like the towy, it well deserves knowing. the two rivers both rise among the heather-clad moors of cardiganshire; so near, indeed, that you may stand on the watershed and mark the different trend of their streams. teifi's chief supply, however, comes from the teifi pools, three miles from strata florida abbey, a congeries of mountain lakes, the abode of interesting and capricious trout that may be recommended to the traveller with a fishing rod--and a mackintosh. it has as wild an origin as any of the rivers of south wales. the cistercians of strata florida probably fished these lakes far more than do the moderns. from the pools teifi descends impetuously to the mere graveyard that reminds one of the mynachlog fawr, or great monastery, of which only an archway remains. either rhys ap tewdwr or rhys ap gruffydd, royal princes both, was the founder of the abbey, which was so important an establishment that henry iv. made a special expedition to destroy it. if, as tradition says. dafydd ap gwilym--"the greatest genius of the cimbric race and one of the first poets of the world," in the opinion of george borrow--was buried here, one can understand the patriotic influence of such a spot, and bolingbroke's ruthlessness. but many are the poets and princes, as well as dafydd ap gwilym, who lie in this "westminster of wales." the strata florida monks have been made responsible for the devil's bridge, on the rheidol--that _bonne bouche_ for visitors to aberystwith. excavations have recently been made in the abbey precincts, with promising results. strata florida is accessible by railway from the manchester and milford station of pontrhydfendigaid. it must be confessed that some courage is required to alight at this dreary place on a wet autumn day. teifi traverses dismal bog-land for miles hence: a vast flat of glittering pools and reddish grass and reeds, abounding in hares. one marvels that no serious attempt has been made to drain these thousands of acres: not such a difficult task, surely, considering the steep fall to the west beyond the hills. however, each landlord to his own ideas. tregaron is passed, and still teifi is rather a dull stream, though it can be seen that, lower down, the hills are drawing together suggestively. this is a famous district for cattle-drovers and cattle fairs. your modern cardigan farmer finds in these fairs one of the main excitements of his life. but the dealers are often far gone in whisky by the end of the fair-day, especially if they have had "bargains." so towards lampeter, leaving on the east llanddewi brefi, where, in /a.d./ , was held the great synod, attended by st. david, at which pelagius was adjudged a heretic. teifi has now become a real river, broad and swift, and a charm to the angler. a column on a hill by derry ormond holds the eye. this is a tale told of it. the grandsire of the present owner of the estate wooed a young lady of london, and brought her home; but she pined for the metropolis, and said either that she could not or would not live where she could not see london. to help her a little in this respect, her husband built the column. history does not inform us whether the wife was won to her allegiance by this proof of marital infatuation. teifi does not excel in its auxiliary streams. this is explainable by the nature of the country it traverses. its watershed is not an extensive one, like towy's. the streams that flow to it throughout its course are all insignificant in size, though the two cletwrs (fawr and fach), afon cych, and especially the merry little mountain-rivulet that joins it a mile west of newcastle emlyn, are not without the customary fascinations of these well-nigh untrodden glens of wild wales. it is when teifi turns decisively to the west and its home in the long inlet of port cardigan that its graces become truly bewitching. from llandyssil to newcastle emlyn it alternates between sweet, green, hill-bounded reaches and contracted gorges which trammel and fret it so that it roars with dissatisfaction. at newcastle its valley is broad again, with wooded hills on all sides, enclosing the pretty little village and its castle. put thence to cardigan it is majestic all the way, zigzagging with glorious curves, and with high, densely-wooded banks in the main. seen when the tints are on its trees, this part of teifi's course makes an enduring mark on the memory. the salmon-fisher who comes once to teifi here (and it is a prolific river, in spite of the "professionals," who take heavy tolls at its mouth) will have abundant compensation, even though he have poor sport. there is no railway between newcastle and cardigan; but what a nine miles' drive or walk it is! at cenarth, for instance, it is impossible not to pause awhile. here the river bursts from a confined defile into greater freedom, sweeping under a bridge of the edwards hall-mark. cenarth is a lovely little village, out of the world, given up to the woods and the crying waters. and under its bridge, at the side, you may see some of the tiny coracles still in use on this stream. fashions die hard in these sequestered parts of wales. giraldus tells us that the beaver kept its haunt on the teifi when it was extinct elsewhere in great britain. there is a contenting sameness about teifi all the way to cardigan: unchanged perfection. two miles short of this capital town, however, it speeds to the south, and then turns boldly in its final curve towards the sea. above it here, on a lofty crag, with woods caressing it, is kilgerran castle, which turner painted. he could hardly have resisted the temptation, having seen it. the castle remains consist of two towers and a gateway, all of the thirteenth century. historically, little seems known about it. [illustration: _photo: hudson._ milford haven (_p. _).] thence teifi makes for the defile which ushers it to salt water, past the small yet prosperous county town, which has close sea intercourse with bristol, and does a good trade in fish. cardigan, like all these welsh capitals, has a fragmentary castle; so fragmentary, indeed, that it is hardly discoverable. it has also an old church with a remarkably massive tower, having a buttress like a staircase. from its churchyard tombstones one may learn much, as well as the common lesson of the mortality of mortals. it is, for example, interesting to the stranger to be informed that "let" is no unusual christian name for a man here, and "lettice" for a woman. the town suffers from a complaint nowadays rare among the capitals of british counties, to wit, difficult railway communication with the rest of the land. this will be remedied somewhat when the existing line is continued from newcastle emlyn. but one may be excused for hoping that teifi's banks may for years to come know nothing of the mauling and devastation that will be inevitable when this takes place. if you wish to see teifi, or tivy, quite to its end, it is worth while to go north another three miles, to gwbert-on-the-sea, a distinctly primitive and pleasing watering-place, facing kemmaes head, with the mile and a half of teifi's mouth (at its widest) intervening. [illustration: the teifi at kilgerran. _photo: s. j. allen, pembroke dock._] bidding farewell to the beauteous teifi, we must now in few words track the last of our rivers to the same inevitable destination. /ystwith/ has had no poets that we are aware of. not all who visit aberystwith, indeed, perceive (though they surely might) that it gives its name to this salubrious town. the rheidol, which also enters the sea at aberystwith, is treated with distinction. for it there is a solid, handsome bridge, lighted with lamps. but for ystwith there is only a very commonplace bridge. the ystwith rises in the broken upland a few miles south of plinlimmon, runs in a deep channel for three or four miles, and then, with little hesitation, though infinite sinuosities, rushes due west. its entire length is not more than thirty miles. until it comes to the road by eglwys newydd, and within four miles of the devil's bridge, on its rival the rheidol, and even past hafod, it sees few admirers, though it might have many. people who come to eglwys newydd, on their circuitous way to the devil's bridge, do not go out of their path to see the ystwith, but the chantrey monument, in memory of miss johnes, in this "new church." farther west the manchester and milford railway runs in its valley from trawscoed, and accompanies it to the sea. here its beauty is of a superb order. the wooded mountains soar with most impressive effect on its southern side, now and then parting to show an abysmal glen, just as densely wooded, down which a baby stream tumbles towards our ystwith. it matters not so very much, except to the angler, if the river does suffer from lead-poisoning. the mines do not obtrude themselves; and one may cheat oneself into the belief that the thickness of its waters comes from the melting snows high up on the mountains which it taps. for a few miles one may search the vocabulary for adjectives in eulogy of ystwith. then it sobers into comparatively level ground, and green pastures between receded green and heather-clad hills succeed the splendid towering woods. for the rest of its journey, it is an ordinary stream, and as such it slides into the sea just south of the town with a modesty that is almost affecting. aberystwith the piered, esplanaded and castled, might well condescend to take a little notice of its humble "godparent," as well as of the rheidol, and might gain credit in the condescension. this resort of a certain order of fashion (especially now that there are sweet girl-graduates to give a classic touch to its broad breezy promenade) seems, however, fully content to rely on the seducing charms of its powerful pure air, its tea-gardens on constitution hill, and--the devil's bridge. wondrous indeed is the power of ozone! it reconciles us to weeks in lodging-houses that are ugly to behold and are in themselves uncomfortable. not that aberystwith is worse off in this respect than other places. indeed, it may be said to be in a better plight than most, since the esplanade buildings are handsome, once you have accepted their uniformity. even were it otherwise, it would matter not at all to the sojourner in bracing aberystwith! he acquires resignation and divers other virtues merely in breathing this pure invigorating air on the broad paved walk between the lodging-houses and the sea. [illustration: _photo: e. r. gyde, aberystwith._ aberystwith.] of aberystwith's castle it must suffice to say that it dates from the eleventh century, and owes its parentage to gilbert strongbow. cromwell cut its little comb effectually, and now it exists only in fragments. they are, however, attractive morsels, and the little green enclosure which they prettily dignify is a popular resort for visitors. there are seats about it, and you may perch close over the mutilated low cliffs of the coast and watch the breakers rolling in towards the town, while listening with your mind's ear to the tales told by time of this downright ancient little place. the university buildings adjoin the castle demesne. they are quite grandiose. one wonders how often in the year the noise of the waves on their stones is so loud that it distracts the academic minds within its stately walls. it has been said authoritatively that "aberystwith stands out as being far and away the welshiest of the university colleges, and cardiff as the most english." this is gratifying to those of us who like to see the boundary-lines of nationalities clearly defined. and yet the faces of the students in the streets here do not show their birthright as one would expect. but enough. one must be very morose or abased in body as well as mind not to perceive the peculiar charms of aberystwith. to the enterprising, and perhaps jaded, sojourner in this brighton of wales it may, moreover, come as welcome news that for a mile or two of its course the ystwith is of a beauty matchless even in wales. /charles edwardes./ [illustration] [illustration: dolgelley (_p. _).] rivers of north wales. chapter i. the dovey, the dysynni, the mawddach. glories of a wet autumn in north wales. the /dovey/: source of the stream--dinas mowddwy--mallwyd--machynlleth. the /dysynni/: tal-y-llyn--the "bird rock"--/towyn/. the /mawddach/: the estuary--the wnion--torrent walk--dolgelley--precipice walk--the estuary--barmouth--harlech castle--portmadoc--the glaslyn--tremadoc and shelley--the traeth bach. there are times of the year when north wales seems to be all rivers and mountain torrents and tumbling cataracts. the hills are seamed by thin, white streaks of foaming water. it is as if all the land were rushing down to the valleys and the sea. what was yesterday a slow dribble from pool to pool, a scarcely perceptible moisture among weeds, a narrow reflection of sky among stones and boulders, is to-day a broad, impetuous stream, or a wide expanse of bog-stained water, or a torrent swollen and turbulent. the cataracts which have disappointed the tourist in dry seasons come down in a way that wholly sustains their ancient reputation. but the mountains are, for the most part, hidden in mist, or whelmed in cloud; the white roads glitter like streams, and-- "the rain, it raineth every day; heigho, the wind and the rain!" yet, decidedly, it is in a wet autumn that one should see north wales. "then, if ever, are perfect days," when the whole glory of wild nature reveals itself in some interval of dripping rains; when the brown foliage, dipping into the flooded rivers, glows like gold in some sudden outburst of the sun; and when the mountains fade upward from their heathery bases, and purple middle-distances, into shadowy peaks of faintest blue. [illustration: rivers of north wales.] how fascinatingly the bells of aberdovey have rung themselves into the popular consciousness! and all by means of some foolish verses that are as securely immortal as the famous and touching air in which neil gow has set the bells of edinburgh town to music:-- "'ae os wyt ti'n fy ngharu i fel 'rwyf fi'n dy garu di, mal un, dau, tri, pedwar, pump, chwech,' go the bells of aberdovey." seated in a boat in the middle of the estuary of the /dovey/ river, one laments the fact that the bells exist in legend only. how sweetly they would sound through the distance and in the dusk, over this wide expanse of shallow water and glimmering sand! but the little town of aberdovey, hugging the hillside at the south-westerly corner of merionethshire, has certainly had no peal of bells at any date more recent than the time when owen glendower descended into the dovey valley to procure his own proclamation as prince of wales. it is a humble little town, which, as somebody has remarked, seems to ask itself why it is not liverpool. it has a wharf and a deep-water pier, and a railway at only a few yards from the beach. large vessels could lie in safety near to the doors of the aberdovey folk, and the maps insist strenuously on the directness of the sea-routes to dublin, to rosslare, and to waterford. they are direct enough, no doubt; but who cares to travel by them? only a few small schooners are to be seen in the harbour of aberdovey. two or three others are drawn up high and dry on the sands, so that one might almost leap on board from the thresholds of the cottages. if the world were more happily ordered, the chief trade of the place might be the exchange of rich merchandise; but, as one may perceive from the pier yonder, it is merely the exportation of slates. the river dovey--or dyti, as it is called in the more ancient language--rises among the peaks of aran mowddwy, and, dashing down the mountain-sides with a pretty music, leaves merioneth for a while to course through a jutting corner of montgomeryshire. then it becomes the boundary between merioneth and cardigan, making its way to the sea through an estuary - / miles long--broad, noble, and impressive, with hills green, gentle, and round on its left, and on its right high mountains and purple heather, and "the sleep that is among the lonely hills." it is a river much beloved of angling folk, for there are "salmons" not only, as fluellen said, in monmouthshire, but also in montgomery and merioneth. likewise there is abundance of sewin and trout; and the fisherman who visits dinas mowddwy, mallwyd, or machynlleth will be likely enough to store his memory with recollections not only of fine scenery but of glorious days. dinas mowddwy is a small village with a large hotel; but it was nothing less than a city in the old days, and it calls itself a city still. even up to so recent a date as , it had all the honours of a borough, with a mayor of its own, and a corporation, and a recorder, and the tradition of a charter dating from james i. it may be reached by means of a ridiculous but convenient railway from cemmaes road, the trains consisting of an engine and one carriage, with, possibly, a few truckloads of slates attached behind. aran mowddwy, on which the dovey rises, is, next to snowdon, the highest mountain in wales. it is the centre of a district full of vague traditions and curiously varied grandeur and beauty. after the death of owen glendower, "many powerful gentlemen of wales" assembled at dinas "for the purpose of making compacts to enforce virtue and order." their success can scarcely have been very great, for it was at this place, not long afterwards, that the "red-haired banditti of mowddwy" were wont to hold their meetings and arrange their murders. it is pleasant to be able to record that in due course these gentry were as effectually suppressed as were the doones of exmoor, if the story of john ridd is to be believed. how they found means to exist by rapine in a country so sparsely peopled is not now intelligible; but they were, clearly, a very savage and revengeful folk, for forty arrows were found in the body of a judge who had condemned some of their brethren to death. sparkling along through dinas, and flowing under the ruins of an ancient bridge, with a more modern and substantial structure close beside it, the river dovey shortly reaches mallwyd, where there is a church that is much visited, occupying the site of an earlier edifice which is said to have been erected by st. tydecho in the sixth century, and with an ancient yew-tree which the saint himself is believed to have planted. on the other side of the river stands the farmhouse of camlan, associated by a tradition, into the veracity of which we need not now inquire, with camelot, and that "battle long ago" in which king arthur is said to have been overthrown. all this wide, winding dovey valley teems with history of a sort. at the farmhouse of mathafarn, below cemmaes road, "the great poet and scholar," david llwyd ap llewelyn, entertained the earl of richmond, who was afterwards to become king henry vii., and was then on his way to bosworth fight. at machynlleth, with its fine, broad, mediæval street, much frequented by salesmen of cattle and sheep, you may see the house in which owen glendower held his parliament after he had "defeated" the english by flying before them into the hills. machynlleth itself was the roman station of maglona, and is now a fairly considerable town, situated almost as happily as dolgelley, with the square ivy-clad tower of an ancient church dominating the centre of the valley. here the beautiful river dulas joins the dovey, and hence one may travel by the tiny corris railway to tal-y-llyn, through some of the most satisfying scenery in all wild wales. [illustration: torrent walk, dolgelley (_p. _).] before reaching the estuary, the dovey wanders through much wide marshland, over which a railway has been carried, where there is a railway station set amid desolateness, and where no tree or shrub breaks the flat, brown margins of the stream. from such scenery it is very agreeable to break away to where, at high tide, there is a sheet of water six miles broad--the sweetest, calmest, most restful estuary in all wales, with borth sunning itself by the sea far away, with hills at whose feet plantations flourish, and mountains with fir-woods climbing up their slopes. flowing from the sides of cader idris, which holds a gloomy lake in its lap, there is a complex network of streams. several of these join themselves together to form the little river dysynni, which, after wandering among the mountains for twelve miles or so, drowns itself in the sea beyond towyn. one of the sources of the dysynni is tal-y-llyn. noble and beautiful and ever memorable is the valley through which the stream hurries downwards from that renowned lake, the object of innumerable excursions made from dolgelley, from towyn, from machynlleth, and from all the wild, wonderful, fascinating places roundabout. tal-y-llyn is no more than a mile long, and a quarter of a mile broad; but it is like a small piece of norway transported to wales. here alike come those who are intent on reaching the summit of cader idris, and those who desire to follow "the contemplative man's recreation," for the dysynni, like the dovey, is a famous fishing river. salmon, sewin, and gwyniad are to be found therein, from may until after the autumn leaves are falling. there are white and sea trout, and bass, and in the estuary plentiful grey mullet, which make fine and exciting sport when a ring of nets is thrown around them, and the noisy and vigorous "beaters" drive them into the meshes. [illustration: the lower bridge, torrent walk (_p. _).] one must go up the dysynni to see the famous "bird rock," a great shoulder of mountain on which the hawk and the cormorant dwell. it is so precipitous that it may be climbed on only two of its sides, and it has one of those echoes for which wales is almost unapproachable, so that the music of any instrument that is played upon it will be reverberated in a startling chorus from all the surrounding hills. lower down the river, always amid such scenery as it were vain to describe, there is the site of a manor house from which prince llewelyn wrote important letters to ecclesiastical magnates in london, and which that stout soldier-king edward i. visited, for he dated a charter thence. older relics there are, like the tomen ddreiniog, which, maybe, is one of "the grassy barrows of the happier dead." it is a valley renowned for its birds and their songs, this of the dysynni, and for its rare plants and mosses, and its rich store of maiden-hair fern. as we approach towyn the mansion of ynys-y-maengwyn, the dwelling of an ancient welsh family, presents a quaint and most picturesque mixture of architectural periods, for it combines all the styles of domestic architecture that prevailed between the period of elizabeth and that of the georges. the dysynni is a land-locked river as it approaches the sea, for the cambrian railway crosses its estuary. there is a spectacle on one hand of what seems a lake among purple mountains, and on the other of a stream winding amid dreary flats to the breezy waters of cardigan bay. towyn, which is but a small place, has a certain fame for sea-bathing, and for its association with "a holy man of armorica, who came to wales in the sixth century to refute the pelagian heresy." one does not inquire too curiously into these things; but there, not far from the estuary of the dysynni, is st. cadfan's church, and st. cadfan was one who performed miracles; and in the church there is a pillar which, as some aver, is inscribed in debased roman characters, and once marked the site of st. cadfan's grave. * * * * * "neither the north of england, nor scotland, no, nor switzerland, can exhibit anything so tranquil, romantic, snug, and beautiful as a welsh valley." these are the words of john wilson, the "christopher north" of the famous "noctes ambrosianæ" and the "recreations"; the "rusty, crusty christopher" of lord tennyson's early satire. he was thinking of dolgelley and all the indescribable charm of its surroundings. wilson was a scot who had dwelt continuously and for many years amid the english lakes. he knew his switzerland, too; and it must have been reluctantly, one would think, that he gave this unstinted praise to the particular valley in which north wales seems most to unite its grander and its quieter beauties, all its wonders of mountains and wood, torrent and waterfall, snug valley and scarred and towering height. the /mawddach/ estuary, which has the appearance of a chain of lakes, winds among the mountains as far as penmaenpool, where there is a long, low, sinuous railway bridge of innumerable arches. here, where the mawddach suddenly becomes a stream, flowing through green marshes, with its course indicated by lines of deep-driven stakes, christopher north must often have been reminded of the head of his beloved windermere, missing only the solemn and silent majesty of the langdale pikes. following the river upward through the wide, marshy plain until it again hides itself among woods and hills, one comes upon the river wnion, which is chiefly of importance among welsh rivers because it is famous for its trout, because it winds through dolgelley on its way, and because, two miles further upwards, it is joined by the tumultuous thread of water which tumbles from pool to pool, over cataract after cataract, close beside the steep, mile-long piece of sylvan beauty known as the torrent walk. until it receives this tributary the /wnion/ is, except in seasons of rain, but a thin and feeble stream; but it flows through beautiful and shady woods, fretting sometimes over a rocky bed, sometimes flowing in a peaceful, sunlit calm, and now and again reflecting one of those wide-arched, mossy bridges which indicate by their breadth of span how much way this little river claims for itself when the thin silvery threads of all the small streams that flow into it from the arans on one side, and from the lower slopes of rhobell fawr on the other, are swollen into mountain torrents by continuous rain. [illustration: between dolgelley and barmouth (_p. _).] there are innumerable little rivers in north wales, boiling down over tumbled rocks, in deep valleys, with trees swaying and arching overhead. the type of these is the turbulent brook, so narrow that one might leap across it, which descends through the dwygyfylchi valley, and then quietly loses itself in the sea between conway and penmaenmawr. but in all wild wales there is no such mad, merry, laughing, and leaping piece of water as the long cataract which hastens down from the upper to the lower bridge of the torrent walk, to join the wnion two miles above dolgelley. it falls, like a white mist, amid riven cliffs; it pours itself, with a frolic music, between great masses of moss-grown rock; it dips under tree-trunks which have been thrown across it, like rustic bridges, by long-forgotten storms. the channel which this torrent has made for itself is a deep, dark, winding cleft through a beautiful wood on the side of a steep hill. it is in the late autumn that it is at its best, when the trees are of all rich tints, from russet to gold, and when there is a glorious, glowing carpet of brown leaves on either side of the torrent walk, and when the torrent itself, swollen by the unfailing rains, breaks into white spray amid the blue mist of the cataracts. the wnion is tame enough after such a spectacle; but it makes some really striking loops and bends as it winds away to dolgelley, broadening out in the ever-broadening valley, and then darting forward to the tall, grey arches of dolgelley bridge, where it dreams along for a while over its multitudinous pebbles, and then wanders away into the green shadow of trees. [illustration: _photo: h. owen, barmouth._ barmouth bridge and cader idris (_p. _).] dolgelley is the capital of merioneth, and the curfew is still rung there; and some of its houses retain all the quaintness of the elizabethan age, and its streets are so odd, and winding, and confused, that one thinks of the legend of the giant's wife who dropped a heap of stones from her apron, the which in due course became a town. in the distance, dolgelley looks like a grey nest amid green branches, sheltering in a basin of the hills. it is walled round by the mountains, cader idris being its loftiest and its grandest bulwark. owen glendower had a parliament house here, pulled down only a few years ago; and that is almost the whole history of the place, which is attaining some small additional importance in these days because the gold mines are not far away, and also by reason of its manufacture of excellent welsh cloth. [illustration: _photo: i. slater, llandudno._ snowdon, from crib-goch.] it is a land of cataracts all round about; but to reach the finest of those one must leave the river wnion and ascend the mawddach valley, up the beautiful ganllwyd glen, and so to the gold mines. rely not too implicitly on those learned books which would instruct the confiding stranger wandering amid these mountainous wildernesses. "there are three fine falls on the mawddach," one reads in a book of considerable geographical pretensions--"one of feet in dolmelynllyn park, another of feet called the mawddach fall, the third, of feet, called the pistyll-y-cain." "i wonder," said an american humorist, "whether it is worth while knowing so much that is not so." the rhaiadr-y-mawddach--over which, at this stage, flows the river that is shortly to broaden out into the grandest estuary in wales--descends, in two leaps, into a large and magnificent basin, about which the rocks and trees have arranged themselves into a noble amphitheatre. the precipice walk is not far away. one may behold all the snowdon region from this dizzy height on the open hillside; the ganllwyd valley opens out below; the arans tower upwards to the right; and beyond the village of llanfachreth, looking northward, rises the grand mass of rhobell fawr, its head half-hidden in a cloud, "that moveth altogether, if it move at all." and as for the pistyll-y-cain and the rhaiadr-du, "the black cataract," the one, as its name indicates, is the fall of the river cain, and the other is the fall of the camlan, less broad, less precipitous, at the first glance less impressive, than its more renowned rival, but quite wonderfully beautiful in its surroundings, its rocks and woodlands, its dual leap, and many windings, and numerous tumbling streams. says a welsh proverb: "there is only one prettier walk in wales than the road from dolgelley to barmouth. it is the road from barmouth to dolgelley." the adjective is ill-chosen. not prettiness, but a calm majesty, is the characteristic of the rich scenery of the valley of the mawddach. when the tide is up, the river between penmaenpool and barmouth is like a chain of lakes among bold and craggy heights, sloping brown moorlands, and terraced woods. one is reminded sometimes of switzerland and sometimes of the rhine. it is advisable to ascend the river, as wordsworth did, in a boat. the poet was at barmouth in , when he rowed up "the sublime estuary, which may compare with the finest in scotland." one is always driven back upon these comparisons. the estuary of the mawddach arouses sensations of strangeness and unexpectedness. even amid the grandeur and the beauty of north wales, it seems to belong to some other country, and almost to a land of dreams. it may have been some recollection of rowing upwards towards penmaenpool that inspired the first and greatest of the lake poets with two of his most splendid lines:-- "i hear the echoes through the mountains throng; the winds come to me from the fields of sleep." and the scenery here is everything. there is little history to engage the mind. one merely shudders at the story of how, in what are now the grounds of nannau house, owen glendower fought with his cousin, howel selé, slew him, and hid the body in a hollow tree. the abbot of cymmer is credited with having brought about the meeting, in the hope that the two kinsmen might be reconciled; but who knows anything about the abbot of cymmer? so much of the abbey as remains is mixed up with farm buildings, amid beautiful sylvan scenery, about two miles from dolgelley, and near to the banks of the mawddach. griffith and meredydd, lords of merioneth and grandsons of owain gwynedd, prince of north wales, founded the abbey in . the architecture suggests irish influences, and an irishman by whom such influence is likely to have been exercised is known to have emigrated to wales at about the time of the foundation. the monks were of the cistercian order, and the abbey was dedicated to st. mary. the ruins of the church are the principal portion of what now remains. the abbot's lodgings and part of the refectory have been incorporated into the present farmhouse. the emissaries of henry viii. penetrated even to this remote spot, and so the abbey was despoiled. barmouth, which, in welsh, is abermaw, or the mouth of the mawddach, is built in strange fashion about the foot of a mountain which is surpassingly noble in its contour. some of the houses cling high up among the perilous slopes. in one direction they look out to sea, and in the other across the "sublime estuary" at its widest part. the rich, glowing woods of arthog climb up the opposite slopes, with the side of cader idris rising like a vast cliff above their topmost branches. the little town, with its tremendous background of rugged mountain, has been likened to gibraltar. the oldest of its dwellings is alleged to date back to the reign of henry vii. for us of to-day the place has the interest of having been selected as the earliest of the settlements of mr. ruskin's guild of st. george. "i have just been over to barmouth," the master wrote many a year ago, "to see the tenants on the first bit of ground--noble crystalline rock, i am glad to say--possessed by st. george on the island." grandly impracticable was the idea of settling a community of this kind in such a place, and one looks at the small cottages, high on the hillside, with a feeling that they are a stray and stranded fragment of utopia. it is a bare, ordinary-looking town, this barmouth, when surveyed from the level of its lower streets; but there is an unapproachable dignity, beauty, and charm in the wide, level stretch of sand and water which lies between here and arthog, which winds inland among the brown mountain-slopes, which broadens outward to cardigan bay. the bridge is a curious and useful rather than a pleasant feature of the landscape. it carries a railway that branches off to dolgelley on the one hand, and to glandovey and south wales on the other. fortunately, it lies low down, and close to the water, as it were, its central portion being occasionally raised for the admission of ships, of a tonnage, however, that is marvellously small. from its further side, where the sand has gathered into hillocks, crowned by long, waving, rank grass, the town of barmouth, with its vast hill of craig abermaw, brings into mind the castle of chillon and its surroundings. it seemed poor and common enough, away there on the other side of the bridge; but from this point it is graceful, noble, almost sublime. * * * * * the grand castle of harlech looks out on to the waters about midway in that waste of shore which divides barmouth from portmadoc. the castle has long been a ruin, but, all things considered, it has been magnificently preserved. it had the fortune to escape the dismantling which was so nearly universal during the civil wars. later times have been less considerate, for many of the houses roundabout have been built from the stone and timber of the fortress; yet, looking at it from a distance, the place still seems to be intact, and grandly formidable in its strength and its situation. from portmadoc it is the principal feature of the landscape as the eye sweeps round the fine curve of the bay. the interest of portmadoc itself lies in the incomparable view of the snowdon range which is to be obtained therefrom, and in a curious association with shelley. a huge alluvial plain, the traeth mawr, or great sand, sheltered by an irregular semicircle of hills, makes an impressive foreground. here one might expect to hear tales of that prince madoc who is alleged to have preceded columbus, by a huge interval, in the discovery of america; but portmadoc, with its long, low line of railway across the traeth bach, its small schooners laden with slate, its rows of houses struggling about the hillside, its active industry, its bridges and quays, is a town of quite modern date, its history extending backward only to the end of the last century, and its name being derived, not from the adventurous prince whom southey has made the subject of an epic, but from an energetic mr. maddocks, who reclaimed , acres of good land from the sea, and carried a mile-long mole of stone across the great estuary into which the little river glaslyn flows. portions of portmadoc are at this day some two or three feet below the sea-level. one may obtain from here one of the best views of snowdon; and on the south side of the valley, over which his shadow seems to be cast, the cynicht--the matterhorn of wales, as it has been called--rises up in noble and entrancing proportions. hence, too, come into impressive prominence the green and grassy sides of moel wyn. a walk of a few miles would bring us to beddgelert, or to the lovely pass of aberglaslyn, with its unforgettable admixture of mountain and of sylvan scenery; or, by climbing the hill at our back, we may come within sight of tremadoc, and the house in which the poet shelley alleged that he was assailed by a mysterious and murderous visitant. into the traeth bach, which is an unreclaimed extension of the traeth mawr, pours down the stream which accompanies the traveller on the "baby railway" from the heights of blaenau festiniog. westward lie criccieth and pwllheli, and the sharp bend of the lleyn peninsula, and bardsey island and its lighthouse, round which one may sail into carnarvon bay. [illustration: the estuary, barmouth.] rivers of north wales. chapter ii. the seiont, the ogwen, the conway. the /seiont/: llanberis pass--lakes peris and padarn--dolbadarn castle and ceunant mawr--carnarvon and its castle. the /ogwen/: llyn ogwen and llyn idwal--bethesda--penrhyn castle. the /llugwy/: capel curig--moel siabod--pont-y-cyfing--swallow falls--the miners' bridge--bettws-y-coed. the /lledr/: dolwyddelen--pont-y-pant. the /machno/ and its fall. the /conway/: fairy glen--llanrwst--gwydir castle--llanbedr--trefriw--conway marsh--conway castle and town--deganwy--llandudno. the river /seiont/ is only about thirteen miles long. one seldom hears mention of its name, except by the trout-fisher, it may be. it is treated, in general, as of small account. and yet, surely it is one of the most distinguished rivers of north wales, for does it not drain the north-eastern side of snowdon, and flow through the pass of llanberis, and broaden out into llyn peris and llyn padarn, and finally, after devious wanderings, and much merry tumbling among rocks, boulders, and little reedy islets, culminate in a port, with the great castle of carnarvon guarding its exit into the strait across which one looks to the lovely island of anglesea? but if few speak of the seiont, there has been unlimited eloquence concerning the grandeur--what the descriptive writers of the last century would have considered the awfulness--of the llanberis pass. the point of view has changed whilst the century has been passing away. where our great-grandfathers spoke of "horrid scenes" we find nowadays glory of colour, and magnificence of form, and all the finer characteristics of mountain beauty. but something, after all, is to be said from the point of view of our great-grandfathers. we travel through the pass of llanberis by coach on good and safe roads, and they ventured, perforce, along "a horse-path so rugged that much of it was like going up and down rough stone stairs." it was between the two lakes peris and padarn, and at the new village of llanberis, that the late poet laureate foregathered, in his youth, with his friend leonard, who sang of "all the cycle of the golden year":-- "we crost between the lakes, and clambered half-way up the counter side.... ... and high above, i heard them blast the steep slate quarry, and the great echo flap and buffet round the hill from bluff to bluff." the first recorded ascent of snowdon seems to have been made from the same spot in . "at daybreak on the rd of august," says the seventeenth-century mountaineer, "having mounted our horses, we proceeded to the british alps." after the mountains, dolbadarn castle and ceunant mawr--the waterfall of the great chasm--are the principal attractions of llanberis. the cataract is upwards of feet in height. it tumbles over a few ledges, rushes down a wide slope, and falls into a pool below. the castle is singularly well placed for picturesque effect. the one tower now remaining occupies the whole of the surface of a rocky eminence, which presents a precipitous front to the lake, and has a marvellous background of high-peaked mountains. often enough it can be seen only through mists, or driving sheets of rain, for llanberis seems to be the home of the rain-cloud and the cradle of the storm. an unspeakable lumber of waste slates stretches out into the lakes as we proceed downwards, but does not interfere with the splendid view of snowdon which is to be obtained at the point where the seiont leaves llyn padarn. wooded cliffs and heathery crags, and peeps of wild moorland, and rugged country that is redeemed from desolateness by frequent white cottages, make fine pictures for us as we proceed down the river towards carnarvon. here and there the stream is divided by great masses of stone, past which it races in order to drive some watermill, half hidden in leaves. there are reedy pools, in which a wild swan may occasionally be seen, and then willowy marshes; and so, bending this way and that, now bursting into the open sunlight, and then plunging into woodland shade, and always noisy and impetuous, the little river hastens on until it joins the tide, issuing into the menai strait between the grimly beautiful walls of carnarvon castle and a wooded bank. only as to its interior can the castle now be properly described as a ruin. restoration has here taken the form of rebuilding, and this proud stronghold is now immeasurably more complete as to its outward appearance than it can have been when edward i. exhibited from its walls the prince who, having first seen the light only a few hours before, was "not only born in wales but could not speak a word of the english tongue." away from the castle and what remains of the walls, which, in appearance, still to some extent justify the ancient name of "the fort over against anglesea," the town of carnarvon is painfully modern; but what there is of it that is really old conveys the impression of mediævalism more completely than any other place in wales, except, perhaps, the old town of conway. the walls of the castle, with their numerous towers and turrets, rise up to a prodigious height above the quays, at which little coasting vessels with red sails and gay streaks of paint take in their cargoes of slates. the great gateway looking out seaward has a loftiness and a massiveness which cow the spirit. but the outlook hence becomes all the more beautiful by contrast with this castellated gloom. yonder is the isle of anglesea--the sacred island--shimmering through a sunlit mist, and the strait; with sandbanks visible here and there, and flocks of sea-birds soaring and dipping and screaming, is like a broad river, widening itself to its utmost until it becomes impossible to distinguish between river and sea. * * * * * at the head of the pass of nant francon, and behind the huge, dark, threatening shoulder of carnedd dafydd, llyn ogwen stretches along for about a mile or so, hemmed in at its further extremity by a low range of hills. in cumberland this lake would be called a tarn, as would also llyn idwal, a sort of miniature wastwater, which lodges in a hollow, among deep and gloomy precipices, a few hundred yards to the left. "this," wrote leland, "is a smoule poule, where they say that idwalle, prince of wales, was killed and drounid." "no human ear but dunawt's heard young idwal's dying scream," says the ballad in which the tradition is enshrined. the appearance of the place may well have suggested either the legend in modern or the crime in ancient days. in stormy weather the surroundings of the little lake are inconceivably wild and forbidding, and the wind swirls about in this hollow of the rocks until llyn idwal boils like a sea. [illustration: pass of llanberis (_p. _).] ogwen is a lake of gentler and more serene aspect. at its foot, under carnedd dafydd, where the coach-road crosses, its waters, with those from llyn idwal, form the falls of benglog, so well described by an older writer that his words shall be made to serve the purpose here. "the highest fall," observes bingley, "is grand and majestic, yet by no means equal to the other two. at the second, or middle, fall the river is precipitated, in a fine stream, through a chasm between two perpendicular rocks that each rise several yards above. the mountain, trivaen, fills up the wide space at the top, and forms a rude and sublime distance. the stream widens as it descends, and below passes over a slanting rock, which gives it a somewhat different direction. in the foreground is the rugged bed of a stream, and the water is seen to dash in various directions among broken masses of rock." at the lowest fall "the stream roars with great fury, and in one sheet of foam, down an unbroken and almost perpendicular rock. the roar of the water, and the broken and uncouth disposition of the surrounding rocks, add greatly to the interest of the scene." and from these falls of benglog one looks down the wide, treeless vale of nant francon, a broad, peaty marsh, the bed of some ancient lake, as it would appear, hemmed in by dark ridges of mountains. [illustration: carnarvon castle (_p. _).] throughout the whole length of nant francon the river /ogwen/ is a thin, quiet, winding, silvery stream, unsheltered by bush or tree; but as it approaches the bethesda slate quarries it is shadowed by its first foliage, that seems designed to hide from it the gigantic outrage on which was built the scattered and rather extensive town of bethesda, and which has made lord penrhyn one of the wealthiest members of the house of lords. below the fine bridge leading to the quarries the river is lost among deep woods; but, pursuing it further, one comes most unexpectedly on a long and romantic series of cascades, continuing until the ogwen is lost to sight in a deep hollow filled with mist and foam. the river has a beautiful and picturesque bend as it passes behind the cottages of bethesda, a mile or so lower down, and thenceforward it becomes a river something like the llugwy in appearance, tumbling over short cataracts, or wandering deep among woods, or emerging now and again amid pleasant green spaces, its banks shaded by overhanging trees. [illustration: the swallow falls (_p. _).] as carnedd dafydd, and its twin, llewelyn, are left behind there comes in sight the steep side and dark, rounded summit of penmaenmawr, and then, on an opposite and less conspicuous eminence, looking over bangor and the menai strait, and surrounded by woods in which the ogwen is for a while completely hidden, rises penrhyn castle, the seat of lord penrhyn, with one great square, turreted tower dominating all the country roundabout. henceforth the river is little seen until it flows out, through a deep ravine, on to the broad, sandy flats which stretch from bangor to beaumaris, its short, swift, troubled life ending thus in sunlit peace. the steep mountain-sides which hem in lake ogwen at its foot are so black, bare, rugged, and forbidding, as to suggest the skeleton of an unfinished world. a kindlier scenery opens out beyond the head of the lake, where the river /llugwy/--the first of the tributaries of the conway which have now to be noticed--after wandering downwards from a small mountain tarn under the shadow of carnedd llewelyn, runs through a wild and fine pass to capel curig. the valley is hemmed in by the great mountains, and to the south rise the three peaks of y tryfan, with the glyder-fach in the hollow to its left. at capel curig, where is pont-y-garth, the llugwy is an inconspicuous stream, but it grows wider, and its valley becomes very beautiful, immediately after leaving that place, when it is joined by the waters from the two small lakes which make the best of all the foregrounds to snowdon. here is "a region of fairy beauty and of wild grandeur," as george borrow says. moel siabod, "a mighty mountain, bare and precipitous, with two peaks like those of pindus, opposite janina," here hides its sternness amid woods of oak and fir. above the lakes, all the peaks of snowdon are in sight--y wyddfa, which is the summit; lliwedd, "the triple-crested"; craggy crib-goch, advancing itself before the rest; and crib-y-ddysgyl. to the right of the valley, which has moel siabod on its left, there is a curving range of rocky heights, their harshness softened by bracken and dwarf shrubs, and beyond, and high above, is the stony wilderness of the glyder-fach. afon llugwy--_afon_ being the pretty welsh word for "river"--flows through one of the most beautiful of all pastoral valleys on its way from capel curig to the swallow falls. every bend of the stream, every green, shady pool, every long stretch of rock impeded water has appeared again and again on the walls of the great picture exhibitions; for there is no river of wales which is so much haunted by artists as this which we are now following to its junction with the conway. at pont-y-cyfing--a modern bridge of a single tall arch--the river plunges through riven cliffs, boils round enormous masses of rock, and then tumbles over a bold cascade, to recover its quiet almost immediately; but only to be again driven into turbulence where a pretty rustic bridge strides across, to give unimpeded view of a succession of rapids above and below. the llugwy dreams along through pleasant meadows and by quiet woods before it comes to the famous rhaiadr-y-wennol (the waterfall of the swallow). whence, one is driven to ask, comes such a name as this? the easy and the usual reply is that these are called swallow falls because of the swiftness with which the water descends. but all waterfalls are swift. the correct answer to the question suggests itself, as one continues to gaze, through a mist of fine spray, when the river comes down in an autumn flood. the ears deafened by the rush of the cataract, the eyes dazzled and fascinated by the breadth and the mass of the falling waters, a dim sense of something white, with black streaks here and there, overpowers all other impressions. as the river sweeps downward over the higher fall, it is broken and divided by dark pillars of rock. yes, that is the idea, certainly. what these falls suggested to the ancient inhabitants of wales, to those who gave its name to the rhaiadr-y-wennol, was the swift alternation between the white gleam of the swallow's breast and the dark shadow of its wings, as it darted to and fro between river and sky. george borrow has a concise, vivid, and fairly correct description of the falls, which may be quoted here because it is impossible to put the matter in fewer words. "first," he says, "there are a number of little foaming torrents, bursting through rocks about twenty yards above the promontory on which i stood; then come two beautiful rolls of white water, dashing into a pool a little above the promontory; then there is a swirl of water round its corner into a pool below, black as death, and seemingly of great depth; then a rush through a very narrow outlet into another pool, from which the water clamours away down the glen." [illustration: miners' bridge, bettws-y-coed (_p. _).] we have had the last sight of the mountains for a while when we enter the little, rock-poised wood from which the swallow falls are to be seen. the grand, solitary mass of moel siabod lies behind us, one grey, far-away peak of snowdon exhibiting itself over the lowermost slope. henceforth, almost to bettws-y-coed, the course of the llugwy is through a deep, rocky, and finely-wooded glen. it is matlock on a more magnificent scale. it is the high tor repeating itself again and again, in greater grandeur of scale, and with additional beauty of surroundings. wild nature is here clothed and softened by luxuriant foliage, which towers up to the heights. the bare rock is visible only where the river courses through the deep woods, which are to be seen to most advantage from the miners' bridge, slanting far upward across the river to the opposite slope--a bridge of rough sections of tree trunk bound together, with a hand-rail of long boughs for security--a bridge erected in an emergency, and for a temporary purpose, as one might guess; a bridge of perilous slope, which has done good service to more than one generation of miners, climbing up the hillside to their daily toil. [illustration: _photo: i. slater, llandudno._ moel siabod, from the llugwy (_p. _).] of bettws-y-coed--"the bede house in the wood"--so much is known that little needs in this place to be said. here is pont-y-pair, and a scene which painting has made more familiar than almost any other in these islands. the bridge has been associated with the name of inigo jones, but at least the base of the structure dates back to the fifteenth century, being the work of a mason who must also have been a fine architect, and who died, as it seems, before his work was complete. it has four lofty arches, about which an ancient and gnarled ivy clings. below, when the water is quiet, one may see the trout dashing about amid the pools. the river-bed is riven and torn, and full of craggy masses. a rocky islet, on which clusters a most picturesque group of fir trees, divides the accelerating waters, that now, after one final battle with obstructions, sweep sharply round a curve, and shortly join the conway. [illustration: pont-y-pair.] the valley of the /lledr/ always presents itself to this present writer's recollection as he beheld it first, at the end of a dry summer, when the eye feasted without weariness on glowing colour, and when every bend of the river opened up some piece of country which was like one of turner's glorious dreams. he saw it last on a day of drifting rain. and in wet or in dry seasons the lledr valley permits of no comparison between itself and any other. it is incomparable in its various beauty; it is unique in its power of attraction, in its way of producing a satisfying sense of something wholly individual and complete. high up towards blaenau festiniog it has little beauty; but before the stream reaches dolwyddelen castle the real lledr valley begins, and is thenceforward down to the junction with the conway a perpetually changing scene of loveliness. here again moel siabod, seen in a new aspect, but always striking in form and noble in proportions, seems to dominate the landscape. it may be seen from one impressive point with dolwyddelen castle in the middle distance. this ruin is the fragment of an ancient stronghold which derives all its present importance from the beauty of its situation. a single tower occupies the summit of a rocky knoll, and stands out clear against its misty mountain background. yet the castle was fairly large in its day, occupying the whole surface of the hill. here lived iorwerth drwyndwn, whose fortune in battle gained him his surname of "the broken nose"; and here, too, llewelyn the great is said to have been born. at a later day the castle became the residence of howel coetmor, a notorious outlaw and robber chief, who so harried his neighbours that they sat in church with weapons in their hands. a roman road crossed the lledr at the village of dolwyddelen, which is about a mile from the castle, and there are still distinct roman remains on the hill above the village. but let no one, on that account, meditate on the ruins of empires at the railway station which is called roman bridge, for the road crossed the river at quite another place, and the bridge is of an antiquity corresponding to that of the relic which was discovered by the credulous hero of sir walter scott's romance. the lledr wanders about its valley as if it were loth to leave. it makes huge loops and bends, almost knotting itself sometimes into what the sailors call "a figure of eight." the whole valley is a combination of wildness and fertility, of wide prospects and confined glimpses of sylvan beauty, of wooded hills and frowning crags and broken upland. in rainy weather innumerable foamy streams swell the lledr, until, in some portions of its course, it seems to make a series of lakes. the oldest bridge is pont-y-pant, not far from the entrance to the valley from the direction of bettws-y-coed. below this the stream hurries onwards through woods and meadow-land, under mighty bluffs which are wooded to their summits, and, issuing at length from its rocky barriers, adds to the conway a volume of water that is equal to its own. the river /machno/ falls into the conway a mile or two beyond its junction with the lledr. it is a short river, drawing to itself a number of little mountain streams, and its principal feature--but that is of the first importance from the tourist point of view--round which painters of landscape seem to encamp themselves all the year through, the falls of the machno, combines every element of what one may call the ordinary picturesque. the river foams among crags and boulders, and between rocky ledges, from which the trees hang dizzily, casting deep shadows across the stream, and making green reflections in each swirling pool. then, too, there is pandy mill, making a sunshine in the shady place, and a mill-wheel with a tumbling jet of water; and nature seems to have lavished all its softer endearments on this exquisite little scene, delighting the eye with tender arrangements of moss and film-fern, and lichen and hoar boughs. [illustration: _photo: green bros., grasmere._ on the lledr.] not far below this pretty landscape cameo are the falls of the conway, where the river rushes on through a gorge of dark, sloping, almost columnar rocks, and then--divided by a tall crag, on which one or two small bushes have contrived to grow--bends and plunges down two steep descents to where a half-ruinous salmon leap brings to mind the eminence of the conway as a fishing river. and next, the fairy glen! this is a genuine ravine, where the stream forces itself between riven cliffs, and flows in deep, rapid streaks of peaty-brown water among a wilderness of grey rocks, plunging downward, thereafter, into a wild glen overhung by woods. the name of the fairy glen would seem inappropriate enough to such a scene were it not that here, again, nature has thrown all manner of rustic decorations about this frowning gorge. the sunlight, too, seems to fill the place in a strange, mystic way, so that the lichen-encrusted rocks are seen through a kind of blue, misty glamour, and there is a suggestion of rainbow colour over all. [illustration: another view in the lledr valley.] from the road high above the fairy glen there is a fine prospect of the mountains. moel siabod seems to have come nearer, and the far distance is closed in by the glyders, tryfan, and the carnedd llewelyn range. down in the valley is the llyn-yr-afanc, or the beaver's pool, and nearer to bettws-y-coed the river is crossed by the fine span of the iron bridge which was built in the year of the battle of waterloo. the /conway/ has no particular attractiveness as it passes bettws, where david cox's famous signboard may still be seen at the royal oak hotel. it has here a green margin of meadow-land, which grows broader as we proceed towards llanrwst, a sweetly-placed little market town, to which small vessels seem to have made their way in the last century, for a sailor who penned a diary in wrote how "llanrwst is situated in a very deep bottom on the river conway, betwixt denbigh hills and carnarvon rocks, some of which appear to hang over the town. nevertheless, we found a much better anchorage than we could have expected at such a bottom." [illustration: fairy glen, bettws-y-coed.] this sailor was an observing man, for he continues:--"llanrwst is a small market-town, containing one church, a market-hall, as they call it, and about fifty or sixty houses, but never a good house among the whole lot." there are some good houses nowadays, however, and a fine stone bridge of three arches, with a peculiarly high and graceful spring. here, again, the design is attributed to inigo jones, as, perhaps, ought to be the case in the immediate country of that renowned architect. gwydir castle, the family mansion of the wynns, is a conspicuous object among the woods which here cluster under the feet of the craggy carnarvonshire hills. it has now passed, through the hands of the earl of ancaster, whose forbears married with the wynn family, into the possession of the earl carrington. the founder of the castle was sir john wynn of gwydir, who represented carnarvonshire in parliament in , and whose soul is said to be imprisoned under the swallow falls, "there to be punished, purged, spouted upon, and purified from the foul deeds done in his days of nature." a truly tremendous malediction! some traces of the sixteenth-century building still remain, but the present castle belongs to our own century, though it contains carved work of the reigns of elizabeth and james. at llanbedr, on the hills above the llanrwst road, may be found one of the most remarkable primitive fortifications that are to be seen anywhere in these islands, pen-caer-helen by name. "it was a british post of great strength," says pennant, "in some parts singularly guarded. it had the usual fosses, and vast ramparts of stones, with some remains of the facing of walls, and the foundations of three or four round buildings." the remains are still very extensive, and clearly indicate the extent of the ancient stone ramparts. it was a post from which a very great extent of country could be surveyed. in one direction you look over the conway and the denbighshire hills, as far as the valley of the clwyd; in another, the eye stretches over a barren waste to the carnedd llewelyn range. the great and the little orme are in sight, and puffin island, and the sea. [illustration: on the conway.] the conway is still navigable by small vessels as far as trefriw, a pretty village of small houses and neat villas, clustering under the hill, and close to the coach road. trefriw is renowned not only for its situation, but for its "fairy falls," and its "spa," which, says mr. halliwell-phillips, yields "the nastiest chalybeate i ever had the folly to taste." for some distance below trefriw, the river, now broader and much more deep, runs for a while between great masses of tall reeds and sedge, and then opens out into a lake-like width, with such a prospect of spreading water, and woods and mountain, as recalls the characteristic beauties of windermere. very delightful indeed is a voyage in the little steamer which plies between deganwy, conway, and trefriw; but it is at conway marsh that the river is at its noblest. when the tide is out, this is a broad, sweeping, sandy bay, with oozy spaces of bright green towards its centre; and when the tide is full, it has the appearance of a large and beautiful islanded lake. the river is walled in on the conway side, and a thick wood shadows the stream as it bends round towards the sea. it is here that one of the most effective views of conway castle comes into sight, with the two white bridges stretching over the narrowing channel, and the great circular towers clustering together in such manner as to convey a most formidable impression of massiveness and strength. one naturally compares conway with carnarvon castle. the two buildings are said to have been designed by the same architect, and, of their kind, they are among the finest in the world. carnarvon castle is more elaborated in idea, more ingenious, more decorative, and in general aspect more grand; but conway suggests a greater antiquity, a more solid strength, a sounder and more artistic unity of structure. it is a mere ruin, having been dismantled in . even before that period it seems to have been abandoned to time. there is a letter of james i.'s reign which says that "the king's castle of conway, in the county of carnarvon, is in great ruin and decay, whereof the greater part hath been downe and uninhabitable for manie ages past; the rest of the timber supporting the roof is all, or for the most part, rotten, and growth daylie by wet more and more in decay, no man having dwelt in anie part thereof these thirty years past." there is no roof at all now; the timbers are long consumed; the castle is gutted throughout; and yet, as seen from the conway river, the castle still has a certain august and complete majesty, as if time could do it no real despite. [illustration: _photo: i. slater, llandudno._ the conway, from conway castle.] conway castle, with the conway mountain, on which there is a british fort, towering up in the rear, held complete command of the estuary. it was an english, not a welsh, stronghold, being built by edward i., about . queen eleanor is said to have lived there with the king, and one of the towers has been named the "queen's" tower in memory of that event. the great hall, which was supported on vaults, was feet long by feet broad. the castle was besieged in by madoc, one of the sons of llewelyn, the english king himself being present on the occasion. a fleet bringing provisions saved the garrison just as it was being starved into surrender. when bolingbroke landed in england, and richard ii. found himself abandoned by his army, he fled here for safety, and at this castle, it is averred, was his abdication signed. conway town, sloping swiftly down to the riverside, and almost wholly enclosed within its many-towered walls, looks like a contemporary illustration of froissart. there is no other such perfect specimen of a small mediæval walled town now remaining. the fortifications climb up a steep hillside, in a triangular form--or rather, as has been said, so as to make the figure of a welsh harp. the highest point of the triangle is so far above the other portions of the walls that the whole has that quaint look of being out of perspective which is the most pronounced characteristic of all mediæval draughtsmanship. [illustration: conway castle.] across the water, and on the way to llandudno, the little town, or village, or city of deganwy half hides itself among the sands, just above the verge of what was formerly, and even up to recent times, a marsh stretching from opposite conway to llandudno bay. it was hereabout, but on the conway side of the river, that the pearl-fishing was carried on:-- "conway, which out of his streame doth send plenty of pearls to deck his dames withal"-- says spenser, in the "faërie queene." the pearl fishery had once a real importance. sir richard wynn of gwydir presented to the queen of charles ii. a conway pearl, which afterwards adorned the regal crown. this was probably of a kind that was found higher up the river, at trefriw. a more common variety was found in abundance on the bar, and the collection of the pearl-bearing mussels was for a long time a distinct and regular industry. "as for the pearls found in these mountainous rivers," said a letter-writer of the seventeenth century, "they are very plentiful, and uncommonly large, though few of them well coloured. they are found in a large, black muscle, peculiar to such rivers. several ladyes of this county and denbighshire have collections of good pearle, found chiefly in the river conway." deganwy, "the place where the white waves break upon the shore," was a royal residence from a very remote period. it had a castle, which is said to have been erected in the sixth century by maelgwyn gwynedd, and to have been destroyed by llewelyn the great, whose statue is to be seen in conway town. "it was a noble structure," says giraldus cambrensis, "and its possession was held to be of great importance to the english, so that randal blondevil, earl of chester, rebuilt it in . king john encamped at deganwy two years later, but was compelled to retreat with his army before llewelyn. there were other royal retreats from deganwy, before the fierce welsh, in , , and . there were "great ruines" of the castle in leland's time; but now it is with difficulty that any fragment is discerned. deganwy itself has become a watering-place, a small rival to llandudno, mainly attractive because it presents a magnificent view of the estuary of the conway, and of the fine range of mountains which ends in penmaenmawr." llandudno, for the most part, occupies the flat and formerly marshy space between the great and the little orme. it is altogether a favourable type of the modern watering-place; but it need not detain us here, for we have reached the point at which the river broadens out into conway bay, and is lost among the in-rushing waves of the irish sea. [illustration: the bridge, from conway castle.] rivers of north wales. chapter iii. the clwyd and the dee. the /clwyd/: rhyl--rhuddlan castle--the elwy--a welsh gretna green--st. asaph--denbigh--ruthin. the /dee/: bala lake--corwen--vale of llangollen and valle crucis abbey--dinas bran--the ceiriog--chirk castle and wynnstay--the alyn--eaton hall--chester--flint. the town of rhyl is like a piece of liverpool or manchester, "borne, like loretto's chapel, through the air," and arranged in long terraces and orderly blocks on a piece of flat coast-land near the mouth of the river /clwyd/. the place has been much praised by a grandiloquent writer who, in the very height of his rapture, had to admit that "the great object of attraction was the sun setting in a flood of golden beauty on his evening throne." it is a spectacle that may be observed elsewhere. the virtue of rhyl is that it is easily accessible from large centres of population, that it enjoys pure and bracing air, that it has a vast expanse of firm sands, that the great orme and the penmaenmawr range look very noble and beautiful from its broad promenade, and that the soft winds blow towards it from the pleasant vale of clwyd. but in the immediate neighbourhood of rhyl even the famous vale has no attractiveness. the bare river flows through bare mud. this enormously wide valley is, for the most part, a soft, dark marsh, on which a thin vegetation struggles to maintain a dank existence. but even from rhyl there are agreeable views of what the welsh call dyffryn clwyd, the vale of the flat, "the eden of wales." three miles away, over an absolutely level and barren space, the wooded knolls and the dark towers of rhuddlan advance almost to the centre of the valley, and have a fine impressiveness when they are thrown into relief by the shadow of some passing cloud. the clwydian hills seem to close in behind them, with moel fammau in the remote distance. the old poet, thomas churchyard, says: "the vale doth reach so far in view of man as he far of may see the seas, indeede; and who awhile for pleasure travel can throughout this vale, and thereof take good heede, he shall delight to see a soyle so fine, for ground and grass a passing plot devine; and if the truth thereof a man may tell, this vale alone doth all the rest excell." however, it is not until after rhuddlan has been passed that the great fertility of the vale of clwyd declares itself, and to pass rhuddlan is impossible without some examination, and without some ransacking of one's historical memory; for poor and unimportant as it now seems, this little place has played a great part in the history of wales. [illustration: view from rhuddlan castle.] [illustration: rhuddlan castle.] a long bridge of several arches stretches over from the high road which crosses the marsh, to a steep, firm ascent, a little church with a square tower, and a few small cottages. other cottages, mostly set amid neat gardens, border on the curves of what is more like a country lane than a village. then suddenly, for it has been hidden by trees, one comes face to face with the colossal fragments of what must have been a nearly impregnable castle, poised on the summit of a bare, rounded hill, its huge towers buried in ivy, its outer walls sloping down to the clwyd, and to an outer tower which has long been half in ruins, but which is so strongly built that it may still, for centuries to come, defy the malice of time. on the partially reclaimed morass on the further side of the river, where a herd of black welsh cows is grazing, the saxons under offa, king of mercia, fought a great battle with the welsh, under caradoc, prince of wales, in . caradoc and many of his principal chieftains were slain. the well-known air of "morva rhuddlan" commemorates the event, and the native poet sings, not without sweetness and pathos: "i seek the warrior's lowly bed on rhuddlan's marsh; but cannot trace a vestige of the noble dead, or aught to mark their resting place. green rush and reeds are all that grace the graves of those in fight who fell, for freedom--for their land and race, oh fatal field! farewell, farewell!" where rhuddlan castle stands there was a fortress so early as , and it was taken by harold godwinson, in edward the confessor's time. baldwin, archbishop of canterbury, rested at rhuddlan in , when he was preaching a crusade. edward i. took rhuddlan castle in , and here it was that his son, recently born at carnarvon, was proclaimed prince of wales. edward made the place his grand depôt for arms and provisions, and his principal residence whilst he was engaged in the conquest of wales. it was to rhuddlan, too, that llewelyn consented to repair to take the oath of fealty. the castle passed into the hands of the black prince in the reign of edward iii. richard ii. was here held in honourable captivity after his return from his expedition to ireland. the forces of the parliament unsuccessfully besieged the place in , but captured it a year later, when it was ordered to be dismantled, and the long, troubled chapter of its history was finally closed. the sea comes up to rhuddlan, which, indeed, has some slight pretensions as a port; then, with flat meadows on one side and low-hanging woods on the other, the clwyd bends about, this way and that, until, before long, it is joined by the river /elwy/, which, as it is a pretty river to follow, and takes us to st. asaph, we shall, for a while, keep company. the elwy is a merry, romantic, shaded stream, with abundant trout. it is fringed by willow and hazel copse. sometimes it is wholly lost in foliage, except for a silvery gleam among the leaves; sometimes it comes out into the sunlight, and flows by shingly holms and muddy flats. a peaceful, rich, pastoral country is that through which it courses merrily on its way, with here and there groups of cattle huddling under the hedges for coolness and shade. the water is stained brown with peat, telling of its birth on mountain slopes. below ffynnon fair, seated on the brow of a hill, it receives the waters of a holy well, once sheltered by shrine work, and a place of pilgrimage, as the ivy-clad ruins of a cruciform chapel still declare. and this chapel was also the gretna green of wales, a place for the marriage of runaway couples, as this ancient record shows:--" . mem.: thatt upon frydaye, at night, happening upon vij. day of februarie, one pyers griffith ab inn gryfydd, my brother in lawe, was married clandestinely with one jane rch thomas hys second wieff at the chapel at wicwer called capel fynnon fair." the elwy loses the shadow of its willows and hazels a mile or so below st. asaph, which is five miles upwards from rhyl. winding among deep banks of rich soil, it makes the necessary part of a pretty picture when, flowing under a fine stone bridge of five arches, it forms a foreground for one of the smallest cities, crowned by the smallest cathedral, in all these islands. st. asaph may be satisfactorily explored in half an hour's time. it spreads itself over a hill, which is called bryn paulen, after some legendary paulinus, a roman general. the cathedral, which is no more than an average-sized church, is the central and highest object. st. kentigern is said to have built a church of wood on the site about the middle of the sixth century, when he was driven from scotland by a prince who declined to be won from paganism. st. asaph, who was a native of wales, succeeded as bishop when kentigern returned to scotland. he built a church of stone, in which he was buried in . for five hundred years the see has no dependable history; but in the period of the civil wars there was a cathedral in which horses and oxen were stabled, and a see whose revenues were sequestrated by parliament. the building was restored, when charles ii. came to the throne, by bishop griffith, and a bishop's palace was erected by his successor, who was none other than the learned isaac barrow. the cathedral of st. asaph contains the tomb of this distinguished prelate, and a monument to mrs. hemans, who spent a large portion of her life in the vale of clwyd, as readers of her poems may easily discover. in front of the cathedral stands a tall red-sandstone monument, erected in memory of bishop morgan, the first translator of the bible into the language of wales. from a couple of miles above st. asaph to the meeting of the waters above rhuddlan, the clwyd and the elwy pursue an almost parallel course, the elwy in long bends and sweeps, the clwyd with almost infinite small windings. to that point their streams have been almost at right angles to each other, the elwy rising not far from the hills above llanrwst, overlooking the conway valley, the clwyd flowing down by ruthin and denbigh, a thin thread of water, except in very rainy seasons, with its course worn so deep, after the lapse of ages, into the rich, yielding soil, that it is sometimes scarcely to be discerned as a feature in the landscape. denbigh, say the etymologists, hazarding a guess, means "a small hill." in that case, the older designation, caledfryn-yn-rhos ("a rocky hill in rhos"), was much more appropriate, for the town ascends by one long street to heights that appear mountainous to the tired pedestrian; and from denbigh castle, the ruins of which occupy the summit of this "small hill," the land slopes off suddenly to an immense depth of rich pastoral landscape, enclosed in a basin of lofty but graciously rounded hills. like carnarvon, denbigh castle is to some extent being rebuilt; but it is immeasurably a more hopeless sort of ruin. it was dismantled by order of charles ii., and the work seems to have been thoroughly accomplished, for the walls were of great strength, and it must have been a very determined act of destruction that reduced them to such fragments as now remain. here, within the actual walls of the castle, but in a cottage that has now been destroyed, was henry m. stanley born. the special distinction of denbigh, however, is that it was the last castle which held out for charles i. it was, indeed, only surrendered at the king's own order, dated from newcastle, when charles was himself a prisoner there. [illustration: st. asaph (_p. _).] eight miles further on is ruthin, which is another town that clusters about the summit of a hill. the castle here, which has been restored, and is still inhabited, was in existence in the reign of edward i., and how much earlier is not known. we are now in the richest and most fertile portion of the vale of clwyd, with its highest mountain not far away. to the summit of moel fammau, , feet above the level of the sea, is only five miles. the mountain is crowned by the ugly ruin of a tower which was erected at the jubilee of george iii. hence may be seen the valleys of the dee and the mersey, and, by aid of a telescope, the coasts of lancashire and cheshire. looking down the vale of clwyd, the eye ranges over a landscape that is dotted about with farmhouses and herds of kine; the white, tapering tower of bodelwyddan church rises high above its trees, and rhyl, llandudno, and great orme's head stand out clearly on the sea margin far away. at a greater distance, and in another direction, one may behold snowdon and cader idris, with their summits buried in brooding clouds. * * * * * the river dee rises in a country which has been immemorially associated with the arthurian legends. here, indeed, was the infant king committed to the care of old timon, and here his boyhood was spent-- "in a valley green, under the foot of rauran mossy hore, from whence the river dee, as silver clene, his tombling billows rolls with gentle rore." so says spenser, using a phrase which may have been in shakespeare's mind when he made bottom promise to "roar you as gently as any sucking-dove." almost beyond counting are the streams which empty themselves into bala lake, high up among the peaks of merionethshire. and they scarcely run dry in the hottest summers, for, as a cynical humorist has written-- "the weather depends on the moon as a rule, and i've found that the saying is true; for at bala it rains when the moon's at the full and it rains when the moon's at the new. "when the moon's at the quarter, then down comes the rain: at the half it's no better, i ween; when the moon's at three-quarters it's at it again, and it rains, besides, mostly between!" the dee is said to flow through the lake without mingling its waters--a tradition that may be gently set aside. it rises on the flank of aran benllyn, and already receives two tributaries before it joins bala lake at its head. at llanuwchllyn, near to the spot at which the three little streams become one, it has grown important enough to be crossed by a rude stone bridge of two arches. [illustration: _photo: catherall & pritchard, eastgate row, chester._ denbigh (_p. _).] drayton speaks of bala lake as pimblemere. that is a name signifying "the lake of the five parishes." llyn tegid, the lake of beauty, is the favourite welsh designation. and a very beautiful lake it is, though with less majesty of surroundings than one would expect to find at such a height, in such a country, where, as george borrow says, everything is "too grand for melancholy." it was the largest sheet of water in wales until lake vyrnwy was made, its length being about four and a half miles by about a mile in average breadth. in the welsh mind it has filled so large a place that there is a tradition of how the bursting of the banks of bala lake caused the deluge. a feature that has always attracted much attention is the influence of a south-west wind in driving its waters outward into the dee. thus, for example, writes tennyson, speaking of enid's nursing of geraint:-- "her constant motion round him, and the breath of her sweet tendence hovering over him, filled all the genial courses of his blood with deeper and with ever deeper love, as the south-west, that blowing bala lake, fills all the sacred dee." a sacred character has been associated with the dee from the very earliest times. it was "holy" to the druids; it was a "wizard stream" to milton; drayton speaks of where "dee's holiness begun," and credits it with presaging woe to the english or the welsh according as, in one portion of its course, it shifted the bed of its stream. the dee is a mountain-river from bala downwards, and until llangollen has been passed. its outlet from the lake is through a quaint, many-arched stone bridge--a bridge, as coleridge might have said, "with a circumbendibus." the railway runs close at hand for almost the whole of its course, which, for the present, lies through what is the peculiar country of owen glendower. we have encountered traces of this valiant chieftain at machynlleth, dolgelley, and almost everywhere that we have been; but here, at corwen and roundabout, the country fairly reeks with his memory. the dee is a fair, wide river when it leaves bala lake, and flows for a while through open meadow lands, to plunge before long and with great suddenness into a beautiful mountain gorge, where it is overhung by trees. at the delightful village of llandderfel it is crossed by another picturesque bridge, set among rocky hills which teem with wild legends, and shortly thereafter it flows once more among wide, open spaces, bare, bleak, and harried by the winds. the vale of edeyrnion is the name of the country through which we have just passed, and this valley, in which the character of the scenery changes so conspicuously and so often, comes to an end just before the town of corwen is reached. grey, slaty, nestling among trees and wooded heights, with a slate quarry prominent in the foreground, with many odd, old-fashioned, solid-looking houses, corwen has a church dedicated to mael and sulien, saints unknown to the english calendar. of sulien it is said that he was "the godliest man and greatest clerke in all wales." on a stone in the churchyard is shown "the true mark of owen glendower's dagger," which weapon he threw from a rock behind the church, thus doing something more to surround his life with legend. there was another owen whom the corwen folk hold in loving remembrance--that owen gwynedd, prince of wales, who opposed himself to henry ii., and who made so strong an encampment near the town that there were vestiges of it remaining in pennant's time. [illustration: _photo: carl norman & co., tunbridge wells._ bala lake.] [illustration: valle crucis abbey.] there is an exquisite view of the dee from what is known as owen glendower's mound. the surrounding country is comparatively open; but the river is again, before long, lost in a narrowing valley and among rich woods. and by this time we have come into the region of modern achievement. the valley of the dee is now to be seen to most advantage from telford's road, which brings us to more than one of the seven wonders of wales, and first of all to the glorious vale of llangollen. george borrow has too much limited the scope and range of this glorious valley. "the northern side of the vale," he says, "is formed by certain enormous rocks called the eglwyseg rocks, which extend from east to west, a distance of about two miles. the southern side is formed by the berwyn hills." here, says mr. ruskin, speaking from a wide observation, "is some of the loveliest brook and glen scenery in the world." the remains of valle crucis give a special human interest to a district that is wonderfully full of beauty and charm. it was a cistercian house, much smaller than the other famous abbeys of the same order, but resembling them in certain high architectural qualities, as well as in the seclusiveness of its situation. the abbey was founded by madoc, lord of bromfield, in the time of king john, in what was, even at that time, called the valley of the cross, in virtue of the mysterious "eliseg's pillar," which is still a puzzle to the antiquary. the ruins lie among steep hills-- "for when one hill behind your backe you see, another comes, two times as high as dee," as thomas churchyard sings. the main tower of the abbey appears to have been standing in the days of this poet; but now nothing remains but its piers. the pointed gables on the eastern and western ends of the church are, however, conspicuous objects still. the abbey is believed to have been at the point of highest prosperity in the time of owen glendower. henry viii. employed the abbot to draw out a welsh pedigree for him, which was, no doubt, as faithfully done as circumstances would allow. two later abbots became bishops of st. asaph. and then followed the dissolution, with all its waste and ruin. [illustration: llangollen.] the bridge of llangollen is enumerated among the "seven wonders of wales," four of which belong to the valley of the dee. it scarcely seems to deserve this particular renown, though it is a very excellent specimen of a mediæval bridge, its builder being john trevor, bishop of st. asaph, who completed his work in . the dee at this point flows over a solid bed of rock, or, as churchyard says: "and still on rocke the water runnes, you see, a wondrous way--a thing full rare and strange, that rocke can not the course of waters change; for in the streame huge stones and rockes remayne that backward might the flood, of force, constrain." the name of llangollen is, by some authorities, derived from st. collen, to whom the church is dedicated. it is an ordinary enough little town in itself; but is so remarkably placed that the eye can scarcely turn in any direction without finding pictures of most extraordinary beauty. on the opposite side of the bridge from the town the hill of dinas bran rises, a huge cone, to the height of a thousand feet or so. it is so regular in its conical shape that it at first suggests artificial construction. but just at this place the hills are all abnormal. the eglwyseg rocks, for example--best seen from the slope of dinas bran--might have been transported from some cañon in colorado. they are a strange series of cliffs, one above the other, regular as walls, and with dark bushes clinging to them in such a manner as to suggest cave dwellings. they are a greater wonder than dinas bran itself, which, nevertheless, is very remarkable and striking. on its summit is the ruin of what is popularly known as crow castle, attributed in local guide-books to the british, but obviously of much later construction, and probably a relic of norman times. from this singular eminence there is a far-stretching view of the valley of the dee, as the river speeds on its way to a rich and more open country. near to where the stream is further swollen by receiving the waters of the ceiriog, it is spanned by the majestic aqueduct which carries the waters of the ellesmere canal, one of those few architectural achievements which, placed where nature has done her utmost, add a new beauty to their surroundings. even more unrestrained praise might be given to the fine, slender, lofty pillars and arches of the dee viaduct, which is among the greatest works of the great western railway. the aqueduct is telford's work, and the viaduct was built by robertson. for the former, however, telford claimed no credit, for he wrote thus in praise of his foreman:--"the vale of llangollen is very fine, and not the least interesting object in it, i can assure you, is davidson's famous aqueduct, which is already reckoned among the wonders of wales." churchyard differentiates very discreetly and observingly between the ceiriog and the dee. the one, he says, is "a wonderous violent water when rayne or snowe is greate," and the other is "a river deep and swifte," running "with gushing streame." the meeting-place of the two rivers is distinguished as the site of two famous houses, each surrounded by fine parks. on one side is the feudal castle of chirk, and on the other is wynnstay, which has long been the seat of the great family after which it is named. chirk castle dates back to the eleventh century. it was the home of those myddletons to whom belonged that famous sir hugh myddleton who brought the new river to london. wynnstay also has its history, for here lived madoc ap gruffydd maelor, who built valle crucis abbey. it is now the principal seat of sir watkin williams wynn, whose possessions are so extensive that he is sometimes called the real prince of wales. the present hall dates only from a time that is still very recent, for its predecessor was burned down in . from the terrace of wynnstay there is such a view of the dee--of wood, of river, of lofty bridge and distant mountains slopes--as seems almost to belong to the landscape of another world. [illustration: _photo: hudson._ eaton hall (_p. _).] the dee has finally emerged from the mountainous country when it flows, with many a sharp bend, and long, glittering loop, between the grounds of chirk castle and of wynnstay. it is shortly to become a river that is english on the one side and welsh on the other, and already, except in the distance, we have seen the last of the characteristic scenery of north wales. the dee now courses through a country of wide plains. offa's dyke runs in a straight line through the grounds of chirk castle, almost to the point at which the stream is crossed by the railway viaduct. watt's dyke commences on the other side of the dee, a little lower down, and proceeds through the grounds of wynnstay, past ruabon, in the direction of wrexham. what may have been the purpose of these ancient fortifications is a question which the antiquaries have so far failed to answer in any way that is final and conclusive. thomas churchyard has an explanation which is as good as any that has since been offered. he says-- "there is famous thing cal'de offa's dyke, that reacheth far in length; all kind of ware the danes might thither bring; it was free ground, and cal'de the britaine's strength; wat's dyke likewise about the same was set between which two both danes and britaines met, and trafficke still." at these dykes, too, it would appear, the exchange of prisoners was generally effected. in their origin, no doubt, they were defensive works, as well as lines of demarcation. [illustration: the roodee, chester (_p. _).] after its junction with the ceiriog, the dee divides denbighshire and shropshire for some two or three miles. soon afterwards it again becomes wholly welsh for a brief while, and forms the boundary between denbighshire and flint. this is after we have passed ruabon, and the great welsh coalfield. here is overton churchyard, one of those "seven wonders of wales" whose title to fame is so often inexplicable. at this place there is less to wonder at in the churchyard itself than in the view of the dee which is presented therefrom, for here it winds, with many curves, through a pleasant valley, interspersed with broad, flat green spaces, woods, and low, rounded hills. bangor-on-dee, the chief spawning ground for salmon, is near at hand; and, then, before long, the great tower of wrexham church comes in sight, much more of a wonder than either overton churchyard or llangollen bridge. [illustration: the dee at chester, from the walls (_p. _).] the river /alyn/ joins the dee below wrexham. it has come through much lovely country, of one portion of which, near mold, pennant says:--"i hang long over the charming vale which opens here. cambria here lays aside her majestic air, and condescends to assume a gentler form, in order to render her less violent in approaching union with her english neighbour." the alyn runs underground for about half a mile after it has passed the old fortress of caergwele. indeed, as drayton says, with all due exactness, "twice underground her crystal head doth run." our first great landscape painter, richard wilson, was buried at mold, and it was in the vale of the alyn that fortune at last came to him, for here, on a small estate which had been bequeathed to him, he came upon a vein of lead, and was henceforth able to live in reasonable affluence. "and following dee, which britons long ygone did call 'divine,' that doth to chester tend"-- so remarks edmund spenser. first, however, we pass eaton hall and its splendid grounds. sir john vanbrugh built a great mansion on the site, which was pulled down when gothic architecture again came into fashion. its successor was, in spite of great cost and elaboration, an architectural failure, and it has now given place to mr. waterhouse's greatest and most colossal achievement in domestic architecture. this magnificent seat of the duke of westminster is situated in a very extensive park, in which there is one avenue two miles in length, bordered on each side by forest trees. the style of architecture adopted by mr. waterhouse is that which prevailed in france in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. "there is not a house in england," it has been said, "that has been built on a more perfect arrangement." the dee flows round the outskirts of the park to the beautiful village of eccleston, where the grounds, sloping down to the river, are very beautifully ornamented with trees. henceforward to chester the stream is like a broad reach of the thames, calm, massive, with leafy banks, a truly impressive introduction to one of the most famous of english cities. chester is remarkable alike for its present and its past. it shares with york the distinction of having kept its ancient walls unimpaired; and the walls of chester, of a rich red sandstone, are much finer, both in colour and in form, than those of the northern city. the definite history of the place goes back at least as far as agricola, who was at chester in the year /a.d./ as an officer in the army of suetonius paulinus. then it was, probably, that the romans first established a camp on the banks of the dee. chester seems to have been the headquarters of the twentieth legion, which, soon after the death of augustus, was stationed at cologne, on the rhine, from the reign of claudius to the departure of the romans from britain. the memorials of this occupation are not now very numerous, but are of the highest value in determining what kind of city chester was when it was occupied by a legion so distinguished that it was generally placed in posts of difficulty and great honour. probably the most perfect hypocaust in england is that which is to be seen in the grounds attached to the water tower at chester. ignorant men who offer themselves as guides still speak of the wall as roman work, and one may find for them this excuse, at least--that the existing walls, with but one deviation, follow the line of the roman fortifications, part of which can be seen near the canal, not very far from the point at which it communicates with the dee. the road-book of antonine has this entry: "deva. leg. xx victrix." among the pictures which most impressed the present writer's boyhood was an illustration of edgar the peaceful being rowed down the dee by eight tributary princes. the incident is not legendary, but historic. one might linger for almost any length of time in this unique city, recalling the memorable facts of its history, were not the dee still tempting us along. it is a city surrounded by beautiful country, and is full of a quaint charm, with rare architectural features. the famous "rows"--long covered galleries above the basements of the houses and shops, originally intended for purposes of hasty defence--probably reflect the influence of rome on the city long after the departure of the legions. this was the surmise of stukeley, who wrote, "the rows, or piazzas, of chester are singular through the whole town, giving shelter to the foot people. i fancied it a remains of the old roman portico." nowhere else in these islands are the ancient, half-timbered houses, like the "god's providence house" which has become so famous, in such satisfactory preservation, and they have given a character even to the modern architecture of chester, which, in many striking instances, is only a reproduction on a larger scale of the prevailing style of the past. chester has two cathedrals, and a remarkable ecclesiastical history. the city walls, round which the river sweeps in broad, bold curves, are chiefly of the edwardian period. from one of the towers, which is now much what it was during the civil wars, charles i. watched the defeat of his army on rowton heath. chester was shortly afterwards surrendered, and thus was finally lost the cause of the king in the north-west. following the walls to the opposite side of the city, we find that pleasant pictures are made by two of the dee bridges--the modern suspension bridge for foot-passengers, erected where the river is of great breadth, and the old dee bridge, just under the walls, with a huge flour-mill beside it, and a little colony of salmon-fishers on the other side, not far away. passing the roodee, a great level space by the river, on which the races are held and other popular festivities take place, we arrive at the great iron arch of the grosvenor bridge, which is as noticeable on account of its design as because of the breadth of its single span. [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ chester cathedral, from the south-west.] for eight miles henceforward the river flows through an artificial channel, made for purposes of navigation, and with the consequence of reclaiming some five thousand acres of land. the swing railway bridge, opened by mrs. gladstone in , the first cylinder being placed in position by mr. gladstone two years earlier, is the next object of interest. not far away is hawarden park, "not exceeded in beauty by any demesne in the world," says dean howson. after these eight miles of artificial waterway have been traversed, the dee suddenly broadens out into a wonderful estuary, which, according to the state of the tide, separates england from wales by wide stretches of water, or by still wider stretches of sand. we pass the castle of flint on our way downwards, with one huge round tower dipping its base into the dee. the town which it once defended is known in these days for its chemical works; but it has seen stirring times. it was here that richard ii. was held prisoner, within "the rude ribs of that ancient castle," as shakespeare says, and here, also, it was that bolingbroke became king of england. the castle of mostyn, not far from where the shore of the river becomes the coast of the sea, was also mixed up in these transactions. nearly midway between these two fragments of mediævalism are basingwerk abbey and the fountain of holywell, which is even to this day credited with the working of miracles. [illustration: swing bridge over the dee near hawarden (_p. _).] the estuary of the dee has its lindisfarne; for, as an old writer on hillbree island, with the square tower of its church rising above a wooded knoll, has remarked, "it is an island but twice a day, embraced by neptune only at the full tydes, and twice a day shakes hands with great britain." the sands stretch away in almost illimitable expanse, the wirral promontory making a distant, faint, and irregular boundary between the dee and the mersey. kingsley's account of one of copley fielding's sketches of the dee estuary says almost all that is possible in the way of description:--"a wild waste of tidal sands, with here and there a line of stake-nets fluttering in the wind--a gray shroud of rain sweeping up from the westward, through which low red cliffs glowed dimly in the rays of the setting sun--a train of horses and cattle splashing slowly through shallow, desolate pools and creeks, their wet red and black hides glittering in one long line of level light." it was the simple, dreary grandeur of the picture, combined with the relation of a tragic story, which inspired one of the most pathetic ballads in the language--that long, piercing wail, "the sands of dee":-- "'o mary, go and call the cattle home, and call the cattle home, and call the cattle home across the sands of dee.' the western wind was wild and dank with foam, and all alone went she. "the western tide crept up along the sand, and o'er and o'er the sand, and round and round the sand, as far as eye could see. the blinding mist came down and hid the land: and never home came she. * * * * * "they rowed her in across the rolling foam, the cruel crawling foam, the cruel hungry foam, to her grave beside the sea: but still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home across the sands of dee." /aaron watson./ [illustration: the sands of dee.] [illustration: the mersey at stockport (_p. _).] the mersey. a modern river--derivations--the tame, the goyt, and the etherow--stockport--northenden-the irwell and its feeders--manchester and salford--the ship canal--bridges over the irwell--ordsall--eccles--barton--warburton--irlam--warrington-- latchford--runcorn and widnes--the weaver--eastham locks--liverpool and its growth--its docks and quays--birkenhead and its shipbuilding yards--new brighton--perch rock lighthouse. mersey may be described as the most modern of our rivers. there was a time, in fact--and that not measured by geological computation--when, so far as knowledge of it went, the mersey could hardly be said to be in existence. even the great estuary where a world's argosies now assemble escaped the attention of the romans, and we come down to the beginning of the eleventh century before we find the mersey named in any record. it is mentioned for the first time in a deed of the reign of ethelred, and there it figures less as a river than as a boundary mark concerning a grant of some lands "between maersae and ribbel." it has been said also of the mersey that it got its name from the fact that it formed the northern limit of the kingdom of mercia. another derivation, and not an altogether unlikely one, when considered along with the chief seat on its banks and the open channel beyond, is that in "mersey" we have the celtic word "marusia," signifying quiet or sluggish water. a more curious derivation, and one lending itself to the belief that in the early history of our country the character and identity of the mersey were very different from what they are to-day, is that the word is from the anglo-saxon "meres-ig," or "sea-island." it is known that what is now the wirral peninsula, forming the western boundary of the estuary of the mersey, was at one time cut off from the mainland by the sea. it is known also that the dee flowed over into the mersey; and as the two rivers must then have appeared as one, with a common mouth, it is easily seen how in the long ago the mersey would escape recognition altogether. but the river that was to minister to the greatness of lancashire, and through lancashire to aid so materially in the development of industrial britain, was, of course, no sudden creation. it may have been for ages nothing but quiet or dead water, but nature in her slow and sure way was all the while working in its favour. for centuries, vessels, as they sailed up and down the west coast, passed by the mersey, and found their way instead up the dee to chester, or up the ribble to preston, and occasionally up the lune to lancaster. but, even as they did so, these streams were gradually becoming less navigable. a strong tidal flow raised sand barriers at their entrances, and for some considerable distance upwards, that meant danger to shipping. the same cause gave the mersey its opportunity and its individuality; and once the bar at its mouth was crossed, there were found not only capacious and safe anchorage, but possibilities for commercial enterprise that have gone on increasing from the moment at which men began to take advantage of them. [illustration: the mersey.] the mersey has its origin in three other streams that come down to it from yorkshire and derbyshire uplands; and when it becomes for the first time entitled to the name, it is among huge factories, and not by willow-covered banks. the three streams in question are the tame, the goyt, and the etherow. starting from the peak district, and running between derbyshire and cheshire, the goyt strikes a northerly course, and for a considerable distance forms the boundary line between the two counties. near to the village of mellor it receives the etherow, which has come down from the breezy region known as the backbone of england, almost at the meeting-point between yorkshire, derbyshire, and cheshire. like the goyt, the etherow serves as a boundary line between derbyshire and cheshire. it runs through longdendale, where is one of those artificial lake districts which come by way of compensation to the country from the town; for here, on the slopes of blackstone-edge, are the reservoirs which until recently were thought sufficient for the water-supply of manchester and district. four in number, they mean a daily supply of , , gallons; but that is not enough for the steadily increasing population of the great city and its environs, and manchester has therefore gone much further afield, and tapped thirlmere, so as to secure an additional supply of , , gallons. from here the etherow runs merrily down to where the goyt comes northwards to meet it. the combined stream, now of somewhat doubtful identity, goes westward to stockport, and receives there the tame from beyond saddleworth, on the yorkshire borders. [illustration: northenden (_p. _).] the mersey now takes name and form. starting at stockport, it has an industrial beginning at a point that must formerly have been possessed of no small picturesqueness. built on the slopes of a gorge, stockport is in these days a town of bridges. through it runs the london and north western railway on a viaduct rising to a height of feet, supported on some twenty arches, and stretching from to feet. railway lines centre here from all points of the compass; and in the past, as to-day, stockport was regarded as a key to the situation north and south. the romans recognised its importance. the normans were equally alive to its strategic value, and built a stronghold here, where the earls of chester long held court. the castle at stockport was demolished during the civil wars by order of the parliament, but not until it had been taken by prince rupert, and by general leslie after him. it was from stockport also that prince charlie passed during the stuart rising in . the name of the town gives a clue to its history. here was a great fort where stores were kept. it is not surprising, therefore, to find that the present spelling of the name is comparatively modern. in old days it appears plainly as storefort and stokefort. the place has never lost its reputation as a source of supply, although what it yields now is produced within its own boundaries. it is an important textile centre, and the seat of the felt hat trade; and from it also much good work is sent out in iron and brass. it has always been an active town politically, and a statue of richard cobden in the market-place shows the delight the inhabitants take in recollecting that for six years they had the great free trader as one of their two representatives in parliament. [illustration: on the irwell.] from stockport the mersey serves as the boundary line between the counties of chester and lancashire. at northenden, where its surroundings are rural and pleasing, it takes a sudden turn to the north, and after several twists runs decidedly and sharply to the north-west, till it gets to stretford. here it is in touch with the southern suburbs of manchester, and is at its nearest point to that city. for its natural junction with the stream which leads to manchester, we must, however, follow the river over what is now a tortuous westerly course, past flickstone to irlam. at this point, some nine miles from manchester, the irwell and the mersey used to meet in confluence. they do so still, but under other than the old conditions. in the course of last century manchester found it advisable to meet the demands of its increasing trade by making the irwell, and next the upper parts of the mersey, navigable for small vessels; and in the closing years of the nineteenth century she has caught up the waters of her own considerable tributary, and those of the main stream, in a series of capacious locks along that great water-way which has now made what mr. gladstone has called "the commercial metropolis of england" a great inland seaport. the irwell is fed by more rivers than any other of mersey's tributaries of the same length, and all along its course it serves manufacturing purposes, as the appearance of its waters betokens only too clearly. rising in the neighbourhood of burnley, it passes through rosenstall, tottington, bury, and radcliffe. at the last-mentioned place it receives the roch, and then goes westward to farnworth, where it is joined by the tong. taking next a south-easterly direction, it passes through prestwich, and after a bend to the north of pendleton it runs into manchester. at manchester the irwell is fed by three other streams darker even than itself, these being the medlock, the irk, and the cornbrook. the irwell divides manchester from salford, but it is only by the black boundary line thus afforded that it is possible to tell where the one borough ends and the other begins. each is distinct so far as civic and parliamentary affairs are concerned; but in all that concerns their material well-being, they are one. both are mentioned in the domesday book, and there are glimpses of them back to the roman occupation. there were signs of industrial activity in manchester in the thirteenth century, when a fulling mill is mentioned as having been in operation on the riverside, and when the dyeing of yarns and cloth was also practised on the banks of the irwell, or its tributaries. leland, coming here in henry viii.'s time, found manchester "the fairest, best builded, quickliest, and most populous towne of all lancestreshire." camden, in his pilgrimage in the reign of elizabeth, also paid manchester a pretty compliment, seeing that he described it as "surpassing neighbouring towns in elegance and populousness." dr. stukeley, writing in the first half of the eighteenth century, refers to manchester as the "largest, most rich, populous, and busy village in england." the term "village" seems strangely out of place applied to what is now so great a community; but it is significant as showing how enormously manchester has grown since then. dr. stukeley speaks of there being about two thousand families in the place, "and their trade, which is incredibly large, consists of fustians, tickings, girthwebs, and tapes, which are dispensed all over the kingdom, and to foreign parts." the population of manchester to-day is probably not far short of , , and that of salford (which for parliamentary and municipal purposes includes pendleton) is about , . both towns combined did not contain more than , inhabitants at the beginning of the present century. it is estimated that some different industries are now carried on within their borders. the explanation of this extraordinary development is to be found in an observation made by one of the topographers of last century regarding manchester--namely, "that the inhabitants are not only thrifty and inventive, but very industrious and saving." it is this "striving and inventing something new"--this disposition to go forward, and make the most of their circumstances and surroundings--that has made modern manchester. arkwright with his spinning frame, and hargreaves with his spinning jenny, were not at first made too welcome, masters and men in manchester combining against these appliances. but the revolution effected by what arkwright and hargreaves had done elsewhere was too obvious to be ignored; and when the inventions of these men were fairly introduced into the seat of the cotton trade, followed as they were by compton's "mule," the way was opened up in manchester for greater developments. it was not enough, however, to improve the quality of goods and augment the output: it became necessary to increase the facilities for the introduction of the raw material, and for the prompt removal and distribution of the finished article. much was done in this direction by the ready support manchester gave from the first to the canal system. the town got into touch with the navigable waters of the mersey by opening a waterway of its own from longford bridge to runcorn in . other canals brought it into touch with the north, the south, and the east of england. this was an immense gain over the waggon and pack-horse arrangements that had previously prevailed, and the trade of manchester grew apace, developing eventually more quickly than there were means for dealing with it. the introduction of the factory system, and the replacing of the old hand-looms by looms having steam as the motive power, forced manchester to consider whether some still speedier method of transit could not be obtained. fortunately, with the hour came the man, and with the man came also the agency that was wanted. george stephenson and his "rocket" appeared upon the scene. lines of rails were laid westward, not without immense difficulty, over chat moss to liverpool; and from it became possible to have communication between manchester and liverpool in almost as many minutes as it had formerly taken hours. with the aid of the locomotive, and all that is meant by this mode of transit, the trade of manchester continued to expand, progressing to such an extent that during recent years it became necessary to consider whether liverpool itself, although but an hour distant by rail, was not too far away for manchester merchants. manchester could not go to the sea, but the sea could be brought to manchester; and again with the hour the man appeared. in april, , the suggestion came from mr. hamilton h. fulton to establish tidal navigation between manchester and the mersey. beyond an indication of what could be done, nothing came of the proposal, but manchester people will not forget that mr. fulton first mooted the scheme that was eventually taken up on the strength of designs submitted by mr. e. leader williams. a start was given to the movement at a meeting held in june, , at the residence of mr. daniel adamson, of didsbury. on november th, , the first sod in the making of the canal was cut by the chairman of the company (lord egerton of tatton) at eastham. in seven years from that time the canal was completed, it being opened for through traffic on new year's day, . the formal opening by the queen took place on the st of may in the same year. at the time of the opening for traffic, the canal, including sums paid in compensation for vested interests, had cost £ , , . [illustration: pendleton, from the crescent (_p. _).] the ship canal being a continuation of the mersey, and the two blending in some places and in others running in close proximity, some of the engineering and other features of this the greatest of our english artificial waterways will be referred to as the further course of the mersey is sketched. but as the canal has its headquarters in manchester, it may be mentioned here that its total length from eastham, where it runs into the estuary of the mersey, to pomona docks at manchester is - / miles, that its average water width at the level is feet, and that its width at the bottom is feet, except between barton and manchester, where the bottom width is as much as feet, with feet stretch at the level. as the minimum depth of the canal is feet, it has, therefore, accommodation for the largest vessels; and as it is lit up with the electric light along its course, it is navigable by night as well as by day. the canal is in four stretches, divided by five sets of locks, that eventually raise its waters to a height of - / feet above the sea. there is a range of docks both on the manchester and on the salford side of the terminus of the canal, with a great open stretch of water for the movement of vessels. mere figures give but a poor idea of the extent and character of the canal, but there are certain features which appeal strikingly to the least imaginative mind. thus, in regard to the excavations, we have the startling statement that the quantity of earth removed to secure a channel for the canal could have made a wall round the globe feet high and feet thick, and that enough bricks were used to make a causeway feet wide from one end of the kingdom to the other. another point we have to remember is that but for improved machinery and the use of steam and of powerful explosives, the construction of the manchester ship canal in all its parts, instead of being accomplished in seven years, could hardly have been finished in half a century. [illustration: manchester, from the grammar school, showing the cathedral, the exchange, the town hall, etc.] there are political as well as industrial features that cannot be overlooked in any reference to the great seat of the cotton trade. a statue of cromwell in victoria street, standing on a rugged block of granite, may be taken as a memorial of the strong stand manchester made for the parliament in the civil wars of the seventeenth century. it was in manchester that the first blow in that struggle is said to have been struck. curiously enough, however, manchester, in a moment of impulse, declared for the stuarts in the rising a century later. its inhabitants not only welcomed prince charlie in his march to the south, but went so far as to proclaim him king. they changed their minds, however, almost as quickly as they had made them up; and the prince and his adherents received but scant courtesy from the manchester folk some two weeks later while retreating northward. agitation for parliamentary reform ran to fever heat in manchester almost from the inception of that movement, and had one lamentable incident--a charge by yeomanry at a mass meeting in st. peter's field in , when several persons were killed. while deplorable in itself, this event, which has passed into history as the "peterloo massacre," was not without potent influence in bringing in that better era for which the people of manchester, in common with the inhabitants of other large towns, were clamouring. where that memorable mass meeting took place now stands the free trade hall--a suggestive reminder of the fact that in manchester the corn law league, with mr. cobden, mr. bright, and mr. milner gibson as leading spirits, had its headquarters. in manchester obtained the right to send two members to parliament, salford getting one member. by the reform bill of both boroughs got an additional representative; and when, in , the great towns were cut up into divisions, manchester had its parliamentary strength increased to six members, and salford to three. long as it had to wait for parliamentary recognition, it was still later before manchester secured the municipal powers to which by its antiquity, its growth, and its business importance it was entitled. its charter of incorporation as a borough was not obtained until . nine years later ( ) it was made a city, in the episcopal sense, its collegiate church--"the one paroch church" leland speaks of in his "itinerary"--ranking as the cathedral. it was six years later still ( ) before the civic charter was obtained confirming what had been done ecclesiastically. in another titular dignity came to manchester, its chief magistrate being then created lord mayor. the cathedral, regarded as a parish church, dates from , when it was founded by thomas de la warre, who was doubly qualified for the work he undertook, being not only lord of the manor but rector of the parish. he founded a church, it is said, "as well for the greater honour of the place as the better edification of the people"--hence its collegiate character. much has been done, with marked success, to improve the appearance of the building since its elevation to the dignity of a cathedral, and, architecturally and otherwise, it is well entitled to the rank it now holds. close to it is chetham college, the original residence of the warden and fellows of the old collegiate body. humphrey chetham, the founder of this institution, was a dealer in fustians in manchester early in the seventeenth century. before his death he saw to the education and maintenance of a number of poor boys of the town and neighbourhood, and by his will he left money to continue and expand the good work he had begun. a still earlier trust is the grammar school, which goes back to , when it had as its founder hugh oldham, bishop of exeter. the school drew revenues from the mills on the irk in the days when that stream ran in limpid purity into the irwell. it has a high reputation for scholarship. educationally manchester owes much also to a citizen of the present century--john owens, who died in , having left £ , , to which an equal sum was added for the foundation of the college that bears his name. manchester has thus been generously helped in the matter both of elementary and of secondary education. and she has had the further satisfaction of mounting the next step in the ladder of learning, having obtained in a royal charter for the founding of victoria university, of which owens is one of the colleges, others being the yorkshire college at leeds and the university college at liverpool. chetham college possesses a finely selected library of , volumes, housed in a picturesque range of old buildings. and in this connection it is interesting to note that manchester was the first borough to take advantage of the free libraries act. to-day she has free libraries and reading rooms in every part of the city where they seem needed, in addition to a great central reference library containing about , volumes. salford is equally well equipped in this respect; and in both places technical training has kept pace with other forms of instruction. [illustration: victoria and blackfriars bridges (_p. _).] with the exceptions named, the principal buildings of manchester are modern. the victoria buildings and hotel, a palatial pile, now cover what was one of the oldest parts of the city. the town hall, completed in , is a fine gothic structure, occupying a triangular site. it is really a municipal palace--imposing externally, and admirably adapted internally for the conduct of the public affairs of a great city. the rise and progress of the city has been pictorially treated in the great chamber of the town hall by ford madox brown. a wide open space known as albert square fronts the town hall, with an albert memorial in the centre, flanked by statues of john bright and bishop fraser. near by, in st. anne's square, is a bronze statue of richard cobden. the assize courts in strangeways are as noble architecturally as the town hall, and are from designs by the same architect, mr. alfred waterhouse; while the royal exchange, in market street, is a notable building in the italian style, possessing the largest meeting room of its kind in the united kingdom, but a room not too large for the demands made upon its space, as visitors who attempt to inspect it on tuesdays and fridays, the chief business days, will readily testify. then there is the royal institution, from designs by sir charles barry, in the doric style, containing a gallery of paintings and a school of design, with a statue of dr. dalton, the propounder of the atomic theory, and a manchester worthy. the infirmary, built in the same style as the exchange, dates from the year . the esplanade in front of it, where are statues of the duke of wellington, sir robert peel, and dr. dalton, covers the site of what was the "ducking pond" in manchester in the days when the town troubled itself less about the spread of enlightenment than it does now. like the exchange, the infirmary exists for the benefit of other places than its own immediate neighbourhood. some , patients are treated annually within its walls. its wards bear the names of various benefactors of the institution, and one of the wings was built through the beneficence of jenny lind, who gave two concerts for the purpose. the reference to jenny lind suggests the fact that manchester during the present century has been distinguished as a musical centre. nor has she been backward as a patron of artists; her art treasures exhibition of brought together the finest collection of ancient and modern paintings the provinces have known. the needs of the inhabitants, in the physical sense, have also during recent years been well attended to, as is shown by the open spaces made even in busy neighbourhoods, and the parks and recreation grounds in the outskirts of both manchester and salford. when the citizens feel disposed to travel far afield, they cannot in these days complain of lack of facilities. having brought the sea to their own doors, they can go direct by boat to almost every part. by rail they have choice of routes to all the leading towns of the kingdom. [illustration: steamer passing through trafford road swing bridge (_p. _).] one may not be particularly pleased with what one sees of the irwell as it passes through the city, but it cannot be regarded as a hindrance to free locomotion. it is bridged over in many places, so much so that it is possible to get to and from salford along most of the chief thoroughfares of the larger town. the victoria bridge is modern, as its name implies. built two years after the accession of the queen, it replaced one erected in , and which, from that period up to , was the only bridge connecting manchester proper with salford. a wooden structure--built, it is said, by a theatrical company, to enable them to pass between the two towns--preceded the present blackfriars bridge, on the line of the street of that name. there are also the albert, the regent, the broughton, and other bridges. at hulme hall road, where the medlock passes into the main stream, the irwell loses itself in the ship-canal. here, too, is the entrance to the manchester series of docks, which cover the site of the old pomona gardens. they are in four arms. the water space occupies - / acres, and there is a quay area of acres, with two miles of quay length. on the opposite side lies ordsall, with a rectangular dock feet by feet, and with another feature of interest in the great calico printing, dyeing, and bleaching works of the messrs. worral. from here the canal curves round and flows under a great swing bridge, said to be the largest in the country (it is feet long by feet wide), forming part, when closed, of the trafford road. to the right are the salford docks, and here the water space covers acres, with a quay area of acres, and miles length of quayage. just at the entrance to the salford docks the canal is at its widest-- , feet. a little further down is mode wheel, where are the locks that begin the process of descent, the fall at this point being feet. here the canal runs nearly west, and continues in this direction till it reaches the outskirts of eccles, where it begins to run due west through a rock cutting that revealed in the exposed gravel, as the work was in progress, the trend of flowing water in historic times. beyond are the barton swing aqueduct and locks. the aqueduct which brindley carried over the roadway here for the bridgewater canal was at the close of last century one of the wonders of the manchester district. it had to be demolished to give place to a still greater wonder of the kind. not only had a new aqueduct to be constructed to allow the ship-canal to pass underneath, but it had to be made in such a form that it could swing. this was done by forming the bridge portion of the aqueduct into a caisson, or trough, some feet long by feet wide, and feet deep, and weighing some , tons. ordinarily, of course, the water in the old canal is continuous, but when a ship is approaching on the larger canal, double sets of gates are closed at each end of the caisson, thus confining the water in the canal above and in the caisson itself. the caisson is then swung round on a central pier, on each side of which vessels may pass on the ship-canal. below this engineering triumph are the barton locks on the ship-canal, giving a fall of feet. here the new waterway takes a south-westerly turn, and continues thus till it gets to warburton. about midway between barton and the latter place, irlam is reached, and here there are several interesting features of the canal to be seen. to begin with, there is another series of locks, giving a descent this time of feet, with a set of sluice gates in addition, which have been constructed to carry off excess of water in times of flood--an expedient rendered necessary by the fact that just below irlam the mersey runs into the canal. here also the cheshire railway lines cross the canal, and these had to be dealt with so as to give a clear waterway of feet above water-level. about a mile below the weir at irlam the canal widens out at the bottom to feet, to form the partington coal-basin, thus allowing barges and other vessels to be moored at the side, leaving the regulation stretch of the canal for ordinary traffic. elaborate arrangements are made here to deal with the shipment of coal from both the lancashire and yorkshire fields. just below are the cadis head viaducts, carrying the cheshire lines over the canal, a work that involved much labour to secure the desired gradients and the feet above water-level. at warburton the roadway has been carried over a high level bridge, on the cantilever principle. the town, which lies to the south of the canal, is of some antiquity, and was the site of a premonstratensian priory. some little distance down, the river bollin, coming northwards from the neighbourhood of macclesfield, falls into the canal on one side; on the other, the mersey is liberated, being now at the same level as the canal itself. here the mersey begins to assume its most tortuous course. it twists, bends, and doubles upon itself in a perplexing way, affording a great contrast to the canal, which now runs straight as an arrow all the way to runcorn. in the course of its meanderings the river comes down to the canal again at thelwall ferry, where it had to be deviated for a short distance and made into a straight line. at the end of the deviation it resumes its serpentine character, and here and there accommodation canals run through it to give short cuts. in another of its great bends the mersey comes down to the canal again at the point where warrington is brought into touch with the new waterway. lying almost wholly to the north of the river, warrington was anciently approached by the south, by way of latchford, and this route still affords a principal means of access to the town, both by road and by rail. the mersey touches no part possessing a more remote history. it has been claimed for warrington that it is the oldest town in lancashire. it was the veritenum of the romans, and it figures in domesday as wallingtun. situated where there was ferryage over the mersey, and where at one time the river itself seems on occasion to have been fordable, it practically was the key to lancashire and cheshire on the west. as may be supposed, there was clashing of arms frequently in its streets and on the road to the riverside. the botelers were lords of the manor here from the thirteenth century, and they had, among other good things, right of toll on the ferry. the first bridge was the result of a king's visit, and is said to have been constructed by the first earl of derby for the better accommodation of henry vii. when that monarch was a guest at lathom. with the construction of the bridge the need for the ferry disappeared, and so also did certain emoluments which fell to the lords of the manor, whereupon a feud arose between the botelers and the stanleys that was not settled without bloodshed. the bridge had another effect: it caused large numbers of the population to change their quarters in order to be nearer the stream, so that in the end the parish church was left where leland found it--"at the tail end of the town." it is no longer there, of course, and no longer the only building of its kind, for warrington has grown with lancashire generally, and the old church has not been neglected. it has many fine gothic features, including a spire rising to feet. timber houses, suggesting the days of the old ford, may be found in some of the streets, but warrington is by no means a place of the past. it is a very active, thriving community, numbering , , and doing much business in the staple trade of the county, and also in iron, steel, glass, leather, and soap. [illustration: the old aqueduct, barton.] [illustration: the swing aqueduct, barton (_p. _).] there are locks on the canal at latchford giving a fall of - / feet, but as the water is now tidal the fall varies. the railway line had to be cut through here by the canal, but in the meantime a new route was made for the iron horse, including a massive viaduct, in the piers of which some , , bricks are said to have been used. here, too, as elsewhere, arrangements had to be made for road traffic, and in this connection latchford has been supplied with both a swing and a cantilever bridge. [illustration: the irwell at ordsall, with worrall's works (_p. _).] from warrington the mersey, still keeping a sinuous course, begins to expand, and when next it comes into touch with the ship-canal, which it does at a point known as randall's creek, it assumes estuarial form, and markedly so just before reaching runcorn. then there is a sudden change, caused by the outswelling of both banks of the river, the result being that the mersey is contracted to about , feet across, after being more than twice that width. this contraction, known as runcorn gap, lies between widnes point on the lancashire side, and runcorn on the cheshire side. at this, the nearest point to the upper estuary proper, the mersey is crossed by a high level bridge, giving the london and north western railway access to liverpool. runcorn has been made by canals; three, approaching from different directions, touch the mersey there. the ship-canal lies to the north of the town, after passing through a cutting extending to a depth of feet, the deepest on the route. lying under the railway bridge, and coming close to the river, it soon finds itself wholly in the bed of the mersey, separated from the stream by a massive concrete wall, for which in one place a foundation had to be made feet down. there were considerable docks and warehouses here before the greatest of the canals gave additional claim to runcorn to be considered a seaport. ethelfreda, daughter of alfred the great, is said to have founded the town; and antiquaries are pleased to regard the name as a corruption of runcofan, from the anglo-saxon "cofa," a cove or inlet. the locks on the canal here are so constructed as to enable vessels to leave or enter at any state of the tide. widnes, on the opposite side of the river, is a busy, thriving manufacturing town, with chemicals as its leading commercial product, but doing a good deal also in various branches of the iron trade. from runcorn the ship-canal forms the southern side of the mersey. the outer wall of protection follows the course of the river, bending with it round what may be called the runcorn headland, and crossing the mouth of the river weaver. the weaver being navigable up to northwich, the construction of the canal across its opening into the mersey was a work of considerable ingenuity and difficulty. in the first instance, provision had to be made by special locks to give entrance to the tributary before the point of junction with the mersey could be interfered with; and when the canal itself was carried over the tributary, a series of great sluices had to be constructed to regulate the flow of the waters into the mersey. since then the weaver has not been subjected to the inconvenience of low tide. another result of the change has been the formation of a new town on its west bank, known as saltport, with wharves and other arrangements specially adapted for the cargoes of salt that come down the weaver for shipment elsewhere. in the case of a smaller stream further on, the gowy, the water had to be carried under the canal by means of syphons strong enough and large enough to withstand tidal influences. from the gowy the line of the canal follows the northward sweep of the estuary, and continues thus past ellesmere port, where is the outlet for the shropshire union system of canals. it then passes onward to what may be called the grand entrance to this commercial undertaking, namely, the eastham locks. these locks are in sets of varying sizes, according to the vessels that come and go, this arrangement being necessary to avoid waste of water from the canal. from eastham the distance by the mersey to liverpool is six miles, and to the lightship at the bar nineteen miles. the mersey is at its widest in the neighbourhood of ellesmere port, the stretch across from here to dungeon point, on the lancashire side, being about three miles. gradually narrowing in its progress to the sea, it is only some , yards wide at the entrance. the passage outwards, between liverpool and birkenhead down to the bar, has been compared to a bottle-neck, and it is this feature of the stream, added to the fact that, although a river of the west coast, it turns round and takes a northerly direction, which gives it its commercial importance. through the narrow passage, the tidal flow is rapid enough to maintain an open channel into the inlying estuary, and to clear a passage for the largest vessels well out into the open sea. one source of danger lies at the bar. here sand is apt to silt up; and if this were allowed to go on, the result would be that large vessels would have to wait on either side for high water in order to get in or out. the remedy has been found in extensive and frequent dredging, the effect of which is not only to make entrance to the river accessible at all states of the tide, but also to increase the inrush and the outrush of water, to the manifest improvement of the inner channels. the estuary has the further advantage of natural protection. the wirral peninsula, as a glance at the map will show, serves as a magnificent break-water, and the harbour has of course a great out-lying safeguard in the barrier ireland presents between it and the atlantic. it is where mersey is at its widest and best--at the places where it affords safe and capacious anchorage for the merchantmen of all nations--that its story begins to unfold itself; and, as has been indicated, it is not an ancient recital, by any means. elsewhere along its course are references to places and persons that take one back as far as the written history of this island can go, but in the neighbourhood of liverpool the references are all of them comparatively modern. here there is trace neither of roman nor of norman. yet if liverpool and birkenhead do not figure in the domesday pages, they are by no means creations of yesterday, though, as we now find them, both are very much the outcome of nineteenth-century enterprise. liverpool got a charter as far back as the year , and about a century and a half later the enterprising prior of birkenhead obtained a licence to build hospices for travellers, and secured at the same time the right of ferryage, of which the monk's ferry of to-day is an interesting reminiscence. it is in the early liverpool charter that the name of the great city is first met with. it is there written lyrpul, and the name has undergone such variations as litherpool, liderpool, liferpool, and lithepool, before finally passing into its existing form. no one has been able to say exactly what the name means. the latter part, of course, causes no difficulty. the first part can be one of half a dozen different things, or may mean something else. certain authorities favour the notion that in liver we have the name of an aquatic bird of the cormorant family, that found choice food on the shores of the pool. others assert for the first part of the name that it comes from the liverwort plant, which grew abundantly in the neighbourhood. other opinions are that the name really means "ship pool," or "the place at the pool," or "the gentle pool," but all that is guesswork. what is certain is that a cormorant or a pelican, or a liver (whatever sort of creature that may have been), has figured upon the borough seal since the time of king john, although advocates for another derivation have claimed that the figure upon the seal was not meant for an aquatic bird, but for an eagle. the authorities of the town never adopted this view; they have kept loyally to the bird that is said to have found peace and plenty on the banks of the stretch of still water around which liverpool sprang into existence. [illustration: . runcorn bridge (_p. _). . the locks at eastham (_p. _).] the pool on whose borders the city grew spread out over the site of the custom house and adjoining buildings. at some uncertain date after the norman occupation a castle was built where now stands st. george's church, and this stronghold was held for many generations by the molineux family, the descendants of william de molines, one of the conqueror's lieutenants. in time another norman family, the stanleys, found their way into liverpool, and got possession of "the tower," a structure which had been raised for the purpose of observation on what is now water street. the stanleys strengthened and fortified "the tower," building a mansion round it, and covering some four thousand square yards in the process; so that practically liverpool had two castles, with two powerful families dominating the place, and making life almost unbearable, for they were continually at feud as to their rights, though, curiously enough, fighting side by side for the king as the occasion arose. neither of castle nor of tower is there any trace to be found in these days. while they existed they were the chief features of liverpool, but they had nothing in common with the circumstances that led to the development of the port, although their possessors had influence enough with successive sovereigns to obtain privileges for the place, and, indeed, they were far-seeing as well, and believed that the roadstead at their doors meant much for the future of england. king john himself came here, formed toxteth park, and gave the town a charter. henry ii. made liverpool a free port, while henry iii. constituted it a borough. a parliament summoned at westminster in the reign of edward i. was attended by two burgesses from liverpool; and from the time of edward iii. the town seems to have sent members to parliament with commendable regularity, although there was but little for them to represent. liverpool, however, had to be content with only two members down to the reform bill of , long after she had made a name and reputation the world over. in the number was increased to three; and when, in , the redistribution scheme came into force, liverpool was strong enough to secure nine members, and is the only constituency in england whose irish voters are sufficiently numerous in any one division to return a member after their own heart, though, singular to say, the division which that member represents is known as the scotland division. [illustration: _photo: valentine & sons, dundee._ st. george's landing-stage, liverpool (_p. _).] although favoured, as we have seen, in the reign of edward i., liverpool was then of so little importance that she was only required to furnish one barque and six sailors for the assistance of that monarch; while hull, on the east coast, had to supply sixteen ships and four hundred and sixty-six men, and bristol twenty-one ships and six hundred men. that the town made but slow progress is shown also by the fact that while charles i. assessed bristol for £ , in ship-money, and chester at £ , the amount claimed from liverpool was only £ . liverpool does not seem to have hesitated to meet the demand, probably because she owed a debt of gratitude to charles, who raised the place in civic importance by constituting the authorities a corporate body. nevertheless, the burgesses favoured the puritan rather than the royal cause when the crisis came; and probably for this reason, although the molineuxs in their castle and the stanleys in their tower stood for the king, the parliament had no great difficulty in raising the siege of liverpool and taking possession for the commonwealth. prince rupert had a sufficiently hard task when he tried to win the place back. that dashing leader made light of the defences that had been thrown up; but the citizens kept him outside, for all that, for full three weeks, beating back his troops at every successive assault, and only surrendering after a combined attack by night. the fiery prince did not appreciate the bravery of the men of liverpool, but smote them without mercy when the chance came, and did much damage to their property besides. his triumph, however, was of the briefest. the battle of marston moor, with its crowning victory for the commonwealth, was fought six days afterwards, and all that prince rupert had gained gradually passed into the hands of the parliament, liverpool included, though not without another siege. the attitude of the citizens favoured them with the protector. as compensation for the loss they had sustained, the corporation secured rights of ferryage over the mersey, they were allowed £ worth of timber from the estates of the royalists in the neighbourhood, and they got a money allowance in addition of £ , . camden in the reign of elizabeth found liverpool "not so eminent for being ancient as for being neat and populous"; and the historian who speaks of it in the closing years of the nineteenth century may fittingly describe the city in the same terms. but there is this difference between the two epochs--that while the inhabitants in camden's time were housed in seven streets, they are now spread over a great area north and south, and away to the east, in streets almost too numerous to count. in a census that was taken gave the population of liverpool at . in the number had risen to , . fifty years later it was about , . at the beginning of the present century it was , . at the present time, including birkenhead and the suburbs, it probably exceeds , . its position as a port, as has been shown, was insignificant in the ship-money days; it now handles about one-fifth of the tonnage of great britain. in vessels trading to and from liverpool numbered , , with an aggregate tonnage of , , providing dues to the extent of about £ , . for the year ending june th, , , vessels entered the port, representing a tonnage of , , . for the same period, the total revenue of the dock estate from all sources amounted to £ , , . the number of sailing vessels finding their way to the mersey as compared with the thames is as three to one, and to the clyde as two to one. one-third more steamers enter the thames, but the greater number of large liners that come to liverpool almost equalises the steam tonnage. it is not difficult to ascertain how this marvellous development of population and trade has taken place. the situation of liverpool, with its practically open though well protected roadstead, has, of course, had much to do with the change. but this natural advantage has its drawbacks, and these were sufficiently serious to have prevented progress beyond a certain point had not there been public-spirited and large-minded men to direct the enterprise of the community. to attract navigation, the channels of the river had to be defined, and they had to be kept clear. they had to be buoyed and provided with beacons on both sides. notable among the guiding influences are the new brighton lighthouse (known also as the perch rock lighthouse) at the mouth of the river on the cheshire side, and the formby and numerous other lights on the other side along the stretch of the crosby channel until safe passage out to sea is secured. but something more was needed. the tidal rise and fall of the water-level meant a variation of some feet at spring tides, which made the loading and unloading of vessels difficult, and at times dangerous; besides, the vessels soon became too numerous for ordinary quay accommodation. it was necessary to provide special basins, and the first step in this direction was taken as far back as , when the pool was deepened and improved. this was but an insignificant beginning to what has now grown to such vast dimensions, but it solved a serious problem for the trade of liverpool of that day; and in about ten years afterwards the pool was made into a dock some four acres in extent, giving accommodation for small vessels, liverpool securing its reward in parliamentary permission "to impose a duty for twenty-one years upon the tonnage of all ships trading to or from the port for making a wet dock." this earliest of the docks no longer exists; but others were soon afterwards constructed in its vicinity, though parallel with the river, and some of these are still in use. the expansion of the dock system eventually necessitated the formation of a dock estate and the acquisition of property along the whole city front. the docks now stretch along the line of the mersey for a distance of from six to seven miles, and comprise some miles of quay space and acres of water space. in addition, there are nine miles of quay space and acres of water space in the dock accommodation provided across the river at birkenhead. this is irrespective of graving dock arrangements. the area of the dock estate exceeds , acres, inclusive of provision for extension. [illustration: swing-bridge over the entrance to stanley dock, liverpool (_p. _).] the dock system of liverpool, as we now find it, is very largely the work of the present century, and it separates readily into two divisions. for about thirty-six years (from ) the docks were laid out upon plans prepared by mr. jesse hartley, assisted by his son, mr. john b. hartley. since then the work has been conducted by mr. g. f. lyster, assisted by his son, mr. a. g. lyster. in the first instance the docks had to be constructed for sailing vessels. the many additions that have since been made have been almost wholly for the accommodation of steamships. but whether we take the docks that were constructed during the first half of the present century, or those that have been opened since then, they are engineering triumphs; and the world has no more wonderful sight of the kind than they, alike in their capacity, their admirable adaptation to tidal conditions and particular classes of goods, their warehouse and office arrangements, and the care that has been taken to provide ample quay and road space. the cost has been enormous, but it has been justified by the returns. by means of its docks liverpool is able to meet any demand upon its shipping powers. the vessels that are at times housed within its protecting river chambers, if ranged side by side, would cover the banks of the mersey along all its navigable length. it is, of course, only a part, although the major part, of the tonnage of liverpool that finds treatment in this way. there is a constantly moving flotilla. the goods and passenger traffic from one side of the mersey to the other is scarcely ever at a standstill; but while this traffic passes to or from widely separated points on the wirral peninsula, it converges at liverpool to that which is as much one of the sights of the city as the docks themselves--namely, the landing-stage. this is constructed on a series of enormous floating pontoons, about midway between the northern and southern lines of the docks. formerly there were two such structures, and nominally there are still two--st. george's and the prince's; but while they were for many years separated by a space of feet to give access to the st. george's basin, they are now continuous, and their unbroken length makes a stretch of over , feet. the landing-stage, which is connected with the quay wall by a succession of girder bridges, adapted for both passengers and vehicles, is at any period of the day a scene of unusual activity and bustle; but the official arrangements are admirable, and seldom is there any difficulty in dealing with the great crowds that gather and disperse here, either for lands across sea or on their way to inland towns. here, if anywhere, the cosmopolitan character of the passenger traffic of liverpool is seen in its fulness and variety. the landing-stage is, in fact, the temporary meeting-place of people of all nations, and belonging to all grades and conditions of life, from wretched stowaways to ambassadors with princely retinues. [illustration: liverpool, from birkenhead (_p. _).] although called a stage, this landing-place is really a magnificent promenade, with ranges of official buildings and waiting and refreshment rooms. until recently the passengers by the deep-sea liners were taken to and from the steamers in tenders. this arrangement often gave rise to serious inconvenience, and entailed also much loss of time. the latest addition to the stage was therefore contrived specially with the object of overcoming these drawbacks. passengers may now pass direct from the stage to the largest vessels; and more than this has been done for them. they are now brought close to the stage itself by railway, so that they may book themselves and their luggage from london or from any of our large towns to any part of the world, and have no more trouble on arriving on the banks of the mersey than is usually involved in a change of conveyance. to facilitate passenger traffic to and from the docks, an electric overhead railway running along the whole stretch of the six or seven miles comprising the city front, and into the districts beyond, has been in operation since february, , when it was formally opened by lord salisbury. the line has since undergone extension, and it was carried as far as dingle in december, . it is now about eight miles long. the dingle extension presents some notable engineering features. in one place it crosses the dock estate by girders feet in length--an unusually large span; in another it is run through a tunnel arch said to be the largest of its kind in the world; while at dingle the line belies its name, the terminal station being here considerably below the road level. the only dock entrance that runs inland sufficiently far to be crossed by the overhead railway is the stanley, and here a swing-bridge has been erected, on the double-deck principle, so as to provide for the railway traffic overhead and the usual carriage and foot traffic underneath. this railway may be considered a part of the great work of dock development at liverpool. a report laying out the scheme was presented by mr. lyster, the engineer to the dock board, in , but for public and other reasons it was thought advisable to leave the work to private enterprise, and it was therefore undertaken by an incorporated company, sir william forwood being the chairman, and mr. s. b. cottrell the engineer and general manager. a railway under the mersey from birkenhead was opened in by the prince and princess of wales, to meet the growing increase in the cross-river traffic, and this line, which passes for , yards under the river, has since been connected with main lines on each side. liverpool, with its great line of protected dockage and quayage, and the movement of vessels of every description and of every size along its water front, is seen in its finest panoramic effect from the birkenhead side of the river; but the city reveals itself also in increasing multiplicity of architectural detail and business activity to the visitor whose first impressions of it are obtained as he stands on the vessel that carries him over the mersey bar to the landing-stage. at the same time, the passenger by rail does not enter liverpool by any back door. at the lime street terminus of the london and north western railway he looks out immediately on the municipal centre of the city; should he arrive at the exchange station of the lancashire and yorkshire and midland lines, he is at once in the commercial heart of liverpool, surrounded by noble and spacious buildings. other lines land him in scenes of shipping activity, others in more residential quarters; but nowhere is he left in squalid surroundings. the front of the lime street station itself adds to the picturesqueness of the street it looks upon. almost opposite, in isolated grandeur, is st. george's hall, and on one side of that building is the magnificent range of edifices of the classic order where are housed the brown free library (including the museum of natural history, presented by the thirteenth earl of derby), the mayer museum of antiquity, the picton reading room, and the walker art gallery--all alike monuments of the beneficence of merchants who in this way have enriched and adorned the city from which they drew their wealth. even st. george's hall, the cost of which was £ , , was in the nature of a gift, it being paid for by the corporation out of the dock dues, which they controlled up to , when the dues were transferred to the dock board. the fact, too, that the corporation owned large estates makes the burden of taxation rest lightly on the citizens of liverpool; and since the present century began, improvements have not ceased to be the order of the day in the city. the town hall is in castle street. it is in the corinthian style, and is conspicuous for its dome and its raised portico; but a much more majestic building lies behind it in the royal exchange--a structure in the flemish renaissance style, with a noble façade, and wings that enclose a spacious quadrangle. here on "the flags," when the weather is favourable, the merchants and brokers of liverpool mingle together in animated colloquy and strike their bargains. education flourishes in liverpool no less than commerce, and in all its branches has not been without liberal support. university college, although only inaugurated in , has an endowment of over £ , . it has a numerous staff of professors, technical and medical departments, and is affiliated to the victoria university. there are several secondary schools of note, schools of art, and nautical training institutions. the charitable societies of the city number over , the oldest in the medical sense being the infirmary, which dates from . of open spaces there is nothing, of course, equal to the grand sweep of the estuary in front of the city. but there are ornamental grounds in the city itself, and in the outskirts recreation grounds and pleasure resorts, the largest and most picturesque being sefton park, which was purchased at a cost of over a quarter of a million. for water the city has gone into mid-wales and purchased the vyrnwy valley, and from the lake and the reservoirs there is able to draw an unfailing supply of some fifty million gallons daily. the bishopric dates from , but liverpool is without ancient churches. st. peter's, which serves as the pro-cathedral, is the oldest in structure but not in foundation (that distinction belongs to st. nicholas', near the prince's dock), but this does not carry us further back than the beginning of the eighteenth century. a long list could be made of eminent men connected with liverpool, were this the place for it. but there are two names that ought not to be omitted--one is francis bacon, "the wisest, greatest, meanest of mankind," who was member for liverpool towards the close of the sixteenth century; the other is mr. gladstone, who is a citizen of liverpool by birthright as well as by complimentary burgess ticket. it is interesting to add also that the stanley (derby) and the molineux (sefton) families are still closely identified with the town. they are no longer housed in the heart of liverpool, but their lancashire seats are close to its boundaries, and they rival one another in the active interest they take in the municipal, commercial, and educational progress of this great community. it is the bottle-neck part of the estuary of the mersey that runs between liverpool and birkenhead, but a good three-quarters of a mile of water separates the two places. they are divided also by county distinctions: otherwise they may be regarded as one, their interests being identical. many business men of liverpool make birkenhead and its outskirts their home. like the great city on the other side, birkenhead has its landing-stages adapted to the rise and fall of the tide. its range of docks has already been touched upon, and need only be referred to again to indicate that they do not run parallel with the river, like those on the other side, but pass inland. behind them are the commodious water spaces known as the east and west "floats." nearly all the great liners find their way to the liverpool side, but on the birkenhead side great liners are built. its shipbuilding yards are among the most extensive in the kingdom, and include the great establishment of the laird brothers, from which the confederate cruiser, _the alabama_, was turned out in . proportionately, birkenhead has made even greater progress during the century so soon to close than liverpool. in its population numbered only about persons. that figure may now be multiplied , times over and still be within the mark. its tonnage is about one-tenth that of liverpool. in the town was formed into a parliamentary borough, with a single member, the gentleman who became its first representative being the late mr. john laird, of whom there is a statue in front of the town hall. birkenhead has been a municipal borough since . it did not, however, wait for corporate privileges to show public spirit and enterprise. it was one of the first towns of the kingdom, if not the very first, to introduce tramways, which it did on the suggestion of george francis train, who had previously established a similar mode of conveyance in new york. it has long had a public park, acres in extent, laid out by sir joseph paxton, and costing £ , . although a hundred years or so ago it consisted of less than a score of habitable houses, it can trace back its name for centuries, and the ruins may be seen of the benedictine priory of byrkhead, founded here in the eleventh century, and whose monks in their simple way did the work that is now carried on by enormous steam ferries on the river, and by railway trains through a submarine tunnel. [illustration: _photo: valentine & sons, dundee._ st. george's hall and lime street, liverpool (_p. _).] all along the inner line of the wirral peninsula, which here bounds the mersey, are pleasant residential suburbs, and at the extreme end lies new brighton, beloved of lancashire and cheshire folk. immediately to the north of new brighton is one of the defences of the river in rock fort, and just beyond the fort is the perch rock lighthouse. at this point, the visible shore-line of the mersey on the west side comes to an end, but the channel of the river runs on over a well-buoyed line of route, some eight or nine miles further on, and for navigation purposes does not really cease till the bar is crossed. directly to the north-west of the wirral peninsula are great sandbanks, but these as a rule are within the ken only of the mariner familiar with the ins and the outs of this great commercial highway. the total length of the river is about miles. at least miles of that, towards the mouth, is a vast basin, having an average width of about two and a half miles, and containing at high tide some , , tons of water. to see the mersey here at the flood is to agree with drayton:-- "whence, where the rivers meet with all their stately train, proud mersey is so great in entering the main, as he would make a sea for empery to stand, and wrest the three-forked mace from out grim neptune's hand." /w. s. cameron./ [illustration: the perch rock lighthouse.] rivers of lancashire and lakeland. a birthplace of rivers--the /ribble/: ribblehead--horton-in-ribblesdale--survival of old traditions--hellifield--the hodder--stonyhurst and its college--the calder--burnley--towneley hall--preston--its development as a port. the /wyre/: poulton-le-fylde. the /lune/: kirkby lonsdale--the greta and the wenning--hornby castle--lancaster--morecambe bay--the journey from lancaster to ulverston in coaching days--shifting sands. the /kent/: kentmere--kendal. the /gilpin/ and the /winster/. the /rothay/ and the /brathay/. grasmere and wordsworth--rydal water--ambleside--windermere. troutbeck. esthwaite water. the /leven/: newby bridge--the estuary. the /crake/: coniston water--coniston hall--brantwood and mr. ruskin. the /duddon/: wordsworth's sonnets. the /esk/ and the /irt/: wastwater. the /liza/: ennerdale water. the /ehen/: egremont castle. the /derwent/: the vale of st. john--the greta and keswick--the view from castlerigg top--derwent water. in the lonely moorland solitudes guarded by ingleborough, whernside, and pen-y-gent, with outlying fells of almost mountain magnitude, may be traced the birthsprings of many important rivers. they shoot off to every point of the compass, and, gathering in tributary waters from the best of our bold english scenery, are lost in the north sea as with the yorkshire ouse, or in the irish sea as with the ribble, the lune, and the many minor streams that diversify morecambe bay. the whole extent of this corner of the north-west riding is wild, open country, with diverging dales lost in fading distances: stone walls for leafy hedges, and limitless grazing uplands clothed with the herbage peculiar to unwooded elevations of over two thousand feet. in the blithe springtime, when the tender flush of green proclaims the renewed life-blood of the grass; in the summer prime, when the umbers and greys of prolonged heat are faintly changing the broad faces of the untrodden mountains and silent valleys; and in winter, when all is white with unsullied snow, this expanse of billowy hill and fell has a grandeur all its own. its features are repeated under a more striking development by-and-by in lakeland, but this is the crowning point of the great backbone of picturesque highland which, beginning in derbyshire, defines much of the boundary of yorkshire and lancashire. * * * * * the /ribble/ is one of the rivers which take their rise from the ingleborough and whernside heights. it is a babbling brook as it is seen by the railway traveller at ribblehead, but the source must be sought in one of the rills that tumble down the shoulders of wold fell. the difficulty usually encountered in tracing a mountain-born river to the precise bubble of water that may without hesitation be pronounced its source is intensified here. so much depends upon circumstances in these matters. after a rainless month in summer, the wayfarer would note a waterless country; let the rains descend, or the snows melt, and every hill is silvered by tumbling cascades, the air is musical with the leap of a hundred rivulets. so it is that, for the ribble's source, old craven maps select gearstones, north-east of settle; more recent local authorities are divided between wold fell and cam fell; and for the world at large ribblehead serves the general purpose of identification. [illustration: _photo: a. horner, settle._ stainforth bridge (_p. _).] the source of the ribble, let the spot be where it may, makes it imperative to associate with its distinctions the great engineering triumph that ended in the awakening of its echoes by the railway train. from settle--where birkbeck, the founder of the mechanics' institutions of our youth, was born--to carlisle is only a matter of seventy miles, but it cost the invaders three millions sterling to overcome the obstacles of the stubborn pennine chain, and the enterprise seemed to be well-nigh hopeless when they advanced into the pen-y-gent region. the course of the young ribble had hereabouts to be diverted by the blasting out of a new channel; but at length the line was safely laid a thousand feet above sea-level, and clear running for the trains was achieved by means of nineteen tunnels, thirteen embankments, and cuttings innumerable. there are a few villages in the early stages of the ribble, the first of any note being horton-in-ribblesdale, under the shadow of pen-y-gent. the railway has little spoiled its primitive character, nor have the frequent expresses led to the disbandment of the beagles which still hunt the wild retreats of the mountain-side. there are ancient inhabitants in lonely farmhouses built of hard stone, and gleaming white from afar, who inherit the old traditions that portions of the mountain are honeycombed with giants' graves. there have long been legends to that effect, but men of science explain that the wondrous bones unearthed from caverns, and what not, belonged, not to sons of anak, but to huge animals now unknown. the dalesmen but slowly discard such beliefs, retaining them as of right, just as the shepherds on the fells, and the hard-headed farmers in the valleys, cling to the customs of their grandfathers. the high-road between horton and giggleswick--in whose grammar school paley was educated--gives access to the heart of upper ribblesdale; and the tourist visiting the cascades near stainforth will recognise the sturdy bridge in the illustration (page ) as a favourite resting-place. the river is represented in its peaceful mood, in one of its romantic bends. [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ towneley hall, burnley (_p. _).] the country remains rich in its distinctive botany, and from no portion of the north do the great markets of manchester and leeds draw more of their supplies of whortleberry and mushroom in the early autumn months. at such junctions as hellifield these natural products of the moorland may be seen stacked by the ton. it is almost the only indication of the gradual change that must come with the new era. yet until comparatively recent times the peel-house at hellifield stood witness to the remoteness of the district. so long back as the reign of henry vi. a licence was granted to the hamerton family to erect and keep as a place of defence the strong square peel which guarded the west; and around gisburne hall, the ancestral seat of the listers, represented now by the ribblesdale family, the wild cattle of the breed perpetuated chiefly at chillingham roamed at large in the secluded woods of the high tract whence the feeder stockbeck fitfully meanders to the valley of the ribble. the bracing bleakness of bowland forest is relieved for many a league by the hodder, the ribble's largest and longest tributary, which is in part of its course a natural line of demarcation between the counties that gave title to princely houses when the realm was divided by the wars of the roses. dense fringes of bush and brier proclaim its progress, and exquisitely sweet spots, like that of the oak-covered knoll on which stands the little chapel at whitewell, occur in the district where, to the commanding eminence of ancient brownsholm hall, a curious relic found its way--the veritable seal of the commonwealth, with a bible between two branches of palm as the centre, and the inscription, "seal for the approbation of ministers." [illustration: rivers of lancashire and lakeland.] the famous roman catholic college of stonyhurst, south-west of longridge fell, is near the meeting of hodder with ribble. beautiful is its situation, wooded valleys dipping in the east, and beyond them the substantial landmarks of clitheroe and pendle hill. stonyhurst, even to one who has no cognisance of its modern character, its origin, or the manner of its conversion from the mansion of the sherburnes to the purpose which it has fulfilled with high distinction for more than a hundred years, has the appearance and atmosphere, even at a distance, of a place for study and retreat. it is wholly removed from the busy world, and all the surroundings give an involuntary impression of harmony and quiet. stonyhurst was probably always a home of catholics at heart, though the sir richard sherburne who was one of harry viii.'s commissioners at the dissolution of religious houses did contrive to be a favourite with young edward, mary, and, after her, elizabeth. he it was who built part of the mansion on the site of an older baronial edifice; and the shapely west front, amongst other considerable portions of the present building, is his work. the sherburnes, however, were not able to finish the structure; but sir nicholas, who was made a baronet, in whom the title became extinct, and who was a man of culture and travel, planned and laid out the gardens which no visitor to stonyhurst is likely to forget. through cardinal weld, to whose family the property fell, it was in devoted to the use of the jesuits driven from liège by the french revolutionists. since then it has gathered high renown as an educational agency amongst the roman catholic aristocracy. [illustration: _photo: arthur winter, preston._ preston, from the west (_p. _).] in approaching stonyhurst, even the simple village on its borders exercises its tranquillising influence upon the visitor; the cemetery and oratory, the trim lawn, the trees on either side of the drive, the sheet of water, and the glimpse of the inner seclusion through the gateway, claim a share of the admiration which is given without stint to the imposing two-towered building so finely situated. the gardens are an enchantment; and the fountain, the observatory with its peter's telescope, the summer-houses, the tall, deep dividing walls of ancient yew clipped square and pierced with archway exits and entrances, blend in strengthening the conviction that here we are removed from scenes of strife. the tudor-gothic church is the most notable of the additions made since stonyhurst became a college eminent for the most perfect appliances for scientific study, for a well-furnished museum, and all that is best for students at work or play. in the mitton area, which trends to a point where the two rivers mingle, may be found many interesting specimens of the well-preserved, half-timbered houses for which the two counties (each of which claims a part of mitton) are celebrated. the well-known doggerel perpetrated in honour of this neighbourhood, may be quoted--not, however, as warranted by any climatic defects, but rather as showing the straits to which the author was put for a rhyme: "the hodder, the calder, ribble, and rain, all meet together in mitton domain." into the ribble, at no great distance below this ancient parish, protruding like a wedge into the county palatine, flows the calder, coming from the south-east, and from a district once as wild as longridge fell and bowland forest, but now reduced to modern uses by the cotton and worsted mills, calico works, and foundries of thriving burnley, through which ran a roman way once upon a time. it has an indirect relation with the ribble, being placed on the brun, the calder intervening. never had manufacturing town a finer "lung" than is furnished by pendle hill, which offers a climb of , feet above sea-level to the dwellers in a district which is in touch also (near or far) with sawley ruins, blackstone edge, and the vale of craven. fox, the founder of the society of friends, was so carried away with delight in his travels thereabouts that he declares he was moved by the lord to go up to the top of pendle hill, and in the clear atmosphere saw the sea shining beyond the lancashire coast. amongst many old houses of which lancashire is proud is towneley hall, seat of a family one of whose ancestors was first dean of whalley abbey, the ruins of which are one of the most valued relics on the banks of the calder. this takes us back to a century and a half before the conquest; and it was one of this ilk who was the last of the deans. the original hall of the towneleys appears to have partly stood somewhat south of the mansion which is the subject of one of the illustrations to this chapter (page ). whitaker, the great authority on lancashire history, was unable to ascribe a date to the hall, but it is evident to the modern observer that portions are of considerable antiquity. many must have been the changes, however, since the six-feet walls were built. the work of richard towneley in is known, and the addition was by w. towneley in . a still later member of the family removed turrets, gateway, chapel, and sacristy to their present position, but the rebuilding had been begun a few years earlier. the portraits, as is often the case, tell in great measure what the towneleys were in their day and generation: one died at wigan lane, another at marston moor; one was an eminent antiquary, another translated "hudibras" into french, another collected art treasures, secured to the trustees of the british museum by means of a parliamentary grant. [illustration: lancaster (_p. _).] some of the most interesting of the old towneley relics were believed to have been brought from whalley abbey, built upon a spot which, before streams were polluted by factories, yielded fish from the river, and feathered game from the woods and heather, whilst the forest and park around the old hall furnished abundance of venison. burnley then must have been a delightful town, lying in its hollow, environed by swelling moors and crystal streams. this is the country of which philip gilbert hamerton often pathetically speaks in his "autobiography," though "the voice of nature," to which he refers in one of his poems, must even in his young days have been thickened here and there by the smoke of tall chimneys, and marred by the echo of raucous sounds from foundry and loom. "proud preston" is an appellation which had its significance in another generation, and was indicative of the loyalty of the town to old traditions, to the grown, to its own independence. the hundred in which it was situated was attached, in the reign of athelstan, to the cathedral church of york: hence priests' town, or preston. this is evidence of a satisfactory old age; and in more was forthcoming from a rude box dug up from the alluvial soil on the banks of the ribble, containing a precious store of coins, rings, and ingots, including nearly , anglo-saxon pieces. higher up the stream was the still older settlement of ribchester, the roman station of coccium, which declined into nothing as preston increased in importance. the sweep of country surveyed from red scar, where the river curves into a horseshoe course under a precipitous bank, or from the popular point of look-out in avenham park, is studded with points around which history clings. the lonesome moor where cromwell routed sir marmaduke langdale and his royalists has become an open space for the recreation of the people; the jacobite rebellions and the temporary sojourn of charles edward on that disastrous derby campaign are remembrances dimmed by the remarkable rise of preston in modern times as a manufacturing and commercial town. this is owing to its position at the head of the ribble estuary. there are two things in the present century of which even "proud preston" need not be ashamed: it was here that the first total abstinence pledge was taken in england, the signatories being joseph livesey and half a dozen brother-abstainers; and it was here that the practical working of the vote by ballot was tested in . for more than thirty years the flourishing town, standing feet above its river, has been undergoing improvements, carried out with great public spirit. sir gilbert scott designed for it the french-gothic town hall which rises gracefully above the other buildings; county hall, free library, and museum have been added; even the parish church has been rebuilt, and the once steepleless town now boasts, in st. walburge's roman catholic church, the loftiest spire erected in england since the reformation. an unbroken link with the past is the guild-merchants' festival, celebrated since (half a century before the first charter was granted); and for the last years the "preston guild" has been observed with intense fervour every twenty years, the next coming due in . the present writer was in preston during, probably, the saddest circumstances under which such a celebration could occur. it was in , when the cotton famine was sore in lancashire; but the prestonians threw themselves with energy into the traditional observance, and made it a memorable success. rose festivals, morris dances, and other old english revelries retain their hold here, as in other parts of lancashire, and are likely long to prevail. it is as a port that preston has recently claimed attention. the changes effected since the passing of the ribble navigation act in have been striking. the marsh which kept the town apart from its river has been drained, and made fit for houses and streets. woods that were familiar objects in the immediate landscape have disappeared, and the deepening of the channel of the tidal ribble to admit ships of , tons has been but a natural result of arkwright and his spinning-frame, and the cotton industry that superseded the linen-making of the previous century. the new dock, opened by the duke of edinburgh in , with the corporation as its owners, cost a million of money. the scheme made it necessary to divert the course of the ribble below the town, and the prediction of the eminent engineer, sir john coode, that there would be no port in the country with so free a run to the sea, has been fulfilled. even with the construction of docks, involving three miles' length of permanent railway sidings, the old charm of the scene is not entirely lost. the brawny shoulders of longridge fell may be discerned in the north-east; cattle and sheep graze on the levels; the borders of the fylde country are in view, and abrupt rivington pike is on the remote horizon. * * * * * between the estuary of the ribble and the south-eastern boundary of lancaster bay is the fertile fylde district, the conformation of which is, roughly speaking, that of a foreshortened peninsula. the margate and ramsgate of lancashire--if lytham and blackpool may be so-called--are on the outlying coast, but they are only of interest to us at the present moment from the arrival of the river /wyre/ at fleetwood. this is a seaport and military station of what may, without offence, be termed upstart growth. it is but twenty-one miles north of preston as the railway flies, and it has the double advantage of being a port and a watering-place. within the memory of persons who heard about the coronation of queen victoria, the place where this important harbour is now situated, with its lighthouse ninety feet high and showing a glare that is visible for thirteen miles at sea, was a mere rabbit-warren, its one adornment a dilapidated limekiln. its population now must be close upon , , and from its docks lines of steamers ply to and from belfast and the isle of man. [illustration: windermere (_p. _).] the river wyre, rising near brennand fells, on the western side of the bowland forest of which previous mention has been made, takes in as a small tributary another river calder, which rises on bleasdale moor, forming part of a ridge of country often exceeding , feet above sea-level. wyresdale is noted for its striking combinations of wild and motley fells in recurring variations, alternating with copse and woodland. one of the earliest ecclesiastical sites in lancashire is st. michael's, some miles below garstang; and, at a point where the river nears the estuary, the wyre for several miles is protected from the strength of its own current by a series of artificial banks. the old fashioned town of poulton-le-fylde overlooks the river where it expands into the salt expanse of wyre water, and the estuary, contrary to the usual custom, after broadening out considerably, contracts somewhat sharply at the mouth, at the western point of which is fleetwood. [illustration: rydal water (_p. _).] [illustration: grasmere (_p. _).] our next river has been characterised by "faërie queene" spenser as "the stony, shallow lone, that to old loncaster his name doth lend." as the poet was probably born near the burnley which has been described on a previous page, he no doubt knew his lancashire well, and spoke from the book when he claims that it gives name to the town and the county. the /lune/ is what in the north-country is called a bonny river, and it rises, not on the edge of richmondshire, as is sometimes stated, but at the upper extremity of a dale to the south-east of wharton, in westmorland. this is a portion of the upheaved lancashire country, however, that stands something midway between sea-level and the summits of its best mountains. the uplands and highlands of the early course of the lune range between feet and , feet, and the lower half is below the smaller figure. the course, however, is through a section of valleys watered by innumerable creeks, and kept in bounds by the lonely fells. sometimes, as at howgill, there are fairy glens, and the occasional intervals of fertile pastures and wooded levels are a not ungrateful contrast. on one of the plains of the lune is kirkby lonsdale, the capital of a vale which stretches away with ingleborough in the distance. the river courses round a half-circle, and the scene, with its mountainous background in the east, is particularly beautiful. it is a rare kind of panorama for this part of the country. the radiating valleys in the lancashire portion of the lune's course bring in the greta and the wenning. the former must not be confounded with the other greta that is born near helvellyn, nor with the tributary of the tees in the north riding, at the bridge of which nicholas nickleby, old squeers, and the wretched boys were put down from the coach _en route_ to dotheboys hall. this greta which is a tributary of the lune is a rocky-bedded, brawling, rushing little stream, tumbling down from whernside, and, between ingleborough and ingleton fells, finding its way through a dale which is much visited for the sake of the roaring subterranean waterfall of wethercote cave, the charming surroundings of ingleton village, and the caves and fells of kingsdale valley. the wenning is the larger tributary, and its popular attractions are the subterranean grotto called ingleborough cave, in the gloomy clapdale ravine, and hornby castle, conspicuously placed on a craggy height fringed with old trees. this interesting country is now traversed by a railway branching west from settle, with a junction at clapham for the aforesaid ingleton, and affording to the traveller a sight of giggleswick scar and the geological curiosity of craven fault. the hornby castle referred to was built by one of the normans on the site of a roman villa, and the ruins near are those of a priory reared in the sixteenth century. the vale of caton, within a five-mile walk of lancaster, at the navigable limit of the lune, moved the poet gray to remarks which might fairly be applied to more than one spot in lunedale. these are the words: "to see the view in perfection, you must go into a field on the left. here ingleborough, behind a variety of lesser mountains, makes the background of the prospect. on each hand, up the middle distance, rise two sloping hills, the left clothed with thick woods, the right with variegated rock and herbage. between them, in the richest of valleys, the lune serpentines for many a mile, and comes forth ample and clear, through a well-wooded and richly-pastured foreground." for the last seven miles of its course the lune runs almost parallel to and within a short distance of morecambe bay, and the narrow neck of land which it forms is distinguished by the designation of little fylde. while preston, as we have seen, has been rising into importance as a port, and the ribble has been made worthy of vessels of considerable tonnage, lancaster, though the county town, has declined very swiftly in maritime importance in the course of the last hundred years. no one looking at john of gaunt's old home in the present day, and upon the business transacted on the lune, which passes by it, could guess that it was a very considerable emporium of commerce, being, indeed, ranked above liverpool when charles i. levied the ship-money which brought him to disaster. at that time lancaster was assessed at £ and liverpool at £ . even then the lancaster ships sailed regularly to the west indies and the baltic. the sinuosity of the channel and the shallowness of the ancient ford near the town became a serious hindrance to navigation, but by dint of enterprising dredging lancaster is still reckoned amongst the english ports, and at glasson, where the little conder flows into the estuary under the railway, there is a harbour and dock which may yet revive the prosperity of the town. lancaster is one of the many roman settlements about whose name antiquaries are entitled to contend. a piece of brass money, found under one of the foundation-stones of the arch of a former lancaster bridge, was described as danish, and in the time of king john the abbot of furness had royal permission to get timber from the king's forests of lancaster for such of the repairs of the bridge as he was "liable to" for his fisheries. these fisheries, like those of the ribble, were once of the first class, and were granted to the abbot of furness in the reign of stephen. there were always disputes, however, and sometimes hot quarrels, as to the rights in both salmon and timber, and king after king, according to the necessity of those days, backed up the church, while legal regulations from time to time controlled the fisheries. from this, coupled with the fact that its first charter was granted by richard i., we may without more ado conclude that lancaster is an ancient borough. indeed, there are many curious evidences of this kept alive in surviving customs, the origin of which must be found in musty grants and charters. lancaster castle, through whose time-honoured owner the county became a duchy, was strongest, perhaps, in the reign of elizabeth, when the threat of a spanish invasion led to the overhauling of all its points of defence. this, too, was the date of the strengthening of the great keep, the remnant of which is a treasured example of norman architecture. from a mighty royal and baronial residence the castle has now become a gaol, and john of gaunt's oven, as the mill and bakery of the fortress was termed, became the record office. there were five monastic establishments in lancaster, with privilege of sanctuary. the time came when the privilege was of no avail. but the unfortunate rebels of entered lancaster with flying colours, bravely marching, and mustering in the market-place to the skirl of the bagpipes. they proclaimed the pretender king of england under the title of james iii., and some of them, poor fellows, returned soon afterwards, not in search of the sanctuary they needed, but to be imprisoned in the castle, and to suffer the last penalty of the law as in their case made and provided. even in the ' charles edward, at the head of his little band, must needs trouble lancaster, but the invaders were only passing through on their way to manchester and derby. a second time they came here, and then they were in full retreat, heralds of a finally lost cause. the situation of lancaster on the flank of a hill is most favourable for an appreciation of its appearance, and the castle buildings on its summit give a remarkable panorama of the town, the valley of the lune winding on its way to the sea through the lowland. the principal gateway of the castle is an ancient portcullised archway, flanked by octagonal towers, and in it are chambers to which far-off traditions refer, for the authorities assure us that the gateway belonged to "time-honoured lancaster's" tower, while in an apartment called the pin box henry iv. gave audience to the king of scotland and the french ambassadors. the dungeon tower, demolished in , became the penitentiary for women prisoners. "john of gaunt's chair" is a turret at the top of the tower, and from this eminence of ninety feet superb views, which in clear weather comprise shadowy forms in the lake-country, are to be obtained. whewell, the master of trinity college, is one of the worthies of whom the town is proud, and all the more because he was a son of one of its carpenters. but for the accident of the lad attracting the attention of a kindly master, and the existence of a grammar school, founded in by john gardiner, the distinguished scholar might never have attained his eminence. another pupil of the school was sir richard owen, the great naturalist. [illustration: newby bridge (_p. _).] [illustration: another bit of the leven.] a couple of lines by spenser prefaced these remarks about the lune, and an extract from the river-poet, drayton, may well conclude them:-- "for salmon me excels; and for this name of lun, that i am christened by the britons it begun, which fulness doth import of waters still increase to neptune bowting low, when christal lune doth cease; and conder coming in conducts her by the hand, till lastly she salutes the point of sunderland, and leaves our dainty lune to amphitrite's care. * * * * * then hey, they cry, for lune, and hey for lancashire, that one high hill was heard to tell it to his brother." there are streams which find their way, sometimes through devious and uncertain channels, into morecambe bay, but they are little known even to the inquisitive angler, who is always in search of new waters. the local sportsmen in their wisdom periodically look for the run of silver sea-trout, and keep their secret. the line of the bay from its north-eastern corner, where the kent comes in, and round to walney island, is in the most literal sense irregular, for its indentations and river tributaries are continuous. it forms the intake of what windermere and coniston water send down to the sea, and it is, moreover, the watery foreground from which the world-famed scenery of westmorland and cumberland may be finely viewed. at carnforth and silverdale the outlook in this direction is unrivalled; fairfield, helvellyn, and red screes loom in the clouds or stand clear against the sky afar, and along the shores of the bay are nestling towns and villages, wooded knolls and slopes, cottages, farms, and, always behind them, that wonderful amphitheatre, tier upon tier, of mountain. [illustration: the liza at gillerthwaite.] [illustration: the liza flowing into ennerdale water (_p. _).] in pre-railway days the journey from lancaster to ulverston was something of an adventure, always exciting, not only on account of the scenery brought under review, but because of the absolute danger of the shifting channels that had to be crossed. the coach was invariably joined at hestbank (a cliff about three miles from the county town) by guides, whose duty it was to be up to date with the last man[oe]uvres of the quicksands, and to be ready with safe crossing places. these guides were an old institution, and were originally appointed and paid as retainers by the prior of cartmel. when the downfall came, and there was no longer an abbey treasure-chest to fall back upon, the duchy of lancaster paid the wages. it used to be said that few of those who got their living by "following the sands" died in their beds. nevertheless, the calling of guide was kept in the same family for generations. the danger of this passage of the sands was long ago put into a distich-- "the kent and the keer have parted many a good man and his mear." some of the channels, it was said, were never two days together in the same place. the keer mentioned in the old couplet was very treacherous, and was always carefully sounded before the coach ventured to cross. sand tracks had to be staked out with furze-bushes, as the channel of a river is buoyed. perilous difficulties were apprehended when nearing the cartmel tongue of the kent; the leven sands beyond cartmel and ulverston were the worst of all. the poet wordsworth told mrs. hemans, according to the lady's own letter, that he admired her exploit in crossing the ulverston sands as a deed of derring-do, and as a decided proof of taste; and he truly added that the lake scenery is never seen to such advantage as after the passage of what he calls its majestic barrier. before arriving at the lake district we might in farewell turn our faces to the south, standing in imagination at silverdale. there in the picture are the wharton crags, with houses great and small amongst their wooded feet; and then there are bolton-le-sands, hestbank, poulton-le-sands (which to all intents and purposes is morecambe), heysham, and lancaster bay. it is a journey of twenty-six miles by rail from lancaster to ulverston, and the greater part of the distance is close to the shores of morecambe bay. the traveller going north, therefore, has the sea laving the tract to his left, and always, as an alternative prospect, rock, wood, stream, bushy dales and retiring glens to the right. from the sea the fishermen obtain great store of shrimp and flat fish. there are border guard-houses, such as arnside tower; and in reaching hawes tarn (which is said to be affected somehow by the rise and fall of the tide) groves of larch and pine, with a plenteous undergrowth of gorse and ling, offer themselves to the view. picturesque holme island, at the mouth of the kent, and the ruins of peel castle on the islet of that name, enter into the picture in other directions. the river /kent/, upon whose left bank the town of kendal is situated, must not long delay our round of the streams that await introduction. it gives name to kentmere village, and to the reservoir, or tarn, fed by the beck springing from the mountain bearing, in memory of the roman road which neared its loftiest point, the very familiar name of high street. there is also kentmere hall, remnant of one of the peel towers, and birthplace of bernard gilpin, the almost forgotten apostle of the north in the dangerous times of mary and elizabeth, and after whom a parallel stream westward is called. the kent, like the mint from grayrigg forest, and the sprint running down the middle of long sleddale--like, indeed, unnumbered becks on every hand in the whole district--is of the rapid order, abounding in boulders, shingly strands, deep channels between banks of imperishable rock, opening pools and pebbly shallows, haunts of trout and of the anglers who understand their ways and know the seasons when salmonidæ should be ascending from the salt water. [illustration: coniston water (_p. _).] her majesty catherine parr, who had the good fortune to escape the peril of burning as a heretic, and the loving attention which was fatal to other wives of bluff harry, was born on the banks of the kent, in the castle whose ruins are a prominent object in the scenery of which kendal is the centre. wordsworth sketches it in happy terms:-- "a straggling burgh, of ancient charter proud, and dignified by battlements and towers of a stern castle, mouldering on the brow of a green hill." shakespeare and others refer to kendal in connection with an industry established by the flemings, who settled there under edward iii. they became famous for their woollens, and their special "line" was the cloth termed "kendals" in trade parlance, and "kendal-green" by the outlaws and their critics. this was the colour of the clothes worn by the "three misbegotten knaves" whose exploits upon falstaff were denounced by prince henry as lies "gross as a mountain, open, palpable." the foresters' cloth made by the flemings was deservedly popular; but cotton superseded woollens in the last century, and this in time gave place to other textile fabrics. the /gilpin/ flows into the head of the long and crooked estuary a mile or so away from the mouth of the kent river; and, further south, the viaduct carrying the railway to grange crosses from arnside. the isolated conical hill, castle head (or castle hill), is prettily brightened by foliage, and it is a significant survival of the old landmarks. the waves used to wash the base of this now high and dry eminence, for the plain traversed by the river winster is mostly land reclaimed from the sea at different times, but most extensively for the construction of the railway. holme island is opposite and near the mouth of the winster, and has not been inaptly described as a marine paradise made by the art and industry of man from a rude, isolated rock upon which previously nothing better than whins and brambles struggled for precarious roothold. the causeway which joins this beautiful little realm of a few acres to the mainland makes it an island only in name, but the name abides. upon the cartmel peninsula is the wooded domain of holker hall, which was the favourite autumnal resort of the late duke of devonshire. * * * * * the much more spacious peninsula of furness--with ulverston as its central town, the great docks and shipbuilding yards of barrow marking modern progress, and the ruins of furness abbey pointing to a distant past--is divided from cartmel by the estuary of the leven. leven from our point of consideration means windermere and entrance to the unchanging beauty of lakeland. the river leven, however, is but a conclusion; in other words, it is the final link of the chain of water-pictures which have inspired many a poet; and to arrive at the first we must leave for a moment the sands of morecambe bay and take a new departure away beyond grasmere, where the river /rothay/ (or rotha) is formed by a congregation of murmuring becks or gills. one of the feeders of the rothay comes from the tiny codale tarn and the larger easedale tarn, well known to tourists from the rattling little waterfall, sourmilk force. codale lies pretty high in the world, rising to an altitude considerably over , feet. easedale is a basin somewhat down hill, and is in these days much better known than when wordsworth strolled beside its outpouring stream, and confessed to having composed thousands of verses in the solitude of the vale. the conspicuous headland of helm crag is an essential part of the scenery, and it is climbed for the sake of the view over grasmere, windermere, esthwaite tarn, helvellyn, and fairfield. [illustration: ennerdale (_p. _).] it may be remarked that we are now in the region of tarns and pikes, and the derivation of the former word, if not strictly correct, is not unpoetical, for it is said to mean "a tear." this imaginative investment reminds us of wordsworth's declaration that the stream which traverses easedale is now and again as wild and beautiful as a brook may be. the river rothay, however, does not rely entirely upon this immortalised brook, but it can fairly reckon upon what can be spared from the tarns when the other gills fail in their shrunken currents. in the valley is the village of grasmere, sacred to wordsworth's cottage; and the church, containing a medallion of the author who sang its "naked rafters intricately crossed," and whose grave and that of members of his family, with hartley coleridge lying hard by, and a memorial-stone to clough, attract renewed streams of pilgrims. the cottage is not far from the church, and it is now owned by trustees, who keep it in order for the inspection of visitors. there is no section of this district which is not beautiful, and the recurring clumps of trees recall how the country was at one time alleged to be so covered with wood that wild boars abounded. there was, and probably is, a local saying that a squirrel could travel from kendal to keswick without once touching the ground. it was at this cottage that wordsworth first set up housekeeping, and many and distinguished were his visitors to grasmere. it had been previously a rustic inn under the prophetic sign of the "dove and olive bough"; and upon about £ a year the poet contrived to entertain relays of visitors, amongst them southey, coleridge, and scott. it was, perhaps of necessity, a teetotal cottage, and it was here (according to report) that sir walter, after dinner, used to pretend that he was going for a meditative stroll, and resort to the public-house for a draught of what was best. until recent years the descendant of a certain publican--who was said to have given scott away by addressing him, as he and wordsworth walked up, with, "ah, master scott, you're early to-day for your drink"--was pointed out as an inhabitant of the village; but there is some doubt about this pretty story, as sir walter only visited wordsworth for one day while he resided at the cottage, and then it was a call in company with davy, on an occasion when they ascended helvellyn together. on the whole, the lake district must remain a most temperate region, for it was reported that on the christmas day of so recent a year as a party of young men who called at the most elevated public-house in england were the first customers the landlord had seen for six weeks. the rothay courses south, a short length between the village and the mere. writ large in literary associations, and a household word amongst english-speaking peoples, grasmere is but a mile long, and nothing like so broad at its widest part, but it is a precious gem in a setting where all is worthy. gray, whose prose descriptions of lakeland are passed on from writer to writer, rejoiced exceedingly because not a single red tile, and no staring gentleman's house (meaning probably no gentleman's staring house) broke in upon the repose of the unsuspected paradise. the paradise is not any longer unsuspected; it is public property; but there are still left the eternal hills, grasmere water hollowed in their bosom, the small bays and miniature promontories, the soft turf green as an emerald, trees, hedges, cattle, pastures, and corn-land--items of description that may in a varying degree apply to almost every one of these famous sheets of lakeland water. in truth, there is no better travelled ground in the three kingdoms than this; and it may be assumed once for all that its general attractions are known to the reader, and that we are free to proceed with our purpose of showing the part borne by the rivers as connecting ways, and systems of supply and relief for the lakes. the river rothay does precisely what wordsworth did: it moves from grasmere to rydal, flowing along the base of loughrigg fell, avoiding the terrace and curving up towards the "wishing gate" to the western point of rydal water. from any of the paths which conduct downwards the course of the rothay is brightly and clearly mapped. we need not pause at rydal mount, wordsworth's last residence, nor at the rock which is remembered as his favourite seat, nor at rydal hall and the shade-giving trees of its park, nor follow the beck to the little tumbles of water named rydal falls, nor stroll the half mile which would bring us to fox how, the holiday retreat of arnold of rugby. amongst the trees in the so-called rydal forest there are oaks that must often have given pleasure to wordsworth in his rambles; and the beck which is always scurrying to the rothay receives its impetus from the steepness of its journey from the mountain-- "down rydal cove from fairfield's side." on past ambleside, which it leaves untouched to the left, the rothay proceeds, with greetings from rydal water to busy windermere. ambleside, though it has no immediate lake view, is not without its water effects, both heard and seen when the swollen little tributary gives power to stock ghyll force, a very respectable fall of some seventy feet. every visitor to ambleside pays homage to this romantic termination of a delightful walk through a sylvan enclosure. ambleside is nowadays practically connected with the lake by waterhead and the extended occupation of the flat; and a short distance above the head of the lake is the junction of the brathay and the rothay. the former, like the latter, is in intimate relations with lakelet and feeder, and, in truth, cuts an important figure by its drainage of great and little langdale, its reception of sundry gills from the dominating pikes which seldom allow themselves to be forgotten in the windermere county, its inclusion of little langdale tarn and elterwater, and its share in keeping in action various waterfalls, of which dungeon ghyll force and the mill beck cascades are the best. the neighbourhood elicited the warmest admiration from professor wilson, who said that sweeter stream scenery with richer foreground and loftier background was nowhere to be seen within the four seas. of the three lakelets he preferred the small tarn on loughrigg fell-- "by grandeur guarded in its loveliness." the two rivers have time and space to combine in a united volume before fairly entering windermere. it is strange to notice the exaggerated idea entertained by those who have never explored lakeland as to the dimensions of such waters as windermere, ullswater, and derwentwater. they have read so much and so often about them that they have become visions of vast distances, inland seas upon which storm-bound mariners have to run to port for shelter when the stormy winds do blow. yet windermere, the first of the lakes in dimensions, is not more than ten miles and a half in length, and, except in its broadest section, opposite windermere and bowness towns, less than a mile broad. its real greatness lies in its exquisite islets or holms, and in the commanding views which receive so much charm from the intervening foreground of water, however limited in extent it may be. two of the feeders of windermere, and they the principal ones, have been mentioned in their geographical order; and there remain to complete the category at least two others. /troutbeck/, which is said to be one of the few streams in all lakeland that are of small value to the angler, comes in from the north-east down a beautiful valley, an easy excursion distance either from ambleside for the higher, or from windermere for the lower, portions; and midway, under wansfell pike, lies troutbeck village, the most picturesque conceivable, as it was also when christopher north wrote of the scattered dwellings "all dropped down where the painter and the poet would have wished to plant them, on knolls and in dells, on banks and braes, and below tree-crested rocks--and all bound together in picturesque confusion by old groves of ash, oak, and sycamore, and by flower-gardens and fruit-orchards rich as those of the hesperides." there to the north-east, over against kentmere reservoir, ill bell offers the temptation of an ascent of , feet, and troutbeck valley is preferred as on the whole the easiest and pleasantest route. [illustration: the greta between threlkeld and keswick (_p. _).] esthwaite water, one of the smaller lakes, and a satellite of windermere, is also narrow in proportion to length, and a matter of four miles removed to the west. no one is heard to rave about its homely shores and indifferent setting, but it comes under frequent notice from its nearness to hawkshead, a quaint little market-town with a notable church, and a grammar school, one of whose forms is preserved with wordsworth's initials cut in it. esthwaite water, however, is bound to receive its due in these pages, as the helpmeet of windermere through the medium of the short and business-like stream /cunsey beck/. at the point where this feeder is lost in the lake, though it is not its deepest part, the angler may reckon upon the miscellaneous sport which is yielded by the lakes generally. in the deeper waters (and the plumb-line makes the bottom feet at the maximum depth) the char, only to be found in a few localities in the three kingdoms, occurs. its capture with rod and line is sport of a kind, but it is inferior in this respect to the trout. at a time when the available rivers for the angler who cannot afford to be his own riparian owner are becoming fewer and fewer, it is a little remarkable that these countless becks, tarns, full-sized streams and lakes are not more highly prized by the fisherman-tourist. it is true that windermere, from one cause and another, has of late years fallen into disrepute, but under the operations of a local association there has been distinct improvement, though steamer traffic must always seriously reduce the value of such fishing haunts. [illustration: the derwent, with keswick in the distance (_p. _).] [illustration: the derwent at crosthwaite (_p. _).] very pleasing to the eye are the undulating shores, and the green of the grass, and the foliage of windermere at its southern end. at lakeside it is so narrow that it is hard to put your finger on the spot where the /leven/ begins, though, for want of a better, newby bridge, as shown in the illustration (p. ), will serve. the leven, as before remarked, is the last link of our windermere chain, but after rothay and brathay, and the becks with their forces and falls, we need give it but the consideration which is due to an outlet bearing to the sea such waters as windermere does not want, through the long tortuous channel in the sandy wastes of morecambe bay. * * * * * the /crake/ river falls into the leven so near its mouth that it might almost claim to be a tributary. but it is independent and apart in its character and mission. it belongs to coniston water, as leven belongs to windermere; and the commonplace scenery of its short course, with its trio of bridges, is another mark of similarity. all that is noticeable around coniston lake is at the upper portion. the steamer pier is at waterhead, the village and station are half a mile inland; the old man of coniston ( , feet), whom generations of climbers have been proud to attack, is in the same direction, and yewdale and its tarn, howes, crags and fells are towards the north. the coaching traveller may feast his eyes upon the lancet-shaped water, some five miles long from schoolbeck at the upper or from the crake at the lower terminal, and of a uniform width of about half a mile; while the upward trip from lake bank affords clear and happy views of the mountains of which the old man is the irrepressible head. off the high road opposite coniston hall, a farmhouse once the westmorland seat of the le fleming family, is brantwood, associated with the names of gerald massey, poet and self-made man, of linton the engraver, and of ruskin, great as any of those giants of literature whose names are linked with lakeland. * * * * * the river /duddon/ as a thing of beauty has often been overpraised, no less an authority than wordsworth setting the example when, in his "scenery of the lakes," he says it may be compared, such and so varied are its beauties, with any river of equal length in any country. yet there are streams in wales, and even in the north of england, which their admirers would not hesitate to rank above it. it rises upon wrynose fell, on the confines of westmorland, cumberland, and lancashire, and for twenty-five miles or so is the boundary between the two latter counties. it possesses, no doubt, a certain picturesqueness, having its wild mountain phases, its torrents roaring around obstructive rocks, its passage through fertile meadows, and at last its slow ending through the everlasting sands to an open outlet into the irish sea at the north end of walney island. donnerdale, with seathwaite as its most notable centre, has received much attention because wordsworth (from whom we cannot, and would not if we could, escape in lakeland) made it the subject of thirty-four sonnets, dedicated to his brother christopher. the poet evidently set himself down to glorify this particular district by prolonged observation-- "... for duddon, long-beloved duddon, is my theme." in the course of his sonnets he sings its dwarf willows and ferny brakes; its sullen moss and craggy mound; its green alders, ash and birch trees, and sheltering pines; its hamlets under verdant hills; its barns and byres, and spouting mills. nor does he fail to celebrate the gusts that lash its matted forests. when the gale becomes too obstreperous, then, reckless of angry duddon sweeping by, the poet turns him to the warm hearth, to "laugh with the generous household heartily at all the merry pranks of donnerdale." the only pollution he would admit in this innocent stream was the occasional sheep-washing by the dalesmen. in his notes wordsworth recommends the traveller who would be most gratified with the duddon not to approach it from its source, as is done in the sonnets, nor from its termination, but from coniston over walna scar, first descending into a little circular valley, a collateral compartment of the long, winding vale through which the river flows. in fact, wordsworth's notes are a very excellent guide to the district, and thorne, who was a first-hand authority upon rivers, confessedly took the poet as his cicerone when he followed the stream from the very top of wrynose, marking even the bed of moss through which the water oozes at the source. with a poet's licence, wordsworth likens his river finally to the thames; but though the duddon widens considerably at ulpha, it loses its beauty before it finishes its career. [illustration: derwentwater and skiddaw (_p. _).] [illustration: derwentwater from scafell.] * * * * * following the coast around haverigg point, whence the sand of the coast becomes only the decent margin which makes the shore pleasant, we pause at the three-branched estuary of the esk, the creeks, right, left, and middle, being formed by the esk, the mite, and the irt. this is all majestic country. our cumberland esk hails from scafell, whose pike of , feet is the highest ground in england. upper eskdale may also be spoken of in the superlative degree for its marked grandeur. no mean skill in mountaineering is required to reach wastdale, langdale, and borrowdale from the different paths. the esk falls are formed by the junction of becks from bowfell and scafell. the fine cataract, cam spout, descends from mickledore; and hardknott, which is one of the lesser heights, has a roman ruin spoken of as a castle. there are, moreover, baker force and stanley gill amongst the waterfalls. little need be said about the second-named river, the mite, except that it passes the fell, the railway station, and the castle, bearing each the name of muncaster. [illustration: the cocker flowing from crummock water (_p. _).] the river /irt/ is the outlet of wastwater, a gloomy lake three and a half miles long and half a mile broad, and of immense depth. it is a tradition in lakeland that this piece of water is never frozen, but this is clearly an error, for there is a distinct record by the learned brother of sir humphry davy that it was partly covered with ice in the great frost of . the desolate crags around the lake are answerable for much of its severe character, and perhaps it was on this account that the lakers used to visit it. waugh, the lancashire poet, encountered a local gossip who was full of memories of wordsworth, wilson, de quincey, and sedgwick, and the man very much amused his listener by describing wordsworth as a very quiet old man, who had no pride, and very little to say. christopher north was naturally a horse of another colour, being full of his gambols, and creating great excitement by his spirited contests with one of the cumberland wrestlers. wastwater is often violently agitated by heavy squalls from the south, which is somewhat of an anomaly, seeing that the boundary on that side is a mighty natural rampart named the screes, so called from the loose nature of the scarps, which tend to make some of the neighbouring mountains practically inaccessible. [illustration: the cocker at kirkgate (_p. _).] * * * * * ennerdale water, a few miles to the north, receives its first influx from the river /liza/, locally known as lissa beck. it is a lovely valley, and there is no overcrowding of population. the last house is the farmhouse of gillerthwaite, and further progress upwards to the mountains is by footpath only. this is in truth the only excuse for mentioning the liza, though it might serve as an opportunity for singing the praises of the great gable, formerly known as the green gable. it is one of the most conspicuous of mountain heads, and its frowning peak meets the view from great distances. pillar mountain, which is nearer ennerdale plain, is almost exactly the same height-- , feet, which is about seven yards less than the gable--and it has a pinnacled and abrupt descent almost to the confines of the lake. ennerdale water at one time had the character of being the best fishing resort in the lakes. "the anglers' inn" is not, as may be supposed, an establishment of modern growth, for it is bepraised in the literature of forty years ago. the bold headland projecting into the water at the western end was more than half a century back well known as angler fell, for a reason which the term itself explains, and at that time one of the curiosities of the lake was a collection of loose stones which, according to tradition, had been placed at the head of the shoal by unknown mortal or supernatural hands. anyhow, the heap was always pointed out as a mystery until a scientific visitor explained it away by pronouncing it to be the remnant of an old moraine. though not so deep as wastwater, ennerdale water can boast its twenty-four fathoms, and the familiar statement is made as to its immunity from ice, the fact being that it is only in the severest frosts that these uncommonly deep lakes are affected. at the lower end the river ehen takes up the duty of carrying the overflow to the sea, describing a long and semicircular course that from opposite st. bees becomes by quick swerve a journey due south. the valley thence is of a pastoral character, and is perhaps best known from the establishment on its banks (long before the cleator iron works sent up their smoke) of the little town of egremont, with its ruins of a strong fortress. it was this that suggested the cumberland tradition told by wordsworth in the poem "the horn of egremont castle." * * * * * "scarcely ever have i seen anything so fine as the vale of st. john," southey exclaims; and the valley of st. john which is named more than once in scott's "bridal of triermain" is always accepted as the same. it is in the country of helvellyn, of thirlmere, of the river /greta/, and keswick is its capital. the greta, however, is known by sectional names, even after it issues from the mere, which has the distinction of being, while one of the minor lakes, the highest in altitude. the other lakes are generally something between and feet above sea level. this is over feet, and its precipitous borderings here and there are in accord with its unusual elevation. the stream which has to make so steep a descent before it is received by the derwent is generally spoken of as st. john's beck as it trends northward through the namesake vale, naddle fell on the one side, and great dodd on the other, keeping watch and ward, deeply scored; saddleback always looming grimly ahead beyond threlkeld, with skiddaw as near neighbour. at this stage the glenderamakin makes conjunction from the east, and, united, the streams become the greta. from threlkeld it takes a new course, westerly to keswick, and its scenery is of the highest beauty as it hurries past latrigg, otherwise known as skiddaw's cub. greta in this short length of established identity is not to be denied, as greta bridge, greta hall (the home of southey for forty years), and greta bank testify. half a mile from keswick, over the bridge, is crosthwaite, the old parish church in whose god's acre southey was buried. the tourist in lakeland will bring back his special impression of "the very finest view," according to his individual tastes and, maybe, temperament. a well-ordered ballot would probably, however, place at the head of the list that prospect--never to be adequately described--from castlerigg top. for water there are bassenthwaite and derwentwater; for giant mountain forms, skiddaw and saddleback; for cloud-capped and shadowy fells, the highlands of buttermere and crummock, with "the mountains of newlands shaping themselves as pavilions; the gorgeous confusion of borrowdale just revealing its sublime chaos through the narrow vista of its gorge," as de quincey described them; and for the softer toning and the human interest, the valley of the greta and the goodly town of keswick are in the nearer survey. out of town the river becomes moderately tranquil, and enters the derwent at the northernmost point of keswick lake or derwentwater. derwentwater is the most oval in outline of any of the lakes, and it has the bijou measurements of three miles in length, by a mile and a half in breadth. foreshores of foliaged slopes or herbaged margins give play to an imposing presentment of cliff and wooded knoll, with dark masses of fantastic mountains behind; the clear water is studded with small islands of varying form and bulk, and in its centre is st. herbert's isle, sacred to the memory of a "saintly eremite" whose ambition it was to die at the moment when his beloved cuthbert of durham expired, so that their souls might soar heavenwards in company. after hot summers a phenomenal floating islet, of bog-like character and covered with vegetation, rises at a point about yards from the shore near the far-famed waters coming down from lodore. scafell is somewhat a far cry from keswick, but one of the most impressively comprehensive views of derwentwater, as of windermere and wastwater in a lesser degree, is to be obtained from the summit. the river /derwent/, known alternatively as the grange, rises at the head of borrowdale, flows along the middle of the valley, and enters the lower part of the lake near the falls of lodore. issuing from the further extremity, augmented by the greta, it flows north-westwards to pay tribute to bassenthwaite water, which, after derwentwater and its strong features of interest, is somewhat of an anti-climax; yet it is a fine lake some four miles in length, with woods on the wythop shore, and armathwaite hall at its foot commanding a full view of the lake. the derwent, renewing its river-form on the outskirts of this wooded estate, turns to the west, and arrives at cockermouth, so named from the river which here joins it from the south. buttermere and crummock water, with little loweswater up in the high fells, are the western outposts of lakeland, and they must be considered as the starting-point of the river /cocker/. they are a small chain of themselves, equidistant, and in a line from south-east to north-west. loweswater is of least account, and not in eager request by tourists; but it is the moving spirit of holme force, in a wood beside which the explorer of the lake passes; and the lower end, where the small stream connects with crummock water, is not without pleasant scenery. kirkgate, about half a mile south and half-way on the connecting stream, is a favourite resting-point. in the illustration on page the artist has eloquently described the river cocker in its hill solitudes, and in its early life, when a single arch is enough to span its modest channel; the plain whitewashed cottage in its sheltered nook, the straggling trees, the sheep fresh from the higher grazings, are very typical of these remote districts. crummock water, the largest of this trio, is somewhat out of the beaten track, but there are boats upon it, and walls of mountain rise on either side. the tourist generally spends the time possible for the casual excursionist at scale force, on a feeder of the cocker after it has cleared the lake. it is a sheer fall of over a hundred feet when there is plenty of water. a kindred cataract in the neighbourhood is sour milk force, the second waterfall of that name mentioned in this chapter. the main river, having sped through the meres and the meadows that separate them, passes through the vale of lorton, and enters the derwent near the castle ruins at cockermouth. the town was so important, through its baronial fortress, of which the gateway remains, that the roundhead troops gave it the fatal honour of a passing visit, and there an end of the castle, which they promptly dismantled. but wordsworth was born here, and the garden-terrace of his home was by derwent side. the railway frequently crosses the derwent between cockermouth and workington, keeping it on the whole close company through a generally level and ordinary country. workington is in these days a prosperous seaport; yet we must not forget that mary queen of scots landed here on a may day in , and wordsworth tells us how-- "with step prelusive to a long array of woes and degradations hand in hand-- weeping captivity and shuddering fear stilled by the ensanguined block of fotheringay." /william senior./ [illustration: _photo: w. j. munro, annan._ the annan near annan town (_p. _).] rivers of the solway firth. the firth--a swift tide. the /eden/: the eamont--eden hall--armathwaite--john skelton--wetheral and corby castle--the caldew and the petteril--greystoke castle--carlisle, its romance and history--_serva pactum_--"kinmont willie" and "bauld buccleuch"--executions of jacobites--the carlisle of to-day. the /sark/: gretna green. the /liddel/--hermitage water and castle. the /esk/: the tarras--gilnockie tower--carlenrig and johnnie armstrong--young lochinvar--kirtle water and its tragic story. the /annan/: the land of the bruces--thomas carlyle. the /nith/: dumfries--burns's grave--robert bruce and the red cumyn--drumlanrig and caerlaverock castles--the cairn and its associations--the new abbey pow and sweetheart abbey. the /dee/: douglas tongueland--threave castle. the /cree/: newton stewart--the "cruives of cree." the /bladenoch/: the wigtown martyrs. it is some years since we last saw the solway firth, but we well remember the long stretch of naked sand so quickly covered by the galloping tide, and the giant shape of criffell guarding the whole expanse of water from out which it appeared to rise, so that the prophecy ascribed to thomas the rhymer, "in the evil day coming safety shall nowhere be found except atween criffell and the sea," seemed in truth a hard saying. our abode was a solitary house on the northern bank, and, save for the wild ebb and flow of the waters, all was peace. on the right was the open sea, not much ploughed of passing keel; straight across was the indented cumberland shore, well tended and fertile, but not more so than the inland from our cottage. how plainly it comes back as one takes up the pen! "rank-swelling annan, lid with curled streams, the esks, the solway where they lose their names": so sings quaint and courtly drummond of hawthornden. it is before these and the other solway tributaries "lose their names" that we wish to write of them, touch on their beauty, and repeat again some of the brave tales, weird traditions, and choice songs that hallow their fields. and first as to the firth itself. the solway opens so rapidly on the sea that it is hard to draw the line between it and the ocean. we shall not try. the cumberland side falls rapidly off, and presents a larger coast to the open water. its rivers are not numerous, but in the eden it possesses one of great interest and importance. the coast-line of the three counties of dumfries, kirkcudbright, and wigtown forms the northern shore. it has many streams. we do not go beyond the cree, which runs into wigtown bay, and of which we shall count the bladenoch a tributary. [illustration: the eden, the petteril, and the caldew.] the solway is noted all the world over for its swift tide: "love flows like the solway, but ebbs like its tide," says scott in one of his best-known lines. a spring-tide, urged by a breeze from the south-west, speeds along at a rate of ten miles an hour. a deep, hoarse roar is heard twenty miles away, a swirling mist glittering with a number of small rainbows is seen on the sea, a huge wave of foam comes into sight, and this resolves itself into a volume of water six feet high--the vanguard of the ocean itself, which follows, a great mass in violent perturbation. the solway near annan is crossed by a long railway bridge. some years ago this bridging of the firth was considered a remarkable engineering feat, but now that you rattle in express trains over the tay and the forth, the solway viaduct seems a very trumpery affair. in the old days, when communication was slow and costly, and when, maybe, folk were bolder, how strong the temptation to make a dash for it across the sand! and yet how dangerous! dense fogs would arise of a sudden, quicksands abounded, and had a nasty trick of shifting their place ever and anon. how easy to miscalculate time or distance! imagine the feeling of the unfortunate traveller, midway across, when there fell on his ear the sullen roar of the advancing tide! fatal accidents were frequent, especially to those returning from cumberland fairs with their brains heated and their judgment confused by hours of rustic dissipation. you remember the graphic account in "redgauntlet" of darsie latimer's mishap on the northern shore, and his rescue by the laird of the lakes on his great black steed. scott in his novel gives a vivid account of the salmon-fishing on the solway: how horsemen with barbed spears dashed at full gallop into the receding tide, and speared the fish with wondrous skill. this picturesque mode is long out of date, and stake nets, which, when the tide is out, stretch like huge serpents over the sand, are now the principal engines of capture. the solway has somewhat dwindled of late epochs; geologists report it as receding seaward at the rate of a mile a century, which is lightning speed for that species of alteration--but 'twas ever a hasty firth! * * * * * the /eden/ is our first river. during its course of thirty-five miles it has much variety of pleasant scenery; whereof let wordsworth tell:-- "eden! till now thy beauty had i viewed by glimpses only, and confess with shame that verse of mine, whate'er its varying mood, repeats but once the sound of thy sweet name: yet fetched from paradise, that honour came, rightfully borne; for nature gives thee flowers that have no rival among british bowers, and thy bold rocks are worthy of their fame." it rises in the backbone of england, on the borders of westmorland, in yorkshire. we do not loiter in the long street of kirkby stephen, or dilate on the many antiquities of appleby, though in its westmorland course it flows by both places. on the cumberland border it is joined by the eamont, which rises nine miles off in romantic ullswater--a lake renowned for the remarkable combination of savage and cultivated scenery on its borders. a mile or two further, and the eden winds through a noble park, wherein stands eden hall. here, since the time of henry vi., have lived the "martial and warlike family of the musgraves," as camden calls them. they acquired the estate by marriage from the heirs of one robert turpe, who had it under henry iii.; and how far back _his_ ancestors go--why, 'twould gravel the college of heralds themselves to tell! thus eden hall has been held by the same race from time immemorial. not this alone has made the family famous, but the possession of a famous goblet, called "the luck of the musgraves," which they got, so the story goes, in this fashion. there stood in the garden st. cuthbert's well, of the most exquisite spring water. hither repaired the seneschal ("butler" some prosaically dub him; but the other sounds much finer, and is at least as accurate) to replenish his vessels. 'twas a fine summer evening, and he found the green crowded with fairies, dancing and flirting "and carrying on most outrageous," quite forgetting they had left their magic glass on the brink of the well. the seneschal promptly impounded it, as a waif and stray, for the benefit of the lord of the manor. the fairies implored and threatened in vain, and at length they vanished, uttering the prophecy-- "if that glass either break or fall, farewell the luck of eden hall." [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ eden hall.] how to doubt this story when the goblet is there to speak for itself? it is of green-coloured glass, ornamented with foliage and enamelled in different colours. spite of all, some affirm it a church vessel of the fourteenth or fifteenth century, and hint that it came into the family in a more commonplace if equally high-handed way. how far the fame of that goblet has travelled! uhland, the german poet, makes it the theme of a romantic ballad whose spirit longfellow's rendering admirably preserves. it tells how young musgrave wantonly smashed the goblet, and how instant ruin fell on him and his house. all poetic licence! the musgraves are still lords of eden hall. [illustration: the weir at armathwaite.] [illustration: wetheral bridge (_p. _).] ten miles further down the stream we come to armathwaite. the castle thereof is a plain old tower modernised. its charm lies in the surroundings. there is a fine wooded walk by the river, which swirls round a huge crag. above the weir the stream swells out into a lake. the weir itself is some four yards high and twenty long; its slope does not approach the perpendicular; and though the eden must needs fall over it, it does so with a gentle grace quite in keeping with its character. the place has its musty records: william rufus built a mill here. here, too, the benedictines had a religious house; but what pleasant spot in england is without its religious house? the ancient family of skelton held the castle from the days of the second richard; and here most probably john skelton, the poet--the best known, if not most reputable, member of the race--was born about . he took holy orders, and was rector of diss, in norfolk, but lost this and other appointments--from his improper conduct, said his superiors--rather you fancy from his mad wit, which lampooned everything and everybody. three things he held in special horror: the mendicant friars, lilly the grammarian, and cardinal wolsey. and he found vulnerable points in the red robe of the cardinal. "why come ye not to court?" is a bitter, brutal, yet brilliant invective against the great statesman. he taunts the english nobility that they dared not move-- "for dread of the mastiff cur, for dread of the butcher's dog worrying them like a hog." no doubt wolsey's father _was_ a butcher, but his eminence scarce cared to have his memory jogged on the matter; no doubt the english nobles _were_ afraid of the great prelate, but they would rather not be told so. thus, when vengeance threatened, skelton found none to take his part. with a mocking grin, you fancy, invoking the protection of the very church he had disgraced, he took sanctuary at westminster, whence not even wolsey dared drag him forth. here he is said to have amused himself in inditing certain "merrie tales," accounts, it would seem, of his own adventures. we must find room for one of these stories from his student days. he had made merry at abingdon, near oxford, where he had eaten "salte meates." returned to oxford, he "dyd lye in an ine named the 'tabere.'" at midnight he awoke with a most consuming thirst; he called in succession on the "tappestere" (the quaint mediæval term for a barmaid), "hys oste, hys ostesse, and osteler," but none would give him ear--possibly the poet lacked regularity in his payments. "'alacke,' sayd skelton, 'i shall perysh for lacke of drynke: what remedye!'" he soon found one: he bellowed "fyer, fyer, fyer," so long and so loud that presently the whole house was up and scurrying hither and thither in excitement and alarm. finding nothing, they finally asked the poet where the fire was? the mad rogue, pointing to his open mouth and parched tongue, implored, "fetch me some drynke to quench the fyer and the heate and the driness in my mouthe." our forefathers dearly loved a joke even at their own expense. the honest folk of the "tabere" were amused rather than enraged. mine host produced him of his best, and at length even skelton's thirst was quenched. yet this madcap was a man of genius. erasmus spoke of him to henry viii. as "_britannicarum literarum decus et lumen_"; and if you can endure the obsolete and (one must add) the coarse expressions, you will find in "the tunnyng of elynour running" the most remarkable picture in existence of low life in late mediæval england. but let us return to the eden, which now enters the parish of wetheral. not far from wetheral bridge the riverside is precipitous. here, cut in the face of the rock, forty feet above the water level, are three curious cells known as "wetheral safeguards." tradition affirms that st. constantine, younger son of an early scots king, having excavated them with his own hands, lived therein the pious life of a hermit. to him was dedicated wetheral priory, whereof a mouldering gateway alone survives the havoc of well-nigh a thousand years. the choicest of eden scenery is in this parish. there is cotehill, with its sweet pastoral aspect; cotehill island, fringed with trees, whose low-lying branches continually sway to and fro in the stream; and brackenbank, wherefrom you best catch the prominent features of the surrounding country. we think the pencil gives the aspect of such places better than the pen, so we refer to our illustrations, and move on to corby castle in the same parish, which tops a precipitous cliff overhanging the river. from it you see far along the richly wooded banks. do you wonder that it "has been a gentleman's seat since the conquest"? and yet, not to be disdained of the most fastidious modern, for "the front of corby house is of considerable length and consists of a suite of genteel apartments." and those delightful walks through the woods! there among the trees by the edge of the stream is the long walk, best of all. the reflection of the moon in the water on a calm summer evening is much admired by amorous couples, who cannot understand, however, why the walk is called long. if those same couples go up the winding stairway cut in the rock, they will be chagrined to find that, despite its wildly picturesque appearance, it leads to nothing more romantic than a boathouse! years ago some ingenious wit carved choice quotations from the poets on the rocks and trees, and the name of the river suggested many passages from milton's account of eden in "paradise lost"; but the quotations were not appreciated by the rustics, who joyed in defacing them. edward ii. gave the place to the salkeld family, but it has long been in the possession of the howards. in wetheral church, among many other monuments, is a touching one to the lady of the house, commemorated by wordsworth in the perfect lines beginning-- "stretched on the dying mother's lap lies dead her new-born babe; dire ending of bright hope!" we have now followed the eden's course to carlisle; there it is joined by two tributaries, the caldew and the petteril, each of some importance. the /caldew/ rises on the eastern slope of skiddaw. both it and its affluent, the caldbeck, flow through the romantic scenery of the fells, and dash at quite a headlong pace down steep declines, whereof howk fall is the most renowned. at holt close bridge the caldew deserts the light of day altogether, but after four miles of subterranean windings it "comes up smiling" (as one might say) at spout's dub. the /petteril/ comes from two headstreams in greystoke park and by penruddock, and has a course of some twenty miles through pleasant woodland and meadow scenery. near the westmorland border, on a steep eminence by its first headwater, stands greystoke castle. the old castle was, during the civil wars in , taken by lambert for the parliament, and burned to the ground. the remains of the battery he threw up are still called "cromwell's holes." this place has long been in the possession of the howards. the castle was widely famed for its collection of curiosities, more or less authentic. thus, there were "a large white hat," said to have covered no less a head than thomas becket's; and a picture of silk embroidery representing the crucifixion, worked by the royal hands of mary queen of scots. a fire in played sad havoc among these oddities; but you may still admire the great park with its deer and its ponds, and the charming prospects of the lake mountains which you have from the castle windows. [illustration: /view from brackenbank, looking towards cotehill/ (_p. _). cotehill island.] and now we are in carlisle town--to-day a thriving, well-built, but, after all, not very remarkable place. here as elsewhere, romance has fled, and prosaic comfort takes its place. "merrie carlisle" the ballads call it. do you wonder why? it was in the very centre of border warfare; some eight miles north lay the debatable land--for centuries a bone of contention between scots and english. in frequent incursions the northman wasted the country far and near, and the warder, as he looked from the scots gate--so they termed the northern port of the citadel--could see robber bands moving here and there, and note the country round dotted with fire and smoke; but against the strong walls of carlisle castle they dashed themselves in vain. here was a secure haven of refuge--here at least was peace and comfort, whatever red ruin wasted either border; nay, the town throve on the very disorder; and the bullocks and horses were cheap and good, what need to inquire too curiously whence they came? far better to get and part with them quickly and quietly and profitably. even if the seller was a scot, come there in time of truce, so much more reason to make a profit out of him. and then the merchants had everything to sell, from strong waters to trinkets; so it was strange if the gentleman took much cash away with him. a "merrie" town, in truth! in flowing lines lydia sigourney has admirably touched off the place and its history:-- "how fair amid the depth of summer green spread forth thy walls, carlisle! thy castled heights abrupt and lofty; thy cathedral dome majestic and alone; thy beauteous bridge spanning the eden. * * * * * "old time hath hung upon thy misty walls legends of festal and of warlike deeds,-- king arthur's wassail-cup; the battle-axe of the wild danish sea-kings; the fierce beak of rome's victorious eagle: pictish spear and scottish claymore in confusion mixed with england's clothyard arrow." [illustration: view from the long walk, corby castle (_p. _). rock stairway to the boathouse, corby castle.] some of these legends are but half told or half sung. one scarcely coherent, yet weird and powerful, ballad suggests an ancient, and but for it forgotten, tragedy:-- "she's howket a grave by the light o' the moon. the sun shines fair on carlisle wa'; and there she's buried her sweet babe in, and the lyon shall be lord of a'!" we turn to the authentic, but scarce less tragic or romantic, history to present three pictures from carlisle's past. edward i. in his last scots expedition halted here. the country on whose conquest he had lavished blood and treasure for twenty years, which he had ground under his heel again and again, had revolted yet again with a purpose as fell as his own. when knighting the prince of wales, he had given a great banquet, wherein two swans were introduced, "richly adorned with gold network." on these he had made his son swear that fantastic yet terrible vow to god and the swans (in accordance with the etiquette of chivalry), that if he died leaving scotland unconquered, his son would boil his flesh from his bones and carry these with him to war against the rebels. the king, though stricken with mortal sickness, was carried north as far as carlisle in a horse-litter. here he pretended himself recovered, hung his litter in the cathedral as an offering, and, with terrible resolve, mounting his horse, moved onwards for a few miles. near where the eden loses itself in the sands of the solway, at the little village of burgh-on-the sands, his strength completely gave way. his dying eyes looked across the waters of the solway on the land which he had conquered so often in vain, and here the fierce old man made his son renew his solemn oath, and soon all was over. the new monarch was a man of softer mould. turning with a shudder from the task, he hurried back to the pleasures of london. go to-day to westminster abbey, and read the inscription on the old king's tomb: "_eduardus primus scotorum malleus hic est pactum serva_." dean stanley thinks the last two words merely a moral maxim; others have more reasonably taken it as a reminder to the son to keep his promise. moreover, it was provided that "once every two years the tomb was to be opened, and the wax of the king's cerecloth renewed"; as if edward even in death had some work to do. the son, no doubt, meant some day or other to fulfil his promise; but the day never dawned, and the voice from the grave spoke in vain. our next picture is from the days of good queen bess. in the year there was peace between england and scotland, but that did not prevent a little private marauding on the borders. it was customary for the wardens on either side to hold courts, and there settle their differences. william armstrong, of kinmont--to be known to all time as "kinmont willie"--a famous scots freebooter, was present at one of these courts. when it was over he rode away with some friends along the north bank of the liddel, scornfully heedless of the angry looks of certain englishmen, who had (you guess) lately suffered from his depredations. by border law there was truce till the next sunrise; but the sight of kinmont so slenderly guarded was too much for his southern foes. a troop of two hundred pursued and caught him after a long chase, and so our bold freebooter was laid safely by the heels in a strong dungeon in carlisle castle. the feelings with which scott of buccleuch, keeper of liddesdale, received news of this are vigorously described in the old ballad:-- "he has ta'en the table, wi' his hand he garr'd the red wine spring on hie; 'now, christ's curse on my head,' he said, 'but avenged of lord scrope i'll be.'" buccleuch, having urged the release of kinmont willie in vain, determined to free him by force. at morton tower, in the debatable land, he collected one evening before sunset a chosen band of followers with scaling ladders and pickaxes. through the darkness of a misty and stormy night they forded in succession the esk and the eden, and halted under the wall of carlisle two hours before daybreak. bursting in the postern, and overpowering the sentinels, they made such a ferocious din with tongue and trumpet that the garrison, thinking all the wild men of the border had got into the town, prudently shut themselves up in the keep, and then-- "wi' coulters, and with forehammers, we garr'd the bars bang merrilie, until we came to the inner prison, where willie o' kinmont he did lie." the prisoner was soon rescued; and there being no time to knock off his irons, he was mounted on the shoulders of "red rowan," described as "the starkest man in teviotdale." some attempt was made to prevent the escape; but the night continuing dark, the bold band got away, and a wild gallop brought them safe to the scots border two hours after daybreak. kinmont humorously complaining of his steed and his spurs, as he playfully termed his irons, the company halted at a smith's cottage in their own country, and demanded his services. the smith seemed loth to rise so early, whereupon buccleuch, playfully thrusting his lance through the window, speedily had him wide awake. this stroke of humour was highly appreciated on the border--was considered quite side-splitting, in fact--but history has failed to record the smith's observations on the incident. the "bauld buccleuch" himself never did a bolder deed, but elizabeth was furious. in october, , he was sent to the english court to make what excuse he might to the queen, who, in one of her tudor tempers, angrily demanded "how he dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous." "what is there that a man dares not do?" was the answer, surely in fit keeping with the tradition of boldness. elizabeth turned to her courtiers: "with ten thousand such men our brother of scotland might shake the firmest throne in europe!" and so buccleuch departed in peace. our last picture is from the days after the jacobite rising of . a great many of the trials of the scots rebels took place at carlisle, and, as one can understand, the accused had but short shrift. "we shall not be tried by a cumberland jury in the next world!" was the comforting reflection of one of the prisoners. a long series of executions, with all the terrible rites practised on traitors, took place on gallows hill, and the heads of these poor jacobites were planted over carlisle gates as a warning. a ballad of deepest pathos tells the fate of one unfortunate:-- "white was the rose in his gay bonnet, as he faulded me in his brooched plaidie; his hand, which clasped the truth o' luve, oh, it was aye in battle readie! "his lang, lang hair in yellow hanks waved o'er his cheeks sae sweet and ruddie, but now they wave o'er carlisle yetts, in dripping ringlets, clotting bloodie." [illustration: _photo: frith & co., reigate._ greystoke castle (_p. _).] not all merrie are the records of carlisle! and to-day you will find the castle has suffered change. you enter through an ancient gateway, and there is still the portcullis adorned with a sadly battered piece of sculpture. unsightly barracks, and so forth, cumber the outer ward. the half-moon battery is dismantled, and the great keep is now used as an armoury. you turn to the cathedral, and there, spite of many alterations and more or less judicious restoration, there is much to admire. we can but mention the splendid central window at the east end of the choir, the graceful arcades below the windows of the side aisles, and the carved oak work of the stalls. * * * * * at the head of the solway firth the /sark/, a small river, or rather "burn," which in a dry summer well-nigh vanishes, divides the two kingdoms. on the scots side the first village on the road is gretna green, famed for just over a century because of its irregular marriages. here we might take leave of england were it not that our next two rivers, the esk and the liddel, scots for most of their course and rising at very different points, finally meet and pass into cumberland, whence they flow into the solway firth; the esk having made a complete circuit round the sark. the debatable land already mentioned was the piece of ground between the solway and the junction of the two streams, of each of which we must now speak. [illustration: carlisle, looking east.] [illustration: carlisle, looking west.] * * * * * the /liddel/ rises in a great morass in roxburghshire called deadwater. for some ten miles it is a wild mountain stream, flowing dark and sullen through a rocky glen, but as it reaches lower ground the glen widens and softens into a beautiful valley with trees and fine pasture land, whilst lower still are fertile fields. the liddel has many tributaries, whereof we will only mention hermitage water, near the source. it is a wild mountain stream, and at its wildest part, amidst morasses and bare desolate mountains, stand the ruins of grim old hermitage castle, with its thick towers and walls and rare narrow windows. see it on some gloomy november day, when the storm spirit is abroad, and it stands the very abomination of desolation! turn to its history, and the gloom grows ever darker; for 'tis little but a record of cruel deeds. this is one of the oldest baronial buildings in scotland. sir william douglas, the "knight of liddesdale" and "flower of chivalry," took the place in from the english. you wonder at his name! four years later he wounded and seized at hawick sir alexander ramsay, sheriff of teviotdale, of whose appointment he was jealous, and, throwing him into a deep dungeon at hermitage, left him to starve. a few chance droppings from the granary protracted his miserable existence through seventeen awful days. his captors, hearing his groans, at length took him out and gave him--not bread, but a priest, in whose arms ramsay expired! the "flower of chivalry" was finally slain by the earl of douglas, head of his house, whilst hunting in ettrick forest. it was whispered the earl had discovered that his countess entertained a guilty passion for the murdered man. a rude old ballad represents her as coming out of her bower when she heard of the crime, and proclaiming her own shame-- "and loudly there she did ca', it is for the lord of liddesdale that i let all these tears doune fa'." in october, , bothwell had gone to the borders as warden of the marshes, to prepare for a court which mary queen of scots was about to hold at jedburgh for the trial of freebooters. he was wounded by elliott of the park, known as "little jock elliott," and lay dangerously ill at hermitage. the infatuated mary, scantily attended, dashed over from jedburgh through the wildest and most dangerous territory (what a prize for a freebooter!), spent two hours by bothwell's bedside "to his great pleasure and content," and then dashed as madly back again. who shall dare to guess the secret of that meeting? seven months earlier was rizzio's murder, four months later was darnley's--the great tragedy of mary's life. the question of her guilt is still open, but no one doubts bothwell's. some dark hint of his perhaps caused the torture of mind which men noted in her after the visit. she was immediately stricken down with a fever of ten days' duration, and for some time her life was despaired of. but let us away from this sad old ruin among those far-off gloomy mountains. * * * * * the liddel is, after all, but a tributary of the /esk/. there are several rivers of that name in britain, which fact will not surprise you when you remember that esk is celtic for "water." its scenery has the characteristic features of all these border streams: wild hills, bare save for a fringe of heather at the source; then richly wooded meadows, with fertile fields in the lower reaches. the esk and its tributaries are much praised of anglers; nowhere will you find better salmon-fishing. three miles below langholm, on the left bank, the tarras falls into the esk. its narrow channel is broken by huge masses of rock over which the water foams and swirls in wild fury. a strange old rhyme ever rings in our ears when we think of its passionate rush-- "was ne'er ane drowned in tarras, nor yet in doubt, for e'er the head can win doun the harns are out,"-- which means that tarras never drowned anybody who fell in, for the excellent reason that before his head touched the bottom, the current and the rocks, between them, knocked out his brains! is there not a tragic power about this snarling couplet? indeed, those pithy popular rhymes will well repay attention. nowhere else is so much said in so few words; each is, in truth, the distilled essence of a poem. the tarras divides langholm from canonbie parish, wherein once stood, in a position of great natural strength, washed on three sides by the esk, gilnockie tower. johnnie armstrong, the famous border freebooter, took his title from this place, whereof not a stone remains. a little higher up the river is hollows tower, also a nest of this bird of prey. johnnie was summoned to appear before james v. when that monarch made a border tour in to administer justice. getting himself up in the most magnificent apparel, and with an easy mind and a clear conscience, he, accompanied by many of his name, whereof "ill will armstrong" is specially noted, set forth to meet the king. on langholm holm, according to the chronicle, "they ran their horse and brak their spears when the ladies lookit frae their lofty windows, saying, 'god send our men well back again.'" the fair dames' anxieties were well founded, for johnnie's reception was scarce as cordial as he expected. "what wants yon knave that a king should have?" exclaimed james in angry amazement, as he ordered off gilnockie and his companions to instant execution. the culprit's petition for grace was sternly refused. "had i known, i'd have lived upon the borders in spite of king harry and you both," said johnnie as they led him away. the trees whereon he and his followers were strung up are still shown at carlenrig, and tradition still identifies their graves in that lonely churchyard. the ballads praise his honesty and lament the treachery which led to his end. james's was the violent act of a weak man; it had an unroyal touch of trickery; and no good results followed. [illustration: rivers flowing south into solway firth.] of another romantic character it is written that he "swam the esk river where ford there was none"--that, of course, was young lochinvar, who "came out of the west" to run off with a fair daughter of netherby hall. the "west" in this case is a lake in dalry parish, in kirkcudbrightshire, containing an island which still has remains of the castle of the gordons, knights of lochinvar, one of whom was the hero of lady heron's song in "marmion." netherby is away by the debatable land, and canobie lee (perhaps) in the dumfriesshire parish of canonbie; but how idle to localise the incidents of the splendid ballad! scott himself never touched the romantic note with truer hand or to better purpose-- "and now am i come, with this lost love of mine, to lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine." and then we know how the bride "... looked down to blush and looked up to sigh, with a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye." and how they danced a measure, and how the charger stood near by the hall door, and 'twas but the work of an instant to swing the lady on its back, and so light to the saddle before her he sprung:-- "'she is won! we are gone over bank, bush, and scaur; they'll have fleet steeds that follow,' said young lochinvar." and the delightful couple again fade away into the "rich heart of the west." [illustration: the esk, near gilnockie (_p. _).] there is no end to those ballads and traditions! the very streams in their flow seem to murmur of them. but few can find place here; yet how can we pass from eskdale and leave untouched its sweetest spot, its most, tragic story, its most pathetic song? kirtle water, after a short course of a little over sixteen miles, runs into the solway at kirtle foot, near the head of the firth. in the parish of kirkpatrick-fleming it passes through "fair kirkconnel lee," where, in the churchyard of kirkconnel, sleep the ashes of helen and her lover. according to the well-known tradition, she was loved by fleming of redhall and bell of blacket. the latter was not the favoured one, and basely tried to slay fleming. helen threw herself in the path of the murderer's bullet, and perished to save her friend. fleming did speedy justice on his cruel foe, wandered in far lands for many years, and returned to die and be buried in the same grave with the love of his youth. of the ancestral tower of the flemings not a fragment is left; and dryasdust still dully debates the exact measure of historic truth in the story. some great but unknown poet long ago moulded the passionate complaint of fleming into imperishable verse, with its mournful refrain:-- "i wish i were where helen lies, night and day on me she cries; o that i were where helen lies, on fair kirkconnel lee!" [illustration: high street, dumfries (_p. _).] * * * * * annandale is the second division of dumfries. /annan/ means in celtic "quiet water"; perhaps that river was called so in fear, to propitiate the water-sprite, as malignant fairies were dubbed "the good people" to ward off their anger. allan cunningham lauds it as the "silver annan," but none the less he has some hard words for it:-- "the cushat, hark, a tale of woe is to its true love telling; and annan stream in drowning wrath is through the greenwood swelling." and the old ballad of "annan water" calls it a "drumlie river," and tells a most melancholious tale of a lover and his steed drowned whilst attempting to cross it to keep tryst with his love, annie, who, we are assured, was "wondrous bonny." the last verse warns the river that a bridge will presently be thrown over, that "ye nae mair true love may sever": the prosaic purposes of transit to kirk or market being, of course, quite unworthy of a minstrel's mention. well! annan has its moods--quiet and gentle in the pleasant summer days, given to violent outbursts in time of spate. annandale was the home of bruce, and the great robert is supposed to have been born at lochmaben, which, situated on seven lochs, is a sort of caledonian venice. bruce, not unmindful of the place of his nativity, is famed to have created it a royal burgh soon after his sword won him the crown. this did not prevent the citizens from treating through many generations his ancestral castle as a common quarry, and nothing is now left but a shapeless mass of stones. according to old bellenden, in his translation of boace ( ), the people of former times were a terrible lot; the women worst of all! "the wyvis usit to slay thair husbandis, quhen they wer found cowartis, or discomfit be thair ennymes, to give occasion to otheris to be more bald and hardy quhen danger occurrit." "to learn them for their tricks," as burns might have remarked. annandale's most famous modern son was thomas carlyle, who, as everybody knows, was born at ecclefechan in , and was buried there at the end of his long career on a "cloudy, sleety day" early in . ecclefechan is on the main water, a tributary of the annan; you will find it described in "sartor resartus" as entepfuhl. many spots around are connected with his life or works. hoddam kirk, his parish church, he pointed out to emerson in a remarkable talk as an illustration of the connection of historical events. his once bosom friend, edward irving, was born in the town of annan, of which carlyle had his own memories, for here he went to school, first to learn, afterwards to teach. craigenputtock, where he lived for six years, is in nithsdale, the third division of dumfries, to which we now turn. * * * * * the /nith/, its name-river, in its course of some seventy miles, rising in ayrshire, passes through the queen of the south, as its citizens proudly designate dumfries, and, during the last ten miles of its existence, is rather an estuary than a river. it has many important tributaries--the carron, with its almost alpine gorge, known as the wallpath; the enterkin, with its famed enterkin pass, of old time the bridle-path from clydesdale to nithsdale, noted for the famous rescue in of a band of covenanting prisoners who were being conveyed to edinburgh; the minnick water, with its many traditions of the hill folk; and "many mo'." every variety of scenery diversifies the banks of those streams, and there is a great mass of legendary lore as to the famous men who dwelt by their waters; but one name swallows up all the rest. how to follow the windings of the nith, or tread the high street of dumfries, without thinking of robert burns? he sang of the streams of nith in his choicest verse. "flow gently, sweet afton, among thy green braes" is linked with one tributary, and the song he fitted to "ca' the yowes to the knowes"--most musical fragment of old scots poetry--reminds of another. among the beautiful ruins of lincluden abbey, surrounded by the defaced monuments of the great house of douglas, he saw that "vision" which he has commemorated in so remarkable a poem. not far off is friars' carse, where the bacchanalian contest related in "the whistle" took place. in dumfries, as an exciseman, he spent the last five years of his life. let us find place for one incident of his closing days. he had gone to the little village of brow, on the solway, to try the effect of the seaside. during a visit to the manse, one of the family remarked the sun shining in his eyes and made some effort to adjust the blind. burns noted it; "thank you, my dear, for your kind attention--but ah, let him shine! he will not shine long for me." this was the end of june, ; on the twenty-first of july he was dead. "who will be our poet now?" was the quaint inquiry of an honest dumfries burgher. who, indeed! his remains were buried in the churchyard of st. michael's. "they were originally interred in the north corner, upon which spot a simple table-stone was raised to his memory; but in his ashes were removed to a vault beneath an elegant mausoleum, which was erected by subscription, as a tribute to his genius, at a cost of £ , . this monument contains a handsome piece of marble sculpture, executed by turnerelli, representing the genius of scotland finding the poet at the plough, and throwing 'her inspiring mantle' over him." well meant, and yet--! we remember standing in the cemetery at montmartre by the plain stone that bears the name, and nothing but the name, of heine. it had a simple, a pathetic, dignity beyond the reach of the most cunningly carved monument. one thought of the "elegant mausoleum" at dumfries, and sighed for the "simple table-stone" which humble but pious hands had placed as the first and, still after a century the best, monument to robert burns. do you doubt which himself had chosen? of the antiquities of dumfries we will only mention its famous mediæval bridge over the nith, built by devorgilla, mother of john baliol. a remarkable old dame this devorgilla! balliol college, oxford, was endowed by her liberality; and we shall come across another of her foundations presently. the queen of the south has a long history; its most important event is connected with the house rival to baliol. on the th of february, , robert the bruce disputing with the red cumyn in the greyfriars' monastery, struck and wounded him with his dagger. he burst out remorseful, exclaiming, "i fear i have slain the red cumyn." "i mak siccar," was the grimly pithful remark of kirkpatrick of closeburn as he rushed in, and--_exit_ the red cumyn! [illustration: _photo: j. rutherford, jardington, dumfries._ lincluden abbey (_p. _).] even in scotland this district is remarkable for old castles and abbeys. of these one first notes drumlanrig castle, in durisdeer parish, on a _drum_, or long ridge of hill, on the right bank of the nith. it is a huge and splendid building, finished in after ten years' labour, by the first duke of queensberry, who spent but one night within its walls. it had splendid woods, which old "q," that picturesque rascal of the georgian period, shamelessly depleted, for which he was righteously castigated by wordsworth; his descendants have repaired the damage, and poets and forest nymphs are at length appeased and consoled. the highlanders, passing by here in the ' , amused themselves by stabbing the portrait of william iii. with their claymores. again, there is caerlaverock castle, the ellangowan of scott's "guy mannering," situated on the left bank of the nith, just where it becomes part of the solway firth. a wild romantic spot! the boiling tides of the solway and the nith approach its walls; and of old time it was so hemmed by lake and marsh as to deserve the name of the "island of caerlaverock." it has a long romantic history, in keeping with its environment. it has been in possession of the maxwells since the beginning of the thirteenth century, and you can still spell out their motto, "i bid ye fair," on its mouldering walls. they took--as was but seemly in so ancient a family--the stuart side in the rising of ; and the title of baron herries, held since , was destroyed by attaint in . it was revived, however, in favour of william constable maxwell by various parliamentary proceedings ending in ; then high revel was held in the long deserted courts of caerlaverock, and little imagination was needed to recall the incidents of a long-vanished feudal day. [illustration: _photo: j. rutherford, jardington, dumfries._ drumlanrig castle (_p. _).] it is hard to leave the nith, so much is to be said on each of its tributaries. there is the cairn, for instance, with its memories of the noble family of glencairn. also it flows by maxwellton, still the seat of the lauries, a fair scion of whose ancient house is celebrated in the pleasing old ditty known to everybody as "annie laurie," though _the_ song that rises in your mind when glencairn is mentioned is burns's noble tribute to the memory of the fourteenth earl, ending-- "the mother may forget the babe that smiles sae sweetly on her knee, but i'll remember thee, glencairn, and a' that thou hast done for me!" even when we leave dumfries and pass into galloway (which consists of the stewartry of kirkendbright and shire of wigtown) we are not quite away from the nith. on the right bank, nearly opposite caerlaverock, the small stream of new abbey pow runs into the estuary. follow this a little way up, and you come on the scanty but beautiful ruins of sweetheart abbey. the origin was as romantic as the name: it was founded in memory of her husband by the devorgilla already mentioned. he died in at barnard castle, and was buried there, all save his heart, which his spouse had enclosed in a "coffyne of evorie," and ever at mealtimes the "coffyne" was carried in and placed beside her, and she "dyd reverens" to it as if it had been her living lord. thus she existed for twenty years, and then was splendidly interred before the high altar of dulee cor, or sweetheart abbey, so called because the heart of her dead spouse was laid on hers. verily, love is stronger than death! * * * * * the /dee/, chief river of kirkcudbrightshire, rises in desolate loch dee, among heather-clad hills with impressive names--lamachen, cairngarnock, craiglee, and so forth. how those celtic words suggest of themselves a remote and desolate wilderness! dee means "dark river," and in the early part of its flow so sullen is its appearance that, with impressive tautology, it is called the "black water of dee." some twenty miles from its source its colour is lightened by its confluence with the water of ken, and, like other border streams, the scenery on its banks gradually becomes softer and richer. we have selected for illustration (p. ) a beautiful spot on the dee at douglas tongueland, within two or three miles of the burgh of kirkcudbright. here the river still retains some of its early wildness, for it rushes foamin' over masses of rock, but the scenery on its banks is sweetly rural rather than wild and mountainous. the most famous place on the dee is threave castle, standing on an islet formed by the river not far from castle douglas. it was built by archibald, called the grim, third earl of douglas, and was the scene of one of the terrible crimes which brought about the ruin of that proud house. william, the eighth earl, had imprisoned there maclellan, tutor (or guardian) of bombie, whose relative, sir patrick grey, having procured an order for his release from james ii., therewith repaired to the castle. douglas, knowing very well what he came about, with pretended courtesy refused to receive any message till the guest had dined. whilst grey was eating with what appetite he might, the prisoner was led forth and beheaded in the courtyard. dinner over, grey produced the royal warrant, which douglas read with mock respect and consternation. taking his guest by the hand and leading him to the window overlooking the courtyard, he showed him the bleeding corpse. "there lies your sister's son," quoth he, "he lacks the head, but the body is at your service." grey dissembled his rage and grief till he was in the saddle, when, turning on the mocking earl, he solemnly vowed his heart's blood should pay for that day's work. "to horse! to horse!" cried the enraged tyrant. the pursuers followed grey for many a long league, nor did they draw bridle till the castle-rock of edinburgh loomed on the horizon. a few months after, the king stabbed douglas at a conference at stirling, and grey avenged maclellan by killing the wounded man with a pole-axe. in king james besieged threave castle, which held out under james, the brother of the murdered noble. it seemed impossible to batter down the stronghold till an ingenious blacksmith, m'kim of mollance, constructed the enormous gun which lies to-day on the argyle battery at edinburgh castle, and is known far and wide as "mons meg"--the "mons" being a corruption of mollance, whilst meg was m'kim's wife. he named the gun after her in ironical compliment, her voice being, he said, as the cannon's, neither soft nor low. however, this piece was dragged with enormous labour to an eminence commanding threave castle. the charge, it is said, consisted of a peck of powder, and a granite ball the weight of a carsphairn cow. the countess of douglas, the fair maid of galloway, who had married in succession the two brothers, sat at table in the banqueting hall when the gun was shot off; the ball crashing into the room, carried away her right hand, wherewith she was in the act of raising a goblet of wine to her lips. the place at once surrendered. roofless, but still grim and massive, the castle frowns amidst the peaceful surroundings of to-day. they "still show you the gallows knob," "a large block of granite projecting from the front wall immediately over the main gateway; from here the meaner victims of the earl's vengeance were suspended." rarely did the knob want the ornament, of a "tassel," as, with ghastly pleasantly, its human burden was termed--nay, it is said that the douglas was so averse to see the "knob" out of use, and his power of life and death rusting unexercised, that, did the supply of malefactors run short, he would string up on any or no pretext some unoffending peasant--_pour encourager les autres_, no doubt! * * * * * we now pass to the /cree/ river, which forms the boundary between kirkcudbright and wigtown, the two divisions of galloway. it is endeared to the poets, who name it "the crystal cree"; either the alliterative effect fascinated the tuneful ear, or they contrasted it with the dee, that other galloway river whose dark waters have already been described. burns also, whose verse is linked with so much of the scenery of his native land, has not forgotten this stream. in pleasing numbers he sings its beauties:-- "here is the glen, and here the bower, all underneath the birchen shade; the village-bell has told the hour, o, what can stay the lovely maid?" the song goes on to describe the emotions of the rustic youth, who mistakes the whisper of the evening wind and the "warbler's dying fall" for the voice of the beloved. well! the lady is a little late, but she keeps her appointment, after all:-- "and art thou come! and art thou true! o welcome, dear, to love and me! and let us all our vows renew, along the flowery bunks of cree." [illustration: _photo: j. p. gibson, hexham._ caerlaverock castle (_p. _).] in truth the river has many beautiful prospects, whereof the finest are in the vicinity of newton stewart, the most considerable town on its banks. we have selected the river at the bridge for our illustration. the bridge is lauded in the "new statistical account" as "elegant and substantial, built of granite, with a freestone parapet"; and another authority assures us that it was built in , and cost £ , --all which, no doubt, you are prepared to take on trust, as you can scarce be expected to go to newton stewart to verify the facts! one must not leave the river without mention of the famous "cruives of cree," to wit, "salmon-traps in the stone-cauls or dam-dykes, which, serving the country-folk for bridges, came to be well known landmarks." they were situate near penninghame house, in the parish of penninghame, and are commemorated in an ancient rhyme celebrating the power of the kennedys:-- "'twixt wigtown and the town o' ayr, portpatrick and the cruives o' cree, you shall not get a lodging there except ye court a kennedy." * * * * * one more river and we have done. the /bladenoch/ is a small stream which passes by the town of wigtown, and falls into wigtown bay, the broad estuary of the cree river. in it was the scene of the greatest of the covenanting tragedies, known in history as the death of the wigtown martyrs. woodrow, in his "history of the sufferings of the church of scotland," tells the story. in the year noted there lived in the parish of penninghame a substantial farmer named gilbert wilson, a law-abiding person who submitted to all the orders of the government. he had three children: gilbert sixteen, margaret eighteen, and agnes thirteen years of age. these, unlike their parents, would "by no means conform or hear the episcopalian incumbent, but fled to the hills, bogs, and caves." the son went abroad, fought as a soldier in the low countries, and returned long after the revolution. the daughters had come to wigtown, where they were living with an old woman of the name of margaret mclachlin. all three, being apprehended, were tried at wigtown on various charges of nonconformity, the chief being their presence at twenty field conventicles. the facts were patent, the law clear, and it was adjudged that "all the three should be tied to stakes fixed within the floodmark in the water of blednoch, near wigtown, where the sea flows at high water, there to be drowned." (drowning, one ought to explain, was the ordinary method of execution for women.) gilbert wilson hastened to edinburgh, and procured, probably bought, a pardon for his younger daughter; then margaret mclachlin was persuaded to sign a petition in which she promised to conform and besought the lords of privy council to have mercy on her. but the passionate words of field preaching heard in lonely glens had sunk deep into margaret wilson's mind; she refused, as she would have said, "to bow the knee to baal." she wrote a letter from prison to her friends "full of a deep and affecting sense of god's love to her soul, and in entire resignation to the lord's disposal. she likewise added a vindication of her refusing to save her life by taking the abjuration and engaging conformity; against both she gave arguments with a solidity and judgment far above one of her years and education." [illustration: _photo: poulton & son, london._ the dee at douglas tongueland (_p. _).] but the brave child's constancy found admirers, and her respite was procured; it was drawn up in a somewhat loose form, and sent off to wigtown. either it did not arrive in time, or (more likely) those in authority determined to ignore it; at any rate, the sentence was carried out. the chief actors were grierson of lag, the central figure of "wandering willie's tale" in "redgauntlet"; and david graham, brother to dundee. on the fated eleventh of may the two women, being brought from prison, were tied to stakes on the solway shore. a horror-struck multitude lined the banks, but a force of soldiery rendered any chance of rescue impossible. the women sang psalms; then the fierce tide rushed in, and margaret mclachlin's sufferings were over. margaret wilson had been placed close to the bank of set purpose, and before the solway had done its fell work there ensued the most moving incident in the martyrology of the covenant. "while at prayer the water covered her; but before she was quite dead, they pulled her up, and held her out of the water till she was recovered and able to speak; and then, by major windram's orders, she was asked if she would pray for the king. she answered that she wished the salvation of all men and the damnation of none. one deeply affected with the death of the other and her case, said, 'dear margaret, say "god save the king!" say "god save the king!"' she answered with the greatest steadiness and composure, 'god save him if he will, for it is his salvation i desire.' whereupon some of her relations near by, desirous to have her life spared if possible, called out to major windram, 'sir, she hath said it; she hath said it.' whereupon the major came near and offered her the abjuration, charging her instantly to swear it or else return to the water. most deliberately she refused, and said, 'i will not; i am one of christ's children; let me go!' upon which she was thrust down again into the water, where she finished her course with joy." and so we bid the solway farewell! /francis watt./ [illustration: _photo: poulton & son, london._ the cree at newton stewart (_p. _).] [illustration: the ayr above muirkirk.] rivers of ayrshire. poetic association--headstreams of the ayrshire rivers--"the land of barns"--the ayr and the doon--sorn--catrine--ballochmyle-- mossgiel--manchline--barskimming--coilsfield house and the fail water--the coyl--auchencruive--craigie--ayr--the doon. the rivers of ayrshire have a corner by themselves in the heart of the scot, and in the memory of the world. "bonnie doon" and "auld hermit ayr" are better known and more extolled on the banks of the st. lawrence and of the ganges than nearer streams incomparably greater in length and volume. why this should be so, the philistine who takes no account of the magical power of poetry may find it hard to understand. those waters of kyle, carrick, and cunningham are short of course and lacking in features of scenery that are in any marked degree impressive or sublime. their beauty, such as it is, they owe as much to art as to nature. none of them can be said to be in any genuine sense navigable. it is true that some among them are centres and outlets of important industries. but even in the sordid affairs of trade their valleys hardly take a first rank among scottish streams. commercially, and almost geographically, they might be described as mere tributaries of the wealthy clyde. the headsprings of these ayrshire waters are nowhere more than twenty or thirty miles distant from the shores of the firth, and their sources as well as their mouths come within the range of view of travellers by that broad highway to the broomielaw. they rise for the most part in high and featureless moorlands, where the county of ayr borders with galloway, lanark, and renfrew, and disappear in the folds of a lower country in which one appraiser of the picturesque has discovered a general character of "insipidity"--a character which every true-born son of ayrshire will vehemently deny as belonging to the landscapes of his county, pointing, as his witnesses, to many a "flowery brae," bold crag, and richly-wooded dell watered by the clear currents of his native streams. some of these slip quietly to the sea behind hills of bent and sand, lonely except for the golfer, the salmon-fisher, and the sea-fowl. others have at their mouths ancient burghs, busy seaports or pleasant clyde watering-places flanked by breezy links or steep cliff and headland, that look out across sand and wave to the purple peaks of arran, to the huge columnar stack of ailsa craig, to bute, and the cumbraes, and the other wonders of those western seas. [illustration: sorn (_p. _).] the county might be likened in shape to a boomerang, or to a crescent moon, with horns tapering to a point towards the north and south, the shore-line from wemyss bay to loch ryan representing the concave inner edge, and the land frontier, roughly approximating to the boundary of the river-basins, standing for the outer surface. to the north the brown moorlands come near to the sea; the streams are correspondingly short, and the strip of fertile coast-territory narrows to nothing. but from the basin of garnock to that of doon there extends a diversified plain country, intersected by broad ridges, veined in all directions by roads and railway lines, full of thriving towns and villages, and amply endowed with the charms of wood, water, rock, and hill, as well as with coalfields, pastures, and cornlands. this is the heart of ayrshire--the classic ground where the ayr and the doon are the chief among a host of streams whose currents flow to the music of the choicest of scotland's lyric songs. south of doon lies the broken sea of hills known as carrick, a country with a poorer surface and a wilder and higher background of green or heathy mountains, yet with many beautiful and some spacious and famous river-valleys opening between its barer uplands, which run down to the coast in bold promontories, crowned with ancient castles, or front it with walls of cliff pierced with caves in which has found refuge many a legend of the killing or the smuggling times. not, however, by its memorials and traditions of old strifes--or not by these chiefly--are the hearts and the feet of strangers drawn to ayrshire. it is the "land of burns." the spirit of the song of the ploughman-bard has taken possession of the banks of its streams, and has almost silenced all older and harsher strains. those who wander by them think less about bruce and wallace, the grim deeds of the earls of cassilis and lairds of auchendrane, and the dour faces and pathetic deaths of the martyrs of the covenant, than of tam o' shanter glowering in at the "winnock-bunker" of alloway's auld haunted kirk, of the "jolly beggars" feasting and singing round poosie nancy's fireside at mauchline, and of all the rustic nells and jeans, and nannies and bessies, and marys, with whose praises burns has made the waters of ayr vocal for all time. but chiefly the music of their currents seems to be a running accompaniment to his own stormy life. it reminds us of his youthful saunterings "adoun some trottin' burn's meander" while the voice of poetry in him was yet only struggling for utterance; of his later hours of rapture or of anguish in meetings with his "bonnie jean" in the woods of catrine or barskimming or ballochmyle, or in his parting with highland mary where the fail steals by leafy coverts past the castle o' montgomerie to meet the ayr; and all the other episodes of passionate or pawky love which he turned to song as naturally and spontaneously as do the birds. [illustration: rivers of ayrshire.] from his earliest years, as he has told us, the ambition fired him to "gar our streams and burnies shine up wi' the best." he lamented that while-- "yarrow and tweed to mony a tune owre scotland rings; the irwin, lugar, ayr, an' doon naebody sings." gloriously has the wish been fulfilled and the want retrieved. the very names of these rivers have become instinct with the spirit of lyric poetry. to some he returned again and again, and docked them with the freshest and sweetest garlands of his verse. who has not heard of "bonnie doon," of "winding ayr," of "crystal afton," and the "moors and mosses mony" of stately lugar? others, somewhat more removed from the centre of his enchantments, have been immortalised in a line or two of exquisite characterisation. cessnock and stinchar, "girvan's fairy-haunted stream"; where "well-fed irwine stately thuds"; where the greenock "winds his moorland course," and "haunted garpal draws his feeble source," are all parts of "the dear, the native ground" of this master of the notes of rivers and of human hearts. * * * * * the /ayr/ and the /doon/, in particular, burns has painted for us in all moods of the mind and of the weather. they murmur and rave with him in his despondency, and lilt gaily in sympathy with the brighter hours he spent beside them. he finds them fresh at dawn, when the dew is hanging clear on the scented birks, and they are "sweet in gloaming." he traces them from their first rise on the heathery hillside, through hazelly shaw and hanging wood down to the sea--from "glenbuck to the ratton quay." he is familiar with their aspect in brown autumn and bleak winter, not less than when spring has set their choirs singing, or when summer is in prime. often must he have stood and watched the effects of spate and storm in his beloved valleys, when, brown and turbid with the rains, or with "snowy wreathes upchoked," "the burns came down and roared from bank to brae," and "auld ayr" itself became "one lengthened tumbling sea." nor, after seeing it through the poet's eyes, can we forget the moonlight scene of frost and glamour in the "twa brigs," wherein, by a marvellous blending of the real and the imaginary, the river spirits foot it featly over the thin platform of the ice as it "creeps, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream." the description in "hallowe'en" of the burn where "three lairds' lands met," although doon might claim it as applied especially to some spot not far from where "fairies light on cassilis downans dance," might be drawn as well from scores of nooks by the ayr and its feeders:-- "whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, as thro' the glen it wimpl't; whyles round a rocky scaur it strays, whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; whyles glitter'd in the nightly rays, wi' bickerin', dancin' dazzle; whyles cookit underneath the braes, below the spreading hazel, unseen that nicht." many such might be discovered hidden even in the bare bleak moorlands, bordering upon clydesdale, where the ayr has its source. their brown undulations, nowhere taking any boldness of form, and only in certain lights any beauty of colouring, rise on one hand to the crown of cairntable, and on the other to priesthill and its neighbour heights. stern and moving dramas have been enacted on these bleak hillsides. priesthill was the home of the "christian carrier," john brown, shot beside his own door by claverhouse's dragoons; and on airds moss, the heathery ridge between ayr and lugar's mossy fountains, fell richard cameron, the "lion of the covenant." if desolate, the district is no longer lonely, for coalpits smoke at the taproots of the ayr beside the reservoirs that supply water to the mills and factories of catrine; and muirkirk--the "muirkirk of kyle"--is a considerable village, with iron and chemical works. [illustration: ballochmyle (_p. _).] through a cold moorish country the ayr wanders to sorn, a place not easy to reach even now, when communication has improved so much since the times when a scottish king testily declared that if he wanted to give "the devil a job" he would send him on a journey in winter to sorn. here the face of the valley changes. it runs betwixt high and wooded banks, often rising precipitously in great red cliffs, patched with lichen and fern, and with birch and oak coppice growing in their crannies, below which the strong dark current rushes tumultuously over its shoals or eddies, and sleeps in its deep "wiels," or curves majestically round the green margins of level "holms" or haughs. wiel and holm, crag and hanging wood, continue indeed to be characteristics of the valley landscapes from this point almost to the sea; and, for its short length of course, few streams, either of the lowlands or highlands, or none, can compete with "winding ayr" in the rich beauty and romantic interest of its scenery. [illustration: the ayr at barskimming (_p. _).] these features are blended in wonderful and picturesque variety where, at the junction of the cleuch burn, sorn castle looks down from its rock upon the ayr, with the parish church and the village in close proximity. here we come upon the footsteps of peden the covenanter, who was born in this parish, and had his "cave" in the dell. memories of burns, however, thrust those of the fierce withstander of the "godless" into the background even in his native parish. catrine house, beautifully placed among its woods on the left bank, is lower down; and there the poet, as guest of professor dugald stewart and his father, first "dinnered with a lord"--had his first glimpse into that polite and lettered society which, as many think, did as much harm as good to the man and his genius. catrine village, a model home of industry ever since david dale planted his spinning factories here more than a century ago, is on the opposite side of the river; and adjoining it, and skirting the stream, are the "braes of ballochmyle," whose picturesque beauties are worthy of their singer. and ballochmyle, the seat in burns's time and our own of the alexanders, brings us to the environs of mauchline, which, next to ayr and alloway and dumfries, may boast of being the locality most closely associated with the poet and his muse. mossgiel, where he farmed the stiff and thankless soil of the "ridge of kyle," is three miles behind the town, on high ground forming the watershed between the cessnock and the ayr. there, as wordsworth sings, the pilgrim may find "the very field where burns ploughed up the daisy," and look far and wide over the undulating plain furrowed by many a tuneful stream to where, "descried above sea-clouds, the peaks of arran rise." on the road leading down to the clean and thriving little town below, burns foregathered with fun and her glum companions on their way to mauchline "holy fair." in the kirkyard one may find the graves of "daddy auld" and of "nance tinnock." close by, on the site of the ancient priory that had melrose as its mother house, burns wrote some of his best known lyrics; while opposite still stands the change-house of "poosie nancy," whose fame has been made immortal by the "jolly beggars." jean armour was the daughter of a local mason; and other "mauchline belles," besides his "bonnie jean," attracted his fickle fancy, and spurred his muse to song. the best and the worst memories of robert burns cling about mauchline. a mile from the town--a mile also below the railway viaduct that bestrides the river--ayr is joined by lugar, and the united streams flow in dark swirls under the picturesque arches of barskimming bridge and along the margin of the pretty holm in which burns is said to have composed his "man was made to mourn." the stretch of three or four miles from this point down to failford is perhaps the most beautiful and romantic on the ayr. the current alternately hurries and pauses in its winding course, now between lofty crags of old red sandstone or steep banks clad with hawthorn and bramble, now through umbrageous woods of oak and beech coming down to the water's edge, or past the skirts of flat green haughs. barskimming house, a square red mansion of last century, occupies a noble and commanding position on a rock overlooking some of the deepest pools of ayr. beside it, the river is spanned, high above its darkling eddies, by an elegant balustrated bridge grey with age and green with mosses. a mile below, the river path drawn athwart the stoop brae-sides plunges by a tunnel through a great barrier of red rock that rises sheer from the right bank, and openings in the cliff face give glimpses of the rushing stream, and of the trees climbing the crags opposite to where they are crowned by a mimic porticoed temple. hard by, on the water of fail, is the castle o' montgomerie, otherwise known as coilsfield house, where, according to some authorities, mary campbell--"highland mary"--was dairymaid when burns was farming at lochlea, behind the village of tarbolton, whose "mote hill," high-standing parish church, and long village street, in which thatched cottages still alternate with more modern dwellings, are only half an hour's walk away. these "banks and braes and streams" will be associated with this brief and somewhat obscure episode in the poet's career until song itself is forgotten:-- "time but the impression stronger makes, as streams their channels deeper wear." if we may trust his verse on the point, the last meeting of the lovers was some trysting-place by the ayr:-- "ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, overhung with wild woods, thick'ning green; the fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene." there are scores of spots near the inflow of the fail to which the description, in "my mary in heaven," of the place of meeting might, apply. but tradition and the poet himself point to the lovely wooded glen of the fail as the scene of parting; and the very spot, beside a rustic bridge, is shown. with many a sweeping curve and abrupt elbow, the ayr continues to pursue its course by rock and wood and level meadow and factory chimney to the sea; past coilsholm and the "dead man's holm," a name that may preserve the memory of some otherwise forgotten battle; past stair village and stair house, now neglected and forlorn, whence the noble and gifted family of dalrymple have taken their title; past dalmore and enterkin, that early seat of the cunninghames, and annbank, where the scene of burns's "fête champêtre" is now obscured by colliery smoke; by gadsgirth also, whose mansion, standing on a coign of the southern bank, was long the home of the old family of chalmers; and on to where the river is joined by the coyle, whose "winding vale," were we to trace it up, would lead us to the bold cliffs and cascades of sundrum, to coylton and the "king's steps," which, too, preserve traditions of "coil, king of the britons," said to have been defeated on the neighbouring uplands by "fergus, king of the picts and scots"; and so to the crains of kyle, where, among "the bonnie blooming heather," one can look down upon the doon. [illustration: auchencruive.] [illustration: _photo: bara, ayr._ the twa brigs of ayr (_p. _).] the same scenery--the alternation of pool and shallow, of wood and crag and meadow--continues along the great double curve which the main stream makes past the grounds of auchencruive. each wiel and holm has its own name and story; and the woods of auchencruive, of laiglan, and of craigie are full of legends of william wallace, who here sought shelter when hiding from his english foes, or meditating his attack on the "barns of ayr." auchencruive, so named from the natural trap dyke which here crosses the river, has a wallace "seat" and "cave." it is said to have been a possession of a branch of the family of the "knight of elderslie," but passed from them and from their successors, the cathcarts. "sundrum shall sink, and auchencruive shall fa', and the name o' cathcart shall soon wear awa'." from burns's day to our own it has been held by the oswalds. craigie, too, was for centuries a seat of the wallaces; and it also has its cave and its well, dedicated to the hero--the mark of his heel is still pointed out on the platform of rock on which he jumped down, and whence rushed, and still rushes, a pure spring of water. and among the trees of laiglan, burns tells us that he spent a summer-day tracing the footsteps of the patriot, and in vision saw him "brandish round the deep-dyed steel in sturdy blows." [illustration: the dam at ayr.] from the summit of these high banks delightful glimpses are had, through the trees, of the ancient burgh of ayr. "low in a sandy valley spread"; with spires, towers? and factory stalks rising above the greenery and the masses of houses; its broad and rushing river in the midst of it, crossed by bridges old and new; behind these the sweep of the bay of ayr, and, as background towards the south, the dark ridge of brown carrick hill ending seaward in the bold front of the heads of ayr--the town shows bravely from a distance. nor does a nearer view destroy the impression which it makes, especially as seen from the leafy margin of the stream, across the still expanse of the dam, or from the railway bridge. lower down are the historic arches of the "twa brigs" that unite the original ayr with its northern suburbs of newtown and wallacetown. the poet's prophecy, as the citizens noted with ill-concealed delight, has been, at least in part, fulfilled. the auld brig, "the very wrinkles gothic in its face," still stands, although reserved for foot-passengers alone; its younger rival, giving way prematurely to the assaults of time and flood, has had to be rebuilt: "i'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless cairn." near the approaches of the auld brig are congregated what remains of the old ayr houses--a diminishing company, as town improvements break in and sweep away narrow closes and grim dwellings with high-pitched roofs and crow-stepped gables; below it are the harbour and the shipping. of what was memorable and historic in old ayr--its monasteries of the black and the grey friars; its castle, where kings and parliaments sat in council; its ancient church, dedicated to st. john the baptist, wherein great kirk controversies have been held, and knox and other reformers have preached--all have disappeared except the tower of st. john, and even it was reft of its gables last century "to give it a more modern appearance." cromwell, to make room for his fort, cleared away church and castle; and the fort itself has followed in its turn. the high places of ayr are of more modern date; and chief among them, perhaps, are the wallace tower, the imposing front of the joint railway station, and the hospital and the poorhouse, heirs and successors of the lepers' home, endowed by the bruce in gratitude for the ease yielded to him by the waters of st. helen's well at "king's-ease." the handsome town hall was destroyed by fire in . round the margin of the town, especially in the direction of the doon, are streets of handsome villas and open spaces shaded by trees; and the place grows and thrives steadily if slowly. but, more than of its architecture, ayr is proud of its sons and daughters:-- "auld ayr, wham ne'er a toon surpasses, for honest men and bonnie lasses." the "auld clay biggin" where, in wild january weather, burns first saw the light, is two or three miles outside the burgh, close to the doon and to the haunted kirk of alloway. within the thatched and whitewashed cottage--the shrine of crowds of pilgrims, whose numbers grow with the years--is a little museum of burns mementoes and curiosities; and the beautiful monument of the poet, a temple raised on lofty fluted columns, overlooks the scene. the road thither leads past the racecourse on the way to maybole, and crosses the romantic wooded dell through which flows the water of doon, by the auld brig, the senior by some years of the brig of ayr itself. across its keystone young robin often trudged on his way to school, after the family had removed to mount oliphant, two miles off on the carrick side. in the churchyard his father, whose portrait is so grandly painted in "the cotter's saturday night," is buried. the "cairn above the well," the "winnock-bunker in the east," and other places mentioned in the tale of tam o' shanter's ride, are still pointed out in or near the roofless and ivy-clad kirk. the neighbourhood is haunted by the strong and familiar spirit of robert burns. [illustration: _photo: bara, ayr._ the doon: the new and the auld brig.] having lingered so long on the ayr, we can only spare time to glance up "bonnie doon," although its charms are scarce less many and celebrated than those of its twin river. like the ayr, the channel of its lower course is carved boldly and deeply into the land. it flows, in pool or shallow, under impending crags and steep banks clothed with coppice and greenwood, or past the margin of fertile haughs. it has its ruined castles and venerable mansion houses, its picturesque old kirks and bridges and mills, and its rich dowry of tradition and song. like its neighbour, too, the doon draws its strength from waste and solitary places; only, its cradle is in barer and wilder scenes, and is haunted by wilder legends, than are to be found about the headsprings of ayr. its windings would bring us to auchendrane, the home of james muir, "the grey man," as gruesome a villain as ever figured in history or romance; to the woods and cliffs and walls of cassilis, the seat of the head of the kennedys--those most unruly of the unruly men of garrick--whence johnnie faa, the gipsy, stole away the lady, and where he and his men afterwards dangled from the "dool tree"; to many a spot beside, famous in song and legend, until, through long bare moorlands on which mineral works and villages have intruded, we come, past dalmellington, to the solitary shores of loch doon, its tunnelled outlet, its islands and old castle of the baliols; and beyond it, to the high green hills of galloway now rising over against the dark heathery slopes of the carrick fells. and so we reach the sources of the stream under the brow of merrick in the desolate wilderness of granite and peat-moss that surrounds loch enoch and the "wolf's slock," a region the wildest in the south of scotland, where mr. crockett has found the scenery of his "raiders" and his "men of the moss hags." /john geddie./ [illustration: ayrmouth.] the clyde. clydesdale and its waters--"the hill of fire"--douglasdale--"castle dangerous"--bonnington linn--corra linn and "wallace's tower"--lanark--the mouse water--stonebyres linn--the nethan and "tillietudlem"--"the orchard of scotland"--hamilton and its palace--cadzow castle and its associations--bothwell brig and castle--blantyre--cambuslang--rutherglen--glasgow: the city and its history--the quays, docks, and shipbuilding yards--the work of the clyde navigation trust--govan and partick--the white cart--dumbarton rock and castle--the leven valley--ben and loch lomond--greenock--gourock--the firth at eventide. glasgow city has, as its chief armorial device, a tree of massive trunk and wide-spreading branches. the minor symbols, of bird and bell and fish, have lost their old significance. the salmon no longer ventures so far up the labour-stained waters of the clyde as glasgow green. no more the monkish bell sounds to matins and vespers on the banks of the molendinar burn, now turned by man's improving hand into a main sewer. the sooty street-sparrow, almost alone among the feathered tribe, is at home under the great city's pall of smoke. but more than ever the stately and flourishing tree is an apt similitude, not only of the little cathedral town that has grown to be, as its inhabitants proudly boast, the "second city of the empire," but also of the stream that has nurtured it to greatness. the clyde, if it is not the longest of course or the largest of volume of scottish streams, is beyond all comparison the most important from the point of view of industry and commerce. within its basin are contained something like one-third of the population and half of the wealth and traffic of the northern kingdom. between dumbarton rock and the sources of the infant clyde we are carried from the busiest hives of labour and marts of trade to green or heathy solitudes, whose silence is only broken by the bleat of the sheep and the cry of the muirfowl. harking back to the figure of the tree of goodly stem and spread of limb, one has to observe that it is not by any means upon the largest of the branches that immemorial usage has fixed the name of the clyde. according to the popular saying-- "tweed, annan, and clyde, a' rise in ae hillside." but this description of the source applies only to the "clyde's burn," whose valley the main line of the caledonian railway ascends, on its way by beattock summit into annandale. when the clyde's burn has run its half-dozen miles and met, above elvanfoot, the daer water, coming from a height of over , feet, on the slopes of the gana and earncraig hills, the latter has already flowed a course more than twice the length; and there are other tributaries--the powtrail and the elvan, for instance, draining the eastern slopes of the wild hills, veined with lead-ore, that on the other side command the valley of the nith--which might successfully compete, as the source of the clyde, with the modest little runlet, issuing from the shoulder of clyde's law, that overlooks tweed's well. [illustration: one of the sources of the clyde.] a "sea of hills," green or heather clad, is the whole of this region of clydesdale, forming the districts of crawford, crawfordjohn, and adjoining parishes. it is rolled into great waves--not, however, as sir archibald geikie remarks, steep and impending like those that darken the highland glens, but rounded and smooth like the swell of the ocean subsiding after a storm. on either hand streams innumerable have hollowed out their channels--"hopes" and "gills" and "cleuchs"--in the heart of the hills; and the clear or brown waters tumble merrily over rock and shingle, or skirt the edges of peat-moss or pasture land on their way to reinforce the clyde. bare and bleak are these landscapes, as a rule. but there are not wanting fairylike nooks and glades, as well as scenes of sterner beauty. the watersides are often fringed with a natural growth of birch and oak and alder; and on the hillsides are thriving plantations or groups of ash and rowan, sheltering the infrequent farmhouse or shepherd's cottage. only at the headstreams of the glengonnar water, under the "green lowther," have smoky industries broken in upon these pastoral and moorish solitudes of the upper ward: for at leadhills, as at the neighbouring village of wanlockhead, across the watershed, lead-ore is still worked and smelted in considerable quantity, although the gold mines of this and other parts of crawford moor, once the objects of kingly quest and solicitude, have long been abandoned. [illustration: the clyde.] by the sites of old camps and mote-hills, by grey peels and kirkyards, and clachans and mansion-houses, past tower lindsay, looking across from its mound and its grove of lichened plane and oak trees to the tiny barony burgh of crawford; past the desolate little god's acre of st. constantine, or kirkton, where lies the dust of jane welsh carlyle's mother, of the gipsy kin, of the baillies; past the woods and lawns and pretty red hamlet of abington, runs the water of clyde until, beside the fragment of lamington tower--the heritage, if tradition may be credited, of the wife of william wallace--it brings us fairly under the shadow of tinto. this "hill of fire" spreads its skirts through four parishes, whose boundaries meet at the huge cairn of stones on its crest--the site of old beacon fires, perhaps of druid altars. it is the sentinel height of upper clydesdale. few hills in southern scotland are so isolated or command so wide and glorious a prospect. its porphyritic mass seems to be set in the very jaws of the upper vale; and between lamington and the mouth of the douglas water--little more than six miles as the crow flies--the clyde meanders through low-lying haughs and holmlands, by covington and carstairs and hyndford bridge, for a distance of twenty miles and more round the base of tinto and its subject hills. from the summit, on a clear day, one can descry the bass rock and goat fell, and even the hills of cumberland and ireland, besides portions of nearly a score of scottish counties. [illustration: douglas castle.] over against it to the eastward rises cutler fell and, divided from the latter by the rich plain of biggar, the heights of bizzyberry and quothquan, scenes of the exploits of william wallace. its northern slopes all drain into the douglas water. the moorland pastures that enclose douglasdale spread away towards cairn table and the ayrshire border; and from the nearer buttresses of tinto glimpses are had, in the valley below, of the smoke from its coalfield and of the woods that surround the "castle dangerous" of history and romance. the story of the house of douglas may be read on the walls and on the floor of the church of st. bride of douglas, of which there remains only the spire and the choir, lately restored by the latest heir and representative of the douglas line, lord dunglass, the eldest son of the earl of home. in its precincts, on palm sunday, , took place that memorable struggle between the "good sir james" of douglas and his adherents, and the english garrison of sir john de walton, who undertook, for the winning of his lovesuit, the perilous emprise of holding the castle of the douglases against its rightful master. here, enclosed in what we are told is a silver casket, placed under glass in the floor of the church above the douglas vault, is the heart of the great warrior and patriot himself, brought home after he had lost his life among the paynim hosts of spain while seeking to carry the bruce's heart to the holy land. his recumbent cross-legged effigy is one of the most ancient of the monuments to his kin who lie in the church of st. bride; among these being "archibald bell the cat," and archibald the second and james the third dukes of touraine, the sons of "earl tineman." hither came sir walter scott, with lockhart in his company, on his last sad pilgrimage of romance, when the shadows of the grave had already begun to gather about himself and his right hand was already losing its cunning. [illustration: _photo: a. brown & co., lanark._ bonnington linn.] along the waterside for miles below douglas extend the magnificent woods and gardens and "policies" of lord home's estate, enclosing the grand castellated mansion of douglas castle--although this is but a fraction of the vast edifice begun by the last duke of douglas; the vestiges of the old "tower perilous"; the three artificial lakes, and spots that speak so plainly of the wars of old and of the rough deeds of the douglases as the "bloody sykes," the "bottomless mire," and the artificial mound of the "boncastle." just where it meets the douglas water, the clyde makes a sharp and momentous turn. it reaches the romantic crisis in its career, and tumbles headlong over the falls of clyde. it leaves its youth behind it as it passes the turning-point, and makes its plunge over bonnington linn. hitherto its flow has been placid or rippling; it has been the clear-flowing clyde water of song and ballad, winding among lone places of the hills, washing the bases of roman camps or feudal peels, or skirting leisurely the edges of fertile meadows or rough pastures, browsed by sheep and cattle. the sound and stir of labour have not greatly disturbed it; there have been no busy seats of industry near its banks. but from its great ordeal it comes forth a stream with a changed character and destiny; not less attractive in itself and its surroundings--for a time, indeed, it gains in beauty--but with the sober pace and growing burden of middle life upon it, gathering, as it moves seaward, more and more of the stains and defilements of human toil--the black trickles from the lanarkshire coalfield, and the sewage of busy towns and villages--until it becomes a muddy and ill-smelling current, flowing between ranks of tenements and ranges of factory chimneys. in the three miles and three-quarters of its course beginning at bonnington, the clyde descends a depth of feet, leaping again and again, and yet again, over sheer walls of rock, boiling in pools and pot-holes, and brawling over boulder and shingle bed, between mural cliffs of old red sandstone or high banks clothed with wood or diversified by parks and orchards. in the remaining forty or fifty miles of its journey, before it becomes finally merged in the salt water, its fall is only feet. [illustration: _photo: a. brown & co., lanark._ corra linn.] clyde's first plunge, at the bonnington, or boniton, linn, is the least deep and impressive of the three; and by comparison with the scenes below, the surroundings of the spot where the river takes its leap are open and bare. the water falls sheer over a precipice into a deep cauldron feet below, and is broken in its descent only by a projecting rock in the middle. thence it churns and eddies and boils between the lofty walls of sandstone overhung by wood, and draped wherever there is hold for root and fibre by trees and undergrowth, to meet a greater catastrophe at corra linn. at this the grandest of scotland's waterfalls--"clyde's most majestic daughter"--the stream flings itself down from a height of feet, in a tumultuous white mass of foam, the falling body of water being broken and torn in its descent by many sharp ledges and points of rock. in time of spate, especially when the sun shines and wreathes rainbows in the smoke of mist and spray that rises from the fall, the scene is indescribably grand. the deafening roar of the angry waters, the loveliness of the rock and sylvan scenery in which they are set, deepen beyond measure the impression which these falls of clyde make on the mind and imagination. the wealth of foliage--bracken, broom, sloe, and wild flowers of many kinds, as well as tall forest trees--drapes what would otherwise be the savage nakedness of the spot with hues and forms of beauty; and there is no lack of the shady "ell-wide walks" which wordsworth so much appreciated, winding from one to another coign of vantage on the riverside. nor is there wanting the charm of romantic and historical association:-- "the deeds of wallace, like a family of ghosts, people the steep rocks and the river banks, her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul of independence and stern liberty." [illustration: _photo: a. brown & co., lanark._ roman bridge near lanark (_p. _).] "wallace's tower" helped to inspire the poet of the "excursion" at sight of corra linn:-- "lord of the vale! astounding flood! the dullest leaf in this thick wood quakes--conscious of thy power; the caves reply with hollow moan; and vibrates to its central stone yon time-cemented tower." there is also a "wallace chair" below corra linn; and in bonnington house, whose beautiful grounds, to which the public have access, occupy the right bank of the river opposite both of these upper falls, there are relics of the hero who made lanark and the linns of clyde one of his chief haunts. quite other memories--those of david dale, "herd-boy, hawker, manufacturer, turkey-red dyer, banker, and evangelist," and of his partner and son-in-law, robert owen--linger about the wheels and chimney-stacks of new lanark, those celebrated cotton mills which were established, in days before steam had robbed water-power of great part of its workaday functions, for the purpose of carrying out a noble experiment in industry and philanthropy. and braxfield, still lower down the stream, recalls to us the name and rural tastes--surely, not without a redeeming touch of grace and romance--of that hanging judge, the jeffreys of the scottish bench, whom robert louis stevenson has immortalised as the lord justice clerk in "weir of hermiston." but the castle hill and streets of the "ancient burgh of lanark"--now close by, on the table-land above the river--bring back our thoughts to "wallace wight" and to lawless and troublous times. the site of the old royal castle, which had harboured kings and stood sieges, is now occupied by a bowling green. lanark moor, where armies have mustered in the cause of the douglases or the stuarts, of king or covenant, is in peaceful possession of golf and horse-racing. in the castlegait is the site of the house where, according to a cherished tradition over which the duller muse of history shakes the head, lived marion bradfute, that heiress of lamington whom wallace took to wife, and whom he so terribly avenged when hazelrig, the sheriff and governor of lanark castle, had slain her for giving harbourage to the hero. the valley below lanark gradually opens up into the fruitful "trough of the clyde," and becomes beautifully diversified by fertile fields, by woods and lawns, and by cottages surrounded by orchard trees, that in spring are overspread with the tinted and perfumed snow of the apple-blossom. from the right the mouse water flows into clyde through the savage chasm of the cartland crags--opposing walls and pinnacles of rock, crowned and seamed with wood, that have apparently been riven apart to allow scant passage for the turbid little moorland stream that brawls over the sandstone reefs and ledges in the green obscurity below. still the ghost of wallace flits before us, for in the jaws of the cartland defile, close to telford's handsome bridge over the mouse, is the champion's cave, and perched on the summit of the cliffs is the "castle of the quaw," associated in legend with his deeds. another arch spanning the mouse--the roman bridge at cleghorn--has associations much more ancient; it marks the spot where watling street, which traversed clydesdale and crossed lanark moor on its way from carlisle to antonine's wall, passed the brawling little stream. stonebyres linn, the last of the three great leaps of clyde, is somewhat more than a mile below lanark bridge, and close to the road that holds down the left bank of the stream to crossford, dalserf, and hamilton. it has not the romantic surroundings of corra linn. but the fall of water descending headlong over rocky ledges in a dizzy plunge into the "salmon pool"--the "thus far and no farther" of the lordly fish that once swarmed in the clyde--has by many been adjudged more graceful, if less majestic, than the upper linn. two miles further on comes in the nethan, winding through its wooded strath under the base of craignethan castle. it is the tillietudlem of "old mortality," the name being probably borrowed by scott from "gullietudlem," a ravine adjacent to corra linn. it was a stronghold of the hamiltons; and, with its strong position on a steep peninsulated bluff between the nethan and a tributary burn, its moat, and its massive walls and towers of hewn stone, of which a goodly portion yet keep its place, it must when first built have been well-nigh impregnable. the traditional tale is that the scottish monarch of the time, taking alarm at the portentous and threatening strength, rewarded the builder and owner--the "bastard of arran"--by hanging him betimes as a suspected rebel. the chief incident in its annals is the stay made at craignethan by mary stuart before fortune went finally against her at langside. more vividly do the frowning keep, the crumbling vaults, the ivy-clad garden walls, and the steep copse-clad dells and braes, recall to our minds lady margaret bellenden sitting down to "disjeune" in the chamber of daïs, jenny dennison scalding the too-adventurous cuddie headrigg with the porridge, henry morton before the council, and burley lurking like a wounded wolf in his cave. from this point downward the stream of clyde, as it winds towards glasgow through the centre of the great coal and iron field that has fed the wealth of the city and the commerce of the river, becomes more and more closely beset by the great armies of industry. for a time they still keep at a respectful distance; their camp fires--pillars of flame by night and of cloud by day--rising from furnace chimney and pit head on the high ground enclosing the "trough of the clyde." up there, in an intricate network of railway lines, are busy and growing towns and villages sending forth their smoke to overshadow the valley, and pouring down into it, by a score of tributary streams, the lees and pollutions of labour and of crowded urban life. but for a while the sheltered haughs and sloping banks of the clyde still deserve the name of the "orchard of scotland." the drumlie gills and burns, that higher up have drained moss hags and skirted mounds of slag and mean rows of miners' cottages, break into the central valley through bosky and craggy dells, and through acres of fruit trees and the woods and lawns of stately mansion houses, or past venerable parish churches or fragments of old castles, to join the clyde. there are such fine sweeps of river as those, for instance, that skirt the grounds of mauldslie castle, and wind round dalserf, before the now broad and full stream takes a straighter course under dalserf bridge, past cambusnethan, towards dalziel and hamilton. [illustration: stonebyres linn (_p. _).] all these names invite the down-stream wayfarer to pause and survey the beauties of clydesdale. but the spot of really commanding interest is hamilton, the centre for four or five centuries of the power of the great family of hamilton, that succeeded to so much of the dominion and influence owned by the douglases in the valley of the clyde. the haughlands here spread out to a truly noble width; and the lawns and parks that surround the chief seat of the dukes of hamilton, and stretch down to the right bank of the river and extend along its windings from hamilton bridge down to bothwell bridge, have space enough to give an air of grandeur and seclusion to the scene, spite of the crowding around it of a modern workaday world. for the town of hamilton is at the very gate of the palace; and over against the low parks and the racecourse by the riverside rise sheaves of chimney-stacks, crowned with smoke, that proclaim the neighbourhood of motherwell and other grimy haunts of the lanarkshire coal and iron industries. from the plain white baronial house of "the orchard," built in and set among its pleasant fruit trees, hamilton palace has spread and risen into one of the princeliest piles in the land. its long and lofty façade, adorned with corinthian columns, overlooks its parterres and flower gardens; the grand mausoleum of the hamiltons, built--at a cost, it is said, of £ , --in the style of the castle of san angelo at rome; and the spacious parks, dotted with trees, that slope gently towards the margin of clyde. the soul of hamilton palace has departed since the sale in of the unrivalled collection of pictures, books, and rare works of art, brought together by the taste and wealth of beckford, the author of "vathek," and of successive dukes. with this removal the centre of interest seems once more to have shifted to the further side of the busy burgh, where, in the high parks adjoining the original seat of the hamilton family, the "crumbled halls" of cadzow castle, are to be found the yet more venerable remains of the caledonian forest--huge gnarled and decayed boles of ancient oaks, sadly thinned by latter-day gales--and the survivors of what are supposed to be the native breed of wild white cattle. when queen mary escaped from lochleven, she fled for shelter and aid to her kinsfolk at cadzow. a few years later, as scott's ballad rehearses, another refugee spurred thither--hamilton of bothwellhaugh, after assassinating the regent moray in the street of linlithgow. the magician waves his wand and restores the scene, by avon side, as it was more than three centuries ago:-- "where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side were blended late the ruins green, rose turrets in fantastic pride, and feudal banners flaunt between. "where the rude torrent's brawling course was shagged with thorn and tangled sloe, the ashlar buttress braves its force, and ramparts frown in battled row." a hundred years later, when cadzow was already abandoned and in decay, the victorious covenanting force which had defeated the dragoons of claverhouse at drumelog, on the dreary moorland slopes near the sources of the avon, marched down this waterside--the evandale of "old mortality"--on their way to make their bold but luckless attempt on glasgow. soon after they were back again in this neighbourhood in force, preparing to resist, with what disastrous results is well known, the passage of monmouth's royalist troops across bothwell brig:-- "where bothwell bridge connects the margin steep, and clyde below runs silent, strong, and deep, the hardy peasant, by oppression driven to battle, deemed his cause the cause of heaven; unskilled in arms, with useless courage stood, while gentle monmouth grieved to shed his blood." so writes the author of "the clyde"; and in spite of the beauty of the scene, the old associations of bothwell brig and its vicinity are with broil and wrong and bloodshed. below the scene of monmouth's victory are sylvan banks consecrated to the memory of forsaken love--"o bothwell bank, thou bloomest fair!" and lower down, facing each other from vantage ground on opposite sides of the stream, are the grand ruins of old bothwell castle and the remains of blantyre priory. between these two sentinels of the past--the crumbling but still massive feudal towers of the douglases on their bold green bank, and the meagre fragment of the monastic house perched on its red sandstone cliff--runs the smooth deep current of the clyde, inspiring, as wordsworth has said, "thoughts more in harmony with the sober and stately images of former times, than if it had roared over a rocky channel, and forced its sound upon the ear." the castle, both from the mass and height of its huge walls and round towers and turrets, and from its situation, is still magnificent in its decay. it has had many masters, among them that aymer de valence who held clydesdale for the english and planned the capture of wallace. edward i. and edward iii. have sojourned in it. but its best remembered owners are the black douglases. they swore indifferently by "st. bride of bothwell" and by "st. bride of douglas." in the beautiful choir of the old collegiate church, now forming part of the church of the parish, reposes the dust of chiefs of the name; and descendants of the old race still hold the lands and woods around bothwell castle. in st. bride's too, in , a couple of years after its erection, took place in an "unhappy hour" the fateful marriage between david, duke of rothesay, and marjory, the daughter of "archibald the grim," earl of douglas. a more pleasant association with bothwell church is the birth, in the manse here, of joanna baillie, the poetess, who has preserved in her verse fond remembrances of the "bonnie braes" and "sunny shallows" of the clyde, where she spent her childhood. [illustration: _photo: f. w. bergman, hamilton._ bothwell castle.] the left, or blantyre, bank of clyde also has its "stately images of the past." the barony, which had belonged to randolph and to "black agnes of dunbar," fell, with the priory lands, to walter stewart, the first baron blantyre, james vi.'s old classfellow and favourite, whose descendant still bears the title. blantyre priory had in its day sheltered wallace. they will show you the rock, one of many, from which, in legend, the patriot leaped to escape his enemies. it was a daughter-house of the abbey of jedburgh, which, like other great tweedside monasteries, had a retreat in the clyde, when invading armies crossed the border. now the rifled and wasted monk's nest is itself besieged by the clamorous army of labour. in a nook by the waterside, between it and bothwell bridge, david dale and john monteith planted their calico-printing and turkey-red works--those blantyre mills which have since thriven so mightily, and under whose shadow david livingstone was born. blantyre village grows to a town on the bank above, and behind are the pit shafts of high blantyre, reminding us of one of the saddest of colliery catastrophes. [illustration: _photo: t. & r. annan & son, glasgow._ glasgow university (_p. _).] [illustration: the broomielaw landing-stage.] escaping from the shadow of bothwell's braes, our river flows smoothly on between widening haughs and opening prospects within sight of uddington, where glasgow has planted a colony of villas, by a long serpentine sweep past the parks and trees of dalbowie, and so under the steep wooded bluff of kenmuir, long renowned for its wild flowers and its "wedding well," to carmyle, a hamlet that still, in spite of the close neighbourhood of the great city, retains something of rural quaintness and simplicity in its rushing mill-dams and its climbing garden plots. cambuslang is only a mile below, but on the other or southern bank, along a reach of river beautifully fringed by trees--cambuslang, with its high-placed church tower, its kirkton burn bickering down its ravine past the golf-course and the amphitheatre where whitfield uplifted his voice in the great "revival wark" of ; and with rosebank, the home of david dale, on the river front, shouldered by dye works and neighboured by the fine new railway bridge over the clyde. the high ground behind "cam's'lang," as those name it who know it, is a convenient coign from whence to survey the myriad spires and chimneys of glasgow; for the river makes only a few more great sweeps through a plain where pleasure-grounds alternate with public works, before reaching rutherglen--the senior and once the rival of glasgow--and the green itself, and disappearing into st. mungo's wilderness of houses and canopy of smoke. passing strange it is to one who gazes down from dechmont hill or from the cathkin braes upon the clyde losing itself in the murky depths of the great city, whose fog and reek and densely packed masses of dwellings seem to fill the valley, to reflect that the spot was originally chosen as a place suitable for seclusion and calm meditation; that so late as the period of the reformation glasgow was a country town of three or four thousand people. how much of the legendary story of st. kentigern is founded on fact, none can positively say. but we can certainly believe that he came here and preached to the heathen britons of strathclyde, whose capital, dumbarton, was not far off, and whose "high places" were on the neighbouring hills; that he gathered disciples about him, and founded a monastery, after the old columban rule, on the slopes beside the clear molendinar burn, something more than a mile above its confluence with the waters of clyde. his shrine is still the centre of the "laigh kirk," or crypt of the cathedral, and is, indeed, the nucleus around which have grown not only the ancient and beautiful church, but also the vast modern city that bears the name of mungo "the beloved." it is the seed out of which glasgow has grown. a map of glasgow in the early part of the seventeenth century shows it to have then consisted of little more than two streets crossing each other--one running at right angles to and the other parallel with the course of the clyde--together with a few tributary vennels and closes, and with "kailyards" rendering upon the open fields. the former thoroughfare, as the saltmarket and high street, climbed the slope to the metropolitan church and the bishop's castle; the other diverged to right and left as the gallowgait and the trongait, which latter extended as far as the precincts of the church, croft, and well of st. tenu--transmogrified by time and wear into st. enoch's--in the line of the present argyll street. at the intersection were the mercat cross and the tolbooth, prison and council chamber in one. the cross was, accordingly, the centre of the commerce and of the municipal authority of old glasgow. the venerable tolbooth and cross steeples still look down upon a busy scene. still are they redolent of the memories of the citizens and the burgh life of former times: spite of change, they continue to be haunted by the spirit of bailie nicol jarvie picking his way along the street, accompanied by his lass and lantern, to visit francis osbaldistone behind prison walls, and of captain paton's nelly bringing an ingredient of that hero's punch from the west port well. halfway between the cross and the cathedral, on the west side of a thoroughfare which three hundred years ago was accounted spacious and even stately, were the old college buildings, where the university, founded in , was housed until, a quarter of a century ago, the intrusion of the railway and other considerations made it flit to more splendid and salubrious quarters at gilmorehill. in this oldest core of old glasgow, there are but few relics left of its buildings mid monuments of early times. the cathedral is the chief; and, happily, the grey shape of this grand old gothic pile remains to put to shame even the finest of the modern edifices of which glasgow is so proud. it is, like most other minsters, of many dates; but there is great harmony as well as dignity both in its exterior and interior aspect, its style being mainly that of the first pointed, or early decorated, period. only a fragment, in the crypt or lower church, is supposed to remain of the building with which bishop joscelin years ago replaced the previous edifice of wood. within, the solemn grandeur of the lofty groined roof, and the long receding array of arches of the nave, chancel, and choir of the high kirk, with the perspective closed by the magnificent east window, awe all beholders. but still more impressive are the wonderful clusters of pillars, the low-browed arches, and the dim and obscure "religious light" of the crypt underneath. "there are finer minsters in the kingdom than glasgow," says dr. marshall lang, the present minister of the barony parish, "but there is none with a finer crypt." in the centre of the darkling maze is the shrine of st. mungo, the position of which, in the sloping ground falling eastward towards the molendinar, is the key to the construction of the church. after the reformation, the crypt became the laigh barony church before there was set up, in the cathedral green without, what dr. norman macleod, one of its later incumbents, called "the temple of ugliness," which has in its turn given place to the handsome structure that is the parish church of the old bishop's barony. the famous dr. zachary boyd--he who, in the high church above, railed at cromwell to his face--was minister for nearly thirty years in the laigh barony; and from behind its pillars rob roy spoke his warning word into the ears of the english stranger. [illustration: the clyde at glasgow.] while time and reforming zeal--aided by the voices and pikes of the citizens of the day--have spared to us st. mungo's church, the fortress-like bishop's palace and the "manses" of the thirty prebends and other ecclesiastics have been swept away, along with memorials of earlier and later date; st. roche's chapel, in the fields to the north, now flaunts a smoky pennon as st. rollox; the high ground of the "craigs," or the "fir park," across the once limpid trouting burn--where st. columba is fabled to have met st. kentigern--is covered with the thicket of headstones and obelisks of the necropolis, grouped about knox's monument, and holds the dust of some of the host and most distinguished of glasgow's sons; the molendinar itself has been buried from sight and smell--none too soon. [illustration: partick (_p. _).] returning to the lower end of what was once the main thoroughfare of the glasgow of old, the briggait--once a busy centre of the city's commerce--led to the riverside and what was long the sole bridge connecting the north and south banks of the clyde. stockwell street also gave access to it from the trongait. only in the early 'fifties was the ancient stone structure, which had stood for five centuries and which figures prominently in old views of glasgow from the clyde, replaced by the present victoria bridge. nine other bridges, including two suspension bridges for foot-passengers and three great railway viaducts, now span the stream within the city bounds. all of them have sprung up within the last fifty years; and the traffic between bank and bank has required, besides, the burrowing under the river-bed of subways and underground lines, and the connection of bank and bank by steam and other ferries. chief among these bridges, as channels of commerce and intercourse--what london bridge is to the metropolis--is the "roaring lane" of the jamaica street bridge. the fine structure immediately below it, which carries the caledonian line across from the bridge street to the central station, marks the limits of navigation for all but the smaller kind of river-craft; for here clyde may be said to merge into glasgow harbour, and a new and almost last chapter in its career opens at the broomielaw. [illustration: paisley (_p. _).] there was a time when rutherglen reckoned itself a seaport, and when fishermen drew shoals of salmon from the clear-flowing clyde, and spread their nets on glasgow green. such sights have long ceased to be witnessed; and the camlachie burn no longer wimples in the face of day between alder-covered banks through the flat riverside meadow to join the molendinar and the clyde. but "the green" remains the most famous and most prized of the city's open spaces: it is the central "lung" of glasgow. if not in fashionable surroundings, in its function as a safety valve for popular enthusiasm and excitement it is the hyde park of the second city of the empire. in it great political and religious gatherings have been and still are held; here do the east-enders throng and bask in holiday time, and here have been seen also riot and rejoicing, and events of note in the history of the municipality, the kingdom, and even of the world. to mention the greatest of all, did not the epoch-making idea of the steam-engine flash through the brain of james watt as he took a sunday ramble, thoughtful and solitary, on the green, near the humane society's quarters, where afterwards lambert, "hero and martyr," achieved his wonderful rescues from drowning? did not the regent moray's army here cross the clyde to intercept and disperse mary stuart's adherents at langside? and did not prince charlie--an unwelcome guest in whiggish glasgow--review his highlanders in the flesher's haugh? at the time of the pretender's visit, the era of glasgow's commercial prosperity--the reign of the "tobacco dons" and the "sugar dons," who preceded the "cotton lords" and the present reigning dynasty of the "iron kings"--was only opening. the current of the city's business life had already begun to turn aside from the channel of the high street, in order to run parallel with the river, along the line of the trongait and argyll street, to absorb little suburban villages, to overflow the neighbouring fields, and by-and-by to swallow up, one by one, the mansions of its merchant princes. but when the present century opened, the town could boast of only some , inhabitants. the saracen's head in the gallowgate was still the chief place of entertainment; there dr. johnson housed on his return from his hebridean tour, and burns was also among its guests. queen street a hundred years ago had not so long ceased to be the cow loan through which the citizens drove out their cows to pasture; and george square, when the century was young, was a retired park, with trees and turf and shrubberies, surrounded by the private dwellings of a few city magnates. [illustration: dumbarton rock (_p. _).] to this once rural spot the centre of interest and authority of modern glasgow has now flitted; and here the city has set up its valhalla. in the heart of the square a statue of sir walter scott towers on its high pedestal; and surrounding it are ranks of other monuments--equestrian statues, and figures erect and seated: among them those of sir john moore and lord clyde, both of them "glasgow callants" who won for their native city war-laurels to place beside its trophies of peaceful industry; and of thomas campbell, the poet, who was born in the high street, within a stonecast of the old college buildings. chief of the public edifices that face the square are the new municipal buildings, in which, after several shiftings from the venerable tolbooth, the city fathers have set up their gods. the foundation stone of this magnificent pile was laid in october, , and it has cost the town nearly £ , . here would be a convenient standpoint whence to survey the more recent spread and growth of the city, were this a description of glasgow instead of a glance down the course of the clyde. from george square as a centre, a radius of fully two and a half miles would now be required in order to draw a circle embracing the whole area of the city. in that space, and included within the municipal boundaries, is a population which in numbered , . but the circle would enclose also the police burghs of govan, partick, and kinning park, which, although partially surrounded by glasgow, and essentially a part of the same urban community, have separate municipal organisations. adding these and the suburban villages and populous areas attached to, but outside the circumference of, the city, and making allowance for the growth of five years, we have a greater "geographical glasgow" which sir james bell and mr. paton, in their recent work, estimate to contain no fewer than , souls. so that since the beginning of the century the increase has been something like tenfold in population; while in wealth, in trade, and in the multiplication of the resources of civilisation, its progress has been, perhaps, still more marked. the classic but now much-befouled kelvin is at its mouth the boundary between the city and the adjoining burgh of partick; and when it passes this point the clyde leaves glasgow territory behind it, without, however, escaping from the sphere of its administrative authority. very different is this straight, broad highway of commerce--lined by quay walls and wet and graving docks, by shipbuilding yards and boiler-sheds, by factories, timber depôts, and railway sidings, burdened with craft innumerable, and overhung by the shapes of great iron vessels (the pride of glasgow and the clyde) in every stage of construction--from the stream that winds and gleams like a serpent between its green banks only a few miles above. the opposing shores send up a perpetual din of iron smiting upon iron: the deafening and yet, to the understanding ear, inspiriting sound of the clyde's most famous industry--that of shipbuilding. the broad tide of waters is churned by paddles and propellers innumerable. it is muddy and evil-smelling, for glasgow has not repaid its debt to the clyde with gratitude, and still makes its river the receptacle of its sewage and garbage. all this, however, is to be changed; already the experiment of sewage purification has been for some years in operation at dalmarnock, and shortly a scheme intended to embrace the whole north side of glasgow will be at work on ground purchased by the corporation at dalmuir, some miles down the river. so that in time trout may venture back to kelvin, and the "stately salmon" itself be seen basking in the sandbanks opposite the broomielaw, or stemming the "amber-coloured clyde," once more pure and sweet as well as "beneficent and strong." often the channel itself is choked with mist and overhung with smoke; and vessels and houses loom vaguely through the haze, or stand out in startling relief against their dim background when the sun manages to send his shafts through the mist and to light up river and shipping. nowhere are there such sunsets to be seen as in this murky and rainy and dinsome clime of glasgow harbour. to embark on board one of the river-steamers at the broomielaw is a convenient mode of surveying what remains to be seen of the river and its surroundings. steering down-stream by the broad and deep channel between the lines and thickets of masts and funnels of the craft moored to either bank, or assembled in the great dock basins, there is plenty of time to reflect on the changes that have come over the scene, even since campbell deplored that nature's face was banished and estranged from the "once romantic shore of his native clyde," and the face of heaven was no more reflected in its soot-begrimed waters-- "that for the daisied greensward, down thy stream unsightly brick-lanes smoke and clanking engines gleam." the days when the river could be forded at high-water opposite govan point, and when a voyage up or down stream was a series of bumpings from shoal to shoal, seem almost as far removed from our own as the date of the canoes of our remote ancestors that have been found embedded in the ooze of the channel in the course of dredging operations. yet they belong to the present century; and even after henry bell's _comet_ inaugurated steam navigation by making her runs between greenock and glasgow, the better part of a day has been known to be spent on the trip. in the course of a century and half some sixteen millions have been spent on widening, deepening, and straightening the channel and improving the harbour accommodation of glasgow; and the revenue of the clyde navigation trust now reaches about £ , annually. as the fruit of all this expenditure, the trust can point to the long lines of quay walls and the magnificent queen's and govan docks, and to a broad and straight waterway which, from glasgow bridge to port glasgow, has a uniform depth of feet at high tide. [illustration: _photo: andrew young, burntisland._ loch lomond (_p. _).] even fifty years ago dr. macdonald could write of govan as "a still rural-looking village," to which the denizens of st. mungo resorted on sundays, after the skailing of the kirks, to "snuff the caller air" by the waterside; and of partick, on the opposite bank, as an "old-fashioned town with a pleasant half-rural aspect," also in repute as a holiday-resort on account of the "salubrity of its air." now, these adjuncts of glasgow, with the adjoining whiteinch, are world-famous as the headquarters of clyde shipbuilding. from the govan, fairfield, and linthouse yards, on the south side, and from the finnieston, pointhouse, meadowbank, and whiteinch slips, on the north bank, have been launched some of the largest and finest vessels--mercantile craft and ships of war--that have ever put to sea. dwelling-houses and public works have spread over the ground behind, so that little is left of the "rural" or "half-rural" villages of the 'fifties. yet govan has its spacious breathing-space in the elder park, and elms still shade the ancient celtic crosses and monuments in its parish kirkyard; partick still borders on kelvin grove; and whiteinch boasts, in its victoria park, of a "fossil grove" of more hoar antiquity than runic crosses, or the prehistoric canoes of govan. clyde, as it moves majestically away from the stir and clangour of the water fronts of govan and partick, begins slowly to open what wilson, the descriptive poet of the stream, calls an "ampler mirror" to the sky and the objects on the banks. its shores resume something of their old romance and rusticity as we come abreast of the woods and lawns of elderslie and of blytheswood. behind them is the ancient burgh of renfrew--once a fishing port and the rival of glasgow--which, as part of the earliest heritage of the high stewards, gives the title of baron of renfrew to the heir apparent. further back is the romantic valley of the white cart, that flows under gleniffer braes and through the busy town of paisley--birthplace of poets, burial-place of kings, and metropolis of thread manufactures--to meet the black cart at inchinnan, and enter the clyde at the "water neb." opposite, on the busier right bank of the river, are the factories and building-yards of yoker and clydebank; below these, dalmuir and its purification works; and lower down, beyond erskine ferry, the houses of old kilpatrick and of bowling--its little harbour filled with craft, new and ancient--facing the fine lawns and woods that surround lord blantyre's beautiful mansion of erskine house. here, where under the rough and furrowed spurs of the kilpatrick hills the highlands meet the lowlands; where the forth and clyde canal joins the tide-water, and the line of "grime's dyke" (the roman wall of antonine) found its western term; here where, according to legend, patrick, the apostle of ireland, was born and spent his childhood--we might lay down the limits of river and firth. or passing the ancient castle of dunglass and the ford under the hill of dumbuck, which was the first great obstacle to clyde navigation, it might be found in that grandest of landmarks, the rock and castle of dumbarton, miles from the source of the clydes burn, and miles from the taproot of the daer. the lofty isolated double-headed crag sentinels alike the channel of the clyde and the valley of the leven, and mounts guard over the ancient and still thriving burgh at its base, once the capital of the britons of strathclyde, and for a thousand years the refuge and defence of kings. on the crown or at the base of the rock many strange scenes in scottish history have been enacted. from dumbarton queen mary, a child of six, set sail for france to wed the dauphin; and to the friendly shelter of its castle she was hastening when-- "from the top of all her trust misfortune laid her in the dust." the town has still its great shipbuilding industry, its shipping trade, and its foundries and turkey-red and other manufactories. some of the old houses remain, along with a fragment of its collegiate church. other bold hills beside the castle rock overlook it, and the broad and smooth leven--harbour and river--divides it into two parts. the view northwards from the rock carries the eye through the wide and beautifully-wooded vista of the leven valley into the heart of the highlands. the pyramid of ben lomond, buttressed by ptarmigan hill, is the presiding shape. but a score of other peaks are huddled behind and around it. below can be traced the folds of the hills that sheltered rob roy, and over against it the glens of the colquhoun country that witnessed the prowess and revenge of the wild macgregors. loch lomond, the queen of our northern lakes, with its lovely archipelago of islands, is spread between. loch lomond, too, is tributary to the clyde, and all the waters that tumble through its glens, from ardlui to balloch pier, including the fine stream of the endrick, which drains the heart of the lennox, and flows past buchanan house, the seat of the great family of montrose, are poured by the leven past smollett's old home of bonhill, and past the busy manufacturing towns of alexandria, and renton, to the foot of dumbarton rock. the prospect commanded by the southern side of the rock is hardly less grand, and has infinitely more of movement and space and variety. winding into view from out of its coverts of smoke, and under its shadowing heights, comes the great river which in its westward course here opens up into the dimensions of a firth; and beyond it the fertile plains and valleys, the busy towns and villages, and the bare enclosing hills of renfrew, are spread out like a map. the deep-water channel of the clyde is marked not alone by the line of red buoys and beacons, but by the craft of all nations and all sizes, from the dredger to the huge floating palace of the ocean-going passenger steamer, that are continually plying up or down on it. as the eye travels westward the shores expand and grow dim. but the houses, shipping, and shipbuilding yards of port glasgow, and the long line of timber lying off its sea front, are well in view, and beyond them the thicker pall of smoke and the more densely packed masses of dwellings, chimney stalks, and masts that proclaim the whereabouts of cartsdyke and greenock. [illustration: _photo: fergus & sons, greenock._ greenock.] one has to embark and pass this dingy and crowded side of the birthplace of james watt--the harbour, the docks, and the shipbuilding yards, the custom house, the steamboat quays, the handsome classic façade and tower of its municipal buildings, and the bulk of the many spires and steeples that rise among the masses of houses which climb the hillside--before seeing the fairer and more open face which greenock presents to those approaching it from the west. beyond prince's pier stretch wide esplanades, lined with trees, lashed with saltwater, and blown upon by salt breezes; and behind and above these are broad and handsome streets and boulevards, ascending to the steeper sides of the craig and the whin hill, on whose airy heights the town has planted its cemetery, golf course, public park, and water works. beyond fort matilda is the semicircular sweep of gourock bay, thronged with yachts and lined with villa residences, which stretch on under the base and round the corner of the headland, crowned by a fragment of gourock castle, towards the cloch light, the beacon of the inner waters of the firth. [illustration: gourock.] in mid-firth, opposite prince's pier, is the "tail of the bank"--the station of the guardship, the anchorage of vessels preparing to ascend the river or put out to sea. opposite, the dark-wooded headland of ardmore projects into the estuary, and lower down the beautiful glades and tree-clad slopes surrounding the grecian front of the duke of argyll's mansion rise gently from the water to the bare ridge of the peninsula of roseneath. between these opens the gare loch--perhaps the most charming nook in all the winding waters of the clyde--with craigendoran pier and helensburgh on its lip, row in its narrow throat, and shandon and a string of other seaside retreats in its inner recesses. behind this the peaks that mount watch over loch lomond, loch long, and waters yet more distant--ben lomond, ben vorlich, the cobbler, the rugged mass of "argyll's bowling green," and far ben cruachan among them--stand up in the evening light in purple and gold. nearer at hand are lower heights that surround the holy loch and guard the entrance to the inner firth; at their feet are rank upon rank of fine seaside residences and favourite watering-places, to which the crowds in populous city pent rush for fresh air and recreation. all these and other scenes lying beyond, in the outer vestibule of the firth--the shores of cowal and ayrshire; the cumbraes; rothesay, and the windings of the kyles of bute; and, well seen from the neighbour island, the rugged peaks and corries of arran--are fringes of greater glasgow, and creatures of the clyde. /john geddie./ [illustration] index. abbey dore, abbot's worthy, aberdovey, abergavenny, ; streets, historical associations of castle, former industries, st. mary's church, aberglaslyn, pass of, abergorlech, aberystwith: devil's bridge, castle, and university college, , abington, adur, the, , afon, the, afon cych, the, ailsa craig, airds moss and the death of richard cameron, alexanders, the, seat of, alfred the great and the baptism of guthrum, ; his retreat from the danes, , ; and the monastery in the isle of athelney, ; his fleet at caerleon, allen, the, tributary of the stour, allen, the (cornwall), alresford pond, alyn, the: scenery, and junction with the dee, richard wilson, eaton hall, amberley, ambleside, amesbury, anglesea, isle of, annan, the: meaning of name, and allusion of allan cunningham, ; ballad of "annan water," ; annandale and bruce, ecclefechan and carlyle, annantown and edward irving, annbank, anton river, the, aran benllyn, aran mowddwy, ardmore, argyll, duke of, mansion at roseneath of, arle, the (or the titchfield): source and scenery, ; wickham and william of wykeham, warton the poet, funtley abbey, and titchfield house, armathwaite: the castle, ; benedictine monastery, ; john skelton, , armstrong, johnnie, hanged by order of james v., armstrong, william ("kinmont willie"), his imprisonment at carlisle and rescue, , arnside, , arthur, king: legends at caerleon, ; knights of the round table, , ; merlin's grotto, ; battle at camlan, ; association with the dee, , "arthur's chair," arun, the: its surroundings, arundel, angling, pulborough, amberley, swanbourne mill, arundel castle, and littlehampton, arundel: scenery, castle, and roman catholic church, ashdown forest, ashford and the stour, atcham, athelney, isle of, , attery stream, the, auchencruive, auchendrane, , avenham park, avon, the devon, avon, the hants: confluence with the stour, tributaries, christchurch, and amesbury, ; salisbury and its cathedral, , avon, the lower: source at estcourt park, : malmesbury and the abbey, ; view near christian malford, bradenstoke priory, chippenham, ; melksham, bradford and its cloth industry, freshfield, limpley stoke, claverton, ; tributary of the frome, , ; priory of hinton, ; bath, its history, abbey, and views of the river and bridges, - ; bristol, birthplace of cabot, southey, and chatterton, st. mary redcliffe, ; bristol cathedral, "the chasm," clifton suspension bridge, ; the lower reaches, site of the roman station abona, , ; avonmouth, avon, the upper or warwickshire: source, naseby, ; rugby, the swift, lutterworth and wiclif, coventry, stoneleigh abbey, kenilworth, leamington, ; warwick castle and church, ; stratford and shakespeare, - ; evesham and its abbey, death of simon de montfort, , ; pershore church, ; tewkesbury church, , ; battle of tewkesbury, , avonmouth, axe, the devonshire, axe, the somersetshire, aymer de valence, and the defence of clydesdale, ayr, the, ; in the poetry of burns, ; priesthill and muirkirk, ; scenery at sorn, ; sorn castle, ; catrine house and village, ballochmyle, mossgiel, mauchline, barskimming bridge and house, ; the castle o' montgomerie and "highland mary," stair, enterkin, gadsgirth, coylton, ; auchencruive and craigie, ; laiglan, , ; ayr town, , ayr town: viewed from laiglan, ; the two bridges, ; remnant of ancient buildings, modern buildings, and suburbs, ayrshire, the rivers and scenery of, general features of, - bacon, francis, and liverpool, badgworthy water, the, baillie, joanna, birthplace of, bala lake, baldwin, archbishop, at rhuddlan, baliol, john, baliols, the, castle of, balliol college, oxford, and the mother of john baliol, ballochmyle, bampton, bangor-on-dee, barle, the, barmouth, , barnstaple, , , barrow, barrow, bishop, barskimming house, barton aqueduct and locks, basingwerk abbey, bass rock, bath: names given to it, ; beauty of approach from the east, beau nash, growth, bridges over the avon, ; the skew bridge, abbey church, ; twerton and fielding, , ; kelston round hill, views of the avon, batherm, the, battle, beacons, the, , , - beaulieu abbey, beaulieu river, the, beckford collection at hamilton palace, beddgelert, bekesbourne, ben cruachan, ben lomond, ben vorlich, benbow, admiral, birthplace of, benbow, captain, and the capture of shrewsbury, benglog, falls of, , benson, archbishop, and truro cathedral, benthall, benthall edge, berkeley castle, , berthon boats, , berwyn hills, bethesda, , bettws-y-coed, , beult, the, bewdley, bickleigh bridge, bickleigh vale, bideford, its antiquity, bridge, and the grenvilles, , biggar, plain of, birchington, "bird rock" on the dysynni, birkenhead: railway to liverpool, ; landing-stages and docks, ; shipbuilding yards, progress during the century, population, parliamentary representation, tramways, priory, bishop's sutton, bishop's tawton, bishopsbourne church and bishop hooker, biss, the, bizzyberry, black mountains, the, and the rise of the usk, black prince and rhuddlan castle, black rock, blackstone-edge reservoirs, bladenoch, the: wigtown martyrs, , blaenau festiniog, blaenhafren, blantyre priory, , blantyre town, bleasdale moor, blundell, peter, grammar school of, bodinnoc ferry, bolton-le-sands, bonhill, bonnington house, bonnington linn, , bothwell, visited by mary queen of scots at hermitage castle, bothwell bridge, , bothwell castle, bovey, the, bowdler, dr. thomas, burialplace of, bowland forest, , bowling, boxbrook, the, boyd, dr. zachary, and the laigh barony church, glasgow, brackenbank, bradenstoke priory, bradford-on-avon: woollen industry, church, and bridges, bramber, bran, the, brantwood and its associations, brathay, the, braxfield, bray, the, brecknock beacons, , , - brecon: picturesque situation and churchyard's verses, ; history of the castle, birthplace of mrs. siddons, church of st. john, brede, the, breidden hills, the, brendon water, the, bridgnorth, , bridgwater: manufacture of bath brick, , ; admiral blake, st. mary's church, brighton, bristol: birthplace of cabot, southey, and chatterton, commerce, first bridge over the avon, st. mary redcliffe, ; chatterton's forgeries and monument, , ; castle, cathedral, and busts of joseph butler, southey, and mary carpenter, floating harbour, "the chasm," clifton suspension bridge, broadstairs, broseley, broughton gifiord brook, brown willy, brownsholm hall and the seal of the commonwealth, bruce, robert, and annandale, ; his dispute with the red cumyn, brue, the, brydges, sir egerton, buchanan house, buckfastleigh, , buckland abbey, buildwas abbey, , builth, burgh-on-the-sands, burnham, burnley, burns, robert, at dumfries, ; and lincluden abbey, ; incident of his last days, and monument in st. michael's churchyard, ; and the glencairn family, ; and the rivers and scenery of ayrshire, , , , , ; birthplace and relics, bute, marquess of, and the cardiff docks, buttermere, buxted, and the manufacture of the first cannon, cabot, sebastian, birthplace of, cadbury castle, cade, jack, cader idris, , , cadzow castle, , caerlaverock castle and the maxwell family, , caerleon, its splendour in roman times, arthurian legends, university and bishopric, , caersws fortress in roman times, cain, the, cairntable, calder, the (lancashire), caldew, the, cale, the, caledonian forest, remains of, calstock, cambuslang, cambusnethan, camel, the, camlan, the, camlan, farmhouse of, canford hall, canonbie, , canterbury and its associations, , capel curig, caradoc hills, cardiff: water-supply, ; castle, mansion of the marquis of bute, ; docks, streets, and exhibition, , cardigan, carew, bampfylde moore, the "king of the beggars," carew castle, its historical associations and present condition, , carew family, the, , carlisle: ; incursions by the northmen, the castle, ; lines by mrs. sigourney, ; edward i. and the oath enjoined on the prince of wales, , ; "kinmont willie" and buccleuch, , ; execution of jacobites, ; cathedral, carlyle, thomas, birthplace of, carmarthen, , carmyle, carnarvon, town and castle of, , carnforth, carrick road estuary, carron, the, carstairs, cartland crags, cartmel peninsula, cartsdyke, cassilis and the kennedys, castell coch, castle head (or alterpite castle), castlerigg top, view of lakeland from, caton, the vale of, the poet gray on, catrine, , ; and the visit of burns to dugald stewart, cefn carnedd, british earthwork, ceiriog, the, cenarth, cessnock, the, ceunant mawr, , chagford, charlecote and sir thomas lucy, chartists, attack on newport of, chatterton, his birthplace, forgeries, and monument, , chepstow, , cheriton, defeat of the royalists at, chester: antiquity, "rows," walls, cathedrals, , chetham, humphrey, and chetham college, chillingham cattle, chippenham, chirk castle, , chow, the, christchurch: salmon-fishing, church, and shelley memorial, chudleigh, churchyard, the poet, on the situation of brecon, ; on the vale of clwyd, ; and valle crucis abbey, ; on the waters of the dee, ; and offa's dyke, chweffru, the, cilhepste fall, the, claerwen, the, "clam" bridge over the wallabrook, clapdale ravine, clare, richard, earl of, murder of, cleghorn, roman bridge at, cletwrs, the two, clifford castle and rosamond, , clough, memorial stone to, clun gwyn falls, clwyd, the: rhyl, rhuddlan, - ; junction with the elwy, clyde, the: its importance, the population and wealth within its basin, and variety of scenes on its banks, ; source and some of its tributaries, , ; the "sea of hills" of clydesdale, , ; the trees on the banks, ; smoky industries of the upper ward at leadhills and wanlockhead, ; its course past tower lindsay, the churchyard of st. constantine, or kirkton, the woods and lawns of abington, and the fragment of lamington tower, ; tinto hill--"hill of fire"--and the prospects it commands, , ; its meandering through haughs and holmlands, by covington, carstairs, and hyndford bridge, ; scenes of wallace's exploits, ; douglas water, , ; the church of st. bride of douglas and the struggle between the "good sir james" and st. john de walton, , ; douglas castle, , ; falls at bonnington linn, , ; corra linn falls--"clyde's most majestic daughter," - ; meeting the douglas water, ; "wallace's tower" and "wallace chair," ; braxfield, lanark, "trough of the clyde," ; mouse water and cartland crags, ; roman bridge at cleghorn and site of watling street, ; stonebyres linn, the nethan, craignethan castle and mary stuart, ; "orchard of scotland," ; hamilton, ; hamilton palace and the beckford collection, ; cadzow castle, , ; remains of the caledonian forest, ; bothwell castle, , ; blantyre, ; uddington, dalbowie, carmyle, cambuslang, ; rutherglen, , ; glasgow, - ; st. mungo, , ; the early days of steamships, ; widening and deepening the channel, ; partick, whiteinch, govan, shipbuilding yards, ; the opening of an "ampler mirror," ; renfrew, valley of the white cart, inchinnan, yoker, clydebank, dalmuir and its purification works, erskine house, castle of dunglass, and hill of dumbuck, ; dumbarton castle and town, ; prospects from dumbarton rock, ; greenock, gourock, fort matilda, whin hill, the clock light, the "tail of the bank," ardmore, roseneath, and the duke of argyll's mansion, ; gare loch, , ; craigendoran pier, helensburgh, row, and shandon, ; view of the peaks of ben lomond, ben vorlich, the cobbler, "argyll's bowling green," and ben cruachan, ; seaside residences and watering-places, clydebank, clydesdale, the hills of, coalbrook dale, cobbler peak, the, cobden, richard: statue at stockport, coccium, roman station of, cocker, the: crummock water, scenery, cataracts, vale of lorton, cockermouth, workington, , cockermouth, , codale tarn, coelbren, coilsfield house (castle o' montgomerie) and "highland mary," coldwell rocks, , , coleridge, birthplace of, coleridge, hartley, burialplace of, condover, coniston water, conway, , conway, the: bettws and llanrwst, , ; gwydir castle, llanbedr and ancient british post, trefriw, ; castle, , ; conway town, ; deganwy, pearl-fishery and castle, , ; llandudno, conway castle, , corby castle, cornbrook, the, corra linn, , corwen and associations of owen glendower, , cotehele house, cotehill, cothi, countess weir, courtfield and henry v., courthose, robert, eldest son of the conqueror, tomb in gloucester cathedral, coventry, covington, coyle, the, craig-y-nos and madame patti, , craigendoran, craigenputtock, craigie, craignethan castle, craigs of kyle, crake, the, ; and coniston water, brantwood and gerald massey, cranbrook, cranmer and his palace at bekesbourne, cranmere pool, , , crawford, , crawford moor, "cray," drayton's, cree, the: scenery near newton stewart and bridge, ; the "cruives of cree," , creedy, the, crewkerne, crickhowell, crockett, mr., scenes of some of the stories by, cromwell, oliver, and the siege of pembroke castle, ; statue at manchester, ; greystoke castle, ; at ayr, cromwell, sir richard, and neath abbey, crosthwaite, crow castle, crummock water, , cuckfield, cuckmere, the: alfriston and its church and cross, ; lullington church, culm, the, cumyn, the red, and robert bruce in the greyfriars' monastery, cunningham, allan, his allusions to the annan, cunsey beck and esthwaite water, cutler fell, cwm porth, the, cynicht, the, "the matterhorn of wales," daer water, the, dalbowie, dale, david, and his mills at new lanark, , dalmuir, dalserf, dalziel, dart, the: mingling of waters of east and west dart, ; features of the upper waters, buckland beacon, and holne, ; buckfastleigh, , ; dean prior and herrick, staverton and dartington hall, ; totnes, its claim to antiquity and general features, , ; the "english rhine," ; sharpham house, sandridge house and john davis, greenway and sir humphrey gilbert, ; kingswear, dartmouth and its associations, , dartington hall, dartmoor, , , dartmouth, , darwin, charles, birthplace of, davis, john, birthplace of, dean prior and herrick, dee, the: source and length, , , ; bala lake, , ; llanuwchllyn, ; reputed sacred character, ; llandderfel and the vale of edeyrnion, ; corwen and the mark of owen glendower's dagger, , ; encampment of owen gwynedd, ; vale of llangollen, , ; valle crucis abbey, , ; bridge of llangollen, ; llangollen town and derivation of name, ; dinas bran, eglwyseg rocks, crow castle, viaduct and telford's aqueduct, junction with the ceiriog, chirk castle, and wynnstay, ; offa's dyke and watt's dyke, , ; overton churchyard, bangor-on-dee, ; junction with the alyn, eccleston, ; chester and its history, , ; swing railway bridge, hawarden, castle of flint, ; castle of mostyn, basingwerk abbey, fountain of holywell, "the sands of dee," , dee, the (kirkendbrightshire): its rise, meaning of name, confluence with the water of ken, scenery at douglas tongueland, ; threave castle, , deerhurst, deganwy, ; ancient pearl-fishery and castle, , denbigh and its castle, , dering family, the, derry ormond column and its romance, derwent, the, also known as the grange, its rise and course, derwentwater, devon, earl of, seat of, devonport, , devorgilla, mother of john baliol, and the bridge over the nith at dumfries, ; her endowment of balliol college, oxford, ; and sweetheart abbey, dewi fawr, the, dihouw, the, dinas bran, dinas castle and the daughter of alfred the great, dinas mowddwy, docks at liverpool, , , doethiau, the, dolbadarn castle, , dolbury hill, dolgelley, , dolwyddelen castle, donnerdale and wordsworth's sonnets, doon, the, ; in the poems of burns, ; its attraction, ; auchendrane, , ; cassilis, dalmellington, loch doon, castle of the baliols, hills of galloway, ; sources, dorchester, dore, the, douglas, countess of, and the siege of threave castle, douglas, house of, story of the, , douglas, william, eighth earl of, and the murder of maclellan, ; his death, douglas, sir william, his imprisonment of sir alexander ramsay, ; slain by the earl of douglas, , douglas castle, douglas tongueland, douglas water, , douglases, the black, dovey (or dyfi), the: aberdovey, and source, ; estuary, angling, dinas mowddwy, aran mowddwy, church at mallwyd, farmhouse of camlan, farmhouse of mathafarn, ; machynlleth, , ; the dulas, dowlais steel and iron works, drake, sir francis, , drayton, lines on the mersey by, dringarth, the, , drumclog, drumlanrig castle, , dryslwyn castle, duddon, the: its rise, donnerdale, seathwaite, wordsworth's allusions, ; the most picturesque approach, likened to the thames, dulas, the, , dumbarton, , ; rock and castle of, , ; prospects from the rock, ; shipbuilding industry and manufactories, dumbuck, hill of, dumfries: its memories of robert burns, ; lincluden abbey, st. michael's churchyard, devorgilla's bridge, bruce's dispute with the red cumyn, dunglass, ancient castle of, dunglass, lord, heir of the douglas line, dunsford bridge, dyer the poet, and golden grove, dynevor castle, dysynni, the: source, scenery, bird rock, manor-house, and prince llewelyn, ; mansion of ynys-y-maengwyn, towyn, and st. cadfan's church, eamont, the, easedale tarn, east and west dean, eastham locks, eastwell park, eaton hall, ebbw, the, ecclefechan and thomas carlyle, eccleston, eden, the: length, source, junction with the eamont, eden hall, ; armathwaite and john skelton, , ; wetheral, cotehill, brackenbank, corby castle, , ; carlisle, - eden hall and the musgrave family, , ; and the story of the fairies' goblet, , edeyrnion, vale of, edw, the, edward i.: carnarvon castle, ; conway castle, ; takes rhuddlan castle, ; his last scots expedition and the oath enjoined on the prince of wales, , edward ii.: memorial in gloucester cathedral, ; at neath abbey, ; and corby castle, egbert, king, and minster nunnery, eggesford, eglwys newydd, eglwyseg rocks, , egremont, ehen, the, elan, the, , elizabeth, queen, visit to bristol, ; and buccleuch's rescue of "kinmont willie," ellesmere canal, aqueduct of, elvan, the, elwy, the: junction with the clwyd, ; st. asaph, denbigh and its castle, , ; ruthin and its castle, ennerdale water, , enterkin, , erme, the, erskine house, esk, the (cumberland): source, ; scafell, wastdale, langdale, and borrowdale, esk falls, cam spout cataract, hardknott, baker force and stanley gill waterfalls, esk, the (solway): scenery, angling, the tarras tributary, ; gilnockie tower, hollows tower and johnnie armstrong, ; the romance of lochinvar, , eskdale, upper, esthwaite water, ethelbert, murder of, etherow, the, , evesham, its abbey and the death of simon de montfort, , exbridge, exe, the: source and length, ; characteristics, and confluence with the barle, ; bampton, tiverton, and twy-ford-town, ; bickleigh bridge, bickleigh court and the carews, ; cadbury castle, dolbury hill, and the seats of the aclands and the earls of iddesleigh, ; exeter, - ; countess weir, canal to topsham, powderham castle, starcross, lympstone, and exmouth, exeter: situation, ; meaning of name, ; castle of rougemont, ; cathedral, , ; guildhall, canal communication with the sea, exmoor, , , , exmouth, fail, the, failford, fair maid of galloway, the, fairfax, general, his rout of the royalist forces near taunton, ; and the river parret, fairfield, fal, the: its rise in tregoss moor, treviscoe, length of course, grampound, view about tregothnan and queen victoria's visit, the kenwyn and allen, ; truro and its cathedral, scenery between king harry's passage and roseland, ; grounds of trelissick, view from malpas road, carrick road, black rock and the claim of truro, ; falmouth and its harbour, , ; the lords of arwenack, the creeks of falmouth harbour, falls of clyde, - , falls of the hepste, falmouth and its harbour, , ; and the lords of arwenack, fareham, feni, the, fingle bridge, fishbourne creek, fitzalan, william, priory founded by, fleetwood, , fleming of redhall and helen, the romance of, , fletching common, the burialplace of gibbon, flint, town and castle of, , fordwich, ; its former name, and izaak walton's allusions, forest of brecon, forest of dean, , fowey, the: its rise, also called the dranes, ; st. neot, features of scenery, seat of lord vivian, lanhydrock house, ; restormel castle, lostwithiel, colonel titus and the silver oar, bodinnoc ferry, ; fowey harbour, , ; seat of the treffry family, and french assault on place house, fowey harbour, , fox, founder of the society of friends, and pendle hill, frampton court, frome, the: branches, dorchester, frampton court, the black downs, roman and british remains, maiden castle, and wareham, ; tributary of the avon, , funtley abbey, furness peninsula, gadsgirth, gaer, the, roman camp, galloway, , gannel, the, gare loch, , gaunt's house, gerald de windsor and carew castle, gibbon, burialplace of, giggleswick, gilbert, sir humphrey, birthplace of, gilnockie tower and johnnie armstrong, gilpin, the, gilpin, bernard, birthplace of, gisburne hall, gladstone, mr., and the swing railway bridge over the dee, ; hawarden park, ; his connection with liverpool, glasgow: its chief armorial device, ; population at the period of the reformation, ; legend of st. kentigern, ; its extent in the seventeenth century, ; the cathedral, cross, and other ancient buildings, , ; laigh barony church, ; st. roche's chapel, ; streets and bridges, ; the green, ; population at the beginning of the nineteenth century, ; george square and the monuments, , ; the municipal buildings, and population in , ; shipbuilding industry and drainage, , ; sunsets seen from the harbour, docks, and quays, ; adjoining places, - glaslyn, the, glencairn family, the, glenderamakin, the, glendower, owen, his stronghold on plinlimmon, , ; at hay, ; defeat at usk, ; and aberdovey, ; his parliament at machynlleth, ; parliament house at dolgelley, ; tight with howell selé, ; and corwen churchyard, gloucester: the cathedral, - ; a roman station, ; monastery, ; during the civil war, goat fell, golden grove, golden valley, the, goodrich castle, gourock bay and castle, govan, , govan point, gowy, the, goyt, the, , grampound, grasmere: wordsworth's cottage, the church, graves of wordsworth, hartley coleridge, and memorial to clough, ; length of lake and its beautiful surroundings, gray, the poet, on the vale of caton, ; on grasmere, graygarth, great gable mountain, greenock, , grenville, richard, and bideford, greta, the: source, ; keswick, , ; crosthwaite, view from castlerigg top, greta, the (lancashire), gretna green, grey, sir patrick, and the earl of douglas, , greystoke castle, grongar hill, grove ferry, guild of st. george at barmouth, guild-merchants' festival at preston, , gunnislake, gwbert-on-the-sea, gwedderig, the, gwryney, the, gwydir castle, gwynedd, owen, gwynne, nell, birthplace of, gynin, the hamerton, philip gilbert, and the country round burnley, hamilton and hamilton palace, hamilton of bothwellhaugh, hamoaze, the, , hardham, harewood forest, harlech, castle of, harold godwinson and rhuddlan fortress, hastings, haughmond hill, , haverfordwest, past and present, haverigg point, hawarden park, hawes tarn, hawkeshead, hay, its castle and legends, - hayle, the, hel, the, helensburgh, hellifield, peel-house at, , helm crag, helvellyn, hemans, mrs.: monument in the cathedral of st. asaph, ; crossing the ulverston sands, henfield, henry iv. and hotspur at the battle of shrewsbury, , henry vii. and carew castle, ; at milford haven, ; at mathafarm, henry viii. and his welsh pedigree, henwen, the, hepste the, herbert of coldbrook, sir richard, , herberts of cherbury, the, , hereford: offa's palace, llewelyn's raid, ; murder of ethelbert, the cathedral, the "mappa mundi," , ; nell gwynne, hermitage castle and its historical associations, , heslock towers, hestbank, heysham, high blantyre, highbridge and the glastonbury canal, hobbes, birthplace of, holker hall, hollows tower and johnnie armstrong, holme island, , holne and charles kingsley, holy loch, holywell, fountain of, home, earl of, estate of, honddu, the, , honiton, hooker, bishop, hornby castle, horton priory, horton-in-ribblesdale, howgill, fairy glens at, hyndford bridge, hythe, iddesleigh, earls of, seat of, ; statue to the first earl, idwal, the, ill hell, ingleborough cave, ingleborough heights, , ingleton, irk, the, irlam, , , ironbridge, irt, the: outlet of wastwater, , irving, edward, birthplace of, irwell, the: confluence with the mersey, ; rise, course, and tributary streams, ; bridges, , isle, the, isle of oxney, isle of thanet, , , isle of wight: lack of running water and woods, ; the medina, itchen, the, ; source, , ; salmon-fishing, , ; alresford pond, ; tributaries, cheriton and the defeat of the royalists, tichborne and "the claimant," ; nun's walk, winchester and izaak walton, ; hospital of st. cross, ; st. catherine's hill, ; southampton, its docks, piers, etc., ithon, the, , jacobites, execution at carlisle of, james v. and johnnie armstrong, jedburgh, abbey of, jesuits, the, and stonyhurst college, john, king, at deganwy castle, ; and liverpool, , john of gaunt and lancaster castle, - johnson, dr., at plymouth with sir joshua reynolds, kemsey, kendal, - kenilworth castle, kenmuir, kennedys, the, seat of, kent, the: kentmere village and kentmere hall, ; kendal, - kentmere, kenwyn, the, keswick, , kidderminster, kilgerran castle, kilpeck church, king's road estuary, king's worthy, kingsley, charles, birthplace of, ; his description of the dee estuary, kingswear, , kinnaston, "the wonder" of, kirkby lonsdale, kirkconnel and the romance of helen and her lover, , kirkgate, kirtle water and the romance of helen and her lover, , kit hill, kyrle, john, "the man of ross," , laiglan, , laira bridge, laird, mr. john, lamington tower, lanark, lancaster: former prosperity as a port, ; associations of john of gaunt, - ; a roman settlement, ancient fisheries, and first charter, ; the castle, , ; monastic establishments, proclamation of the pretender, ; birthplace of whewell, grammar school, lancaster bay, landing-stage at liverpool, , landor, walter savage, and llanthony, , langdale, great and little, langport, lansdowne and the defeat of sir william waller, latchford, , , lauries, the, the seat of, leadhills, leamington, lee priory, lemon, the, lenham, the, lerrin creek, the, leven, the, lewes, battle of, liddel, the: hermitage castle and its associations, , lid, the, lincluden abbey, lind, jenny, and manchester infirmary, lindfield, linton the engraver and brantwood, listers, the, family seat of, littlebourne, littlehampton, liverpool: early history and variations in name, ; castles, and feuds between the molineux and stanley families, ; king john and toxteth park, parliamentary representation, ; during the civil wars, ; allusion by camden, and population, ; tonnage of ships entering the port, ; new brighton lighthouse, ; docks, , ; landing-stage, , ; electric overhead railway, ; railway to birkenhead, view of the city from birkenhead, lime street station, st. george's hall, etc., ; town hall, royal exchange, university college, infirmary, sefton park, water-supply, , ; bishopric, eminent men, livesey, joseph, and the first total abstinence pledge, livingstone, david, birthplace of, liza, the and the great gable, , llanbedr and its ancient fortifications, llanberis, and the pass, llandaff cathedral, ; village and bishop's palace, llandderfel, llanddewi brefi, llandilo, llandingat, vicar of, story of the, llandogo, llandovery, , llandrindod and its wells, llandudno, llanegwad, llangadock, llangattoc park, llangollen, vale of, ; bridge of, ; town of, and derivation of name, llangurig, llangwryney, llanidloes, , llanrwst, , llanspyddid, llanthony and its priory, ; and walter savage landor, , llanuwchllyn, llanymddyfri, lledr, the, , llewelyn, last stand and burialplace of, , ; ride to builth, ; at hereford, ; and the dysynni, ; birthplace of, ; and deganwy castle, ; at rhuddlan, llewelyn, david llwyd ap, llia, the, , llugwy, the: at capel curig, turbulent course and scenery, ; swallow falls, , ; moel siabod, , ; bettws-y-coed, - llyffnant, the, llyn-gwyn lake, the, loch doon, loch enoch, loch lomond, , loch long, lochinvar, the romance of, , lochmaben, the supposed birthplace of robert bruce, lodore, falls of, "logan" stone, in teign valley, loman, the, long mountain, the, longridge fell, looe, the, lostwithiel, love, the, loweswater, , ludlow, its castle and church, lug, the, lugar, the, lundy, lune, the: spencer's allusion, its rise, uplands, highlands, valleys, fairy glens, howgill, kirkby lonsdale, ; the greta and the wenning, vale of caton, morecambe bay and little fylde, ; lancaster, - ; drayton's lines, lutterworth and wiclif, lydney, lyminge church, lymington river, the, lympstone, lyn, the (also called the east lyn): source, length, general features, places and scenes described in "lorna doone," ; its beauty between malmsmead and watersmeet, , ; lynton and lynmouth, lynher, the, lynmouth, lynton, , machno, the: scenery, pandy mill, falls of the conway, ; fairy glen, machynlleth, , madoc, prince, tales of, , madoc ap gruffydd maelor, maiden newton, mallwyd church, malmesbury, ruins of the abbey, william of malmesbury, and hobbes, malpas road estuary, manchester: water-supply, ; earliest industries, in tudor times, and population, ; progress of manufacture and trade, ; ship-canal, , , , , ; during the civil wars, peterloo massacre, parliamentary representation, free trade hall, incorporation, ; cathedral, , ; chetham college, grammar school, owens college, victoria university, free libraries, ; albert memorial, town hall, infirmary and other buildings, ; the irwell, , , ; salford docks, "mappa mundi," maresfield and the remains of iron-smelting industry, margate, marias, the, marlan, the, marteg, the, martyr's worthy, mary queen of scots, her landing at workington, ; visit to bothwell, ; at craignethan castle, ; at cadzow, massey, gerald, and brantwood, mauchline, maud de saint wallery and the castle of hay, mauldslie castle, mawddach, the, ; ganllwyd glen, ; the falls, , ; barmouth and wordsworth, penmaenpool, abbey of st. mary, ; antiquity and appearance of barmouth, guild of st. george, hill of craig abermaw, maxwell family, the, and caerlaverock castle, , maxwelltown, meavy, the, medina river, the, medlock, the, melksham, mellte, the, - menai strait, meonware, merlin's grotto, mersey, the: a modern river, ; derivations of name, , ; origin, , ; blackstone-edge reservoirs and the manchester water-supply, ; stockport, , ; northenden, stretford, ; the irwell, , ; manchester and salford, , , - , , , ; the ship-canal, , , ; ordsall, eccles, barton, warburton, irlam, ; warrington, , ; latchford, , ; runcorn and widnes, , ; the weaver, saltport, eastham locks, ellesmere port, ; entrance to estuary and wirral peninsula, , ; liverpool, - ; birkenhead, , ; new brighton, perch rock lighthouse, sandbanks, length, lines of drayton, merthyr, manufactories of, , midford, the, milford, old and new, - milford haven, - minnick water, the, minster, minsterworth, mint, the, - moel famman, moel siabod, , , , moel wyn, mold, molineux family, the, and liverpool, monkton priory, monmouth in olden time, ; st. mary's church, st. thomas's chapel, benedictine priory, the "monmouth cap," monmouth, earl of, his defeat of the covenanters at bothwell bridge, monnow, the, , "mons meg" gun, the, monteith, john, and the blantyre mills, montgomery, its castle and the herberts of cherbury, ; the church and its monuments, mordiford and the legend of a serpent, morecambe bay, , , , morgan, bishop, morley, earls of, seat of, morriston, , morton, bishop, at brecon castle, morwell rocks, , morwellham, moselle, the, its resemblance to the wye, mossgiel, mostyn, castle of, motherwell, mouse water, the, , much wenlock, muchelney abbey, muir, james, "the grey man," muirkirk, mumbles, the, murray, john, and mrs. randell's "domestic cookery," musgrave family, seat of the, , myddleton, sir hugh, and chirk castle, nadder, the, nailbourne, nant francon, vale of, , naseby, battle of, neath, the, , ; its rise, ; the stone of llia, scenery near ystradfellte, ; the mellte, , ; the little neath, the hepste, and the sychnant, - ; the cwm porth, ; waterfalls, , ; pont neath vaughan, ; neath and its abbey, - neath town, , ; abbey, , nelson monument near carmarthen, new brighton, new forest, its streams, new lanark, newcastle emlyn, newgale bridge, newmarch, bernard, church at brecon founded by, newnham, newport: trade, docks, and castle, ; church of st. woollos, newton abbot, newton stewart, newtown, nith, the: its rise, course, and tributaries, ; dumfries, ; drumlanrig castle, , ; caerlaverock castle, , ; the cairn, maxwelltown, ; sweetheart abbey, north, christopher, on troutbeck village, north foreland, north tamerton, northenden, offa, palace at hereford of, ; his murder of ethelbert and founding of hereford cathedral, ; battle with the welsh at rhuddlan, offa's dyke, , ogwen, the: length, falls of benglog, ; vale of nant francon, bethesda slate quarries, cascades, , ; penmaenmawr, penrhyn castle, old man of coniston, old sarum, , oldham, bishop, and manchester grammar school, olwey, the, ordericus, birthplace of, ordsall, otter, the: honiton, ottery st. mary, and coleridge's reminiscences of his birthplace, , ottery st. mary, ouse, the sussex: course, fletching common, maresfield and its remains of iron-smelting industry, battle of lewes, overton churchyard, owen, sir richard, and lancaster grammar school, owen, robert, birthplace of, ; his mills at new lanark, owens, john, and owens college, oxenbridge ogre, the, oxenhams, the, tradition relating to, paisley, paley and the grammar school at giggleswick, parr, catherine, birthplace of, parret, the: source, and view at crewkerne, ; church of st. bartholomew, ruins of muchelney abbey, langport, historical associations, the tone and taunton, ; athelney island and alfred the great, , ; sedgemoor, ; bridgwater and its trade, burnham, highbridge, wookey hole, , partick, , patrixbourne, patti, madame, and craig-y-nos, , paxton, sir joseph, pearl-fishery at deganwy, peden the covenanter, peel castle, pegwell bay, pembroke, old and new, , pembroke castle, pendle hill, penmaenmawr, penmaenpool, , penrhyn castle, pentillie castle, perddyn, the, peterloo massacre, petteril, the, and greystoke castle, pillar mountain, plinlimmon, source of five rivers, , ; legendary associations, , plym, the: rise and outlet, ; cadaford bridge, shaugh prior, the dewerstone, the meavy, sheepstor, bickleigh vale, plympton priory, ; plympton, earl, and sir joshua reynolds, laira bridge, and saltram, ; plymouth, devonport, and stonehouse, , plymouth, - plympton earl and sir joshua reynolds, plympton st. mary, pont neath vaughan, pontypridd and its bridge, , portmadoc, , portsmouth, earl of, seat of, postling and the southern branch of the canterbury stour, potrail, the, poulton-le-fylde, powderham castle, powys castle, prehistoric animals, remains of, preston: antiquity, anglo-saxon remains, rout of the royalists, buildings, ; port and docks, prestonbury, pretenders, the, at lancaster, priesthill and the shooting of john brown, prior matthew, birthplace of, pulborough, "q.," old, quatford, queensberry, first duke of, and drumlanrig castle, quicksands of morecambe bay, , quothquan, raglan castle and its siege, ramsgate, red scar, red screes, redbridge, renfrew, , restormel castle, , reynolds, sir joshua, and his birthplace, ; at plymouth with dr. johnson, rhayader gwy, , rheidol, the, , rhuddlan, ; castle and historical associations, , rhyl, rhys ap thomas, sir and carew castle, ribble, the: source, , ; settle, formation of the railway and diversion of the river, horton-in-ribblesdale, ; legendary giants, giggleswick, cascades near stainforth, whortleberry and mushroom produce, ; peel-house at hellifield, , ; gisburne hall, wild cattle, bowland forest, the hodder, whitewell chapel, brownsholm hall, and the seal of the commonwealth, ; stonyhurst college and the sherburne family, - ; the calder, burnley, pendle hill, and a story of fox, ; towneley hall and the ruins of whalley abbey, , ; allusions of philip gilbert hamerton, ; preston, , richard ii., landing at milford haven on his return from ireland, ; at conway castle, ; a captive at rhuddlan castle, ; at flint castle, richborough castle, rivington pike, robartes, lord, cornish home of, robertsbridge and the cistercian abbey, roch, the, romsey: salmon-fishing, and the abbey, ropley dean, and the source of the itchen, roseneath, ross town and the "man of ross," - rothay (or rotha), the: its feeders, codale tarn, easedale, ; helm crag, wordsworth's allusion, grasmere, the church, aspect of the country in former times, ; wordsworth's cottage, , ; hills and other scenery round grasmere, ; rydal, rydal water and forest, , ; ambleside, junction with the brathay, fall into windermere, rother, the eastern, and bodiam castle, , ; source, robertsbridge and its abbey, tributaries, scenery, isle of oxney, and winchelsea, row, royal military canal, rugby, runcorn, , , rupert, prince, and the siege of liverpool, ruskin, mr.: guild of st. george at barmouth, ; allusion to scenery in the vale of llangollen, ; and brantwood, rutherglen, , rydal water, , rye, , saddleback, st. asaph and its cathedral, st. augustine, arrival of, ; and littlebourne, st. austell, the, st. bride of douglas, church of, and the douglas family, st. cadoc creek, the, st. constantine, churchyard of, st. finbarrus, first bishop of cork, church dedicated to, st. giles's park, st. john's beck, the, st. kentigern, legendary story of, st. leonard's forest, , st. michael's, lancashire, st. mungo, st. neot, st. nicholas-at-wade, ford at, st. patrick, birthplace of, st. wilfrid and the south saxons, salford, , , . (_see also_ manchester) salisbury and the avon, ; cathedral, saltash, , saltport, sandwich, , sark, the, sarr, , sawddy, the, scafell, scorhill down and the "clam" bridge, , scott, sir walter, at wordsworth's cottage when an inn, ; his visit to the church of st. bride of douglas, ; and "old mortality," , seaford, , seal of the commonwealth, the, at brownsholm hall, seaton, the, sedgemoor, sefton park, seiont, the: length, pass of llanberis, ; dolbadarn castle and ceunant mawr, , ; view of snowdon, carnarvon castle, carnarvon, conway, and the isle of anglesea, serpent of the wye, the, legend of, settle, "seven wonders of wales," , , severn, the: source, ; length, and _note_; and the course of the dee, ; scenery near source, ; its ancient names, ; llanidloes, , ; blaenhafren, ; cefn carnedd, , ; caersws fortress, newtown and robert owen, ; montgomery, its castle and the herberts of cherbury, , ; welshpool, powys castle, roman entrenchments, the long mountain, the breidden hills, ; vyrnwy tributary, liverpool water-supply, ; views from the hills, ; shrewsbury, - ; haughmond hill, , ; augustinian priory, ; atcham, wroxeter church, site of uriconium, ; relics of roman times, ; condover, the wrekin, benthall edge, much wenlock, buildwas abbey, ; coalbrook dale, ironbridge, broseley, benthall, ; bridgnorth, , ; quatford, bewdley, kidderminster, stourport and the canal, ; worcester, - ; the teme, ludlow castle and church, ; kemsey and upton, ; tewkesbury, ; deerhurst, ; gloucester, its cathedral and historical associations, - ; telford's bridge, ; tidal wave, ; minsterworth, westbury, newnham, berkeley, lydney, sharpness bridge, tunnel, the estuary, shaftesbury, earls of, and st. giles's park, shakespeare, his associations with stratford-on-avon, - ; his allusions to kendal, shandon, sharpness, sheffield, earl of, seat of, shelley and tremadoc, sherburne family, the, and stonyhurst college, , ship-canal, manchester, , , , , , shoreham, shottery and anne hathaway, shrewsbury: situation and history, ; attacks on the fortress, bridges over the severn, birthplace of admiral benbow and charles darwin, school, ; black-timbered houses, ireland's mansion, ; churches, ; museum, sid, the, siddons, mrs., birthplace of, sigourney, lydia, lines on carlisle by, silverdale, , simon de montfort, death of, simonsbath, skelton, john, lampoons of, ; in sanctuary at westminster, and story of his student days, skiddaw, , smeaton and the eddystone, smollett, the home of, snowdon, , , solway firth, , , sorn, ; the castle, ; the village and the memories of burns, , south molton, south tawton, southampton, , ; docks, piers, suburbs, etc., southampton water, southey, birthplace of, ; his allusion to the vale of st. john's, ; burialplace, southwick, spencer: allusions to the dee, , ; allusions to the lune, , sprint, the, stainforth, stair house, stanley, mr. h. m., birthplace of, stanley family, the, and liverpool, starcross, staverton, steele, sir richard, and carmarthen, , stephen, king, and his siege of shrewsbury, , stevenson, r. l., his character of the lord justice clerk in "weir of hermiston," stewart, dugald, entertains robert burns at catrine house, steyning, stockbridge, stockport: a railway centre, ; antiquity, historical associations and trade, stonebyres linn, stonehouse, , stoneleigh abbey, stonyhurst college, - stour, the (canterbury): peculiarities, ; branches, length of course and valley, ; angling, , ; ashford, lenham, postling, lyminge, and wye, ; canterbury, ; fordwich, , ; grove ferry and sarr, , ; isle of thanet, ; pegwell bay, stour, the (dorsetshire): source, and confluence with the avon, ; canford hall, gaunt's house, st. giles's park, wimborne and matthew prior, stour, the lesser: source and course, bishopsbourne church and bishop hooker, cranmer's palace at bekesbourne, and general features of the watershed, ; sandwich, stourhead, stourmouth, stourport, strata florida abbey, stratford-on-avon: the town, ; shakespeare, anne hathaway, and sir thomas lucy, ; the church, the poet's burialplace, and monument, , stretford, sundrum, swallow falls, , swanbourne mill, swansea: origin of name, industrial history, ; morriston castle, the mumbles, literary associations, sweetheart abbey, swift, the, sychnant, the, , symond's yat, view from, , taf, the, taff, the, , ; sources, ; water-supply of cardiff, ; merthyr and its factories, dowlais steel and iron works, scenery of affluents, ; pontypridd, , ; castell coch and its wines, ; llandaff, its cathedral and village, , ; cardiff, - tal-y-llyn, talsarn mountain, tamar, the, ; its rise, course, scenery on upper waters, cascade at weir head, ; morwell rocks, , ; morwellham, harewood, and calstock, ; cotehele house, kit hill, danescombe valley, pentillie castle, cargreen, st. budeaux church, trematon castle, and junction with the tavy, ; width at saltash, characteristics of saltash, the hamoaze, tame, the, tarbolton, tarel, the, tarras, the, taunton, - tavistock and drake, tavy, the: course and richness of scenery, ; tavistock and drake, ; buckland abbey, tributaries, and confluence with the tamar, , taw, the: length, general features, south tawton and the oxenhams, eggesford, chulmleigh, view from coddon hill, bishop's tawton, and tawstock park, ; barnstaple, its history and antiquity, ; lundy, hartland point, and baggy point, tawe, the, , ; swansea, - ; mumbles, ; length, morriston, ; the twrch affluent, ; craig-y-nos and madame patti, , ; source, teifi (or tivy), the: source, great monastery, the "westminster of wales," ; tregaron, llanddewi brefi, derry ormond column and its romance, newcastle, cenarth, ; kilgerran castle, cardigan, ; gwbert-on-the-sea, teign, the: source and tributaries, ; the "clam" bridge near scorhill, , ; leigh bridge, chagford, "logan" stone, view of gorge from fingle bridge, prestonbury, cranbrook, dunsford bridge, heltor, blackstone, chudleigh and its limestone, ; waters of the bovey, newton abbot and the prince of orange's proclamation, ; teignmouth, teignmouth, teme, the, tennyson at freshwater, ; allusions to the wye, ; and llanberis, ; allusion to bala lake, tern, the, test, the, ; source, ; characteristics, length, tributaries, stockbridge, angling at romsey, tewkesbury, ; abbey church and timbered houses, , ; the last battle between lancaster and york, , thirlmere, threave castle and its history, , tichborne, tintern abbey, , tinto hill, ; prospect from, titchfield, the, titus, colonel silas, tiverton: former name, church of st. peter, castle, the grammar school and peter blundell, tomb, miraculous, at christchurch, tone, the, tong, the, topsham, torridge, the, , ; its rise and circuitous course, ; features of the valley, ; torrington and its church, , ; bideford and its historical associations, , ; hubbastone, instow, and appledore, torrington and its church, , tortington, totnes, , tower lindsay, towneley hall and the towneley family, , towy, the: source, scenery, absence of pollution, affluents, ystradffin and the story of twm shon catti, llandovery, ; bridges, llandilo, dynevor castle, golden grove, dryslwyn castle, nelson monument, the cothi, llanegwad, ; carmarthen, , towyn, traeth bach, the, train, george francis, trecastle, treffry family, the, seat of, trefriw, tregaron, tregony, tregothman, , tremadoc and shelley, trothey, the, "trough of the clyde," the, , troutbeck, the: troutbeck village, ill bell, truro, , ; and the jurisdiction over falmouth, ; rivalry with falmouth, truro river, twy-ford-town. (_see_ tiverton) uddington, ulleswater, ulverston sands, university college, liverpool, upavon, upton, urieoninm, site of, , usk, the: its rise, the henwen brook, ; trecastle and earthworks of bernard newmarch's castle, drayton's "cray," forest of brecon and its outlaws, the yscir, remains of roman camp, view from llanspyddid, ; brecon, , ; "arthur's chair," ; the beacons, , ; bwlch, ; dinas castle and alfred the great's daughter, crickhowell and the well of st. cenan, llangattock park and its cave, llangwryney, junction with the gwryney, ; abergavenny, , ; raglan castle, salmon and trout fishing, usk and its castle, caerleon and roman relics, centre of one of the ancient british kingdoms, ; miraculous tomb, newport, earl of gloucester's castle, ; tower of st. woollos' church, usk town, a roman station, castle, and scene of defeat of owen glendower, vale of st. john, valle crucis abbey, , victoria university, vivian, lord, seat of, vyrnwy, the, and the liverpool water-supply, wallabrook, the, , wallace, william, legends of, ; scenes of his exploits in clydesdale, ; his "tower" and "chair," ; and marion bradfute, ; and the "castle of the quaw," ; at blantyre priory, walney island, walton, izaak, his allusions to fordwich, ; grave and memorial at winchester, wanlockhead, wantsum, the, war of the roses and the town of shrewsbury, ; battle of tewkesbury, warburton, , wareham, warre, thomas de la, and manchester cathedral, warrington, , warton the poet, and wickham, warwick and its church and castle, warwick, guy, earl of, and guy's cliff, wastwater, , water of ken, the, watling street, clydesdale, watt, james, and glasgow green, ; birthplace of, watt's dyke, , waugh, the lancashire poet, and a stranger's description of wordsworth, wear gifford, wear water, the, weaver, the, weld, cardinal, and stonyhurst college, well of st. cenau, welshpool, wenning, the, werrington stream, the, west lynn, the, west okement, the, , westbury-on-severn, westminster, duke of, and eaton hall, weston-zoyland, wetheral, the "safeguards" and the priory at, wethercoats cave, waterfall of, whaddon streamlet, the, whalley abbey, , wharton crags, whernside heights, wherwell, whewell, dr., birthplace of, whitchurch, white cart, valley of the, whiteinch, , whitewell chapel, wickham, birthplace of william wykeham, and residence of warton the poet, wickham breaux, wiclif and lutterworth, widnes, wigtown martyrs, , wiley, the, william iii., his portrait at drumlanrig castle stabbed by highlanders, william rufus and armathwaite, william of wykeham, wilson, professor, on the neighbourhood of windermere, wilson, richard, burialplace of, wimborne, winchelsea, , winchester, ; memorial to izaak walton, windermere: dimensions, islets, and feeders, , ; depth, angling for char, beauties of the southern end, winster, the, wirral peninsula, , wnion, the: troutfishing, the torrent walk, ; cataract, ; dolgelley, , wookey hole, wootton river, the, worcester: history, , ; cathedral, , wordsworth, his lines on the wye, ; and the estuary of the mawddach, ; and mrs. hemans crossing the ulverston sands, ; allusion to kendal, ; and easedale tarn, , ; his cottage and burialplace, , ; on the river duddon, ; sonnets on donnerdale, , ; described by a local gossip, ; birthplace, ; on the eden river, ; on the scenery of the clyde, , workington, wrekin, the, , wrexham church, wroxeter, wrynose fell, wye, the: source, , ; llangurig, rhayader gwy, , ; the llyn-gwyn, ; the elan tributary, nantgwillt and shelley, scenery on the elan, the yrfon and wolf's leap, ; burialplace of llewelyn, ; llandrindod and its wells, ; builth and llewelyn's ride, hay and its castle and legends, - ; clifford castle and rosamond, , ; hereford, offa, llewelyn, ; murder of ethelbert and origin of the cathedral, ; "mappa mundi," , ; wye bridge, mordiford and the legend of a serpent, "the wonder," ; ross and the "man of ross," - ; goodrich castle, forest of dean, courtfield, ; coldwell rocks, , ; resemblance to the moselle, ; view from symond's yat, ; monmouth, , ; golden valley, abbey dore, norman church of kilpeck, tributaries, ; llanthony and w. s. landor, , ; wordsworth's and tennyson's lines, ; tintern abbey, , ; view from wyndcliff, ; chepstow, , ; junction with the severn, wye racecourse, wyndcliff, view of nine counties from, wynn, sir john, wynn, sir richard, wynn, sir watkin williams, seat of, wynnstay, , wyre, the: source, fleetwood, the fells, ; st. michael's, poulton-le-fylde, wyre water, yar, the, rising at freshwater, yar, the eastern, yarmouth, yealm, the, yeo, the, or ivel, yoker, yrfon, the, yscir, the, ystradfellte, ystradffin and the story of twm shon catti, ystradgynlais, ystwith, the: rise and length, ; eglwys newydd and mountain scenery, ; aberystwith, , [illustration] /printed by cassell & company, limited, la belle sauvage, london, e. c./ footnotes: [footnote : the severn is about miles in length, the thames being about . the dee is hardly more than miles.] [footnote : "our own country," vol. v., p. .] [footnote : "our own country," vol. v., p. .] [footnote : "our own country." vol. v., p. .] [footnote : "our own country." vol. v. p. .] [footnote : dean spence in "cathedrals, abbeys and churches," p. .] [footnote : green. "short history of the english people," ch. iii.] [footnote : quoted in "the wye and its associations," by leitch ritchie.] [footnote : for map of the usk _see ante_, p. .] [footnote : "our own country," vol. v.] file was produced from images generously made available by the canadian institute for historical microreproductions. editorial note: this book is essentially identical to lady mary and her nurse, by mrs. traill, project gutenberg ebook # , but the two come from different sources. in the forest or, pictures of life and scenery in the woods of canada a tale by mrs. traill with illustrations [illustration: a narrow escape] chapter i the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice chapter ii sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits chapter iii part i--lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family part ii--which tells how the gray squirrels fared while they remained on pine island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chipmunks--and what happens to them in the forest part iii--how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to the velvet-paw chapter iv squirrels--the chipmunks--docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chipmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel chapter v indian baskets--thread plants--maple sugar tree--indian ornamental works--racoons chapter vi. canadian birds--snow sparrow--robin redbreast--canadian flowers--american porcupine chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture--habits of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province of new brunswick--of a baby who was carried away but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming birds--canadian balsams chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tintlike appearance--lady mary frightened chapter xi. strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries--cranberry marshes--nuts chapter xii. garter snakes--rattle-snakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land tortoise chapter xiii. ellen and her pet fawns--docility of fan--jack's droll tricks-- affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end. list of illustrations. lady mary and the nosegay a narrow escape the flying squirrel adventure with a wolf indian wigwams the otters dolly's sleigh ride lady mary reading her picture book the gray squirrel and the chipmunks the pet squirrel nimble recovering his sister watching the birds the present from father beavers making a dam "caught at last" the aurora borealis the lost child and the bears a boy hero the indian hunter in the forest. chapter i. the flying squirrel--its food--story of a wolf--indian village--wild rice. "nurse, what is the name of that pretty creature you have in your hand? what bright eyes it has! what a soft tail--just like a gray feather! is it a little beaver?" asked the governor's little daughter, as her nurse came into the room where her young charge, whom we shall call lady mary, was playing with her doll. carefully sheltered against her breast, its velvet nose just peeping from beneath her muslin neckerchief, the nurse held a small gray-furred animal, of the most delicate form and colour. "no, my lady," she replied, "this is not a young beaver; a beaver is a much larger animal. a beaver's tail is not covered with fur; it is scaly, broad, and flat; it looks something like black leather, not very unlike that of my seal-skin slippers. the indians eat beavers' tails at their great feasts, and think they make an excellent dish." "if they are black, and look like leather shoes, i am very sure i should not like to eat them; so, if you please, mrs. frazer, do not let me have any beavers' tails cooked for my dinner," said the little lady, in a very decided tone. "indeed, my lady," replied her nurse, smiling, "it would not be an easy thing to obtain, if you wished to taste one, for beavers are not brought to our market. it is only the indians and hunters who know how to trap them, and beavers are not so plentiful as they used to be." mrs. frazer would have told lady mary a great deal about the way in which the trappers take the beavers, but the little girl interrupted her by saying, "please, nurse, will you tell me the name of your pretty pet? ah, sweet thing, what bright eyes you have!" she added, caressing the soft little head which was just seen from beneath the folds of the muslin handkerchief to which it timidly nestled, casting furtive glances at the admiring child, while the panting of its breast told the mortal terror that shook its frame whenever the little girl's hand was advanced to coax its soft back. [illustration: the flying squirrel] "it is a flying squirrel, lady mary," replied her nurse; "one of my brothers caught it a month ago, when he was chopping in the forest. he thought it might amuse your ladyship, and so he tamed it and sent it to me in a basket filled with moss, with some acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast for him to eat on his journey, for the little fellow has travelled a long way: he came from the beech-woods near the town of coburg, in the upper province." "and where is coburg, nurse? is it a large city like montreal or quebec?" "no, my lady; it is a large town on the shores of the great lake ontario." "and are there many woods near it?" "yes; but not so many as there used to be many years ago. the forest is almost all cleared, and there are fields of wheat and indian corn, and nice farms and pretty houses, where a few years back the lofty forest grew dark and thick." "nurse, you said there were acorns, and hickory-nuts, and beech-mast in the basket. i have seen acorns at home in dear england and scotland, and i have eaten the hickory-nuts here; but what is beech-mast? is it in granaries for winter stores; and wild ducks and wild pigeons come from the far north at the season when the beech-mast fall, to eat them; for god teaches these, his creatures, to know the times and the seasons when his bounteous hand is open to give them food from his boundless store. a great many other birds and beasts also feed upon the beech-mast." "it was very good of your brother to send me this pretty creature, nurse," said the little lady; "i will ask papa to give him some money." "there is no need of that, lady mary. my brother is not in want; he has a farm in the upper province, and is very well off." "i am glad he is well off," said lady mary; "indeed, i do not see so many beggars here as in england." "people need not beg in canada, if they are well and strong and can work; a poor man can soon earn enough money to keep himself and his little ones." "nurse, will you be so kind as to ask campbell to get a pretty cage for my squirrel? i will let him live close to my dormice, who will be pleasant company for him, and i will feed him every day myself with nuts and sugar, and sweet cake and white bread. now do not tremble and look so frightened, as though i were going to hurt you; and pray, mr squirrel, do not bite. oh! nurse, nurse, the wicked, spiteful creature has bitten my finger! see, see, it has made it bleed! naughty thing! i will not love you if you bite. pray, nurse, bind up my finger, or it will soil my frock." great was the pity bestowed upon the wound by lady mary's kind attendant, till the little girl, tired of hearing so much said about the bitten finger, gravely desired her maid to go in search of the cage and catch the truant, which had effected its escape, and was clinging to the curtains of the bed. the cage was procured--a large wooden cage, with an outer and an inner chamber, a bar for the little fellow to swing himself on, a drawer for his food, and a little dish for his water. the sleeping-room was furnished by the nurse with soft wool, and a fine store of nuts was put in the drawer; all his wants were well supplied, and lady mary watched the catching of the little animal with much interest. great was the activity displayed by the runaway squirrel, and still greater the astonishment evinced by the governor's little daughter at the flying leaps made by the squirrel in its attempts to elude the grasp of its pursuers. "it flies! i am sure it must have wings. look, look, nurse! it is here, now it is on the wall, now on the curtains! it must have wings; but it has no feathers!" "it has, no wings, dear lady, but it has a fine ridge of fur that covers a strong sinew or muscle between the fore and hinder legs; and it is by the help of this muscle that it is able to spring so far and so fast; and its claws are so sharp, that it can cling to a wall or any flat surface. the black and red squirrels, and the common gray, can jump very far and run up the bark of the trees very fast, but not so fast as the flying squirrel." at last lady mary's maid, with the help of one of the housemaids, succeeded in catching the squirrel and securing him within his cage. but though lady mary tried all her words of endearment to coax the little creature to eat some of the good things that had been provided so liberally for his entertainment, he remained sullen and motionless at the bottom of the cage. a captive is no less a captive in a cage with gilded bars and with dainties to eat, than if rusted iron shut him in, and kept him from enjoying his freedom. it is for dear liberty that he pines and is sad, even in the midst of plenty! "dear nurse, why does my little squirrel tremble and look so unhappy? tell me if he wants anything to eat that we have not given him. why does he not lie down and sleep on the nice soft bed you have made for him in his little chamber? see, he has not tasted the nice sweet cake and sugar that i gave him." "he is not used to such dainties, lady mary. in the forest he feeds upon hickory-nuts, and butternuts, and acorns, and beech-mast, and the buds of the spruce, fir and pine kernels, and many other seeds and nuts and berries that we could not get for him; he loves grain too, and indian corn. he sleeps on green moss and leaves, and fine fibres of grass and roots, and drinks heaven's blessed dew, as it lies bright and pure upon the herbs of the field." "dear little squirrel! pretty creature! i know now what makes you sad. you long to be abroad among your own green woods, and sleeping on the soft green moss, which is far prettier than this ugly cotton wool. but you shall stay with me, my sweet one, till the cold winter is past and gone, and the spring flowers have come again; and then, my pretty squirrel, i will take you out of your dull cage, and we will go to st. helen's green island, and i will let you go free; but i will put a scarlet collar about your neck before i let you go, that if any one finds you, they may know that you are my squirrel. were you ever in the green forest, nurse? i hear papa talk about the 'bush' and the 'backwoods;' it must be very pleasant in the summer to live among the green trees. were you ever there?" "yes, dear lady; i did live in the woods when i was a child. i was born in a little log-shanty, far, far away up the country, near a beautiful lake called rice lake, among woods, and valleys, and hills covered with flowers, and groves of pine, and white and black oaks." "stop, nurse, and tell me why they are called black and white; are the flowers black and white?" "no, my lady; it is because the wood of the one is darker than the other, and the leaves of the black oak are dark and shining, while those of the white oak are brighter and lighter. the black oak is a beautiful tree. when i was a young girl, i used to like to climb the sides of the steep valleys, and look down upon the tops of the oaks that grew beneath, and to watch the wind lifting the boughs all glittering in the moonlight; they looked like a sea of ruffled green water. it is very solemn, lady mary, to be in the woods by night, and to hear no sound but the cry of the great wood-owl, or the voice of the whip-poor-will, calling to his fellow from the tamarack swamp, or, may be, the timid bleating of a fawn that has lost its mother, or the howl of a wolf." "nurse, i should be so afraid; i am sure i should cry if i heard the wicked wolves howling in the dark woods by night. did you ever know any one who was eaten by a wolf?" "no, my lady; the canadian wolf is a great coward. i have heard the hunters say that they never attack any one unless there is a great flock together and the man is alone and unarmed. my uncle used to go out a great deal hunting, sometimes by torchlight, and sometimes on the lake, in a canoe with the indians; and he shot and trapped a great many wolves and foxes and racoons. he has a great many heads of wild animals nailed up on the stoup in front of his log-house." "please tell me what a stoup is, nurse?" "a verandah, my lady, is the same thing, only the old dutch settlers gave it the name of a stoup, and the stoup is heavier and broader, and not quite so nicely made as a verandah. one day my uncle was crossing the lake on the ice; it was a cold winter afternoon, he was in a hurry to take some food to his brothers, who were drawing pine-logs in the bush. he had, besides a bag of meal and flour, a new axe on his shoulder. he heard steps as of a dog trotting after him; he turned his head, and there he saw, close at his heels, a big, hungry-looking gray wolf; he stopped and faced about, and the big beast stopped and showed his white sharp teeth. my uncle did not feel afraid, but looked steadily at the wolf, as much as to say, 'follow me if you dare,' and walked on. when my uncle stopped, the wolf stopped; when he went on, the beast also went on." "i would have run away," said lady mary. "if my uncle had let the wolf see that he was afraid of him, he would have grown bolder, and have run after him and seized him. all animals are afraid of brave men, but not of cowards. when the beast came too near, my uncle faced him and showed the bright axe, and the wolf then shrank back a few paces. when my uncle got near the shore, he heard a long wild cry, as if from twenty wolves at once. it might have been the echoes from the islands that increased the sound; but it was very frightful and made his blood chill, for he knew that without his rifle he should stand a poor chance against a large pack of hungry wolves. just then a gun went off; he heard the wolf give a terrible yell, he felt the whizzing of a bullet pass him, and turning about, saw the wolf lying dead on the ice. a loud shout from the cedars in front told him from whom the shot came; it was my father, who had been on the look-out on the lake shore, and he had fired at and hit the wolf when he saw that he could do so without hurting his brother." "nurse, it would have been a sad thing if the gun had shot your uncle." "it would; but my father was one of the best shots in the district, and could hit a white spot on the bark of a tree with a precision that was perfectly wonderful. it was an old indian from buckhorn lake who taught him to shoot deer by torchlight and to trap beavers." "well, i am glad that horrid wolf was killed, for wolves eat sheep and lambs; and i daresay they would devour my little squirrel if they could get him. nurse, please to tell me again the name of the lake near which you were born." "it is called rice lake, my lady. it is a fine piece of water, more than twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. it has pretty wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves into it. the otonabee river is a fine broad stream, which flows through the forest a long way. many years ago, there were no clearings on the banks, and no houses, only indian tents or wigwams; but now there are a great many houses and farms." "what are wigwams?" "a sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground in a circle, fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with skins of wild animals, or with birch bark. the indians light a fire of sticks and logs on the ground, in the middle of the wigwam, and lie or sit all round it; the smoke goes up to the top and escapes. or sometimes, in the warm summer weather, they kindle their fire without, and their squaws, or wives, attend to it; while they go hunting in the forest, or, mounted on swift horses, pursue the trail of their enemies. in the winter, they bank up the wigwam with snow, and make it very warm." [illustration: indian wigwams] "i think it must be a very ugly sort of house, and i am glad i do not live in an indian wigwam," said the little lady. "the indians are a very simple folk, my lady, and do not need fine houses like this in which your papa lives. they do not know the names or uses of half the fine things that are in the houses of the white people. they are happy and contented without them. it is not the richest that are happiest, lady mary, and the lord careth for the poor and the lowly. there is a village on the shores of rice lake where the indians live. it is not very pretty. the houses are all built of logs, and some of them have gardens and orchards. they have a neat church, and they have a good minister, who takes great pains to teach them the gospel of the lord jesus christ. the poor indians were pagans until within the last few years." "what are pagans, nurse?" "people, lady mary, who do not believe in god and the lord jesus christ, our blessed saviour." "nurse, is there real rice growing in the rice lake? i heard my governess say that rice grew only in warm countries. now, your lake must be very cold if your uncle walked across the ice." "this rice, my lady, is not real rice. i heard a gentleman tell my father that it was, properly speaking, a species of oats [footnote: zizania, or water oats]--water oats, he called it; but the common name for it is wild rice. this wild rice grows in vast beds in the lake in patches of many acres. it will grow in water from eight to ten or twelve feet deep; the grassy leaves float upon the water like long narrow green ribbons. in the month of august, the stem that is to bear the flower and the grain rises straight up above the surface, and light delicate blossoms come out of a pale straw colour and lilac. they are very pretty, and wave in the wind with a rustling noise. in the month of october, when the rice is ripe, the leaves torn yellow, and the rice-heads grow heavy and droop; then the squaws--as the indian women are called--go out in their birch-bark canoes, holding in one hand a stick, in the other a short curved paddle with a sharp edge. with this they bend down the rice across the stick and strike off the heads, which fall into the canoe, as they push it along through the rice-beds. in this way they collect a great many bushels in the course of the day. the wild rice is not the least like the rice which your ladyship has eaten; it is thin, and covered with a light chaffy husk. the colour of the grain itself is a brownish-green, or olive, smooth, shining, and brittle. after separating the outward chaff, the squaws put by a large portion of the clean rice in its natural state for sale; for this they get from a dollar and a half to two dollars a bushel. some they parch, either in large pots, or on mats made of the inner bark of cedar or bass wood, beneath which they light a slow fire, and plant around it a temporary hedge of green boughs closely set, to prevent the heat from escaping; they also drive stakes into the ground, over which they stretch the matting at a certain height above the fire. on this they spread the green rice, stirring it about with wooden paddles till it is properly parched; this is known by its bursting and showing the white grain of the flour. when quite cool it is stowed away in troughs, scooped out of butter-nut wood, or else sewed up in sheets of birch bark or bass-mats, or in coarsely-made birch-bark baskets." "and is the rice good to eat, nurse?" "some people like it as well as the white rice of carolina; but it does not look so well. it is a great blessing to the poor indians, who boil it in their soups, or eat it with maple molasses. and they eat it when parched without any other cooking, when they are on a long journey in the woods, or on the lakes. i have often eaten nice puddings made of it with milk. the deer feed upon the green rice. they swim into the water and eat the green leaves and tops. the indians go out at night to shoot the deer on the water; they listen for them, and shoot them in the dark. the wild ducks and water-fowls come down in great flocks to fatten on the ripe rice in the fall of the year; also large flocks of rice buntings and red wings, which make their roosts among the low willows, flags, and lilies, close to the shallows of the lake." "it seems very useful to birds as well as to men and beasts," said little lady mary. "yes, my lady, and to fishes also, i make no doubt; for the good god has cast it so abundantly abroad on the waters, that i daresay they also have their share. when the rice is fully ripe, the sun shining on it gives it a golden hue, just like a field of ripened grain. surrounded by the deep-blue waters, it looks very pretty." "i am very much obliged to you nurse, for telling me so much about the indian rice, and i will ask mamma to let me have some one day for my dinner, that i may know how it tastes." just then lady mary's governess came to bid her nurse dress her for a sleigh-ride, and so for the present we shall leave her; but we will tell our little readers something more in another chapter about lady mary and her flying squirrel. chapter ii. sleighing--sleigh robes--fur caps--otter skins--old snow-storm--otter hunting--otter slides--indian names--remarks on wild animals and their habits nurse, we have had a very nice sleigh-drive. i like sleighing very much over the white snow. the trees look so pretty, as if they were covered with white flowers, and the ground sparkled just like mamma's diamonds." "it is pleasant, lady mary, to ride through the woods on a bright sunshiny day, after a fresh fall of snow. the young evergreens, hemlocks, balsams, and spruce-trees, are loaded with great masses of the new-fallen snow; while the slender saplings of the beech, birch, and basswood (the lime or linden) are bent down to the very ground, making bowers so bright and beautiful, you would be delighted to see them. sometimes, as you drive along, great masses of the snow come showering down upon you; but it is so light and dry, that it shakes off without wetting you. it is pleasant to be wrapped up in warm blankets, or buffalo robes, at the bottom of a lumber-sleigh, and to travel through the forest by moonlight; the merry bells echoing through the silent woods, and the stars just peeping down through the frosted trees, which sparkle like diamonds in the moonbeams." "nurse, i should like to take a drive through the forest in winter. it is so nice to hear the sleigh-bells. we used sometimes to go out in the snow in scotland, but we were in the carriage, and had no bells." "no, lady mary; the snow seldom lies long enough in the old country to make it worth while to have sleighs there; but in russia and sweden, and other cold northern countries, they use sleighs with bells." lady mary ran to the little bookcase where she had a collection of children's books, and very soon found a picture of laplanders and russians wrapped in furs. "how long will the winter last, nurse?" said the child, after she had tired herself with looking at the prints, "a long, long time--a great many weeks?--a great many months?" "yes, my lady; five or six months." "oh, that is nice--nearly half a year of white snow, and sleigh-drives every day, and bells ringing all the time! i tried to make out a tune, but they only seemed to say, 'up-hill, up-hill! down-hill, down-hill!' all the way. nurse, please tell me what are sleigh-robes made of?" "some sleigh-robes, lady mary, are made of bear-skins, lined with red or blue flannel; some are of wolf-skins, lined with bright scarlet cloth; and some of racoon, the commonest are buffalo-skins; i have seen some of deer-skins, but these last are not so good, as the hair comes off, and they are not so warm as the skins of the furred or woolly-coated animals" "i sometimes see long tails hanging down over the backs of the sleigh and cutters--they look very pretty, like the end of mamma's boa." "the wolf and racoon skin robes are generally made up with the tails, and sometimes the heads of the animals are also left. i noticed the head of a wolf, with its sharp ears, and long white teeth, looking very fierce, at the back of a cutter, the other day." "nurse, that must have looked very droll. do you know i saw a gentleman the other day, walking with papa, who had a fox-skin cap on his head, and the fox's nose was just peeping over his shoulder, and the tail hung down his back, and i saw its bright black eyes looking so cunning i thought it must be alive, and that it had curled itself round his head; but the gentleman took it off, and showed me that the eyes were glass." "some hunters, lady mary, make caps of otter, mink, or badger skins, and ornament them with the tails, heads, and claws." "i have seen a picture of the otter, nurse; it is a pretty, soft-looking thing, with a round head and black eyes. where do otters live?" "the canadian otters, lady mary, live in holes in the banks of sedgy, shallow lakes, mill-ponds, and sheltered creeks. the indian hunters find their haunts by tracking their steps in the snow; for an indian or canadian hunter knows the track made by any bird or beast, from the deep broad print of the bear, to the tiny one of the little shrewmouse, which is the smallest four-footed beast in this or any other country. "indians catch the otter, and many other wild animals, in a sort of trap, which they call a 'deadfall.' wolves are often so trapped, and then shot. the indians catch the otter for the sake of its dark shining fur, which is used by the hatters and furriers old jacob snow-storm, an old indian who lived on the banks of the rice lake, used to catch otters; and i have often listened to him, and laughed at his stories." "do, please, nurse, tell me what old jacob snow-storm told you about the otters; i like to hear stories about wild beasts. but what a droll surname snow-storm is!" "yes, lady mary; indians have very odd names; they are called after all sorts of strange things. they do not name the children, as we do, soon after they are born, but wait for some remarkable circumstance, some dream or accident. some call them after the first strange animal or bird that appears to the new-born. old snow-storm most likely owed his name to a heavy fall of snow when he was a baby. i knew a chief named musk-rat, and a pretty indian girl who was named 'badau'-bun'--_light of the morning._" "and what is the indian name for old snow-storm?" "'be-che-go-ke-poor,' my lady." lady mary said it was a funny sounding name, and not at all like snow-storm, which she liked a great deal better; and she was much amused while her nurse repeated to her some names of squaws and papooses (indian women and children); such as long thrush, little fox, running stream, snowbird, red cloud, young eagle, big bush, and many others. "now, nurse, will you tell me some more about jacob snow-storm and the otters?" "well, lady mary, the old man had a cap of otter-skin, of which he was very proud, and only wore on great days. one day as he was playing with it, he said:--'otter funny fellow; he like play too, sometimes. indian go hunting up ottawa, that great big river, you know. go one moonlight night; lie down under bushes in snow; see lot of little fellow and big fellow at play. run up and down bank; bank all ice. sit down top of bank; good slide there. down he go splash into water; out again. funny fellow those!' and then the old hunter threw hack his head, and laughed, till you could have seen all his white teeth, he opened his mouth so wide." [illustration: the otters] lady mary was very much amused at the comical way in which the old indian talked. "can otters swim, nurse?" "yes, lady mary, the good god who has created all things well, has given to this animal webbed feet, which enable it to swim, and it can also dive down in the deep water, where it finds fish and mussels, and perhaps the roots of some water-plants to eat. it makes very little motion or disturbance in the water when it goes down in search of its prey. its coat is thick, and formed of two kinds of hair; the outer hair is long, silky, and shining; the under part is short, fine, and warm. the water cannot penetrate to wet them,--the oily nature of the fur throws off the moisture. they dig large holes with their claws, which are short, but very strong. they line their nests with dry grass, and rushes, and roots gnawed fine, and do not pass the winter in sleep, as the dormice, flying squirrels, racoons, and bears do. they are very innocent and playful, both when young, and even after they grow old. the lumberers often tame them, and they become so docile that they will come at a call or whistle. like all wild animals, they are most lively at night, when they come out to feed and play." "dear little things! i should like to have a tame otter to play with, and run after me; but do you think he would eat my squirrel? you know cats will eat squirrels--so mamma says." "cats belong to a very different class of animals; they are beasts of prey, formed to spring and bound, and tear with their teeth and claws. the otter is also a beast of prey, but its prey is found in the still waters, and not on the land; it can neither climb nor leap. so i do not think he would hurt your squirrel, if you had one." "see, nurse, my dear little squirrel is still where i left him, clinging to the wires of the cage, his bright eyes looking like two black beads." "as soon as it grows dark he will begin to be more lively, and perhaps he will eat something, but not while we look at him--he is too shy for that." "nurse, how can they see to eat in the dark?" "the good god, lady mary, has so formed their eyes that they can see best by night. i will read you, lady mary, a few verses from psalm civ.:-- "'verse . he appointed the moon for seasons: the sun knoweth his going down. "' . thou makest darkness, and it is night: wherein all the beast of the forest do creep forth. "' . the young lions roar after their prey, and seek their meat from god. "' . the sun ariseth, they gather themselves together, and lay them down in their dens. "' . man goeth forth unto his work and to his labour, until the evening. "' . o lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches.' "thus you see, my dear lady, that our heavenly father taketh care of all his creatures, and provideth for them both by day and by night." "i remember, nurse, that my dormice used to lie quite still, nestled among the moss and wool in their little dark chamber in the cage, all day long; but when it was night they used to come out and frisk about, and run along the wires, and play all sorts of tricks, chasing one another round and round, and they were not afraid of me, but would let me look at them while they ate a nut, or a hit of sugar; and the dear little things would drink out of their little white saucer, and wash their faces and tails--it was so pretty to see them!" "did you notice, lady mary, how the dormice held their food?" "yes; they sat up, and held it in their fore-paws, which looked just like tiny hands." "there are many animals whose fore-feet resemble hands, and these, generally, convey their food to their mouths--among these are the squirrel and dormice. they are good climbers and diggers. you see, my dear young lady, how the merciful creator has given to all his creatures, however lowly, the best means of supplying their wants, whether of food or shelter." "indeed, nurse. i have learned a great deal about squirrels, canadian rice, otters, and indians; but, if you please, i must now have a little play with my doll. good-bye, mrs. frazer; pray take care of my dear little squirrel, and mind that he does not fly away." and lady mary was soon busily engaged in drawing her wax doll about the nursery in a little sleigh lined with red squirrel fur robes, and talking to her as all children like to talk to their dolls, whether they be rich or poor--the children of peasants, or governors' daughters. [illustration: dolly's sleigh-ride] chapter iii. lady mary reads to mrs. frazer the first part of the history of the squirrel family. one day lady mary came to her nurse, and putting her arms about her neck, whispered to her,--"mrs. frazer, my dear good governess has given me something--it is in my hand," and she slily held her hand behind her--"will you guess what it is?" "is it a book, my lady?" "yes, yes, it is a book, a pretty book; and see, here are pictures of squirrels in it. mrs. frazer, if you like, i will sit down on this cushion by you and read some of my new book. it does not seem very hard." then mrs. frazer took out her work-basket and sat down to sew, and lady mary began to read the little story, which, i hope, may entertain my little readers as much as it did the governor's daughter. * * * * * part i the history of a squirrel family. [illustration: lady mary reading her picture-book.] it must be a pleasant thing to be a squirrel, and live a life of freedom in the boundless forests; to leap and bound among the branches of the tall trees, to gambol in the deep shade of the cool glossy leaves, through the long warm summer day; to gather the fresh nuts and berries; to drink the pure dews of heaven, all bright and sparkling from the opening flowers; to sleep on soft beds of moss and thistle-down in some hollow branch rocked by the wind as in a cradle. yet, though this was the happy life led by a family of pretty gray squirrels that had their dwelling in the hoary branch of an old oak-tree that grew on one of the rocky islands in a beautiful lake in upper canada, called _stony lake_ (because it was full of rocky islands), these little creatures were far from being contented, and were always wishing for a change. indeed, they had been very happy, till one day when a great black squirrel swam to the island and paid them a visit. he was a very fine handsome fellow, nearly twice as large as any of the gray squirrels; he had a tail that flourished over his back, when he set it up, like a great black feather; his claws were sharp and strong, and his eyes very round and bright; he had upright ears, and long, sharp teeth, of which he made good use. the old gray squirrels called him cousin, and invited him to dinner. they very civilly set before him some acorns and beechnuts; but he proved a hungry visitor, and ate as much as would have fed the whole family for a week. after the gray squirrels had cleared away the shells and scraps, they asked their greedy guest where he came from, when blackie told them he was a great traveller, and had seen many wonderful things; that he had once lived on a forked pine at the head of the waterfall, but being tired of a dull life, he had gone out on his travels to see the world; that he had been down the lake, and along the river shore, where there were great places cut out in the thick forest, called clearings, where some very tall creatures lived, who were called men and women, with young ones called children; that though they were not so pretty as squirrels--for they had no fur on them, and were obliged to make clothes to cover them and keep them warm--they were very useful, and sowed corn and planted fruit-trees and roots for squirrels to eat, and even built large grain stores to keep it safe and dry for them. this seemed very strange, and the simple little gray squirrels were very much pleased, and said they should like very much to go down the lakes too, and see these wonderful things. the black squirrel then told them that there were many things to be seen in these clearings; that there were large beasts, called oxen, and cows, and sheep, and pigs; and these creatures had houses built for them to live in; and all the men and women seemed to employ themselves about, was feeding and taking care of them. now this cunning fellow never told his simple cousins that the oxen had to bear a heavy wooden yoke and chain, and were made to work very hard; nor that the cows were fed that they might give milk to the children; nor that the pigs were fatted to make pork; nor that the sheep had their warm fleeces cut off every year that the settlers might have the wool to spin and weave. blackie did not say that the men carried guns, and the dogs were fierce, and would hunt poor squirrels from tree to tree, frightening them almost to death with their loud, angry barking; that cats haunted the barns and houses; and, in short, that there were dangers as well as pleasures to be met with in these clearings; and that the barns were built to shelter the grain for men, and not for the benefit of squirrels. the black squirrel proved rather a troublesome guest, for he stayed several days, and ate so heartily, that the old gray squirrels were obliged to hint that he had better go back to the clearings, where there was so much food, for that their store was nearly done. when blackie found that all the nice nuts were eaten, and that even pine-kernels and beech-nuts were becoming scarce, he went away, saying that he should soon come again. the old gray squirrels were glad when they saw the tip of blackie's tail disappear, as he whisked down the trunk of the old oak; but their young ones were very sorry that he was gone, for they liked very much to listen to all his wonderful stories, which they thought were true; and they told their father and mother how they wished they would leave the dull island and the old tree, and go down the lakes, and see the wonderful things that their black cousin had described. but the old ones shook their heads, and said they feared there was more fiction than truth in the tales they had heard, and that if they were wise they would stay where they were. "what do you want more, my dear children," said their mother, "than you enjoy here? have you not this grand old oak for a palace to live in; its leaves and branches spreading like a canopy over your heads, to shelter you from the hot sun by day and the dews by night? are there not moss, dried grass, and roots beneath, to make a soft bed for you to lie upon? and do not the boughs drop down a plentiful store of brown ripe acorns? that silver lake, studded with islands of all shapes and sizes, produces cool clear water for you to drink and bathe yourselves in. look at those flowers that droop their blossoms down to its glassy surface, and the white lilies that rest upon its bosom,--will you see anything fairer or better if you leave this place? stay at home and be contented." "if i hear any more grumbling," said their father, "i shall pinch your ears and tails." so the little squirrels said no more, but i am sorry to say they did not pay much heed to their wise old mother's counsels; for whenever they were alone, all their talk was how to run away, and go abroad to see the world, as their black cousin had called the new settlement down the lakes. it never came into the heads of the silly creatures that those wonderful stories they had been told originated in an artful scheme of the greedy black squirrel, to induce them to leave their warm pleasant house in the oak, that he and his children might come and live in it, and get the hoards of grain, and nuts, and acorns, that their father and mother had been laying up for winter stores. moreover, the wily black squirrel had privately told them that their father and mother intended to turn them out of the nest very soon, and make provision for a new family. this indeed was really the case; for as soon as young animals can provide for themselves, their parents turn them off, and care no more for them. very different, indeed, is this from our parents; for they love and cherish us as long as they live, and afford us a home and shelter as long as we need it. every hour these little gray squirrels grew more and more impatient to leave the lonely little rocky island, though it was a pretty spot, and the place of their birth; but they were now eager to go abroad and seek their fortunes. "let us keep our own counsel," said nimble-foot to his sisters velvet-paw and silver-nose, "or we may chance to get our tails pulled; but be all ready for a start by early dawn to-morrow." velvet-paw and silver-nose said they would be up before sunrise, as they should have a long voyage down the lake, and agreed to rest on pine island near the opening of clear lake. "and then take to the shore and travel through the woods, where, no doubt, we shall have a pleasant time," said nimble-foot, who was the most hopeful of the party. the sun was scarcely yet risen over the fringe of dark pines that skirted the shores of the lake, and a soft creamy mist hung on the surface of the still waters, which were unruffled by the slightest breeze. the little gray squirrels awoke, and looked sleepily out from the leafy screen that shaded their mossy nest. the early notes of the wood-thrush and song-sparrow, with the tender warbling of the tiny wren, sounded sweetly in the still, dewy morning air; while from a cedar swamp was heard the trill of the green frogs, which the squirrels thought very pretty music. as the sun rose above the tops of the trees, the mist rolled off in light fleecy clouds, and soon was lost in the blue sky, or lay in large bright drops on the cool grass and shining leaves. then all the birds awoke, and the insects shook their gauzy wings which had been folded all the night in the flower-cups, and the flowers began to lift their heads, and the leaves to expand to catch the golden light. there was a murmur on the water as it played among the sedges, and lifted the broad floating leaves of the white water-lilies, with their carved ivory cups; and the great green, brown, and blue dragon-flies rose with a whirring sound, and darted to and fro among the water-flowers. it is a glorious sight to see the sun rise at any time, for then we can look upon him without having our eyes dazzled with the brightness of his beams; and though there were no men and women and little children, in the lonely waters and woods, to lift up their hands and voices in prayer and praise to god, who makes the sun to rise each day, yet no doubt the great creator is pleased to see his creatures rejoice in the blessings of light and heat. lightly running down the rugged bark of the old oak-tree, the little squirrels bade farewell to their island home--to the rocks, mosses, ferns, and flowers that had sheltered them, among which they had so often chased each other in merry gambols. they thought little of all this, when they launched themselves on the silver bosom of the cool lake. "how easy it is to swim in this clear water!" said silver-nose to her sister velvet-paw. "we shall not be long in reaching yonder island, and there, no doubt, we shall get a good breakfast." so the little swimmers proceeded on their voyage, furrowing the calm waters as they glided noiselessly along; their soft gray heads and ears and round black eyes only being seen, and the bright streaks caused by the motion of their tails, which lay flat on the surface, looking like silver threads gently floating on the stream. not being much used to the fatigue of swimming, the little squirrels were soon tired, and if it had not been for a friendly bit of stick that happened to float near her, poor velvet-paw would have been drowned; however, she got up on the stick, and, setting up her fine broad tail, went merrily on, and soon passed nimble-foot and silver-nose. the current drew the stick towards the pine island that lay at the entrance of clear lake, and velvet-paw leaped ashore, and sat down on a mossy stone to dry her fur, and watch for her brother and sister: they, too, found a large piece of birch-bark which the winds had blown into the water, and as a little breeze had sprung up to waft them along, they were not very long before they landed on the island. they were all very glad when they met again, after the perils and fatigues of the voyage. the first thing to be done was to look for something to eat, for their early rising had made them very hungry. they found abundance of pine-cones strewn on the ground, but, alas for our little squirrels! very few kernels in them; for the crossbills and chiccadees had been at work for many weeks on the trees; and also many families of their poor relations, the chitmunks or ground squirrels, had not been idle, as our little voyagers could easily guess by the chips and empty cones round their holes. so, weary as they were, they were obliged to run up the tall pine and hemlock trees, to search among the cones that grew on their very top branches. while our squirrels were busy with the few kernels they chanced to find, they were started from their repast by the screams of a large slate-coloured hawk, and velvet-paw very narrowly escaped being pounced upon and carried off in its sharp-hooked talons. silver-nose at the same time was nearly frightened to death by the keen round eyes of a cunning racoon, which had come within a few feet of the mossy branch of an old cedar, where she sat picking the seeds out of a dry head of a blue flag-flower she had found on the shore. silvy, at this sight, gave a spring that left her many yards beyond her sharp-sighted enemy. a lively note of joy was uttered by nimble-foot, for, perched at his ease on a top branch of the hemlock-tree, he had seen the bound made by silver-nose. "well jumped, silvy," said he; "mister coon must be a smart fellow to equal that. but look sharp, or you will get your neck wrung yet; i see we must keep a good look-out in this strange country." "i begin to wish we were safe back again in our old one," whined silvy, who was much frightened by the danger she had just escaped. "pooh, pooh, child; don't be a coward," said nimble, laughing. "cousin blackie never told us there were hawks and coons on this island," said vehret-paw. "my dear, he thought we were too brave to be afraid of hawks and coons," said nimble. "for my part, i think it is a fine thing to go out a little into the world. we should never see anything better than the sky, and the water, and the old oak-tree on that little island." "ay, but i think it is safer to see than to be seen," said silvy, "for hawks and eagles have strong beaks, and racoons sharp claws and hungry-looking teeth; and it is not very pleasant, nimble, to be obliged to look out for such wicked creatures." "oh, true indeed," said nimble; "if it had not been for that famous jump you made, silvy, and, velvet, your two admirers, the hawk and racoon, would soon have hid all your beauties from the world, and put a stop to your travels." "it is very well for brother nimble to make light of our dangers," whispered velvet-paw, "but let us see how he will jump if a big eagle were to pounce down to carry him off." "yes, yes," said silvy; "it is easy to brag before one is in danger." the squirrels thought they would now go and look for some partridge-berries, of which they were very fond, for the pine-kernels were but dry husky food after all. there were plenty of the pretty white star-shaped blossoms, growing all over the ground under the pine-trees, but the bright scarlet twin-berries were not yet ripe. in winter the partridges eat this fruit from under the snow; and it furnishes food for many little animals as well as birds. the leaves are small, of a dark green, and the white flowers have a very fine fragrant scent. though the runaways found none of these berries fit to eat, they saw some ripe strawberries among the bushes; and, having satisfied their hunger, began to grow very merry, and whisked here and there and everywhere, peeping into this hole and under that stone. sometimes they had a good game of play, chasing one another up and down the trees, chattering and squeaking as gray squirrels only can chatter and squeak, when they are gambolling about in the wild woods of canada. indeed, they made such a noise, that the great ugly black snakes lifted up their heads, and stared at them with their wicked spiteful-looking eyes, and the little ducklings swimming among the water-lilies gathered round their mother, and a red-winged blackbird perched on a dead tree gave alarm to the rest of the flock by calling out, _geck_, _geck_, _geck_, as loudly as he could. in the midst of their frolics, nimble skipped into a hollow log--but was glad to run out again; for a porcupine covered with sharp spines was there, and was so angry at being disturbed, that he stuck one of his spines into poor nimble-foot's soft velvet nose, and there it could have remained if silvy had not seized it with her teeth and pulled it out. nimble-foot squeaked sadly, and would not play any longer, but rolled himself up and went to sleep in a red-headed woodpecker's old nest; while silvy and velvet-paw frisked about in the moonlight, and when tired of play got up into an old oak which had a large hollow place in the crown of it, and fell asleep, fancying, no doubt, that they were on the rocky island in stony lake; and so we will bid them good night, and wish them pleasant dreams. * * * * * lady mary had read a long while, and was now tired; so she kissed her nurse, and said, "now, mrs. frazer, i will play with my doll, and feed my squirrel and my dormice." the dormice were two soft, brown creatures, almost as pretty and as innocent as the squirrel, and a great deal tamer; and they were called jeannette and jeannot, and would come when they were called by their names, and take a bit of cake or a lump of sugar out of the fingers of their little mistress. lady mary had two canaries, dick and pet; and she loved her dormice and birds, and her new pet, the flying squirrel, very much, and never let them want for food, or water, or any nice thing she could get for them. she liked the history of the gray squirrels very much, and was quite eager to get her book the next afternoon, to read the second part of the adventures and wanderings of the family. * * * * * part ii. which tells how the gray squirrels get on while they remained on pike island--how they behaved to their poor relations, the chitmunks--and what happened to them in the forest. it was noon when the little squirrels awoke, and, of course, they were quite ready for their breakfast; but there was no good, kind old mother to provide for their wants, and to bring nuts, acorns, roots, or fruit for them; they must now get up, go forth, and seek food for themselves. when velvet-paw and silver-nose went to call nimble-foot, they were surprised to find his nest empty; but after searching a long while, they found him sitting on the root of an up-turned tree, looking at a family of little chitmunks busily picking over the pine-cones on the ground; but as soon as one of the poor little fellows, with great labour, had dug out a kernel, and was preparing to eat it, down leaped nimble-foot and carried off the prize; and if one of the little chitmunks ventured to say a word, he very uncivilly gave him a scratch, or bit his ears, calling him a mean, shabby fellow. now the chitmunks were really very pretty. they were, to be sure, not more than half the size of the gray squirrels, and their fur was short, without the soft, thick glossy look upon it of the gray squirrels'. they were of a lively, tawny yellow-brown colour, with long black and white stripes down their backs; their tails were not so long nor so thickly furred; and instead of living in the trees, they made their nests in logs and windfalls, and had their granaries and winter houses too underground, where they made warm nests of dried moss and grass and thistledown; to these they had several entrances, so that they had always a chance of refuge if danger were nigh. like the dormice, flying squirrels, and ground hogs, they slept soundly during the cold weather, only awakening when the warm spring sun had melted the snow. [footnote: it is not quite certain that the chitmunk is a true squirrel, and he is sometimes called a striped rat. this pretty animal seems, indeed, to form a link between the rat and squirrel.] the vain little gray squirrels thought themselves much better than these little chitmunks, whom they treated with very little politeness, laughing at them for living in holes in the ground, instead of upon lofty trees, as they did; they even called them low-bred fellows, and wondered why they did not imitate their high-breeding and behaviour. the chitmunks took very little notice of their rudeness, but merely said that, if being high-bred made people rude, they would rather remain humble as they were. "as we are the head of all the squirrel families," said silver-nose, "we shall do you the honour of breakfasting with you to-day." "we breakfasted hours ago, while you lazy fellows were fast asleep," replied an old chitmunk, poking his little nose out of a hole in the ground. "then we shall dine with you; so make haste and get something good for us," said nimble-foot. "i have no doubt you have plenty of butter and hickory-nuts laid up in your holes." the old chitmunk told him he might come and get them, if he could. at this the gray squirrels skipped down from the branches, and began to run hither and thither, and to scratch among the moss and leaves, to find the entrance to the chitmunks' grain stores. they peeped under the old twisted roots of the pines and cedars, into every chink and cranny, but no sign of a granary was to be seen. [illustration: the gray squirrel and the chitmunks.] then the chitmunks said, "my dear friends, this is a bad season to visit us; we are very poor just now, finding it difficult to get a few dry pine-kernels and berries; but if you will come and see us after harvest, we shall have a store of nuts and acorns." "pretty fellows you are!" replied nimble, "to put us off with promises, when we are so hungry; we might starve between this and harvest." "if you leave this island, and go down the lake, you will come to a mill, where the red squirrels live, and where you will have fine times," said one of the chitmunks. "which is the nearest way to the mill?" asked velvet-paw. "swim to the shore, and keep the indian path, and you will soon see it." but while the gray squirrels were looking out for the path, the cunning chitmunks whisked away into their holes, and left the inquirers in the lurch, who could not tell what had become of them; for though they did find a round hole that they thought might be one of their burrows, it was so narrow that they could only poke in their noses, but could get no further--the gray squirrels being much fatter and bigger than the slim little chitmunks. "after all," said silvy, who was the best of the three, "perhaps, if we had been civil, the chitmunks would have treated us better." "well," said nimble, "if they had been good fellows, they would have invited us, as our mother did cousin blackie, and have set before us the best they had. i could find it in my heart to dig them out of their holes and give them a good bite." this was all brag on nimble's part, who was not near so brave as he wished silvy and velvet-paw to suppose he was. after spending some time in hunting for acorns they made up their minds to leave the island, and as it was not very far to the mainland, they decided on swimming thither. "indeed," said silver-nose, "i am tired of this dull place; we are not better off here than we were in the little island in stony lake, where our good old mother took care we should have plenty to eat, and we had a nice warm nest to shelter us." "ah, well, it is of no use grumbling now; if we were to go back, we should only get a scolding, and perhaps be chased off the island," said nimble. "now let us have a race, and see which of us will get to shore first;" and he leaped over velvet-paw's head, and was soon swimming merrily for the shore. he was soon followed by his companions, and in half an hour they were all safely landed. instead of going into the thick forest, they agreed to take the path by the margin of the lake, for there they had a better chance of getting nuts and fruit; but though it was the merry month of june, and there were plenty of pretty flowers in bloom, the berries were hardly ripe, and our little vagrants fared but badly. besides being hungry, they were sadly afraid of the eagles and fish-hawks that kept hovering over the water; and when they went further into the forest to avoid them, they saw a great white wood-owl, noiselessly flying out from among the close cedar swamps, that seemed just ready to pounce down upon them. the gray squirrels did not like the look of the owl's great round shining eyes, as they peered at them, under the tufts of silky white feathers, which almost hid his hooked bill, and their hearts sunk within them when they heard his hollow cry, _"ho, ho, ho, ho!" "waugh, ho!"_ dismally sounding in their ears. it was well that velvet-paw was as swift afoot as she was soft, for one of these great owls had very nearly caught her, while she was eating a filbert that she had found in a cleft branch, where a nuthatch had fixed it, while she pecked a hole in the shell. some bird of prey had scared away the poor nuthatch, and velvet-paw no doubt thought she was in luck when she found the prize; but it would have been a dear nut to her, if nimble, who was a sharp-sighted fellow, had not seen the owl, and cried, _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ to warn her of her danger. _"chit, chit, chit, chit!"_ cried velvet-paw, and away she flew to the very top of a tall pine-tree, springing from one tree-top to another, till she was soon out of the old owl's reach. "what shall we do for supper to-night?" said silver-nose, looking very pitifully at nimble-foot, whom they looked upon as the head of the family. "we shall not want for a good supper and breakfast too, or i am very much mistaken. do you see that red squirrel yonder, climbing the hemlock-tree? well, my dears, he has a fine store of good things in that beech-tree. i watched him run down with a nut in his teeth. let us wait patiently, and we shall see him come again for another; and as soon as he has done his meal, we will go and take ours." the red squirrel ran to and fro several times, each time carrying off a nut to his nest in the hemlock; after a while, he came no more. as soon as he was out of sight, nimble led the way and found the hoard. the beech was quite hollow in the heart; and they went down through a hole in the branch, and found a store of hazel-nuts, with acorns, hickory-nuts, butter-nuts, and beech-mast, all packed quite close and dry. they soon made a great hole in the red squirrel's store of provisions, and were just choosing some nuts to carry off with them, when they were disturbed by a scratching against the bark of the tree. nimble, who was always the first to take care of himself, gave the alarm, and he and velvet-paw, being nearest to the hole, got off safely; but poor silvy had the ill luck to sneeze, and before she had time to hide herself, the angry red squirrel sprang upon her, and gave her such a terrible cuffing and scratching, that silvy cried out for mercy. as to nimble-foot and velvet-paw, they paid no heed to her cries for help; they ran away, and left her to bear the blame of all their misdeeds as well as her own. thieves are always cowards, and are sure to forsake one another when danger is nigh. the angry red squirrel pushed poor silvy out of her granary, and she was glad to crawl away and hide herself in a hole at the root of a neighbouring tree, where she lay in great pain and terror, licking her wounds and crying to think how cruel it was of her brother and sister to leave her to the mercy of the red squirrel. it was surely very cowardly of nimble-foot and velvet-paw to forsake her in such a time of need; nor was this the only danger that befell poor silvy. one morning, when she put her nose out of the hole to look about her before venturing out, she saw seated on a branch, close beside the tree she was under, a racoon, staring full at her with his sharp cunning black eyes. she was very much afraid of him, for she thought he looked very hungry; but as she knew that racoons are very fond of nuts and fruit, she said to herself, "perhaps if i show him where the red squirrel's granary in the beech-tree is, he will not kill me." then she said very softly to him, "good mister coon, if you want a very nice breakfast, and will promise to do me no hurt, i will tell you where to find plenty of nuts." the coon eyed her with a sly grin, and said, "if i can get anything more to my taste than a pretty gray squirrel, i will take it, my dear, and not lay a paw upon your soft back." "ah, but you must promise not to touch me, if i come out and show you where to find the nuts," said silvy. "upon the word and honour of a coon!" replied the racoon, laying one black paw upon his breast; "but if you do not come out of your hole, i shall soon come and dig you out, so you had best be quick; and if you trust me, you shall come to no hurt." then silvy thought it wisest to seem to trust the racoon's word, and she came out of her hole, and went a few paces to point out the tree where her enemy the red squirrel's store of nuts was; but as soon as she saw mister coon disappear in the hollow of the tree, she bade him good-bye, and whisked up a tall tree, where she knew the racoon could not reach her; and having now quite recovered her strength, she was able to leap from branch to branch, and even from one tree to another, whenever they grew close and the boughs touched, as they often do in the grand old woods in canada, and so she was soon far, far away from the artful coon, who waited a long time, hoping to carry off poor silvy for his dinner. silvy contrived to pick up a living by digging for roots and eating such fruits as she could find; but one day she came to a grassy cleared spot, where she saw a strange-looking tent, made with poles stuck into the ground and meeting at the top, from which came a bluish cloud that spread among the trees; and as silvy was very curious, she came nearer, and at last, hearing no sound, ran up one of the poles and peeped in, to see what was within side, thinking it might be one of the fine stores of grain that people built for the squirrels, as her cousin blackie had made her believe. the poles were covered with sheets of birch-bark and skins of deer and wolves, and there was a fire of sticks burning in the middle, round which some large creatures were sitting on a bear's skin, eating something that smelt very nice. they had long black hair and black eyes and very white teeth. silvy felt alarmed at first; but thinking they must be the people who were kind to squirrels, she ventured to slip through a slit in the bark, and ran down into the wigwam, hoping to get something to eat; but in a minute the indians jumped up, and before she had time to make her escape, she was seized by a young squaw, and popped into a birch box, and the lid shut down upon her; so poor silvy was caught in a trap, and all for believing the artful black squirrel's tales. silver-nose remembered her mother's warning now when it was too late; she tried to get out of her prison, but in vain; the sides of the box were too strong, and there was not so much as a single crack for a peep-hole. after she had been shut up some time, the lid was raised a little, and a dark hand put in some bright, shining hard grains for her to eat. this was indian corn, and it was excellent food; but silvy was a long, long time before she would eat any of this sweet corn, she was so vexed at being caught and shut up in prison; besides, she was very much afraid that the indians were going to eat her. after some days, she began to get used to her captive state; the little squaw used to feed her, and one day took her out of the box and put her into a nice light cage, where there was soft green moss to be on, a little bark dish with clear water, and abundance of food. the cage was hung up on the bough of a tree near the wigwam, to swing to and fro as the wind waved the tree. here silvy could see the birds flying to and fro, and listen to their cheerful songs. the indian women and children had always a kind look or a word to say to her; and her little mistress was so kind to her, that silvy could not help loving her. she was very grateful for her care; for when she was sick and sulky, the little squaw gave her bits of maple-sugar and parched rice out of her hand. at last silvy grew tame, and would suffer herself to be taken out of her house to sit on her mistress's shoulder or in her lap; and though she sometimes ran away and hid herself, out of fun, she would not have gone far from the tent of the good indians on any account. sometimes she saw the red squirrels running about in the forest, but they never came very near her; but she used to watch all day long for her brother nimble-foot, or sister velvet-paw, but they were now far away from her, and no doubt thought that she had been killed by the red squirrel, or eaten up by a fox or racoon. [illustration: the pet squirrel] * * * * * "nurse, i am so glad pretty silvy was not killed, and that the good indians took care of her." "it is time now, my dear, for you to put down your book," said mrs. frazer, "and to-morrow we will read some more." * * * * * part iii. how the squirrels got to the mill at the rapids--and what happened to velvet-paw. nimble-foot and velvet-paw were so frightened by the sight of the red squirrel, that they ran down the tree without once looking back to see what had become of poor silver-nose; indeed, the cowards, instead of waiting for their poor sister, fled through the forest as if an army of red squirrels were behind them. at last they reached the banks of the lake, and jumping into the water, swam down the current till they came to a place called the "narrow," where the wide lake poured its waters through a deep rocky channel, not more than a hundred yards wide; here the waters became so rough and rapid, that our little swimmers thought it wisest to go on shore. they scrambled up the steep rocky bank, and found themselves on a wide open space, quite free from trees, which they knew must be one of the great clearings the traveller squirrel had spoken of. there was a very high building on the water's edge that they thought must be the mill that the chitmunks had told them they would come to; and they were in good spirits, as they now expected to find plenty of good things laid up for them to eat, so they went in by the door of the mill. "dear me, what a dust there is!" said nimble, looking about him; "i think it must be snowing." "snow does not fall in hot weather," said velvet; "besides, this white powder is very sweet and nice;" and she began to lick some of the flour that lay in the cracks of the floor. "i have found some nice seeds here," said nimble, running to the top of a sack that stood with the mouth untied; "these are better than pine-kernels, and not so hard. we must have come to one of the great grain-stores that our cousin told us of. well, i am sure the people are very kind to have laid up so many good things for us squirrels." when they had eaten as much as they liked, they began to ran about to see what was in the mill. presently, a man came in, and they saw him take one of the sacks of wheat, and pour it into a large upright box, and in a few minutes there was a great noise--a sort of buzzing, whirring, rumbling, dashing, and splashing--and away ran velvet-paw in a terrible fright, and scrambled up some beams and rafters to the top of the wall, where she sat watching what was going on, trembling all over; but finding that no harm happened to her, took courage, and after a time ceased to be afraid. she saw nimble perched on a cross-beam looking down very intently at something; so she came out of her corner and ran to him, and asked what he was looking at. "there is a great black thing here," said he, "i cannot tell what to make of him at all; it turns round and round, and dashes the water about, making a fine splash." (this was the water-wheel.) "it looks very ugly indeed," said velvet-paw, "and makes my head giddy to look at it; let us go away. i want to find out what these two big stones are doing," said she; "they keep rubbing against one another, and making a great noise." "there is nothing so wonderful in two big stones, my dear," said nimble; "i have seen plenty bigger than these in stony lake." "but they did not move about as these do; and only look here at the white stuff that is running down all the time into this great box. well, we shall not want for food for the rest of our lives; i wish poor silvy were with us to share in our good luck." they saw a great many other strange things in the mill, and they thought that the miller was a very funny-looking creature; but as they fancied that he was grinding the wheat into flour for them, they were not much afraid of him; they were more troubled at the sight of a black dog, which spied them, out as they sat on the beams of the mill, and ran about in a great rage, harking at them in a frightful way, and never left off till the miller went out of the mill, when he went away with his master, and did not return till the next day; but whenever he saw the gray squirrels, this little dog, whose name was "pinch," was sure to set up his ears and tail, and snap and bark, showing all his sharp white teeth in a very savage manner. not far from the mill was another building: this was the house the miller lived in; and close by the house was a barn, a stable, a cow-shed, and a sheep-pen, and there was a garden full of fruit and flowers, and an orchard of apple-trees close by. one day velvet-paw ran up one of the apple-trees and began to eat an apple; it looked very good, for it had a bright red cheek, but it was hard and sour, not being ripe. "i do not like these big, sour berries," said she, making wry faces as she tried to get the bad taste out of her mouth by wiping her tongue on her fore-paw. nimble had found some ripe currants; so he only laughed at poor velvet for the trouble she was in. these little gray squirrels now led a merry life; they found plenty to eat and drink, and would not have had a care in the world, if it had not been for the noisy little dog pinch, who let them have no quiet, barking and baying at them whenever he saw them; and also for the watchful eyes of a great tomcat, who was always prowling about the mill, or creeping round the orchard and outhouses; so that with all their good food they were not quite free from causes of fear, and no doubt sometimes wished themselves safe back on the little rocky island, in their nest in the old oak-tree. time passed away--the wheat and the oats were now ripe and fit for the scythe, for in canada the settlers mow wheat with an instrument called a "cradle scythe." the beautiful indian corn was in bloom, and its long pale green silken threads were waving in the summer breeze. the blue jays were busy in the fields of wheat; so were the red-winged blackbirds, and the sparrows, and many other birds, great and small; field-mice in dozens were cutting the straw with their sharp teeth, and carrying off the grain to their nests; and as to the squirrels and chitmunks, there were scores of them--black, red, and gray--filling their cheeks with the grain, and laying it out on the rail fences and on the top of the stumps to dry, before they carried it away to their storehouses. and many a battle the red and the black squirrels had, and sometimes the gray joined with the red, to beat the black ones off the ground. nimble-foot and his sister kept out of these quarrels as much as they could; but once they got a severe beating from the red squirrels for not helping them to drive off the saucy black ones, which would carry away the little heaps of wheat, as soon as they were dry. "we do not mean to trouble ourselves with laying up winter stores," said nimble one day to his red cousins; "don't you see peter, the miller's man, has got a great waggon and horses, and is carting wheat into the barn for us?" the red squirrel opened his round eyes very wide at this speech. "why, cousin nimble," he said, "you are not so foolish as to think the miller is harvesting that grain for your use. no, no, my friend; if you want any, you must work as we do, or run the chance of starving in the winter." then nimble told him what their cousin blackie had said. "you were wise fellows to believe such nonsense!" said the red squirrel. "these mills and barns are all stored for the use of the miller and his family; and what is more, my friend, i can tell you that men are no great friends to us poor squirrels, and will kill us when they get the chance, and begrudge us the grain we help ourselves to." "well, that is very stingy," said velvet-paw; "i am sure there is enough for men and squirrels too. however, i suppose all must live, so we will let them have what we leave; i shall help myself after they have stored it up in yonder barn." "you had better do as we do, and make hay while the sun shines," said the red squirrel. "i would rather play in the sunshine, and eat what i want here," said idle velvet-paw, setting up her fine tail like a feather over her back, as she ate an ear of corn. "you are a foolish, idle thing, and will come to no good," said the red squirrel. "i wonder where you were brought up?" i am very sorry to relate that velvet-paw did not come to a good end, for she did not take the advice of her red cousin, to lay up provisions during the harvest; but instead of that, she ate all day long, and grew fat and lazy; and after the fields were all cleared, she went to the mill one day, when the mill was grinding, and seeing a quantity of wheat in the feeder of the mill, she ran up a beam and jumped down, thinking to make a good dinner from the grain she saw; but it kept sliding down and sliding down so fast, that she could not get one grain, so at last she began to be frightened, and tried to get up again, but, alas! this was not possible. she cried out to nimble to help her; and while he ran to look for a stick for her to raise herself up by, the mill-wheel kept on turning, and the great stones went round faster and faster, till poor velvet-paw was crushed to death between them. nimble was now left all alone, and sad enough he was, you may suppose. "ah," said he, "idleness is the ruin of gray squirrels, as well as men, so i will go away from this place, and try and earn an honest living in the forest. i wish i had not believed all the fine tales my cousin the black squirrel told me." then nimble went away from the clearing, and once more resolved to seek his fortune in the woods. he knew there were plenty of butter-nuts, acorns, hickory-nuts, and beech-nuts, to be found, besides many sorts of berries; and he very diligently set to work to lay up stores against the coming winter. as it was now getting cold at night, nimble-foot thought it would be wise to make himself a warm house; so he found out a tall hemlock-pine that was very thick and bushy at the top; there was a forked branch in the tree, with a hollow just fit for his nest. he carried twigs of birch and beech, and over these he laid dry green moss, which he collected on the north side of the cedar trees, and some long gray moss that he found on the swamp maples, and then he stripped the silky threads from the milk-weeds, and the bark of the cedar and birch-trees. these he gnawed fine, and soon made a soft bed; he wove and twisted the sticks, and roots, and mosses together, till the walls of his house were quite thick, and he made a sort of thatch over the top with dry leaves and long moss, with a round hole to creep in and out of. making this warm house took him many days' labour; but many strokes will fell great oaks, so at last nimble-foot's work came to an end, and he had the comfort of a charming house to shelter him from the cold season. he laid up a good store of nuts, acorns, and roots: some he put in a hollow branch of the hemlock-tree close to his nest; some he hid in a stump, and another store he laid under the roots of a mossy cedar. when all this was done, he began to feel very lonely, and often wished, no doubt, that he had had his sisters silvy and velvet-paw with him, to share his nice warm house; but of silvy he knew nothing, and poor velvet-paw was dead. one fine moonlight night, as nimble was frisking about on the bough of a birch-tree, not very far from his house in the hemlock, he saw a canoe land on the shore of the lake, and some indians with an axe cut down some bushes, and having cleared a small piece of ground, begin to sharpen the ends of some long poles. these they stuck into the ground close together in a circle; and having stripped some sheets of birch-bark from the birch trees close by, they thatched the sides of the hut, and made a fire of sticks inside. they had a dead deer in the canoe, and there were several hares and black squirrels, the sight of which rather alarmed nimble; for he thought if they killed one sort of squirrel, they might another, and he was very much scared at one of the indians firing off a gun close by him. the noise made him fall down to the ground, and it was a good thing that it was dark among the leaves and grass where the trunk of the tree threw its long shadow, so that the indian did not see him, or perhaps he might have loaded the gun again, and shot our little friend, and made soup of him for his supper. nimble ran swiftly up a pine-tree, and was soon out of danger. while he was watching some of the indian children at play, he saw a girl come out of the hut with a gray squirrel in her arms; it did not seem at all afraid of her, but nestled to her shoulder, and even ate out of her hand; and what was nimble's surprise to see that this tame gray squirrel was none other than his own pretty sister silver-nose, whom he had left in the hollow tree when they both ran away from the red squirrel. you may suppose the sight of his lost companion was a joyful one; he waited for a long, long time, till the fire went out, and all the indians were fast asleep, and little silvy came out to play in the moonlight, and frisk about on the dewy grass as she used to do. then nimble when he saw her, ran down the tree, and came to her and rubbed his nose against her, and licked her soft fur, and told her who he was, and how sorry he was for having left her in so cowardly a manner, to be beaten by the red squirrel. [illustration: nimble recovering his sister.] the good little silvy told nimble not to fret about what was past, and then she asked him for her sister velvet-paw. nimble had a long sorrowful tale to tell about the death of poor velvet; and silvy was much grieved. then in her turn she told nimble all her adventures, and how she had been caught by the indian girl, and kept, and fed, and tamed, and had passed her time very happily, if it had not been for thinking about her dear lost companions. "but now," she said, "my dear brother, we will never part again; you shall be quite welcome to share my cage, and my nice stores of indian corn, rice, and nuts, which my kind mistress gives me." "i would not be shut up in a cage, not even for one day," said nimble, "for all the nice fruit and grain in canada. i am a free squirrel, and love my liberty. i would not exchange a life of freedom in these fine old woods, for all the dainties in the world. so, silvy, if you prefer a life of idleness and ease to living with me in the forest, i must say good-bye to you." "but there is nothing to hurt us, my dear nimble--no racoons, no foxes, nor hawks, nor owls, nor weasels; if i see any hungry-looking birds or beasts, i have a safe place to run to, and never need be hungry!" "i would not lead a life like that, for the world," said nimble. "i should die of dulness; if there is danger in a life of freedom, there is pleasure too, which you cannot enjoy, shut up in, a wooden cage, and fed at the will of a master or mistress.--well, i shall be shot if the indians awake and see me; so i shall be off." silvy looked very sorrowful; she did not like to part from her newly-found brother, but she was unwilling to forego all the comforts and luxuries her life of captivity afforded her. "you will not tell the indians where i live, i hope, silvy, for they would think it a fine thing to hunt me with their dogs, or shoot me down with their bows and arrows." at these words silvy was overcome with grief, so jumping off from the log on which she was standing, she said, "nimble, i will go with you and share all your perils, and we will never part again." she then ran into the wigwam; and going softly to the little squaw, who was asleep, licked her hands and face, as if she would say, "good-bye, my good kind friend; i shall not forget all your love for me, though i am going away from you for ever." silvy then followed nimble into the forest, and they soon reached his nice comfortable nest in the tall hemlock-tree. * * * * * "nurse, i am glad silvy went away with nimble; are not you? poor nimble must have been so lonely without her; and then you know it must have seemed so hard to him if silvy had preferred staying with the indians to living with him." "those who have been used to a life of ease do not willingly give it up, my dear lady. thus you see love for her old companion was stronger even than love of self. but i think you must have tired yourself with reading so long to me." "indeed, nurse, i must read a little more, for i want you to hear how silvy and nimble amused themselves in the hemlock-tree." then lady mary continued reading as follows:-- silvy was greatly pleased with her new home, which was as soft and as warm as clean dry moss, hay, and fibres of roots could make it. the squirrels built a sort of pent or outer roof of twigs, dry leaves, and roots of withered grass, which was pitched so high that it threw off the rain and kept the inner house very dry. they worked at this very diligently, and also laid up a store of nuts and berries. they knew that they must not only provide plenty of food for the winter, but also for the spring months, when they could get little to eat beside the buds and bark of some sort of trees, and the chance seeds that might still remain in the pine-cones. thus the autumn months passed away very quickly and cheerfully with the squirrels while preparing for the coming winter. half the cold season was spent, too, in sleep; but on mild, sunny days the little squirrels, roused by the bright light of the sunbeams on the white and glittering snow, would shake themselves, rub their black eyes, and after licking themselves clean from dust, would whisk out of their house, and indulge in merry gambols up and down the trunks of the trees, skipping from bough to bough, and frolicking over the hard, crisp snow, which scarcely showed on its surface the delicate print of their tiny feet and the sweep of their fine light feathery tails. sometimes they met with some little shrewmice running on the snow. these very tiny things are so small, they hardly look bigger than a large black beetle. they lived on the seeds of the tall weeds, which they might be seen climbing and clinging to, yet were hardly heavy enough to weigh down the heads of the dry stalks. it is pretty to see the footprints of these small shrewmice on the surface of the fresh fallen snow in the deep forest glades. they are not dormant during the winter, like many of the mouse tribe, for they are up and abroad at all seasons; for however stormy and severe the weather may be, they do not seem to heed its inclemency. surely, children, there is one who cares for the small tender things of earth, and shelters them from the rude blasts. nimble-foot and silver-nose often saw their cousins, the black squirrels, playing in the sunshine, chasing each other merrily up and down the trees or over the brush-heaps; their jetty coats and long feathery tails forming a striking contrast with the whiteness of the snow. sometimes they saw a few red squirrels too, but there was generally war between them and the black ones. in these lonely forests everything seems still and silent during the long wintry season, as if death had spread a white pall over the earth and hushed every living thing into silence. few sounds are heard through the winter days to break the deathlike silence that reigns around, excepting the sudden rending and cracking of the trees in the frosty air, the fall of a decayed branch, the tapping of a solitary woodpecker--two or three small species of which still remain after all the summer-birds are flown--and the gentle, weak chirp of the little tree-creeper, as it runs up and down the hemlocks and pines, searching the crevices of the bark for insects. yet in all this seeming death lies hidden the life of myriads of insects, the huge beast of the forest asleep in his lair, with many of the smaller quadrupeds and forest-birds, that, hushed in lonely places, shall awake to life and activity as soon as the sun-beams once more dissolve the snow, unbind the frozen streams, and loosen the bands which held them in repose. at last the spring, the glad, joyous spring, returned. the leaf-buds, wrapped within their gummy and downy cases, began to unfold; the dark green pines, spruce, and balsams began to shoot out fresh spiny leaves, like tassels, from the ends of every bough, giving out the most refreshing fragrance; the crimson buds of the young hazels and the scarlet blossoms of the soft maple enlivened the edges of the streams; the bright coral bark of the dogwood seemed as if freshly varnished, so brightly it glowed in the morning sunshine; the scream of the blue jay, the song of the robin and woodthrush, the merry note of the chiccadee and plaintive cry of the pheobe, with loud hammering strokes of the great red-headed woodpecker, mingled with the rush of the unbound forest streams, gurgling and murmuring as their water flowed over their stones, and the sighing of the breeze playing in the tree tops, made pleasant and ceaseless music. and then, as time passed on, the trees unfolded all their bright green leaves--the buds and forest flowers opened; and many a bright bell our little squirrels looked down upon, from their leafy home, that the eye of man had never seen. it was pleasant for our little squirrels, just after sunset, in the still summer evenings, when the small silver stars came stealing out one by one in the blue sky, to play among the cool dewy leaves of the grand old oaks and maples; to watch the fitful flash of the fireflies, as they glanced here and there, flitting through the deep gloom of the forest boughs, now lost to sight, as they closed their wings, now flashing out like tiny tapers, borne aloft by unseen hands in the darkness. where that little creek runs singing over its mossy bed, and the cedar-boughs bend down so thick and close that only a gleam of the bright water can be seen, even in the sunlight, there the fireflies crowd, and the damp foliage is all alive with their dazzling light. in this sweet, still hour, just at the dewfall, the rush of whirring wings may be heard from the islands, or in the forest, bordering on the water's edge; and out of hollow logs and hoary trunks of trees come forth the speckled night-hawks, cutting the air with their thin, sharp, wide wings and open beak, ready to intrap the unwary moth or musquito that float so joyously upon the evening air. one after another, sweeping in wider circles, come forth these birds of prey, till the whole air seems alive with them; darting hither and thither, and uttering wild, shrill screams, as they rise higher and higher in the upper air, till some are almost lost to sight. sometimes one of them will descend with a sudden swoop to the lower regions of the air, just above the highest treetops, with a hollow, booming sound, as if some one were blowing in an empty vessel. at this hour, too, the bats would quit their homes in hollow trees and old rocky banks, and flit noiselessly abroad over the surface of the quiet, star-lit lake: and now also would begin the shrill, trilling note of the green-frog, and the deep, hoarse bass of the bull-frog, which ceases only at intervals, through the long, warm summer night. you might fancy a droll sort of dialogue was being carried on among them. at first a great fellow, the patriarch of the swamp, will put up his head, which looks very much like a small pair of bellows, with yellow leather sides, and say, in a harsh, guttural tone, "go to bed, go to bed, go to bed." after a moment's pause, two or three will rise and reply, "no, i won't; no, i won't; no, i won't." then the old fellow, with a growl, replies, "get out, get out, get out." and forthwith, with a rush, and a splash, and a dash, they raise a chorus of whirring, grating, growling, grunting, whistling sounds, which make you stop up your ears. when all this hubbub has lasted some minutes, there is a pop and a splash, and down go all the heads under the weeds and mud; and after another pause, up comes the aged father of the frogs, and begins again with the old story, "go to bed, go to bed, go to bed," and so on. during the heat of the day the bull-frogs are silent; but as the day declines and the air becomes cooler, they recommence their noisy chorus. i suppose these sounds, though not very pleasant to the ears of men, may not be so disagreeable to those of wild animals. i daresay neither nimble nor silvy were in the least annoyed by the hoarse note of the bull-frog, but gambolled as merrily among the boughs and fresh dewy leaves as if they were listening to sweet music or the songs of the birds. the summer passed away very happily; but towards the close of the warm season the squirrels, nimble and silvy, resolved to make a journey to the rocky island on stony lake, to see the old squirrels, their father and mother. so they started at sunrise one fine pleasant day, and travelled along; till one cool evening, just as the moon was beginning to rise above the pine-trees, they arrived at the little rocky islet where they first saw the light. but when they eagerly ran up the trunk of the old oak tree, expecting to have seen their old father and mother, they were surprised and terrified by seeing a wood-owl in the nest. as soon as she espied our little squirrels she shook her feathers and set up her ears--for she was a long-eared owl--and said,-- "what do you want here?--ho, ho, ho, ho!" "indeed, mrs. owl," said nimble, "we come hither to see our parents, whom we left here a year ago. can you tell us where we shall find them?" the owl peered out of her ruff of silken feathers, and, after wiping her sharp bill on her breast, said,-- "your cousin, the black squirrel, beat your father and mother out of their nest a long time ago, and took possession of the tree and all that was in it; and they brought up a large family of little ones, all of which i pounced upon one after another, and ate. indeed, the oaks here belong to my family; so, finding these impudent intruders would not quit the premises, i made short work of the matter, and took the law into my own hands." "did you kill them?" asked silvy, in a trembling voice. "of course i did; and very nice, tender meat they were," replied the horrid old owl, beginning to scramble out of the nest, and eyeing the squirrels at the same time with a wicked look. "but you did not eat our parents too?" asked the trembling squirrels. "yes, i did. they were very tough, to be sure; but i am not very particular." the gray squirrels, though full of grief and vain regret, were obliged to take care of themselves. there was, indeed, no time to be lost; so made a hasty retreat. they crept under the roots of an old tree, where they lay till the morning. they were not much concerned for the death of the treacherous black squirrel who had told so many stories, got possession of their old nest, and caused the death of their parents; but they said, "we will go home again to our dear old hemlock-tree, and never leave it more." so these dear little squirrels returned to their forest home, and may be living there yet. * * * * * "nurse," said lady mary, "how do you like the story?" mrs. frazer said it was a very pretty one. "perhaps my dear little pet is one of nimble or silvy's children. you know, nurse, they might have gone on their travels too, when they were old enough, and then your brother may have chopped down the tree, and found them in the forest." "but your squirrel, lady mary, is a flying squirrel, and these were only common gray ones, which belong to a different species. besides, my dear, this history is but a fable." "i suppose, nurse," said the child, looking up in her nurse's face, "squirrels do not really talk." "no, my dear; they have not the use of speech as we have. but in all ages people have written little tales called fables, in which they make birds and beasts speak as if they were men and women, it being an easy method of conveying instruction." "my book is only a fable, then, nurse? i wish it had been true: but it is very pretty." chapter iv. squirrels--the chitmunks--docility of a pet one--roguery of a yankee pedlar--return of the musical chitmunk to his master's bosom--sagacity of a black squirrel. "mrs. frazer, are you very busy just now?" asked lady mary, coming up to the table where her nurse was ironing some lace. "no, my dear, not very busy, only preparing these lace edgings for your frocks. do you want me to do anything for you?" "i only want to tell you that my governess has promised to paint my dear squirrel's picture, as soon as it is tame and will let me hold it in my lap, without flying away. i saw a picture of a flying squirrel to-day, but it was very ugly--not at all like mine; it was long and flat, and its legs looked like sticks, and it was stretched out, just like one of those muskrat skins that you pointed out to me in a fur store. mamma said it was drawn so, to show it while it was in the act of flying; but it is not pretty--it does not show its beautiful tail, nor its bright eyes, nor soft silky fur. i heard a lady tell mamma about a nest full of dear, tiny little flying squirrels, that her brother once found in a tree in the forest; he tamed them, and they lived very happily together, and would feed from his hand. they slept in the cold weather like dormice; in the daytime they lay very still, but would come out, and gambol and frisk about at night. but somebody left the cage open, and they all ran away except one; and that he found in his bed, where it had run for shelter, with its little nose under his pillow. he caught the little fellow, and it lived with him till the spring, when it grew restless, and one day got away, and went off to the woods." "these little creatures are impatient of confinement, and will gnaw through the woodwork of the cage to get free, especially in the spring of the year. doubtless, my dear, they pine for the liberty which they used to enjoy before they were captured by man." "nurse, i will not let my little pet be unhappy. as soon as the warm days come again, and my governess has taken his picture, i will let him go free. are there many squirrels in this part of canada?" "not so many as in upper canada, lady mary. they abound more in some years than in others. i have seen the beech and oak woods swarming with black squirrels. my brothers have brought in two or three dozen in one day. the indians used to tell us that want of food, or very severe weather setting in in the north, drive these little animals from their haunts. the indians, who observe these things more than we do, can generally tell what sort of winter it will be, from the number of wild animals in the fall." "what do you mean by the fall, nurse?" "the autumn in canada, my lady, is called so from the fall of the leaves. i remember one year was remarkable for the great number of black, gray, and flying squirrels; the little striped chitmunk was also plentiful, and so were weasels and foxes. they came into the barns and granaries, and into the houses, and destroyed great quantities of grain; besides gnawing clothes that were laid out to dry; this they did to line their nests with. next year there were very few to be seen." "what became of them, nurse?" "some, no doubt, fell a prey to their enemies, the cats, foxes, and weasels, which were also very numerous that year; and the rest, perhaps, went back to their own country again." "i should like to see a great number of these pretty creatures travelling together," said lady mary. "all wild animals, my dear, are more active by night than by day, and probably make their long journeys during that season. the eyes of many animals and birds are so formed, that they see best in the dim twilight, as cats, and owls, and others. our heavenly father has fitted all his creatures for the state in which he has placed them." "can squirrels swim like otters and beavers, nurse? if they come to a lake or river, can they cross it?" "i think they can, lady mary; for though these creatures are not formed, like the otter, or beaver, or muskrat, to get their living in the water, they are able to swim when necessity requires them to do so. i heard a lady say that she was crossing a lake, between one of the islands and the shore, in a canoe, with a baby on her lap. she noticed a movement on the surface of the water. at first she thought it might be a water-snake, but the servant lad who was paddling the canoe said it was a red squirrel and he tried to strike it with the paddle; but the little squirrel leaped out of the water to the blade of the paddle, and sprang on the head of the baby, as it lay on her lap; from whence it jumped to her shoulder, and before she had recovered from her surprise, was in the water again, swimming straight for the shore, where it was soon safe in the dark pine woods." this feat of the squirrel delighted lady mary, who expressed her joy at the bravery of the little creature. besides, she said she had heard that gray squirrels, when they wished to go to a distance in search of food, would all meet together, and collect pieces of bark to serve them for boats, and would set up their broad tails like sails, to catch the wind, and in this way cross large sheets of water. "i do not think this can be true," observed mrs. frazer; "for the squirrel, when swimming, uses his tail as an oar or rudder to help the motion, the tail lying flat on the surface of the water; nor do these creatures need a boat, for god, who made them, has given them the power of swimming at their need." "nurse, you said something about a ground squirrel, and called it a chitmunk. if you please, will you tell me something about it, and why it is called by such a curious name?" "i believe it is the indian name for this sort of squirrel, my dear. the chitmunk is not so large as the black, red, and gray squirrels. it is marked along the back with black and white stripes; the rest of its fur is a yellowish tawny colour. it is a very playful, lively, cleanly animal, somewhat resembling the dormouse in its habits. it burrows underground. its nest is made with great care, with many galleries which open at the surface, so that when attacked by an enemy, it can run from one to another for security. for the squirrel has many enemies; all the weasel tribe, cats, and even dogs attack them. cats kill great numbers. the farmer shows them as little mercy as he does rats and mice, as they are very destructive, and carry off vast quantities of grain, which they store in hollow trees for use. not contenting themselves with one granary, they have several in case one should fail, or perhaps become injured by accidental causes. thus do these simple little creatures teach us a lesson of providential care for future events." "how wise of these little chitmunks to think of such precautions!" said lady mary. "nay, my dear child, it is god's wisdom, not theirs. these creatures work according to his will; and so they always do what is fittest and best for their own comfort and safety. man is the only one of god's creatures who disobeys him." these words made lady mary look grave, till her nurse began to talk to her again about the chitmunk. "it is very easily tamed, and becomes very fond of its master. it will obey his voice, come at a call or a whistle, sit up and beg, take a nut or an acorn out of his hand, run up a stick, nestle in his bosom, and become quite familiar. my uncle had a tame chitmunk that was much attached to him; it lived in his pocket or bosom; it was his companion by day and by night. when he was out in the forest lumbering, or on the lake fishing, or in the fields at work, it was always with him. at meals it sat by the side of his plate, eating what he gave it; but he did not give it meat, as he thought that might injure its health. one day he and his pet were in the steam-boat, going to toronto. he had been showing off the little chitmunk's tricks to the ladies and gentlemen on board the boat, and several persons offered him money if he would sell it; but my uncle was fond of the little thing, and would not part with it. however, just before he left the boat, he missed his pet; for a cunning yankee pedlar on board had stolen it. my uncle knew that his little friend would not desert its old master; so he went on deck where the passengers were assembled, and whistled a popular tune familiar to the chitmunk. the little fellow, on hearing it, whisked out of the pedlar's pocket, and running swiftly along a railing against which he was standing, soon sought refuge his master's bosom." lady mary clapped her hands with joy, and said, "i am so glad, nurse, that the chitmunk ran back to his old friend. i wish it had bitten that yankee pedlar's fingers." "when angry these creatures will bite very sharply, set up their tails, and run to and fro, and make a chattering sound with their teeth. the red squirrel is very fearless for its size, and will sometimes turn round and face you, set up its tail, and scold. but they will, when busy eating the seeds of the sunflower or thistle, of which they are very fond, suffer you to stand and watch them without attempting to run away. when near their granaries, or the tree where their nest is, they are unwilling to leave it, running to and fro, and uttering their angry notes; but if a dog is near they make for a tree, and as soon as they are out of his reach, turn round to chatter and scold, as long as he remains in sight. when hard pressed, the black and flying squirrels will take prodigious leaps, springing from bough to bough, and from tree to tree. in this manner they baffle the hunters, and travel a great distance over the tops of the trees. once i saw my uncle and brothers chasing a large black squirrel. he kept out of reach of the dogs, as well as out of sight of the men, bypassing round and round the tree as he went up, so that they could never get a fair shot at him. at last, they got so provoked that they took their axes, and set to work to chop down the tree. it was a large pine tree, and took them some time. just as the tree was ready to fall, and was wavering to and fro, the squirrel, that had kept on the topmost bough, sprang nimbly to the next tree, and then to another, and by the time the great pine had reached the ground, the squirrel was far away in his nest among his little ones, safe from hunters, guns, and dogs." "the black squirrel must have wondered, i think, nurse, why so many men and dogs tried to kill such a little creature as he was. do the black squirrels sleep in the winter as well as the flying squirrels and chitmunks?" "no, lady mary; i have often seen them on bright days chasing each other over logs and brush-heaps, and running gaily up the pine trees. they are easily seen from the contrast which their jetty black coats make with the sparkling white snow. these creatures feed a good deal on the kernels of the pines and hemlocks; they also eat the buds of some trees. they lay up great stores of nuts and grain for winter use. the flying squirrels sleep much, and in the cold season lie heaped upon each other, for the sake of warmth. as many as seven or eight may be found in one nest asleep. they sometimes awaken, if there come a succession of warm days, as in the january thaw; for i must tell you that in this country we generally have rain and mild weather for a few days in the beginning of january, when the snow nearly disappears from the ground. about the th, the weather sets in again steadily cold; when the little animals retire once more to sleep in their winter cradles, which they rarely leave till the hard weather is over." "i suppose, nurse, when they awake, they are glad to eat some of the food they have laid up in their granaries?" "yes, my dear, it is for this they gather their hoards in mild weather; which also supports them in the spring months, and possibly even during the summer, till grain and fruit are ripe. i was walking in the harvest field one day, where my brothers were cradling wheat. as i passed along the fence, i noticed a great many little heaps of wheat lying here and there on the rails, also upon the tops of the stumps in the field. i wondered at first who could have placed them there, but presently noticed a number of red squirrels running very swiftly along the fence, and perceived that they emptied their mouths of a quantity of the new wheat, which they had been diligently employed in collecting from the ears that lay scattered over the ground. these little gleaners did not seem to be at all alarmed at my presence, but went to and fro as busy as bees. on taking some of the grains into my hand, i noticed that the germ or eye of the kernels was bitten clean out." "what was that for, nurse? can you tell me?" "my dear young lady, i did not know at first, till, upon showing it to my father, he told me that the squirrels destroyed the germ of the grain, such as wheat or indian corn, that they stored up for winter use, that it might not sprout when buried in the ground or in a hollow tree." "this is very strange, nurse," said the little girl. "but i suppose," she added, after a moment's thought, "it was god who taught the squirrels to do so. but why would biting out the eye prevent the grain from growing?" "because the eye or bud contains the life of the plant; from it springs the green blade, and the stem that bears the ear, and the root that strikes down to the earth. the flowery part, which swells and becomes soft and jelly-like, serves to nourish the young plant till the tender fibres of the roots are able to draw moisture from the ground." lady mary asked if all seeds had an eye or germ. her nurse replied that all had, though some were so minute that they looked no bigger than dust, or a grain of sand; yet each was perfect in its kind, and contained the plant that would, when sown in the earth, bring forth roots, leaves, buds, flowers, and fruits in due season. "how glad i should have been to see the little squirrels gleaning the wheat, and laying it in the little heaps on the rail fence. why did they not carry it at once to their nests?" "they laid it out in the sun and wind to dry; for if it had been stored away while damp, it would have moulded, and have been spoiled. the squirrels were busy all that day; when i went to see them again, the grain was gone. i saw several red squirrels running up and down a large pine tree, which had been broken by the wind at the top; and there, no doubt, they had laid up stores. these squirrels did not follow each other in a straight line, but ran round and round in a spiral direction, so that they never hindered each other, nor came in each other's way two were always going up, while the other two were going down. they seem to work in families; for the young ones, though old enough to get their own living, usually inhabit the same nest, and help to store up the grain for winter use. they all separate again in spring. the little chitmunk does not live in trees, but burrows in the ground, or makes its nest in some large hollow log. it is very pretty to see the little chitmunks, on a warm spring day, running about and chasing each other among the moss and leaves; they are not bigger than mice, but look bright and lively. the fur of all the squirrel tribe is used in trimming, but the gray is the best and most valuable. it has often been remarked by the indians, and others, that the red and black squirrels never live in the same place; for the red, though the smallest, beat away the black ones. the flesh of the black squirrel is very good to eat; the indians also eat the red." lady mary was very glad to hear all these things, and quite forgot to play with her doll. "please, mrs. frazer," said the little lady, "tell me now about beavers and muskrats." but mrs. frazer was obliged to go out on business; she promised, however, to tell lady mary all she knew about these animals another day. chapter v. indian baskets--thread plants--maple sugar-tree--indian ornamental works --racoons. it was some time before lady mary's nurse could tell her any more stories. she received a letter from her sister-in-law, informing her that her brother was dangerously ill, confined to what was feared would prove his deathbed, and that he earnestly desired to see her before he died. the governor's lady, who was very kind and good to all her household, readily consented to let mrs. frazer go to her sick relation. lady mary parted from her dear nurse, whom she loved very tenderly, with much regret. mrs. frazer told her that it might be a fortnight before she could return, as her brother lived on the shores of one of the small lakes, near the head waters of the otonabee river, a great way off; but she promised to return as soon as she could, and, to console her young mistress for her absence, promised to bring her some indian toys from the backwoods. the month of march passed away pleasantly, for lady mary enjoyed many delightful sleigh-drives with her papa and mamma, who took every opportunity to instruct and amuse her. on entering her nursery one day, after enjoying a long drive in the country, great was her joy to find her good nurse sitting quietly at work by the store. she was dressed in deep mourning, and looked much thinner and paler than when she had last seen her. the kind little girl knew, when she saw her nurse's black dress, that her brother must be dead; and with the thoughtfulness of a true lady, remained very quiet, and did not annoy her with questions about trifling matters: she spoke low and gently to her, and tried to comfort her when she saw large tears falling on the work which she held in her hand, and kindly said, "mrs. frazer, you had better lie down and rest yourself, for you must be tired after your long, long journey." the next day mrs. frazer seemed to be much better; and she showed lady mary an indian basket made of birch-bark, very richly wrought with coloured porcupine-quills, and which had two lids. lady mary admired the splendid colours, and strange patterns on the basket. "it is for you, my dear," said her nurse; "open it, and see what is in it." lady mary lifted one of the lids, and took out another small basket, of a different shape and pattern. it had a top, which was sewn down with coarse-looking thread, which her nurse told her was nothing but the sinews of the deer, dried and beaten fine, and drawn out like thread. then, taking an end of it in her hand, she made lady mary observe that these coarse threads could be separated into a great number of finer ones, sufficiently delicate to pass through the eye of a fine needle, or to string tiny beads. "the indians, my lady, sew with the sinews of the wild animals they kill. these sinews are much stronger and tougher than thread, and therefore are well adapted to sew together such things as moccasins, leggings, and garments made of the skins of wild animals. the finer threads are used for sewing the beads and quill ornaments on moccasins, sheaths, and pouches, besides other things that i cannot now think of. "oh yes, i must tell you one thing more they make with these sinews. how do you think the indian women carry their infants when they go on a long journey? they tie them to a board, and wrap them up in strong bandages of linen or cotton, which they sew firmly together with their stoutest thread, and then they suspend the odd-looking burden to their backs. by this contrivance, they lessen the weight of the child considerably, and are able to walk many miles without showing signs of fatigue. it is also much more pleasant and healthy for the child than to be uncomfortably cramped up in its mother's arms, and shifted about from side to side, as first one arm aches, and then the other. "the indian women sew some things with the roots of the tamarack, or larch; such as coarse birch-baskets, hark canoes, and the covering of their wigwams. they call this 'wah-tap' [footnote: asclepia parvilfora.] (wood-thread), and they prepare it by pulling off the outer rind and steeping it in water. it is the larger fibres which have the appearance of small cordage when coiled up and fit for use. this 'wah-tap' is very valuable to these poor indians. there is also another plant, called indian hemp, which is a small shrubby kind of milk-weed, that grows on gravelly islands. it bears white flowers, and the branches are long and slender; under the bark there is a fine silky thread covering the wood; this is tough, and can be twisted and spun into cloth. it is very white and fine, and does not easily break. there are other plants of the same family, with pods full of fine shining silk; but these are too brittle to spin into thread. this last kind, lady mary, which is called milk-weed flytrap, i will show you in summer." [footnote: asclepia syrica.] but while mrs. frazer was talking about these plants, the little lady was examining the contents of the small birch-box. "if you please, nurse, will you tell me what these dark shining seeds are?" "these seeds, my dear, are indian rice; an old squaw, mrs. peter noggan, gave me this as a present for 'governor's daughter;'" and mrs. frazer imitated the soft, whining tone of the indian, which made lady mary laugh. "the box is called a 'mowkowk.' there is another just like it, only there is a white bird--a snow bird, i suppose it is intended for--worked on the lid." the lid of this box was fastened down with a narrow slip of deer skin, lady mary cut the fastening, and raised the lid--"nurse, it is only yellow sand, how droll, to send me a box of sand!" "it is not sand, taste it, lady mary." "it is sweet--it is sugar! ah! now i know what it is that this kind old squaw has sent me, it is maple-sugar, and is very nice i will go and show it to mamma." "wait a little, lady mary, let us see what there is in the basket besides the rice and the maple sugar." "what a lovely thing this is, dear nurse! what can it be?" "it is a sheath for your scissors, my dear, it is made of doe skin, embroidered with white beads, and coloured quills split fine, and sewn with deer sinew thread look at these curious bracelets." lady mary examined the bracelets, and said she thought they were wrought with beads, but mrs. frazer told her that what she took for beads were porcupine quills, cut out very finely, and strung in a pattern. they were not only neatly but tastefully made, the pattern, though a grecian scroll, having been carefully imitated by some indian squaw. "this embroidered knife sheath is large enough for a hunting knife," said lady mary, "a '_couteau de chasse_,'--is it not?" "this sheath was worked by the wife of isaac iron, an educated chief of the mud lake indians, she gave it to me because i had been kind to her in sickness." "i will give it to my dear papa," said lady mary, "for i never go out hunting, and do not wish to carry a large knife by my side;" and she laid the sheath away, after having admired its gay colours, and particularly the figure of a little animal worked in black and white quills. "this is a present for your doll; it is a doll's mat, woven by a little girl, aged seven years, rachel muskrat; and here is a little canoe of red cedar, made by a little indian boy." "what a darling little boat! and there is a fish carved on the paddles." this device greatly pleased lady mary, who said she would send rachel a wax doll, and little moses a knife or some other useful article, when mrs. frazer went again to the lakes; but when her nurse took out of the other end of the basket a birch-bark cradle, made for her doll, worked very richly, she clapped her hands for joy, saying, "ah, nurse, you should not have brought me so many pretty things at once, for i am too happy!" the remaining contents of the basket consisted of seeds and berries, and a small cake of maple-sugar, which mrs. frazer had made for the young lady. this was very different in appearance from the indian sugar; it was bright and sparkling, like sugar-candy, and tasted sweeter. the other sugar was dry, and slightly bitter: mrs. frazer told lady mary that this peculiar taste was caused by the birch-bark vessels, which the indians used for catching the sap, as it flowed from the maple-trees. "i wonder who taught the indians how to make maple-sugar?" asked the child. "i do not know," replied the nurse. "i have heard that they knew how to make this sugar when the discoverers of the country found them. [footnote: however this may be, the french settlers claim the merit of converting the sap into sugar.] it may be that they found it out by accident. the sugar-maple when wounded in march or april, yields a great deal of sweet liquor. some indians may have supplied themselves with this juice, when pressed for want of water; for it flows so freely in warm days in spring, that several pints can be obtained from one tree in the course of the day. by boiling this juice, it becomes very sweet; and at last when all the thin watery part has gone off in steam, it becomes thick, like honey; by boiling it still longer, it turns to sugar, when cold. so you see, my dear, that the indians may have found it out by boiling some sap, instead of water, and letting it remain on the fire till it grew thick." "are there many kinds of maple-trees, that sugar can be made from, nurse?" asked the little girl. "yes, [footnote: all the maple tribe are of a saccharine nature. sugar has been made in england from the sap of the sycamore.] my lady; but i the sugar-maple yields the best sap for the purpose; that of the birch-tree, i have heard, can be made into sugar; but it would require a larger quantity; weak wine, or vinegar, is made by the settlers of birch-sap, which is very pleasant tasted. the people who live in the backwoods, and make maple-sugar, always make a keg of vinegar at the sugaring off." "that must be very useful; but if the sap is sweet, how can it be made into such sour stuff as vinegar?" then nurse tried to make lady mary understand that the heat of the sun, or of a warm room, would make the liquor ferment, unless it had been boiled a long time, so as to become very sweet, and somewhat thick. the first fermentation, she told her, would give only a winy taste; but if it continued to ferment a great deal, it turned sour, and became vinegar. "how very useful the maple-tree is, nurse! i wish there were maples in the garden, and i would make sugar, molasses, wine, and vinegar; and what else would i do with my maple-tree?" mrs. frazer said,--"the wood makes excellent fuel; but is also used in making bedsteads, chests of drawers, and many other things. there is a very pretty wood for furniture, called 'bird's-eye maple;' the drawers in my bedroom that you think so pretty are made of it; but it is a disease in the tree that causes it to have these little marks all through the wood. in autumn, this tree improves the forest landscape, for the bright scarlet leaves of the maple give a beautiful look to the woods. the red maple (_acer rubrus_), another species, is very bright when the leaves are changing, but it gives no sugar." "then i will not let it grow in my garden, nurse!" "it is good for other purposes, my dear. the settlers use the bark dyeing wool; and a jet black ink can be made from it, by boiling down the bark with a bit of copperas, in an iron vessel; so you see it is useful. the bright red flowers of this tree look very pretty in the spring; it grows best by the water-side, and some call it 'the swamp-maple.'" this was all mrs. frazer could tell lady mary about the maple-trees. many little girls, as young as the governor's daughter, would have thought it very dull to listen to what her nurse had to say about plants and trees; but lady mary would put aside her dolls and toys, to stand beside her to ask questions, and listen to her answers; the more she heard the more she desired to hear, about these things. "the hearing ear, and the seeing eye, are two things that are never satisfied," saith the wise king solomon. lady mary was delighted with the contents of her indian basket, and spent the rest of her play-hours in looking at the various articles it contained, and asking her nurse questions about the materials of which they were made. some of the bark-boxes were lined with paper, but the doll's cradle was not, and lady mary perceived that the inside of it was very rough, caused by the hard ends of the quills with which it was ornamented. at first she could not think how the squaws worked with the quills, as they could not possibly thread them through the eye of a needle; but her nurse told her that when they want to work any pattern in birch-bark, they trace it with some sharp-pointed instrument, such as a nail, or bodkin, or even a sharp thorn, with which they pierce holes close together round the edge of the leaf, or blade, or bird they have drawn out on the birch-bark; into these holes they insert one end of the quill, the other end is then drawn through the opposite hole, pulled tight, bent a little, and cut off on the inside. this any one of my young readers may see, if they examine the indian baskets or toys, made of birch-bark. "i have seen the squaws in their wigwams at work on these things, sitting cross-legged on their mats,--some had the quilla in a little bark dish on their laps, while others held them in their mouths--not a very safe nor delicate way; but indians are not very nice in some of their habits," said mrs. frazer. "the prettiest sort of indian work is done in coloured moose-hair, with which, formed into a sort of rich embroidery, they ornament the moccasins, hunting-knife, sheaths, and birch-bark baskets and toys." "nurse, if you please, will you tell me what this little animal is designed to represent?" said lady mary, pointing to the figure of the racoon worked in quills on the sheath of the hunting-knife. "it is intended for a racoon, my lady," replied her nurse. "is the racoon a pretty-creature like my squirrel?" "it is much larger than your squirrel; its fur is not nearly so soft or so fine; the colour being black and gray, or dun; the tail barred across, and bushy,--you have seen many sleigh-robes made of racoon-skins, with the tails looking like tassels at the back of the sleighs." "oh yes, and a funny, cunning-looking face peeping out too!" "the face of this little animal is sharp, and the eyes black and keen, like a fox; the feet bare, like the soles of our feet, only black and leathery; their claws are very sharp; they can climb trees very fast. during the winter the racoons sleep in hollow trees, and cling together for the sake of keeping each other warm. the choppers find as many as seven or eight in one nest, fast asleep. most probably the young family remain with the old ones until spring, when they separate. the racoon in its habits is said to resemble the bear; like the bear, it lives chiefly on vegetables, especially indian corn, but i do not think that it lays by any store for winter. they sometimes awake if there come a few warm days, but soon retire again to their warm, cozy nests." "racoons will eat eggs; and fowls are often taken by them,--perhaps this is in the winter, when they wake up and are pressed by hunger." her nurse said that one of her friends had a racoon which he kept in a wooden cage, but he was obliged to have a chain and collar to keep him from getting away, as he used to gnaw the bars asunder; and had slily stolen away and killed some ducks, and was almost as mischievous as a fox, but was very lively and amusing in his way. lady mary now left her good nurse, and took her basket, with all its indian treasures, to show to her mamma, with whom we leave her for the present. chapter vi. canadian birds--snow sparrow--robin redbreast--canadian flowers--american porcupine. "spring is coming, nurse--spring is coming at last!" exclaimed the governor's little daughter, joyfully. "the snow is going away at last! i am tired of the white snow; it makes my eyes ache. i want to see the brown earth, and the grass, and the green moss, and the pretty flowers again." "it will be some days before this deep covering of snow is gone. the streets are still slippery with ice, which it will take some time, my lady, to soften." "but, nurse, the sun shines, and there are little streams of water running along the streets in every direction. see, the snow is gone from under the bushes and trees in the garden. i saw some dear little birds flying about, and i watched them perching on the dry stalks of the tall, rough weeds, and they appeared to be picking seeds out of the husks. can you tell me what birds they were?" "i saw the flock of birds you mean, lady mary. they are the common snow-sparrows [footnote: fringilla nivalia.]--almost our earliest visitants, for they may be seen in april, mingled with the brown song-sparrow, [footnote: fringilla malodia.] flitting about the garden fences, or picking the stalks of the tall mullein and amaranths, to find the seeds that have not been shaken out by the autumn winds; and possibly they also find insects cradled in the husks of the old seed-vessels. these snow-sparrows are very hardy; and though some migrate to the states in the beginning of winter, a few stay in the upper province, and others come back to us before the snow is all gone." "they are very pretty, neat-looking birds, nurse; dark slate colour, with white breasts." "when i was a little girl i used to call them my quaker-birds, they looked so neat and prim. in the summer you may find their nests in the brush-heaps near the edge of the forest. they sing a soft, low song." "nurse, i heard a bird singing yesterday when i was in the garden; a little, plain, brown bird, nurse." "it was a song-sparrow, lady mary. this cheerful little bird comes with the snow-birds, often before the robin." "oh, nurse, the robin! i wish you would show me a darling robin redbreast. i did not know they lived in canada." "the bird that we call the robin in this country, my dear, is not like the little redbreast you have seen at home. our robin is twice as large. though in shape resembling the european robin, i believe it is really a kind of thrush. [footnote: turdus migratoria.] it migrates in the fall, and returns to us early in the spring." "what is migrating, nurse? is it the same as emigrating?" "yes, lady mary; for when a person leaves his native country, and goes to live in another country, he is said to emigrate. this is the reason why the english, scotch, and irish families who come to live in canada are called emigrants." "what colour are the canadian robins, nurse?" "the head is blackish; the back, lead colour; and the breast is pale orange--not so bright a red, however, as the real robin." "have you ever seen their nests, nurse?" "yes, my dear, many of them. it is not a pretty nest. it is large, and coarsely put together, of old dried grass, roots, and dead leaves, plastered inside with clay, mixed with bits of straw, so as to form a sort of mortar. you know, lady mary, that the blackbird and thrush build nests, and plaster them in this way?" the little lady nodded her head in assent. "nurse, i once saw a robin's nest when i was in england. it was in the side of a mossy ditch, with primroses growing close beside it. it was made of green moss, and lined with white wool and hair. it was a pretty nest, with nice eggs in it; much better than your canadian robin's nest." [illustration: watching the birds] "our robins build in upturned roots, in the corners of rail fences, and in the young pear-trees and apple-trees in the orchard. the eggs are a greenish-blue. the robin sings a full, clear song; indeed, he is our best songster. we have so few singing-birds that we prize those that do sing very much." "does the canadian robin come into the house in winter, and pick up the crumbs, as the dear little redbreasts do at home?" "no, lady mary; they are able to find plenty of food abroad when they return to us, but they hop about the houses and gardens pretty freely. in the fall, before they go away, they may be seen in great numbers, running about the old pastures, picking up worms and seeds." "do people see the birds flying away together, nurse?" "not often, my dear; for most birds congregate together in small flocks, and depart unnoticed. many go away at night, when we are sleeping; and some fly very high on cloudy days, so that they are not distinctly seen against the dull, gray sky. the water-birds--such as geese, swans, and ducks--take their flight in large bodies. they are heard making a continual noise in the air; and may be seen grouped in long lines, or in the form of the letter v lying on its side (>), the point generally directed southward or westward, the strongest and oldest birds acting as leaders. when tired, these aquatic generals fall backward into the main body, and are replaced by others." lady mary was much surprised at the order and sagacity displayed by wild-fowl in their flight; and mrs. frazer told her that some other time she would tell her some more facts respecting their migration to other countries. "nurse, will you tell me something about birds' nests, and what they make them of?" "birds that live chiefly in the depths of the forest, or in solitary places, far away from the haunts of men, build their nests of ruder materials, and with less care in the manner of putting them together. dried grass, roots, and a little moss, seem to be the materials they make use of. it has been noticed by many persons, my dear, that those birds that live near towns and villages and cleared farms, soon learn to make better sorts of nests, and to weave into them soft and comfortable things, such--as silk, wool, cotton, and hair." "that is very strange, nurse." "it is so, lady mary; but the same thing may also be seen among human beings. the savage nations are contented with rude dwellings made of sticks and cane, covered with skins' of beasts, bark, or reeds; but when they once unite together in a more social state, and live in villages and towns, a desire for improvement takes place. the tent of skins or the rude shanty is exchanged for a hut of better shape; and this in time gives place to houses and furniture of more useful and ornamental kinds." "nurse, i heard mamma say that the britons who lived in england were once savages, and lived in caves, huts, and thick woods; that they dressed in skins, and painted their bodies like the indians." "when you read the history of england, you will see that such was the case," said mrs. frazer. "nurse, perhaps the little birds like to see the flowers, and the sunshine, and the blue sky, and men's houses. i will make my garden very pretty this spring, and plant some nice flowers, to please the dear little birds." many persons would have thought such remarks very foolish in our little lady. but mrs. frazer, who was a good and wise woman, did not laugh at the little girl; for she thought it was a lovely thing to see her wish to give happiness to the least of god's creatures, for it was imitating his own goodness and mercy, which delight in the enjoyment of the things which he has called into existence. "please, mrs. frazer, will you tell me which flowers will be first in bloom?" "the very first is a plant that comes up without leaves." "nurse, that is the christmas-rose. [footnote: winter aconite] i have seen it in the old country." "no, lady mary; it is the colt's-foot. [footnote: tussilago fartara] it is a common-looking, coarse, yellow-blossomed flower: it is the first that blooms after the snow. then comes the pretty snow flower, or hepatica. its pretty tufts of white, pink, or blue starry flowers may be seen on the open clearing, or beneath the shade of the half cleared woods or upturned roots and sunny banks. like the english daisy, it grows everywhere, and the sight of its bright starry blossoms delights every eye. the next flower that comes in is the dog's tooth violet." [footnote: erythronium] "what a droll name!" exclaimed lady mary, laughing. "i suppose it is called so from the sharpness of the flower leaves (petals), my lady, but it is a beautiful yellow lily. the leaves are also pretty, they are veined or clouded with milky white or dusky purple. the plant has a bulbous root, and in the month of april sends up its single, nodding, yellow spotted flowers. they grow in large beds, where the ground is black, moist, and rich, near creeks on the edge of the forest." "do you know any other pretty flowers, nurse?" "yes, my lady, there are a great many that bloom in april and may. white violets, and blue and yellow of many kinds. and then there is the spring beauty, [footnote: claytonia] a delicate little flower, with pink striped bells, and the everlasting flower, [footnote: graphalium] and saxifrage, and the white and dark red lily, that the yankees call 'white and red death.' [footnote: trillium or wake robin] these have three green leaves about the middle of the stalk, and the flower is composed of three pure white or deep red leaves--petals my father used to call them: for my father, lady mary, was a botanist, and knew the names of all the flowers, and i learned them from him. the most curious is the moccasin flower. the early one is bright golden yellow, and has a bag or sack which is curiously spotted with ruby red, and its petals are twisted like horns. there is a hard, thick piece that lies down just above the sack or moccasin part; and if you lift this up, you see a pair of round, dark spots like eyes, and the indians say it is like the face of a hound, with the nose and black eyes plain to be seen. two of the shorter, curled, brown petals look like flapped ears, one on each side of the face. there is a more beautiful sort, purple and white, which blooms in august. the plant is taller, and bears large, lovely flowers." "and has it a funny face and ears too, nurse?" "yes, my dear, but the face is more like an ape's: it is even more distinct than in the yellow moccasin. when my brother and i were children, we used to fold back the petals, and call them baby flowers: the sack, we thought, looked like a baby's white frock." lady mary was much amused at this notion. "there are a great number of very beautiful and also very curious flowers growing in the forest," said mrs. frazer. "some of them are used in medicine, and some by the indians for dyes, with which they stain the baskets and porcupine quills. one of our earliest flowers is called the blood-root. [footnote: sanguivaria.] it comes up a delicate, white-folded bud, within a vine-shaped leaf, which is veined on the under side with orange yellow. if the stem or the root of this plant be broken, a scarlet juice drops out very fast. it is with this the squaws dye red and orange colours." "i am glad to hear this, nurse. now i can tell my dear mamma what the baskets and quills are dyed with." "the flower is very pretty, like a white crocus, only not so large. you saw some crocuses in the conservatory the other day, i think, my dear lady." "oh yes; yellow ones, and purple too, in a funny china thing, with holes in its back, and the flowers came up through the holes. the gardener said it was a porcupine. "please, nurse, tell me of what colours real porcupine quills are?" "they are white and grayish-brown." then lady mary brought a print and showed it to her nurse, saying,-- "nurse, is the porcupine like this picture?" "the american porcupine, my dear, is not so large as this species: its spines are smaller and weaker. it resembles the common hedgehog more nearly. it is an innocent animal, feeding mostly on roots and small fruits. it burrows in dry, stony hillocks, and passes the cold weather in sleep. it goes abroad chiefly during the night. the spines of the canadian porcupine are much weaker than those of the african species. the indians trap these creatures, and eat their flesh. they bake them in their skins in native ovens--holes made in the earth, lined with stones, which they make very hot, covering them over with embers." [footnote: there is a plant of the lily tribe, upon whose roots the porcupine feeds, as well as on wild bulbs and berries, and the bark of the black spruce and larch. it will also eat apples and indian corn.] mrs. frazer had told lady mary all she knew about the porcupine, when campbell, the footman, came to say that her papa wanted to see her. chapter vii. indian bag--indian embroidery--beaver's tail--beaver architecture-- of the beaver--beaver tools--beaver meadows. when lady mary went down to her father, he presented her with a beautiful indian bag, which he had brought from lake huron, in the upper province. it was of fine doeskin, very nicely wrought with dyed moose-hair, and the pattern was very pretty; the border was of scarlet feathers on one side, and blue on the other, which formed a rich silken fringe at each edge. this was a present from the wife of a chief on manitoulin island. lady mary was much delighted with her present, and admired this new-fashioned work in moose-hair very much. the feathers, mrs. frazer told her, were from the summer red-bird or war-bird, and the blue-bird, both of which lady mary said she had seen. the indians use these feathers as ornaments for their heads and shoulders on grand occasions. [illustration: the present from father] lady mary recollected hearing her mamma speak of indians who wore mantles and dresses of gay feathers. they were chiefs of the sandwich islands she believed, who had these superb habits. "you might tell me something about these indians, nurse," said little mary. "i might occupy whole days in describing their singular customs, my dear," replied mrs. frazer, "and i fear you would forget one half of what i told you. but there are numerous interesting books in reference to them, which you will read as you grow older. you would be much amused at the appearance of an indian chief, when dressed out in the feathers we have been speaking of, his face covered with red paint, his robe flowing loose and free, and his calumet, or pipe, gaily decked with ribbons. the indians are great orators, being distinguished by their graceful gestures, their animated air, and their vigorous and expressive style. they are tall well made, and athletic, their complexion of a reddish copper colour, their hair long, coarse, and jet black. their senses are remarkably acute, and they can see and hear with extraordinary distinctness. they will follow up the track of a man or animal through the dense woods and across the vast plains by trifling signs, which no european can detect. their temperament is cold and unimpassioned, they are capable of enduring extreme hunger and thirst, and seem almost insensible to pain. under certain circumstances they are generous and hospitable, but when once roused, their vengeance is not easily satisfied. they will pursue a real or supposed foe with a hatred which never tires, and gratify their lust of cruelty by exposing him, when captured, to the most horrible torments. they support themselves by fishing and on the spoils of the chase; and though a few tribes have become partially civilized, and devoted themselves to the peaceful pursuits of husbandry, the majority retire further and further into the dense forests of the west as the white man continues his advance, and wander, like their forefathers, about the lonely shores of the great lakes, and on the banks of the vast rolling rivers." "thank you, nurse; i will not forget what you have told me. and now, have you anything more to say about birds and flowers? i can never weary of hearing about such interesting objects." "i promised to tell you about the beavers, my lady," replied mrs. frazer. "oh yes, about the beavers that make the dams and the nice houses, and cut down whole trees. i am glad you can tell me something about those curious creatures; for mamma bought me a pretty picture, which i will show you, if you please," said the little girl. "but what is this odd-looking, black thing here? is it a dried fish? it must be a black bass. yes, nurse, i am sure it is." the nurse smiled, and said: "it is not a fish at all, my dear; it is a dried beaver's tail. i brought it from the back lakes when i was at home, that you might see it. see, my lady, how curiously the beaver's tail is covered with scales; it looks like some sort of black leather, stamped in a diaper pattern. before it is dried it is very heavy, weighing three or four pounds. i have heard my brothers and some of the indian trappers say, that the animal makes use of its tail to beat the sides of the dams and smooth the mud and clay, as a plasterer uses a trowel. some people think otherwise, but it seems well suited from its shape and weight for the purpose, and, indeed, as the walls they raise seem to have been smoothed by some implement, i see no reason to disbelieve the story." "and what do the beavers make dams with, nurse?" "with small trees cut into pieces, and drawn in close to each other; and then the beavers fill the spaces between with sods, and stones, and clay, and all sorts of things, that they gather together and work up into a solid wall. the walls are made broad at the bottom, and are several feet in thickness, to make them strong enough to keep the water from washing through them. the beavers assemble together in the fall, about the months of october and november, to build their houses and repair their dams. they prefer running water, as it is less likely to freeze. they work in large parties, sometimes fifty or a hundred together, and do a great deal in a short time. they work during the night." "of what use is the dam, nurse?" "the dam is for the purpose of securing a constant supply of water, without which they could not live. when they have enclosed the beaver-pond, they separate into family parties of eleven or twelve, perhaps more, sometimes less, and construct dwellings, which are raised against the inner walls of the dam. these little huts have two chambers, one in which they sleep, which is warm and soft and dry, lined with roots and sedges and dry grass, and any odds and ends that serve their purpose. the feeding place is below; in this is stored the wood or the bark on which they feed. the entrance to this is under water, and hidden from sight; but it is there that the cunning hunter sets his trap to catch the unsuspecting beavers. "a beaver's house is large enough to allow two men a comfortable sleeping-room, and it is kept very clean. it is built of sticks, stones, and mud, and is well plastered outside and in. the trowel the beaver uses in plastering is his tail; this is considered a great delicacy at the table. their beds are made of chips, split as fine as the brush of an indian broom, these are disposed in one corner, and kept dry and sweet and clean. it is the bark of the green wood that is used by the beavers for food; after the stick is peeled, they float it out at a distance from the house. many good housewives might learn a lesson of neatness and order from the humble beaver. [illustration: beavers making a dam] "in large lakes and rivers the beavers make no dams, they have water enough without putting themselves to that trouble; but in small creeks they dam up, and make a better stop-water than is done by the millers. the spot where they build their dams is the most labour-saving place in the valley, and where the work will stand best. when the dam is finished, not a drop of water escapes; their work is always well done." "nurse, do not beavers, and otters, and musk rats feel cold while living in the water; and do they not get wet?" "no, my dear; they do not feel cold, and cannot get wet, for the thick coating of hair and down keeps them warm, and these animals, like ducks and geese, and all kinds of water-fowls, are supplied with a bag of oil, with which they dress their coats, and that throws off the moisture; for you know, lady mary, that oil and water will not mix. all creatures that live in the water are provided with oily fur, or smooth scales, that no water can penetrate; and water-birds, such as ducks and geese, have a little bag of oil, with which they dress their feathers." "are there any beavers in england, nurse?" asked lady mary. "no, my lady, not now; but i remember my father told me that this animal once existed in numbers in different countries of europe; he said they were still to be found in norway, sweden, russia, germany, and even in france. [footnote: the remains of beaver dams in wales prove that this interesting animal was once a native of great britain.] the beaver abounds mostly in north america, and in its cold portions; in solitudes that no foot of man but the wild indian has ever penetrated--in lonely streams and inland lakes--these harmless creatures are found fulfilling god's purpose, and doing injury to none. "i think if there had been any beavers in the land of israel in solomon's time, that the wise king who spake of ants, spiders, grasshoppers, and conies, [footnote: the rock rabbits of judea.] would have named the beavers also, as patterns of gentleness, cleanliness, and industry. they work together in bands, and live in families, and never fight or disagree. they have no chief or leader; they seem to have neither king nor ruler; yet they work in perfect love and harmony. how pleasant it would be, lady mary, if all christian people would love each other as these poor beavers seem to do." "nurse, how can beavers cut down trees; they have neither axes nor saws?" "here, lady mary, are the axes and saws with which god has provided these little creatures;" and mrs. frazer showed lady mary two long curved tusks, of a reddish-brown colour, which she told her were the tools used by the beavers to cut and gnaw the trees; she said she had seen trees as thick as a man's leg that had been felled by these simple tools. lady mary was much surprised that such small animals could cut through anything so thick. "in nature," replied her nurse, "we often see great things done by very small means. patience and perseverance work well. the poplar, birch, and some other trees, on which beavers feed, and which they also use in making their dams, are softer and more easily cut than oak, elm, or birch would be; these trees are found growing near the water, and in such places as the beavers build in. the settler owes to the industrious habits of this animal those large open tracts of land called beaver meadows, covered with long, thick, rank grass, which he cuts down and uses as hay. these beaver meadows have the appearance of dried-up lakes. the soil is black and spongy; for you may put a stick down to the depth of many feet. it is only in the months of july, august, and september, that they are dry. bushes of black alder, with a few poplars and twining shrubs, are scattered over the beaver meadows, some of which have high stony banks, and little islands of trees. on these are many pretty wild-flowers; among others, i found growing on the dry banks some real hare-bells, both blue and white." "ah, dear nurse, hare-bells! did you find real hare-bells, such as grow on the bonny highland hills among the heather? i wish papa would let me go to the upper province to see the beaver meadows, and gather the dear blue-bells." "my father, lady mary, wept when i brought him a handful of these flowers; for he said it reminded him of his highland home. i have found these pretty bells growing on the wild hills about rice lake, near the water, as well as near the beaver meadows." "do the beavers sleep in the winter time, nurse?" "they do not lie torpid, as racoons do, though they may sleep a good deal; but as they lay up a great store of provisions for the winter, of course they must awake sometimes to eat it." lady mary thought so too. "in the spring, when the long warm days return, they quit their winter retreat, and separate in pairs, living in holes in the banks of lakes and rivers, and do not unite again till the approach of the cold calls them together to prepare for winter, as i told you." "who calls them all to build their winter houses?" asked the child. "the providence of god, usually called instinct, that guides these animals; doubtless it is the law of nature given to them by god. "there is a great resemblance in the habits of the musk-rat and the beaver. they all live in the water; all separate in the spring, and meet again in the fall to build and work together; and, having helped each other in these things, they retire to a private dwelling, each family to its own. the otter does not make a dam, like the beaver, and i am not sure that, like the beaver, it works in companies: it lives on fish and roots; the musk-rat on shell-fish and roots; and the beaver on vegetable food mostly. musk-rats and beavers are used for food, but the flesh of the otter is too fishy to be eaten." "nurse, can people eat musk-rats?" asked lady mary, with surprise. "yes, my lady, in the spring months the hunters and indians reckon them good food. i have eaten them myself, but i did not like them, they were too fat. musk-rats build a little house of rushes, and plaster it, they have two chambers, and do not lie torpid, they build in shallow, rushy places in lakes but in spring they quit their winter houses and are often found in holes among the roots of trees. they live on mussels and shell fish. the fur is used in making caps, and hats, and fur gloves." "nurse, did you ever see a tame beaver?" "yes, my dear, i knew a squaw who had a tame beaver, which she used to take out in her canoe with her, and it sat in her lap, or on her shoulder, and was very playful." just then the dinner bell rang, and as dinner at government house waits for no one, lady mary was obliged to defer hearing more about beavers until another time. chapter viii. indian boy and his pets--tame beaver at home--kitten, wildfire--pet racoon and the spaniel puppies--canadian flora. "nurse, you have told me a great many nice stories; now i can tell you one, if you would like to hear it;" and the governor's little daughter fixed her bright eyes, beaming with intelligence, on the face of her nurse, who smiled, and said she should like very much to hear the story. "you must guess what it is to be about, nurse." "i am afraid i shall not guess right. is it 'little red riding hood,' or 'old mother hubbard,' or 'jack the giant-killer?'" "oh, nurse, to guess such silly stories!" said the little girl, stopping her ears. "those are too silly for me even to tell baby! my story is a nice story about a darling tame beaver. major pickford took me on his knee and told me the story last night." mrs. frazer begged lady mary's pardon for making such foolish guesses, and declared she should like very much to hear major pickford's story of the tame beaver. "well, nurse, you must know there was once a gentleman who lived in the bush, on the banks of a small lake, somewhere in canada, a long, long way from montreal. he lived all alone in a little log-house, and spent his time in fishing and trapping and hunting; and he was very dull, for he had no wife, and no little child like me to talk to. the only people whom he used to see were some french lumberers; and now and then the indians would come in their canoes and fish on his lake, and make their wigwams on the lake-shore, and hunt deer in the wood. the gentleman was very fond of the indians, and used to pass a great deal of his time with them, and talk to them in their own language. "well, nurse, one day he found a poor little indian boy who had been lost in the woods, and was half starved, sick, and weak; and the kind gentleman took him home to his house, and fed and nursed him till he got quite strong again. was not that good, nurse?" "it was quite right, my lady. people should always be kind to the sick and weak, and especially to a poor indian stranger. i like the story very much, and shall be glad to hear more about the indian boy." "nurse, there is not a great deal more about the indian boy; for when the indian party to which he belonged returned from hunting, he went away to his own home; but i forgot to tell you that the gentleman had often said how much he should like to have a young beaver to make a pet of. he was very fond of pets; he had a dear little squirrel, just like mine, nurse, a flying squirrel, which he had made so tame that it slept in his bosom and lived in his pocket, where he kept nuts and acorns and apples for it to eat; and he had a racoon too, nurse--only think, a real racoon! and major pickford told me something so droll about the racoon, only i want first to go on with the story about the beaver." "one day, as the gentleman was sitting by the fire reading, he heard a slight noise, and when he looked up was quite surprised to see an indian boy in a blanket coat, with his dark eyes fixed upon his face, while his long black hair hung down on his shoulders. he looked quite wild, and did not say a word, but only opened his blanket coat, and showed a brown-furred animal asleep on his breast. what do you think it was, nurse?" "a young beaver, my lady." "yes, nurse, it was a little beaver. the good indian boy had caught it and tamed it on purpose to bring it to his white friend, who had been so good to him. "i cannot tell you all the amusing things the indian boy said about the beaver, though the major told them to me; but i cannot talk like an indian, you know, mrs. frazer. after the boy went away, the gentleman set to work and made a little log-house for his beaver to live in, and set it in a corner of the shanty, and he hollowed a large sugar trough for its water, that it might have water to wash in, and cut down some young willows and poplars and birch trees for it to eat. and the little beaver grew very fond of its new master, it would fondle him just like a little squirrel, put its soft head on his knee, and climb up on his lap. he taught it to eat bread, sweet cake, and biscuit, and even roast and boiled meat, and it would drink milk too. "well, nurse, the little beaver lived very happily with this kind gentleman till the next fall, and then it began to get very restless and active, as if it were tired of doing nothing. one day its master heard of the arrival of a friend some miles off so he left the beaver to take care of itself, and went away, but he did not forget to give it some green wood, and plenty of water to drink and play in. he stayed several days, for he was very glad to meet with a friend in that lonely place, but when he came back, he could not open his door, and was obliged to get in at the window. what do you think the beaver had done? it had built a dam against the side of the trough, and a wall across the door, and it had dug up the hearth and the floor, and carried the earth and the stones to help to make its dam, and puddled it with water, and made such work. the house was in perfect confusion, with mud, chips bark, and stone, and oh, nurse, worse than all that, it had gnawed through the legs of the table and chairs, and they were lying on the floor in such a state; and it cost the poor gentleman so much trouble to put things to rights again, and make more chairs and another table! and when i laughed at the pranks of that wicked beaver--for i could not help laughing--the major pinched my ear, and called me a mischievous puss." mrs. frazer was very much entertained with the story, and she told lady mary that she had heard of tame beavers doing such things before; for in the season of the year when beavers congregate together to repair their works and build their winter houses, those that are in confinement become restless and unquiet, and show the instinct that moves these animals to provide their winter retreats, and lay up their stores of food. "nurse," said lady mary, "i did not think that beavers and racoons could be taught to eat sweet cake, and bread, and meat." "many animals learn to eat very different food to what they are accustomed to live upon in a wild state. the wild cat lives on raw flesh; while the domestic cat, you know, my dear, will eat cooked meat, and even salt meat, with bread and milk and many other things. i knew a person who had a black kitten called 'wildfire,' which would sip whisky toddy out of his glass, and seemed to like it as well as milk or water, only it made him too wild and frisky." "nurse, the racoon that the gentleman had would drink sweet whisky punch; but my governess said it was not right to give it to him; and major pickford laughed, and declared the racoon must have looked very funny when he was tipsy. was not the major naughty to say so?" mrs. frazer said it was not quite proper. "the racoon, lady mary, in its natural state, has all the wildness and cunning of the fox and weasel. he will eat flesh, poultry, and sucking pigs, and is also very destructive to indian corn. these creatures abound in the western states, and are killed in great numbers for their skins. the indian hunters eat the flesh, and say it is very tender and good; but it is not used for food in canada. the racoon belongs to the same class of animals as the bear, which it resembles in some points, though; being small, it is not so dangerous either to man or the larger animals. "and now, my dear, let me show you some pretty wild-flowers a little girl brought me this morning for you, as she heard that you loved flowers. there are yellow-mocassins, or ladies'-slippers, the same that i told you of a little while ago; and white lilies, crane-bills, and these pretty lilac geraniums; here are scarlet cups, and blue lupines--they are all in bloom now--and many others. if we were on the rice lake plains, my lady, we could gather all these, and many, many more. in the months of june and july those plains are like a garden, and their roses scent the air." "nurse, i will ask my dear papa to take me to the rice lake plains," said the little girl, as she gazed with delight on the lovely canadian flowers. chapter ix. nurse tells lady mary about a little boy who was eaten by a bear in the province of new brunswick--of a baby that was carried away, but taken alive--a walk in the garden--humming-birds--canadian balsams. "nurse," said lady mary, "did you ever hear of any one having been eaten by a wolf or bear?" "i have heard of such things happening, my dear, in this country; but only in lonely, unsettled parts, near swamps and deep woods." "did you ever hear of any little boy or girl having been carried off by a wolf or bear?" asked the child. "no, my lady, not in canada, though similar accidents may have happened there; but when i was a young girl i heard of such tragedies at new brunswick--one of the british provinces lying to the east of this, and a cold and rather barren country, but containing many minerals, such as coal, limestone, and marble, besides vast forests of pine, and small lakes and rivers. it resembles lower canada in many respects; but it is not so pleasant as the province of upper canada, neither is it so productive. "thirty years ago it was not so well cleared or cultivated as it is now, and the woods were full of wild beasts that dwelt among the swamps and wild rocky valleys. bears, and wolves, and catamounts abounded, with foxes of several kinds, and many of the fine-furred and smaller species of animals, which were much sought for on account of their skins. well, my dear, near the little village where my aunt and uncle were living, there were great tracts of unbroken swamps and forests, which of course sheltered many wild animals. a sad accident happened a few days before we arrived, which caused much sorrow and no little fright in the place. "an old man went out into the woods one morning with his little grandson to look for the oxen, which had strayed from the clearing. they had not gone many yards from the enclosure when they heard a crackling and rustling among the underwood and dry timber that strewed the ground. the old man, thinking it was caused by the cattle they were looking for, bade the little boy go forward and drive them on the track; but in a few he heard a fearful cry from the child, and hurrying forward through the tangled brushwood, saw the poor little boy in the deadly grasp of a huge black bear, which was making off at a fast trot with his prey. "the old man was unarmed, and too feeble to pursue the dreadful beast. he could only wring his hands and rend his gray hairs in grief and terror; but his lamentations could not restore the child to life. a band of hunters and lumberers, armed with rifles and knives, turned out to beat the woods, and were not long in tracking the savage animal to his retreat in a neighbouring cedar swamp. a few fragments of the child's dress were all that remained of him; but the villagers had the satisfaction of killing the great she-bear with, her two half-grown cubs. the magistrates of the district gave them a large sum for shooting these creatures, and the skins were sold, and the money given to the parents of the little boy; but no money could console them for the loss of their beloved child. "the flesh of the bear is eaten both by indians and hunters; it is like coarse beef. the hams are cured and dried, and by many thought to be a great dainty." "mrs. frazer, i would not eat a bit of the ham made from a wicked, cruel bear, that eats little children," said lady mary. "i wonder the hunters were not afraid to go into the swamps where such savage beasts lived. are there as many bears and wolves now in those places?" "no, my lady; great changes have taken place since that time. as the country becomes more thickly settled, the woods disappear. the axe and the fire destroy the haunts that sheltered these wild beasts, and they retreat further back, where the deer and other creatures on which they principally feed abound." "do the hunters follow them?" "there is no place, however difficult or perilous, where the hunter will not venture in search of game." "and do they pursue the graceful deer? they are so pretty, with their branching antlers and slender limbs, that i should have thought no man could be so cruel as to slay them." "but their flesh is very savoury, and the indian, when tired of bear's meat, is glad of a dish of fresh venison. so with his gun--if he has one--or with his bow and arrow, he lies in wait among the foliage and brushwood of the forest, or behind the rocks on the bank of some swift torrent, and when the unsuspecting stag makes his appearance on the opposite crag, he takes a careful aim, lets fly his rapid arrow, and seldom fails to kill his victim; which, dropping into the stream below, is borne by the current within his reach." "they are brave men, those hunters," said lady mary; "but i fear they are very cruel. i wish they would only kill the furious bears. that was a sad story you told me just now, nurse, about the poor little boy. have you heard of any other sufferers; or do people sometimes escape from these monsters?" "i also heard of a little child," continued nurse, "not more than two years old, who was with her mother in the harvest-field, who had spread a shawl on the ground near a tall tree, and laid the child upon it to sleep or play, when a bear came out of the wood and carried her off, leaping the fence with her in his arms. but the mother ran screaming after the beast, and the reapers pursued so closely with their pitch-forks and reaping-hooks, that bruin, who was only a half-grown bear, being hard pressed, made for a tree; and as it was not easy to climb with a babe in his arms, he quietly laid the little one down at the foot of the tree, and soon was among the thick branches out of the reach of the enemy. i daresay baby must have wondered what rough nurse had taken her up; but she was unhurt, and is alive now." "i am so glad, nurse, the dear baby was not hugged to death by that horrid black bear; and i hope he was killed." "i daresay, my lady, he was shot by some of the men; for they seldom worked near the forest without having a gun with them, in case of seeing deer, or pigeons, or partridges." "i should not like to live in that country, mrs. frazer; for a bear, a wolf, or a catamount might eat me." "i never heard of a governor's daughter being eaten by a bear," said mrs. frazer, laughing, as she noticed the earnest expression on the face of her little charge. she then continued her account of the ursine family. "the bear retires in cold weather, and sleeps till warmer seasons awaken him. he does not lay up any store of winter provisions, because he seldom rouses himself during the time of his long sleep; and in the spring he finds food, both vegetable and animal, for he can eat anything when hungry, like the hog. he often robs the wild bees of their honey, and his hide, being so very thick, seems insensible to the stings of the angry bees. bruin will sometimes find odd places for his winter bed, for a farmer, who was taking a stack of wheat into his barn to be threshed in the winter time, once found a large black bear comfortably asleep in the middle of the sheaves." "how could the bear have got into the stack of wheat, nurse?" "the claws of this animal are so strong, and he makes so much use of his paws, which are almost like hands, that he must have pulled the sheaves out and so made an entrance for himself. his skin and flesh amply repaid the farmer for any injury the grain had received. i remember seeing the bear brought home in triumph on the top of the load of wheat. bears often do great mischief by eating the indian corn when it is ripening; for besides what they devour, they spoil a vast deal by trampling the plants down with their clumsy feet. they will, when hard pressed by hunger, come close to the farmer's house and rob the pig-sty of its tenants. many years ago, before the forest was cleared away in the neighbourhood of what is now a large town, but in those days consisted of only a few poor log-houses, a settler was much annoyed by the frequent visits of a bear to his hog-pen. at last he resolved to get a neighbour who was a very expert hunter to come with his rifle and watch with him. the pen where the fatling hogs were was close to the log house, it had a long, low, shingled roof, and was carefully fastened up, so that no bear could find entrance. well, the farmer's son and the hunter had watched for two nights, and no bear came, on the third they were both tired, and lay down to sleep upon the floor of the kitchen, when the farmer's son was awakened by a sound as of some one tearing and stripping the shingles from the pen. he looked out, it was moonlight, and there he saw the dark shadow of some tall figure on the ground, and spied the great black bear standing on its hinder legs, and pulling the shingles off as fast as it could lay its big black paws upon them. the hogs were in a great fright, screaming and grunting with terror. the young man stepped back into the house, roused up the hunter, who took aim from the doorway, and shot the bear dead. the head of the huge beast was nailed up as a trophy, and the meat was dried or salted for winter use, and great were the rejoicings of the settlers, who had suffered so much from bruin's thefts of corn and pork." "i am glad the hunter killed him, nurse, for he might, have eaten up some of the little children, when they were playing about in the fields." "sometimes," continued mrs. frazer, "the bears used to visit the sugar bush, when the settlers were making maple sugar, and overturn the sap troughs and drink the sweet liquid. i daresay they would have been glad of a taste of the sugar too, if they could have got at it. the bear is not so often met with now as it used to be many years ago. the fur of the bear used to be worn as muffs and tippets, but is now little used for that purpose, being thought to be too coarse and heavy; but it is still made into caps for soldiers, and used for sleigh-robes." this was all mrs. frazer chose to recollect about bears, for she was unwilling to dwell long on any gloomy subject, which she knew was not good for young minds: so she took her charge into the garden to look at the flower-beds, and watch the birds and butterflies; and soon the child was gaily running from flower to flower, watching with childish interest the insects flitting to and fro. at last she stopped, and holding up her finger to warn mrs. frazer not to come too near, stood gazing in wonder and admiration on a fluttering object that was hovering over the full-blown honey-suckles on a trellis near the greenhouse. mrs. frazer approached her with due caution. "nurse," whispered the child, "look at that curious moth with a long bill like a bird; see its beautiful shining colours. it has a red necklace, like mamma's rubies. oh, what a curious creature! it must be a moth or a butterfly. what is it?" "it is neither a moth nor a butterfly, my dear. it is a humming-bird." [illustration: caught at last] "oh, nurse, a humming-bird--a real humming-bird!--pretty creature! but it is gone. oh, nurse, it darts through the air as swift as an arrow! what was it doing--looking at the honey-suckles? i daresay it thought them very pretty; or was it smelling them? they are very sweet." "my dear child, he might be doing so; i don't know. perhaps the good god has given to these creatures the same senses for enjoying sweet scents and bright colours as we have; yet it was not for the perfume, but the honey, that this little bird came to visit the open flowers. the long slender bill, which the humming-bird inserts into the tubes of the flowers, is his instrument for extracting the honey. look at the pretty creature's ruby throat, and green and gold feathers." "how does it make that whirring noise, nurse, just like the humming of a top?" asked the child. "the little bird produces the sound, from which he derives his name, by beating the air with his wings. this rapid motion is necessary to sustain his position in the air while sucking the flowers. "i remember, lady mary, first seeing humming-birds when i was about your age, while walking in the garden. it was a bright september morning, and the rail-fences and every dry twig of the brushwood were filled with the webs of the field-spider. some, like thick white muslin, lay upon the grass; while others were suspended from trees like forest lace-work, on the threads of which the dewdrops hung like strings of shining pearls; and hovering round the flowers were several ruby-throated humming-birds, the whirring of whose wings as they beat the air sounded like the humming of a spinning-wheel. and i thought, as i gazed upon them, and the beautiful lace webs that hung among the bushes, that they must have been the work of these curious creatures, which had made them to catch flies, and had strung the bright dewdrops thereon to entice them--so little did i know of the nature of these birds. but my father told me a great deal about them, and read me some very pretty things about humming-birds; and one day, lady mary, i will show you a stuffed one a friend gave me, with its tiny nest and eggs not bigger than peas." lady mary was much delighted at the idea of seeing the little nest and eggs, and mrs. frazer said, "there is a wild-flower that is known to the canadians by the name of the humming-flower, on account of the fondness which those birds evince for it. this plant grows on the moist banks of creeks it is very beautiful, of a bright orange-scarlet colour. the stalks and stem of the plant are almost transparent. some call it speckled jewels, for the bright blossoms are spotted with dark purple; and some, touch-me-not." "that is a droll name, nurse," said lady mary. "does it prick one's finger like a thistle?" "no, my lady; but when the seed-pods are nearly ripe, if you touch them they spring open and curl into little rings, and the seed drops out." "nurse, when you see any of these curious flowers, will you show them to me?" mrs. frazer said they would soon be in bloom, and promised lady mary to bring her some, and to show her the singular manner in which the pods burst. "but, my lady," said she, "the gardener will show you the same thing in the greenhouse. as soon as the seed-pods of the balsams in the pots begin to harden they will spring and curl, if touched, and drop the seeds like the wild plant; for they belong to the same family. but it is time for your ladyship to go in." when lady mary returned to the schoolroom, her governess read to her some interesting accounts of the habits of the humming-bird. "'this lively little feathered gem--for in its hues it unites the brightness of the emerald, the richness of the ruby, and the lustre of the topaz--includes in its wide range more than one hundred species. it is the smallest, and at the same time the most brilliant, of all the american birds. its headquarters may be said to be among the glowing flowers and luxurious fruits of the torrid zone and the tropics. but one species, the ruby-throated, is widely diffused, and is a summer visitor all over north america, even within the arctic circle, where, for a brief space of time, it revels in the ardent heat of the short-lived summer of the north. like the cuckoo, it follows the summer wherever it flies. "'the ruby-throated humming-bird [footnote: trochilus rubus] is the only species that is known in canada. with us it builds and breeds, and then returns to summer skies and warmer airs. the length of the humming-bird is only three inches and a half, and four and a quarter in extent from one tip of the wing to the other when on the wing the bird has the form of a cross, the wings forming no curve, though the tail is depressed during the time that it is poised in the act of sucking the honey of the flower. the tongue is long and slender; the bill long and straight; the legs are very short, so that the feet are hardly visible when on the wing. they are seldom seen walking, but rest on the slender sprigs when tired. the flight is so rapid that it seems without effort. the humming sound is produced by the wing, in the act of keeping itself balanced while feeding in this position. they resemble the hawk-moth, which also keeps up a constant vibratory motion with its wings. this little creature is of a temper as fierce and fiery as its plumes, often attacking birds of treble its size; but it seems very little disturbed by the near approach of the human species, often entering open windows, and hovering around the flowers in the flower-stand; it has even been known to approach the vase on the table, and insert its bill among the flowers, quite fearless of those persons who sat in the room. sometimes these beautiful creatures have suffered themselves to be captured by the hand. "'the nest of the ruby throated humming-bird is usually built on a mossy branch. at first sight it looks like a tuft of gray lichens, but when closely examined shows both care and skill in its construction, the outer wall being of fine bluish lichens cemented together, and the interior lined with the silken threads of the milk weed, the velvety down of the tall mullein, or the brown hair like filaments of the fern. these, or similar soft materials, form the bed of the tiny young ones. the eggs are white, two in number, and about the size of a pea, but oblong in shape. the parents hatch their eggs in about ten days and in a week the little ones are able to fly, though the old birds continue to supply them with honey for some time longer. the mexican indians give the name of sunbeam to the humming-bird, either in reference to its bright plumage or its love of sunshine. "'the young of the humming-bird does not attain its gay plumage till the second year. the male displays the finer colours--the ruby necklace being confined to the old male bird. the green and coppery lustre of the feathers is also finer in the male bird.'" lady mary was much pleased with what she had heard about the humming-bird, and she liked the name of sunbeam for this lovely creature. chapter x. aurora borealis, or northern lights, most frequently seen in northern climates--called merry dancers--rose tints--tint-like appearance--lady mary frightened. one evening, just as mrs. frazer was preparing to undress lady mary, miss campbell, her governess, came into the nursery, and taking the little girl by the hand, led her to the window, and bade her look out on the sky towards the north, where a low dark arch, surmounted by an irregular border, like a silver fringe, was visible. for some moments lady mary stood silently regarding this singular appearance; at length she said, "it is a rainbow, miss campbell; but where is the sun that you told me shone into the drops of rain to make the pretty colours?" "it is not a rainbow, my dear; the sun has been long set." "can the moon make rainbows at night?" asked the little girl. [illustration: the aurora borealis] "the moon does sometimes, but very rarely, make what is called a _lunar_ rainbow. luna was the ancient name for the moon. but the arch you now see is caused neither by the light of the sun nor of the moon, but is known by the name of aurora borealis, or northern lights. the word aurora means morning or dawn; and borealis, northern. you know, my dear, what is meant by the word dawn; it is the light that is seen in the sky before the sun rises." lady mary replied, "yes, miss campbell, i have often seen the sun rise, and once very early too, when i was ill, and could not sleep, for nurse lifted me in her arms out of bed, and took me to the window. the sky was all over of a bright golden colour, with streaks of rosy red; and nurse said, 'it is dawn; the sun will soon be up.' and i saw the beautiful sun rise from behind the trees and hills. he came up so gloriously, larger than when we see him in the middle of the sky, and i could look at him without hurting my eyes." "sunrise is indeed a glorious sight, my dear; but he who made the sun is more glorious still. do you remember what we read yesterday in the psalms?-- "verse the heavens declare the glory of god and the firmament showeth his handywork. one day telleth another and one night certifieth another. there is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard among them. in them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course. "the northern lights, lady mary, are frequently visible in canada, but are most brilliant in the colder regions near the north pole, where they serve to give light during the dark season to those dismal countries from which the sun is so many months absent. the light of the aurora borealis is so soft and beautiful, that any object can be distinctly seen; though in those cold countries there are few human beings to be benefited by this beautiful provision of nature." "the wild beasts and birds must be glad of the pretty lights," said the child thoughtfully; for lady mary's young heart always rejoiced when she thought that god's gifts could be shared by the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air, as well as by mankind. "look now, my dear," said miss campbell, directing the attention of her pupil to the horizon; "what a change has taken place whilst we have been speaking! see, the arch is sending up long shafts of light; now they divide, and shift from side to side, gliding along among the darker portions of vapour like moving pillars." "ah, there, there they go!" cried the little girl, clapping her hands with delight. "see, nurse, how the pretty lights chase each other and dance about! up they go, higher and higher! how pretty they look! but now they are gone! they are fading away. i am so sorry," said the child, despondingly, for a sudden cessation had taken place in the motions of the heavens. "we will go in for a little time, my dear," said her governess, "and then look out again. great changes take place sometimes in these aerial phenomena in a few minutes." "i suppose," said lady mary, "these lights are the same that the peasants of northern england and ireland call the merry dancers?" "yes, they are the same, and they fancy that they are seen when war and troubles are about to break out. but this idea is a very ignorant one, for were that the case, some of the cold countries of the world, where the sky is illumined night after night by the aurora borealis, would be one continual scene of misery. i have seen in this country a succession of these lights for four or five successive nights. this phenomenon owes its origin to _electricity_, which is a very wonderful agent in nature, and exists in various bodies, perhaps in all created things. it is this that shoots across the sky in the form of lightning, and causes the thunder to be heard, circulates in the air we breathe, occasions whirlwinds, waterspouts, earthquakes, and volcanoes, and makes one substance attract another. "look at this piece of amber. if i rub it on the table, it will become warm to the touch. now i will take a bit of thread and hold near it. see, the thread moves towards the amber and clings to it. sealing-wax and many other substances when heated have this property. some bodies give out flashes and sparks by being rubbed. if you stroke a black cat briskly in the dark, you will see faint flashes of light come from her fur, and on very cold nights in the winter season, flannels that are worn next the skin crackle and give sparks when taken off and shaken." these things astonished lady mary. she tried the experiment with the amber and thread, and was much amused by seeing the thread attracted; and she wanted to see the sparks from the cat's back, only there happened, unfortunately, to be no black cat or kitten in government house. mrs. frazer, however, promised to procure a beautiful black kitten for her, that she might enjoy the singular sight of the electric sparks from its coat; and lady mary wished winter were come, that she might see the sparks from her flannel petticoat and hear the sounds. "let us now go and look out again at the sky," said miss campbell; and lady mary skipped joyfully through the french window to the balcony, but ran back, and flinging her arms about her nurse, cried out, in accents of alarm, "nurse, nurse, the sky is all closing together! oh, miss campbell, what shall we do?" "there is no cause for fear, my dear child; do not be frightened. there is nothing to harm us." indeed, during the short time they had been absent, a great and remarkable change had taken place in the appearance of the sky. the electric fluid had diffused itself over the face of the whole heavens; the pale colour of the streamers had changed to bright rose, pale violet, and greenish-yellow. at the zenith, or that part more immediately overhead, a vast ring of deep indigo was presented to the eye, from this swept down, as it were a flowing curtain of rosy light which wavered and moved incessantly, as if agitated by a gentle breeze, though a perfect stillness reigned through the air. the child's young heart was awed by this sublime spectacle, it seemed to her as if it were indeed the throne of the great creator of the world that she was gazing upon, and she veiled her face in her nurse's arms and trembled exceedingly, even as the children of israel when the fire of mount sinai was revealed, and they feared to behold the glory of the most high god. after a while, lady mary, encouraged by the cheerful voices of her governess and nurse, ventured to look up to watch the silver stars shining dimly as from beneath a veil, and she whispered to herself the words that her governess had before repeated to her "the heavens declare the glory of god, and the firmament sheweth his handywork." after a little while, mrs. frazer thought it better to put lady mary to bed, as she had been up much longer than usual, and miss campbell was afraid lest the excitement should make her ill, but the child did not soon fall asleep, for her thoughts were full of the strange and glorious things she had seen that night. chapter xi. strawberries--canadian wild fruits--wild raspberries--the hunter and the lost child--cranberries--cranberry marshes--nuts. one day lady mary's nurse brought her a small indian basket, filled with ripe red strawberries. "nurse, where did you get these nice strawberries?" said the little girl, peeping beneath the fresh leaves with which they were covered. "i bought them from a little indian squaw in the street; she had brought them from a wooded meadow some miles off, my lady. they are very fine; see, they are as large as those that the gardener sent in yesterday from the forcing-house; and these wild ones have grown without any pains having been bestowed upon them." "i did not think, nurse, that wild strawberries could have been so fine as these; may i taste them?" mrs. frazer said she might. "these are not so large, so red, or so sweet as some that i have gathered when i lived at home with my father," said the nurse. "i have seen acres and acres of strawberries, as large as the early scarlet that are sold so high in the market, on the rice lake plains. when the farmers have ploughed a fallow on the rice lake plains, the following summer it will be covered with a crop of the finest strawberries. i have gathered pailsful day after day, these, however, have been partly cultivated by the plough breaking up the sod, but they seem as if sown by the hand of nature. these fruits and many sorts of flowers appear on the new soil that were never seen there before. after a fallow has been chopped, logged, and burned, if it be left for a few years, trees, shrubs, and plants, will cover it, unlike those that grew there before." "that is curious," said the child, "does god sow the seeds in the new ground?" "my lady, no doubt they come from him, for he openeth his hand, and filleth all things living with plenteousness. my father, who thought a great deal on these subjects, said that the seeds of many plants may fall upon the earth, and yet none of them take root till the soil be favourable for their growth. it may be that these seeds had lain for years, preserved in the earth till the forest was cleared away, and the sun, air, and rain caused them to spring up, or the earth may still bring forth the herb of the field, after its kind, as in the day of the creation, but whether it be so or not, we must bless the lord for his goodness and for the blessings that he giveth us at all times." "are there many sorts of wild fruits fit to eat, nurse, in this country? please, will you tell me all that you know about them?" "there are so many, lady mary, that i am afraid i shall weary you before i have told you half of them." "nurse, i shall not be tired, for i like to hear about fruits and flowers very much; and my dear mamma likes you to tell me all you know about the plants, trees, birds, and beasts of canada." "besides many sorts of strawberries, there are wild currants, both black and red, and many kinds of wild gooseberries," said mrs. frazer. "some grow on wastes by the roadside, in dry soil, others in swamps; but most gooseberries are covered with thorns, which grow not only on the wood, but on the berries themselves." "i would not eat those disagreeable, thorny gooseberries; they would prick my tongue," said the little girl. "they cannot be eaten without first being scalded. the settlers' wives contrive to make good pies and preserves with them, by first scalding the fruit and then rubbing it between coarse linen cloths. i have heard these tarts called thornberry pies, which, i think, was a good name for them. when emigrants first come to canada and clear the backwoods, they have little time to make nice fruit-gardens for themselves, and they are glad to gather the wild berries that grow in the woods and swamps to make tarts and preserves, so that they do not even despise the thorny gooseberries or the wild black currants. some swamp gooseberries, however, are quite smooth, of a dark red colour, but small, and they are very nice when ripe. the blossoms of the wild currants are very beautiful, of a pale yellowish green, and hang down in long graceful branches, the fruit is harsh but makes wholesome preserves. but there are thorny currants as well as thorny gooseberries, these have long, weak, trailing branches, the berries are small, covered with stiff bristles, and of a pale red colour. they are not wholesome, i have seen people made very ill by eating them, i have heard even of their dying in consequence of having done so." "i am sure, nurse, i will not eat those wild currants," said lady mary, "i am glad you have told me about their being poisonous." "this sort is not often met with, my dear, and these berries, though they are not good for man, doubtless give nourishment to some of the wild creatures that seek their food from god, and we have enough dainties and to spare without them. "the red raspberry is one of the most common and the most useful to us of the wild fruits. it grows in abundance all over the country--by the roadside, in the half opened woods, on upturned roots, or in old neglected clearings, there is no place so wild but it will grow, wherever its roots can find a crevice. with maple sugar, the farmers' wives never need lack a tart nor a dish of fruit and cream the poor irish emigrants' children go out and gather pailsful, which they carry to the towns and villages to sell. the birds, too, live upon the fruit, and flying away with it to distant places, help to sow the seed. a great many small animals eat the ripe raspberry, for even the racoon and great black bear come in for their share. "the black bears! o nurse! o mrs. frazer!" exclaimed lady mary, in great astonishment. "what! do bears eat raspberries?" "yes, indeed, my lady, they do. bears are fond of all ripe fruits. the bear resembles the hog in all it's tastes very closely; both in their wild state will eat flesh, grain, fruit, and roots." "there is a story about a beat and an indian hunter, which will show how bears ear berries. it is from the journal or peter jacobs, the indian missionary:-- "at sunrise, next morning," he says, "we tried to land, but the water was so full of shoals, we could not without wading a great distance." "the beach before us was of bright sand, and the sun was about, when i saw an object moving on the shore: it appeared to be a man, and seemed to be making signals of distress. we were all weary and hungry, but thinking it was a fellow-creature in distress, we pulled towards him. judge of our surprise when the stranger proved to be an enormous bear!" "he was seated on his hams, and what we thought his signals, were his raising himself on his hind legs to pull down the berries from a high bush, and with his paws full, sitting down again to eat them at his leisure. "'thus he continued daintily enjoying his ripe fruit in the posture some lapdogs are taught to assume while eating. on we pulled, and forgot our hunger and weariness the bear still continued breakfasting. "'we got as close on shore as the shoals would permit, and john (one of the indians), taking my double barrelled gun, leaped into the water, gun in hand, and gained the beach. some dead brushwood hid the bear from john's sight, but from the canoe we could see both john and the bear. "'the bear now discovered us, and advanced towards us, and john, not seeing him for the bush, ran along the beach towards him. the weariness from pulling all night, and having eaten no food, made me lose my presence of mind, for i now remembered that the gun was only loaded with duck shot, and you might as well meet a bear with a gun loaded with pease. "'john was in danger, and we strained at our paddles to get to his assistance, but as the bear was a very large one, and as we had no other firearms we should have been but poor helps to john in the hug of a wounded bear. the bear was at the other side of the brush heap, john heard the dry branches cracking, and he dodged into a hollow under a bush. the bear passed, and was coursing along the sand but as he passed by where john lay, bang went the gun. the bear was struck. "'we saw him leap through the smoke to the very spot where we had last seen john. we held our breath; but instead of the cry of agony we expected to hear from john, bang went the gun again--john is not yet caught. our canoe rushed through the water--we might yet be in time; but my paddle fell from my hand with joy, as i saw john pop his head above the bush, and with a shout point to the side of the log on which he stood, 'there he lies, dead enough.' we were thankful indeed to our great preserver.' "though fruit and vegetables seem to be the natural food of the bear, they also devour flesh, and even fish--a fact of which the good indian missionary assures us, and which i shall tell you, lady mary, in his own words:-- "'a few evenings after we left the _rock_, while the men were before me 'tracking' (towing the canoe), by pulling her along by a rope from the shore, i observed behind a rock in the river what i took to be a black fox. i stole upon it as quietly as possible, hoping to get a shot; but the animal saw me, and waded to the shore. it turned out to be a young bear fishing. the bear is a great fisherman. his mode of fishing is very curious. he wades into a current, and seating himself upright on his hams, lets the water come about up to his shoulders; he patiently waits until the little fishes come along and rub themselves against his sides; he seizes them instantly, gives them a nip, and with his left paw tosses them over his shoulder to the shore. his left paw is always the one used for tossing ashore the produce of his fishing. feeling is the sense of which bruin makes use here, not sight. "'the indians of that part say that the bear catches sturgeon when spawning in the shoal-water, but the only fish that i know of their catching is the sucker. of these, in the months of april and may, the bear makes his daily breakfast and supper, devouring about thirty or forty at a meal. as soon as he has caught a sufficient number, he wades ashore and regales himself on the best morsels, which are the thick of the neck, behind the gills. the indians often shoot him when thus engaged.' "there is a small red berry in the woods that is known by the name of the bear-berry, [footnote: _arbutus uva ursi_--"kinnikinnick" is the indian name.] of which they say the young bears are particularly fond." "i should be afraid of going to gather raspberries, nurse, for fear of the bears coming to eat them too." "the hunters know that the bears are partial to this fruit, and often seek them in large thickets where they grow. a young gentleman, lady mary, once went out shooting game, in the province of new brunswick, in the month of july, when the weather was warm, and there were plenty of wild berries ripe. he had been out for many hours, and at last found himself on the banks of a creek. but the bridge he had been used to cross was gone, having been swept away by heavy rains in the spring. passing on a little higher up, he saw an old clearing full of bushes, and knowing that wild animals were often to be met with in such spots, he determined to cross over and try his luck for a bear, a racoon, or a young fawn. not far from the spot he saw a large fallen swamp elm-tree, which made a capital bridge. just as he was preparing to cross, he heard the sound of footsteps on the dry crackling sticks, and saw a movement among the raspberry bushes. his finger was on the lock of his rifle in an instant, for he thought it must be a bear or a deer; but just as he was about to fire, he saw a small, thin, brown hand, all red and stained from the juice of the ripe berries, reaching down a branch of the fruit. his very heart leaped within him with fright, for in another moment he would have shot the poor little child that, with wan, wasted face, was looking at him from between the raspberry bushes. it was a little girl, about as old as you are, lady mary. she was without hat or shoes, and her clothes were all in tatters. her hands and neck were quite brown and sun-burned. she seemed frightened at first, and would have hid herself, had not the stranger called out gently to her to stay, and not to be afraid, and then he hurried over the log bridge, and asked her who she was, and where she lived. and she said 'she did not live anywhere, for she was lost.' she could not tell how many days, but she thought she had been seven nights out in the woods. she had been sent to take some dinner to her father, who was at work in the forest, but had missed the path, and gone on a cattle track, and did not find her mistake until it was too late, when she became frightened, and tried to get back, but only lost herself deeper in the woods. the first night she wrapped her frock about her head, and lay down beneath the shelter of a great upturned root. she had eaten but little of the food she had in the basket that day, for it lasted her nearly two. after it was gone she chewed some leaves, till she came to the raspberry clearing, and got berries of several kinds, and plenty of water to drink from the creek. one night, she said, she was awakened by a heavy tramping near her, and looking up in the moonlight, saw two great black beasts, which she thought were her father's oxen, and so she sat up and called, 'buck,' 'bright,'--for these were their names, but they had no bells, and looked like two great shaggy black dogs. they stood on their hind legs upright and looked at her, but went away. these animals were bears, but the child did not know that, and she said she felt no fear, for she said her prayers every night before she lay down to sleep, and she knew that god would take care of her, both sleeping and waking." "and did the hunter take her home? asked lady mary, who was much interested in the story. "yes, my dear, he did. finding that the poor little girl was very weak, the young man took her on his back. fortunately he happened to have a little wine in a flask, and a bit of dry biscuit in his knapsack, and this greatly revived the little creature. sometimes she ran by his side, while holding by his coat, talking to her new friend, seemingly quite happy and cheerful, bidding him not be afraid even if they had to pass another night in the wood; but just as the sun was setting, they came out of the dark forest into an open clearing. "it was not the child's home, but a farm belonging to a miller who knew her father, and had been in search of her for several days; and he and his wife were very glad when they saw the lost child, and gladly showed her preserver the way. they rejoiced very much when the poor wanderer was restored safe and well to her sorrowing parents." "nurse," said lady mary, "i am so glad the good hunter found the little girl. i must tell my own dear mamma that nice story. how sorry my mamma and papa would be to lose me in the woods!" the nurse smiled, and said, "my dear lady, there is no fear of such an accident happening to you. you are not exposed to the same trials and dangers as the children of poor emigrants; therefore you must be very grateful to god, and do all you can to serve and please him; and when you are able, be kind and good to those who are not so well off as you are." [illustration: the lost child and the bears] "are there any other wild fruits, nurse, besides raspberries and strawberries, and currants and goose berries?' "yes, my dear lady, a great many more. we will begin with wild plums these we often preserve, and when the trees are planted in gardens, and taken care of, the fruit is very good to eat. the wild cherries are not very nice, but the bark of the black cherry is good for agues and low fevers. the choke cherry is very beautiful to look at, but hurts the throat, closing it up if many are eaten, and making it quite sore. the huckle berry is a sweet, dark blue berry, that grows on a very delicate low shrub, the blossoms are very pretty, pale pink or greenish white bells the fruit is very wholesome, it grows on light dry ground, on those parts of the country that are called plains in canada. the settlers' children go out in parties, and gather great quantities, either to eat or dry for winter use. these berries are a great blessing to every one, besides forming abundant food for the broods of young quails and partridges, squirrels, too, of every kind eat them. there are blackberries also, lady mary, and some people call them thimble berries." "i have heard mamma talk about blackberries." "the canadian blackberries are not so sweet, i am told, my lady, as those at home, though they are very rich and nice tasted, neither do they grow so high. then there are high bush cranberries, and low bush cranberries. the first grow on a tall bush, and the fruit has a fine appearance, hanging in large bunches of light scarlet among the dark green leaves; but they are very, very sour, and take a great deal of sugar to sweeten them. the low-bush cranberries grow on a slender, trailing plant; the blossom is very pretty, and the fruit about the size of a common gooseberry, of a dark purplish red, very smooth and shining; the seeds are minute, and lie in the white pulp within the skin: this berry is not nice till it is cooked with sugar. there is a large cranberry marsh somewhere at the back of kingston, where vast quantities grow. i heard a young gentleman, say that he passed over this tract when he was hunting, while the snow was on the ground, and that the red juice of the dropped berries dyed the snow crimson beneath his feet. the indians go every year to a small lake called buckhorn lake, many miles up the river otonabee, in the upper province, to gather cranberries; which they sell to the settlers in the towns and villages, or trade away for pork, flour, and clothes. the cranberries, when spread out on a dry floor, will keep fresh and good for a long time. great quantities of cranberries are brought to england from russia, norway, and lapland, in barrels, or large earthen jars, filled with spring water; but the fruit thus roughly preserved must be drained, and washed many times, and stirred with sugar, before it can be put into tarts, or it would be salt and bitter. i will boil some cranberries with sugar, that you may taste them; for they are very wholesome." lady mary said she should like to have some in her own garden. "the cranberry requires a particular kind of soil, not usually found in gardens, my dear lady, for as the cranberry marshes are often covered with water in the spring, i suppose they need a damp, cool soil, near lakes or rivers, perhaps sand, too, may be good for them. but we can plant some berries, and water them well, in a light soil they may grow, and bear fruit, but i am not sure that they will do so. besides these fruits, there are many others, that are little used by man, but are of great service as food to the birds and small animals. there are many kinds of nuts, too--filberts, with rough prickly husks, walnuts, butternuts, and hickory nuts, these last are large trees, the nuts of which are very nice to eat, and the wood very fine for cabinet work, and for fire wood, the bark is used for dyeing. now, my dear, i think you must be quite tired with hearing so much about canadian fruits." lady mary said she was glad to learn that there were so many good things in canada, for she heard a lady say to her mamma that it was an ugly country, with nothing good or pretty in it. "there is something good and pretty to be found everywhere, my dear child, if people will but open their eyes to see it, and their hearts to enjoy the good things that god has so mercifully spread abroad for all his creatures to enjoy. but canada is really a fine country, and is fast becoming a great one." chapter xii garter snakes--rattle-snakes--anecdote of a little boy--fisherman and snake--snake charmers--spiders--land-tortoise "nurse, i have been so terrified. i was walking in the meadow, and a great snake--so big, i am sure"--and lady mary held out her arms as wide as she could--"came out of a tuft of grass. his tongue was like a scarlet thread, and had two sharp points; and, do you know, he raised his wicked head, and hissed at me. i was so frightened that i ran away. i think, mrs. frazer, it must have been a rattle-snake. only feel now how my heart beats"--and the little girl took her nurse's hand, and laid it on her heart. "what colour was it, my dear?" asked her nurse. "it was green and black, chequered all over; and it was very large, and opened its mouth very wide, and showed its red tongue. it would have killed me, if it had bitten me, would it not, nurse?" "it would not have harmed you, my lady; or even if it had bitten you, it would not have killed you. the chequered green snake of canada is not poisonous. it was more afraid of you than you were of it i make no doubt." "do you think it was a rattle snake, nurse?" "no, my dear, there are no snakes of that kind in lower canada, and very few below toronto. the winters are too cold for them. but there are plenty in the western part of the province, where the summers are warmer, and the winters milder. the rattle snake is a dangerous reptile, and its bite causes death, unless the wound be burned or cut out. the indians apply different sorts of herbs to the wound. they have several plants, known by the names of rattle snake root, rattle snake weed, and snake root. it is a good thing that the rattlesnake gives warning of its approach before it strikes the traveller with its deadly fangs. some people think that the rattle is a sign of fear, and that it would not wound people if it were not afraid they were coming near to hurt it. i will tell you a story lady mary, about a brave little boy. he went out nutting one day with another boy about his own age, and while they were in the grove gathering nuts a large black snake, that was in a low tree, dropped down and suddenly coiled itself round the throat of his companion. the child's screams were dreadful, his eyes were starting from his head with pain and terror. the other, regardless of the danger, opened a clasp knife that he had in his pocket, and seizing the snake near the head, cut it apart, and so saved his friend's life, who was well-nigh strangled by the tight folds of the reptile, which was one of a very venomous species, the bite of which generally proves fatal." "what a brave little fellow!" said lady mary. "you do not think it was cruel, nurse, to kill the snake?" she added, looking up in mrs. frazer's face. "no, lady mary, for he did it to save a fellow-creature from a painful death; and we are taught by god's word that the soul of man is precious in the sight of his creator. we should be cruel were we wantonly to inflict pain upon the least of god's creatures, but to kill them in self-defence, or for necessary food, is not cruel for when god made adam, he gave him dominion, or power, over the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air, and every creeping thing. it was an act of great courage and humanity in the little boy, who perilled his own life to save that of his helpless comrade, especially as he was not naturally a child of much courage, and was very much afraid of snakes but love for his friend entirely overcame all thoughts of his own personal danger. [footnote: a fact related to me by a gentleman from the state of vermont, as an instance of impulsive feeling overcoming natural timidity.] "the large garter snake which you saw, my dear lady, is comparatively harmless. it lives on toads and frogs, and robs the nests of young birds, and also pilfers the eggs. its long forked tongue enables it to catch insects of different kinds, it will even eat fish, and for that purpose frequents the water as well as the black snake. [illustration: a boy hero] "i heard a gentleman once relate a circumstance to my father that surprised me a good deal. he was fishing one day in a river near his own house, but, being tired, he seated himself on a log or fallen tree, where his basket of fish also stood; when a large garter-snake came up the log, and took a small fish out of his basket, which it speedily swallowed. the gentleman, seeing the snake so bold as not to mind his presence, took a small rock-bass by the tail, and half in joke held it towards it, when, to his great surprise, the snake glided towards him, took the fish out of his hand, and sliding away with its prize to a hole beneath the log, began by slow degrees to swallow it, stretching its mouth and the skin of its neck to a very great extent; till, after a long while, it was fairly gorged, and then it slid down its hole, leaving its head and neck only to be seen." "i should have been so frightened, nurse, if i had been the gentleman, when the snake came to take the fish," said lady mary. "the gentleman was well aware of the nature of the reptile, and knew that it would not bite him. i have read of snakes of the most poisonous kinds being tamed and taught all manner of tricks. there are in india and egypt people that are called snake-charmers, who contrive to extract the fangs containing the venom from the cobra da capella, or hooded snake; which then become quite harmless. these snakes are very fond of music, and will come out of the leather bag or basket that their master carries them in, and will dance or run up his arms, twining about his neck, and even entering his mouth! they do not tell people that the poison-teeth have been extracted, so that it is thought to be the music that keeps the snake from biting. the snake has a power of charming birds and small animals, by fixing its eye steadily upon them, when the little creatures become paralyzed with fear, either standing quite still, or coming nearer and nearer to their cruel enemy, till they are within his reach. the cat has the same power, and can by this art draw birds from the tops of trees within her reach. these little creatures seem unable to resist the temptation of approaching her, and, even when driven away, will return from a distance to the same spot, seeking, instead of shunning, the danger which is certain to prove fatal to them in the end. some writers assert that all wild animals have this power in the eye, especially those of the cat tribe, as the lion and tiger, leopard and panther. before they spring upon their prey, the eye is always steadily fixed, the back lowered, the neck stretched out, and the tail waved from side to side; if the eye is averted, they lose the animal, and do not make the spring." "are there any other kinds of snakes in canada, nurse," asked lady mary, "besides the garter-snake?" "yes, my lady, several; the black snake, which is the most deadly, next to the rattle-snake is sometimes called the puff-adder, as it inflates the skin of the head and neck when angry. the copper-bellied snake is also poisonous. there is a small snake of a deep grass-green colour sometimes seen in the fields and open copse-woods. i do not think it is dangerous; i never heard of its biting any one. the stare-worm is also harmless. i am not sure whether the black snakes that live in the water are the same as the puff or black adder. it is a great blessing, my dear, that these deadly snakes are so rare, and do so little harm to man. indeed i believe they would never harm him, were they let alone; but if trodden upon, they cannot know that it was by accident, and so put forth the weapons that god has armed them with in self-defence. the indians in the north-west, i have been told, eat snakes, after cutting off their heads. the cat also eats snakes, leaving the head; she will also catch and eat frogs--a thing i have witnessed myself, and know to be true. [footnote: i once saw a half-grown kitten eat a live green frog which she first brought into the parlour, playing with it as with a mouse.] one day a snake fixed itself on a little girl's arm, and wound itself around it. the mother of the child was too much terrified to tear the deadly creature off, but filled the air with cries. just then a cat came out of the house, and quick as lightning sprang upon the snake, and fastened on its neck; which, caused the reptile to uncoil its folds, and it fell to the earth in the grasp of the cat. thus the child's life was saved, and the snake killed. thus you see, my dear, that god provided a preserver for this little one when no help was nigh. perhaps the child cried to him for aid, and he heard her and saved her by means of the cat." lady mary was much interested in all that mrs. frazer had told her. she remembered having heard some one say that the snake would swallow her own young ones, and she asked her nurse if it was true, and if they laid eggs. "the snake will swallow her young ones," said mrs. frazer. "i have seen the garter-snake open her mouth and let the little ones run into it when danger was nigh. the snake also lays eggs: i have been and handled them often. they are not covered with a hard, brittle shell, like that of a hen, but with a sort of whitish skin, like leather: they are about the size of a blackbird's egg, long in shape; some are rounder and larger. they are laid in some warm place, where the heat of the sun and earth hatches them. but though the mother does not brood over them, as a hen does over her eggs, she seems to take great care of her little ones, and defends them from their many enemies by hiding them out of sight in the singular manner i have just told you. this love of offspring, my dear child, has been wisely given to all mothers, from the human mother down to the very lowest of the insect tribe. the fiercest beast of prey loves its young, and provides food and shelter for them; forgetting its savage nature to play with and caress them. even the spider, which is a disagreeable insect, fierce and unloving to its fellows, displays the tenderest care for its brood, providing a safe retreat for them in the fine silken cradle she spins to envelop the eggs, which she leaves in some warm spot, where she secures them from danger: some glue a leaf down, and overlap it, to insure it from being agitated by the winds, or discovered by birds. there is a curious spider, commonly known as the nursing spider, which carries her sack of eggs with her wherever she goes; and when the young ones come out, they cluster on her back, and so travel with her; when a little older, they attach themselves to the old one by threads, and run after her in a train." lady mary laughed, and said she should like to see the funny little spiders all tied to their mother, trotting along behind her. "if you go into the meadow, my dear," said mrs. frazer, "you will see on the larger stones some pretty shining little cases, quite round, looking like gray satin." "nurse, i know what they are," said lady mary. "last year i was playing in the green meadow, and i found a piece of granite with several of these satin cases. i called them silk pies, for they looked like tiny mince pies. i tried to pick one off, but it stuck so hard that i could not, so i asked the gardener to lend me his knife; and when i raised the crust it had a little rim under the top, and i slipped the knife in, and what do you think i saw? the pie was full of tiny black shining spiders; and they ran out, such a number of them,--more than i could count, they ran so fast. i was sorry i opened the crust, for it was a cold, cold day, and the little spiders must have been frozen, out of their warm air-tight house." "they are able to bear a great deal of cold, lady mary--all insects can; and even when frozen hard, so that they will break if any one tries to bend them, yet when spring comes again to warm them, they revive, and are as full of life as ever. caterpillars thus frozen will become butterflies in due time. spiders, and many other creatures, lie torpid during the winter, and then revive in the same way as dormice, bears, and marmots do." "nurse, please will you tell me something about tortoises and porcupines?" said lady mary. "i cannot tell you a great deal about the tortoise, my dear," replied her nurse. "i have seen them sometimes on the shores of the lakes, and once or twice i have met with the small land-tortoise, in the woods on the banks of the otonabee river. the shell that covers these reptiles is black and yellow, divided into squares--those which i saw were about the size of my two hands. they are very harmless creatures, living chiefly on roots and bitter herbs: perhaps they eat insects as well. they lie buried in the sand during the long winters, in a torpid state: they lay a number of eggs, about the size of a blackbird's, the shell of which is tough and soft, like a snake's egg. the old tortoise buries these in the loose sand near the water's edge, and leaves them to be hatched by the heat of the sun. the little tortoise, when it comes out of the shell, is about as big as a large spider--it is a funny-looking thing. i have heard some of the indians say that they dive into the water, and swim, as soon as they are hatched; but this i am not sure of. i saw one about the size of a crown-piece that was caught in a hole in the sand: it was very lively, and ran along the table, making a rattling noise with its hard shell as it moved. an old one that one of my brothers brought in he put under a large heavy box, meaning to feed and keep it; but in the morning it was gone: it had lifted the edge of the box and was away, nor could he find out how it had contrived to make its escape from the room. this is all that i know about the canadian land-tortoise." chapter xiii. ellen and her pet fawns--docility of fan--jack's droll tricks-- affectionate wolf--fall flowers--departure of lady mary--the end one day lady mary came to seek her nurse in great haste, and describe to her a fine deer that had been sent as a present to her father by one of his canadian friends. she said the great antlers were to be put up over the library door. "papa called me down to see the poor dead deer, nurse; and i was very sorry it had been killed: it was such a fine creature. major pickford laughed when i said so; but he promised to get me a live fawn. nurse, what is a fawn?" "it is a young deer, my lady." "nurse, please can you tell me anything about fawns? are they pretty creatures, and can they be tamed; or are they fierce, wild little things?" "they are very gentle animals; and, if taken young, can be brought up by sucking the finger like a young calf or a pet lamb. they are playful and lively, and will follow the person who feeds them, like a dog. they are very pretty, of a pale dun or red colour, with small white spots on the back like large hailstones; the eyes are large, and soft, and black, with a very meek expression in them; the hoofs are black and sharp: they are clean and delicate in their habits, and easy and graceful in their movements. "i remember," continued mrs. frazer, "to have heard of a sad accident which was caused by a fawn." "oh, what was it, nurse? do tell me, for i don't see how such a timid pretty creature could hurt any one." "a party of indians were rowing in a canoe on one of the great american rivers. as they passed a thick clump of trees, a young fawn suddenly sprang out, and, frightened by their cries, leaped into the water. for some days the rain had been heavy; the river was therefore running with a wild, impetuous current; and the fawn was carried along by the rushing tide at a tremendous rate. the indians, determined to capture it, paddled down the stream with eager haste, and in their excitement forgot that they were in the neighbourhood of a great rapid, or cataract; dangerous at all times, but especially so after long-continued rains. on, on, they went! suddenly the fawn disappeared, and looking behind them, the startled indians found themselves on the very brink of the rapid! two of their countrymen, standing on a rock overhanging the foaming waters, saw their peril, and by shouts and gestures warned them of it. with vigorous efforts they turned the prow of their canoe, and endeavoured to cross the river. they plied their paddles with all the desperation of men who knew that nothing could save them but their own exertions, that none on earth could help them. but the current proved too strong. it carried them over the fall, and dashed their bark broadside against a projecting rock. a moment, and all was over! not one of them was ever seen again!" "oh, what a sad story!" cried lady mary; "and all those men were killed through one poor little fawn! still, nurse, it was not the fawn's fault; it was the result of their own impatience and folly. did you ever see a tame fawn, nurse?" "i have seen many, my dear, and i can tell you of one that was the pet and companion of a little girl whom i knew several years ago. a hunter had shot a poor doe, which was very wrong, and contrary to the indian hunting law; for the native hunter will not, unless pressed by hunger, kill the deer in the spring of the year, when the fawns are young. the indian wanted to find the little one after he had shot the dam, so he sounded a decoy whistle, to imitate the call of the doe; and the harmless thing answered it with a bleat, thinking no doubt it was its mother calling to it. this betrayed its hiding-place, and it was taken unhurt by the hunter, who took it home, and gave it to my little friend ellen to feed and take care of." [illustration: the indian hunter] "please, mrs. frazer, will you tell me what sort of trees hemlocks are? hemlocks in england are poisonous weeds." "these are not weeds, but large forest trees--a species of pine. i will show you some the next time we go out for a drive--they are very handsome trees." "and what are creeks, nurse?" "creeks are small streams, such as in scotland would be termed 'burns,' and in england 'rivulets'" "now, nurse, you may go on about the dear little fawn, i want you to tell me all you know about it." "little ellen took the poor timid thing, and laid it in an old indian basket near the hearth, and put some wool in it, and covered it with an old cloak to keep it warm, and she tended it very carefully, letting it suck her fingers dipped in warm milk, as she had seen the dairy maid do in weaning young calves in a few days it began to grow strong and lively, and would jump out of its basket, and run bleating after its foster mother if it missed her from the room, it would wait at the door watching for her return. "when it was older, it used to run on the grass plot in the garden but if it heard its little mistress's step or voice in the parlour, it would bound through the open window to her side, and her call of 'fan, fan, fan,' would bring it home from the fields near the edge of the forest. but poor fan got killed by a careless boy throwing some fire wood down upon it, as it lay asleep in the wood-shed. ellen's grief was very great, but all she could do was to bury it in the garden near the river-side, and plant lilac bushes round its little green-sodded grave." "i am so sorry, nurse, that this good little girl lost her pretty pet." "some time after the death of 'fan,' ellen had another fawn given to her. she called this one jack,--it was older, larger, and stronger, but was more mischievous and frolicsome than her first pet. it would lie in front of the fire on the hearth, like a dog, and rub its soft velvet nose against the hand that patted it very affectionately, but gave a good deal of trouble in the house. it would eat the carrots, potatoes, and cabbages, while the cook was preparing them for dinner; and when the housemaid had laid the cloth for dinner, jack would go round the table and eat up the bread she had laid to each plate, to the great delight of the children, who thought it good fun to see him do so. "ellen put a red leather collar about jack's neck, and some months after this he swam across the rapid river, and went off to the wild woods, and was shot by some hunters, a great many miles away from his old home, being known by his fine red collar. after the sad end of her two favourites, ellen would have no more fawns brought in for her to tame." lady mary was much interested in the account of the little girl and her pets "is this all you know about fawns, nurse?" "i once went to call on a clergyman's wife who lived in a small log-house near a new village. the youngest child, a fat baby of two years old, was lying on the rug before a large log-fire, fast asleep; its little head was pillowed on the back of a tame half-grown fawn that lay stretched on its side, enjoying the warmth of the fire, as tame and familiar as a spaniel dog. this fawn had been brought up with the children, and they were very fond of it, and would share their bread and milk with it at meal times; but it got into disgrace by gnawing the bark of the young orchard-trees, and cropping the bushes in the garden; besides, it had a trick of opening the cupboard, and eating the bread, and drinking any milk it could find. so the master of the house gave it away to a baker who lived in the village; but it did not forget its old friends, and used to watch for the children going to school, and as soon as it caught sight of them, it would trot after them, poking its nose into the basket to get a share of their dinner, and very often managed to get it all!" "and what became of this nice fellow, nurse?" "unfortunately, my lady, it was chased by some dogs, and ran away to the woods near the town, and never came back again. dogs will always hunt tame fawns when they can get near them; so it seems a pity to domesticate them only to be killed in so cruel a way. the forest is the best home for these pretty creatures, though even there they have many enemies besides the hunter. the bear, the wolf, and the wolverine kill them. their only means of defence lies in their fleetness of foot. the stag will defend himself with his strong horns; but the doe and her little fawn have no such weapons to guard themselves when attacked by beasts of prey. the wolf is one of the greatest enemies they have." "i hate wolves," said lady mary; "wolves can never be tamed, nurse." "i have heard and read of wolves being tamed, and becoming very fond of their masters. a gentleman in canada once brought up a wolf puppy, which became so fond of him that when he left it, to go home to england, it refused to eat, and died of grief at his absence! kindness will tame even fierce beasts, who soon learn to love the hand that feeds them. bears and foxes have often been kept tame in this country, and eagles and owls; but i think they cannot be so happy shut up, away from their natural companions and habits, as if they were free to go and come at their own will." "i should not like to be shut up, nurse, far away from my own dear home," said the little girl, thoughtfully. "i think, sometimes, i ought not to keep my dear squirrel in a cage--shall i let him go?" "my dear, he has now been so used to the cage, and to have all his daily wants supplied, that i am sure he would suffer from cold and hunger at this season of the year if he were left to provide for himself; and if he remained here the cats and weasels might kill him." "i will keep him safe from harm, then, till the warm weather comes again; and then, nurse, we will take him to the mountain, and let him go, if he likes to be free, among the trees and bushes." it was now the middle of october; the rainy season that usually comes in the end of september and beginning of october in canada was over. the soft, hazy season, called indian summer, was come again; the few forest leaves that yet lingered were ready to fall--bright and beautiful they still looked, but lady mary missed the flowers. "i do not love the fall--i see no flowers now, except those in the greenhouse. the cold, cold winter, will soon be here again," she added sadly. "last year, dear lady, you said you loved the white snow, and the sleighing, and the merry bells, and wished that winter would last all the year round. "ah, yes, nurse; but i did not know how many pretty birds and flowers i should see in the spring and the summer; and now they are all gone, and i shall see them no more for a long time." "there are still a few flowers. lady mary, to be found; look at these." "ah, dear nurse, where did you get them? how lovely they are!" "your little french maid picked them for you, on the side of the mountain. rosette loves the wild-flowers of her native land." "nurse, do you know the names of these pretty starry flowers on this little branch, that look so light and pretty?" "these are asters; a word, your governess told me the other day, meaning star-like. some people call these flowers michaelmas daisies. these lovely lilac asters grow in light, dry ground; they are among the prettiest of our fall flowers. these with the small white starry flowers crowded, upon the stalks, with the crimson and gold in the middle, are dwarf asters." "i like these white ones, nurse; the little branches look so loaded with blossoms; see, they are quite bowed down with the weight of all these flowers." "these small shrubby asters grow on dry gravelly banks of lakes and rivers." "but here are some large dark purple ones." "these are also asters. they are to be found on dry wastes, in stony, barren fields, and by the corners of rail-fences; they form large spreading bushes, and look very lovely, covered with their large dark purple flowers. there is no waste so wild, my lady, but the hand of the most high can plant it with some blossom, and make the waste and desert place flourish like a garden. here are others, still brighter and larger, with yellow disks, and sky-blue flowers. these grow by still waters, near mill-dams and swampy places. though they are larger and gayer, i do not think they will please you so well as the small ones that i first showed you; they do not fade so fast, and that is one good quality they have." they are more like the china asters in the garden, nurse, only more upright and stiff, but here is another sweet blue flower--can you tell me its name? "no my dear, you must ask your governess." lady mary carried the nosegay to miss campbell, who told her the blue flower was called the fringed gentian, and that the gentians and asters bloomed the latest of all the autumn flowers in canada. among these wild flowers, she also showed her the large dark blue bell flowered gentian, which was in deed the last flower of the year. "are there no more flowers in bloom now, nurse?" asked the child, as she watched mrs. frazer arranging them for her in a flower glass. "i do not know of any now in bloom but the golden rods and the latest of the everlastings. rosette shall go out and try to get some of them for you. the french children make little mats and garlands of them to ornament their houses, and to hang on the little crosses above the graves of their friends, because they do not fade away like other flowers." next day, rosette, the little nursery maid, brought lady mary an indian basket full of sweet scented everlastings. this flower had a fragrant smell, the leaves were less downy than some of the earlier sorts but were covered with a resinous gum that caused it to stick to the fingers, it looked quite silky, from the thistle down, which, falling upon the leaves, was gummed down to the surface. "the country folks," said mrs. frazer, "call this plant neglected everlasting, because it grows on dry wastes by road-sides, among thistles and fire-weed; but i love it for its sweetness; it is like a true friend--it never changes. see, my dear, how shining its straw-coloured blossoms and buds are, just like satin flowers." "nurse, it shall be my own flower," said the little girl; "and i will make a pretty garland of it, to hang over my own dear mamma's picture. rosette says she will show me how to tie the flowers together; she has made me a pretty wreath for my doll's straw-hat, and she means to make her a mat and a carpet too." the little maid promised to bring her young lady some wreaths of the festoon pine--a low creeping plant, with dry, green, chaffy leaves, that grows in the barren pine woods, of which the canadians make christmas garlands; and also some of the winter berries, and spice berries, which look so gay in the fall and early spring, with berries of brightest scarlet, and shining dark-green leaves, that trail over the ground on the gravelly hills and plains. nurse frazer brought lady mary some sweetmeats, flavoured with an extract of the spicy winter-green, from the confectioner's shop; the canadians being very fond of the flavour of this plant. the indians chew the leaves, and eat the ripe mealy berries, which have something of the taste of the bay-laurel leaves. the indian men smoke the leaves as tobacco. one day, while mrs. frazer was at work in the nursery, her little charge came to her in a great state of agitation--her cheeks were flashed, and her eyes were dancing with joy. she threw herself into her arms, and said, "oh, dear nurse, i am going home to dear old england and scotland. papa and mamma are going away from government house, and i am to return to the old country with them. i am so glad--are not you?" but the tears gathered in mrs. frazer's eyes, and fell fast upon the work she held in her hand. lady mary looked surprised, when she saw how her kind nurse was weeping. "nurse, you are to go too; mamma says so. now you need not cry, for you are not going to leave ma." "i cannot go with you, my dearest child," whispered her weeping attendant, "much as i love you; for i have a dear son of my own. i have but him, and it would break my heart to part from him;" and she softly put aside the bright curls from lady mary's fair forehead, and tenderly kissed her. "this child is all i have in the world to love me, and when his father, my own kind husband, died, he vowed to take care of me, and cherish me in my old age, and i promised that i would never leave him; so i cannot go away from canada with you, my lady, though i dearly love you." "then, mrs. frazer, i shall be sorry to leave canada; for when i go home, i shall have no one to talk to me about beavers, and squirrels, and indians, and flowers, and birds." "indeed, my lady, you will not want for amusement there, for england and scotland are finer places than canada. your good governess and your new nurse will be able to tell you many things that will delight you; and you will not quite forget your poor old nurse, i am sure, when you think about the time you have spent in this country." "ah, dear good old nurse, i will not forget you," said lady mary, springing into her nurse's lap and fondly caressing her, while big bright tears fell from her eyes. there was so much to do, and so much to think about, before the governor's departure, that lady mary had no time to hear any more stories, nor to ask any more questions about the natural history of canada; though, doubtless, there were many other curious things that mrs. frazer could have related, for she was a person of good education, who had seen and noticed as well as read a great deal. she had not always been a poor woman, but had once been a respectable farmer's wife, though her husband's death had reduced her to a state of servitude; and she had earned money enough while in the governor's service to educate her son, and this was how she came to be lady mary's nurse. lady mary did not forget to have all her indian curiosities packed up with some dried plants and flower seeds collected by her governess; but she left the cage with her flying squirrel to mrs. frazer, to take care of till the following spring, when she told her to take it to the mountain, or st. helen's island, and let it go free, that it might be a happy squirrel once more, and bound away among the green trees in the canadian woods. when mrs. frazer was called in to take leave of the governor and his lady, after receiving a handsome salary for her care and attendance on their little daughter, the governor gave her a sealed parchment, which, when she opened, was found to contain a government deed for a fine lot of land, in a fertile township in upper canada. it was with many tears and blessings that mrs. frazer took leave of the good governor's family; and, above all, of her beloved charge, lady mary. appendix. the indians, though so stolid and impassive in their general demeanour, are easily moved to laughter, having a quick perception of fun and drollery, and sometimes show themselves capable of much humour, and even of wit. the following passage i extract from a hamilton paper, canada west which will, i think, prove amusing to my readers-- at a missionary meeting in hamilton which took place a short time since, john sunday, a native preacher, was particularly happy in addressing his audience on the objects of the meeting, and towards the close astonished all present by the ingenuity and power of his appeal to their liberality. his closing words are too good to be lost. i give them as they were spoken by him-- "there is a gentleman who, i suppose, is now in this house. he is a very fine gentleman, but a very modest one he does not like to show himself at these meetings. i do not know how long it is since i have seen him, he comes out so little. i am very much afraid that he sleeps a great deal of his time when he ought to be out doing good. his name is gold--mr. gold, are you here to-night or are you sleeping in your iron chest? come out, mr gold. come out and help us to do this great work--to preach the gospel to every creature ah, mr. gold, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to sleep so much in your iron chest. look at your white brother, mr. silver. he does a great deal of good while you are sleeping. come out mr. gold, look too at your little brown brother, mr. copper. he is everywhere. your poor little brown brother is running about doing all he can to help us. why don't you come out, mr. gold? well, if you won't show yourself send us your _shirt_--that is a _bank note_! "this is all i have to say." whether the witty appeal of the indian had the effect of bringing forth mr gold from his hiding place is not said, but we hope it moved some of the wealthy among his hearers to contribute a few sovereigns or gold dollars to the missionary work of converting the poor indians in the far west regions of canada. * * * * * list of indian words. a-da-min, the strawberry ah meek, the beaver ajidamo the red squirrel be-dau bun dawn of the morning chee-ma in in birch canoe. chee-to-waik the plover dah hinda, the bull frog gitche manito, giver of life the great spirit ish koo-dah, fire. kah ga-gee the raven. kaw no. kaw win no, no indeed. keen-o-beek, serpent. mad wa-oska, sound of waves. murmur of the waves mun a gah blue-berry misko-deed spring beauty nee-chee friend. nap a nee flour nee me no-che shah sweetheart omee mee the wild pigeon. opee chee the robin. o-waas sa the blue-bird peta wan ooka the light of the morning shaw shaw the swallow spook spirit ty yah! an exclamation of surprise waa wassa the whip-poor will. wah ho-no-mm a cry of lamentation. many of the indian names have been retained in canada for various rivers and townships and are very expressive of the peculiar qualities and features of the country. [illustration: on the wharfe--bolton abbey. w.h.j. boot r.b.a. delt c.o. murray sculpt] _the wharfe, from bolton abbey.--a few signed artist's proofs of this etching on india paper can be obtained, price £ s. each, on application to the publishers_, cassell & company, limited, ludgate hill, london. the rivers of great britain descriptive historical pictorial _rivers of the east coast_ [illustration] cassell & company limited _london paris new york & melbourne_ [all rights reserved.] [illustration] contents. the highland dee.--_by francis watt._ page the source: larig and garchary burns--in the heart of the cairngorm mountains--ben macdhui and braeriach--"a fery fulgar place"--a highland legend--the linn of dee--byron's narrow escape--the floods of --lochnagar and mary duff--influence of the dee on byron--braemar and the rising of ' --corriemulzie and its linn--balmoral--the "birks" of abergeldie--their transplantation by burns--what is collimankie?--ballater: the slaying of "brave brackley"--craigendarroch--the reel of tullich and the origin thereof--the legend of st. nathdan--mythological parallels--the muich--morven: the centre of highland song and legend--birse--lunphanan wood--the battle of corrichie--queen mary and sir john gordon--at aberdeen the tay.--_by john geddie._ the tiber and the tay--history and legend--perthshire and the tay--the moor of rannoch--blair--pitlochrie--killin--kenmore--the lyon--the "rock of weem"--the "birks" of aberfeldy--dunkeld and birnam--invertuthil--the loch of clunie--the isla--strathmore--dunsinane hill--scone and the ruthvens--perth--the views from moncrieffe and kinnoull--strathearn and the carse of gowrie--dundee--the tay bridge, new and old--view from the "law"--"men of blood" and men of business the forth.--_by john geddie._ comparative--poetry, romance, and history--loch ard and flora mcivor--the "clachan of aberfoyle"--lake of menteith--the trossachs and loch katrine--ellen and helen--loch achray--ben ledi--the view from stirling castle--stirling town--bannockburn--the ochils and the devon valley--alloa--clackmannan--kincardine-on-forth--tulliallan castle--culross: abbey and burgh--the "standard stone"--torryburn--rosyth castle--"st. margaret's hope"--dunfermline: tower, palace, and abbey--the new forth bridge--inch garvie and its castle--inverkeithing bay--donibristle house--aberdour--inchcolm, cramond, inchkeith, and may islands--the bass rock--kirkcaldy bay--edinburgh--leith--seton--aberlady--round to north berwick--tantallon castle the tweed.--_by w. w. hutchings._ chapter i.--from berwick to kelso.--leading characteristics--the view from berwick--lindisfarne--the history and present state of berwick--norham castle and marmion--ladykirk--tillmouth--twisell castle and bridge--ford castle and flodden--coldstream--wark castle--hadden rig chapter ii.--from kelso to tweedswell.--kelso and its abbey--roxburghe castle--floors castle--the teviot--ancrum--carlenrig--the ale--the jed and jedburgh--mertoun--smailholm tower and sandyknowe--eildon and sir michael scott--dryburgh--the leader and thomas the rhymer--melrose--skirmish hill--abbotsford--the ettrick and the yarrow--ashestiel--innerleithen--horsburgh castle--peebles--neidpath--manor--drummelzier--the crook inn--tweedswell the coquet.--_by aaron watson._ the fisherman's river--"awa' to the border"--peat-hags--eel-fishing--alwinton and harbottle--the village of rothbury--brinkburn priory--weldon bridge and felton--warkworth hermitage and castle--the town of amble--coquet isle the tyne.--_by aaron watson._ chapter i.--the north tyne.--peel fell--deadwater bog--keilder castle and the keilder moors--the border peel--border feuds and friendships--the charltons--bellingham--the reed--tyne salmon--the village of wark--chipchase castle--haughton castle and the swinburnes--chollerford and the roman wall--the meeting of the waters chapter ii.--the south tyne.--on the "fiend's fell"--tyne springs--garrigill--alston and the moors--knaresdale hall--the ridleys--haltwhistle--allendale--haydon bridge and john martin--the arthurian legends chapter iii.--from hexham to newcastle.--hexham and the abbey church--dilston hall--the derwentwater rising--corbridge--bywell woods--prudhoe and ovingham--stephenson's birthplace--ryton and newburn--the approach to newcastle chapter iv.--from newcastle to the sea.--the growth of tyneside--"the coaly tyne"--newcastle bridges--local industries--poetical eulogies--tyneside landscapes--sandgate and the keelmen--wallsend--jarrow and the venerable bede--the docks--shields harbour--north and south shields--the tyne commission--tynemouth priory--the open sea the wear.--_by john geddie._ william of malmesbury on the wear--its associations--upper weardale and its inhabitants--stanhope--hunting the scots--wolsingham--bollihope fell and the "lang man's grave"--hamsterley--witton-le-wear--bishop auckland--binchester--brancepeth castle--the view from merrington church tower--wardenlaw--durham--st. cuthbert--his movements during life and afterwards--the growth of his patrimony--bishop carilepho and his successors--the battle of neville's cross--the bishopric in later times--the cathedral, without and within--the conventual buildings--the castle--bear park--ushaw--finchale--chester-le-street--lumley and lambton castles--biddick--hylton--sunderland and the wearmouths--the north sea the tees.--_by aaron watson._ among the fells--the weel--caldron snout--high force--gibson's cave--bow leys--middleton-in-teesdale--the lune and the balder--scandinavian names--cotherstone cheese--history in teesdale--scott's description of the tees--egliston abbey--greta bridge--dickens and mr. squeers--brignal banks and rokeby--the village of ovington--gainford--pierce bridge--high and low coniscliffe--croft--yarm--the industries of the tees--stockton--middlesbrough--the sea the humber and its tributaries. _by the rev. canon bonney, d.sc., f.r.s._ chapter i.--the trent, from the source to newton solney.--the course of the trent--a lowland stream--etymological--a fish-stream--the source--the potteries--burslem, etruria, and josiah wedgwood--stoke-upon-trent--trentham hall--stone--sandon--chartley castle--ingestre and its owners--the sow--tixall--essex bridge--shugborough--cannock chase--rugeley--beaudesert--armitage--the blyth--alrewas--the tame--burton-upon-trent--newton solney _by edward bradbury._ chapter ii.--the dove.--what's in the name--axe edge and dove head--the monogram--glutton mill--hartington--beresford dale--pike pool--izaak walton and charles cotton--beresford hall--dove dale--its associations--ilam--the manifold--ashbourne--doveridge--uttoxeter--sudbury--tutbury--the confluence _by canon bonney._ chapter iii.--the trent, from newton solney to the derwent.--newton solney--repton: the school and the church--swarkestone: its bridge and its church--chellaston--donington park and castle donington--cavendish bridge _by edward bradbury._ chapter iv.--the derwent.--the derwent in its infancy--derwent chapel and hall--hathersage--eyam--grindleford bridge--chatsworth--the "peacock" at rowsley--haddon hall--the wye and the lathkill--darley dale and its yew-tree--the sycamores of oker hill--the matlocks and high tor--cromford and willersley castle--ambergate--belper--derby--elvaston _by canon bonney._ chapter v.--the trent, from the derwent to the humber.--the soar--trent junction--the erewash--gotham and its wise men--clifton hall and grove--nottingham and its history--colwich hall and mary chaworth--sherwood forest--newark--gainsborough--axholme--the confluence with the humber _by w. s. cameron._ chapter vi.--the wharfe.--general characteristics--the skirfare--langstrothdale--kettlewell--dowkabottom cave--coniston and its neighbourhood--rylstone and the nortons--burnsall--appletreewick: an eccentric parson--simon's seat--barden tower and the cliffords--the "strid"--bolton abbey and bolton hall--the bridge--ilkley--denton and the fairfaxes--farnley hall and turner--otley--harewood--towton field--kirkby wharfe--bolton percy _by w. s. cameron._ chapter vii.--the ouse.--the ure and the swale--myton and the "white battle"--nun monckton, overton, and skelton--the nidd--york--bishopthorpe--selby--the derwent--the aire--howden--goole--the don _by w. s. cameron._ chapter viii.--the estuary.--drainage and navigation--dimensions of the humber--the ferribys--barton-upon-humber--hull--paull--sunk island--spurn point--great grimsby--places of call the rivers of the wash.--_by canon bonney._ the witham: grantham--lincoln--boston. the nen: naseby--northampton--earls barton--castle ashby--wellingborough--higham ferrers--thrapston--oundle--castor--peterborough. the welland: market harborough--rockingham--stamford. the ouse: bedford--st. neots--huntingdon--st. ives. the cam: cambridge--"five miles from anywhere"--ely. fens and fenland towns: wisbeach--spalding--king's lynn--crowland the rivers of east anglia.--_by w. senior._ the crouch: foulness--little barsted and langdon--canewdon--rayleigh--hockley spa. the blackwater: saffron walden--radwinter--cadham hall and butler--bocking--braintree--felix hall--braxted lodge--tiptree--maldon. the chelmer: thaxted--the dunmows--great waltham--springfield--chelmsford--mersea island. the colne: great yeldham--castle hedingham--halstead--colchester. the stour: kedington--sudbury--flatford and john constable--harwich. the orwell: stowmarket--barham--ipswich. the deben: debenham--woodbridge--felixstowe. the alde: aldborough--southwold--halesworth. the waveney: diss--bungay--mettingham--beccles--breydon water--horsey mere. the bure: hickling broads--st. benet's abbey--salhouse and wroxham broads--hoverton great broad--horning ferry--fishing in the broads. the yare: norwich--yarmouth [illustration] list of illustrations. on the wharfe--bolton abbey _frontispiece._ _the highland dee_:-- pages ben macdhui--the highland dee (_map_)--linn of dee--linn of corriemulzie--lochnagar--braemar--view from the old bridge, invercauld, braemar--balmoral--the castle--abergeldie castle--ballater--aberdeen - _the tay_:-- bridge of tay, kenmore--the tay (_map_)--"birks" of aberfeldy--aberfeldy, from the west--bridge of garry--birnam, from birnam hill--dunsinane hill--scone palace, perth--perth, from the west--tay street, perth--on the firth of tay--the new tay viaduct, from the south--dundee, from broughty ferry--dundee--broughty ferry castle - _the forth_:-- ben and loch lomond--the forth (_map_)--"ellen's isle"--the trossachs and ben venue--old bridge of forth, stirling--stirling, from abbey craig--alloa pier--salmon fishing near stirling--culross, from the pier--culross abbey--dunfermline--forth bridge, from the south-west--shore street, leith--edinburgh, from the fife shore--portobello--kirkcaldy, from the south-east--the bass rock, from north berwick--tantallon castle, looking east--north berwick, from the harbour - _the tweed_:-- berwick-on-tweed--high street, berwick, with the town hall--the royal border bridge, berwick--the course of the tweed (_map_)--view from the ramparts, berwick--norham castle--junction of the till and the tweed--tillmouth house, from the banks of the till--ford castle--flodden field--twisell bridge--junction of the till and the glen--the glen at coupland--coldstream bridge, from up-stream--ruins of wark castle--kelso, with rennie's bridge--dryburgh abbey, from the east--ruins of roxburghe castle--melrose abbey, from the south-east--melrose abbey: the east window--abbotsford--galashiels--peebles, from a little below neidpath--neidpath castle--hart fell - _the coquet_:-- among the fells--the course of the coquet (_map_)--harbottle--alwinton bridge--the coquet at farnham--on the coquet, brinkburn--at felton--morwick mill, acklington--warkworth castle--the village of warkworth--hunting on coquetside - _the tyne_:-- keilder moors (with peel fell to the right)--the course of the tyne (_map_)--keilder castle--greystead bridge--dally castle--bellingham church--chipchase castle--haughton castle--at warden--alston moor--featherstone castle--featherstone bridge--haltwhistle--haydon bridge--hexham abbey--prudhoe castle--corbridge--bywell castle--newburn--ovingham--the high-level bridge at gateshead--coal trimmers--a coal staithe--newcastle-on-tyne--quay at newcastle--shields harbour: the high lights--the river at tynemouth castle--jarrow church: the saxon tower--tynemouth, from the sea--tynemouth, from cullercoats - _the wear_:-- in weardale--the course of the wear (_map_)--stanhope bridge--rogerley--wolsingham--harperley--witton-le-wear--bishop auckland palace and park--willington--brancepeth castle--distant view of durham--durham cathedral and castle--chester-le-street--distant view of lambton castle--monkwearmouth church--looking up the river, sunderland - _the tees_:-- cross fell--the course of the tees (_map_)--high force--from york side--barnard castle--barnard castle: the town--on the greta at rokeby--junction of the greta and the tees--wycliffe--gainford croft--blackwell bridge--yarm--stockton--high street, stockton--ferryboat landing, middlesbrough--blast furnaces, from the river, middlesbrough - _the humber and its tributaries_:-- the trent, from the source to newton solney.--in the potteries--the trent, from the source to newton solney (_map_)--etruria--josiah wedgwood--trentham--ingestre hall--wolseley bridge--shugborough--rugeley, from the stone quarry--cannock chase, from the trent--from the meadows near alrewas--armitage--burton-upon-trent - the dove.--dove head--map of the dove--the monogram at dove head--the banks of the dove--ilam hall--ashbourne church--the straits, dovedale--john of gaunt's gateway, tutbury castle - the trent, from newton solney to the derwent.--junction of the trent and the dove--repton--the "crow trees," barrow-on-trent--the trent, from newton solney to the derwent (_map_)--trent locks - the derwent.--junction of the derwent and the trent--the course of the derwent (_map_)--at ashopton, derwentdale--chatsworth--the "peacock," rowsley--the terrace, haddon hall--haddon hall, from the wye--derwent terrace, matlock--the high tor, matlock--matlock bath--markeaton bridge--allestree--derby, from the long bridge--derby, from st. mary's bridge--in the south gardens, elvaston - the trent, from the derwent to the humber.--trent bridge, nottingham--the trent, from the derwent to the humber (_map_)--nottingham, from the castle--newark castle--carlton--on the trent at gainsborough--old sluice gate at axholme--meadow land at axholme - the wharfe.--bolton bridge--the course of the wharfe (_map_)--skipton castle, from one of the towers--ilkley bridge--the bridge, otley--farnley hall--ruins of harewood castle--at tadcaster--kirkby wharfe - the ouse.--the ouse at york--the course of the ouse (_map_)--bishopthorpe--cawood--selby - the estuary.--barton-upon-humber--the course of the humber--queen's dock, hull--distant view of great grimsby - _the rivers of the wash_:-- a bit of fen--on the fens in winter--map of the rivers of the wash--lincoln, from canwick--lincoln cathedral from the south-west--boston church: the tower--northampton--peterborough--rockingham village and castle--gateway of the castle--stamford--bedford bridge--huntingdon bridge--old bridge, st. ives--junction of the cam and the ouse--queen's bridge, cambridge--ely cathedral, from the river--among the fens - _the rivers of east anglia_:-- a norfolk broad--cadham hall--portrait of samuel butler--maldon--map of the east anglian rivers--the shire hall, chelmsford--mill on the colne--high street, colchester--on the orwell at ipswich--harwich: the quay--the beach, yarmouth--outward bound - _we are indebted for the use of photographs on pages , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , and , to messrs. j. valentine and sons, dundee; on pages , , , , , , , , , , , , and , to messrs. g. w. wilson and co., aberdeen; on pages , , , , , , , , , , , , , and , to messrs. poulton and son, lee; on pages and , to mr. t. scott, birmingham; on pages and , to mr. t. foster, coldstream; on page , to mr. w. green, berwick-on-tweed; on pages , , and , to mr. h. piper, gateshead; on pages , , , , , , , and , to mr. j. p. gibson, hexham; on pages and , to mr. j. worsnop, rothbury; on page , to rev. g. smith, bedlington; on pages , , , , , , and , to mr. e. yeoman, barnard castle; on page , to mr. c. c. hodges, hexham; on pages and , to messrs. o. m. lairs and son, newcastle-on-tyne; on pages , , , , , , and , to messrs. frith and co., reigate; on page , to mr. j. w. cooper, darlington; on page , to mr. f. pearson, basford; on pages , , , , , , , , , and , to mr. r. keene, derby; on pages and , to mr. j. w. hilder, matlock bath; on page , to messrs. allen and sons, nottingham; on page , to mr. m. shuttleworth, ilkley; on page , to mr. g. a. nicholls, stamford; on pages and , to mr. a. hendrey, godmanchester; on page , to messrs. hills and saunders, cambridge; on page , to mr. w. w. gladwin, maldon; on page , to mr. gill, colchester; on pages , , , , , and , to mr. payne jennings, ashtead._ rivers of great britain. [illustration: ben macdhui.] the highland dee. the source: larig and garchary burns--in the heart of the cairngorm mountains--ben macdhui and braeriach--"a fery falgar place"--a highland legend--the linn of dee--byron's narrow escape--the floods of --lochnagar and mary duff--influence of the dee on byron--braemar and the rising of ' --corriemulzie and its linn--balmoral--the "birks" of abergeldie--their transplantation by burns--what is collimankie?--ballater: the slaying of "brave brackley"--craigendarroch--the reel of tullich and the origin thereof--the legend of st. nathdan--mythological parallels--the muich--morven: the centre of highland song and legend--birse--lunphanan wood--the battle of corrichie--queen mary and sir john gordon--at aberdeen. among the streams that meet together in the wild south-west of aberdeenshire to form the dee, it is not easy to decide which is chief, or where is the fountain, far up the dark mountain-side, where this parent rill has birth. dismissing minor pretenders, we can at once state that the original is either the larig or the garchary burn. the first is more in the main line of the river, whilst it has also more water; the second rises higher up, and has a longer course before it reaches the meeting-place. popularly, the source of the stream is a place about the beginning of the larig, called the wells of dee. here nature has built a reservoir perfect in every part. the water escapes from this fountain-head in considerable volume, so that it forms a quite satisfactory source, which we may well adopt. here, then, our journey commences among "the grizzly cliffs that guard the infant rills of highland dee." we are in the very heart of the cairngorm mountains, confronted on every side by all that is most savage and grand in nature--frowning precipices, mist-covered heights, sullen black lochs, an almost total absence of vegetation, an almost unbroken solitude. here rise ben macdhui, braeriach, and cairntoul, whose streams, running down--often hurled down--their weather-beaten sides, rapidly increase the volume of our river. braeriach fronts ben macdhui on the other side of the infant dee. it presents to the view a huge line of precipices, dark and sombre, save when the hand of winter, powdering them with snow, changes them to masses of glittering white. even at a good distance away you hear the splash and dash of innumerable waterfalls, caused by the burns leaping the cliffs. if you venture to wander among those wilds you must know your ground well, for however bright the day may be one hour, the next you may be shrouded in mist, or drenched with rain, or battered by hail. the mist, indeed, is rarely absent. you see it clinging round the heights and moving restlessly up and down the hillside like some uneasy and malignant spirit. as you walk you are startled at a huge figure striding along. it requires an effort to recognise a mist-picture of yourself--a sort of scotch spectre of the brocken. it was of these wild regions that an old highlander once remarked to hill burton that it was "a fery fulgar place, and not fit for a young shentleman to go to at all." let us not scorn the ingenuous native; virgil has said, in the eclogues (much more elegantly, 'tis true), very much the same thing about very much the same kind of scenery. all our way by dee will not be among views like this. indeed, at the mouth are scenes of rich fertility. it is on the fat meadows near aberdeen that a portion of those innumerable flocks and droves are raised which have so great a reputation in the london market. these are the two extremes, but between them there is every variety of highland scenery. he who has seen the banks of dee has seen, as in an epitome or abridgment, all that the north of scotland has to show. in the midst of variety one thing is constant, whatever landscape you may be passing through: you always have the great hill masses on the horizon. thus the dee is a typical highland river. even with the sternest parts soft touches are interwoven. thus take the lui, which, rising in ben macdhui, falls into the dee at an early point of its course. the lower part of glen lui is remarkable for its gentle beauty. the grass is smooth as a lawn, the water of the burn which moves gently along is transparently clear, the regular slope is covered with weeping birches. the perfect solitude of this sweet valley has its own charm, though it be the charm of melancholy. higher up, nearer ben macdhui, in glen lui beg, the scenery is wilder, and the water dashes down more swiftly, as if it longed to be away from its wild source. we must go with it, and bid farewell to ben macdhui and the sources of dee. and for farewell, here is a mountain legend. [illustration: the highland dee.] at some time or other a band of robbers who infested this region had acquired a great store of gold. one of their number, named mackenzie, proved that there is not honour among thieves. he robbed his companions and then hid the twice-cursed pelf in a remote and well-nigh inaccessible spot far up the slope of ben macdhui. the work of concealment took him the best part of a short summer night, for the sun rose precisely as he finished. he noticed that as its first beam fell over the ridge to the east, it marked a long burnished line of light over the ground where the treasure lay. this seemed to him to distinguish the spot beyond the possibility of error. before his death he confided to his sons the secret of his hidden treasure. they were poor and greedy. the rest of their lives was devoted summer after summer to the hunt; but the grim mountain kept its secret well. often the morning mist mocked their efforts, yet they succeeded no better when, on the anniversary of the burial, the sun rose in a sky of unclouded blue. one by one, prematurely aged, they passed away, till the last died a madman, revealing in his ravings the secret and the ruin of their lives. and still, somewhere on that mountain-side, the gold hoard lies concealed. for some time after we leave the wells of dee, we are still in the midst of gloom. dark black rocks rising on either side to a great height still shut us in, whilst the stillness is only broken by the roar of the wind, the rush of the water, or the (occasional) scream of the eagle; but when we get to the linn of dee, near inverary, we may fairly consider ourselves back among our kind; nay, we are within the very uncharmed circle of the tourist, whereat we may rejoice or grieve as is our liking. this linn is caused by the river rushing through a narrow channel in the rocks over into a pool very deep, and (according to local tradition) unfathomable. some hardy spirits have jumped across the channel, but if you try, and miss, you will never come out alive. then your epitaph will be written in a guide-book paragraph, somewhat after the fashion of the lines in baedeker telling the horrible end of that unfortunate officer who fell into the bear-pit at berne. lord byron, when a boy, had a narrow escape here. "some heather caught in his lame foot, and he fell. already he was rolling downwards, when the attendant luckily caught hold of him, and was but just in time to save him from being killed." [illustration: linn of dee.] [illustration: linn of corriemulzie.] the great floods of --those floods of which sir thomas dick lauder is the chronicler--wrought sad havoc here. a bridge spanned the stream at a height of thirty feet. the river, rising three feet higher, swept it away. we must turn to the annals of strathspey to test the full havoc of the flood fiend, yet it wrought no mean ruin here. i pick out one or two cases. near inverey the rising water attacked six houses, destroying each in turn until all the inhabitants were huddled round the hearthstone of the last. here the water burst in, forcing the poor people to take refuge on a knoll, where, without shelter, and in mortal terror for their lives, they crouched shivering through the night. there is a waterfall on the quoich, near where it joins the larger river. this was spanned by a bridge so firmly bound to the rocks as to be (it was hoped) immovable. the flood struck it, and it was torn away, with tons of the adjacent rocks. it seemed, indeed, to those who lived through that terrible time, as if the very structure of the earth was breaking in pieces. the days were black with the ever-falling sheets of heavy rain; the nights were vivid with the ever-flashing lightning; whilst day and night alike the wind roared with demoniacal fury. the waters hidden in the bowels of hills and rocks burst forth, leaving great fissures and scars, which remain as a monument of the titanic forces at work. shocks of earthquake happened again and again. "i felt the earth hobblin' under me," said a peasant graphically. many thought the end of all things was at hand. yet it was in less sensational ravages that the flood wrought its most cruel havoc. the poor man's cottage left a hopeless ruin, the fertile field left a sandy waste--such were the most lamentable signs of its power. human effort was powerless against it. what could be done with a flood which rose, as was noted at ballater, not less than one foot in ten minutes? the ravages made have long ago been repaired. at linn of dee there is now a handsome white granite bridge, which was opened by the queen as long ago as the year . [illustration: lochnagar.] it is odd that the poet of this essentially highland river should be an english bard; for if we turn to see what our literature has to say of the dee, we must turn to byron. yet byron was, as he says, "half a scot by birth, and bred a whole one." if his ancestors on the father's side "came over" (as he delighted to recall) with the conqueror, he was not less proud to remember that his mother was of one of the best families of the "gay gordons," and that for over three centuries her people had possessed gight. he went to aberdeen in , when but two years old; here he stayed till , and during that time he visited again and again most of the finest spots on the dee. those mighty hills, those clear, flowing streams, were the earliest things he remembered, and he never failed to acknowledge how deep was the impression they made on him. "from this period i date my love of mountainous countries." near the end of his life he sings, in "the island"-- "the infant rapture still survived the boy, and lochnagar with ida look'd o'er troy." his mention of lochnagar--"dark lochnagar"--reminds us how peculiarly his name is connected with that deeside mountain of which he is the laureate. here, too, sprang the strange child-love of the precocious boy for mary duff, with whose beauty the beauty of the country where he came to know her was indissolubly linked in his mind. the scenes in greece, he says, carried him back to morven (his own "morven of snow"), and many a dark hill in that classic land made him "think of the rocks that o'ershadow colbeen;" whilst the very mention of "auld lang syne" brings to his mind the river dee and "scotland one and all, scotch plaids, scotch snoods, the blue hills and clear streams." in moore's biography there are needlessly ingenious arguments to prove that it was not the dee scenery that made byron a poet. of course not. _poeta nascitur non fit_, to quote the old latin saying, which puts the matter much more pithily than moore. but scenery and early impressions determine the course of a poet's genius as surely as the nature of the ground determines the course of the stream. how much celtic magic there is in all byron's verses--the love of the wild and terrible and impressive in scenery, as in life! byron's poetry is before all romantic, and so is deeside scenery. in his revolt against conventionalities, and even (it must be said) against the proprieties and decencies, we can clearly trace a true celtic revolt against the dull, hard, prosaic facts of life. can it be said that if byron had passed his early years among the lincolnshire fens or the muddy flats of essex, "don juan" or "childe harold" would have been what they are--if, indeed, they had ever existed? moore under-estimated the influence of such scenes on byron because he under-estimated the scenes themselves. "a small bleak valley, not at all worthy of being associated with the memory of a poet," says he. at this the local historian, good mr. james brown, who, having first driven a coach till he knew every inch of a large stretch of the country, then wrote an excellent deeside guide, waxes very wroth. "it is really to be wished that mr. thomas moore would not write upon subjects which he knows nothing about. deeside a small bleak valley! who ever heard tell of such nonsense!" moore, however, did after his kind. he who sang the "sweet vale of avoca" cared little for "dark lochnagar." indeed, there are some northern folk very much of moore's opinion. does not the old proverb tell us that "a mile of don's worth two of dee, except for salmon, stone, and tree"? but it is for those who love the stone and tree, the wild forests, the wilder hills, that dee has its surpassing attraction. it adds a fine charm to the enthusiast's enjoyment of such scenery to know it is not everyone who can appreciate it. but we turn now to interest of another kind, for at castleton of braemar we touch successive strata of historical events. there is craig-koynoch, where kenneth ii., too old for hunting himself, used to watch his dogs as they chased some noble stag, whilst his ears drank in the music of horn and hound. here, too, in the old castle of braemar, of which but a few remains are left, malcolm canmore, last of scotland's celtic kings, had a hunting seat in the midst of the mighty forest of which we still see the remains. there are still great herds of deer to be hunted, though the wolves and wild boars have long since vanished. here, too, were the great possessions of the mar family. it was to this place that john erskine, thirty-ninth earl of mar, summoned the highland clans under pretence of a great hunting party in braemar forest, and began the rebellion of . the standard was formally set up on the th of september, when the gilt ball which ornamented the top fell down, much to the consternation of the superstitious celts. a famous jacobite song gives us the names of the leaders and the clans:-- "i saw our chief come up the glen wi' drummond and glengarry, macgregor, murray, rollo, keith, panmure and gallant harry; macdonald's men, clan ronald's men, mackenzie's men, macgillivray's men, strathallan's men, the lowlan' men, o'callander and airly." the hunting party, it should be noted, was not all a pretence. it took place on a magnificent scale, as taylor the water poet, who was there (how or why it would take too long to explain), tells us. after he lost sight of the old castle, he was twelve days before he saw either house, or cornfield, or habitation for any creature but deer, wild horses, wolves, and such-like creatures. taylor goes on to describe how a great body of beaters, setting out at early morning, drove the deer, "their heads making a show like a wood," to the place where the hunters shot them down. as we all know, the ' was a disastrous failure--less terrible, it is true, but less glorious, than the ' . mar turned out to be neither statesman nor soldier ("oh for one hour of dundee!" said the old officer at sheriffmuir). he escaped with the pretender to france, his vast estates were forfeited, and for a time there was no earldom of mar. his poor followers suffered more than their lord. all the houses in braemar were burnt, save one at corriemulzie. it was only the seclusion of that narrow glen, so beautiful with its birch-trees and its linn, that saved the lonely habitation. there are memories of the ' about the district too. for instance, a little way down the river from castleton is craig clunie, where farquharson of invercauld lay hid for ten months after culloden, safe in the devotion of his clan, though his enemies were hunting for him far and near. [illustration: braemar.] ten miles or so below castleton, we come upon another royal residence, which we all know as balmoral, the highland home of queen victoria. this place is now one of the most famous spots in britain, and though its celebrity is of recent date, yet it has an old history of its own. as far back as it was royal property. in james v. gave it to the then earl of huntly. in , on the downfall of the family, it came into the possession of the earl of moray. enough of these dull details, which are best left in the congenial seclusion of the charter chest. in the crown again--and let us hope finally--acquired balmoral. [illustration: view from the old bridge, invercauld, braemar.] if anyone wonders why the queen is so fond of her highland home, it must be because the questioner has never seen it, since of all the dwelling-places of men it is surely the most desirable. it stands on a slight eminence near the dee, which winds round it in a great bend. swiftly the beautifully clear water rolls past. the low ground, richly fertile, is green in summer-time with various leafage. behind the castle rises the graceful height of craig-na-gow-an, clothed with the slender birch-tree. the cairn on the top, to the memory of albert the good, reminds us of the great sorrow of victoria's life. the castle lies at the foot of the hill, protected from the wild winter winds. in both near and remote distance we have the ever-beautiful background of the everlasting hills, immovable, and yet ever changing in place and appearance with each change of light and shade. ben macdhui in one direction is most prominent, dark lochnagar in another. the scenery is "wild, and yet not desolate," as the queen simply, yet truly, puts it. its varied aspects give, from one point of view or another, examples of all deeside views. the castle itself is built of very fine granite. it has a noble appearance, yet the architecture is of the simplest baronial scotch style. it has all the traditional comfort of our island dwellings. it is, in a word, a genuine english home amidst the finest highland scenery. what combination could be more attractive? two miles farther down is abergeldie, of which the castle is occupied by the prince of wales when in these parts. between the two is crathie kirk, where the royal household and their visitors worship in simple presbyterian fashion in the autumn months. abergeldie has an old reputation for its birks. there used to be a quaint old song in two verses which told their praise. in the first verse an ardent wooer entreats one of those innumerable "bonnie lassies" of scotch popular poetry to hie thither under his escort. she is to have all sorts of fine things-- "ye sall get a gown o' silk and coat o' collimankie." what on earth is collimankie? asks the reader. in truth i cannot tell, and i fear to look up the word in jamieson lest it turn out to be something commonplace. the second verse is the young lady's reply. it is deliciously arch and simple:-- "na, kind sir, i dare nae gang, my minny will be angry. sair, sair wad she flyte, wad she flyte, wad she flyte, sair, sair, wad she flyte, and sair wad she ban me!" "methinks the lady doth protest too much," and the probability is that she went after all. at any rate, the picture is perfect. you almost see the peasant girl mincing her words, biting her finger, with a blush on her young face. and what has become of this song, then? why, burns laid violent hands on the birks, and transferred them to aberfeldy; which, thenceforth, was glorified with a most shady grove; in poetry, that is, for in fact there was not a single birk in the place for long afterwards, if, indeed, there is one even now; and, as far as my recollection goes, there is not. but we have still something to relate regarding those famous birks. it seems that the juice of the trees is carefully extracted, and the skilled natives, "by a curious process, ferment the same and make wine of it--which wine is very pleasant to taste, and thought by some to be little inferior to the wine of champagne and other outlandish countries." so far the local chronicler. we can only toss off a goblet (in imagination) of this extraordinary _vin du pays_ to the prosperity of the birks ere the bend of the dee hides them from our view. ballater is the next important place we come to. it is the terminus of the deeside extension railway, and what is for us at present much more important, the centre of the most interesting part of deeside. one mile south of it is an almost vanished ruin, the scene of a terrible tragedy, the memory of which--though it happened three centuries ago--is still preserved by a poem of a very different sort from the simple peasant idyll just quoted. one of the old tragic ballads which with such profound yet unconscious insight deal with the stormier human passions, tells the story of how farquharson of inverey slew, in shameful fashion, gordon, baron of brackley. with what pithy expression the first two lines place you in the very heart of the subject! "inverey came down deeside whistlin' and playin', he was at brave brackley's yetts ere it was dawin'." and then comes the proud, insolent challenge of the murderer-- "are ye sleepin', baronne, or are ye waukin'? there's sharp swords at your yett will gar your blood spin." gordon is brave, but he will not go forth almost alone against so many to meet certain death till his fair, but false, young wife taunts him bitterly with his cowardice. then he gets ready, though he knows how certain is his doom. "an' he stooped low, and said, as he kissed his proud dame, 'there's a gordon rides out that will never ride hame.'" there is a narrow glen near by which popular tradition still points out as the spot where they "pierced bonny brackley wi' mony a woun'." the ballad closes in darkness and sadness, but one is glad to learn from contemporary history that the earl of huntly made a foray and avenged the death of his kinsman. hereby is the hill of craigendarroch, which we cannot pause to climb, though from it we have a grand view a long way down the dee valley. tullich i can only mention. have you ever seen, by-the-bye, that extraordinary highland tarantula called the reel of tullich? it is perhaps the wildest, maddest dance ever invented. the legend of its origin is this:--one tempestuous sabbath, about a century and a half ago, the congregation at the parish kirk there were without a minister. the manse was some way off, the roads were rough, and the parson got it into his head that nobody would be at church that day, so _he_ need not go either. the people got tired of waiting; they began to stamp with their feet, then hidden bottles were produced, and then they danced and shouted till at last the whole thing degenerated into a wild orgie, during which the wind roared round the kirk and the sleet beat on the windows in vain. then they invented and danced the reel of tullich. before the year was out all were dead, and by the dance alone are they now remembered. it is worth while quoting this strange story, for it is an example of the rare presbyterian legend. a place on the river called the king's pool reminds one of a catholic myth. st. nathdan, who once lived here, did penance for some sin by locking a heavy iron chain round his waist. he then threw the key into this pool, saying he should know he was forgiven when he found it again. long afterwards he went a pilgrimage to rome, and on the italian coast some fishermen, in return for his blessing, gave him a fish. need i add that in the belly he found the key? [illustration: balmoral.] [illustration: the castle.] the legends which hang like the mist round every rock and ruin have a weird fascination, but i must stop repeating them, or there will be room for nothing else. i cannot help noting, however, that there is a deeside version of nearly every ancient myth. thus one story tells how a macdonald was suckled by a wolf quite after the fashion of romulus. another is of a giant injured by an individual calling himself mysel, so that when the stupid monster was asked who hurt him, he could only say "mysel" (myself). this is almost exactly the tale of the giant in the "odyssey." but more curious than all is a reproduction of the famous apple legend, with malcolm canmore for geisler and one called hardy for william tell. the resemblance is exact even down to the two additional arrows; but i can scarcely go so far as the old deeside lady, who affirmed that since malcolm canmore flourished about the time of the norman conquest, and william tell was contemporary with robert bruce, the swiss legend was borrowed from the scotch! [illustration: abergeldie castle.] it is difficult to get away from a neighbourhood like ballater, where there is so much worth seeing. the muich here, running from the south, falls into the dee. about five miles up is the linn of muich--linns and waterfalls are the peculiar glory of deeside, i need scarcely say. a great mass of water finds here but one narrow outlet, over which it foams and struggles, and then falls fifty feet with a great splash into a deep pool. the heights of the precipice are clothed with old fir-trees, which also stick out of the crevasses of the rocks. the muich rises away up at the foot of lochnagar in loch muich, which means, they say, the lake of sorrow--so gloomy and sombre is that far-off recess in the hill. to the west of lochnagar are the loch and glen of callater--wild enough, too; and beyond is the breakneck waterfall, which is positively the last fall i shall mention. a stream makes a bold dart over a precipice. it seems like a thread of silver in the sunlight. down it falls, with a thundering sound on the rock, scattering its spray around in a perpetual shower. a british admiral, some few years ago, slipped over a precipice near here. his hammer (he was specimen hunting) stuck in a crack, and there he held on for two awful days, and still more awful nights. the whole neighbourhood hunted for him, and at last, the black speck being seen on the cliff, he was rescued. not a man of the rescuers would accept a farthing for what he had done. the highlander has his faults, but there is always something of the gentleman about him. [illustration: ballater.] nearly due north of ballater is morven--the morven of byron, and (perhaps) of ossian, though there are other places and districts in scotland bearing the name. morven is the centre of highland song and legend. but if it is enchanted, it is also uncertain, ground, and must here be left untraced. we are still forty-three miles from aberdeen; so we glide through aboyne and glentanner, leaving the beautiful castle of the one, and the equally, though differently, beautiful valley of the other, unvisited. then in many a devious turn we wind round the northern boundary of the parish of birse. "as auld as the hills o' birse," says a local proverb, which shows that even in this land of hills the district is considered hilly. here are some of their names: torquhandallachy, lamawhillis, carmaferg, lamahip, duchery, craigmahandle, gannoch, creaganducy. grand words those, if you can give them their proper sound. otherwise leave them "unhonoured and unsung," and unpronounced. the local chronicler is much perplexed by another somewhat inelegant aberdeenshire witticism--"gang to birse and bottle skate." with absolute logical correctness he proves that in that inland and hilly parish there are no skate; and that, if there were, to bottle them would be contrary to the principles and practice of any recorded system of fish-curing. we shall not discuss with him this dark saying. on the other side of the dee is lunphanan parish, in the "wood" of which macbeth--according to wyntoun, though not according to shakespeare--met his death. his "cairn" is still to be seen on a bare hill in this district, though another tradition tells us that his dust mingles with the dust of "gracious duncan" in the sacred soil of iona. the dee, now leaving its native county, flows for a few miles through the mearns or kincardineshire. it returns to aberdeenshire in the parish of drumoak, forming for the remaining fourteen miles of its course the boundary between the two counties. [illustration: aberdeen.] it is here we come across the most interesting historical memory connected with deeside, for it is a memory of queen mary. on the south side of the hill of fare there is a hollow, where the battle of corrichie was fought in . i do not wish to enter into the history of that troubled time. suffice it to say that the earl of huntly, chief of the gordons, and head of the catholics, was intriguing to secure the power which murray was determined he should not have. the queen was with murray, though her heart, they said, was with the gordons. anyhow, she dashed northward gaily enough on a horse that would have thrown an ordinary rider. murray's diplomacy forced the gordons into a position of open hostility, and his superior generalship easily secured him the victory at corrichie. the old earl of huntly was taken, it seemed, unhurt, but he suddenly fell down dead--heart-broken at the ruin of himself and his house, said some; crushed by the weight of his armour, said others. they took the body to the tolbooth in aberdeen. knox tells us that the countess had consulted a witch before the fight, and was comforted by the assurance that her husband would lie _unwounded_ that night in the tolbooth. the remains, embalmed in some rude fashion, were carried to edinburgh; for a strange ceremony yet remained ere the gordon lands were divided among the victors. a parliament in due time met in holyrood, and the dead man was brought before his peers to answer for his treasons. a mere formality, perhaps, but an awfully gruesome one. his attainder, and that of his family, together with the forfeiture of his lands, was then pronounced. the battle was a great triumph for the protestant lords; even the sneering, sceptical maitland, says knox, with one of those direct, forcible touches of his, "remembered that there was a god in heaven." there was one who looked on the matter with other eyes. "the queen took no pleasure in the victory, and gloomed at the messenger who told of it." indeed, there was a tragedy within this tragedy. among the prisoners taken at corrichie was sir john gordon, huntly's second son, "a comely young gentleman," wild and daring, and, though then an outlaw, one who had ventured to hope for the queen's hand. it was whispered that she was not unfavourable to him; some ventured to say "she loved him entirely." for such a man there was but one fate possible, and that was death. he was executed in the market-place of aberdeen. murray looked on at the death of his foe with that inscrutable calm which he preserved in victory and defeat--at his own death, as well as at the death of others. the queen, too, was forced to be there. before the axe fell, gordon professed his unalterable devotion to her. her presence, he said, was a solace to him, though she had brought him to destruction. the sight was too fearful for mary, who, in a deadly swoon, was carried to her chamber. even in her strange life-story there is nothing more terrible. fotheringay itself is not so tragic. the last four miles of our well-nigh eighty miles' journey are, as noted, on the border of aberdeen and kincardine. here the river enjoys a peaceful old age, after the wild turmoil of its youth. the water, still beautifully clear, moves placidly along amidst rich meadows; the near hills are low, with soft rounded summits. the dwellings of men give a cheerfulness to the scene. it is the very perfection of pastoral landscape. and then, at last, we come to aberdeen and the sea. but on the wonders of that famous town i cannot here enter. suffice it to say that our record of the highland dee is finished. francis watt. [illustration: bridge of tay, kenmore.] the tay. the tiber and the tay--history and legend--perthshire and the tay--the moor of rannoch--blair--pitlochrie--killin--kenmore--the lyon--the "rock of weem"--the "birks" of aberfeldy--dunkeld and birnam--invertuthil--the loch of clunie--the isla--strathmore--dunsinane hill--scone and the ruthvens--perth--the views from moncrieffe and kinnoull--strathearn and the carse of gowrie--dundee--the tay bridge, new and old--view from the "law"--"men of blood" and men of business. "behold the tiber!" said the conquering roman, when from one of the many 'vantage-grounds commanding the noble stream that sweeps past perth, the imperial eagles first saw as fair a scene as they had yet reached in their flight. the ardent lovers of the river--meaning all who know its banks well--have ever since felt, with scott, half flattered by the traditional compliment, half scornful of the comparison of the puny and "drumlie" roman stream with the broad, clear, and brimming tay--the dusty campus martius with the green "inches" of perth--the featureless and desolate campagna with the glorious stretch of hill and plain, water and woodland, overlooked from kinnoull hill or the "wicks of baiglie." it is true that when this pioneer of countless hosts of southern invaders and sightseers came hither, to admire and covet, the tay flowed through a savage and shaggy land. there might have been a handful of the skin or wicker-work wigwams of the "dwellers in the forest" on the site of perth, or at forteviot or abernethy, afterwards the capitals of the picts, and a sprinkling of caledonian coracles on the neighbouring waters. but if perthshire and the tay had a history before the coming of agricola and the building of the lines of roman roads and stations that converged upon their great camp, dedicated to mars, near the meeting-place of this prince of scottish streams with the tributary waters of the almond and the earn, it is utterly lost in the mists of antiquity. history of the most stirring kind the tay has known enough of since. every glen and hillside is thronged with memories and legends of the days of romance, which, in perthshire and on the banks of the tay, came to an end only about a century ago, when some of the jacobite lairds were still in exile for being "out" in the ' , and had not utterly given up hope of the "lost cause." every old castle and little township has played its part in the strange, eventful drama of the national history; and by their record, not less than by its position, perthshire can lay claim to be the heart, and the tay to be the heart's blood, of the northern kingdom. perthshire is the tay, almost as truly as egypt is the nile. it is the case that some of the head-waters of this many-fountained stream rise in other counties--that its furthest, if not its most important, source is in the desolate moor of rannoch--"a world before chaos," crudely compounded of bog and rock, where loch lydoch trails its black and sinuous length out of argyllshire into perth; that, further north, loch ericht, straight as a sword-blade, thrusts its sharper end miles deep into the mountains of laggan, in inverness-shire, hiding, as tradition tells us, the ruins of submerged fields and houses under its gleaming surface; and that the isla draws from forfarshire that portion of its waters which murmurs under the haunted old walls of airlie and glamis. true, also, a choice and lovely portion of perthshire--many deem it the choicest and loveliest of all--drains through the trossachs to the forth; and that the tay itself, after it has ceased to be a river, and has become an arm of the sea, overpasses the bounds of the "central county," and meets the ocean between the braes of angus and the hills of fife--between the clustering spires and chimneys of busy dundee and the crumbling towers that watch over the secluded dignity of st. andrews. all this notwithstanding, the periphery of perthshire may roughly be said to embrace all the wealth of beauty reflected in the tay, and all the wealth of memories that mingles with its flowing current. and richly endowed is this prince of highland and lowland streams, both with beauty and associations. the centre of the basin of the tay is somewhere in glenalmond, between the sweet woodland shades of the "burn-brae" of lynedoch, under which "bessie bell and mary gray" rest, with their lover at their feet, and the bare and stilly place where "sleeps ossian in the narrow glen," and where murmurs along "but one meek streamlet, only one, the song of battles, and the breath of stormy war and violent death;" while above, on the summits of the hills, the grey stones and cairns still keep watch, and, interpreted by tradition, point out to us the place where fingal once held sway in the very heart of perthshire and of the caledonian forest. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the tay.] of the ancient woods that are supposed once to have clothed the country, remains may yet, perhaps, be seen in those glorious sylvan demesnes that surround taymouth in breadalbane and blair in athole; dupplin, and drummond castle, in strathearn, and rossie priory in the carse of gowrie; scone palace and dunkeld, moncrieffe and kinnoull, overlooking the central and lower reaches of the tay. traces of them may also be found in the woods of methven, that once gave friendly shelter to wallace, and in those ragged and giant pines that thinly dot the hillsides in rannoch and glenlyon, over which bruce was once chased by the lord of the isles and the english invaders. but a new forest has grown up within a century, to shade once more the waters of the tay. whatever may have been the case in macbeth's or shakespeare's time, "great birnam wood" can no longer be seen from "high dunsinane hill" for the growth of trees--the "moving grove"--that has risen up between. the bruar water and its falls are now shaded from the sun and the northern blasts, as burns longed to see them, by "lofty firs and fragrant birks," as well as by their craggy cliffs; and not content with thus fulfilling the poet's wish, the lords of athole, from the "planting duke" downward, have been nobly ambitious of clothing their once bare hills with forest to the summits. beside the pillars of ruined dunkeld cathedral--almost as worthy of reverence as they--stand the two "parent larches," the first trees of their kind introduced into scotland. planted only a century and a half ago, millions of their seed and kin have now overrun perthshire and the highlands, proving themselves thoroughly at home in the soil and air of the tay. [illustration: "birks" of aberfeldy.] [illustration: aberfeldy, from the west.] in the bleak moor of rannoch--the "furthest thule" of perthshire and of the more northern tay sources--there are great blank spaces where the heather itself will scarce grow. there are only grey rock and black marsh--"bogs of styx and waters of cocytus," with scarce a sign of human habitation or even of animal life. but the logs of oak found embedded in the peat, and the hoary fir trunks that still keep a stubborn stand by loch lydoch and the banks of the guar and the ericht, show that even in this dreary region a great forest once waved. the "black wood of rannoch" still clothes the southern side of the fine loch of the name; and here, indeed, the scots fir is to be seen in all its pride and strength, rising above the beautiful growth of oak and birch coppice, and of heather of almost arboreal proportions. escaping from loch rannoch, the tummel roars down its rocky bed under the piny slopes and crags of dunalastair, with a halt by the way in loch tummel, where, from the "queen's view," looking back, a magnificent prospect is had of the lovely lake embosomed in woods and hills, dominated by the lofty shape of schiehallion, with the lonely black mount and the more distant grampians closing the background. further down, opposite faskally, the garry joins it, mingling the streams of athole with the waters of rannoch. before the meeting, the garry, leaving its parent lake high up near the borders of inverness, has tumbled in white foam through leagues of the "struan country," between banks thinly sprinkled with birchwood and edging great tracts of moorland. then the erichdie, the bruar, and the tilt bring down their contributions from remote mountain corries visited only by the deer-stalker, through deep wild glens, gloriously wooded at their lower extremity. where the tilt runs into the garry stands blair, the highland seat of the ducal family of athole. [illustration: bridge of garry.] the date when "blair in athole" was first occupied as a stronghold of a powerful highland chieftain is not told in the eventful annals of the castle. strategic considerations, from the points of view of war and of the chase, no doubt determined the selection of the site, inside the rugged jaws of the pass of killiecrankie, and on a shelf commanding the routes leading across the grampians from the basin of the tay to the valleys of the spey and the dee. the choice thus made in ruder days is thoroughly pleasing in these "piping times of peace," when the line of the highland railway threads its way through the narrow defile, and keeping the main valley of the garry, skirts the miles of woodland, opening at intervals to afford peeps of the plain, massive white front of the castle and the broad spaces of its surrounding parks. the way through glentilt, traversed by the clans to join the stuart standard at blair or on the braes of mar, is free now only to the deer and the gillies. without going back to the athole lines of the comyns and the stewarts, or to the joyous hunting scenes in which queen mary and other of the old line of scottish sovereigns bore a part, blair has been a centre of historical and social interest ever since it became the chief seat of the murrays. montrose assembled the royalist clans here, and set out upon the campaign which began with the defeat of the covenanters at tibbermore and the capture of perth, and ended at philiphaugh, where, in one day, the fruits of six brilliant victories were lost. another darling of cavalier legend, graham of claverhouse, viscount dundee, lies buried in the old church near by. in the year of the revolution he had relieved blair castle, where the clansmen of athole had held out for the jacobite cause against their titular chief, and having enticed general mackay through the pass, he rushed down upon him with all his force from the slopes of the hill of urrard, utterly routing and sweeping back the enemy through the narrow gorge of the garry, and himself falling, shot through the heart, at the moment the sassenachs turned to run. notable events happened here also in the "' " and in the "' ;" and, to come to the recent memories which are cherished with pride in blair-athole, queen victoria has paid repeated visits to the locality, and was entranced by the magnificent prospects of wood and stream, rugged mountain and fertile strath, that are unfolded from the top of the hill of tulloch, and from other points of view in this beautiful district. it is a kind of "holy ground" to fervid jacobites, one or two of whom are supposed still to linger in perthshire, if extinct elsewhere. it is also a favourite resort of the increasing host of pilgrims in search of highland sport and scenery, who invade athole through the pass of killiecrankie, and gaze, with a delight in which there is no longer any tempering of fear of consequences, upon the lofty and impending banks, pine-clad to their summits, and the wilderness of rock and boulder below, through which the garry glooms and flashes in alternate pool and fall. pitlochrie is a charming place to halt at before, or after, clearing this "gateway of the highlands." the tummel has now joined the garry, and under the latter name the united streams have but a short way to go before they fall, at ballinluig, into the stream which, from the place where it issues from loch tay, takes the name of the tay. were we to seek it still nearer to its sources, we should find ourselves in a district which, before the railway came to disturb its solitude, was as lone and wild as the lochans of the black mount or those corries of ben alder and ben-y-gloe whence the tummel, the ericht, and tilt draw their springs. the line from oban breaks into perthshire and the basin of the tay at tyndrum, near the head of strathfillan, not far from the scene of bruce's defeat at the hands of the lord of lorn. following, from near the base of ben lui, the infant tay--here, however, bearing the names successively of the fillan and the dochart--the way leads past the sites of ruined castles and chapels, by cairns yet haunted by memories of the bloody feuds of former days, and wells to which legend still assigns wonderful healing virtues. on the left are bare mountain sides stretching away northward towards the hills that enclose the head of glen lochay and glen lyon; and to the right the range of alpine heights that culminate in ben more and impend over loch dochart, its old castle, and its "floating island." st. fillan lived and laboured in strathfillan; fingal is said to be buried in glen dochart; a hundred traditions cling to the rocks and waters here, and in glen ogle, and in the glen of the lochay, which, pouring over its pretty "linn," joins the dochart just before the united stream falls into the head of loch tay. where the waters meet at killin, a rich feast is spread for the eye of the lover of highland scenery. killin, with its wonderful mingling of wild mountain outlines, and the gentle, infinitely varied charms of the lake and running streams and wooded shores, is a painter's paradise. fifteen miles of the finest salmon-angling water in scotland, overhung on the north by the vast bulk of ben lawers, and bountifully fringed by birch and other wood, separates killin from kenmore, at the lower end of the great loch, whence issues, under its proper name, the tay. the ruins on the little island near the outlet are those of the priory erected by king alexander i. beside the remains of his queen, sibylla, daughter of henry i. of england--a quiet retreat for centuries of the company of nuns from whom the fair at the neighbouring kenmore takes the name of the "holy women's market." kenmore is as lovely in its own way as killin; but here it is no longer wild highland landscape, but nature half-submissive to the embellishing hand of man. it is "a piece of england ramparted around with strength of highland ben and heather brae;" and in the centre of the scene, set among ample lawns and magnificent walks and avenues, backed by the high, dark curtain of drummond hill, and looking towards the pine-clad heights opposite, stands taymouth castle, the princely seat of the breadalbane family. famous even among their sept for their politic ability and acquisitiveness, the campbells, lords of glenorchy, who became lords of breadalbane, are said to have chosen this site, at the eastern limit of their vast possessions, with the hope of "birzing yont" into richer lands further down the tay. to this day, the breadalbane estates extend for a hundred miles westward of taymouth, to the atlantic ocean. behind drummond hill is glen lyon, and a vista of its mountains--schiehallion lording it over the minor heights--opens up at the vale of appin, where the lyon falls into the tay. a long journey this tributary makes, among savage and solitary hills, and past haunts of ossian's heroes and of the "wolf of badenoch," before it reaches the sylvan beauties assembled round glenlyon house and sir donald currie's castle of garth. but the most venerable of all the objects on the banks of the lyon--not excluding the reputed birthplace of pontius pilate--is the "old yew of fortingal," perhaps "the oldest authentic specimen of vegetation in europe." [illustration: birnam, from birnam hill.] [illustration: dunsinane hill.] on nothing quite so venerable as this does the next outstanding eminence by the tay--the "rock of weem"--look down. but castle menzies, for four centuries the home of the menzies of that ilk, lies surrounded by fine woods at its base; further off is the site of the old abbey of dull; and beyond the bridge of tay--first place of assembly of the gallant "black watch," or nd highlanders--are the falls of moness and the "birks" of aberfeldy. mountain ash and pine have to some extent replaced the hazels and birches about which burns so sweetly sings; but tourists come in larger flocks every season to urlar burn and to the pretty village near by. grandtully woods, and the old castle of the stewarts, which has been said to resemble more closely than any other baronial seat the picture drawn by scott of tully-veolan, attract many admiring eyes. balleichan recalls memories of "sir james the rose;" and all down strathtay, before and after the junction with the tummel--at logierait and kinnaird, dowally and dalguise--the enchantments of a romantic past and of superb scenery combine to induce the traveller to linger over every mile of the valley. dunkeld and birnam are ahead, however, and the temptations to delay must be foregone. there is no nook of scotland more gloriously apparelled and richly endowed. grand forests stretch for miles around, clothing the river-banks, filling the glens, and crowning to their crests birnam hill, newtyle, craig vinean, craig-y-barns, and other heights that gather round the old cathedral town. through the centre of the scene the tay sweeps in smooth and spacious curves and long, bright-rippled reaches. all this loveliness is concentrated around the palace and cathedral of dunkeld. opposite is birnam, and, a little above the line of arches of the fine bridge, the "mossy braan," coming from loch freuchie and "lone amulree," tumbles through the romantic dell of the rumbling bridge and the "hermitage," and over its upper and lower falls, before entering the tay. [illustration: scone palace, perth.] a single gnarled and wide-branched oak represents all that remains of the original birnam wood. the glory of the ancient cathedral has also departed, or undergone a change. for some fifteen hundred years, it is reckoned, there has been a christian house on this spot; and at as early a date dunkeld ("dun-caledon") had a royal residence, probably on the site of the "dun" or fort on the "king's seat." st. columba is thought to have founded the church, and to have preached here to the natives of "atholl, caledon, and angus;" and he is said to have found burial at dunkeld. adamnan and crinan were among its culdee abbots; and in the long line of its roman catholic bishops, whose diocese extended over the greater part of the basin of the tay, gawin douglas, the poet and translator of the "Æneid," is not the only eminent name. very stately without and beautiful within, the edifice of the cathedral church must have looked in its prime, before the lords of the congregation sent word to "purge the kyrk of all kynd of monuments of idolatrye," but to "tak guid heid that neither the windocks nor dooris be onywise hurt or broken"--a saving clause to which the zealous reforming mob paid scant attention. the main portion of the cathedral--the nave--has long been roofless, but the tower, in which the "cameronian regiment" of offered their brilliant and successful resistance to the victors of killiecrankie, and stemmed the highland tide rushing down on the lowlands, still stands, and the choir has been restored and is used as the parish church. within the walls, the "wolf of badenoch," alexander stewart, earl of buchan--that type of a savage and ruthless highland chieftain--is buried; here also are the vaults of the athole family, and a monument recording the deeds of the "black watch." without, the beautiful lawns, gardens, and woods of dunkeld palace, one of the seats of the duke of athole, surround the cathedral ruins, and come down to the river's edge. fine villa residences are ranged along the hillside, and the town of dunkeld offers every evidence of prosperity. at dunkeld, the tay takes a long sweep eastward, until at the meeting with the isla at meikleour it forms a great elbow and resumes its southward flow. the murthly estate, which belongs to the owner of grandtully, occupies the south bank of the river along this portion of its course. from the earliest times royalty, like romance and poetry, has had the good taste to frequent these scenes. the wraiths of neil gow, the famous fiddler, and of the highland caterans hanged in the "eerie hollow" of the stare dam, dispute with the ghost of macbeth the honour of being the familiar spirits of birnam hill, once again magnificently clothed with wood. in auchtergaven is the birthplace of robert nicol, the "peasant poet;" and here also stood the "auld house of nairne," which recalls the name of caroline oliphant, baroness nairne, the laureate of jacobite song, and which, like her ancestral home in strathearn--the "auld house of gask"--gave shelter to prince charlie. at the royal castle of kinclaven, now a neglected ruin, many a scottish sovereign, from the time of malcolm ceanmohr and queen margaret, had solaced themselves after the chase or battle, before it was captured and recaptured, rebuilt and demolished, in the days of wallace and bruce. the northern bank of the tay is equally rich in scenic beauty and historical associations. between the grounds of delvine and meikleour, and opposite the "bloody inches"--believed to preserve the memory of the spot where redner lodbrog, the norse viking and skald, was beaten back to his ships--the important roman station of tulina, now invertuthil, is supposed to have stood. meikleour the marchioness of lansdowne has inherited from her ancestors the mercers, descendants of a warlike provost of perth in the fourteenth century. the village is one of the quaintest and most charming of scottish hamlets; and the great "beech hedge," ninety feet high, is among the many arboricultural marvels in the valley of the tay. hidden from sight among hills and woods, like many other lakes and famous sites of this district, is the loch of clunie, with its island castle, the hunting seat of kings and place of rest and retirement of bishops in the old days. the lunan drains from it into the isla; but to trace the isla would be to write pages of description and history concerning glenardle and glenshee, stormont and strathmore, the slopes of the sidlaws and the passes through the grampians into braemar. we should have to give some idea of the beauties collected about bridge of cally, craighall, and blairgowrie on the ericht; to visit the "reekie linn," the "slugs of auchrannie," and lintrathen on the isla; to seek the sites, mythical or otherwise, of agricola's victory over galgacus and of macbeth's defeat by macduff near dunsinane hill; and to speak of what makes glamis and airlie and inverqueich, alyth and meigle and coupar, and the rest of the country lying along the borders of perth and angus, memorable and attractive. it would even lead us as far as forfar and its loch and castles, and the rival little burgh of kirriemuir--the "thrums" of recent delightful sketches of old-world scottish "wabster" and kirk life in angus--and detain us to the end of the chapter. we resume, instead, the line of the tay below meikleour and kinclaven, and beyond the "coble o' cargill," replaced by the more prosaic bridge carrying the railway line from perth to aberdeen. this is the heart of strathmore--the "great valley." ballathy, stobhall, muckersy, and stanley maintain the repute of the tay for noble prospects of hill, wood, and stream. stobhall was the seat of the drummond family--still a power in perthshire--before they removed to drummond castle on the earn; and near by, at the campsie linn, beside an ancient cell of the monks of coupar-angus abbey, is the waterfall over which--_teste_ the author of the "fair maid of perth"--conacher, the refugee from the battle on the north inch, flung himself to hide his shame. macbeth's castle, on dunsinane hill, and the field of luncarty--where, nine centuries ago, the peasant ancestor of the hays of tweeddale, errol, and kinnoull is said to have turned the battle for the scots against the danes with his plough-yoke--might detain us. but now, close ahead, the explorer of tayside views, fringing the right bank of the river for miles opposite the mouth of the almond, and extending to the environs of the royal city of perth, the woods of scone-- "towers and battlements he sees, bosomed high on tufted trees." this is scone palace, the magnificent mansion of the earls of mansfield, standing almost on the site of the ancient abbey and royal residence of scone. modern scone and all its surroundings are stately and spacious, but the relics of its early grandeur have disappeared from the landscape, and almost the only memorials of the days when it was the meeting-place of parliaments and councils, the crowning-place of kings, "the windsor of scotland," are the mound of the "motehill," the sycamore tree planted by queen mary, and the cross which marks the place where stood the old "city of scone." in its neighbourhood was fought the last battle that decided the supremacy of the scots over the picts and the amalgamation of the two nations in one. on the motehill, kenneth macalpine proclaimed the "macalpine laws." hither, according to tradition, the "stone of destiny" was brought, more than a thousand years ago, from the old capital of the dalriadic scots in the west--from dunstaffnage or beregonium--and the sovereigns of scotland continued to be crowned on it until it was carried off to england, as the trophy of conquest, by edward i. it forms part of the coronation chair at westminster; and patriotic scots declare that the prophecy bound up in the fateful stone is still being fulfilled, and that where it is, the sovereigns of a scottish house rule the land. though the coronation stone was taken away, kings continued to be crowned here. robert the bruce was enthroned, and received the homage of his vassals, at scone; and--to make a wide leap in history--charles ii. was crowned king of scotland at the spot where his ancestors had been anointed and installed, before he set out on the unlucky expedition which ended at worcester. similar preparations were made for the coronation of the old pretender; but on the very eve of the event dissensions among his followers, and the approach of argyll's army, caused him to take flight back to the continent, leaving his adherents to their fate--an inglorious end to "an auld sang!" [illustration: perth, from the west.] before kenneth macalpine's day, scone was a place where councils of the early church met; and nearly eight centuries ago a monastery was founded there, and richly endowed by alexander i., in gratitude for his escape from an attempt made by insurgent "men of moray and the mearns" to capture him at invergowrie castle, or "hurley hawkin," where two burns meet near the church of liff. the abbots and the abbey of scone played a prominent part in the civil and ecclesiastical affairs of scotland; and we find the patronage and lands of the high church of st. giles, in edinburgh, bestowed upon it, on account of the expenses incurred by the monks at the funeral of robert ii. and coronation of robert iii., when the prelates and nobles encamped on the fields between the abbey and the tay trampled down the standing corn, besides eating and drinking their victuals, and also, as the deed of gift runs, "because, at similar times of unction and coronation, through the many and frequent great gatherings of the people, the monastery has sustained great damage in their buildings, and been burdened with heavy expenses." all cares and burdens came to an end in , when the reforming mob, having destroyed the blackfriars' and other religious houses in the "city of st. johnstoun," stormed out of perth, and burned the abbey of scone. its lands, after remaining a brief time in the hands of the unfortunate house of gowrie, fell to the branch of the murrays that became illustrious in law, statecraft, and literature, in the person of william, first earl of mansfield. the abbey site is a clump of trees; and the "royal city of scone," expelled outside the park gates, has nothing to represent it but the prosaic village of new scone. [illustration: tay street, perth.] the ruthvens have no longer part or lot in this district, where they once lorded it over the stout citizens of perth, and dared to put their sovereigns in thrall. their old home of ruthven, or huntingtower castle, is opposite scone, and not far from the junction of the almond with the tay, where, if we could believe tradition, stood the original perth--rath-inveralmon--until it was visited by one of the many floods that have vexed its burghers, and was removed a mile or two downward to its present site, more close to the shelter of moncrieffe and kinnoull hills and the tide-water of the tay. all around are historical scenes--among them methven and tibbermore, made memorable by stirring passages in the careers of wallace, bruce, and montrose. but at few spots has more history been made, or contrived, than at the castle of the ruthvens. four or five generations of its lords made themselves illustrious or notorious in the annals of the "troublous times" that preceded the union of the crowns. above all, they were zealous, not to say unscrupulous, partisans of the reformation. it was the third lord who rose from a sick-bed, and, clad in armour, and "haggard and terrific" in visage, took a foremost share in the murder of david rizzio. his son, the fourth lord ruthven, grandfather of the "great marquis" of montrose, had a hand in the same bloody business, and he it was who conducted mary to lochleven, and extorted from her the renouncement of her right to rule. the year after this same fourth lord had been made first earl of gowrie was enacted the "raid of ruthven." the young king james was invited to visit huntingtower castle, on his way from athole to edinburgh, and was there detained by force by the gowrie faction, whose professed object was to preserve him from evil counsel and wicked favourites. here, when he wept, he was bluntly told, "better bairns greet than bearded men." he never forgave the affront, and as soon as he got the power in his hands the ruin of the ruthvens was decreed. lingering at dundee to plot, gowrie was captured and beheaded, and this event, in the time of the second and last earl, led to the still more mysterious and tragic episode of the "gowrie conspiracy," which gave the stuarts the desired opportunity to "root out the whole name and race." every reader of scottish history remembers the strange story--how, in the autumn of , the king was summoned by the master of ruthven, at early morning, while buckhunting at falkland, to ride to perth to see a "pot of gold" discovered there; how, by his own tale, he found in the turret chamber to which he was led, not a treasure but an armed man, and a portrait on the wall, covered by a curtain, which, being drawn aside, revealed the features of the slain earl; how james shrieked for help, and his attendants, bursting in from the courtyard, found him struggling in the hands of gowrie and his brother, both of whom were instantly despatched. but the scene of this was not ruthven castle, but old gowrie house, the town residence of the doomed family, which stood on the site of the present county buildings of perth, close by the tay; and the episode belongs to the annals of the "good city of sanct johnstoun." thanks to the civil and religious broils of former days, and to the spirit of modern improvement, nearly all the antiquities of perth--the relics of days when it was the seat of the court, the centre of trade and religious life, and the great "objective" of warlike operations and political intrigue--have disappeared from the face of the earth. of its castle, which stood near the north end of what is now the skinnergate, not a trace now remains; of its ancient walls, besieged and breached so often in the wars between scots and english, scarcely a vestige. four monasteries, and numerous other religious houses, once existed here; and according to information that reached erasmus, their inmates led a specially delicate and lazy life. all disappeared--monks and monasteries together--at the reformation, and the "rascall multitude," who had perhaps seen too much of their cowled and cloistered neighbours to cherish a deep respect for them, showed little scruple in spoiling "the monuments of idolatry," and in making free with the meat and drink with which buttery and cellar were found well stored, and bore in triumph through the streets the great dinner-pot of the blackfriars, thus spreading abroad the last savour of the mediæval religious life of perth. blackfriars wynd and street indicate the position of this dominican convent, and king james vi.'s hospital serves to mark the site of the only carthusian foundation that existed in scotland. in the former, james i. was done to death, and in the latter, richly endowed by him, the murdered poet-king was buried. the dark tale--the portents and warnings vouchsafed to the victim, the midnight clash of arms and flare of torches in the monastery gardens, while james was gaily chatting with the queen and her ladies before retiring to rest; the heroism of catherine douglas, who thrust her arm through the staple of the door as a bar against the traitors; the temporary escape of the king into the vault below the floor; his discovery, the savage struggle before he was despatched, and the terrible revenge that was wreaked by the widowed joanna--is as familiar as the gowrie tragedy itself. the church of st. john is still a venerable and venerated object in perth; although it also has suffered from the hard usage of time and the reformers, and its roof now covers, in place of the numerous shrines and chapels of roman catholic days, three presbyterian places of worship. it was in st. john's that knox preached his iconoclastic sermon; and many other conspicuous events in the civil and religious history of scotland--and more particularly during the long struggle between protestantism and papacy, and between episcopacy and the covenant--were transacted within a stone-throw of its time-worn walls. fourteen scottish parliaments, and a still larger number of councils of churchmen, are reckoned to have met in perth previous to the reformation. here schism and martyrdom had begun a century and a half before knox. girdings and gibings at priestly ways crept even into the "miracle plays" annually performed on corpus christi day; and the town and country around were "more infested with heresy than any other part of the nation." cardinal beaton watched from the spey tower while example was made of heretics by hanging and drowning them "for the encouragement of others:" to such good effect that in a few years the monasteries were in ashes, and the lords of the congregation, assembled at perth, had proclaimed their resolution to spend goods and lives in the cause of the "true worship of god, the public welfare of the nation, and the common liberty," in token whereof the burghers set out on their southward march with ropes--"st. johnston's ribands"--about their necks. mary queen of scots and her son had small reason to remember with pleasure their visits to perth; and after the gowrie incident king james did all in his power to humiliate the town. it was here that the assemblies of the kirk and parliaments, or conventions of estates, alternately proclaimed and disowned the authority of the bishops; the town was the centre of fighting in the long battle between prelacy and presbytery. perth loyally entertained charles i., and thirteen brethren of the craft of glovers--fateful number!--danced the sword-dance before him; and soon after, these selfsame swords were girded to oppose the king at duns. montrose captured and pillaged the town, after defeating the covenanting troops outside at tibbermore; the young charles ii. lodged in the gowrie house, and after vainly attempting to run away from the ministers and their long prayers and exhortations, signed the solemn league and covenant, and professed, as king of scots, penitence for the sins and follies of himself and his house. then came cromwell and his ironsides, and built a citadel on the south inch and a pier on the tay with the stones of the ruined convents; and claverhouse, mar, and prince charlie have helped since then to "make history" at perth and in its neighbourhood. [illustration: on the firth of tay.] for nearly a century and a half the annals have been comparatively peaceful and prosaic; even inundation and plague do not trouble the townsmen as of yore. the tay no longer makes trysts with its tributaries to meet "at the bonny cross of st. johnstoun." except in rare times of spate, it sweeps smoothly and sedately under the arches of the bridge, and past the green "inches," with their spreading trees and spacious walks--the fields of pastime and of strife since long before the memorable battle of the north inch, when the blade of hal o' the wynd, fighting "for his own hand," turned the scale in favour of the champions of clan chattan--to meet tide-water and commerce below the town. it is the benefactor and the crowning ornament of perth, which has considerably grown and beautified itself of recent years, not the least of its sources of wealth being the amenities and romantic associations of the ancient city, and the glorious scenery of the tay, of which it may be described as at once the gateway and the centre. [illustration: the new tay viaduct, from the south.] within short walking distance of perth are the hills of kinnoull and moncrieffe. tay, after leaving the town, turns sharply to the left between these two grand wooded heights--each of them rising over feet above the river--and pursues its way, widening as it goes, between the rich low expanse of the carse of gowrie and the opposing shores of fife. it were hard to decide which of these sentinel hills commands the more magnificent prospect. each view might challenge comparison with any scene outside of the basin of the tay for extent and for the mingling of all the elements of beauty in highland and lowland scenery. yet, close as they stand to each other and to perth, distinctly different panoramas, in foreground and in perspective, are unfolded from the summits of the two heights. they offer companion pictures, and not merely landscapes in duplicate, of the tay from its sources in the distant blue ranges of the grampians to the sea. the top of moncrieffe--or moredun--beside the foundations of the old pict fort or _dun_, is the right station whence to survey strathearn--a valley that rivals that of the tay itself in the place it holds in the national history and in the affections of the lovers of scenic beauty. directly below the steep pine-covered crest of moredun runs the winding earn, separating the park and woods of moncrieffe from the pleasant watering-place of bridge of earn. near the confluence with the tay is abernethy, its "round tower" coeval, perhaps, with the introduction of christianity to this part of the tay, and its castle law on which, says tradition, nechtan and other pictish kings held their state during the two centuries and a half when this decayed little burgh was the capital of the land. beyond, in the same direction, are the waters of the firth; mugdrum island, long and low; newburgh, and norman law, the norsemen's look-out, rising on one side above old ballenbriech castle and the fife shores, and on the other commanding the "howe o' fife" and the loch of lindores. beside the venerable ruins of lindores abbey, close to newburgh and the firth, are buried the murdered "heir of scotland," david, duke of rothesay, and james of douglas--the "grey monk of lindores"--the last of the ambitious race of the black douglases. in the same vicinity, in a glen or pass of the ochils, stood another grim memorial of feudal or pre-feudal times, "cross macduff," now represented only by its pedestal, where the taker of life, if he could "count kin," within nine degrees, with the thane of fife, the head of clan macduff, could find refuge, and proffer the "blood-penny" in atonement. over against moredun are the crests of the lomonds and the green, smooth, wavy lines of the ochils; and through glenfarg to its foot comes the new main line of railway to the north by the forth bridge. right opposite, behind pitkeathly wells, kilgraston, the old kirk and "rocking stone" of dron, and the ruins of balmanno castle, are the "wicks of baiglie," whence scott asserted that the romans and he could descry the site of perth. but the eye is carried irresistibly westward along the skirts of the hills and the broad and teeming valley below, towards the highland mountains that surround the sources of the earn. near at hand are forteviot and its holyhill--a scoto-pictish capital before perth; dunning and other villages and hamlets lying along the hill-foots, proud to this day of the memories of the martyrs for "crown and covenant," their sufferings at the hands of montrose and mar, and the former prosperity of their weaving crafts; and standing on rich flats by the waterside, or in picturesque glens running up into the ochils, many a mansion and castle of the fighting and grasping jacobite lairds of strathearn, ill neighbours of yore to the whiggish villagers. over against the "birks o' invermay" lies dupplin castle (now the seat of lord kinnoull), with its loch, its grand woods, and the site of its battlefield, so disastrous to the scots; and opposite lord rollo's park of duncrub is gask, still a home of the oliphants, though the "auld house" has disappeared. further west, the ruthven water comes down through gleneagles and the lovely wooded "den" of kincardine, past the old castle and the single long street of auchterarder, famous in ecclesiastical history. the machany flows by culdees and strathallan castles, and not far from tullibardine, cradle of the noble house of athole, and burying-place of the great race of montrose. at innerpeffray, where the old line of roman roads and stations crossed the earn, comes in the pow, flowing by the ruins of inchaffray abbey and the woods of balgowan and abercairney; and further on, around crieff, and thence upwards by comrie and st. fillan's, to loch earn, lies one of the most glorious districts, not alone of earnside, but of scotland. drummond and monzie castles, ochtertyre and dunira, lawers and aberuchil, are among its grandly wooded demesnes; glenturret, glen lednoch, and glen artney contribute each their charms of crag and waterfall, bosky dell and lone hillside, and there are innumerable remains of former days in the form of standing or ruined chapel and castle, and the sites of ancient feud and battle. little of all this can, of course, be descried from the top of moncrieffe hill; but ben chonzie, and the braes of doune, and the forest of glen artney, and behind them the shapely head of ben voirlich and other mountains that mirror themselves in loch earn or guard glen ogle and lochearnhead, are full in view. the abrupt front of kinnoull hill, on the other hand, commands more directly the lower course of the tay and its estuary, widening out between the level expanse of the carse of gowrie, thickly sprinkled with farms and mansions, and the opposing shores of fife, onward to where it is closed by the smoke of dundee and the line of the tay bridge. from the pathway below the tower crowning the hill, one looks down--one almost fancies he might leap down--upon the woods and sward surrounding kinfauns castle, the residence of the family of gray. visible, too, from kinnoull, or sheltering under the folds of the "braes o' the carse," which rise from the flat champaign to the heights of the sidlaws, are innumerable sites and scenes, equally rich in beauty and in memories of days when gowrie was busier making history than in raising grain. among them are st. madoes' church and its sculptured runic stones; errol and megginch, ancient heritages of the hays; kilspindie, where wallace spent his schooldays, when he "in gowrie dwelt, and had gude living there," and the seat, later, of archibald of douglas--"auld graysteel;" fingask, the home of the stout old jacobite family of murray thriepland and of the "lass o' gowrie" of scottish song; kinnaird and rossie priory, the earlier and later possessions of the noble house of kinnaird, champions in these parts, for generations, of the cause of reform. [illustration: dundee, from broughty ferry.] from rossie hill, or from the battlements of the fine old baronial tower of castle huntly, a nearer view can be had of the beautiful cultivated carse and its surroundings of firth and hills; or from near the remains of the ancient church of invergowrie and the boundary line of the shires of perth and stirling you can look across the widest part of the great tidal stream--three miles of shining water or sandbank--to another famous old ivy-clad ruin, balmerino abbey, on the opposite and bolder shore of fife. but as kinnoull commands the grandest view of the upper part of the firth of tay, so balgay hill and dundee law are the stations to take up for a survey of its lower reaches and its meeting with the north sea. round the bases of these eminences the northern coast of the estuary curves outward, leaving a comparatively narrow platform on which, for a space of three miles or more, are grouped the forest of chimneys, spires, and masts of the city and harbour of dundee. the passage between the sea front of esplanade and docks, and newport and the line of handsome villas surmounting the rocky bank on the other side, is reduced to less than two miles; and still bending and narrowing, as the fife shore, in turn, approaches, as if to meet angus and seal the mouth of the tay, the waters of the firth measure only a mile across from broughty castle to ferryport-on-craig, where, skirted on either hand by broad stretches of sand and "links," they finally open, trumpet-shaped, to meet the german ocean. directly under the law, from magdalen point to st. fort, where begin the narrows and the busier part of dundee, the line of arches of the new tay bridge spans the firth. the width from bank to bank is , yards--a little under two miles--including the curve which the long double file of piers makes in approaching the dundee side. slight as the structure looks, when first seen from the law or the river, and compared with the wide expanse of water over which it is carried, it conveys, on more attentive view, an impression of security as well as gracefulness; it is not only a triumph of engineering skill, but a beautiful object in a striking and noble picture. [illustration: dundee.] far other are the impressions produced by the appearance, above the water level, and running for part of the way alongside its successor, of the foundations of the first tay bridge. this ill-fated undertaking had only been eighteen months open for traffic, when, on a wild night at the close of , the whole of the central portion collapsed and fell into the raging firth, carrying along with it a train, with its freight of seventy or eighty passengers, which was crossing at the time. not a soul survived to tell the circumstances of the catastrophe--the most dramatic and one of the most disastrous in the annals of railway accidents in this country. but subsequent inquiry left no doubt that, in the original scheme of the structure, sufficient allowance had not been made for the tremendous pressure put upon it by the currents of air scouring through this funnel of the firth; and that much of the work, both in the brick foundations and steel superstructure, had been "scamped" and left without proper inspection, so that the first occasion of maximum strain--a passing train, while a tempest was at its height--brought the inevitable result. dundonians love to survey their city and its surroundings from the "law." the spectacle is one they may well be proud of. marvellous has been the change here since dundee consisted of only four straggling streets, meeting at the central "place" of the "market gait," and a congeries of narrow lanes running from these down to the harbour, consisting, as the local historian tells us, of rude jetties added to the natural haven opening between the headlands of the chapel craig and the castle rock. even then, however--four centuries ago and more--it had an interesting history; even then the energy of its burgesses and its favourable position at the mouth of the tay enabled it to carry on a brisk trade with the ports of holland and the baltic. already its castle, near the head of the seagate, had suffered sieges; its constables, the scrymgeours, were the standard-bearers of scotland in the national war, and the town disputed with perth which was the more ancient and honourable. its situation at the foot and on the slope of the fine acclivity facing the sun and the tay, got for it from its lowland and highland neighbours its name of "bonny dundee" and the "pleasant town." it has vastly increased its trade and importance since; but it has also increased its amenities; and even the casual eye overlooking it can see, by the handsome spires and towers rising beside the forest of masts and factory stalks that stretch along the shore, and by the open spaces--albert square, and the baxter and balgay parks--that the town is mindful of art and air and beauty, as well as of business. the castles--the early building on the castle hill, and the later fortalice of the constables at dudhope--have disappeared to the foundations. but the fine old square tower of st. mary's, in the nethergate, is still a handsome and conspicuous landmark of dundee, spite of all the competition of its modern buildings. although it can hardly be part of the original structure erected by david, earl of huntingdon--the hero of the "talisman"--in gratitude for his escape from manifold perils while serving under richard coeur-de-lion in palestine, it is a venerable and stately object, and the dundonians have had this their chief antiquity carefully restored. that dundee has not more remnants left of its early consequence is due to the march of modern improvement, and to the hard knocks it suffered in times of civil war and invasion. after pinkie, the english troops seized upon the castle of broughty craig--which, like the tower of st. mary's, has been restored, and now guards the entrance to the firth, with the pleasant backing of marine villa residences and stretches of links and sands much frequented by the good folks of the burgh--and broughty besieged dundee, and dundee broughty, for two or three years before the intruders were expelled. a hundred years later montrose and his irish and highland kernes swooped suddenly down upon it from the upper valley of the tay, and plundered and sacked the covenanting place, the leader looking on from the "corbie hill," while the followers burned, slew, and wasted in the streets below. the townsmen magnanimously forgot this when, a few years later, the "great marquis" was brought into it, a captive in the hands of his enemies; and "though dundee," says wishart, "had suffered more by his army than any other within the kingdom, yet were they so far from insulting him, that the whole town testified very great sorrow for his woful condition." next year-- --dundee had again to endure sack and capture, at the hands of general monk, when the garrison was put to the sword, the town burned, and, as carlyle says, "there was once more a grim scene of flames, blood, and rage and despair transacted upon this earth." claverhouse is close by the town, and john graham--that other "evil genius of the covenant"--was constable of dudhope, and took his title from "bonny dundee." the "bloody mackenzie" was another of its sons or neighbours; camperdown house, the home of the valiant admiral duncan, is behind balgay and the busy suburb of lochee. but, if it has reared many "men of blood," dundee has been still more prolific in historians and poets, reformers and inventors, of whom boece and wedderburn, halyburton and carmichael, are representative names. yet longer is the list of its merchant princes, and its munificent patrons of art and benefactors of the town, of whom the baxter family are types. they have made of dundee a great and busy centre of maritime commerce, and placed it first among the trading places of the kingdom in the importation and manufacture of jute; and they have not forgotten generous aid in endowing the town with public parks, museums, libraries, educational institutions, and other resources of civilisation, such as few seats of industry of its size can boast. dundee has spread over the green slopes and orchard grounds below the law; but it has only increased the circumference of its fine environment of land and sea. westward, the view extends over the fertile carse, and range on range of the grampians, amid which may be descried ben lomond and schiehallion, and many a highland peak besides. behind the law, the eye rises from the rich valley of the dichty, flowing by strathmartine and claverhouse towards the sea at monifieth sands, to the hill of auchterhouse, craig owl, and other extensions of the sidlaws, with glimpses of the heads of the loftier hills of strathmore peeping over their shoulders; and, ridge behind ridge, these uplands subside as they stretch eastward, past many a storied and beautiful scene, towards arbroath and the sea. southward, beyond the firth and the bridge, the rocky northern shores and hilly backbone of fife are spread out like a map; and behind newport and tayport and the waste expanse of tents moor shimmer the waters of st. andrew's bay and the eden estuary, and rise the grey, weather-beaten towers of st. rule's cathedral and of cardinal beaton's castle, beside the green links and white sand of st. andrews. john geddie. [illustration: broughty ferry castle.] [illustration: ben and loch lomond.] the forth. comparative--poetry, romance, and history--loch ard and flora mcivor--the "clachan of aberfoyle"--lake of menteith--the trossachs and loch katrine--ellen and helen--loch achray--ben ledi--the view from stirling castle--stirling town--bannockburn--the ochils and the devon valley--alloa--clackmannan--kincardine-on-forth--tulliallan castle--culross: abbey and burgh--the "standard stone"--torryburn--rosyth castle--"st. margaret's hope"--dunfermline: tower, palace, and abbey--the new forth bridge--inch garvie and its castle--inverkeithing bay--donibristle house--aberdour--inchcolm, cramond, inchkeith, and may islands--the bass rock--kirkcaldy bay--edinburgh--leith--seton--aberlady--round to north berwick--tantallon castle. other scottish streams may dispute with the forth the prize of beauty, and excel it in length of course and in wealth of commerce. there is none that can contend with it for the palm of historic interest. nature herself has marked out its valley as the scene of the strife and of the reconciliation of races and creeds. half the important events in scottish annals have taken place on or near the banks of the river, and of the firth--around doune, and stirling, and edinburgh, and dunfermline; under the shadow of the campsie and the ochil hills; along the margins of the teith and allan, devon and esk; by the folds of the forth, or by the shores of fife and the lothians. its course forms no inapt emblem and epitome of the fortunes of scotland and of the scottish nation. drawn from the strength of the hills, and cradled amid scenes of wild and solitary beauty, its deep, dark, winding waters flow through the "debatable land" of roman and caledonian, of pict and scot, of saxon and gael. the fords and bridges which highlander and lowlander, whig and jacobite, have crossed so often on raid or for reprisal, have become bonds of union. the fertile carse-lands wave with the richer harvests for the blood shed in the battles of national independence, and in many a feud now ended and forgotten. the forth, that "bridled the wild highlandman," has become the symbol of peace and the highway of intercourse between south and north. poetry and romance, as well as history, have made the forth their favourite haunt. the genius of scottish romance, or of scottish history, could nowhere find a prouder seat than ben lomond. at its feet are the waters of loch lomond, losing themselves to the north among the enclosing folds of the hills, and broadening out southwards to embrace their beautiful islands; while beyond, like a map, lie the mountains of the west, from skye to kintyre, touched here and there with gleams of loch and sea, and with blurs of smoke from factory stalk or steamer. from the other flank of the mountain issues the infant forth. ben lomond presides over all its devious wanderings, from the source to the sea. it looks directly down upon "rob roy's country;" and close at hand, and within the basin of the forth, are loch katrine and the trossachs. the towers of stirling, and even the "reek" of edinburgh, may be descried on a clear day. following the broad valley of the forth, the eye can take in the sites to which cling most closely the heroic or pathetic memories of "the days of other years;" and over the whole glorious landscape walter scott has thrown the glamour of his genius. romance works with a charm more powerful than that of history itself in attracting visitors to the head-waters of the forth and teith, and in enhancing the marvellous natural beauties of their lake and mountain scenery. true, few except stout pedestrians and ardent anglers follow up the duchray water, past ivied duchray castle, to the corries that seam the base of ben lomond. but the path from inversnaid, that skirts loch chon and the more famous and more beautiful northern head-stream of the forth that issues from it, is not so unfrequented. further down, loch ard opens again, and yet again, a lovely mirror in which are reflected the changeful outlines and rich colours of its girdling hills and woods. oak coppice, interspersed with the shining trunks of the birch and the dark green of the pines, climbs over every knoll, and clings to every crag, and even covers the little island on the lake, where duke robert of albany hoped to find a refuge from his enemies. above copse-wood and lake rise the brown slopes and grey precipices of ben vogrieh and of craigmore; while the conical head and broad flanks of ben lomond shoulder themselves into view, and close the top of the glen. but the enchantment of loch ard would not be complete did not the form of flora mcivor yet haunt the linn of ledeart, in the guise of the highland muse, as when first she startled and threw a spell over edward waverley; and did not her voice--wild and plaintive as the legends of the land and the genius of its race--mingle, as of yore, with the murmur of the stream. the pass by the lake-side still seems to have the commanding figure of helen macgregor presiding over it, and eyeing menacingly saxon intrusion into this refuge of a proscribed clan. the "clachan of aberfoyle," now unexceptionable as a place of travellers' entertainment, can never be disassociated from the memorable experiences of a night's quarters at "jeanie macalpine's." at the "fords of frew," we think, more than of anything else, of rob roy slipping the belt-buckle in midstream, and of the moving and mysterious night interview on the neighbouring moor between francis osbaldistone and di vernon. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the forth.] the "clachan" is now all spick and span; but its surroundings are the same. the brawling waters tumble in white foam from loch ard, and, mixing with the duchray, pour their deep sombre current--the avondhu, or "black river"--on past gartmore to wind in labyrinthine folds through the level mosslands towards stirling. and the natives of the upper forth, while they have forgotten the real history of their district, will show you, chained to the tree in front of the inn windows, the veritable "coulter" with which bailie nicol jarvie did such credit to his highland blood, and the selfsame oak-stump from which he hung suspended over the lake; nor have they wholly lost faith in the fairy people--the _daoine shi_, or "men of peace"--with whom these hills and valleys have from time immemorial been favoured haunts. from aberfoyle, the direct road to stirling, leaving the forth, winds round the margin of the lake of menteith, overlooked by the outposts of the grampians, and overlooking the rich beauty of a plain which rises on its southern side behind bucklyvie and kippen, to the lower heights and smoother outlines of the campsie and fintry hills. here, in the heart of menteith, we are in the country of "the graemes," and many legends of the great house of montrose linger about this, as about other spots in the basin of the forth. but the lake of menteith has still earlier and prouder memories. the comyns and the stewarts--the old lords of menteith--wielded almost regal power from their island-castle of talla; and within bowshot is the larger isle of inchmahone, where part of the ancient priory still stands in the shadow of its planes and orchard trees. mary stuart spent part of her childhood in the "isle of rest"--perhaps the quietest and sweetest period of her troubled life--when it was thought wise, after the battle of pinkie, to remove the young queen of scots to a place of safety. [illustration: "ellen's isle."] the trossachs and loch katrine can be reached in a couple of hours, on foot, from aberfoyle. more even than the upper forth and the banks of lochs ard and menteith, these scenes at the head-waters of the teith, immortalised in "the lady of the lake," are the abodes of the spirit of highland romance and the shrines of tourist pilgrimage. once this "fastness of the north" was the impregnable retreat of the proscribed clan of the macgregors, whence they issued to harry the shores of loch lomond with fire and sword, and levy black-mail and empty byres in the lennox. a century and a half ago it was still thought unsafe for peaceably disposed folk to approach the district, and in the memory of men still alive it had hardly acquired more than local fame for its beauty. walter scott and his metrical and prose romances have changed all that. a stream of tourists flows steadily through the passes all the summer and autumn, and more fitfully at other seasons; and steamers, stage-coaches, and hotels have strangely altered the aspect of this "scottish lake country." but the "everlasting hills" look down on it unchanged. the crest of ben lomond still dominates the western end of loch katrine, girt in by hillsides, or opening into glens as stern and almost as solitary as when they echoed back the slogan of roderick dhu. round the lower extremity of the lake the mountains take closer rank and more varied forms; and the broken and impending precipices, the winding and opening waters, the wooded shores and islands, fringed with grey rock or "silver strand," seem, as when fitz-james first set his foot here, an "enchanted land" over which ben venue and ben an stand sentinels:-- "high on the south huge ben venue down on the lake in masses threw crags, knolls, and mounds confusedly hurled, the fragments of an earlier world; a wildering forest feathered o'er his ruined sides and summit hoar; while on the north through middle air ben an lifts up his forehead bare." [illustration: the trossachs and ben venue.] on the cloven side of ben venue is the "coir-nan-uriskin"--the goblin's cave or hollow--deserted of its unearthly denizens since it has become an object of interest to the tourist. "ellen's isle," clad with wood to the water's edge, seems to shelter in the shadow of the northern shore. cromwell's men, clambering up the pass, found that the women and children of the clan had sought refuge here; and one bold soldier swam out to the island to bring away a boat. hardly had he touched ground when a woman--helen stuart--drew a dagger from below her apron and slew him. a minstrel's music has slightly changed the name and wholly changed the associations, and the spot is dedicated to another ellen and to the gentler fancies, not the rude facts, of the days of old. from the "silver strand" opposite ellen's isle you wind for a couple of miles through the "bristled territory" of the trossachs before you reach loch achray, and "the copse-wood grey that waves and weeps" above the second of the chain of lakes. ben an and ben venue hold the place of sentries to left and to right, and seem to have tumbled down into the narrow pass huge fragments from their splintered sides, to block the way against intruders into this old sanctuary of the gael. in vain; their very efforts have but added to the wild impressiveness of the scene, and to the crowds that come to wonder and admire. it would be "to gild refinèd gold" to describe the beauties of the trossachs--the scene where nature seems to have tried to produce, within the narrowest compass, the most bewildering effects by mingling her materials of rock and foliage and falling waters. their praises have been sung in words that linger in every memory. toilsome indeed must the path have been to trace when the wandering james v. came hither in pursuit of game. but a fine road now threads the depths of the ravine, and skirting loch achray, and passing the trossachs hotel and church, brings us to brig of turk and the opening of "lone glenfinlas," the haunt of highland deer and of highland legend. every green nook and cranny, every glimpse of copse-wood and tumbling water, moss-grown hut and lichened rock, is a temptation to linger by the way. but duncraggan must be passed; then lanrick mead, at the west end of loch vennachar, the meeting-place of the clan alpine, summoned by the "fiery cross;" and by-and-bye the sounding torrent of carchonzie, where the vennachar "breaks in silver" from its lake, and near it coilantogle ford, the scene of the deadly strife between james fitz-james and roderick dhu. by this time the form of ben ledi--the "hill of god," the high altar of the old druidical worship--has lifted itself up mightily upon the left, and, furthest outpost in this direction of the higher grampians, keeps watch over the "mouldering lines" of the roman encampment on bochastle, the pass of leny, and the modern village of callander. it looks across to ben voirlich and the heathy solitudes of uam-var, where the "noble stag" was first started upon the eventful chase, and abroad on a prospect which may compare, for richness, variety, and extent, with that from ben lomond. not less magnificent in its own way, and far more accessible, is the view from the bridge of callander, where the most impressive features of the scene are ben ledi itself, the high crag that forms the background of the village, and the deeply wooded flanks of the pass, down which foam the waters of the leny, coming from the "braes of balquhidder" and loch lubnaig, to hold romantic tryst here with the stream from loch vennachar, and between them to form the teith. but we must downward with the teith towards stirling, only glancing at a few of the scenes on its banks--at the wooded glen of the keltie, embosoming the far-famed falls of bracklinn; at cambusmore, where scott began his "lady of the lake;" and above all at the "bannered towers of doune," its huge feudal walls rising above the teith--walls saturated from dungeon to turret with memories of grim or pathetic events in the histories of the stewarts of menteith and moray, and in the lives of mary stuart of montrose, and of charles edward. murdoch, duke of albany, is thought to have built doune, and may have planted its "dool tree." when murdoch was executed, along with his sons and adherents, on the "heading hill" at stirling, it was on a spot where his eyes might fall upon the strong new castle upon which he had built his hopes of safety. at stirling castle it will be convenient to take our next stand, and see "the mazy forth unravelled." no baronial castle on the rhine or danube is more romantically and commandingly placed than these "towers of snowdoun," or surveys a fairer scene. one can imagine the time--but yesterday in the geologist's record--when the broad valley of the river was filled with the sea, back to the roots of the grampians, and when stirling rock, with its neighbour bluffs, the abbey craig and craigforth, rose as islands or peninsulas over the waters, each with its slope towards the east and its front to the west. the sea has long receded, and stirling now dominates the green and level floor of its fertile carse. through the middle of the landscape meanders the forth, in immense loops and folds--"a foiled circuitous wanderer"-- "forgetting the bright speed he had in his high mountain cradle," and using, as it would seem, every circumvolution and chance of tarrying or turning back, to avoid meeting with the teith, the allan, and the bannock, at the base of stirling rock. from where the stream debouches from the hills into flanders moss, to where it meets the tide-water at stirling bridge, there is said to be a fall of only eighteen feet in some eighteen miles, measured "as the crow flies"--a distance increased fourfold by following the intricate gyres of the dark still waters. below the bridge, to which vessels are able to come up from the sea, the river still continues to double and turn as far as alloa, in those "links o' forth," each of which, according to the old rhyme, is "worth an earldom in the north." flat and tame as are the immediate banks of the river, draining through ancient mosses, now turned for the most part into rich corn-bearing land, goodly sites are close at hand in the plain, on the slopes of the enclosing hills, or in the tributary valleys--among them cardross, and blair-drummond, and keir, all famous in the annals of scottish law, agriculture, and literature; and airth and airthrey castles, which carry the mind from the doughty deeds of sir john the graeme to those of sir ralph abercromby. of what lies within the valley of the teith we have seen something. but the banks of allan water, behind the favourite spa of bridge of allan and its embosoming woods and hills, are almost as well worth exploring; for they lead, to mention but a few of their attractions, to dunblane and its beautiful old cathedral, to sheriffmuir, and to the roman camp at ardoch. the tide of scottish history long flowed towards and around stirling castle. the time when it was not a place of strength and of strife is lost in the mists of antiquity. early, too, it became the seat of kings; and the castle, and the little burgh upon the slope behind, have witnessed many a stirring sight. scottish parliaments were held here, or in the abbey of cambuskenneth, whose ruined tower rises, on a "link of forth," opposite what is now the railway station. sovereigns were born and baptised, were wedded and buried, held joyous jousts, and committed foul deeds of blood and shame, on stirling rock or under its shadow. [illustration: old bridge of forth, stirling.] the buildings on the highest platform of the rock--still a fortified and garrisoned place--surround the "upper square." what is the armoury was the chapel, erected on the site of an older chapel royal, by the "scottish solomon," to celebrate, with pomp till then unheard of, the baptism of prince henry. opposite is the palace of james v., its front still embossed with the remains of rich carvings and uncouth sculpture. the parliament house, built by james iii. (now put to barrack purposes), and the building within which james ii. stained his name and race with blood, by stabbing to the heart the earl of douglas, complete a group of buildings upon which have been indelibly impressed the character and the fate of the sovereigns of the house of stuart. the visitor to stirling castle can view highlands and lowlands from "queen mary's lookout;" and then, for change of sympathy and impression, inspect the pulpit and communion-table of john knox; or, if his faith be great, the dungeon where roderick dhu drew his latest breath. the windy hollow between the castle and the "gowling hills," he is told, is ballengeich, of which that hero of ballad adventure, james v., was "gudeman." the most distant of these braes was the "mote" or "heading hill," the old place of execution, where many a noble and guilty head has fallen--the albany faction and the murderers of james i. among the number. below the castle, on the other side, are the king's garden and king's park, the scenes of the sports and diversions in the olden time, where james ii. held tournaments, and james iv. delighted in his "table round." [illustration: stirling, from abbey craig.] nor are the history and aspect of the town of stirling unworthy of its noble station. it, also, is crammed with memories and antiquities--from the square tower of the west church, grouping so well with the buildings on the castle, and surmounting the hall where knox preached and the infant james vi. was crowned, down to the burial-place of the murdered james iii., under the tower of cambuskenneth and close by the winding forth. but the historical fame and interest of stirling rest perhaps more upon the bloody and decisive battles fought in its neighbourhood, than upon anything else. from the castle ramparts one can look down upon stirling bridge, bannockburn, and sauchie; and falkirk, kilsyth, sheriffmuir, and other stricken fields, reaching from the ' back to pictish and roman times, are not far off. in memory of the struggle for independence, but especially of william wallace, the presentment of a feudal tower, surmounted by a mural crown, rises to a height of over feet on the summit of the abbey craig, the most commanding site, next to stirling rock itself, in the valley. the bridges--the old and the new--lie midway between these two bold bluffs. but the former venerable edifice, though it could also tell its strange stories of civil broil, and, among others, of how an archbishop was hung on its parapet three centuries ago, is by no means the structure where the "protector of scotland," watching the passage of the forth (probably from the slopes of the abbey craig), taught so terrible a lesson to cressingham and the english invaders. this, by all accounts, was a wooden structure placed half a mile above the moss-grown buttresses of the present old bridge of stirling. the fame of the battle fought at stirling bridge in , and of the other fight, so disastrous to the scottish cause, that took place a year later at falkirk, has been quite obscured by the bruce's great victory at bannockburn. one never thinks of stirling without remembering that near by is the field where was decided, for three centuries, and indeed for all time, the history and fortunes of scotland. the banks of the bannock are now peaceful enough, and the people of the village of that name, and of the neighbouring hamlet of st. ninians, lying still nearer stirling and the battle-ground, are occupied with nothing more warlike than the weaving of tartans. the slough in which the english chivalry sank, and were overpowered, is now drained and cultivated land. but a fragment of the "bore stone," where bruce set up his standard, is still preserved; and the "gillies' hill," behind, commemorates the opportune appearance of the camp-followers of the scottish army, when they hoisted their blankets on their tent-poles, "and like a bannered host afar bore down on england's wearied war," putting a finish to the rout of edward ii.'s troops. leaving stirling and bannockburn and all their memories behind us, we can now embark upon the forth, and follow its broadening stream towards the open sea. the fat carse-lands are still on either hand, rimmed in on one side by the furrowed flanks of dunmyatt and the ochils, and bounded on the other by the campsie fells, crowned, far off, by earl's seat; while beyond, on a clear day such as we have bespoken for our readers, the bens grouped around the sources of the forth and teith lift themselves into view, fronted effectively by the towers of stirling and the abbey craig. as we face now east, now west, now north, now south, on our devious way, these objects shift place bewilderingly, and more and more the "foot-hills" of the ochils come down to take their place and give a bolder character to the foreground scenery of the forth. [illustration: alloa pier.] very beautiful, at all seasons and in all lights, is this historic range, with its wonderful variety of form and play of shadows. as tales of wild highland foray and _stieve_ lowland endurance are mingled in its annals, so the pastoral and mountainous combine in this its southern aspect; and the result is harmony. from the summit of ben clench, the highest of the ochils, and from other coigns of 'vantage, you can gaze down into peaceful, secluded glens, familiar only to the sheep and the curlew, or into busy valleys lined by thriving villages and factory stalks, from which arises the smoke of the bleaching, spinning, and other manufacturing industries that have long had a home in the heart of these hills. or you can look abroad and take in at one sweeping glance the whole breadth of the country from glasgow to dundee--from the lammermoors and the north sea to ben nevis and the hills of arran. but the greatest of the glens of the ochils is that followed by the "clear-winding devon," over many a rocky scaur and past many a busy mill-wheel, on its way to join the forth at cambus. it would take a volume to do justice to the beauties, wild and soft, of the devon valley, and to the associations, warlike and peaceful, that have gathered around its noted places; to attempt to describe crook o' devon and rumbling bridge, the "devil's mill" and the "cauldron linn," and dollar and alva glens; to collect the memories that cluster about tillycoultry and alva, and menstry and tullibody; to dwell upon the attractions of its excellent trouting streams; or to peer among the shadows that appropriately shroud the ruins of castle campbell--the "castle of gloom"--overlooking the "burn of sorrow," harried in revenge against argyll for the burning of the "bonnie house o' airlie." [illustration: salmon-fishing near stirling.] unless one has a few days to spare that cannot well be better spent than in exploring glen devon and the nooks of the ochils, he can only glance at the charming wooded valley and blue inviting heights as he follows the windings of the forth, past the flat green "inches" of tullibody and alloa, under the north british railway bridge crossing the river between these two islands, to the busy town of alloa. [illustration: culross, from the pier.] more than alloa itself, with its fame for the brewing of ale, and signs of active shipping and manufacturing trade, the eye will be attracted by alloa tower and park, now the seat of the earl of mar and kellie; for here once ruled the old line of the erskines, earls of mar; here queen mary paid repeated visits, sailing up the forth to meet darnley, under the conduct of bothwell as high admiral; and here her son, king james, spent part of his boyhood, under the eye of the regent mar and the strict disciplinary rod of george buchanan. [illustration: culross abbey.] below alloa the river straightens and widens, taking more and more the character of an estuary. one should not miss noting the scattered houses of the old town of clackmannan, scrambling up the slope to its church and the ancient tower of the bruces. clackmannan is the place which aytoun's recluse thought of selecting for rural retirement, because, "though he had often heard of it, he had never heard of anybody who had been there." it is more out of the world than ever, now that county business has flitted to alloa. its visage is not, however, so forlorn as that of kincardine-on-forth, the pier of which we now approach; for kincardine has plainly seen better days, and has little expectation of seeing their return. it was once a busy shipbuilding and shipowning port; and close by was distilled the famous kilbagie whisky, by which the tinkler in the "jolly beggars" swore. now there is no kilbagie, and no shipping business to speak of; and kincardine is a "dead-and-alive" place, and more dead than alive. there are many places like it all along the shores of the forth--places favoured by special times and special circumstances of trade, which has since drifted or been drawn elsewhere. the massive grey ruins of tulliallan castle are in the woods close behind kincardine. this also was once a stronghold of the bruces--in fact, it is "bruce country" all the way along this northern shore of the forth, until we come to the last constriction of the estuary, over which the great railway bridge is being thrown at queensferry. the spidery red limbs of this new giant bestriding the sea begin to come in sight after passing kincardine ferry and rounding longannet point. for now, especially when the broad mudbanks of the foreshore are covered at high water, the river takes a truly spacious expansion; the salt water begins to assert dominion over the fresh, and the line of the southern bank retires to the distance of three or four miles. it is no great loss; for grangemouth and bo'ness are little other than ports for the shipment of coal and pig-iron. the carron works show like pillars of fire by night and pillars of smoke by day, hiding falkirk and camelon and other spots of historic note. further east the low shore-line is backed by a monotonous ridge that shuts us out from sight of the valley of which linlithgow, with its loch and royal palace, is the centre; and even the woods of kinneil, and the knowledge that along this crest, starting on the shore near the old roman station of carriden, run the remains of "grime's dyke"--the wall of antonine--fail to make the southern side a joy to the eye. there is metal more attractive near at hand, within the sweep of the bay of culross. culross--koo'ross, as the name sounds familiarly to the ears of those who know it--cherishes a fond tradition that turner the painter, who visited sir robert preston at the abbey in the beginning of the century, compared its bay with that of naples, rather to the disadvantage of the latter. local partiality is doubtless the father of the legend. yet there are wonderful charms embraced by the curve of coast facing the south and the firth, betwixt "dunimarle and duniquarle," with preston island and its ruined buildings in the string of the arc; the grey and white walls and red roofs of the little royal burgh, following the sinuosity of the shore, or struggling up the wooded slopes; the "corniced" roads and "hanging gardens" behind; crowning the near foreground, the norman tower of the abbey church, the ruins of the ancient monastery, and the stately façade of the mansion of culross abbey (the design, it is said, of inigo jones); and behind, the forest, moorland, and cultivated tracts, rising towards the wavy green lines, fading into blue in the distance, of the ochils and of the cleish and saline hills. with the fresh light of morning or the soft colours of evening upon the waters and upon the hills, the scene may well be deemed lovely. circumscribed as is the space, and few and insignificant as are the remaining actors, culross and its vicinity have been the theatre of famous events, and have reared many men prominent in the civil and religious history of the country. here st. serf, the apostle of fife, is supposed to have been born, and to have died. here st. thenew, daughter of "king lot of lothian," landed from the rotten shallop in which she had been cast adrift at aberlady, far down the coast, and gave birth to the more famous st. kentigern, or mungo, patron saint of glasgow. from culross downward, both shores of the firth, and the islands in its midst, are strewn with the memorials and traditions of the early culdee missionaries, whose humble cells later became the sites of the wealthier and more imposing religious houses of catholic times. besides st. serf and st. mungo, fillan, palladius, adamnan, adrian, monans, and columba himself, set their imprint upon these curving coasts and solitary islets; and inverkeithing, dysart, and pittenweem; abercorn, inchcolm, inchkeith, the may, and the bass, are among the places sanctified by memories of the early church. it was not till that the monastery of culross, of which only some fragments remain, was founded by malcolm, earl of fife. at the reformation the abbey lands passed chiefly into the hands of the colvilles of culross, and this family, with the erskines, the cochranes, the prestons, and the bruces, have since successively had "the guidin' o't" in the burgh and the surrounding district. so far from the ecclesiastical eminence of culross terminating with st. serf, it has continued almost down to our own day; for the town, and the district back from it--at carnock, and eastward along the hill-skirts to hill of beath and beyond--have witnessed the keenest struggles between conformity and schism--have been special scenes of the labours of bishop blackadder and bishop leighton the "saintly;" of john row, and of john blackadder the covenanter, who held his conventicles under the wakeful and vengeful eye of dalzell of binns--him with the "vowed beard," whose hill-top for "glowering owre" fife is on the opposite side of the firth; and in later times, of boston, of ralph and ebenezer erskine, of gillespie, and of other founders of the "relief church." culrossians might adopt the bruce motto, "fuimus," to describe their industrial as well as their religious past. more than once the burgh has been a spot favoured by trade, as well as by history. the celebrated sir george bruce, of carnock, made its fortunes, as well as his own, by coal-mining and salt-making in the days of james i. of england. remains, in the shape of a heap of stones, uncovered at low water, are seen of the "moat"--an "unfellowed and unmatchable work; a darke, light, pleasant, profitable hell," as john taylor, the "water poet" described it in the early years of the seventeenth century--constructed to work the minerals lying under the bed of the sea. but culross's prosperity did not come to an end with them. throughout scotland its "girdles"--iron plates for baking the oaten bread of the "land o' cakes"--were also "unfellowed and unmatchable" for many a day. the first of note among the ancestors of the earl of rosebery was of the honest guild of the girdlesmiths of the burgh. a "cu'ross girdle" will soon only be found in an archæological museum; their glory is departing, their use will soon be forgotten. [illustration: dunfermline.] a lingering look may be cast in the direction of the "standard stone," at bordie, where duncan and macbeth withstood the danes; and of the castlehill, or dunimarle, near by, which lays claim to be the scene of the murder of lady macduff and her "pretty chickens" by the usurper--a claim, however, disputed by the "thane's castle," near east wemyss, by rhives, and by other sites in the east of fife. to this famous whig shire we eventually come at torryburn, for thus far, since leaving stirling, we have been skirting on the left the shores of clackmannan and of a sporadic fragment of perthshire projected upon the forth. in its scenic, social, and historic characteristics, however, the whole ground, from where the river begins to broaden, is "fifish," and, from dunmyatt to the "east neuk," bears the traces, in place-names, legends, and ancient remains, of old pictish possession, and of norse, saxon, and highland incursions; of culdee settlement and of roman intrusion; and of all the later strife, in kirk and state, in which fife has "borne the gree." neighbours have been ready to observe that the joint effects of geographical isolation and outside pressure are quite as deeply marked in the character, habits, and ways of the inhabitants; and that, besides occupying a separate "kingdom," they are in many respects a "peculiar people." [illustration: forth bridge, from the south-west.] charlestown and limekilns, after culross, are but upstart villages, built by the earls of elgin as shipping-places for the coal, lime, and ironstone upon their broomhall estate. before us, a prominent object by the shore, is the stark grey keep of rosyth castle. and now we are fairly in "st. margaret's hope," and under the shelter of the high ground projecting from the fife shore, which narrows, by a full half, the width of the firth, and forms, with inch garvie island as a stepping-stone in mid-channel, the natural abutment whence the forth bridge makes its flying leap to the southern bank. from the lee of this rocky ridge queen mary, having rested at rosyth, set sail for the other shore, after her escape from loch leven castle. on the beach here sir patrick spens may have paced when the "braid letter" was put into his hands, sending him on the luckless voyage to bring back the "maiden of norway," while not far off "the king sat in dunfermline tower, drinking the blood-red wine." but most famous of the events in the annals of the "hope"--and one of the epoch-making accidents in the history of scotland--was the landing, in , of edgar atheling and his sisters in this safe harbourage, after grievous tossings by storms and ill-fortune. the then royal residence of dunfermline is four miles distant, the road leading past pitreavie, where, six centuries later, cromwell, descending from the ferry hill, so terribly mauled the scottish army. tradition points out a stone where the weary saxon princess margaret rested, on a way which became so familiar to her. for she found favour in the sight of king malcolm canmore, and made many journeys, by the haven and the ferry that bear her name, to edinburgh, and to pilgrim shrines in the south. it might almost be said that civilisation, and the english speech, and the roman hierarchy and influence, landed on the scottish shores with saint margaret; and the whole district around the "queen's ferry" is redolent with memories of her to this day. "dunfermline tower," or rather the foundations of what is considered the first royal seat there, are within the grounds of pittencrieff, on the high bank overlooking the lyne burn. farther up, and more adjacent to the modern town, is the palace, built in later times, and still showing a stately front, sixty feet in height, rising above the ancient trees and overlooking the beautiful glen. beyond these walls, and the crypt-like chambers which served as kitchen and other offices, little of the palace remains. the mullioned windows are pointed out of the rooms in which charles i. and his sister elizabeth, the "winter queen" of bohemia, were born, and where charles ii. signed the "solemn league and covenant;" but within, as without, they only look into "empty air." the palace communicated by underground passages with the abbey, founded and dedicated to the holy trinity by malcolm canmore and margaret in , and enlarged and beautified by the munificence and piety of their successors. beyond fragments of the walls, nearly all that remains of the monastic buildings is the frater hall, with the delicate gothic tracery of its west window. but close behind is the abbey church, surrounded by its graves, its rookery, and the old houses of the town; and it still ranks as one of the proudest and best-preserved specimens of anglo-norman church architecture in scotland. rich and quaint are the carvings on its doorways, and dim and mysterious is the light that falls through its illuminated windows as you tread your way between the massive old pillars, and literally over the dust of kings and princes, to the spacious and lightsome new abbey church. this portion of the abbey structure was rebuilt seventy years ago, and in the course of the operations the workmen came upon the tomb and remains of robert the bruce--recognisable, among other evidences, by the gigantic stature and by the breast-bone, from which a piece had been sawn to reach the heart that douglas sought to carry to the holy land. the tomb of malcolm and margaret is at the east end, and without the present limits of the church; and within, besides "the bruce," there are buried a score of scottish sovereigns and princes, including david i., the builder of monasteries, and the "sair saunt for the crown," and alexander iii., whose fatal mischance near kinghorn was the beginning of the national troubles. one may range far before finding a group of buildings so intrinsically beautiful, so historically interesting, and so fitly set amid their surroundings. for dunfermline has many things else, old and new, to attract the visitor--from the "oratory cave" of queen margaret, to its handsome municipal buildings and free library and baths, the gifts of mr. andrew carnegie. it is a "live place," and not one existing merely on the memories of its past; for it has extensive and growing industries in coal and linen. but it will always be more the "city of kings" than the seat of trade. from the old bartizan tower of the abbey church, one can survey a dozen shires, and--contrast as strange as the light and shadow in the churches below--a glimpse is caught, beyond north queensferry point, of the limbs of the new forth bridge. this gigantic work represents the second undertaking adopted by the north british railway and the supporting companies for shortening the journey to the north by throwing a bridge over the narrows at queensferry. the first plan of a suspension bridge was abandoned, after the catastrophe that befell the structure on the tay; and the design (by sir john fowler and mr. baker) now on the point of completion is that of a cantilever bridge, founded on three sets of piers--at the edge of the deep-water channels on the north and south sides, and on inch garvie island in the middle--united, over the fairways of navigation, by central girders. the whole space spanned is over a mile and a half, but fully a third of this distance is occupied by the viaduct approaches to what may be termed the bridge proper, supported at a height of feet above mean sea-level upon a series of stone piers. at this elevation the line is carried across the firth, which reaches from to fathoms in depth in the channels between inch garvie and the north and south shores. except the supporting bases of stone, the whole central structure is of steel, wrought and fitted in the works on the southern side; and it is estimated that not less than , tons of metal have been used in the work. from the three main piers, columned "towers of steel" rise to a height of feet above high-water mark, that on inch garvie being wider than the two others. they are formed of tubes of ¾-inch steel, feet in diameter at the base, inclining inwards and towards each other, and united by cross members, in the shape of the letter "x," for purposes of strength; and from these the intricate bracket-work of upper and lower members, with their connecting struts and ties, stretch out over the firth, and approach each other near enough to be united by the two -feet lattice girders over the fairways. the two great centre spans are each , feet in width, and the half-spans that join them to the great north and south viaduct piers are feet each. all the strains are concentrated upon the bases of the cantilever piers, and the whole structure gives a remarkable impression of combined lightness and strength, as well as of colossal size. from , to , men have been employed for several years upon the bridge, of which it may almost be said that half of the work is under water and out of sight. its estimated cost is between two and three millions sterling, and, connected with it, new lines are being constructed, by which passengers and goods will henceforth be carried by the shortest available route from south to north, in despite of the obstacles interposed by the forth, the ochils, and the tay. [illustration: shore street, leith.] of all the objects dwarfed and changed by the bridge, inch garvie and its castle have perhaps suffered most. built long ago to protect the upper waters against the pirates that infested the outer firth, it has often since played a part in schemes of national defence. "roy of aldivalloch" held inch garvie with twenty musketeers against monk's troops, at the time of cromwell's invasion; and it was afterwards manned to repel paul jones. now, looking down upon it from the summit of the great pier, it seems as if a good-sized stone would crush, like a toy, the queer admixture of old and new buildings huddled upon it. from this great height, both expanses of the firth, with their bounding shores, lie spread below like a map. the southern shore, now become once more rich in interest and beauty, has complacently drawn nearer hand. looking westward, and withdrawing the eyes from the fine amphitheatre of hills that enclose the upper course of the forth, blackness castle--one of the four royal fortalices specially mentioned in the treaty of union, and the scene of many stirring events in the national annals: edinburgh, stirling, and dumbarton being the others--is full in sight, upon its peninsula. nearer are the woods of abercorn, whose history goes back to roman times, and earlier; closer still, the magnificent colonnaded front, the sea-terraces, the deer-parks, and the stately lime avenues of hopetoun house, the seat of the earl of hopetoun; and almost below, and on the hither side of port edgar harbour, the ancient town of south queensferry. the last few years have made "a mighty difference" in many ways to the little burgh, but have not materially altered the somewhat grimy features of its main street, which runs eastward, at the base of the hill, towards the bridge, the "hawes brae," and the "hawes inn," where, it will be remembered, jonathan oldbuck and his young friend lovel descended from the edinburgh diligence, and cemented acquaintance over a magnum of port, and where, also, adventures first began to overtake the hero of "kidnapped." [illustration: edinburgh, from the fife shore.] turning eastward, this southern shore is prolonged in the wooded knolls of the dalmeny estate, and round the projecting point, and on the very sea-marge, is the old, but now renovated, castle of barnbougle, once the seat of the mowbrays. behind it is dalmeny house, with beautiful sward and woodland extending as far as cramond, where lord rosebery keeps a boat to ferry the public across the almond water into midlothian. these latter objects, as has been said, are out of sight from the bridge, but on the northern side one sees well into the deep inlet of inverkeithing bay, where the old royal burgh, dating from before william the lion's time, lies stranded in mud. it is still proud of having witnessed the last assembly of the culdees, and the first movement of scottish "voluntaryism," and boasts also of containing the "palace" of queen annabella drummond, and the birthplace of admiral greig, of the russian service. for miles the domain of donibristle follows the advancing and retiring points of the fife shore, which, now that the outer firth opens up, recedes away northward as well as eastward. within the half-circle of dalgety bay are the ruins of old dalgety church, and what remains of donibristle house. the estate belongs to the earl of moray, the owner of doune and of many broad lands in the north. the mansion was accidentally burned thirty years ago; but destined for longer remembrance is its burning, not accidental, three centuries since, when took place the tragedy of "the bonnie earl o' moray." the "bonnie earl"--son-in-law of the famous regent moray--was in slain, as he was escaping from the blazing building, by gordon of buckie and other retainers of lord huntly, with the connivance, as was suspected, of james vi. the ballad-writers have their explanation, for "the bonnie earl o' moray, he was the queen's love." an earl and regent moray of an earlier stem--randolph, the companion of the bruce and of the black douglas--had his home at aberdour, the next indentation in this singularly beautiful coast. the line had soon to give place to the douglases, earls of morton, who have ruled here for some five centuries, though their old castle, overlooking the lovely bay, with its projecting bluffs and shining sands, now a favourite resort for bathers and summer visitors, has been long untenanted. the wily and unscrupulous regent morton came hither to amuse himself with gardening, in the intervals when, from choice or compulsion, he was not in the thick of political intrigue. edinburgh was always in view from aberdour, and nature and simple country pursuits could not hold him long. through the high beech groves and hanging woods, one of the most charming of walks leads for three miles to burntisland. but the charm is no longer what it was, for the new railway line running athwart the slope has played havoc with the trees. outside aberdour, and partly shielding the bay, is inchcolm island. it would need a volume to do justice to the islands of the forth. some we have already glanced at. "st. colme's inch," where, as shakespeare tells us, the routed norsemen were fain to crave permission of the thane of cawdor to bury their dead, is the most famous of them all--except perhaps the bass. the square tower and mouldering walls of its abbey, rising close to the narrow isthmus where the isle is almost cut in two by the sea, are still prominent objects in the view. the monastery was founded in , by king alexander i., in gratitude for his miraculous rescue from shipwreck, and entertainment here by a hermit who followed the rule of st. columba. it once owned rich possessions in half a dozen shires, granted in part by a lord alan mortimer of aberdour, whose body the monks flung overboard in a storm while crossing to the island, thus giving a name to the inner channel of "mortimer's deep." invaders, pirates, and rebels, as well as the hand of time, have since sorely visited the island, but still portions of the old buildings stand, and are even habitable. cramond island, almost opposite inchcolm, hugs the other shore, and there is a road across the sands to its little farmhouse at low tide; while in the mid-channel there are many rocky islets, some of them the chosen resorts of cormorants and other sea birds. further down, half-way between leith pier and kirkcaldy bay, inchkeith stretches its length for nearly a mile across the firth. inchkeith, also, has harboured anchorites and stood sieges; and there are many curious legends connected with its coves and caves. but its most prominent feature is now the white lighthouse perched upon its highest crest; and barely visible to the eye are the powerful batteries that sweep, on the one side, leith roads, and on the other side the north channel, between the island and pettycur point, where also great guns are mounted for the defence of the forth. then a long way farther out, at the very entrance to the firth, and visible only in clear weather and easterly wind, runs the long rock wall of the may island. in other days the may was a great resort of pilgrims, who held it a merit to reach a place so difficult of access, and barren women especially found a blessing in drinking from the well that had refreshed st. fillan and st. adrian. there was a religious house here connected with the priory of pittenweem on the adjacent fife coast, but the monks found it by-and-bye most convenient to reside on shore. though the light of faith has gone out, another light--a guide to the commerce entering the firth--has been kept burning upon the may for two centuries and a half. now its only residents are the lighthouse-men and their families, and its only regular visitors are myriads of sea-fowl. the carr rock and fidra island lights mark, with the may, the entrance to the firth; and scattered along the east lothian coast, from fidra eastwards, are numerous little islands, "salt and bare." but none of them have the fame or the aspect of the "bass." this huge mass of rock, heaved up by some convulsion of nature, like north berwick law and other great bluffs on shore, presents seawards its precipitous cliff, rising sheer to a height of feet, while towards the land it shows a green slope descending steeply to the landing-place and the remains of its old prison castle. the crevices of the rocks are filled with the nests of the solan-goose and other sea-fowl, and the air around is alive with their cries and the sweep of their wings. but otherwise it is impossible to imagine a spot with the aspect of grim isolation more thoroughly impressed upon it. st. baldred is said to have lived and died on the bass rock; but it came most conspicuously forward in history when it was made the prison of the covenanters, charged with no other offence than that of following their consciences against the will of the king; and afterwards, when its jacobite garrison held out for years after every other place in the kingdom had submitted to william of orange. but on the way from inchcolm to the bass, what a marvellous series of noble land and sea pieces, of famous or hallowed sites, we have passed! it were hard to say whether scenic beauty and historical associations cluster more closely upon the shores of the firth, or upon the surrounding amphitheatre of hills. in the profile of the hills of fife, the broad-shouldered lomonds, with their double or triple heads, overtop all--the east lomond looking down upon the ruins of the old royal hunting seat of falkland, the scene of rothesay's cruel pangs, and the western heights upon loch leven and the island castle, whence mary made her romantic escape. more in the foreground are dunearn, crowded by the remains of a pictish fort, and the steep, rugged front of the binn of burntisland, overhanging the town of that name. rossend castle--a favourite residence of the queen of scots, where took place the incident that cost the enamoured french poet chastelard his life--fronts the sea at the west end of burntisland harbour; and to the east, behind a beautiful sweep of sand and "links," rises the cliff at which an evil fate overtook alexander iii. and scotland. [illustration: portobello.] [illustration: kirkcaldy, from the south-east.] beyond pettycur, and the high ground of grange, once the home of that famous champion, kirkcaldy of grange, the wide curve of kirkcaldy bay opens up. the old burgh of kinghorn is at one extremity, and the still more ancient town of dysart at the other; and the middle foreground is largely occupied by the houses and shipping of the "lang toun." the very names of kirkcaldy ("kirk of the culdees") and of dysart ("desertum") point to the antiquity and the sanctity of the origin of places that to this day are strongly "churchy." the grotesque folk-tale relates that the devil was "buried in kirkcaldy," and that his complaint that "his taes were cauld" led the good-natured inhabitants to build house to house, until now the town, with the villages connected, stretches some four miles in a straight line. the story may have had its origin in some of the apostolic doings of st. serf, who had for a time his "desert" in one of the caves in the red cliffs at dysart; or else in some magic feat of the wizard michael scott--the friend of dante and boccaccio--whose weird tower of balwearie is an uncanny neighbour of the "lang toun." the ruins, close by the shore, of seafield tower and of ravenscraig castle--the latter the home of the line of "high st. clair," and of the "lovely rosabelle"--are now strangely backed by floor-cloth factories. kirkcaldy has, however, other and even better things to be proud of; for here adam smith was born; here edward irving taught and preached, with thomas carlyle, the dominie of a competing school, as his friend and companion on excursions to inchkeith, and to quaint nooks of the fife coast. the author of "sartor resartus" had kindly recollections of the folks of the "kingdom"--"good old scotch in all their works and ways;" and with strong unerring touches brings before us their "ancient little burghs and sea villages, with their poor little havens, salt-pans, and weather-beaten bits of cyclopean breakwaters, and rude innocent machineries." portentous for length is the mere list of these surf-washed fife towns--beloved of wandering artists and haunted by memories and traditions of the olden time--that are sprinkled along the coast eastward. mention cannot be avoided of wemyss, easter and wester, with their caves and coal-pits rendering upon the sea, and their castles, old and new; of tumbledown methil and the "ancient and fish-like flavour" of buckhaven; of leven and lundin, their druidical stones and stretches of breezy links, the delight of golfers; of largo, where the law looks down upon "largo bay" and its brown-sailed fishing boats, upon the cottage of "auld robin gray," and upon the birthplace of the famous scottish admiral, sir andrew wood, and of alexander selkirk, the "original" robinson crusoe; of elie, most delightful of east coast watering-places; of st. monance and its picturesque old church and harbour and ruined tower; of pittenweem and the remains of its priory, on the site of st. fillan's cell; of anstruther, easter and wester, the scene of "anster fair," and the home of maggie lauder; of cellardyke, kilrenny, and, quietest and remotest of them all, "the weel-aired ancient toun o' crail," where knox preached and archbishop sharp was "placed," situated close by fife ness, with its wind-twisted bents, its caves, and traces of danish camps and forgotten fights. the smell and the sound of the sea are about all these fife burghs and fishing villages, and not less saturated with romance and history are the old-fashioned mansion-houses of the lairds of the east neuk, that seek shelter in every fold of the land. for fife was the true soil of the "cock" or "bonnet" laird, whose proverbial heritage was "a wee pickle land, a good pickle debt, and a doo-cot." little better than a ruined dove-cote--or "a corbie's nest," as the merry monarch called dreel castle, the old tower of the anstruthers--shows many a crumbled seat of the long-pedigreed fife gentry. but they were the nurseries of famous men--witness the leslies, alexander and david, and a host besides--who found not only their native shire but their native country too narrow a field for their talents and their ambition. in this, as in other respects, the shores of fife offer an epitome of scottish history, and the quintessence of scottish character. turn now towards the southern shore. the spell even of the coasts of fife cannot long detain us, when edinburgh, seated on her hills, and queening it over the waters, with the couchant lion of arthur's seat beside her, is in view. as stirling presides over the "links of forth," and the upper courses of the river, edinburgh rock with its castle appears the guardian genius of the firth. round the base of this "bass rock upon land," the masses of buildings seem to swirl and surge like a tide-race of human life, and to climb, in broken wave upon wave, crested by the spires and roofs of the old town, and overhung by the murky spray of its proverbial "reek," all up the steep slope to the battlements of the castle. stirling itself is scarcely its peer for dignity of situation or for renown. from the highest platform of the rock, where hooped and battered mons meg guards the old chapel of canmore and margaret, to the profoundest depths of the shadows cast by the tall and beetling houses of the grassmarket, the west port, and the cowgate, it is haunted by traditions; and its history, like its aspect, is most sombre and most striking. looking from the windows of the rooms which mary occupied, and whence the infant james was let down in a basket to the bottom of the rock, one glances across the "plainstanes" of the grassmarket, the scene of jock porteous's slaughter, to the old greyfriars churchyard and its graves of martyrs and of persecutors, to the dome and towers of the old and new university buildings, and to the piled and crowded buildings, thinning out and becoming newer as they descend the warm slopes of morningside and newington towards the bluffs of craiglockhart, the whinny slopes of the braids, and craigmillar castle, behind which are the finely pencilled lines of the pentlands, the moorfoots, and the lammermoors. or the eye can follow the impending walls of the many-storeyed houses of the lawnmarket and the high street, as far as the "crown" of st. giles and the parliament house--each of them part and parcel of the national life--and so on by the canongate and its memorable old "lands" and closes, towards the spot where the palace and the ruined abbey of holyrood, shouldered by breweries and canopied by the smoke of gasworks, shelter under the salisbury crags. or looking away from the grim old town, one may travel far before seeing anything to compare with the stately front of prince's street, facing its gardens and the sun, and turned away from the cold blasts of the north; the calton hill and its monuments; the serried lines of the new town streets and squares, broken by frequent spires and towers, and sweeping away in one direction towards the wooded sides of corstorphine, and in the other joining leith and its shipping; while beyond, if the day be fine, the glorious view is bounded by the firth and its islands and the hills of fife, melting in a distance where land, sea, and sky are indistinguishable. too often, viewing it from the "clouded forth," the grey city, its castle, and its subject hills are swallowed up in the "gloom that saddens heaven and earth" during the dismal edinburgh winter and spring, and the uncertain summer and autumn. sometimes they show huge and imposing, like ghosts in the mist, or rise like islands over the strata of smoke and haze in which leith lies buried. but there are gloriously fine days at all seasons of the year, even in this much-abused climate, and then the long pier, the shipping in the roadstead, the tangle of masts and rigging in the spacious docks, and the warehouses, churches, and close-built houses of the port of leith make a brave show in the low foreground of a lovely picture. to the west, the wide arms of the granton breakwaters enclose a harbour, built at the cost of the duke of buccleuch. nearer to leith is the white pier-head of newhaven, with stalwart fishermen, and comely fishwives in white "mutches" and short petticoats, grouped about its quays. leith itself is an old as well as a brisk seat of trade and shipping. the large business it continues to conduct with the ports of the baltic and the north sea it has carried on for many centuries, and in these days it has extended its commercial relations to nearly all parts of the world. many of the most famous episodes in the national annals began and ended in leith. but royal embassies no longer land or embark there; it is happily exempt from hostile invasions and bloody civil and religious feuds. [illustration: the bass rock, from north berwick.] eastward from leith, sewage meadows and brick-and tile-works suddenly give place to the mile-long front of the portobello esplanade, with its pier and bathing coaches and strip of sand, dear to edinburgh holiday-makers, and with the outline of arthur's seat as a noble background to the masses of handsome villas and lodging-houses. beyond comes a string of little seaside watering-places, fishing and shipping ports--fisherrow, musselburgh, morrisonhaven, prestonpans, cockenzie--which, with the country behind them, vie in picturesqueness of aspect with the fife towns opposite. a high ridge, the last heave of the lammermoors, marks the limits of this belt of coast country--the old approach of hostile armies from the south--which might dispute with the district around stirling the title of the "battlefield of scotland." carberry hill, where mary fell into the hands of the lords of the covenant, overlooks the woods of dalkeith palace and the esk, not far above where, between fisherrow harbour and musselburgh, that classic stream enters the sea. a continuation of carberry are the fawside braes, and right underneath the ruined castle on the sky-line, and between it and inveresk church, was fought the battle of pinkie, so disastrous for the scots, when the little burn trickling through pinkie woods "ran red with blood." it was on this ground, too, that cromwell was out-manoeuvred by leslie, and compelled to fall back, "to make the better spring" upon dunbar; and by the venerable bridge across the esk, the young pretender led his troops from edinburgh, on hearing that the royalist forces were advancing by the coast upon the capital. the site of the battle of prestonpans is in the fields beyond the tumbledown old town of that name, which boasts--and looks as if it boasted truly--of being the first place in scotland where coal was worked and salt manufactured from sea-water. in the more thriving looking village of cockenzie, they point out the house in which "johnnie cope" was soundly sleeping when the highlanders, making a circuit of the high ground behind tranent, and crossing the marsh at seton, "sprang upon him out of the mist" of a september morning. [illustration: tantallon castle, looking east.] seton, with its woods and wild-flowers, its lovely sweep of sands, the remains of its ancient church, and the castle standing on the site of the palace of the earls of winton, is redolent of memories of the "high jinks" of queen mary and of other members of the unfortunate house of stuart, in whose mischances the loyal setons faithfully shared. the parks of gosford, their trees strangely bent and twisted by the east wind, line the coast for miles, and the great white front of lord wemyss's mansion is a shining landmark. then comes aberlady bay, an expanse of sand and mud at low water, but at high tide a broad arm of the firth, running up close under the walls of the venerable parish church and pretty village of aberlady, and skirting the favourite golfing links of luffness and gullane. from here all the way round to north berwick, the sea-margin, with its long stretches of grassy turf, interspersed with bent hillocks, whins, sand "bunkers," and other hazards dear to the devotees of cleek and driving-club, may be said to be sacred to the royal game of golf. four or five spacious golfing courses interpose between; and ardent pursuers of the flying gutta ball have been known to play across the whole distance of seven or eight miles. numbers of them take up their quarters at aberlady or at gullane, placed idyllically upon the edge of the common and the ploughed land, with views extending across the green links and the sea to fife, and landward over the rich fields of east lothian to the lammermoors, with the nearer garleton hills, traprain, and north berwick law; a few also at the beautiful old village of dirleton, beside the ivied ruins of its castle. north berwick, however, is the golfer's mecca on this side of the firth; and bathers, artists, and other seekers after the pleasures of the sea-shore succumb to its attractions in increasing numbers every season. the sands and the links, the sea lapping upon the beach, or chafing round craigleith and the other rocky islets and points, exercise a potent spell. but north berwick's great lion, and a conspicuous landmark over sea and country for a score of miles around, is the natural pyramid of the "law." it rises immediately behind the town, in lines as steep and symmetrical as if built by art, and from its summit, nearly , feet high, an almost unrivalled view is obtained over the forth and the lothians. though one would hardly guess it, looking at the clean streets and handsome hotels and villas that line the shore, north berwick is a burgh and port of great antiquity. that it never throve to any remarkable extent in its earlier history may possibly be in part due to its dangerous proximity to tantallon castle, the hold of the douglases, earls of angus. every visitor to north berwick, after he has surmounted the law and wandered his fill by the beach, makes an excursion to tantallon castle. the coast eastward is bold and precipitous, and fretted by the waters of the north sea, for we are now at the very lip of the firth of forth; and the bass rock, lying opposite the beautiful curve of canty bay, looks like a mass of the shore-cliffs washed bodily out to sea. just where the coast is wildest and least accessible one sees-- "tantallon's dizzy steep hang o'er the margin of the deep." the eyrie of the douglas is now a mere shell; but the extent and immense thickness of the walls still proclaim its strength in the days when it was a proverb to "ding doon tantallon and make a bridge to the bass." on three sides it was protected by the sea, and "above the booming ocean leant the far-projecting battlement." on the land side were those gate-works and walls which marmion cleared, after bidding bold defiance to the "douglas in his hall," and behind which the turbulent earls of angus, for their part, so often bade defiance to their sovereigns. james v. once brought up against it "thrawn-mu'd meg and her marrow," and other great pieces of mediæval ordnance from dunbar, where three lords were placed in pawn for their safe return. but he failed to "ding doon tantallon"; that feat was reserved for the covenanters. now the spirit of walter scott seems to haunt the ruins, in company with the ghosts of "bell-the-cat," and the other dead douglases who built or strengthened these storm-battered walls. the magician of the north has waved his wand over the forth from ben lomond to tantallon and the bass! john geddie. [illustration: north berwick, from the harbour.] [illustration: berwick-on-tweed.] the tweed. chapter i. from berwick to kelso. leading characteristics--the view from berwick--lindisfarne--the history and present state of berwick--norham castle and marmion--ladykirk--tillmouth--twisell castle and bridge--ford castle and flodden--coldstream--wark castle--hadden rig. "a bonny water" was the phrase used of the tweed by a peasant-woman whom dorothy wordsworth met when she came to spy out the border river. homely as the expression is, it would not be easy to find another quite so meet. to grandeur, to magnificence, the stream can make no claim, either in itself or in its surroundings. of screaming eagles, of awful cliffs, of leaping linns, of foaming waves, it knows nothing. no more horrid sound is heard in its neighbourhood than the cry of the pale sea-maw; its banks are rarely precipitous, never frightful; it has not a single waterfall to its name; and, save where its surface is gently ruffled by glistening pebbles, it flows smooth as (_pace_ the poet) the course of true love usually is. yet of charms more gracious how profuse it is! in its careless windings, its silvery clearness, its sweet haughs and holms, its affluence of leaf and blade, its frequent breadth of valley, it is dowered with all the amenities of a large and generous landscape, distributed into combinations of incessant variety. nor does it owe much less to art and association than to nature. it glides or ripples by some of the most impressive ruins, ecclesiastical and secular, in all scotland. at point after point it shines, for the inner eye, with "the light that never was on sea or land." if over other scottish streams as well the magician's wand has waved, the tweed is twice blessed, since it can speak not only of "norham's castled steep" and "st. david's ruined pile," but of ashestiel, and smailholm, and abbotsford. and then its course takes it through the very heart of the debateable land--birthplace of myth and legend, of fairy tale and folk-song--battlefield where hostile races and envious factions and rival clans have met in mortal strife. for centuries it was the wont of its waters to reflect the fire-bale's ruddy glare, of its banks to resound with the strident border-slogan; and until long after the coalition of the crowns its fords continued to be crossed by reiving marchmen in jack and helmet, driving before them their "prey," or scurrying before the avenging "hot trod," led on by blaring bugle-horn and mouthing bloodhound. [illustration: high street, berwick, with the town hall.] a bonny water it truly is, but not a brisk. except in time of spate, it pursues its way, not wearily, it may be, but certainly lazily, and even wantonly, often wimpling into curves and loops which half suggest that, forgetful of its destiny, it is about basely to wind back to whence it came, and calling to mind mr. swinburne's river, of which all that can be said is that it creeps "somewhere safe to sea." when in the chiming humour, which is not seldom, it sings sweetly enough, but crooningly rather than liltingly--less to you than to itself, or in accompaniment to the birds that pour out their lavish strains along its banks. not that there is any particular reason why it should take life more seriously. to things commercial it does not condescend. it is tidal only to norham, and none but mere cockle-shells can get even so far. and if it has a drainage basin second only to that of the tay among scottish streams, it has never been alleged that in this respect there is any failure of duty. let it be said, too, that while it rarely hastes, on the other hand it seldom rests. the "mazes" to which it is addicted are not usually "sluggish;" to the spiky rush or the cool shiny discs of the water-lily it shows no special favour; while dark pools "where alders moist and willows weep" are only to be found by those who seek. exciting the influences of the stream are not; but they are at any rate cheerful. [illustration: the royal border bridge, berwick.] [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the tweed.] one whose only knowledge of the tweed is gained from what can be seen of it at berwick, and when the tide is out, would not be likely to think of it more highly than he ought to think. for even at its "latter end" it seems to have no great sense of the dignity of life; it rolls neither broad nor deep, and does little more than trickle into the larger life to which it has all along so indolently tended. nor is it here altogether happy in the surroundings which it owes to art and man's device. berwick itself, rising from the water's edge to the top of halidon hill, and partly girdled by its fine wall, used as a promenade in these piping times of peace, looks quaint, and comely as well, seen from the opposite or southern bank. but when one has crossed the stream by the old bridge--berwick bridge, which has stood here since the time of james i.--and looks across at tweedmouth, exactly opposite, and at spittal, which has thought fit to spring up a little farther east and just at the river's mouth, the impression is less pleasing. neither of these places is pretty in itself, while for their size they make an amazing amount of black smoke. then there is robert stephenson's great railway viaduct, the royal border bridge, which it is the fashion to praise up to the skies, as it well-nigh reaches them. as a successful bit of engineering, it is no doubt all very well; but an addition to the beauties of the scene it is not, whatever guide-books and gazetteers may say. in other directions, however, and farther afield, the outlook is more satisfactory. away to the south the grey and rugged cheviots make a glorious horizon-line; while out at sea are the farne islands, with their memories of st. cuthbert, most austere of western ascetics, and of grace darling, whose heroism puts so strange a gloss upon the holy man's abhorrence of womankind. the remnants of the ancient abbey of lindisfarne are among the very few examples of saxon architecture which the destructiveness of the danes has left to us; and that even these ruins remain, is due to no negligence of theirs. when they descended upon the island in the seventh century, not for the first time, they made a brave attempt to leave a desert behind them; but the massive strength which the builders of the church had intended to oppose to "tempestuous seas" was able in some degree to withstand their "impious rage." the abbey no longer shelters st. cuthbert's remains, which must be sought in the cathedral that looks down upon the wear. but the old saxon arches and columns have a stronger interest than this could have invested them with; for was it not here, in sexhelm's vault of penitence, dimly lighted by the pale cresset's ray, that the hapless constance de beverley, after solemn inquisition, was doomed to her terrible death, the while her betrayer was listening to the song which so melodiously contrasts the traitor's fate with the destiny of the true lover? [illustration: view from the ramparts, berwick.] berwick-on-tweed is certainly not happy in having no history. its beginnings are not clearly ascertainable; but it was for long a saxon settlement, until the danes, attracted by the rich merse-lands through which the tweed flows, helped themselves to it. then came the turn of the scots, who held it off and on from about the time of alfred the great until john balliol renounced the authority of his liege lord, to whom he had sworn fealty at norham. when an english army approached, the citizens were by no means alarmed, although it was led by edward himself. "kynge edward," they cried from behind their wooden stockade, "waune thou havest berwick, pike thee; waune thou havest geten, dike thee." but they were better at flouting than at fighting; and they soon had bitter reason for lamenting that they had not kept their mocks to themselves. the place was stormed with the most trivial loss, and nearly eight thousand of the citizens were massacred. some brave flemings who held the red hall were burnt to cinders in it; and the carnage only ceased when the sad and solemn priests bore the host into edward's presence and implored his mercy. then the impetuous monarch, who in his old age was able to say that no man had ever asked mercy of him and been refused, burst into tears, and ordered the butchery to stop. but the lion's paw had fallen, and berwick was crushed. when edward sat down before it, it was not only the great merchant city of the north, but ranked second to london among english towns; he left it little more than a ruin, and it has never since been anything but "a petty seaport." through its gates the king went forth to play the _rôle_ of the conquering hero in scotland; and when his over-lordship had been effectually vindicated, the scottish barons and gentry met here to sulkily do him reverence. two-and-twenty years later there came another turn of the wheel. when robert bruce wrested his native land from the feeble hands of the second edward, berwick shared in the emancipation. its capture was held to be an achievement of the first order, and after it, as leland tells us, "the scottes became so proud ... that they nothing esteemed the englishmen." but presently a weaker bruce reigned in the north and a stronger edward in the south. in due course the town was again beleaguered by an english force. a scottish army under the regent, archibald douglas, came to its relief; but the english held a strong position on halidon hill, and, met by their terrible showers of clothyard shafts, the scots turned and fled, leaving berwick to its fate. thus it once more became english, and never again did it change masters, though it was allowed to retain many of its privileges. in these later days, however, it has had to part with one after another of its peculiarities, and now it is substantially a part of the county of northumberland. [illustration: norham castle.] that a place which has received so many rude buffets should have few very ancient remains is not to be wondered at. the present walls, which stand almost intact, and in excellent preservation, though the town in its recent prosperity has straggled outside their line, have a very respectable antiquity, dating as they do from the closing years of the sixteenth century; but of the older fortifications, which embraced a much more considerable space, scarcely a vestige is left, except an octagonal tower; while of the castle, which frowned over the stream where the north bank is steepest, little beyond the foundations has survived. a part of the site has been appropriated to the uses of a railway station, which by a well-meant but unhappy thought has been made to take a castellated form. the fortifications were dismantled some forty or fifty years ago, but there is still much to recall the ancient importance of the town as a place of arms. nor have the citizens lost the military spirit which was bred into their forbears. they are proud to tell the stranger within their gates that there is almost as large a garrison here as at edinburgh; and even the tavern-signs bear witness to a traditional love of arms. the parish church dates only from the puritan period. it is said to be "quaint" when it is only ugly; and to be a plain specimen of the gothic when it is not gothic at all, except in the opprobrious sense in which the term was first applied to mediæval architecture by the superior persons of the restoration. there being no tower--the puritans had no taste for "steeple-houses"--the parishioners are summoned to service by the bells of the town hall, in the high street, where also the curfew is still rung at eight of the clock every evening. although the anglican is here the established church, the prevalent form is the presbyterian, which has many places of worship, while various other communions are also well represented. but there seems to be some want of resource in finding distinguishing names for the various churches and chapels, for there is a church street church, and hard by a chapel street church, while several places of worship are nameless. among these latter is one which bears on its front the legend "audi, vide, tace"--intended, presumably, for a concise exposition of the whole duty of the pew in relation to the pulpit. [illustration: junction of the till and the tweed.] not a great way from the first of the bends in which the stream indulges, and within sight of the towers of longridge, the whiteadder from the lammermoors, reinforced by the blackadder, renders up its tribute. two miles above this point the river is crossed by the union suspension bridge, which, built by sir s. brown in , is said to have been the first structure of the kind erected in these islands, while as bridges go along the tweed it is also quite an antiquity; for, until the beginning of the century, there was only one between peebles and berwick, a space of more than sixty miles. now they are many, yet there has been little sacrifice of beauty to utility, for, as a rule, when not picturesque, they are at least neat and modest. hereabouts the valley is fairly broad, the banks rising on either hand into a long succession of rolling meadows green with herbage, or of furrowed fields red with tilth, in the prime of summer smothered with tender shoots of corn all aglow with the bright yellow blooms of the runch--to the wayfarer a flower, to the husbandman a weed. so curve to curve succeeds until norham castle comes in sight, standing on a lofty cliff of red freestone which rises almost sheer from the water on the southern bank, and disdainfully rearing itself high above the trees that have presumed to grow up around it. [illustration: tillmouth house, from the banks of the till.] when this ancient little village first had a stronghold no one seems to know. as early as a fortress was built here by bishop flambard, of durham; but it was not the first to occupy the site. after the death of "this plunderer of the rich, this exterminator of the poor," the castle was so roughly handled by david i. that in we find another bishop of durham, hugh pudsey, virtually rebuilding it, and adding a massive keep. but warrior-priests were not much to the mind of the king who suggested the assassination of thomas à becket, and so, some ten years after he had rebuilt it, the bishop was prevailed upon to pass it on to william de neville; and from this time onwards it appears to have been treated as a royal fortress. thus it came about that more than once it was the scene of conference between william the lion and the english king whose only association with the noble beast was through his brother. and here also came edward i., to decide between the thirteen claimants to the crown of alexander iii., and to do a little business on his own account as well. a memoir of the dacres on its condition early in the sixteenth century speaks of the keep as impregnable; but it was nothing of the kind. like all these border strengths, it was always being taken and retaken; and only a few years before this memoir was written, james iv., then on his way to flodden, had brought up mons meg against it, and with the "auld murderess's" help had possessed himself of it. pudsey's massive keep still remains, though in a greatly shattered state, and shorn of its mighty proportions; there are also bits of other parts of the castle, the whole enclosed within a wall of ample circuit. [illustration: ford castle.] [illustration: flodden field.] in the days when it held a royal garrison, norham had various castellans, some of them men of distinction in their day; but the most famous of them since the "tale of flodden field" was told, has been "sir hugh the heron bold." this "baron of twisell and of ford" passed among men as william heron; but hugh was more poetical, and so his baptismal name was changed. nor, at the time selected for the lord of fontenaye's visit, was he here to be twitted with his witching lady's gallantries. two years before this his bastard brother had taken part in the slaughter of the scottish warden of the middle marches, sir robert ker of cessford; and as sir william himself had been in some sort accessory to the crime, henry had thought it well to deliver him and one of the actual murderers up to justice, so that at this time he was lying in durance at fastcastle. this, of course, is the fault of the facts, not of the poetry. nor need it be disappointing to find sir walter himself saying that the marmion of the romance is "entirely a fictitious personage." when, indeed, it is remembered that one of the marmions did verily come here, though long years before--in the reign which witnessed the triumph at bannockburn, instead of the overthrow at flodden--the poet might very well have been astonished at his own moderation. the errand of the real marmion was a good deal more romantic than that of his imaginary descendant. at a great feast in lincolnshire he had been endued with a gold-crested helmet by a lady who had nothing better to do than to drive a brave man into mortal peril. her charge to him was to "go into the daungerest place in england, and ther to let the healme be seene and known as famous." so he sped him here to norham, and within four days of his coming, philip of mowbray, the guardian of berwick--now in the hands of the elated scots--appeared before the walls "with the very flour of the men of the scottish marches." the castellan at this time was a grey of chillingham, who drew out his men before the barriers, and then bade the knight-errant, "al glittering in gold, and wearing the healme," to ride like a valiant man among his foes, adding, "and i forsake god if i rescue not thy body, dead or alyve, or i myself wyl dye for it." thereupon the knight mounted and rode into the midst of the enemy, "the which layed sore stripes on him, and pulled hym at the last out of his sadel to the ground." but now grey and his men "lette prick yn among the scottes" and put them to rout; and he of the "healme," though "sore beten," was horsed again and took part in the chase. as it must have been this visit which made the poet bring his marmion to norham, so no doubt it was the deed itself, coupled with an event which actually happened at tantallon, which suggested the knight's precipitate retreat when he had bearded the douglas in his halls. [illustration: twisell bridge.] just above the castle is the village of norham, with its pretty little church--all but the eastern end, where there is a poor decorated window, in the norman style, and still interesting, in spite of the drastic restoration it has endured. it stands in a churchyard which well repays the careful tendance it receives, for it is of exceptionally choice situation, separated by a row of limes from the cosiest of rectories, and by little more than another fringe of foliage from the tweed, whose waves babble of rest and peace as they ripple by the cells where lie the simple village folk who ended their toilsome lives in their beds, and the warriors who came to a ruder end before or behind the castle walls. here the northern bank is lofty and pleasantly wooded, as, a little below, is the southern bank. in its approach to the castle the stream bends round to the south, and its waters move less leisurely, as though, fresh from contact with a scene consecrated to peace on the earth and goodwill among men, they cannot abide these grim stark ruins, with their memories of weeping captives and cruel deeds. if the keep yet looks down with something of insolence upon its lowly neighbour on the strath far beneath, it is, for all that, a parable against itself, testifying that it is not to "men of might" but to "men of mean" that the inheritance has been decreed. for while its strength and splendour have for ever fled, the humble sanctuary has renewed its youth; and, though the forms of faith suffer change, it has a good hope that in the far summers which we shall not see it will still be fulfilling its gracious and hallowed offices. [illustration: junction of the till and the glen.] within sight of norham, on the opposite bank, amidst a delightful bit of woodland scenery, is the tiny village of ladykirk, named, by a reversal of the usual order, from its church, dedicated to the virgin, and built about the year by james iv. as a votive gift for his preservation from drowning while crossing a ford at this spot. thus says tradition, which has so much to answer for. but the story is not improbable. there certainly was a ford here, which was more than usually dangerous when freshets were running; and james, though not a serious-minded or scrupulous man--being, indeed, one of those who prefer to indulge and repent rather than abstain--was not without an easy kind of piety. from ladykirk onwards to tillmouth, walking along the banks, there is a rapid succession of varied delights. on one side or the other, when not on both, the stream is edged with lovely copses; and the path, breast-high with tufted grass and tangled briar, runs past many a thicket beloved of the yellow linnet and the spotted thrush, and athwart many a glen where in simpler days fairies held their dainty revels and laid their sprightly plots. [illustration: the glen at coupland.] the till not only augments the waters, but adds to the beauties, of the tweed. "the sullen till," scott calls it in his poetry; but here he is tuning his harp to a minor key to sing the disaster at flodden; and he can mean no more by the uncomplimentary expression than when in his prose he speaks of it as deep and slow. a very leisurely water it certainly is, and the country through which it flows--past ewart newtown, where it is joined by the glen, which rises on the slopes of the cheviots as bowmont water, and passes through scenery of which that at coupland may be taken as typical--is not on the whole interesting. but the epithet is less than just if applied to its mouth and the reaches immediately below, for here it flows through a deep, winding, and gloriously wooded glen. on the peninsula where the streams meet and blend, stands a fragment of what was once "a chapel fair," dedicated to st. cuthbert; for when the roving saint had tired of melrose and induced his custodians to launch him upon the tweed in a stone coffin, this "ponderous bark for river-tides" glided "light as gossamer" until it landed here. the coffin used to be shown in two pieces beside the ruin (it was broken by the saint's guardian spirits, to save it from being degraded to an ignoble use); and sir walter, who would appear to have seen it, says that it was finely shaped, and of such proportions that with very little assistance it might have floated. to "tillmouth cell" it was that clare was conveyed by the pious monk when some "base marauder's lance" had at once rid her of her persecutor and avenged the betrayal of constance; and here she spent the night in prayer. and to tillmouth also it was that friar john was attached, that "blithesome brother at the can" who in evil hour "crossed the tweed to teach dame alison her creed," and being interrupted in the exposition by her churl of a husband, and being on principle an enemy to strife, incontinently fled "sans frock and hood." a boon companion the worthy john must have been, but not a safe guide for marmion or another, since-- "when our john hath quaffed his ale, as little as the wind that blows and warms itself against his nose, kens he, or cares, which way he goes." the mere fragment which is all that is left of twisell castle stands high above the till, near its mouth, overlooking tillmouth house, embosomed in trees a little farther up the till, and twisell's "gothic arch," the picturesque single-span bridge which the foolhardiness of james allowed the van of the english army to cross on the morning of flodden. begun in by sir francis blake, the castle was in the builder's hands off and on for the space of forty years; but it was never completed, and never occupied, although sir walter, whose conscience failed him in the matter of castle-building, was pleased to praise it as "a splendid pile of gothic architecture." william heron, the castellan of norham, was, as we have seen, "baron of twisell," but his chief seat was ford castle, farther up the till, on the eastern bank; and it was here, and not at holyrood, that, according to the original legend, which did not quite suit the poet's purpose, the scottish king fell victim to lady heron's charms. the story goes that, having taken norham and wark, he had stormed ford, and was only deterred from demolishing it by its fair castellan's blandishments; and the scottish chroniclers represent lady heron as preening her feathers expressly that the susceptible monarch might lose his chance of striking an effective blow. the whole story is now known to be devoid of truth. the unromantic fact is that lady heron deceived neither her husband nor his captor. when the battle of flodden was fought she was far enough away from ford castle, imploring surrey to make terms with the king of scotland for the safety of her husband. that james took the castle by storm is no doubt true, but when he departed for flodden he set it on fire, which was about the worst he could do under the circumstances. although the castle which lady heron's husband extended and strengthened was sorely knocked about by the scots in , portions of it remain to this day. from the windows a clump of firs which crowns the hill of flodden, known as the "king's chair," on the west bank of the till, is clearly visible, as it is from the tweed, from which it is only about three miles distant, to the south; and the present proprietress of the castle, the marchioness of waterford, has had a ride cut through the woods straight up the famous height. the chamber occupied by the king may still be seen, and through its large window he must on the fateful morning have looked across the till upon the gleaming tents of his forces. the position was one of considerable strength; but james recklessly threw away this and every other advantage. against the remonstrances and appeals of his wisest counsellors he refused to permit borthwick to open fire upon the english van as it was crossing twisell bridge, and so allowed the enemy to cut off his base. and now that the time was come for holding his hand, he resolved to strike; so, firing his tents, he amid profound silence marched down, and the fight began. when night came to enforce a truce, surrey was in doubt whether the battle was at an end. but the scots had lost their king, and with him his natural son the boy-archbishop of st. andrews, and the flower, and much more than the flower, of their nobility and gentry, and even of the clergy, and there was nothing for them but to draw off under cover of the darkness and carry to their homes the news of the most disastrous blow their nation had ever suffered. many long refused to believe that their beloved king had fallen, and stories got abroad of his having gone on pilgrimage to win forgiveness for his sin against his father on the inglorious field of sauchie, but they vainly waited for his reappearance, and there is no reason to doubt that the "king's stone" pretty accurately marks the spot where he fighting fell. when sir walter exclaims-- "oh for one hour of wallace wight, or well-skilled bruce to rule the fight, and cry 'st. andrew and our right!' another sight had seen that morn, from fate's dark book a leaf been torn, and flodden had been bannockbourne"-- we hear the patriot as well as the poet. yet it is the truth that the scots at flodden fought no less valiantly than their ancestors had done at bannockburn. but their king, though a gallant soldier, as in many respects he was a wise statesman, and, like most of his house, an accomplished man, was as bad a general as ever led brave men to destruction; while surrey could not only head a charge, but play a cunning and wary game. it was not the first time the men had met. ten years before, the english noble had handed to the scottish king his bride, margaret tudor--then, a girl of fourteen, her mind teeming with dreams of imminent happiness; now, a sad and lonely woman, awaiting tidings of the strife betwixt her husband and her brother which all her tears and caresses had been impotent to avert. at coldstream, a couple of miles or so farther up the tweed, pleasantly girdled with trees, we are still in the thick of military memories. not far from where smeaton's bridge gives a choice view both up and down stream is the first ford of any importance above berwick. here edward i. crossed in ; here also leslie and his covenanters crossed in on their way south. at coldstream, too, rather more than twenty years afterwards, the general who could make a king and hold his tongue disbanded his regiment as soldiers of the commonwealth and re-embodied it as the coldstream guards before setting forth to undo the work in which the covenanters had borne so large a share. it was by this ford, again, that marmion, in his haste not to miss the fighting, made his perilous passage across the stream, having spent the night at lennel's convent, of which "one frail arch" is all that is left. [illustration: coldstream bridge, from up-stream.] a little above the spot "where to the tweed leat's eddies creep," on the southern bank, is a fragment of wark castle. according to leland, it was "causid to be made" by henry ii. it twice repulsed attack at the hands of david i.; and when on the second occasion he had reduced it by blockade, he thought it well "to ding it doon." but it was rebuilt by henry, and gave the scots much further trouble before its final demolition--probably just after the union of the crowns, when so many border strongholds were dismantled. when, about the middle of the fourteenth century, david bruce laid siege to it, the governor himself, sir william montague, mounted on a "wight" steed, penetrated the investing lines one dark and stormy night, and carried word to the king, edward iii., of what was happening at wark, and so the siege was raised. the castle had been edward's wedding-gift to the earl of salisbury, and the countess was here when he relieved it. she was naturally grateful, and her liege complacent; and the gossips say that in this wise began the romance of which one incident was the establishment of the order of the garter. the king was certainly in a perilous situation, for had he not just rescued the lady from one? [illustration: ruins of wark castle.] as the stream is traced upwards, the banks not seldom break into cliffs, the valley gains in breadth and richness, and away to the north the sky-line is broken by the round top of dunse law. nearly midway between coldstream and kelso the tweed ceases to be the border river, and enters the shire of roxburgh, and a little higher up it takes toll of the "troutful eden," which on its way down from the slopes of boon hill has watered the village of ednam (edenham), where "the sweet poet of the year" was born. a couple of miles or so away to the south is hadden rig, scene of the fight between the english and scottish marchwardens in . sir robert bowes, governor of norham, had, with three thousand horse, ravaged a large part of teviotdale, and was marching on jedburgh, when he encountered george gordon, earl of huntly, and, with several of his colleagues and many of his men, was taken prisoner. fighting on the english side was the exiled earl of angus, who only by a desperate exercise of strength and activity escaped capture and the traitor's doom which would inevitably have followed. the tweed. chapter ii. from kelso to tweedswell. kelso and its abbey--roxburghe castle--floors castle--the teviot--ancrum--carlenrig--the ale--the jed and jedburgh--mertoun--smailholm tower and sandyknowe--eildon and sir michael scott--dryburgh--the leader and thomas the rhymer--melrose--skirmish hill--abbotsford--the ettrick and the yarrow--ashestiel--innerleithen--horsburgh castle--peebles--neidpath--manor--drummelzier--the crook inn--tweedswell. when burns came to kelso in the spring of , and stood upon the bridge which preceded rennie's fine piece of work, he is said to have reverently uncovered his head and breathed a prayer to the almighty. a less religious nature than his might well have been moved to the devotional mood, for there can be few scenes so charged with inspiring and exalting influences. if leyden did not quite hit the mark in saying of the tweed here that she "her silent way majestic holds," it is only because she chants as she goes: august her course certainly is, for she rolls broad and brisk, and flows into queenly curves. on the one hand is sir george douglas's place, springwood park, the entrance dignified by some glorious bronze beeches; on the other are the stately ruins of the abbey; and beyond, the town, neat and clean, gleaming white in the sunshine. up stream, full in front, stands the palatial floors castle, not far from where the teviot pours its hurrying tide into the tweed; below bridge the spacious current ripples between thickly wooded banks. the town itself has many interests, modern as well as ancient. for some months towards the end of last century a boy, slightly lame, and much given to poring over old romances, attended the old grammar-school adjacent to the abbey, and still carried on there, though in a new building; and here began that acquaintance with the ballantynes which was to have such ruinous issues. with another true minstrel also, though one who sings in a lower key, the town has associations. the free church, one of the white spired edifices visible from the bridge, was built for horatius bonar, who during a long ministry here wrote some sacred songs which men will not soon let die. against the free church nothing need be urged except its newness; but the parish church--octagonal, with a huge slated roof, divided into as many sections--is a building of simply audacious uncouthness, a sight to make "sair eyes." it has been said to be the ugliest parish church in scotland, and the statement might be amplified and still remain true. during the eighteenth century the parishioners were pleased to commend themselves to the divine mercy in the dismantled abbey, a low vault having been thrown over the transept; while right overhead, under a roof of thatch, certain of their fellows were all the while enduring the rigours of human justice. this felicitous arrangement survived until about , when one sunday the falling of a lump of plaster from the roof sent the congregation scampering out with the words of an oracular prophecy attributed to thomas the rhymer ringing in their ears. then they set up this detestable building, fashioned in the style of an auction mart, within a stone's-throw of the venerable walls in which they were too superstitious to longer assemble themselves together! the remains of the abbey are not considerable, consisting of a part of the central tower, about half of the west front, bits of the transept walls, and some fragments of the choir. the style is an interesting mixture of romanesque and early pointed; thus there are round-headed doorways with zigzag mouldings, and series of those intersecting arches which mark the transition from the one style to the other; while the two surviving arches that support the central tower are early pointed. less graceful than the remains of melrose abbey, which are much later, they have a massive dignity distinctly superior to those of dryburgh, which come nearer to them in style. in burton's opinion, there was no other building in all scotland which bore so close a resemblance to a norman castle. it was of course its position in the debateable land which prompted its builders to invest it with such strength and solidity. and the days came when it needed all its power of resistance, and more besides, since it often had to bear the brunt of battering-ram, of cannon-shot, and of the still more deadly faggot. its visitations culminated in , the year when the earl of hertford, better known as the protector somerset, made his terrible descent upon the northern kingdom. on this occasion it was bravely held by about a hundred defenders, including a dozen of its monks; but it was breached and stormed, and "as many scots slain as were within." thus it came about that there was only a remnant of the brotherhood left for the reformers to expel fifteen years later; and the iconoclasts on principle must have found the wrecking of the building an easy enough task. when the vast possessions of the monastery came to be dealt with, the prudence, if not the generosity, of james vi. reminded him that he had favourites. in the previous reign the abbacy had been conferred upon james stuart, one of the king's natural sons, while others of his bastards battened upon the revenues of divers other abbeys. on its practical side, it is clear, the reformation came none too soon. the abbey of kelso, like those at melrose and jedburgh, and several more in other parts of scotland, owes its foundation to david i., the pious son of a pious mother--"st." david, as he is often called. standing at his tomb at dunfermline, the first of the jameses, whose taste ran to poetry rather than to piety, and to pursuits yet more frivolous, is said to have uttered the much-quoted remark that his predecessor was "ane sair sanct for the crown," thinking the while of the revenues which had been alienated to religious uses. the reflection is generally taken seriously, but the wisest of the stuarts must have meant it at least as much in jest as in earnest. david was, in truth, anything but an ignorant, impulsive fanatic. his training at the refined court of henry i. had rubbed off "the rust of scottish barbarity," as an outspoken english annalist puts it; and coming to his kingship an educated and accomplished man, he set about reducing his rude realm to order and civilisation; and in fulfilment of this mission castles were built, burghs erected, and religious establishments founded. those were the palmy days of monasticism, when religious houses had not come to be filled with ecclesiastics of the type of friar john of tillmouth, and the abbot of kennaquhair in the "monastery;" and if it can be said of st. david that "he succeeded in reducing a wild part of scotland to order," it is chiefly because he gave so powerful a stimulus to the agencies of the church. [illustration: kelso, with rennie's bridge.] between kelso abbey and roxburghe castle, represented by a small fragment on a ridge just where the teviot and the tweed mingle their waters, a close connection is to be traced, for the fortress was once a royal residence, inhabited by st. david himself; and when his one son henry died within its walls, the body was borne into the church, and there with solemn pomp interred. and when three centuries later james ii., at a spot said to be marked by the large holly near the margin of the tweed, was killed by the bursting of "the lion" while attempting to wrest the castle from the hands of the english, his son was carried by the nobles into the abbey to be crowned. the catastrophe turned out well neither for the castle nor for its english defenders; for when it occurred, the queen, mary of gueldres, held up her boy of seven in view of the troops, and the assault was resumed with such fury that lord falconburg had to capitulate. the castle had often been taken by the english, and now, in the exasperation of the scots at the loss of their king, it was torn stone from stone. even then it was not to avoid further associations of the same hateful kind, for after the battle of pinkie in , when the scots had to smart for their triumph at ancrum two years before, the protector somerset formed a camp among the ruins, and compelled the neighbouring country to come in and pay tribute and "take assurance." it was in carrying out his mission of exacting submission from the recalcitrant that honest stawarth bolton visited the mourning elspeth brydone at glendearg, and thought to console her for the loss of her husband by offering himself as his successor. the ancient town which grew up in the shadow of the castle has been literally annihilated; the present village of roxburghe is a little further eastwards. floors (fleurs) castle, the princely seat of the duke of roxburghe, stands on the north bank of the stream, fronted by a spacious lawn. it was built by vanbrugh, but was transformed to something approximating the tudor type by playfair, the edinburgh architect. judged by vanbrugh's achievements elsewhere, the change was most likely an improvement; but the effect has been to give the fabric a composite look which does not appreciate its other attractions--its superb situation, its magnificent proportions, its undeniable air of distinction. [illustration: dryburgh abbey, from the east.] something must, in passing, be said of the teviot, so full of history, of legend, of folk-song, and of romance, and endowed with such various and abundant beauty. its most romantic association is with branxholm hall, cradle of the house of buccleuch--the "branksome hall" where the "nine-and-twenty knights of fame" hung their shields; now a comely family residence, with the ancient tower for nucleus, standing on a steep bank north of the stream, about three miles from hawick, the town where sir alexander ramsay was captured by the knight of liddesdale, to be cruelly starved to death in the dungeon of hermitage castle. denholm, birthplace of leyden, with ruberslaw, and many another spot, must be passed over. but at ancrum moor we must give ourselves pause for a little, for here in the scots "took amends" on the most ruthless and destructive raiders who ever crossed the tweed. in sir ralph evers, governor of berwick, with sir brian latoun, had made an incursion in the course of which, according to evers' own inventory, the "towns, towers, barnekynes, parysche churches, bastill houses" which they "burned and destroyed" amounted to ; while of cattle they had "lifted" , , of "shepe" , , and of nags and geldings , --and these are only some of the details. for these achievements a grateful monarch made evers a lord of parliament, and he was celebrated in song as one who, having "burned the merse and teviotdale," still was ready "to prick the scot." the praise was well deserved, for the next year he and sir brian made another raid, and beat their record. returning towards jedburgh, laden with booty, they were followed by angus and by norman leslie, and while they were halting on ancrum moor, sir walter scott of buccleuch came up with a body of retainers. he had a long account to settle. the outworks of his castle of branxholm had been burned; all his lands in west teviotdale and on kale water had been harried; and the moss tower, near the junction of kale with teviot, had been made "to smoke sore." by his counsel angus took up a position on the piece of low ground called peniel heugh, and having drawn the invaders into ambush, an easy victory was won. evers and latoun both fell, and a thousand prisoners were made. the scene of the battle is also known as lilliard's edge, from the "fair maiden lillyard," who took part in the fight, and "when her legs were cutted off" by the english louns, "fought upon her stumps." the column on the hill, visible for miles along the valley of the tweed, as well as in teviotdale, has nothing to do with this lady's heroism, or with the scottish victory, but, as the peasantry are surprised to be told, commemorates the battle of waterloo. [illustration: ruins of roxburghe castle.] another place on the teviot, carlenrig, not far from the source, near the dumfries border, is celebrated as the scene of johnnie armstrong's execution in the course of james v.'s hanging and hunting expedition. his keep was at hole house, in eskdale; but at the head of thirty-six bravely attired horsemen he came to teviotdale and presented himself to the king, expecting to be received with favour. when james ordered him and his merry men to instant execution, he is represented as making a variety of large offers for pardon--as that he would bring in by a certain day, either quick or dead, any english subject, were he duke, earl, or baron, whom the king might name. but, his terms being all rejected, he said proudly, "it is folly to seek grace at a graceless face." so-- "john murdered was at carlinrigg, and all his gallant cumpanie; but scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae to see sae mony brave men die." among the teviot's vassal-streams are the ale, whose "foaming tide" william of deloraine swam in his night ride to melrose; and the brawling jed, which gives its name to the royal burgh on its banks--famous for "jethart staves," a species of battle-axe, and for "jethart justice," the equivalent of "lydford law" in the west of england. one of those who came into the hangman's hands at jedburgh was rattling roaring willie, the jovial harper at whose feet the "last minstrel" sat, with such excellent results. he could not brook that the tongue of the scoffer-- "should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, or call his song untrue: for this, when they the goblet plied, and such rude taunt had chafed his pride, the bard of reull he slew. on teviot's side in fight they stood, and tuneful hands were stained with blood," and so forth. but the minstrel's memory had etherealised the facts. the squalid prose of the story is that a drunken brawl arose at newmill, on the teviot, between willie and a rival from rule water, known as sweet milk; that they fought it out there and then; and that sweet milk was slain on the spot. above kelso--to return, with apologies, to the tweed--the valley opens out, and the trees grow thicker, while the larch and the fir begin to come more into evidence. at mertoun house, lord polwarth's seat, environed with groves, one of those introductions to the cantos of "marmion" which so hamper the movement of the poem, while they contain some of the poet's finest lines, is dated. sir walter was passing christmas here, and even then, when the boughs were all leafless, "mertoun's halls" were fair. in another of the introductions much that is interesting in a biographical sense is said about the large gabled tower which, as it stands four-square to all the winds that blow, is one of the most prominent objects in the landscape for miles along the valley. it is the smailholm tower of the mystical "eve of st. john," and is built among a cluster of crags a few miles north of the stream, in the parish which contains sandyknowe, a farmhouse leased by sir walter's paternal grandfather from scott of harden. thus it happened that from his third to his eighth year young walter was often sojourning in the parish of smailholm; and long afterwards, as the shattered tower and crags amid which the "lonely infant" had strayed and mused until the fire burned, rose up before him in vision, he confessed the poetic impulse which came to him in this "barren scene and wild." the tower, anciently the property of the pringles of whytbank, now of lord polwarth, is a typical border peel--not a castle, but simply a large square keep of enormous strength, the walls being nine feet thick; the chambers built over one another in three storeys, with communication by a narrow circular stair; the roof a platform; the whole enclosed by an outer wall. much nearer the river, on the other side, is another border strength, littledean tower, the keep of the kers of nenthorn; and close at hand stands the old shaft of the village cross, where in more stirring days than these, at the "jowing" of the bell, the men of the barony, armed with sword and lance, and sometimes with a "jethart stave" (the scots never took kindly to the twanging of the yew), would assemble in their hundreds to guard their own byres, or, mounted on their vigorous little ponies, to prick across the border to empty their neighbours', and belike to ruin them "stoop and roop." [illustration: melrose abbey, from the south-east.] [illustration: melrose abbey: the east window.] the huge three-coned hill which can be seen from below kelso, and remains in sight for many miles, although it is constantly shifting from left to right, from front to rear, so mazy is the way of the stream, is, of course, the famous eildon. tradition says that it was split into three by the magician scott, not sir walter of that ilk, but "the wondrous michael," more formally, sir michael scott of balwearie. indeed, most of the more striking phenomena in these parts are ascribed to "auld michael" when they are not credited to "auld nickie" or sir william wallace. the theory is that he was under the constant necessity of finding employment for a spirit with an enormous appetite for work. on one occasion he bade him "bridle the tweed with a curb of stone;" and the dam-head at kelso, constructed in a single night, was the result. the division of eildon into three was another night's task; and it was not till he had set the industrious demon making ropes out of sea-sand that he himself could find any rest. if these incidents have a legendary look about them, it is certain that sir michael himself was no myth. he was profoundly versed in all the learning of the dark age; and it is probable that he was one of the ambassadors who sailed "to noroway o'er the faem" to bring about the return of alexander's fair daughter. if he was less of a magician than his distant descendant, it was through no fault of his own. he was a diligent student of all the abstruse sciences, and wrote freely about them; and he was credited with uncanny attributes by the learned as well as by the vulgar of his day. while sir walter was in italy he was complaining that the great florentine had thought none but italians worthy of being sent to hell. he was reminded that he of all men had no right to grumble, since his ancestor figures among the magicians and soothsayers of the "inferno." however eildon got its present shape, it forms a singularly picturesque object in the landscape. and the scene that lies rolled out before anyone who chooses to climb either of the summits is one of the fairest that mortal eye ever rested upon. to the south the view is bounded only by "cheviot's mountains lone;" to the north, by the lammermoors; eastwards, the tweed valley, lustrous in its vesture of green of many shades, spreads itself out for miles beyond dryburgh and st. boswell's, although the stream itself, from its way of hiding itself between deep and woody banks, is constantly vanishing from sight; westwards, beyond abbotsford, to give variety to the view, the valley is less luxuriant, and the hills are larger, and instead of being divided into trim fields and meadows, or covered to their tops with bonny birks and hazels, present an unbroken surface of pasture-land, relieved only by patches of broom. to the south-west the outlying ettricks keep ward over the valley where the shepherd-poet roamed and dreamed; full in view to the north-west, at the foot of the lovely gala water, is busy, brand-new galashiels, blotting the blue with its smoke, and in other ways as well "sinning its gifts;" while nestling at the foot of the hill is melrose, now a town rejoicing in "suburbs" and a hydropathic institution. the glory of dryburgh abbey is its situation and immediate surroundings, in which it is certainly superior to melrose, and even to kelso. to get to it you leave the public highway, cross the water, and presently pace along a shady avenue, to find it at last bosomed in trees, seated on a grassy flat that slopes gently down to the river, whose music may be heard as its waves ripple by, almost insulating the site--for nowhere, perhaps, does the tweed curl into so many loops as between mertoun and abbotsford. and nature, not content with furnishing an incomparable situation and almost incomparable surroundings, has done her best with ivy and other creeping plants to hide the scars left by the hands of violent men. what now meets the eye is the western gable of the nave, a gable of the south transept, with a five-light window, and a bit of the choir and north transept--sufficient to show that the abbey was much smaller than either of its neighbours. the transept and choir are first, the nave--rebuilt in the first half of the fourteenth century--second, pointed, while the conventual buildings, south of the abbey, show the transition from romanesque to pointed. at melrose there is not a vestige of the monastic buildings left; here they are in better preservation than the abbey itself. the most perfect of them is the chapter-house, over against which are some immemorial yews. the founder was hugh de morville, lord of lauderdale and constable of scotland; the stone--an obdurate brownish sandstone--was hewn from the quarry on the dryburgh estate which yielded its substance also for melrose. ravished and burnt by edward ii., the monastery was at once rebuilt, partly at the charges of robert the bruce. then it was burnt by richard ii.; but it was not actually ruined until the devastating wars which broke out in the reigns of james iv. and v., when it was twice ravaged by evers and latoun, and once by the earl of hertford, who left it much as we now see it, save for the healing work of nature and of time. one feature of the ruins to which a peculiar interest attaches is the gloomy vault in which the "nun of dryburgh" for years immured herself, never quitting it until dark, returning to it at midnight, and persisting in this strange mode of life until at last the night came which had no morrow, when they buried her in the adjoining graveyard. she never explained herself, but the common belief was that she had vowed never to look upon the sun during the absence of her lover, who came not back, having fallen in the affair of ' . how it came to pass that the dust of "waverley" lies in st. mary's aisle we know from allan cunningham. when sir walter was stricken down in , and was believed to be at the point of death, the earl of buchan, the eleventh of his line, made a somewhat fussy though well-intended appeal to lady scott to prevail upon her husband to be buried here beside his forbears the haliburtons of newmains, to whom the abbey once belonged; and sir walter, without seeming greatly impressed, promised that the earl should have the refusal of his bones, since he seemed so solicitous. things, however, did not shape themselves quite as the nobleman had anticipated. sir walter recovered, and the earl had for three years been sleeping with his ancestors in st. moden's chapel before that sad september day when the writer whose nimble pen had traced its last word was borne here, and sorrowfully laid beside his wife, whom six years earlier he had followed to the same hallowed resting-place. in the chapel now lie his eldest son, colonel sir walter scott, and lockhart, his "son-in-law, biographer, and friend." the aisle, it should be added, contains the dust of other families of note, including the haigs of bemerside, who have flourished there ever since the days of malcolm iv., and who form the subject of one of the barbarous couplets said to have been written by thomas the rhymer before--all too tardily--he was appropriated by the fairies. the earl of buchan spoken of above had a weakness for setting up monuments, and in indulging it he showed more public spirit than good taste. close by his suspension bridge he built "an ionic temple" of red sandstone, with a statue of apollo under the dome, and a bust of thomson perched on the top. as time went on, the statue was so much damaged (it may be hoped that something higher than a spirit of destructiveness was the motive of the image-breaking) that it had to be removed, though the bust still holds its place. a furlong or two up the stream, on a thickly timbered eminence, facing the border, he put up a colossal statue of wallace, hewn out of the same incongruous material, but painted white, though the paint has long since vanished. wallace suffered many things during his life, but it was not a sassenach who did this. between dryburgh and melrose the tweed is swollen by leader's "silver tide" from the lammermoors. on the banks of this water st. cuthbert tended his flocks in the days of his youth; while at earlston--formerly ercildoune--two miles above the confluence, lived thomas the rhymer, whose surname appears to have been lermont or learmount, and who is believed to have lived in a castle of which a tower is still shown. there is no doubt that thomas had a real existence; but whether he posed as a prophet, and had commerce with the fairies, and was finally spirited away by a hart and hind that were seen calmly parading the village, is more questionable. the poet, however, is clear enough about it all. with much detail he tells how, when the message came to the rhymer to follow the deer, he "soon his cloaths did on," and-- "first he woxe pale and then woxe red, never a word he spake but three: 'my sand is run; my thread is spun; this sign regardeth me.'" then, having bidden farewell to the leader, he crossed the flood and was seen no more of men. [illustration: abbotsford.] with the situation of st. mary's abbey dorothy wordsworth was fain to avow herself disappointed. when she came to melrose she found it "almost surrounded by insignificant houses," which is even truer now than it was then; and she adds that even when viewed from a distance the position did not seem happy, for the church was not close to the river, "so that you do not look upon them as companions to each other." this has been rebuked as "somewhat captious;" but one presumes to think it nothing of the kind. in itself, however, the abbey is fair beyond description; it would be as difficult to adversely criticise as it is to adequately praise it. to justly appreciate its proportions, graceful and imposing even in its ruin, and with the central tower bereft of its rood-spire, it should be seen from one of the summits of eildon; yet its details, when minutely scrutinised on the spot, are still more admirable. burns, before his time in his appreciation of gothic architecture as in some other things, speaks of it as "a glorious ruin;" to sir walter's mind it was "the finest specimen of gothic architecture and gothic sculpture which scotland can boast." it is, in sooth, one of the crowning achievements of the gothic, with most of its merits and almost none of its faults. exuberantly ornamented, it never oversteps the thin line which separates richness from redundancy. even the great east window, built after richard ii.'s devastations in , when the gothic had passed its prime, has a grace and harmony which justify all the admiration usually accorded to its size; while it is preserved from the stiffness which is the besetting sin of the perpendicular by the foliaged tracery that knits the long mullions together. the window in the south transept, also in five lights, is, however, to be preferred before it, although considerably smaller; it is in the second pointed, or decorated style, to which the greater part of the ruin belongs, and the lines into which its mullions flow are of indescribable loveliness. the carving on capital and corbel, on boss and buttress, has an elaborate yet dainty beauty such as is seldom met with on either side of the tweed, and must of a truth be the work of hands that were made cunning by love of art and patient by a sense of pious duty. the first abbey of melrose, built of oak and thatched with reeds, occupied a nearly insulated site two miles down the river, where the village of old melrose now stands. it was a "chaldee" foundation, as mrs. dods would say--was founded by aidan of lindisfarne, was the home of the st. boisil after whom st. boswell's is named, as well as of st. cuthbert, was destroyed by kenneth, after an existence of three hundred years, and, though rebuilt, sank into decay and ruin. then, five hundred years after st. aidan, came st. david, who, when the new monastery had been built, brought cistercian monks from rievaulx to fill it. its experiences at the hands of the second edward and the second richard, of evers and latoun, and of hertford, were identical with those of dryburgh, and the dismal story need not be repeated. after the reformation a part of the nave was used as the parish church, a barbarous wall of brick being put up at the west end, rising into an equally sightly vault to keep out the weather. although these additions are a grievous eyesore, it was rightly decided, when early in the present century a church was built, to let them be, lest their removal should leave the ruins less secure. in these were repaired, and the circumstance that the duke of buccleuch allowed sir walter scott to superintend the work is guarantee that it was done with a tender and reverent hand. the bell which counted the slow hours for the drowsy monks still tells the time, with quite as much accuracy as could be expected or desired. to the cloisters access is had by a low door at the north-east end of the nave--the entrance through which william of deloraine was led to the wizard's grave. one of the tombs bears an incongruous printed label, "michael scott;" but the identification rests on evidence which would not even satisfy an antiquary--on nothing else, in truth, than the story of the "last minstrel," who was not scrupulous as to matters of fact. nor is there anything but tradition to show that the magician was buried in the abbey at all. in this instance, moreover, tradition is divided against itself, for one story has it that he was interred in the monastery founded by st. waltheof at holme coltrame, in cumberland. in one particular, however, the stories agree: they both aver that the magic books were buried with the wizard, or preserved in the monastery where he died; and here we have the hint of which sir walter has made such splendid use in the "lay." there has been much controversy, by the way, over the question whether the ruins were ever explored by scott by moonlight. old john bower, who for many years was the keeper of the abbey, maintained that he could never have done so, since he had never borrowed the key from him at night; and a verse has been quoted from sir walter himself against those who find it hard to believe that the sweetest lines in the "lay" were not written from "personal experience":-- "then go and muse with deepest awe on what the writer never saw, who would not wander 'neath the moon to see what he could see at noon." the lines are not characteristic, and probably are not genuine. but whether scott was "too practical a man to go poking about the ruins by moonlight," as tom moore contended, or was not, is surely a trivial and even irrelevant question. if scott never saw the abbey except when it was being flouted by "the gay beams of lightsome day," it does not follow that the passage is mere moonshine. peradventure it is poetry. other doubtful interments here, besides that of the magician, are those of alexander ii. and his queen joanna. but probably the abbey does contain the heart of the great bruce, believed to have been deposited here, in fulfilment of the king's written wish, after douglas's unsuccessful attempt to bear it to the holy land. nor is it open to doubt that some of the douglases themselves came here to rest after their stormful lives. the doughty earl who was slain at otterburn was not "buried at the braken bush," as says the ballad, but beneath the high altar of this abbey. hither also was borne sir william douglas, the so-called flower of chivalry, when ramsay's murder had been inadequately avenged on williamhope, betwixt tweed and yarrow, by sir william's godson and chieftain, william earl of douglas. it was the wanton defacing of these tombs that nerved the arm of angus at ancrum moor; and when one remembers the scathe wrought upon and within these walls by lord evers, it seems to be of the very essence of irony that this should be his place of sepulture. yet it was not in scorn that he was interred amid the evidences of his destructiveness, but as a mark of honour to a brave albeit pitiless foe. in the churchyard, under the fifth window of the nave, is the tomb of a modern worthy, sir david brewster, who lived at allerly, near gattonside, and died in . elsewhere is the grave of faithful tom purdie, marked by a monument raised by scott himself, from whose pen proceeded the inscription. "in grateful remembrance," runs this model epitaph, "of his faithful and attached service of twenty-two years, and in sorrow for the loss of a humble but sincere friend." poor tom! he could not have gone about with a prepossessing aspect if he sat for cristal nixon in "redgauntlet." yet when he was brought before sir walter on a charge of poaching, and with mingled pathos and humour set forth his hardships and temptations--a wife and children dependent upon him, work scarce, and grouse abundant--the sheriff's heart was touched; so tom, instead of being haled off to prison, was taken on as shepherd, and afterwards made bailiff. sir walter was not infallible. he was grossly imposed upon by the flemish guide at waterloo. but perhaps no one ever lived who better understood the lowland peasant; and in this instance he had no reason to question his insight. purdie identified himself with all scott's concerns, talked of "our trees" as the plantation at abbotsford proceeded, and of "our buiks" as the novels came out, and never ceased to amuse his generous master with his quaint humour, or to gratify him by his efficient service. a little above the centre of the town the stream is crossed by a suspension foot-bridge, which connects melrose with gattonside, granted to the abbey by its founder, and still celebrated for its orchards. the footpath which follows the windings of the river, with wooded slopes on either hand, leads past skirmish hill, at darnick, the scene of the "battle of melrose," one of many consequences of the disaster at flodden, which left the realm with a king in long clothes. the gallant attempt made at the king's own suggestion, and in his presence, by sir walter scott of buccleuch, to cut the leading-strings in which the douglases insisted upon keeping the high-spirited monarch, was frustrated by the inopportune return of the lairds of cessford and fairnyhurst, and buccleuch and his men had to flee for their lives. in the neighbourhood of the picturesque bridge which carries the galashiels road across the river, and gives the passing traveller a glimpse both up and down stream which must make him hunger for more, is the site of the curious old drawbridge, if so it may be called, which belonged to the pringles of galashiels, afterwards of whytbank, and consisted of three octangular towers or pillars, from the centre one of which the ward would, for a consideration, lay out planks, and so extemporise an elevated footway. it was this service which peter refused to do for the sacristan of kennaquhair when the holy man was bearing to the monastery the lady of avenel's heretical book. "riding the water" on a moonlit night, he thought, would do the monk no harm; and so, though a "heavy water" was running, father philip had to ford the stream, with results so discomforting and mysterious. it was not only with peter and his laird that the monks of st. mary's had disputes. even when the monastery was founded they were not quite unsusceptible to sports dear to the profane, for in the charter which gave them rights of forestry it was thought necessary to except hunting and the taking of falcons. as they waxed sleek they did not grow less selfish, or less tenacious of their rights; and so there was much contention between them and their neighbours, whose opinion about them sometimes found vent in catches of poetry. the men of god do not appear to have retaliated in verse. but there was the pulpit, and there were penances. betwixt this point and abbotsford the alwyn and gala waters flow in--the one babbling down a glen which is in parts prettily wooded, and is recognised as the glendearg where the lady of avenel spent the sad years of her widowhood; the other reeking with the chemical abominations of galashiels. as the ascent is continued, the valley grows somewhat less rich in beauty, nor is it improved by the flaring red houses which look down upon abbotsford from the slopes on the opposite bank. when sir walter acquired the estate--or, rather, the first bit of it--it must have been much less attractive than now. it was then a farm, a hundred acres in extent, and there was hardly a tree upon it. he was his own architect; and it was one of his boasts that there was not one of the trees which had not been planted under his direction. the house for which he is thus to be held responsible is scarcely imposing, nor can it be said to have the merit of consistency. you can see at a glance that it grew, rather than was made. on the whole, it is pleasing to the eye rather than to the architectural sense; and if, as has been said, its gables and sections and windows and turrets and towers are a little bewildering in their multitude and variety, one still ventures to think that it is better as it is, plentiful as may be its lack of plan, than it would be if it conformed more strictly to the conventional castellated type. the interests of abbotsford are many and great. it is indeed "a romance in stone and lime," every outline, as lockhart says, with little exaggeration, "copied from some old baronial edifice in scotland, every roof and window blazoned with clan bearings, or the lion rampant gules, or the heads of the ancient stuart kings." and sir walter was from his earliest years a diligent gleaner of curiosities; so that, apart from many precious mementoes of himself, the rooms which the hon. mrs. constable maxwell scott, his great-grand-daughter, throws open to the public, form a museum of the rarest interest. but, after all, it is chiefly the desire to make acquaintance with the scenes amid which the sanest and shrewdest of our great writers since shakespeare spent the most eventful years of his blameless life that draws to abbotsford its crowds of pilgrims. it was here that he wrote most of his works; here that he met the great disaster of his life in a spirit which showed in combination the loftiest chivalry and the nicest commercial integrity; here that he piously submitted himself to the stroke of death. the story of his return to abbotsford to die is full of pathos. "as we rounded the hill at ladhope, and the outline of the eildons burst on him," says his biographer, "he became greatly excited; and when ... his eye caught at length his own towers ... he sprang up with a cry of delight." then they bore him into the dining-room, and his dogs "began to fawn upon him and lick his hands, and he alternately sobbed and smiled over them until sleep oppressed him." the next day he felt better, he said, and might disappoint the doctors after all. but his strength continued to leave him, and he was often delirious and unconscious. one day, about two months after his return, he sent for his son-in-law, who found him with eye "clear and calm," though in the last extreme of feebleness. "lockhart," he said, "i may have but a minute to speak to you. my dear, be a good man--be virtuous, be religious--be a good man. nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here." these were almost his last words. four days afterwards he breathed his last, in the presence of all his children. "it was a beautiful day--so warm that every window was open, and so perfectly still that the sound of all others most delicious to his ear, the gentle ripple of the tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt around the bed, and his eldest son kissed and closed his eyes." surely this man died "in the odour of sanctity" as truly as waltheof of melrose or any tonsured saint of them all. [illustration: galashiels.] the ettrick, which joins the tweed not a great way above abbotsford, no longer flows through a "feir foreste;" where once there was "grete plentie" of hart and hind, of doe and roe, mighty flocks of sheep now graze. of ettrick house, where the pastoral poet was born; of thirlestane castle, the strength of "ready, aye ready" john scott; of tushielaw, where another of the scotts, adam of that ilk, was hanged by the king who had no mercy for johnnie armstrang; of carter haugh, where the "fair janet" met "young tamlane," and by strength of love won him from the thraldom of the fairy queen; of selkirk, whose burly "souters" (_sutors_) gave so good an account of themselves at flodden field--of all this there is no space to speak. nor can there be anything but barest mention of the yarrow, whose bonnie holms and dowie dens were dear to wordsworth and other modern poets, as they were to the old folk-singers of the border. st. mary's lone and silent lake, with its swans that "float double;" henderland, where cockburne's widow mourned her knight "sae dear;" dryhope, where the "flower of yarrow" was wooed and won by walter scott of harden; newark's stately tower, where the last minstrel's trembling fingers tuned his harp and swept its strings--these and other scenes must all be left unnoticed. but the yarrow is perhaps the most benign of border streams, and it has inspired the sweetest and saddest of border songs, not excepting even the "flowers of the forest," or "annan water." and of them all, none is more sad or sweet than that which tells the story of the baron of oakwood, who was slain on its "dowie banks," and there found by his "ladye gaye." "she kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair, she searched his wounds all thorough; she kissed them till her lips grew red on the dowie howms of yarrow." it is near philiphaugh that yarrow and ettrick wed--philiphaugh, famed for its memories of outlaw murray, and still more for the crushing defeat which montrose here suffered at the hands of david leslie. the most princely of apostates was taken completely by surprise, and the men who until now had carried all before them were fleeing for their lives before he could strike a blow. leslie is said to have butchered many of his prisoners in cold blood, some being shot in the courtyard of newark castle, while others were precipitated from a high bridge over the tweed. it would be pleasant to believe that the story is not true, or is at all events exaggerated. the latter part of it is certainly inaccurate, if not wholly false, for in those days there was no bridge over the tweed in this region. sir walter, however, was at the trouble to point out that there is a bridge over the ettrick only four miles from philiphaugh, and another over the yarrow, either of which might have been the scene of the massacre. above clovenfords, celebrated for its vines, the tweed has burrowed for itself deeper banks, while the valley broadens; and if the braes amid which it insinuates itself are less cultivated, and not so thickly wooded, the water itself moves more swiftly and sings more cheerily, and shines more lucidly than ever, displaying the tawniest of beds. presently the emulous cadon water flows in, and then comes ashestiel, an earlier residence of sir walter, where most of the cantos of the "lay" and of "marmion" were written. west of thornilees stands a fragment of one of many ruined peels which line the stream on both sides, forming an unbroken line of communication, for they were sufficiently close together for the fire-bale's warnings to be passed on from one to another. beyond this the valley contracts, as the stream winds round a great hill fertile of little but screes, but before long it again opens out; and then comes the solitary bit of prosaic scenery of which the tweed is guilty. the braes on either side, though not lofty, are nothing but uncomely sheep-walks; the banks themselves are utterly commonplace. the interval, however, is a brief one, and almost before the stranger has recovered from his surprise at finding the bonny water so demeaning itself, he is once more raised to the admiring mood. for he is now at innerleithen, nicely placed on the lower slopes of an enormous brae, where leithen water comes down from the moorfoot hills to keep tryst with tweed. here are mineral springs, with properties not dissimilar from those of the harrogate wells; and to drink the waters of these "filthy puddles," in a more or less serious spirit, many in summer come this way. the good people of the town will not need to be told that for the opprobrious expression here quoted no one but mrs. dods is responsible. for when one of the least pleasing, though not the least powerful, of the "waverley" books saw the light, innerleithen made haste to identify itself with the _locus in quo_; the st. ronan's club was started; and the st. ronan's games are still kept up. the incident was not a bad thing for innerleithen, and sir walter, being a good-natured man, did not protest; but the wayfarer must not be disappointed if he fail to see much correspondence between the scenery of the book and that of the place. yet let him not scorn the pious faith. would not he himself be glad to believe, if there were any shadow of reason, that the lines had fallen to him in the veritable place where captain macturk swaggered, and took his maker's name in vain, and angrily resented imputations upon his piety; where mr. winterblossom appropriated the tit-bits of the table and made phrases; where the omniscient mr. peregrine touchwood circumvented mr. valentine bulmer; where, above all, the immortal meg spurned "riders" from her door, and rated her "huzzies," and railed at the "stinking well" and all who frequented it? over against innerleithen lies the parish of traquair, with its burn and its "bush." a little to the south of the stream is traquair house, a seventeenth-century residence tacked on to a much older tower. if the books could be believed, it would be the original of the baron of bradwardine's house. "waverley" himself, however, was of a different opinion. the ruins of horsburgh castle, the seat of the family of this name, now for more than a hundred years abandoned to owl and bat, are about a couple of miles or so below peebles. the town itself has a lovely situation at the point where eddlestone water babbles into the tweed, and at the foot of a glorious brae, broad and lofty, and covered with fir and larch, with rolling hills all around, making a mighty amphitheatre. no wonder that it should have risen to the dignity of a holiday resort with a "season;" or that in other days the hays of yester should have been glad to come in from neidpath castle to winter in their town-house, the quaint old building in the high street now known as the "chambers institute." in very early days peebles was a dwelling-place of kings; and by the time of that james who was addicted to "the profane and unprofitable art of poem-making," it was renowned for its games, which were sung either by the monarch himself or by some brother minstrel of not much later date. but about the middle of the sixteenth century the earl of hertford came here, and then the town had to make a fresh start. the castle has disappeared from the head of the high street without leaving a wrack behind. of the cross kirk, built in the thirteenth century by alexander iii., little beyond the shell of the tower and a gable remains, and even the pitiful ivy has not been able to make it a sightly relic. there used to be here also the still older church of st. andrew; and william chambers has received much praise for having "restored" it--an exceptionally brutal use of a much-suffering term. the only other building of any note is the "cross-keys inn," many-gabled and picturesque and comfortable. it has seen better days, for it was once upon a time the town-house of the williamsons of cardrona; but the crowning glory which it claims is that of being the "public" of dame dods, yclept the "cleikum," which had for sign a large picture of st. ronan catching hold of the devil's game leg with his episcopal crook. if you ask for evidence, you are pointed to the legend above the doorway, "the original cleikum inn, "! [illustration: peebles, from a little below neidpath.] the stream has now been traced up for a distance of well-nigh seventy miles, yet peebles is not much more than five hundred feet above the sea-level; herefrom the ascent is more obvious, though still quite gradual, for in the thirty miles or so yet to be traversed the rise is not more than a thousand feet. as they ripple by the town the waters sing a pretty song; but a stone's-throw or two above the comely old bridge which spans them close to where the castle frowned upon all who sought to cross it with hostile intent, it glides smooth and silent, as though it had fallen asleep. now the valley narrows into a glen, winding and profound; and at neidpath, in full view of the town, the river dwindles into the merest burn, which it would be no great feat to leap across. but what a burn, and what a glen! nothing yet seen, or still to be seen, is quite so superb as what now meets the view. for here the braes on either side are steep, and of immense height, and smothered to their tops with firs and larches; and the stream winds more than ever, at one moment widening into still deep pools, at the next shrinking into a dancing rapid; and all around, wherever the eye turns, it rests upon large swelling hills, robed with verdure, and girdled with timber, and crowned with grey cairns. surely the glen was not much more lovely in the days before the last duke of queensberry, to spite the next heir of entail, or to put money into his mistress's purse, barbarously cut down the noble avenue by which the castle was approached, and provoked wordsworth to gibbet him in an indignant sonnet. burns, by the way, was aroused to an even finer show of wrath by the similar havoc which "old q." had wrought at drumlanrig, in nithsdale. [illustration: neidpath castle.] neidpath castle, however, has pleasanter associations with the bards. from the southern branch of the frasers it passed to the hays of yester; and to the ninth lord of yester, first marquis of tweeddale, is credited the earliest surviving lyric inspired by the tweed. here are two of the verses:-- "when maggie and me were acquaint i carried my noddle fu' high; nae lint-white in a' the grey plain, nae gowdspink sae bonny as she. "i whistled, i piped, and i sang, i woo'd, but i came nae great speed; therefore i maun wander abroad, and lay my banes far frae the tweed." the man who wrote this pretty piece held his castle for charles ii., but it was unable to stand the brunt of cromwell's cannon, and was not merely captured, but ruined. it was long untenanted, but has now by repair and addition been made habitable, though not more picturesque. where the manor water joins the tweed they show the grave of the "black dwarf," and the cottage which he built with his own hands--with some help from compassionate neighbours--on land which he appropriated without asking any one's leave. the portrait is not very highly coloured: elshender of mucklestane moor had scarcely a sourer or more splenetic humour than david ritchie, though he may have been a trifle more comprehensive in his misanthropy. yet david had great sensitiveness to natural influences, and, though he had a reputation in the parish for heresy, would speak of a future state with intense feeling, "and even with tears." poor "bow'd davie!" there was little in common betwixt him and his kind, and it seemed to him that his tale of mercies was not a long one; yet there have been many who would be willing enough to part with some of their advantages in exchange for his firm grasp of "the mighty hopes that make us men." as the bridge at stobo is approached the stream broadens out again, and strolling along the pleasant, shady road cut in the hill there is much to delight the eye, and something as well to please the ear--on the right splendid plantations, climbing up the brae; on the left the water, gleaming through the fluttering leaves, and beyond it a grassy level--where the patient kine make music with their bells--rising into fine slopes of sward, while above these are broad belts of timber. close beside the stream, above drummelzier, is the ruined castle of this name, and hard by, but high up the brae, where it must have been almost inaccessible, are some fragments of thanes or tinnis castle, used as a citadel or redoubt by the garrison. of an early laird of drummelzier historians relate that when after long absence he came home from the east, where he had crusading been, he was surprised to find his faithful spouse nursing a strapping boy. the lady, however, was able to explain: while she was walking along the banks one day, the spirit of the tweed had issued forth; and how could a weak woman prevail against a spirit? so the boy was called tweedie, and founded the great family of that name, whose legend was, "thole[ ] and think." this, however, one supposes, is to be taken as a considerate exhortation to their victims rather than as a motto for their own guidance. so interpreted, it is not less frank than the device of the cranstouns, "ye shall want ere i want," or that of the scotts of harden, "reparabit cornua phoebe." moonlighting is no invention of the nineteenth century. but drummelzier's most famous association is with merlin the seer, merlin wylt, the wild, as he is called, to distinguish him from merlin ambrosius, who is believed to have uttered his oracles and succumbed to vivien's enchantments in the preceding century. the story goes that after the battle of arderydd, in or about the year , he fled to the wilds of tweeddale, and here passed the remainder of his life with a reputation for insanity; that he prophesied that he should die from earth, water, and wood, and accordingly, being pursued by a band of unappreciative rustics, he leapt into the tweed here and was impaled upon a stake; and that they buried him where the pausayl brook flows into the river, the spot being marked by the scraggy thorn which is visible from the churchyard. for anyone not blessed with a mighty intuition it is not easy to be sure of anything about merlin except that he was, and was not. mr. veitch, however, paints an impressive picture of merlin as no wild man of the woods, but as "a heart-broken and despairing representative of the old druidic nature-worship, at once poet and priest of the fading faith, yet torn and distracted by secret doubt as to its truth." in the same volume--that on the history and poetry of the border--the eloquent professor remarks that we are "apt to interject into ancient actors and thinkers modern ideas, at which probably they would have stood amazed." beyond merlindale, "hearsed about" with black firs, the stream expands until it becomes broader than it is at many points within a dozen miles of its mouth. the edinburgh road bears it company nearly from broughton to its source; but instead of crossing to the western bank some way above drummelzier, it is pleasanter, if you have no "machine"--that is, are not driving--to keep along the eastern bank for some two or three miles farther, when a delightful saunter across a magnificent haugh, besprinkled with the yellow tormentilla and many another timid wild flower, brings you to stanhope bridge, and so again to the highway. a few years ago, when the tweed had one of its spasms of turbulence, this bridge was swung bodily round to the bank, while several others higher up were swept clean away. as the crook inn is approached the stream has again become attenuated; the valley, too, has straitened, the hills are less abrupt and barren than those seen in the distance a few miles below, and occasionally a small plantation is espied, where the mavis and the merle may be heard flooding the air with their amorous minstrelsy. the crook, beloved of anglers, who have tender memories of its luscious mutton, as well as of the good sport which can almost always be had in this part of the stream, is still the comfortable place it used to be before it classed itself as a hotel and acquired fashionable habits. for the remaining ten or twelve miles the course is one of utter solitude and of growing wildness--not even a shepherd's hut in sight, and no tree, except here and there a stunted hawthorn or a lonely rowan; the braes less verdant, and more given to yielding screes; no sound to be heard but the irritating squeal of the stone-chipper, the low, long-drawn whistle of the "whaup," or the pleading cry of the peewit. of animated nature no other sign meets the eye save little groups of sheep clinging to the braes--the fierce-looking black-faced variety it may be, or the half-breeds with their still more ferocious-looking streaked visages, or the meeker "cheeviots." so the slow ascent continues until at last tweedshaws, the solitary farmhouse, is reached, and then, leaving the road a little way up flocker hill, you stand at last at tweedswell, the putative source of the stream. looking around, you see on every hand huge hills rising in the distance, and making between them a vast circle--black dod, and clyde law, near which the great western stream rises, and moll's cleuch dod, and lochraig, and many another, while just behind flocker hill, hart fell rears its giant form. when merlin wylt roamed the wilds of tweeddale a mighty forest waved over them; now the evidence of their former glory of rowan and birch and hazel must be looked for in the peaty soil which stains the head-streams as they furrow their way down the braes. later in the year these hills, at present so swart and void, will be brightened with scatterings of purple; and then, under a sunnier sky, their plight will seem less blank and savage. but now they show an aspect stark and grim; for the time of the broom is not yet, and to-day the sun is sulking behind the murk, and their gusty tops are all asmoke. w. w. hutchings. [illustration: hart fell.] [illustration: among the fells.] the coquet. the fisherman's river--"awa' to the border"--peat-hags--eel-fishing--alwinton and harbottle--the village of rothbury--brinkburn priory--weldon bridge and felton--warkworth hermitage and castle--the town of amble--coquet isle. "there's a gentleman that will tell ye that just when i had ga'en up to lourie lowther's, and had bidden the drinking of twa cheerers, and gotten just in again upon the moss, and was whigging cannily awa' hame, twa land-loupers jumpit out of a peat-hag on me or i was thinking, and got me down, and knevelled me sair eneuch, or i could gar my whip walk about their lugs; and troth, gudewife, if this honest gentleman hadna come up, i would have gotten mair licks than i like, and lost mair siller than i could weel spare; so ye maun be thankful to him for it under god." so, with all the generations of pepper and mustard frisking about him, did honest dandie dinmont explain to his wife how he came by a battered face and a wounded head. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the coquet.] the "peat-hag" is a characteristic not only of the scottish border-land, but of wide tracks on the english side, and a very remarkable feature it makes in a wild landscape, being a sort of black precipice made in the green hills by some sudden sinking of the apparently bottomless peat. it is all ancient peat-land together where the river coquet rises--"coquet, still the stream of streams," as one of the poets of "the fisher's garland" has observed; "the king of the stream and the brae," as has been remarked by another poetical brother of the angle. other northern rivers the fisherman mentions with respect, and perhaps with joyful remembrance of pleasant and successful days; but of the coquet he never speaks except with glowing enthusiasm. no tuneful fisher who was friendly with the muse ever failed to give the coquet a preferential mention in his verse. now it is-- "nae mair we'll fish the coaly tyne, nae mair the oozy team, nae mair we'll try the sedgy pont, or derwent's woody stream; but we'll awa' to coquet side, for coquet bangs them a'." and now it is-- "there's mony a saumon lies in tweed, and many a trout in till, but coquet--coquet aye for me, if i may have my will." a much beloved stream, indeed, is the coquet, rising in an acre or two of marshy land, losing itself for a while among the peat, then winding into the sunlight round the feet of the green hills, and--after many a mile of joyous wandering--plunging into deep embowered woods and mossy thickets, where, to all but its familiars, it is unsuspected and unseen. all around coquet head lies the debatable land. mounting the dark hill of thirlmoor one may look far away over roxburghshire, whence, in former rough times, there was many a raid into the rich northumbrian lands. the district known as kidland lies along coquetside, from the cheviots eastward, and here in the stormy moss-trooping days no soul could be induced to live, even if he were tempted by the offer of free lands. the hills are now covered with sheep; there is a shelter for the shepherds on the top of thirlmoor; yet to this day kidland is a country bare of habitations, shrouded for great part of the year in mists; dank, rainy, treeless; swept by fierce winds, treacherous by reason of its numerous bogs. the wild duck may be shot at coquet head, but for the most part it lives and breeds here in great safety, too remote from men, too fortunate in its wild surroundings, to be much or frequently incommoded by the english enthusiasm for sport. it is possible, perhaps, to be in as deep a solitude on dartmoor, but scarcely possible to be so far from the musical church bell and the cheerful cottage smoke. but even in this wild region there are remains of our old civilisation, and numerous relics of "the grandeur that was rome." what are known as the ad fines camps are situated close to coquet head; the watling street crosses the young stream not far from its source on thirlmoor; the outer and the middle golden pot, roman milestones of an unusual design, are within easy reach of where the river encloses the ancient camps in one of its forks. these stations were of considerable extent when they were made, and were serviceable in after ages as the meeting-place of the wardens of the middle marches of england and scotland when they assembled to punish offences against the border laws. wild stories of lawless times are told by the shepherds on the hills. there was a "thieves' road" over kidland, along which, doubtless, many a herd of stolen sheep or kine has been driven. many fights there were in these parts, and much pursuing of raiders from the other side of the border. the northumbrians, it must be admitted, were no better than their neighbours, and not the least less inclined to thieving. even a judge was stolen on one occasion, as he was going the rounds of the king's justiciaries, and was kept in prison until his captors could exact from him their own terms. the country below coquet head is veined by little streams, which pour into the river at brief intervals, so that what was but lately a thread of water hidden among the moss soon becomes a laughing, sparkling river, though even so low down as blindburn, four or five miles from the source, it may, in very dry seasons, be bridged by a lady's foot. the first house is at makingdon, rather more than a mile from ad fines camps, and fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. there are occasional houses at intervals of a mile or two along the far-winding course of the river to alwinton. of one of these a mrs. malaprop of the hills remarked that "it was in a very digested state," meaning thereby that it stood grievously in need of repair. a descendant of the true dandie dinmont lived at blindburn farmhouse until a few years ago, and kept up the famous breed of terriers, giving to each pair the immortal names of pepper and mustard. the traveller into these regions is dependent upon the kindly hospitality of the sparse inhabitants, for there is no house of entertainment within many miles, and a weary distance must the shepherd trudge over the moors before he can forgather with his kind. the coquet flows through wild and exceedingly rocky scenery between blindburn and the next house, which is carl croft, and anglers, even with long waders, find no inconsiderable difficulty in fishing the stream. those of the more discerning sort make their way up one of the tributaries, the carl croft or the philip burn, or, by preference, the usway--the largest and wildest and most beautiful of the feeders of the coquet--which joins the river at shillmoor, distant from the small village of alwinton only about five miles or so. near the point of junction the coquet falls, in leap after leap, among rugged and dangerous rocks. good eel-spearing may be had here in due season. it is usual to make up a party of ten or a dozen, chiefly composed of the shepherds of the district, and to set out on moonless nights, each man with a torch and four-pronged fork, or "cleek." those who have tasted its joys say there is no sport in these islands equal to that of spearing eels in the coquet, with border shepherds for company. sometimes, indeed, eels are not the only prey. the river swarms with bull trout, and how is it possible to resist the temptation of cleeking a fine plump fish if it comes within reach of one's spear? such sport is dangerous, however, being against the laws, and numerous have been the conflicts, in times not long past, between the hillmen and the watchers, their hereditary foes. on some occasions the poachers have played sly tricks on those who have intended their capture. they have sent out rumours of their intention to have "a gey night;" then they have sat in some lonely place drinking whisky and telling stories the night through, issuing thence in the morning, when the watchers had convinced themselves of a hoax, to sweep the coquet and all the neighbouring streams. [illustration] [illustration: harbottle.] [illustration: alwinton bridge.] the chief resorts alike of shepherds and of anglers are the villages of alwinton and harbottle, distant about two miles from each other, and near to where the coquet winds out of the hills and flows between rich meadow-lands, that slope away to the distant cheviots on the one hand, and to the nearer simonside hills on the other. alwinton has the large allowance of two inns to about eleven houses. it is one of the most ancient of the border villages, and had a church in , to which fled one thomas de holm, escaped from the prison of the neighbouring town, but taken by simon smart and benedict grey, who "beheaded him at simonsett, and hung his head up on the gallows at harbottle," as a warning to all like evil-doers. alwinton has its peel-tower, at about half a mile from the present village; but at harbottle there are far more striking memorials of a stirring past. there is harbottle castle, for example, a ruined mass of masonry on the summit of a steep hill between the village and the river. it must anciently have been almost the strongest place on the borders, when what is now a small village was doubtless a fairly considerable town. "here botl," the place of the army--such is the name which it is said to have borne before the conquest, when it contained a stronghold held by milred, the son of ackman. "robert with the beard," the lord of prudhoe, founder of the family of de umfraville, came into possession of all the surrounding lands in , on condition of defending the countryside against wolves and the enemies of the king. the castle, of which there are portions still remaining, was built in the reign of henry ii., and was the prison and place of execution of all offenders taken in the liberty of redesdale. sitting by the castle of harbottle in these days, and listening to the joyous music of the coquet stream, the imagination vainly endeavours to piece together the meagre fragments of the past into some consistent whole; for the quiet aspect of things, the sweet rural peace, and this "place of slumber and of dreams remote among the hills," make it seem incredible that a great scottish army can ever have sat down before it, and that the place can have been strong enough to resist a determined siege. [illustration: the coquet at farnham.] when harbottle has been left behind, the river no longer strains through narrow passes or hurries by great ramparts of riven cliff. it broadens out, indeed, into a quiet, smiling stream, with a brown shingly bed, and with occasional large masses of reeds, in which an otter may hide. there are now frequent small villages along its course, the most interesting of these being holystone, where there is a well in which, as alexander smith has related-- "the king and all his nobles and his priests, were by paulinus in christ's name baptised, and solemnly unto his service sealed. and then paulinus lifted up his hands, and blessed them and the people." no less than three thousand northumbrians are said to have received the sacrament of baptism at this place, a statement which will seem the less incredible if we consider that northumbria was then the most powerful and populous of the saxon kingdoms. the famous well lies by the junction of two roman ways, in a little grove of fir-trees, where the water still bubbles up actively through the sand and gravel. there is above it a stone cross with this inscription: "in this place paulinus the bishop baptised , northumbrians, easter, dcxxvii." under the brow of simonside, which is a huge shoulder of mountain thrusting itself up suddenly from the ascending land, there are a few cottages, and one great house, and a mill where are manufactured the cheviot tweeds. this is the village of tosson. hence one looks away across the coquet to the long range of the cheviot hills, which seem surprisingly near, and yet are separated from coquetside by many a mile of rich and pleasant pasture land. the ancient village of rothbury is close at hand, with its one long street dipping down from the moorside to the coquet banks, with its picturesque "thrum mill," its ancient church tower, and its great expanse of furze-bestrewn moors, amid the nearest of which cragside, the residence of lord armstrong, is set. "an act of parliament is out of breath before it reaches rothbury," say the people of the place. it is a saying which has survived from the pre-railroad days, when this portion of the wild border land seemed as much cut off from the rest of england as if it had been islanded by the sea. nor, indeed, is the sea so far away. on clear days one may behold it from the top of simonside, a thin grey streak, scarcely distinguishable from the greyness of the sky. a turbulent little town was rothbury in its earlier days. it was here that bernard gilpin took down from the church door a glove which had been hung up as a challenge to all and sundry, and then preached a powerful sermon on the wickedness of private war. in the same church many years ago an old man who was listening to a condemnation of robbery rose up and said, "then the de'il i give my sall to, bot we are all thieves." happily that broad statement no longer applies. the people of rothbury and the region beyond are honest, stalwart, hard-working, prosperous folk, given to no pursuit more lawless than the occasional poaching of bull trout. and of bull trout, which easily passes for salmon with the unwary, it is well that a word should be said. the _salmo eriox_ has long established its title to the coquet as its own exclusive stream. "on the coquet it goes by the name of salmon," says a writer on angling, "there being no true salmon in that river. bull trout very rarely takes fly or bait of any kind, except when it is in the kelt state, when it is ravenous. it reaches fifteen and twenty pounds in weight." a noble fish, it will be remarked; but why should it have laid exclusive claim to the coquet, with that river lying, as it does, between such salmon-haunted streams as the tyne and the tweed? this is a puzzle which the scientific mind finds itself incapable of solving to this day. a generation since it was maintained that the bull trout devoured the young of salmon, and it was decided, therefore, that the _salmo eriox_ should itself be destroyed. by the connivance of the local landowner every specimen of the bull trout was killed as it entered the river from the sea. breeding ponds for salmon were then established at rothbury, and , young fish were turned into the coquet in a single year. many of these were branded for future identification, but, so far as was known, not a single fish of the whole , ever came back to the stream in which it was bred. some were caught in the tyne, and some in the tweed, and some in more distant rivers, but never did the bite of a true salmon reward the patient angler by coquetside. worse than all, too, the common trout deteriorated, for they had fed on the spawn of the _salmo eriox_. these things becoming apparent, as much anxiety was shown to get the bull trout back to the river as there had been eagerness for its destruction. the bull trout is now, in fact, strictly preserved under the salmon laws. there is a coquet fish conservancy board; and the catching of bull trout in coquet, alike by nets and by more artificial expedients, is now a considerable industry, much of the so-called salmon exported to france and spain being no more than the _salmo eriox_ of the english border. there are those who will not even yet believe that the coquet cannot be made a salmon river. now and then some angler confidently announces that he has caught a true salmon in this delightful and prolific stream. such tales are listened to with interest, but are not believed. even experienced fishermen are capable of confounding the bull trout with its nobler brother of the streams. [illustration: on the coquet, brinkburn.] at the foot of the long street of rothbury, and just on the lower outskirt of the village, is the thrum mill, the name of which is explained by the fact that the river here strains through a narrow chasm, or thrum, in a piled-up bed of freestone rock. the mill is an object of the conventionally picturesque description, with a moss-grown waterwheel, and with a tumbling torrent for foreground. a bridge here crosses the coquet, and to the left, half-way up the steep side of a heathery hill, rises the mixed gothic and elizabethan mansion of lord armstrong. the site has clearly been chosen for the wildness of its surroundings, for whatever changes may be wrought by cultivation, and however the growth of plantations may soften the harsh brown and softer purple of the heather, untamed nature will still assert itself here, like hereward's wife at ely, as "captive but unconquered." at cragside there is one of the noblest of english picture galleries, the contents of which have been brought together by an exceedingly catholic taste, and by a liberality of expenditure only possible to "wealthy men who care not how they give." here are linnell's "thunderstorm in autumn," millais' "chill october," david cox's "ulverstone sands," leslie's "cowslip gatherers," wilkie's "rabbit on the wall," rossetti's "margaret and her jewels," and some of the finest works of turner, landseer, phillip, müller, and, coming down to living artists, sir frederick leighton. [illustration: at felton.] from rothbury the coquet takes a long sweep through the fields and then plunges into the woods of brinkburn. there are here, one reads, great and dangerous holes in the river bed; but so there are at many places on the coquet, and not at brinkburn more remarkably or permanently than elsewhere. such holes are made by the swirling water of the floods, and may change their situation with every spate. their more particular association with brinkburn may arise from the fact that the bells of the priory are believed to have been cast into a hole in the river, from which whosoever recovers them, says the tradition, will come into possession of treasures galore. brinkburn was one of the earliest religious settlements on the disturbed and lawless english side of the border. exceedingly courageous must have been those monks who decided to accept the rough chances of life at brinkburn priory. they had the protection of the deep woods, indeed. even now one may pass by brinkburn without suspecting what rich memorials of a past age and a venerable faith are hid within its leafy coverts. it is not merely embosomed, but buried, in trees. so, too, it must have been when the monks were here, for the story goes that a party of marauding scots had already passed the priory, and was well on its way toward places under less saintly protection, when the monks too soon set the bells a-ringing for joy at its departure, with the evil result of revealing their hiding-place, so that the scots, returning, fell upon the black canons of brinkburn while they were assembled to offer up prayers of gratitude for their deliverance from danger. this priory of brinkburn was founded in the reign of henry i. by a certain sir william de bertram, baron of mitford, by morpeth, who endowed it liberally from his extensive lands. its monks were of the order of st. augustine. of their history little is known, but it must have been troublous enough, and there is reason to think that they were more than once under the necessity of flight. having resolved to build a church, the lord of mitford determined that it should be such a one as would do honour to his name. the present extensive remains still speak eloquently of the original beauty of the edifice. of the church, partially restored in by the present owners of the estate, the cadogan family, it has been remarked that, "the richest norman work is here inextricably blended with the purest early english, and the fabric must be regarded as one of the most fascinating specimens of the transition from one to the other that there is in the country." out of the ruins of the monastery, and above the cellars in which the monks may have hidden themselves in times of trouble, the present manor house of brinkburn has been built. it stands not far from the banks of the coquet, which are here somewhat narrow and steep, with rocky projections, and with no route for the angler except in the bed of the stream, or amid an almost impenetrable confusion of shrubs and brambles and trees. at one point the piers of a roman bridge may be discerned when the water is low; there is a quaint old watermill by the side of the stream; at a spot but a short distance away, it is averred by a pleasant tradition, the northumbrian fairies were buried, and there they sleep, like king arthur under the castle of sewingshields, until faith shall return to the earth. the most widely known of all the villages below rothbury is weldon bridge, at which one arrives when the coquet has left brinkburn woods. it is the main resort of those anglers who love quiet fishing, and are not adventurous enough to make their way into the hills. much has it been besung by the poets of the craft. "at weldon bridge," says one-- "... there's wale o' wine, if ye hae coin in pocket; if ye can throw a heckle fine, there's wale o' trout in coquet." it is but a little place, this weldon bridge, with a large inn, before whose doors the river flows in gentle music. for the last two or three miles the stream has been characterised by the most capricious bendings, and henceforth, but with rather larger sweeps, it preserves the same wilful habit until it reaches the sea. there are pleasant walks along its banks down to felton, sometimes diverging into low-lying woods, sometimes climbing the hillsides among farms, and occasionally leading to some ancient ford. at felton itself the hills close in more narrowly, and the pleasant little village stands on a declivity amongst trees, whilst the river streams through a rocky pass. there is a dam at felton which furnished material for rather a feeble joke to the late frank buckland. he found the fish falling back exhausted from vain attempts to leap the weir, and he posted up a "notice to salmon and bull trout," telling them to go down the river and take the first turn to the right, when they would find good travelling water up stream, and assuring them of the good will of the duke of northumberland, who meant to make a ladder for them by-and-bye. the fact that an inspector of fisheries, like buckland, should have believed that salmon went up the coquet with the bull trout is a curious illustration of the indeterminate ideas which have until lately prevailed on the subject of the varieties of fish by which this river is frequented. felton is one of those villages at which it is pleasant to spend a night. its bridge is almost as beautifully situated as that of bettws-y-coed. one stands upon it in the evening, and leans one's arms on the parapet, and looks towards the hills which environ it, and the comfortable village inn, and the quiet cottages, and feels how glorious a land is this england in which we live. there is nothing else to do or to enjoy, unless the river is low, as frank buckland saw it, and the fish are crowding up the stream; and then the sight is one that is for the existing moment very exciting and is afterwards difficult to forget. felton is an ancient place. the old religion lingers there. the protestant reformation scarcely penetrated to north northumberland, and many of the chief families of the district are still attached to the more ancient forms of faith. attached to felton park is the roman catholic chapel of st. mary. there are remains of a more antique edifice of the same faith about two miles away, the church of st. wilfred of gysnes, given to the canons of alnwick in the twelfth century. felton is on the old northern coach road, and is not now far away from the rail. whosoever desires to make acquaintance with the whole of the coquet should alight at the neighbouring station of acklington. he may then go downward to warkworth, to amble, and the sea; or he may go upward to brinkburn, to rothbury, and the moors. [illustration: morwick mill, acklington.] from felton until warkworth is in sight there is little over which one need linger. the country is level more or less, and the river seems to flow in a deep trench, with a fringe of trees on either side of it. at one place it comes through a deep break in the solid rock, which seems as if it must originally have been quarried. one speculates in vain as to the mighty force of the water by which such passages must have been hewn. these clefts for rivers are not uncommon, but they are incomprehensible. the water, one is compelled to feel, was but a minor element in their formation. a mile and a half from warkworth there is another weir, a great straight wall of cement, with a passage for fish on either side. yet though the fish may go up to left or right, as they may choose, there is what persons addicted to sport might call "an even chance" in connection with their coming down. if they take the ladder to the right they will get off to sea, but if they come down to the left they will fall into a trap, and will, in all probability, be eaten on french dinner tables as salmon. for, at warkworth, or within a short distance of it, is the great fishery of mr. pape, who has not only the weir to assist his operations, but has the right--acquired by paying a rent to the duke of northumberland--to stop up one of the fish passes at the extremities of the weir, which privilege he exercises so ingeniously that every fish that chooses the left side of the river for its downward passage gets into his trap, from which it may be lifted out at will. [illustration: warkworth castle.] [illustration: the village of warkworth.] can edmund spenser ever have been at warkworth? if not, how does he come by this description?-- "a little lowly hermitage it was, down in a dale, hard by a forest's side; far from resort of people that did pass in travel to and fro; a little wide there was an holy chapel edified, wherein the hermit duly wont to say his holy things each morn and eventide; thereby a crystal stream did gently play, which from a sacred fountain welled forth alway." except as regards the little stream and the sacred fountain this is accurately descriptive of the hermitage at warkworth. the coquet is here a tolerably broad river indeed, so that to reach the lowly hermit's cell one must make employment of the boatman's art. a little church hewn out of rock, and with a certain architectural skill--that is the famous hermitage of warkworth. a wood grows high above it; there is a pleasant walk by the riverside below; and above the cave there are some steps by which the hermit is supposed to have ascended to his garden ground. the hermitage is, as bishop percy says-- "deep hewn within a craggy cliff, and overhung with wood." never did hermit choose a lovelier spot for his orisons; but this hermit of warkworth was a man of industry and taste. he used the hammer and the chisel well. he made for himself a chapel, a confessional, and a dormitory, and none of these did he leave without ornament. there is a groined roof, and there is a rood above the doorway, and there is the recumbent figure of a lady with upraised hands. whosoever chooses to weave legends about the hermitage of warkworth is at liberty to do so, for nothing is certainly known of the hermit. the received tradition is to be found in percy's "reliques," where a member of the family of bertram by mistake slays his sweetheart and his brother, and expiates his double crime by isolating himself from his kind. the coquet is very beautiful here, with a mile walk through woods and meadow lands. after the hermitage a sweet bend of the river brings warkworth castle in sight. it stands high up on the summit of grassy slopes, which have a few shrubs scattered about them. here it was that, according to shakespeare's narrative of events, henry hotspur read the letter of "a pagan rascal--an infidel," who would not join him in his designs against the crown. the next scene is in the boar's head tavern, eastcheap, with poins and prince hal. shakespeare was so far adherent to fact that hotspur actually lived at warkworth castle. edward iii. had conferred it on the second lord percy, and until the middle of the fifteenth century the percies preferred warkworth to alnwick. the castle is one of the most beautiful and perfect ruins in england. it is not only finely situated, but is unique in design, suggesting less of strength than of taste in constructing a palace which must also be a stronghold. a living novelist, the best of our story tellers, has made warkworth the starting-point of one of his christmas tales, and has most admirably conveyed to the reader the feeling of the place. whom should i mean but mr. walter besant? the church where his hero did penance, and where his heroine bravely stood beside her lover, is at the foot of the village street, which slopes upward to the height on which the castle stands. just beyond the church is the great stone archway through which the town must be entered, standing at the inner side of the bridge over the coquet stream. altogether, the village does not amount to much. it has a few good inns, and a few old-fashioned cottages. but it is as sweet a place as is to be found in all the countryside, and is therefore much in favour with persons in search of a brief, quiet holiday. in warkworth, small as it is, one feels everywhere the influence of the past. history seems to keep guard over it as an important part of its story. in it was conferred by king ceowulph on the monastery of lindisfarne. the town was burnt in by the army of william the lion, who was something of a poltroon. king john visited the place in the thirteenth century, and did much mischief farther up the river. general forster and his jacobites were here in . that very mr. patten who is a principal figure in mr. besant's "dorothy forster" writes:--"it may be observed that this was the first place where the pretender was so avowedly pray'd for and proclaimed as king of these realmes." from the turrets of warkworth castle one looks over a wide expanse of land and sea. the coast line is visible for great distances, beyond alnmouth and dunstanborough on the one hand, and almost to tynemouth on the other. the great towers of alnwick are in sight, and mile on mile of the most fertile land in northumberland, and mile on mile of rabbit-haunted sandhills by the sea. just beyond the castle the land slopes downward, past a cottage or two, and a little wood, and a great clump of whin-bushes, to the coquetside, and then the river flows through flat marsh-land until the small seaport town of amble is reached. i have never seen those essex salt marshes in which mr. baring-gould lays the scene of his powerful "mehalah," but whenever i read the book i am reminded of the country from warkworth to the sea. amble has grown up on a steep above the river; but there are flat spaces all round about it, and the river seems to stagnate where barges and schooners lie grounded in the mud, and beyond the harbour there are great level fields between "the bents" and the sea. not a cheery place, by any means. amble is one of the smaller outlets of the northumberland coal trade. in very early days the romans had some sort of encampment here, and in the middle ages amble had its benedictine monastery. it is now an exceedingly prosaic little town, with a harbour quite out of proportion to its size, and with an evident intention of "getting on." [illustration: hunting on coquetside. (_from the picture by colonel lutyens, by permission of major browne, doxford hall, northumberland._)] "the bents" are the grass-covered sandhills which time and the winds have piled up between the ancient landmarks and the present limits of the tide. they rise to very considerable heights, and stretch, in great undulations, along many a mile of shore. the coquet flows down between them to a wide waste of sand when the sea is out, and one may trace its waters, should they be discoloured by flood, on either side of the coquet island, which the river must have worn from the mainland very long ago. the island is a low, level strip, containing some sixteen acres of ground. it has a peculiar history of its own. there was a monastery upon it in the seventh century, and here the abbess of whitby is said to have met st. cuthbert, who, for this occasion, had overcome his generally invincible dislike to women. st. cuthbert's own island is in sight from the coquet, and if the farnes were not in the way one's range of vision might extend to lindisfarne. in later times than those in which cuthbert taught religion to a rude people the hermit of warkworth had a rival hermit in the recluse of coquet isle; a far more dismal place to reside in, for all around it rage the terrible winter storms of the north sea. persons interested in the art of "smashing" may be interested to hear that coquet island was resorted to by the makers of false coins--"hard hedds" they were called in those days--so early as . the place was taken by the scots during the civil wars, and there its history ends, except so far as it is continued by shipwreck and disaster at sea. on coquet island a lighthouse now stands, tall and white, so that its walls may be seen far away over the sea in the daytime, and its lamps for many a rood at night. gulls and terns and puffins and guillemots play around it and make their nests amid its sandy turf; and there comes "the dunter," as the fishermen call it, the porpoise as it is called in more ordinary speech, to devour the bull trout as it is making towards the comparative safety of the coquet waters. all this may be changed a few years hence, for amble is developing its trade, and hereafter masts of assembled shipping, and a black prospect of "coal-shoots," may be the characteristic features of coquet mouth. aaron watson. [illustration: keilder moors (with peel fell to the right).] the tyne. chapter i. the north tyne. peel fell--deadwater bog--keilder castle and the keilder moors--the border peel--border feuds and friendships--the charltons--bellingham--the reed--tyne salmon--the village of wark--chipchase castle--haughton castle and the swinburnes--chollerford and the roman wall--the meeting of the waters. the clouds which are dragging themselves along the summit of peel fell were but lately dappling a bleak english landscape with their shadows, and are now being carried by the indifferent winds beyond that border-line over which, at peril of their lives, mail-clad men in earlier and ruder times were wont "to go to scotland to get a prey." the last house in england, a lonely but pleasant homestead, with its wide sheep-walks and its patch of cultivated land, stands under the shelter of a ridge where the brown waste rises into high moorlands; and beyond it, the fell looms very darkly, save where a beam of sunlight traverses its purple slope, with such bright decisiveness as if it were ithuriel's spear. up above alston, in cumberland, where the south tyne comes wandering from the mountain slopes, you may find cottages and farmsteads which were built almost as far back as it is safe to carry a noble pedigree; but here, where the north tyne oozes out of the fells, we are in a country which was constantly raided from both sides of the border; and so, for many a mile round about, there is nothing ancient but the castle and the peel tower, the roman road over the moss, and the roman wall chaining together the windy ridges of the moors. how could there be, indeed, when the borderer of former times was accustomed to see his house "all in a low," and was happy and fortunate if he could but drive his cattle in safety to the nearest peel? if a farmhouse dates back a hundred years or so it seems to belong to a venerable past, and if there is in these parts any more noble residence which does not proclaim to the wanderer that it was built for the purposes of defence, it will belong to a day later than that on which james i. crossed the border to assume the english crown. peel fell is the westernmost spur of the cheviot range. beheld from afar it seems to be a hill of gentle and inviting slope; but is, in fact, more craggy and broken than any of its kindred hills, which, of all the uplands of our country, are, except for the presence of the shepherds and their sheep, the most solitary. on the summit one stands , feet above the level of the sea. in these days a railway crosses the border near to peel fell. it has kept to the winding course of the river from newcastle upwards, and now it plunges into that debateable land which was for so long a period the excuse of border feud and foray, and which was not definitely assigned either to the scots or the english until . along the very path which this railway keeps there went, on many a memorable day, "marching o'er the knowes, five hundred fenwicks in a flock;" for their old enemies the grahams kept the border beyond the fells, and there was not among the montagues and capulets such wild and deep enmity as existed between the tynedale and the liddesdale men. it must have been ill-marching enough, for the route lay over deadwater bog, where, in case of misfortune and retreat, the fenwicks would have an advantage over their pursuers in their superior knowledge of the sounder spots of ground. in this deadwater bog, it is maintained, the north tyne takes its rise, though here, as in so many cases in which great rivers originate otherwise than in well-defined springs, there is division of opinion and of faith. the deadwater is a curving silvery thread in a black setting of peat-moss. it belongs wholly to the english side of the border, and after its leisurely circuit of an almost level plain it ripples into a wider channel and fuller light through a mask of weaving reeds. but between the stations of saughtree in scotland and keilder in england there is a wet ditch within a railway enclosure, and here, say some of the people of the district, and here the ordnance survey also asseverates, we must look for the actual origin of the north tyne. i would gladly debate the question with the ordnance survey, if only to prove that the tyne is an english river up to the remotest spot to which it can be traced; but it is "ill fechtin'" with those who are appointed to settle questions of boundaries, and whose decisions are held to be final however much they may be disputed; and as the little deadwater and the small stream which insists on counting honours along with it eventually join together and form the indisputable north tyne, it will be the discreeter course to let the ordnance surveyors have their will. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the tyne.] the tyne has scarcely become a distinguishable stream when it commences to take toll of its tributaries. first of all it is broadened and deepened by the junction of the keilder burn, whereupon it assumes such dimensions that a wooden bridge is thrown over from bank to bank. keilder is here a name common to some of the chief features of the landscape--keilder castle, keilder burn, keilder moors. the castle is not one of the old border strongholds, as might be assumed from its situation, but was built in the latter part of the last century by hugh, last earl and first duke of northumberland. it is approached by a road over the moors, and through a forest of young fir-trees. its square tower is half hidden in a wood of more ancient date, and it has for background a fair expanse of purple hills. between the castle and the fells there is a "forest primeval," as old, it may be, as that which longfellow describes in the opening of "evangeline," and far more strictly preserved; for not even the scant natives of the district are permitted to enter here, lest perchance they might disturb the game. on keilder moors, to the north of tynehead, three miles hence, there is as good sport as anywhere in south britain. all varieties of moor-fowl wend thither. the heron may be seen rising, like an arrow shot from a bow, from keilder burn; sea-birds wander thus far inland from holy island and the farne isles, and even make their nests and breed their young at this distance from their kind. the frequent hooting of the owl may be heard here in the night-time, and the distressed cry of the plover resounds all day over these heathery solitudes, where, but for such shrill voices, the silence and the utter loneliness might be felt as a burden, and the bare, desolate country, stretching to the bare, desolate hills, might seem too horribly remote from the kindly haunts of men. but wild as this country now is, and far scattered as are its inhabitants, there must, "in the dark backward and abysm of time," have been a numerous people here, for there are traces of ancient camps on most of the hills, and within two miles' compass there must have been at least six settlements of the aboriginal inhabitants of these islands, perhaps of those very picts whose disorderly valour caused the building of the roman wall. [illustration: keilder castle.] [illustration: greystead bridge.] the woods of keilder are still in sight when the yet inconsiderable "water of tyne" is swollen by the broader and more impetuous lewis burn, which, after a turbulent career through picturesque glens amid the fells, ploughs its way deep among the pebbly soil of the haughs, and then makes a fatal junction with the more distinguished stream. "there's wealth o' kye i' bonny braidlees, there's wealth o' youses i' tine," says the old ballad. it was the habit of the borderer to regard other folks' possessions as his own, as they might be for the taking, and of these "youses" and kye the hardy wooer remarks to her to whom his speech is here addressed, "these shall all be thine." here, looking down from the moorlands on the confluence of the tyne and the lewis burn, one sees how this portion of the north country must always have been a rich pastoral land, very alluring indeed to the reivers who lived beyond peel fell. the "haughs" are the flat pastures among the hills and by the side of streams. there is a fair, broad prospect of these where the two "waters" come together. their monotony is here and there broken by dark bands of sheltering trees. over the sheep and cattle grazing on these lowlands the ancient peel towers kept guard. there were both peels and castles, indeed. the border peel was a solitary square tower, with stone walls of enormous thickness. into the lowest of its compartments cattle were driven when there was an alarm of visitors "from over the border." to the upper storeys those who fled for shelter and safety ascended by means of a ladder, which they drew up behind them, then defending themselves as best they might until their neighbours could be summoned to the conflict by the fire which on these warlike occasions was always hung from a gable of the roof. it was not only to steal cattle and sheep that the marauders came. there were often deep blood-feuds to avenge. the robsons, who are declared to have been "honest men, save doing a little shifting for their living," made a raid on the grahams of liddesdale, and brought home sheep which were found to be afflicted with the scab. their own flocks died in consequence, and the robsons became very angry therefore, so that they made a second raid into liddesdale, and brought back seven grahams as their prisoners, all of whom they incontinently hanged, with the intimation, quite superfluous under such circumstances, that "the neist time gentlemen cam to tak their schepe they were no to be scabbit." such acts bred constant retaliation, and in northumberland to this day there is no very kindly feeling to persons "from the other side of the border." [illustration: dally castle.] the remains of castles and peel towers crowd together somewhat when we have passed the pleasant little village of falstone, which seems from time immemorial to have been occupied mainly by the robson clan. at falstone, where there are two rival but not unfriendly churches nestling among the trees, was discovered, a while ago, a runic cross raised to the memory of some old saxon hroethbert, from whom, the name being the ancient form of robert, it is probable enough that the doughty robsons sprang. there was a peel in the village itself, but this has been long since incorporated with the laird's house. another stood a short distance away, on the opposite side of the tyne, below greystead--where we reach the first important bridge over the north tyne; and within a short distance of a point where three valleys unite their streams there stood two castles related to each other by a deadly feud, and two peels made famous by a wild friendship. dally castle--there are now but a few low, earth-covered walls remaining--occupies the summit of a hill distant about a mile and a half from the south bank of the tyne. tarset castle--recognisable only as a green mound--stood on the north bank, close to where the river is joined by the tarset burn. the popular legends have connected these old border strongholds by a subterranean passage, which is believed to have been haunted through many generations. here a vivid superstition has heard carriages rolling underground, and has seen long processions emerge from an opening which no country wit had the skill to find. in tarset castle lived that red comyn who was slain by robert bruce, and of whom one of the bruce's friends "made siccar" by thrusting a dagger to his heart when he had been left for dead. sir ralph fenwick occupied tarset castle in , but was driven out by the charltons, though this must then have been one of the strongest places on the borders. at some other and undetermined period--so the popular legends say--tarset and dally castles were occupied by families which were at feud with each other, but it so fell out that the lord of tarset was smitten by the charms of his enemy's sister, whom he met by stealth in some retired spot on the moorlands. there, one day, he was set upon by the lord of dally and killed, and a cross was thereafter set up to his memory--perhaps by the lady for whom he had died--the site of which is pointed out to this day. far different from the relations which existed between the lords of tarset and dally were those of barty of the comb and corbit jack, who inhabited neighbouring peels further up the tarset burn. barty awoke one morning to find that all his sheep had been driven over the border. straight he repaired to his faithful corbit jack, and the two friends set off together over the fells; whence barty of the comb returned with a sword wound in his thigh, the dead body of his "fere" on his shoulder, and a flock of the leathem sheep marching before him. the record of such occurrences is preserved only in the stories of those who rejoice in male prowess, and who relate how barty "garred a foe's heid spang alang the heather like an inion;" but that they had a very pathetic side also the touching ballad of "the border widow" might help us to understand. the old feuds were kept up long after all reason for them had ceased to be, and when no more raiders came from the liddell to the tyne the men of the neighbouring valleys fought with each other, from lack of more useful employment. it was the wont, for example, of a descendant of this same barty of the comb to appear suddenly at bellingham fair, with a numerous following of tarset and tarret burn men at his back, and, raising a border slogan, to behave as if bellingham had been donnybrook. this was at the beginning of the present century only, when, according to sir walter scott, the people of north tynedale were all "quite wild," a statement which is not borne out by other authorities, though this "muckle jock" of tarset burn can by no means have had such manners as stamp the caste of vere de vere. the home of those charltons who drove sir ralph fenwick out of tarset castle, and even out of tynedale, "to his great reproache," observes an old writer, was at hesleyside, which is nearly two miles from bellingham northwards. here a tower was erected in the fourteenth century. there were other powerful charltons in the immediate neighbourhood--at the bowere, a mile further up the tyne, for example, where there lived hector charlton, "one of the greatest thieves in those parts," if old stories tell true. it was hector who bought off two men that were to be hung, and then let them loose to prey on the king's lieges, taking for himself, as became a man boastful of his shrewdness, a due share of their spoil. also it was the lady of hesleyside who, in place of a sound meal, would sometimes serve up a spur on an otherwise empty dish, by way of hint that the larder had need to be replenished; and hesleyside, proud of its past, still keeps this spur as an heirloom. but out of strength, as says samson's riddle, there cometh sweetness. the later generations of charltons have been a cultured race, and it was a rare collection of choice books which was dispersed at the hesleyside sale a few years ago. of the ancient tower nothing now remains, the present mansion of the family, situated amid woods which are conspicuous for many miles around, having been built at a comparatively recent period. at bellingham, where several fairs are still annually held, and which has been, so long as local history goes back, the central market town of this remote district, we find amid the billowy moorlands a sweet pastoral country, set about with well-timbered lands. the village took its name from the de bellinghams (now extinct), a family which tried to drive out the charltons of hesleyside, and came to no good thereby. under henry viii. sir alan de bellingham was the warden of the marches. the village is somewhat commonplace, but has a very interesting church and beautiful surroundings. a mile away hareshaw lynn comes tumbling down, between seamed cliffs and verdurous precipices. "'tween wooded cliffs, fern-fringed it falls, all broken into spray and foam." for two miles there is a succession of beautiful cascades, which sing their wilful tune under a dappled archway of clinging shrubs and bending trees. bellingham castle has disappeared, like the family by which it was erected, but the old church, with its strong stone roof, bears witness of how in the days of the border feuds even the house of god had need to be built so that it might be defended against wary and ruthless foes. the structure is in the early norman style. the stone roof was probably added after the church had been twice fired by the scots. the nave seems to have been used for much the same purpose as the peel towers, the narrow windows having obviously been intended as much for defensive purposes as for the admission of light. at bellingham, as indeed throughout all this wild border country, one may gather a plentiful store of song and legend--tales of how a man whom bowrie charlton had slain was buried at the charlton pew door, so that his murderer dared not to go to church again whilst he lived; of how st. cuthbert appeared in the church to a young lady who sought a miracle, and how the said miracle was but half completed because of the fright of the young lady's mother; of how other miracles were wrought at st. cuthbert's well; and of many another strange event of superstitious times. "the past doth win a glory from its being far," but bellingham is a very humdrum village now, with no more exciting occurrences than its fairs. [illustration: bellingham church.] [illustration: chipchase castle.] shortly after the north tyne has dreamed leisurely along through bellingham village, its quiet ways are suddenly disturbed by the inrush of a water which is almost as wide as its own, and greatly more turbulent. the rede has come down from the wild and bare region which the watling street traversed on its way to jedburgh and beyond. its springs are in the slopes of the cheviot range north of carter fell. forcing its way over a rock-strewn bed, it flows under the dark shade of ellis crag, and by the battlefield of otterburn, and, with many a capricious bend or lordly curve, past the ancient roman station of habitancum, where, until a splenetic farmer destroyed all but its lower portions, the heroic figure of "rob of risingham," one of the most ancient of english sculptures, might be seen. the rede is a stream which drains an enormous acreage of moor. a day's rain will swell it into a broad and boisterous torrent, with wide skirts extending far over the haughs. famous for salmon-breeding is the rede, and it is only by constant watching that the men of redesdale are prevented from taking, out of all due season, what they regard as their own. when there is no "fresh" in the river the fish may be seen lying crowded together in the shallow pools, so that it is possible to wade in and take them without intervention of net, or gaff, or rod. but it is an exasperating circumstance that, plentiful as the salmon are, the season for rod-fishing in redesdale is short, in spite of the law which permits it to be pursued for most months of the year; for as the fish come up here for the spawning season only, there are not more than some two months during which they may become the angler's legitimate prey. doubtless such scenes as that which is depicted by sir walter scott in "guy mannering" have been witnessed in redesdale on many a former day. salmon-spearing from "trows" was common down to at least the middle of the present century, the "trow" being a sort of double punt, pointed at the bows and joined together by a plank at the stern, and the spear, or "leister," being a barbed iron fork attached to a long pole. the tyne has a salmon conservancy board in these more severe times, and if trow or leister were to be seen on the river they would be seized as spoil of war. the narrow streak of gleaming water which made a silvery line across deadwater bog has now taken toll of wide lands-- "the struggling rill insensibly has grown into a brook of loud and stately march, crossed ever and anon by plank and arch." far more than this it has done, indeed, for no longer would any plank be capable of spanning its waters. the north tyne, which, with all its winding, keeps a much straighter course than the rede, is now beyond all doubt a river, and such a river as, being liable to sudden and mighty floods, called "freshes" or "spates" in these parts, is of a width altogether out of proportion to the ordinary depth of its waters. very pleasant and cool and shady are the banks of the north tyne on hot summer days, and of such varying beauty, withal, that the angler whose thoughts are not too intently fixed on his creel, and on those stories of extraordinary luck with which he purposes hereafter to entertain his friends, may lose all sense of his occupation in that "peace and patience and calm content" which, says izaak walton, seized upon sir henry wotton, "as he sat quietly on a summer's evening, on a bank, a-fishing." he is a fortunate angler who can take "a contemplative man's recreation" on such a river as the north tyne, where he may camp out for a month together, well assured of sport; but where he need not feel lonely unless he wills, for a moderate walk will generally suffice to bring him to a village and an inn. among the oldest of these villages is wark, some five miles below reedsmouth. in course of centuries of change it has fallen from its high estate, for it was once the capital of north tynedale, and a session of the scottish courts was held on its moot hill when alexander iii. was king of scotland, great part of northumberland being also under his rule. wark is a very unpretending village now, with a modern church, and a school founded by a philanthropic pedlar, and nothing about it half so interesting as its history. a mile away stands chipchase castle, which looks bright and new as it is seen from the railway, and yet is one of the most ancient and famous strongholds on the borders. not all of it is equally ancient, however, for in the time of james i. the present noble manor-house was added to the "keep" of earlier days by a descendant of that sir george heron who was slain in "the raid of the reidswire," and who is called in the ballad which celebrates that event, "sir george vearonne, of schipsyde house." ballad-writers were clearly not particular in the matter of proper names, for sir george's patronymic was known well enough to the scots, seeing that after his death they made presents of falcons to their prisoners, grimly observing that the said prisoners were nobly treated, since they got "live hawks for dead herons." there was a village of chipchase in saxon times, and there are remains of a fort much older than the keep which has been incorporated with the existing mansion. peter de insula, a retainer of the umfravilles of prudhoe, which is further down the tyne, lived here in the thirteenth century. the herons, who followed him, were of the same family as the stout baron who is celebrated by sir walter scott:-- "that noble lord sir hugh the heron bold, baron of twisell and of ford, and captain of the hold." the race has died out, as is the case with so many of the famous families of northumberland; but coal sustains what a warlike lordship built, and chipchase castle is to this day as proud and stately a place as in the time of the noblest heron of them all. there are grim stories told of what took place there in former rude times. sir reginald fitz-urse, says tradition, was starved to death in the dungeon of the keep, and another unfortunate knight, pursued by the swords of intending murderers, lost himself in the chambers of the castle walls, and never issued alive therefrom. the peel tower of chipchase is almost as large as a norman keep, and is more ornamented than was common in most structures of the kind. the more recent castle is held to be one of the noblest examples of jacobean architecture that have come down to us. [illustration: haughton castle.] mr. algernon charles swinburne, the poet, has recently reminded the world, through the medium of some border ballads which but indifferently represent the dialect of northumberland, that he is himself a borderer. long ago he wrote glowingly of "the league-long billows of rolling, and breathing, and brightening heather," and of "the wind, and all the sound, and all the fragrance and freedom and glory of the high north moorland." it is probably from sir william de swyneburn of haughton castle that he is descended. haughton stands on the opposite bank of the river to chipchase, and a brief space lower down. here archie armstrong, the chief of a famous moss-trooping clan, was starved to death long ago--by accident, and not design, let it in justice be said. sir william de swyneburn was treasurer to margaret of scotland, and is credited with having had a great and insatiable greed for his neighbours' lands. he was succeeded in his tenure of the castle by the widdringtons, one of whom is celebrated in the ballad of "chevy chase." it was he, indeed, for whom the poet's "----heart was woe, as one in doleful dumps; for when his legs were smitten in two he fought upon his stumps." but there was a sir thomas swinburne at haughton in the reign of henry viii. he was warden of the marches, and it was through his neglect of a prisoner that archie armstrong came to his death. haughton castle has a fine look of antique strength, but is nevertheless, in the main, a modern building. the original castle was burned down at some unrecorded time, and its ruins were restored and made habitable in the early part of the present century. close by, it is sad to say, a former owner had a paper-mill, where forged assignats were manufactured for the purpose of being passed off as the genuine french article during the duke of york's expedition to flanders in . to sir william de swynburn the people around haughton are still indebted for the convenience of a ferry, for one which he established so far back as the reign of henry ii. plies in the old fashion--by an overhead rope and pulley--to this day. [illustration: at warden.] past haughton castle the river strains and rushes between narrowing banks. lower down, at chollerford, it has changed its course somewhat in the lapse of centuries, and the waters of north tyne now flow over what was the abutment of an ancient bridge. at this spot let the chance visitor take the poet's advice:-- "here plant thy foot, where many a foot hath trod whose scarce known home was o'er the southern wave, and sit thee down, on no ignoble sod, green from the ashes of the great and brave; here stretched the chain which nations could enslave, the least injurious token of their thrall, which, if it helped to humble, helped to save; this shapeless mound thou know'st not what to call was a world's wonder once--this was the roman wall." here, indeed, the great bulwark against northern barbarism approached the tyne on either of its banks. the river is now crossed by a bridge which was built in , but there still exist substantial remains of that by which the roman legions crossed over to the great stations of procolitia and cilurnum. procolitia was one of a trio of important stations near to this portion of the north tyne, and is some three or four miles away. not many years ago no less than , coins, besides some rings, and twenty roman altars, were discovered on this site. the coins ranged from the days of the triumvirate to those of gratian. the altars were all dedicated to coventina. who coventina may have been, the antiquaries inquire in vain. of her neither greek, nor roman, nor celtic mythology has kept record. what is clear is that she must have been worshipped by the first cohort of batavians, which kept guard here when these altars were made. at cilurnum, now known as the chesters, nearer by three miles to the bank of the tyne and the ancient roman bridge, altars were raised to more various deities. a cohort of asturians was in garrison here. with the exception of newcastle, probably, and birdoswald certainly, this was the most important station on the roman wall, and is at this time far the most wonderfully preserved. one may stand in the grounds of mr. john clayton, at the chesters, and, with slight exercise of the fancy, reconstruct a roman city in britain, so materially is the imagination assisted by what recent excavations have disclosed. agricola is believed to have built cilurnum in a.d. it existed as a camp before the wall was built, and covered a space of six acres of ground. coal was found on one of the hearths when the place was first unearthed, a curious proof of the long period during which that mineral has been in use in the district through which this river flows. among the statuary discovered was a well-preserved figure which is believed to represent the river-god of north tyne:-- "the local deity, with oozy hair and mineral crown, beside his jagged urn recumbent." at chollerford the even course of the river is broken by a long curving weir, over which the "wan water" comes down magnificently in seasons of flood. "the water ran mountains hie" at chollerford brae, says an old ballad; but that is clearly an exaggeration. nevertheless, chollerford is not the place at which one would choose to cross the river at flood-time, and without a bridge, as happened with "jock o' the side," when he was hotly followed by pursuers from newcastle town. it is odd how ancient and mediæval and ballad history centres around this quiet spot. half a mile away is heaven's field, where oswald of northumbria gathered his army around him, set up the standard of the cross by the roman wall, adjured his troops to pray to the living god, and overthrew in one of the most important battles of our early history the far larger forces of heathenesse. here we are approaching the point where the north and the south tyne, making a fork of swift, clear-shining water, unite their streams to form the great river of which milton, and akenside, and many another poet, have admiringly sung. by the ancient village of warden, the two streams, as an old writer says, "salute one another;" and where they meet there is a stretch of water as wide almost as a lake, reflecting on still days the high-towering woods and the misty hills which divide north and south tynedale. [illustration: alston moor.] the tyne. chapter ii. the south tyne. on the "fiend's fell"--tyne springs--garrigill--alston and the moors--knaresdale hall--the ridleys--haltwhistle--allendale--haydon bridge and john martin--the arthurian legends. we are in cumberland, amid the wilds. how did st. augustine contrive to penetrate to such a region as this? the land is desolate, bleak, solitary. a desert of heathery hills; here and there a reed-fringed stream; in front the wild and stern face of cross fell! a seldom-trodden height, this cumberland mountain, seeming to stand sentinel over all the country round. on its lower slopes, the three great commercial rivers of the north have their rise. we have come here in search of the source of the south tyne, but a short morning's wandering would lead us also to the sources of the wear and the tees. cross fell is , feet above the level of the sea, and to half that elevation we have ascended to reach these moors in which it seems to be set. the "wizard fell," some poet has called it. the "fiend's fell" it was called of old. to reach it from alston one must trudge wearily afoot, or hire such vehicle as may be obtainable where travellers seldom come. the road winds about over windy uplands, ever rising nearer to the drifting clouds. a lead-miner's bothie stands beside it here and there, and one is constantly passing places where the miners have "prospected" for ore. all the roadside, indeed, has been explored and broken. the south tyne is making music all the way, for it flows downward to one's right, and is constantly tumbling over rocks and forming cascades over little precipices. it becomes a hasty, tumultuous river almost immediately after its birth, increasing in volume with a celerity quite wonderful to see, and seemingly impetuous to lose the cold companionship of these bleak and barren hills, which, despite their sternness, are all aglow with colour, and pulsating with rapid waves of light. to the right, brown ridges of high moorland; to the left, slopes more broken, strewn over, as it would seem, with masses of light-purple rock; beyond all, the dark ridge of cross fell closing-in the lonely valley. a streak of brighter and fresher green than any that is visible on the hillsides indicates where a hidden thread of water percolates the moss. then there is a glint of silver here and there. finally, the eye lights upon a sedgy pool, in the centre of which there is perceptible that throbbing movement which tells of the presence of a spring. this, then, is the source of the south tyne. before its waters have travelled far from here they will be crossed by a rude, ancient bridge, and swollen by many a little tributary from the hills. from the summit of cross fell at certain seasons the mysterious and terrible "helm wind" blows. when no breeze disturbs the air, and when, over all the country round, there is a clear and bright sky, a line of strangely tortured and curving clouds will form itself along the ridge of the mountain. then the shepherds will hie to where shelter may be found, for they know that a wind will soon be blowing before which no human creature can stand upright, and that may uproot trees, and unroof houses, and carry dismay into the valleys far below. it was the fiends holding revel, said the early inhabitants of these regions; wherefore st. augustine erected a cross on the highest part of the fell, collecting his monks around him, and holding a religious service there, whereby if the fiends were made less harmful they were by no means dispossessed. the nearest inhabited place is garrigill, which is a prominent object in the valley as one ascends the moor from alston. a cumberland village is a series of white gleaming spots against the hillside--a collection of whitewashed walls and grey-blue roofs of stone. this of garrigill is like so many others, except as to the height at which it has been built, and its bright contrast with the gloom of its surroundings. there is a pleasant shadow of trees about its housetops. there is a village inn, and a village green, and a village well. the young river flows past quickly, merrily, with the music of numerous little falls. the people of these hill regions are miners for the most part. lead was worked in these mountain sides at times so far back as the roman occupation of britain, and some of the miners, if they had kept a record of such things, might show a pedigree longer than that of those whose ancestors were engaged in senlac fight. their chief quarters are at alston and at allenheads, but their bothies are scattered about these moors. the town of alston is four miles below garrigill. it is a pretty, white-looking town, high up on the slope of the moors. of its two principal streets one is parallel with the river nent, and the other with the south tyne, the two streams here joining to make a fairly considerable river. at alston we are again on the track of st. augustine's footsteps. he may even have founded a place of worship here, and it is in keeping with the tradition of his having christianised cumberland that the church should bear his name. [illustration: featherstone castle.] [illustration: featherstone bridge.] white alston, with the wild brown moors beyond it, stands between the broad, open desolateness of the mountain region and a lovely district in which the south tyne laughs under the threading branches of ancient woods, or broadens out by sunny haughs, as if to rest itself between strife and strife. just below alston we once more set foot on northumbrian soil. the ayleburn and the gildersdale waters flow from opposite directions along the county boundaries, the one from high moorlands, by the old manor-house of randalholme, the other from the peaty morass where once flourished the great forest of gildersdale. henceforth the country assumes a more gentle aspect. the lead-mines have been left far behind; the river lies broad in the sunlight, or darkens under the shadow of trees; there are gentler undulations in the hills, and "long fields of barley and of rye that clothe the wold and meet the sky." the remains of whitley castle, which is the modern and inappropriate name of a roman station, are to be seen shortly after the gildersdale burn has joined the tyne, and here, also, one comes upon an ancient roman road, the maiden way, along which it may have been that "a woman might walk scatheless in eadwine's day." hereabouts the river is pleasantly fringed, and cool, and full of shadows and deep reflections. at brief intervals it is joined by some new tributary, pouring noisily out of a little valley of its own. of these one of the most interesting is the knar, which comes down in a boisterous and scurrying manner from a region of wilderness and lofty fell, where the red deer lingered latest in these parts, and where the remains of ancient forests may be discovered in the soft and treacherous moss. very rich in interest and beauty are some of the glens through which these mountain rivulets flow, with sudden precipices, and narrow defiles, and rock-strewn gorges, and the charm of moss and fern and overhanging tree. knaresdale hall, which is no more than a farmhouse in these days, is some distance lower down the south tyne than the spot at which the knar burn brings its contribution to the constantly broadening stream. it dates back to rough seventeenth century times, and was as strongly built as became the home of the doughty lairds of knaresdale. but the noblest of south tyne castles is that of featherstone, or featherstonehaugh. it stands in a fine park opposite to where the river is joined by hartley burn. when lord marmion was feasting full and high at the castle of norham, on tweedside-- "a northern harper rude chanted a rhyme of deadly feud; how the fierce thirlwalls, and ridleys all, stout willimondswick, and hardriding dick, and hughie of hawdon, and will o' the wall have set on sir albany featherstonhaugh, and taken his life at the deadman's shaw." for "the rest of this old ballad" the notes to "marmion" refer us to "the minstrelsy of the scottish border." but the ballad has not an old line in it. it is simply one of those sham antiques which it amused surtees, of mainsforth, to pass off upon one who trusted to his good faith and his familiarity with border legend and story. the incident which it records is probably as imaginary as the old woman from whose recitation the words are declared to have been taken down. featherstone castle is not built upon elevated ground, as is the case with most of the strong places of the borders. it stands in a quiet vale amid wooded heights. the featherstones claimed to have lived there for many centuries, the first of the family, according to tradition, being a saxon chief of the eighth century. no pedigree can be safely and certainly traced back so far; yet, undoubtedly, the featherstones were a very ancient race, and maintained their footing here through all the long troubles of the borders. the nucleus around which the castle has grown was a square peel, of more elaborate ornamentation than was common. it has been declared, indeed, to be "the loveliest tower in the county." at this day it forms but one feature of a splendid group of castellated buildings, with many of the walls overgrown with ivy, and with a gothic chapel as one of its main features. near by is the lovely little glen of pynkinscleugh, concerning which mother shipton predicted strange things, as yet unrealised. in pynkinscleugh it was that ridley of hardriding endeavoured to carry off the daughter of the lord of featherstonehaugh on her wedding-day, and caused her death thereby, for she ran between the combatants' swords; and this she did so hastily and impetuously that she was slain. the "willimondswick" mentioned in the ballad of surtees was one of the very numerous ridleys of this district. willimontswick disputes with unthank hall the honour of being the birthplace of bishop ridley the martyr. he was, in all probability, the only peaceful man of his family, for these ridleys were through many generations a hard fighting, hard-riding, and turbulent race. from the record of scarcely any deed of violence on the borders is the name of a ridley absent. the ballads tell how-- "but an' john ridley thrust his spear right through sim o' the cuthill's wame;" and how-- "alec ridley he let flee a clothyard shaft ahint the wa'; and struck wat armstrong in the ee." to such men as these the good bishop ridley, about to yield his body to the flames, wrote that, "as god hath set you in our stock and kindred, not for any respect to your person, but of his abundant grace and goodness, to be, as it were, the bell-wether to order and conduct the rest, so, i pray you, continue and increase in the maintenance of truth, honesty, and all true godliness." bell-wethers they were, indeed, these ridleys, and to some rough purpose, too. unthank hall, to the tenants of which the martyr also wrote letters of farewell, is a recently rebuilt mansion, the near neighbour of willimontswick, and on the opposite side of the tyne to the quiet little country town of haltwhistle. we are here again within a brief distance of the roman wall. haltwhistle may have been garrisoned by some of the assailants of that stupendous rampart. there are ancient earthworks on the site of what is known as the castle hill, one side of which is defended by an artificial breastwork of precipitous appearance. the former "castle of hautwysill" is now no more than a tall barn-like building, with a loop-holed turret resting on corbels. the chancel of the church is a survival from the old rough-riding days, and dates back to the thirteenth century; but there was too much fighting in the little town for much that was ancient in it to have survived into the present century. haltwhistle has now a growing population of , , and is as sweetly situated as heart could desire. [illustration: haltwhistle.] [illustration: haydon bridge.] this little town is made attractive not only by its neighbourhood to the tyne, but through the wild and fantastic beauty of haltwhistle burn, which flows down from the desolate, dreary, and cruel-looking northumberland lakes, where the winds that ruffle the surface of these forlorn waters "wither drearily on barren moors." yet there are fine sights enough above the ravine through which haltwhistle burn has ravaged and torn its way--wide views of fir-clad slopes, and wide-stretching farm-lands, and rolling moors, and dark precipices, and the ever-pleasant valley of the tyne. such another sight there is, with even a more extensive prospect, from the heights above the little hamlet of bardon mill. southward lie willimontswick, and the ancient chapel of beltingham, and ridley hall, and the confluence of the allen and the tyne, and the grey, bright-looking village of haydon bridge; northward may be seen the important roman stations of vindolana and borcovicus, and the far-reaching, dipping, and bending line of the roman wall. backwards, over the ground which we have traversed from cross fell, saddleback and skiddaw are in sight, and half the peaks, fells, and ridges of the great cumbrian group. a little below bardon mill the river allen joins the south tyne. what the rede is to the northern, the allen is to the southern branch of the river--the largest and longest of its affluents. it is formed by the joining of two streams which rise on the extreme southern borders of northumberland, and which flow some three or four miles apart until they are within about five miles of their confluence with the tyne. the allen is one of the loveliest and most retired of streams, flowing between picturesque rocks, and sheltered and darkened by hanging woods. there are here "steep and lofty cliffs, that on a wild secluded scene impress thoughts of more deep seclusion." of all northern rivers this is the one which is most praised for the wild and yet tranquil variety of its scenery, for the charms which the quiet angler finds in the turns and windings of its rocky pass, and for the beauty and diversity of the foliage which clothes its steeply ascending vale. at haydon bridge, when the water is low, there lies a great expanse of shingle, polished into whiteness by the floods. white are the houses also, with roofs of bluish stone; and there is an aspect of great quaintness about the little village, which seems to have been founded in saxon times, and to have borrowed much of its older building material from the roman wall. of its former state there are still some small remainders in the chancel of an old chapel, and a cottage here and there on the height. it was at haydon bridge that john martin, the painter of "the last judgment," and "the plains of heaven," and "belshazzar's feast," was born, and here, up to his twelfth birthday, he evoked the wonder of the simple folk with his rough drawings, a number of which, with the family eccentricity, he once exhibited upon his father's housetop. from here it would be easy to make an excursion into king arthur's country. not, indeed, to "the island-valley of avilion, where falls not hail, nor rain, nor any snow, nor ever wind blows loudly." avilion is glastonbury, it is said; but all about this ruder country there is store of arthurian legend, mostly of that coarser sort to which belongs the story of the "bag pudding" which "the queen next morning fried." the king and queen guinevere, the king's hounds, and the lords and ladies of his court, lie all together in an enchanted sleep in a great hall beneath the castle of sewingshields, near to the roman wall; or so the legends say. and now we are once more approaching warden mill. to the north and south tyne we must henceforth bid adieu. from this point they will flow together in the same bed. one has come down from the scottish borders, a holiday stream, for forty-three miles; the other, not without doing its share of work by the way, has hurried over thirty-nine miles from the cumberland fells. thirty-six miles more, over half of which extent the tyne is a great labouring, work-a-day river, and we shall meet the breezes and the billows of the northern sea. [illustration: hexham abbey.] the tyne. chapter iii. from hexham to newcastle. hexham and the abbey church--dilston hall--the derwentwater rising--corbridge--bywell woods--prudhoe and ovingham--stephenson's birthplace--ryton and newburn--the approach to newcastle. until it becomes a tidal river, which does not happen till the huge pillar of smoke that announces newcastle comes in sight, the tyne in ordinary seasons is a broad and shallow stream, with occasional deep and quiet pools dreaming in shadowy places. below warden its banks are open on either side to the far-away hills, and it has but a bare, starved look among these level and almost naked shores. yet it is a rich, fertile, and famous country, through which now flows this "water of tyne." hexham, renowned for its market-gardens, is close at hand. its roofs peer out of a wide circle of trees, and above them all, massive and conspicuous, stands sentinel the broad square tower of the abbey church. "the heart of all england" is a designation which was long ago claimed for their town by the hexham folk. just as boston is held to be the hub of the universe, so hexham was declared to be the centre of our right little, tight little island. hence radiated such gospel light and such imperfect learning as illumined these wild northern parts in saxon times. mr. green has said of st. wilfred, whom he calls wilfrith of york, that his life was made up of flights to rome and returns to england, which is but a churlish description of a great career; for st. wilfred, the most magnificent and wealthy ecclesiastic of his period, not only restored york and built the church at ripon, but erected here at hexham an abbey and a cathedral of which richard, the prior, who assisted to restore it from its ruins, wrote:--"it surpassed in the excellence of its architecture all the buildings of england; and, in truth, there was nothing like it at that time to be found on this side of the alps." the time to which prior richard refers was the latter portion of the seventh century. wilfred, who was trained at lindisfarne, visited france and italy in his youth, and came back full of great architectural ideas. there were then, it is probable, no stone churches in england. at any rate, the first five churches of stone were york, lincoln, ripon, withern, and hexham; of which wilfred certainly built three. never had bishop a vaster diocese. wilfred, archbishop of york and bishop of hexham, had supreme ecclesiastical control over a district which--during his lifetime, and when he was in misfortune--was divided by theodore of tarsus into the four bishoprics of york, hexham, withern, and lindisfarne. of wilfred's cathedral of hexham nothing remains but the underground oratory, built about . the church was fired by incursive danes in . three centuries later the canons of hexham piously went to work to rebuild and restore; but then the unruly scots made a raid into england, taking hexham on their way, and not only destroyed the restored buildings, but slaughtered the townsfolk, and burned to death two hundred children whom they found at school. hexham was once, says prior richard, "very large and stately." however, it diminished in importance under the influence of successive battles, tumults, incursions, and changes. hexham ceased to be the seat of a bishopric at an early period of its history; and though the monks donned armour and girded swords to their sides when henry viii.'s commissioners came, declaring that, "we be twenty free men in this house, and will die all or that you shall enter here," their bravery nothing availed them, and the dissolution of the monastery still further depressed hexham in the list of english towns. there is a story that the last superior was hanged at the priory gates, and several of his monks along with him. the beautiful abbey church was restored, greatly to its detriment, in . but even the restorers could not spoil it utterly, and it still gives an air of grandeur and stateliness to the quiet town which it adorns. it is all an old battlefield, the land around hexham. "wallace wight," who is frequently heard of on tyneside, generally to his disadvantage, and part of whose body was hung up on the bridge at newcastle when he was executed, came here and slaughtered the people in . one of the decisive battles of the wars of the roses was fought close by hexham in , on which occasion, as one of the most romantic stories in our history narrates, queen margaret and her son found shelter and hiding in a robbers' cave. "hexham," writes defoe, "is famous, or rather infamous, for having the first blood drawn at it in the war against their prince by the scots in king charles's time." a good deal of the blood of the families of these parts was shed for the stuart cause, then and long afterwards. three miles below hexham, and near to the scene of the yorkist and lancastrian battle, devil's water flows into the tyne, past the grey old tower which is all that remains to attest the former splendour of the earls of derwentwater. this devil's water--which was dyvelle's water in bygone days, so called from an ancient family of these parts--tears its way swiftly between high and verdurous walls of rock-- "it's eddying foam-balls prettily distrest by ever-changing shape and want of rest." the hillsides of dilston are clothed in magnificent woods. the scene is such as those which the old-fashioned writers were wont to describe as "beautifully sylvan." there are wild wood-paths and beds of fern, the green tangle of underwood, and the varied shade and brightness of interlacing boughs. and hence, with hesitation and a doubtful mind, the last earl of derwentwater set out on that rash and unlucky expedition which caused him the loss of his head. [illustration: prudhoe castle.] [illustration: corbridge.] the ancient village of corbridge--the quietest of country villages now, with extensive market-gardens occupying ground on which the roman legions may have camped--lies but a short distance away, and it was on corbridge common that the army of the stuart adherents came together when preparing to attack newcastle. there was a british settlement near the little river cor, as is made evident by certain camps and tumuli in the neighbourhood. the later roman station of corstopitum, believed to have been founded by agricola, was a little west of the present village. it was on the line of the watling street, and had considerable extent and importance. many of the fragments of it have been worked into existing buildings, for the stations of the roman wall, and the wall itself, were during many generations so many quarries for those who succeeded the first conquerors of our island. for a few years before and after wilfred's time there may have been a period of quiet, during which a monastery, and, it is believed, even a king's palace, was established; but thenceforward, for long afterwards, corbridge is mentioned in history only when it is overtaken by some great trouble. when king john arrived here in he conceived the idea that the place must have been destroyed by an earthquake, so complete and so extensive was the ruin that had been wrought. yet three times again the town was burnt by the scots. even this, however, did not prevent the return of the people, and the founding of a new town of corbridge, which sent a member to our earliest parliaments, and only abandoned the privilege when the corbridge folk became too poor or too indifferent to defray his "proper cost." the bridge which gives the village its name is the only bridge over the river which was not washed away or broken in the great flood of . [illustration: bywell castle.] from corbridge to bywell the winding course of the tyne has as various a beauty as heart could desire. there are wide, open reaches, and still, deep, shadowy spaces between overhanging woods, and passages of lively water scourging a rocky bed. bywell itself is an idyllic place. there are stories of how it was once a bustling town, much liable to attack from moss-troopers and all manner of border thieves. old records have it that so late as "the stately days of great elizabeth" it was "inhabited with handicraftsmen, whose trade is in all ironwork for the horsemen and borderers of that county, as in making bits, stirrups, buckles, and such others, wherein they are very expert and cunning, and are subject to the incursions of the thieves of tynedale, and compelled, winter and summer, to bring all their cattle and sheep into the street in the night-season, and watch both ends of the street, and when the enemy approacheth to raise hue and cry, whereupon all the town prepareth for rescue of their goods, which is very populous, by reason of their trade, and stout and hardy by continual practice against the enemy." a quaintly confused statement this, but sufficiently explicit as to the uncertain conditions under which the artificers of bywell lived. the place now sleeps quietly under its woods, lulled by the waters of the tyne as they fall over bywell weir, and seems to dream of its past. "the antique age of bow and spear" has left for memorial a ruinous square tower, all mantled over with ivy, and hidden, with the exception of its battlements, in the surrounding trees. this ruin is a portion of a projected castle of the nevilles, earls of westmorland; but the building was never completed, or, indeed, carried far, for the last earl of westmorland of the neville family took part in that "rising of the north" of which wordsworth's "white doe of rylstone" tells the sorrowful tale. any traveller by tyneside whom night should overtake would be amazed to see fires gleaming out of the hillside about two miles below bywell. they are unaccounted for by the presence of any town. the river, indeed, is about to plunge through clustering woods, and there is an aspect of solemn quiet all around. here, nevertheless, in a small and unpretentious way, the industrial career of the river tyne begins. the fires between the river and the hill are those of coke ovens, and they burn where, in his sturdy boyhood, thomas bewick, the great wood-engraver, used to play. cherryburn house, his birthplace, is close by, and on the other side of the river--that is to say, on its north bank--stands the ancient village of ovingham, where a tablet against the wall of the church tower announces his grave. the brother of dora greenwell was incumbent of the parish for a while, by which means it came about that the poetess spent much of her youth at ovingham. on the south side of the river, directly facing ovingham, on a hill which is like a huge mound, stand some fragments of prudhoe castle. a ruin it has been for three centuries at least, and it is a very picturesque and interesting ruin still. [illustration: newburn.] after a shady passage between high-banked woods, the river emerges to the broad light of day once more in front of the village of wylam, which is one of the oldest, one of the most dismal and miserable, and one of the most famous, of the colliery villages of northumberland. here is george stephenson's birthplace, a little two-storeyed cottage, standing solitary by the side of a railway. the roman wall ran along the high ridge of ground beyond wylam. some interesting portions of it still remain at denton burn, which is over above newburn, from two to three miles further down the tyne. at denton hall lived mrs. montague, first of blue-stockings. here johnson was a visitor, and reynolds and garrick were occasional guests. there is a "johnson's chamber" and a "johnson's walk" to this day. the village of newburn lies about half-way up the heights, on the north side of the tyne. here was the last spot at which the river could be forded, for though newburn is seventeen miles from the sea, as the river flows, it is reached twice a day by the tide. across this ford the scots troops under lesley poured in , to overcome the king's troops on ryton willows. the spot is still marked on the maps as a battlefield, and the event is spoken of as "the battle of newburn." a little below this place the tyne is joined by a muddy little brook, known as hedwin streams. here, as it is contended, the jurisdiction of newcastle begins. from time immemorial--legally defined, i believe, as a period which came to an end with king richard's return from palestine--the mayor and citizens of newcastle have claimed a property in the bed of the river tyne from spar hawk, within the tyne piers, to hedwin streams here at newburn, and the claim is still asserted once in five years; when, on what is known as "barge day," the newcastle corporation proceeds up and down the river in a series of gaily decorated steamboats, on board which high revel is held. and near newburn, indeed, newcastle may be said really to begin. it is five miles to where the city is blackening the atmosphere and dimming the sky with its smoke, but here are clearly discernible the fringes of its dusky robe. to our right, as we pass downward, lies the village of blaydon. prosaic scotswood is on the left, and beyond it are the vast, mile-long works of armstrong, leslie, and co. where these works are was once one of the pleasantest of valleys. now the furnaces vomit forth their flames, and the air is filled with smoke and the mighty clang of labour. [illustration: ovingham.] [illustration: the high-level bridge and gateshead.] the tyne. chapter iv. from newcastle to the sea. the growth of tyneside--"the coaly tyne"--newcastle bridges--local industries--poetical eulogies--tyneside landscapes--sandgate and the keelmen--wallsend--jarrow and the venerable bede--the docks--shields harbour--north and south shields--the tyne commission--tynemouth priory--the open sea. from newcastle to the sea, twelve miles by water, the tyne is a vast tidal dock. it stands second among the rivers of the kingdom for the extent of its commerce. the thames takes precedence in the number of vessels which enter and leave, and the mersey stands before it in respect of the total tonnage of the ships by which it is frequented; but the tyne ranks second to the thames in the number of vessels which enter the port, and second to the mersey in the bulk of its trade. but more remarkable even than the commerce of the river are its great industries. from gateshead to the sea on the one hand, and from newcastle to the sea on the other, there is a constant succession of shipyards, chemical factories, engineering establishments, glass-works, docks, and coal-shoots. newcastle, it has been remarked, owes its rise to war, its maintenance to piety, and its increase to trade. a very neat and true saying. but trade has done more for the tyne than for newcastle. it has, since the beginning of the century, increased the population of the chief northumbrian town from , to , ; but it has increased the population of tyneside to half a million or more. milton did the river a huge injustice when he called this the "coaly tyne." his intention was innocent enough, no doubt, since he meant only to acknowledge its celebrity in connection with coal. but it is the fate of these indecisively descriptive phrases to be misunderstood. the tyne is a brighter and clearer stream than the mersey, is immeasurably purer than the thames, is only occasionally muddied like the humber, and is at no time discoloured by coal. when there are floods in the upper reaches, so much brown soil is carried down by the impetuous water that the current of the river can be traced far out to sea; but at ordinary seasons the local colour of the tyne approaches that of the sea itself, and is, in fact, a deep, clear olive-green. what is insufficiently understood, however, is that the local colour of a stream is that which is most seldom disclosed. water takes its hue from the sky above it, and from the light which plays about its face. hence spenser's beautiful and much assailed phrase, "the silver-streaming thames." hence, also, the tyneside poet's eulogy of his native stream:-- "of all the rivers, north or south, there's none like coaly tyne." the romans threw three bridges across the river. there was one which crossed with the wall at chollerford; and there was one which crossed with the watling street at corbridge; and there was a third, earlier and far more important than the other two, which linked together what were afterwards to be named the counties of durham and northumberland. the bridge at newcastle, built by hadrian on his first visit to these northern parts of roman britain, was deemed of so much importance that at rome a medal was struck to commemorate its erection. also it gave its name to the roman station which stood on the heights above. newcastle first became known to history as pons Ælii, in honour alike of hadrian's bridge and of hadrian's family. and ever since that day the town has been famous for its bridges. there was one which resembled london bridge in having shops almost from end to end. it endured, says an eloquent local historian, "from the times of the plantagenets, and through the wars of the roses, past bosworth and flodden fields and the armada, down to the encounter of the king and parliament, to the commonwealth, the restoration, and the revolution; and beyond the rebellions of and it kept its accustomed place across the stream, surviving the daily pressure of the tide, the rage of inundations, the bumping of barges and keels, the shocks of civil war, the negligent inattentions of peace." but at length large portions of it were swept away by the great flood of , one of its houses being carried whole as far as jarrow slake, some miles farther down the tyne. on the bridge of hadrian two lofty hills looked down. the tyne has here at some remote period scourged its way through a deep ravine, and newcastle, and its opposite neighbour, gateshead, are built partly around the feet of commanding eminences, and still more extensively on the summits of these hills. old newcastle was a town of stairs. communication between its upper and its lower portions was, with the exception of one narrow and steep street leading from the bridge, maintained by means of long flights of stone steps, which still exist, and are up to this day extensively used. all the succeeding bridges were built on the site of that of hadrian. "the low bridge" was the name given to the last of these from the time when the high level was built. it is the swing bridge which now crosses the tyne at the point selected so many centuries ago, this swing bridge being a gigantic iron structure, with a great central span that is moved by hydraulic power, and leaves two openings of such extent that the _victoria_, the largest vessel in her majesty's navy, has been able to pass through without grazing either of the piers. but notable as is the swing bridge as a work of engineering, it is inferior even in this respect to the high level bridge, and very far inferior in grace and beauty. the high level does for the higher portions of newcastle and gateshead what all the bridges from hadrian's time have done for the lower portions. it is a foot and carriage way between the neighbouring towns; but it is also more than this, for at a height of twenty-seven feet above the roadway, under which a full-rigged ship can sail, there is a railway viaduct along which passes the main line to scotland. one of the most wonderful of the world's bridges, the high level is also one of the most handsome and well proportioned, so that it has probably been painted more frequently than any bridges but those of cumberland and wales. it is an appropriate thing that in the swing bridge and the high level bridge, which are likely enough to last for centuries to come, newcastle should have memorials of its two greatest engineers, the high level having been built by robert stephenson, and the swing bridge by lord armstrong. gateshead has been disparagingly described as "a dirty lane leading to newcastle;" but this was in the days that are no more. it is now a great congeries of lanes, streets, roads, and alleys, dirty and otherwise. but for a large town thus intervening, we might see how rapidly the land slopes upward from the riverside to the two-miles-distant crown of sheriff hill, which is on the road southward to durham, to york, and through the fair english shires to london. it was on the summit of sheriff's hill that the sheriffs of newcastle--a place which boasted of such officers because it was a county as well as a town--received the king's judges when coming on circuit. thus far they advanced to meet them into the county of durham. there was a splendid procession through gateshead, over the low bridge, up the steep "side," into newcastle, and to the assize courts. gorgeous trumpeters made proclamation; the gilded and hammerclothed carriages of the mayor and sheriffs were guarded by halberdiers; a tall official walked in front, with a great fur cap of maintenance and a most amazing sword. when the judges, sated with hospitality, and with the gaol-delivery completed, set off on horseback towards carlisle, they were presented with money to buy each of them a dagger, to guard themselves against robbers and evil men. [illustration: coal trimmers.] [illustration: a coal staithe.] gateshead was the site of a saxon monastery that was certainly in existence in . it does not seem to have done much in the way of civilising the people, for when walcher of lorraine was made bishop of durham by the conqueror, the gateshead folk murdered him on the threshold of their church. this was not the present church of st. mary, which is the most prominent object in gateshead when the spectator stands on newcastle quay, but it probably occupied the same site. gateshead was a domain of the bishops palatine of durham, except for a short period during which it was annexed to newcastle, and they built a palace there, no portion of which building now remains. [illustration: newcastle-on-tyne.] between the two great tyneside towns the river is narrower than at almost any point of its course from hexham to the sea. formerly it washed on either side over a shelving beach, and was but a shallow, inconsequential stream. there is a drawing of carmichael's, made about the end of the first quarter of the century, in which some boats are unloading in the centre of the tyne. carts are drawn up beside them, and the horses in the shafts are not standing in water to the depth of their knees. the shores have been partly built upon and partly dredged away since those days, and there is now a depth of twenty-five feet at low water at newcastle quay. the high level bridge strides across the river to a point which must have been just outside the walls that rufus built around his castle. the great well-preserved norman keep is only a few yards away. on the same eminence, and a little nearer to the river, stands the moot hall, or assize courts, which--all the rest of newcastle being a county in itself--is still a part of the county of northumberland. here it must have been that the station of pons Ælii was built, in a position admirable alike for watch and for defence. much the greater portion of old newcastle clustered around this elevated spot for many centuries. at a distance of not much more than a hundred yards is the ancient church of st. nicholas, with its famous lanterned steeple, of which a local poet has sung that "if on st. nicholas ye once cast an e'e, ye'll crack on't as lang as ye're leevin'." the quayside at newcastle has a long line of handsome stone buildings, intersected here and there by narrow "chares" that lead into the old district of pandon, where the saxon kings of northumberland are said to have had a palace in the olden time. the quay on the newcastle side of the river is broad and spacious, but there is no quay space to speak of at gateshead, where dreary and half-ruinous buildings cluster to the edge of the quay wall. many of the ancient branches of local trade have died, or are dying, out. from the tyne much wool was formerly shipped for the netherlands; to tyneside came the glass-blowers who were driven out of lorraine by the persecutions, and here they settled once for all, soon exporting more glass from the tyne than was made in the whole of france. the first window-glass was manufactured at newcastle, and used in the windows of the church at jarrow. there is a tyneside glass industry still, but it no longer maintains its former eminence amongst local trades. coal export, iron shipbuilding, chemical manufacture, engineering--these are the employments by which all others have been dwarfed on the banks of the tyne. in the whole of england, so far as my experience goes, there is only one town that is grimier, murkier, or more appalling in appearance than the towns on the lower tyne as they are seen from the railways which run along either bank of the river. bilston in staffordshire is of more fearful aspect than either hebburn, or walker, or felling, or jarrow. on tyneside, too, one may look away to the bright open country, to where there are low sunlighted hills on the horizon; but at bilston an eye which searches over a landscape of blackened and withered grass only beholds more forges. in these northern latitudes, again, the skies are very cloudy and wonderful; and in the black country one never becomes aware that nature can work miracles with her clouds and skies. from the river itself the blackness, the squalor, the apparent dilapidation, of these tyneside towns are not so conspicuous. the tyne is like a bending shaft of sunlight, making darkness not only visible but sublime. there is a quaint variety and picturesqueness about the wharves and "staithes" and factories which line its banks. the chemical works are like belated castles, about which hives of cyclopean industry have grown up, for they thrust tall wooden towers into the air, round which there goes a platform that seems to be intended for sentries on the watch. from newcastle quay downwards, ships of all sizes and varieties are anchored at either side of the stream. some are loading, some are discharging their cargoes, some are waiting to load. there are others which glitter in all the glory of new paint, having but lately been released from the stocks on which they were built. shipyards, where new vessels are being constructed, may be found here and there between the chemical factories and the engineering works; and just now there is in every berth of every yard a new vessel in some stage of its construction. out of these heterogeneous materials the sun sometimes builds up magnificent effects on the tyne. doubtless, on dull days, as mr. william senior has mournfully observed, "the smoke hangs like a funeral pall over the grimy docks and dingy river-banks, and the pervading gloom penetrates one's inner being;" but there are seasons when this grimy stream becomes a painter's river, indescribably striking and grand. [illustration: quay at newcastle.] below newcastle quay, at sandgate and its neighbourhood, was the sailors' and the keelmen's quarter. tyne sailors were the best that our country produced; and so it happened that the visits of the press-gang were frequent at the sandgate shore. many a fight there was before the captured men were carried off. all the folks of the neighbourhood, save such as had gone into hiding, would assemble for battle. the dialect of the place and the manner of these fights may both be surmised from these lines of the local muse:-- "like harrin', man, they cam' i' showls, wi' buzzum shanks an' aud bed-powls-- styens flew like shot throo sandgeyt. then tongs went up, bed-powls got smashed, an' heeds wes cracked, an' windors crashed. then brave keel laddies took thor turn, wi' smiths an' potters frae the burn; they cut the whiteboys doon like corn, an' lyed them law i' sandgeyt." the roman segendunum, which covered about three acres and a half of land, stood near to the river where it comes once more into a straight course after having taken a great bend southward shortly after leaving newcastle. the wall thus enclosed a great bight of land between pons Ælii and its eastern extremity, probably made useful in the landing of troops. from segendunum it would be possible to signal to the important roman stations at the mouth of the tyne. but of roman rule there is now nothing to remind us except after long search. the fame of wallsend has been carried over the world by its coal, though, curiously enough, no coal is ever brought to bank at this place now. rather more than half-way from newcastle to the sea, and over the river from wallsend, the flames of the jarrow furnaces leap into the air. at two widely separated periods of our history, jarrow--the saxon gyrwy--has reached a distinction and importance altogether out of proportion to its size and the advantages of its situation. here, as mr. green has beautifully observed, "the quiet grandeur of a life consecrated to knowledge, the tranquil pleasure that lies in learning and teaching and writing, dawned for englishmen in the story of bede." and of late years jarrow has become the seat of an immense industry, whose results are to be met with in all parts of the world and on every sea. the first screw collier, the _john bowes_, was built at jarrow. it revolutionised the coal trade, and has made an almost inconceivable change in the commerce of the tyne. esteemed a large vessel in its day, it may occasionally be seen in shields harbour--for it still carries coals to london--dwarfed into insignificance by the passing to and fro of its gigantic successors. it is probable that the smallest steamer now built in the jarrow shipyards is larger than the _john bowes_. the place which gave the little steamer birth has grown into a considerable town, with a mayor and corporation, and some expectation of a member of parliament by-and-bye. in all england, so far as i know, there is no sight which gives so powerful and weird an idea of a great industry as do the jarrow furnaces when the flames are leaping from their lofty mouths on a murky night. the fire plays and burns and glows on voluminous clouds of smoke and steam; the tyne is illumined by blazing pillars and rippling sheets of flame; everything shorewards is gigantic and undefined and awful, "'twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires." [illustration: shields harbour: the high lights.] how different was the quiet gyrwy on which bede first opened his eyes! beyond the furnaces and the shipyards the river broadens out suddenly over a space which is like a great bay. at low water this is nothing more than a huge acreage of mud, with quicksands beneath. to the right, jarrow church and monastery stand on a lonely eminence; to the left, the little river don flows sluggishly into the tyne. after the landing of hengist, says gibbon, "an ample space of wood and morass was resigned to the vague dominion of nature, and the modern bishopric of durham, the whole territory from the tyne to the tees, had returned to its primitive state of a savage and solitary forest." all round jarrow there was morass only--so much we should know from its ancient name, which means "marsh" or "fen," if there did not now remain something of the ancient appearance of things. the one piece of irredeemable land is this jarrow "slake." the river don must have scoured out a wider estuary in bede's day and before, for twice at least it was used as a haven--once by the romans, who anchored their vessels at its mouth, and once by king egfrid, who found shelter in it for the whole of his fleet. of bede's monastery--he was born at monkton, close by--only a few broken walls remain, but they are attached to a large and interesting church, which has a good example of a restored saxon tower. ruin swept over the monastery again and again in its early days. in less than a century after bede's death, the danes were spreading themselves over england; the cross went down before the hammer of thor; and one mournful illustration of the reasserted supremacy of heathenism was to be found in the ruined monastery of st. paul at jarrow. when the monks of lindisfarne, bearing with them the body of their saint, turned round to look upon jarrow on their way to chester-le-street, they saw quick tongues of flame shooting upwards, and the wild, active figures of marauding danes visible in the midnight glare. that same year a great battle was fought near the monastery, and the vikings were overcome; whereat the monks crept back to their former quarters, rebuilt dormitories there, and enjoyed eighty years of peace; but in a fleet of baltic pirates sailed up the tyne, and so plundered and burnt jarrow monastery that "it remained desolate and a desert for two centuries, nothing being left but the naked walls." in the whole course of the river there is no finer sweep of water than that which stretches from jarrow slake into the harbour of shields. on the north side we have passed the northumberland docks, which have a water-space of fifty-five acres, and are entirely devoted to the lading of coals. on the south side are the tyne docks of the north-eastern railway company, which have a water space of fifty acres, and are employed equally for coals and general merchandise. the one is the main outlet of the great northumberland coalfield, the other of the still more productive coalfield of north durham. with the albert edward dock, constructed more recently than either of these, and fit for ships of heavier draught, this is the whole dock accommodation of the tyne; for, as i have had occasion previously to remark, the river itself, from the sea to two miles above newcastle, is a huge tidal dock, which is available in all weathers, and in all states of the tide, for the largest vessels that float. what this phrase means may be seen to the full in shields harbour, where, on either side of the broad stream, vessels lie chained to the buoys in tier beyond tier, leaving a wide passage in mid-river along which great steamers are for ever passing to and fro. the story of how the tyne has been developed from a shallow and perilous stream into one of the noblest rivers of the kingdom makes a curious history, much too long to relate in this place. all the more extensive changes have been effected since the middle of the present century. the tyne had a foreign as well as a domestic coal trade so early, at least, as the year ; but so little had at any time been done for its accommodation that there are many now living who remember how a small vessel might be stranded on sandbanks some five or six times in the course of its passage from newcastle to shields. indeed, the reckless emptying of ballast into the bed of the river, and the utter neglect of means for keeping a navigable passage--things which seem altogether incredible in these days--at length brought matters to such a pass that the small passenger steamers often stuck fast at some portion of their journey, wherefore there was always a fiddler on board, to keep the passengers entertained till the rising of the next tide. it was whilst the newcastle corporation still successfully asserted its jurisdiction that such things were, and were growing worse; but as strong young communities grew up along the banks of the tyne, the oppression and neglect of newcastle became intolerable, and in the tyne commission was formed, with results that cannot have been foreseen by its founders; for the river has been widened and deepened over an extent of fifteen miles or more. docks have been made, the tyne has been straightened where "points" projected dangerously, enormous stone breakwaters have been built out into the sea, and where, in , there were thirty vessels ashore in one confused heap, the british navy might now safely ride at anchor, even in the teeth of a north-east gale. the transformation of the tyne from its former dangerous condition into such a harbour of refuge as does not exist elsewhere on our coasts is one of the noblest pieces of engineering that our century has seen, and there is no other great engineering work the fame of which has been so little noised abroad. [illustration: the river at tynemouth castle.] about shields harbour the seagulls pursue each other in play. they come all the way from the farne islands, and when the sun has gone down, and the western sky is still full of crimson and orange light, they may be seen circling ever higher, and gathering in bands, and finally setting off in a straight line northwards, calling to each other meanwhile with their shrill, baby-like cries. there is a space of a quarter of a mile or so between the twin but rival towns of north and south shields. they divide, somewhat unevenly, a population of something over a hundred thousand persons between them. south shields is of more rapid and most recent growth, but both the towns originated in the erection of a few fishermen's sheds, or shielings, which existed so long ago at least as the reign of edward i. there were then, and for very long afterwards, two mouths to the tyne, one of which ran parallel with the present main street of south shields, and made an island of the roman station which was founded here. the whole aspect of the land round about has been changed by the deposit of ballast from ships. at many points of the tyne there are artificial hills and embankments. some of these are made by the refuse of chemical works; a more numerous and more lofty class are composed entirely of sand and shingle which was brought over-sea as ships' ballast. one of the earlier employments of george stephenson was the minding of an engine that was employed in building up these huge ballast-heaps, which give a very singular appearance to some of the towns on the banks of the tyne. south shields was a spot greatly favoured for the discharging of this refuse, and it therefore happens that what was low and, for the most part, level ground, is now absurdly uneven, some of the streets being built upon the ballast, whilst others are far overtopped by mountains of sand and shingle that it would cost large sums of money to remove. at north shields there are terrifying flights of innumerable stairs. the lower quarters, both of north and south shields--those, that is to say, which are nearest to the river--are incomparable as examples of old maritime towns. something there is at greenwich of the same character, and something more at wapping; but nowhere is there such a salt-sea savour about the whole aspect of things. [illustration: jarrow church: the saxon tower.] the sailors, it should be observed, seem to have exercised their own discretion in the naming of streets. there is "wapping," and "holborn," and "thames street," and what not. these places are narrow thoroughfares running parallel with the river, and are accessible therefrom by means of wooden stairs and cramped passages between high blocks of buildings. the houses facing the tyne, more particularly on the north side, seem less to have been built than to have been cobbled together. they are made indifferently of brick and wood and stone; they have platforms standing on wooden piles; they are kept out of the river by stout timbers that the tide washes, and that are green with salt-water moss or white with clustering limpets. there is all manner of variety among them, and nothing could be more quaint, ramshackle, or interesting as a reminiscence of an older world. it is the sailors' quarter now, as formerly, this odd assemblage of narrow streets and strange houses. now, as in freer days, "up to the wooden bridge and back, to the low light shore down in a crack, rambling, swaggering, away goes jack, when there's liberty for the sailors." "the low lights" is that portion of north shields which is nearest to the sea. a square white lighthouse stands on a wooden fish-quay, which projects far into the river; another similar lighthouse--"the high lights"--occupies the top of a neighbouring hill. a ship making the river must have both of these lights in line, as if they were occupying different heights of the same tower. lighthouses swarm about the mouth of the tyne. there is a flash-light at the end of "the groin," a reef which runs into the river from the south shields side, thus assisting to make a beautiful sheltering bay between this point and the south pier. there is a gleaming red light on the promontory at tynemouth, and a vivid electric light flashes over the sea from souter point, two or three miles south of the tyne. at the quay by the low lights, in the herring season, there is a perfect forest of bare poles, and a great acreage of decks, on which brown fishermen are at work hoisting their catch, or mending their nets, or scouring their boats, as the case may be. the lettering of these craft indicates that they come from kirkcaldy, from the berwickshire coast, from yarmouth, from lowestoft, and from the isle of man. there are from two to three hundred of them in the season, and the river has no finer sight than the departure of these herring boats to sea when the wind is fresh enough to fill their sails. should the evening be calm, they are towed outward in groups of five or six by a steam tug; and a pleasant voyage it is to the herring grounds; whence, when the sun has not long risen, the boats may be seen racing back again to get the best of the market at the low lights quay. there are steam trawlers also at this busy mart in the early morning. it is all fish that comes to their nets, and some of it very queer fish too. a singularly odd mixture of scaly creatures may be seen lying about in heaps on the quay--ling, skate, plaice, soles, cuttlefish, cat and dog fish, and cod, the biggest of which find their way to the london market; turbot, suggestive of aldermanic banquets; and a host of small fry too numerous to mention. the burly fishermen stride about in their oilskin coats, plentifully besprinkled with silvery scales, and glittering in the morning sunlight. the fishwives keep up a constant clatter of talk, in voices made shrill by their daily cry of "fe-esh, caller fe-esh!" the auctioneers are very clamorous over their business, and for three hours all is hurry and shouting, and competition and confused haggling as to prices and sales. [illustration: tynemouth, from the sea.] on the north side of the tyne the rocky promontory of tynemouth shoots out into the sea. it is the termination of a high chain of banks extending from north shields to the coast. on these stands the brigade house of the first of the volunteer life brigades; by which one is reminded that if south shields invented the lifeboat, north shields has a kindred claim to distinction in the origination of those brave bands of volunteers that watch our coasts in seasons of storm. between the brigade house and tynemouth light, overlooking the entrance to the harbour, stands a colossal statue of lord collingwood, a tyne seaman, mounted on a massive stone pedestal, and guarded by four of the guns of collingwood's ship, the _royal sovereign_. a little further seaward, "their very ruins ruined," surrounded by british, by roman, and by english graves, are the beautiful remains of tynemouth priory, which was built so sturdily, despite a certain apparently fragile character of style, that these ancient walls seem likely to bid defiance to storms for almost as many centuries to come as have already passed them by. a small chapel, built of wood, and dedicated to st. mary, was the primitive and humble beginning from which sprung the great and powerful monastery of tynemouth. one of the kings of northumberland (edwin) erected this early in the seventh century, at the instigation of his daughter, who took the veil here. tynemouth soon gained a reputation for sanctity, and grew so much in public favour that the chapel had to be rebuilt of stone ere long. many were its vicissitudes during the subsequent warlike years. the priory at the mouth of the tyne suffered even more frequently from fire and foray than the monastery at jarrow. but the monks, as attached and devoted in the one case as in the other, returned after each fresh assault; until, in the reign of henry iii., they reared a monastic pile fit to be compared with whitby for beauty and fame. after the dissolution, unfortunately, it became the prey of whosoever chose to make use of it for building materials; and it was not till the present century that the folk at the mouth of the tyne began to understand that they are responsible for its preservation. in its rich and prosperous days the walls enclosed the whole of the promontory on which the priory ruins stand; but now there remain only a small lady-chapel, a few scattered walls, a portion of a groined roof, a fine norman gateway, and a magnificent remnant of the church. in the grounds where the monks formerly took their exercise red-coated soldiers may now be seen at drill. pyramids of cannon-balls are piled amid the ruins; there is a large powder-magazine beside what may have been the entrance to the church. it is now fortified and garrisoned, in fact, this promontory where the godly men of old looked away over the wild north sea. the tynemouth cliffs have thus, it may be presumed, been brought back to their earliest uses, for the romans had a station here, and before the romans came the britons must have had a camp on the spot, since recent excavations have revealed the existence of british graves. shooting outward from the tynemouth shore, the mighty rampart of the north pier makes division between the river and the sea. such another pier comes outward from south shields; and between them these two great works of engineering make a comparatively narrow channel for ships where there was formerly a wide and most dangerous estuary. terrible indeed are the storms which sometimes rage over them and assail them with the battery of their waves. in a north-east gale the white water leaps above the summit of the tynemouth cliffs. outside the piers and beyond the bar the waves seem to be miles long, and when they narrow themselves to enter the river they rise to a height so appalling that the topmasts of a sailing-ship running for shelter may, with every dip the vessel makes, be lost to the view of those on shore. "the next instant," says mr. clark russell, of a ship which he had been watching from tynemouth when a storm was raging, "she had disappeared, and before another minute had passed i was straining my eyes against the whirling snow and looking into a blackness as empty as fog, amid which the pouring of the hurricane against the cliffs, and the pounding of the ponderous surges a long distance down, sounded with fearful distinctness. for three-quarters of an hour i lingered, peering to right and left of the beach at my feet, as far as the smother of flying flakes would let me look. but i saw no more of the brig." such incidents were mournfully common before the piers were carried out to their present length. the tyne was notorious for the number of its wrecks. no more than nine or ten years ago, indeed, i saw fourteen ships ashore in or near the mouth of the river, the spoils of a single night of storm. but this was the last occasion of so much calamity. for some years past now the tyne has, most happily, almost been free from all disaster but collision. as we round the tynemouth cliffs the fishing village of cullercoats comes into sight, rather over a mile away, with the dim, far-projecting newbiggin point a few miles beyond. on bright days a flash of light may reveal the white lighthouse at coquet island, by warkworth town. round the rocky promontory close at hand there is a little bay, a projecting point of rock, and then a long stretch of yellow sand, broken almost at its centre by a brown, weedy reef of rocks, among which the pools linger when the tide goes down. this is "tynemouth sands." here the pleasure-seekers come in crowds the summer through, rejoicing in the fine weather, and yet desiring a storm, a sight which, once beheld, would leave its memory within them their whole lives through. "oh, hear us when we cry to thee for those in peril on the sea," runs the touching sailors' hymn, and to those who live about the mouth of a river like the tyne it has a deep meaning and thrilling pathos, such as those who have never heard it sung when the tempest was blowing outside cannot fathom or understand. for storms only those who live inland have any longing, for though these have heard of the wildness, they do not know the terror of the sea. aaron watson. [illustration: tynemouth, from cullercoats.] [illustration: in weardale.] the wear. william of malmesbury on the wear--its associations--upper weardale and its inhabitants--stanhope--hunting the scots--wolsingham--bollihope fell and the "lang man's grave"--hamsterley--witton-le-wear--bishop auckland--binchester--brancepeth castle--the view from merrington church tower--wardenlaw--durham--st. cuthbert--his movements during life and afterwards--the growth of his patrimony--bishop carilepho and his successors--the battle of neville's cross--the bishopric in later times--the cathedral, without and within--the conventual buildings--the castle--bear park--ushaw--finchale--chester-le-street--lumley and lambton castles--biddick--hylton--sunderland and the wearmouths--the north sea. "britain," says william of malmesbury, "contains in its remotest parts a place on the borders of scotland where bede was born and educated. the whole country was formerly studded with monasteries, and with beautiful cities, founded therein by the romans; but now, owing to the devastations of the danes and normans, it has nothing to allure the senses. through it runs the wear, a river of no mean width and tolerable rapidity. it flows into the sea, and receives ships, which are driven thither by the wind, into its tranquil bosom." with the mending of a few phrases, almost the whole of this description by the twelfth-century chronicler could be transferred to the wear, and to the durham and sunderland, of our own day. the scots have earned the right to be classed with the danes and normans as the pillagers of the fanes and castles of this centre of the ecclesiastical and political power of ancient northumbria. their modern successors, as destroyers of objects that "allure the senses," are the mine-owner and the mill-owner, the railway and the blast-furnace, the chemical works and the dockyard. the march of modern industry has taken the place of the foray of the borderers in the valley of the wear, as on the neighbour streams of the tyne and tees; and, like the fires of tophet, the smoke of its burning goes up day and night. yet there are compensations. the wear does not quarrel with the good fortune that has clouded its once pure air, muddied its whilom clear stream, and disturbed its "tranquil bosom" with keels that no longer depend upon the wind for their coming and going. the wealth that has come to it with peace and the development of its mineral resources and shipping trade is not despised, although it be soiled with honest coal-dust. besides, those who are acquainted with the wear know that it has higher boasts than its importance as a channel of navigation and outlet of trade. even in its busiest parts--from sunderland and monkwearmouth to chester-le-street and lambton--venerable associations with feudal and monkish times struggle for notice with the evidences of modern prosperity and enterprise. at durham decisive victory is won by the memories of the past over the grimy allurements of the present. from the cathedral city we carry away impressions of the picturesque grouping of its old houses and bridges, of the ruins of its strong norman keep built by the conqueror to repress the turbulent townsmen, and of the magnificent fane which covers the bones of st. cuthbert and of the venerable bede, rather than feelings of respect for its manufacturing industry, or even for its distinction as the seat of a northern university. we remember the former glories of the county palatine, the semi-regal power and pomp of its prince-bishops, the odour of miracle that drew throngs of pilgrims to its saintly shrine, and the treasures that had an equally potent attraction for grasping kings and barons and for marauding borderers, in preference to statistical and other testimony of the growth of its trade and population. all up the valley of the wear, to bishop auckland and witton, and to wolsingham and stanhope, commerce has pushed its way, and the very sources of the stream have been probed by the lead-mining prospector. but beauty is there also, and in possession--the beauty of stately woods, embowering princely piles, like brancepeth castle, the very stones of which are part of the national history; of clear reaches of the river, sweeping under fragments of religious houses, such as finchale priory, gently draped by time with moss, lichen, and ivy; of old bridges and mills and quaint bright villages and wide stretches of fertile land. beyond all these comes a wilder and barer district, where the hills draw closer to the river, and cultivation and population become more rare, and where at length, over the massive and rounded outlines of the fells, as we rise towards the great "dorsal ridge" of england, we catch glimpses of the cumberland mountains and of the cheviots. to trace the wear upwards or downwards is like ascending or descending the stream of english history; from the busy present we move back into the feudal age, and at length into the quietude of primitive nature. primitive nature holds her ground staunchly on kilhope law and the "deadstones," and over other great bare tracks of rolling upland, near the meeting-point of the shires of cumberland, northumberland, and durham, whence the welhope, the burnhope, the rookhope, and a host of lesser moorland streamlets, bring down their waters to feed the infant wear. in spite of the mining prospector and the railway projector, many of these fells and dales are more lonely to-day than they were three, or even ten centuries ago. of the great tangle of lines that cover like a cobweb the lower valleys of the tyne and wear, only one or two outer filaments find their way into the neighbourhood of upper weardale, and all of them fail by many miles to reach the solitudes of kilhope moor. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the wear.] the smoke of one of the great "workshops of england" may hang darkly upon the eastern horizon, but it is still too distant to pollute the pure air of the hills. roads, indeed, cross these wildernesses of "ling" and peat-moss--west and east from alston and nenthead into weardale; north and south, from the valleys of the allen and derwent to the tees--through tracts that, in the early part of the century, were traversed only by bridle and footpaths; but these serve in a measure to concentrate any passing traffic, and to leave the open moors more lonely than before. the travelling chapman with his pack, the drover, and the gipsy, promise to become as extinct, as wanderers of the fells, as is the moss-trooper from the debateable land, or the pilgrim on the way to st. cuthbert's shrine. their occupants are the wild creatures of the hills and the flocks of black-faced sheep; with a sprinkling of shepherds, who preserve in their dialect and customs many relics of what durham and the wear were before the coal age. there are mining communities scattered up the valleys and along the hill-slopes; and at burtreeford, a little above the bridge at wearhead--the old rendezvous for the wrestling and other sports of weardale forest--is what is reported to be the richest vein of lead-ore in england. the lead-miners, like the other dalesmen, are in some ways a race apart, rough and unsophisticated, like the features of the district they occupy, but hearty, sincere, and full of sturdy independence of thought, and free from many of the vices which mark their class elsewhere. it is true now, as it was at the time of the "raid of rookhope," when the tynedale reivers were seen pricking over the moss by dryrig and rookhope-head to harry the lands of the bishopric, that "the weardale men they have good hearts, and they are stiff as any tree." [illustration: stanhope bridge.] [illustration: rogerley.] the middlehope and the rookhope flow into the wear from the north, below st. john's chapel in weardale, through some of the wildest country in the forest; and still farther down, upon the same hand, stanhope burn meets the parent stream at stanhope. this ground was the favourite hunting-field of the old bishops of durham, and in stanhope park they had their lodge, where, at stated seasons, they came with a great crowd of retainers to chase the buck and roe. these gatherings are not yet wholly forgotten in the legends of the district. it was the duty of the auckland vassals of the see to erect the necessary buildings for the housing of the bishop and his joyous company, including a temporary chapel, where, it may be supposed, the rites of the church had, on a good hunting day, rather perfunctory performance. the turners of wolsingham provided the three thousand trenchers for the feeding in the open air; and the stanhope villeins had the task of carrying the provisions and conveying the surplus venison and game to the palaces at bishop auckland and durham. often there was more serious sport afoot in weardale forest--for instance, when edward iii. hunted the nimble host of scots whom lord moray and the douglas brought across the border in to pillage the palatinate. the invaders were mounted on hardy little horses, and with their bags of oatmeal at their backs, were themselves as well prepared as their steeds to rough it and pick up their living on the moors. after having been frightened from the neighbourhood of durham by edward's approach, they led him a fine wild-goose chase over the hilly country between the tyne and the wear. at last the english van, under rokesby, descried the scots encamped upon a strong height south of the wear. to the challenge to come down and fight upon the level, the enemy prudently replied that they were on english ground, and "if this displeased the king, he might come and amend it;" they would tarry for him. there were skirmishing and great noise and bonfires kept up all night; but next morning the king, surveying the ground from stanhope park, found that the scots had shifted to another hill. on the twenty-fourth day of the chase, the english passed the river and climbed the mountain, but found only three hundred cauldrons and a thousand spits, with meat all ready for cooking; also ten thousand pairs of old boots and shoes of untanned hide. the invaders had cleverly outwitted their pursuers, and were already leagues off on their homeward way over yadsmoss and the western extremity of the county, carrying with them hurdles they had made for crossing the marshy ground where the english could not follow. [illustration: wolsingham.] [illustration: harperley.] stanhope is a populous little township on the north side of the wear, well sheltered by the hills on both banks. its church and market records go back for five hundred years; and its rectory revenues, mainly drawn from tithes on lead-ore, are among the richest in england. there are rocks and grottoes and beautiful walks along the river margin, as well as around stanhope castle, which may stand near the spot where once rose the old forest seat of the bishops. below rogerley and frosterley the valley begins to open; the bare heathy hills withdraw to a more respectful distance; and between them and the river there interpose fine stretches of rich woodland and cultivated fields. for the scarped faces of limestone and marble quarries and the crushing-mill of the lead-mine, one begins to see rising here and there the pit-head machinery of the colliery and the smoke of the iron furnace; from a moorland stream the wear changes to a lowland river. wolsingham, which now divides its attention between agriculture and mining, was once on a time the place of hermitage of st. godric of finchale, and the villagers held their lands for the service of carrying the bishop's hawks and going his errands while attending the weardale chase. south of wolsingham is the long dark ridge of bollihope fell, and the spot, marked by a pillar, known as "the lang man's grave." here, says tradition, two huge figures were seen one clear summer evening engaged in mortal strife, until at length one of them fell; and on the place next day was found the dead body of a tall stranger, who was buried where he lay. below wolsingham the wear flows by the grounds of bradley hall, an old lordship of the eures of witton and afterwards of the family of bowes; and beyond harperley the bedburn beck comes in, after draining the wild moorland tracts of eggleston and hamsterley commons, and winding through some pretty wooded grounds and pastures. the scattered houses of hamsterley are on the brow of a hill at the junction of the lead-measures with the great northern coalfield, and for generations its "hoppings," or rural festivals and sports, have been famous in this part of durham. some of the most charming "bits" on the wear are around witton-le-wear. the stream bends and twines under the shade of the high wooded banks upon which the village is placed, and the sides of its tributary brooks are not less richly and picturesquely clothed. the centre of all this beauty is witton castle, at the meeting of the linburn with the wear. it was long the seat of the valiant race of the eures, who held it on military service from the prince-bishops. it is now a possession of the chaytors, who have preserved part of the old castellated keep, and restored the rest of the building in something like the original style. the course of the wear has now brought us close to bishop auckland, and to bishop auckland palace and park, all that remains to the bishops of durham out of the score of manors and castles which they once held. after durham castle, however, bishop auckland castle was always their favourite and most princely seat. it is wedged into a nook between the wear and the gaunless, and from the high ridge sloping down to the latter stream it commands magnificent prospects of the country around. the town may be said to have grown up under the shadow of the bishop's residence, but has in latter days discovered other and more dependable means of support, in manufactures and in the mineral wealth of the district. it is no longer, as in leland's day, "a town of no estimation," either in trade or population. formerly it had an ill name for insalubrity; but though the steep narrow streets running down to the wear remain, it has done something to amend its reputation in this respect. its chief architectural boasts, outside the castle bounds, are perhaps the great parochial church of st. andrews, founded and erected into a collegiate charge by bishop bek nearly six centuries ago, and the fine double arch of newton bridge, erected by bishop skirlaw in , spanning the wear at one of the most romantic spots in the course of the river. but with the park and palace to be seen, the visitor does not linger long outside the gothic doorway--itself a poor evidence of episcopal taste--that divides the bishop's demesne from the market place. from the park and its far-reaching lawns and woodland, the great group of buildings which have been added to and altered by a long line of bishops of durham is separated by a battlemented stone screen and arches. bishop bek began in earnest the work of beautifying and strengthening the castle, which had to serve the prelates as a fortified place as well as an episcopal residence. his successors have at intervals zealously, if not always wisely, followed in his footsteps as a builder and renovator. the bishops dispensed princely hospitality at auckland; and in rushall's time it was thought only "fair utterance" for the household to consume a fat durham ox per week, and to drink eight tuns of wine in a couple of months; and it was this same bishop who built "from the ground the whole of the chamber in which dinner is served." the place suffered badly, however, in the hands of pilkington, the first protestant bishop, who "built nothing, but plucked down in all places;" and still more deplorable were its fortunes in the storm of the civil war, when, after having entertained charles i. as king, the palace received him as a prisoner, and was afterwards committed to the tender mercies of sir arthur hazelrigg, who pulled down part of the castle and chapel to erect a mansion for himself. bishop cosin, on the restoration, repaired this "ravinous sacrilege" to the best of his ability; and the chapel, as we find it, is largely his work, and fitly covers his tomb. hazelrigg's hands also fell heavily on the fine park, where he left "never a tree or pollard standing." but this also has been repaired, though one will look in vain now in the leafy coverts by the banks of the gaunless for the herds of wild cattle that once frequented them. perhaps the park is put to better use as the favourite and delightful resort of the townsfolk and visitors of bishop auckland. [illustration: witton-le-wear.] not far below newton bridge and auckland park is binchester, marking the place where the wear was crossed by the great roman road of watling street, in its straight course across the county from piercebridge on the tees to lanchester on the browney, and ebchester on the derwent. roman remains, in the form of sculptured stones, of votive altars, and of baths, have been discovered at binchester, which may be the binovium of ptolemy; and here a cross-road from the south joined the old military way, coming past the sites of what are now raby castle, staindrop, streatham, barnard castle, and other scenes in langleydale and teesdale and on the banks of the greta, since immortalised by history and legend. an older seat of the great family of the nevilles than raby hall itself--brancepeth castle, beyond willington--is near at hand. it got into their possession when the grandson of the neville who "came over with the conqueror" married the heiress of the saxon family of bulmer. from the bulmers the nevilles are supposed to have derived their badge of the "dun bull;" and one of their race may have been the hero of the legend that accounts for the local nomenclature by telling how "sir hodge of ferryhill" watched the track of the savage boar--the "brawn's path"--from brandon hill, and dug a pitfall for him at the spot still marked by a stone at cleve's cross, near merrington. brancepeth was the rendezvous of the "grave gentry of estate and name" in the north, who came to aid the northern earls, westmorland, and northumberland, in the unhappy rising in queen elizabeth's time that cost so many of them their heads as well as their lands. it now belongs to viscount boyne. in spite of its low situation and the too intrusive neighbourhood of the great brancepeth collieries, it is a noble and massive feudal pile, and in its general effect has been pronounced "superior to any other battlemented edifice in the north of england." in the baron's hall are memorials of the battle of neville's cross; but for the most interesting memorials of the noble family that ruled the borders from brancepeth or from raby, and by turns formed alliances with, and plotted against, the king, one must go to the old church of st. brandon, and look at the effigies in carved oak or stone of the nevilles. [illustration: bishop auckland palace and park.] on the other or south side of the wear are whitworth hall, the historic seat of the shaftos, and spennymoor, made memorable by a terrible colliery disaster; and by sunderland bridge, near the inflow of the browney, you cross to the vicinity of deep and haunted croxdale. behind all these rises the high ridge upon which are perched ferryhill and the lofty tower of the old church of merrington. this is a commanding historic site for surveying the county palatine; and on a clear day the view ranges all up the valley of the wear to the mountains of westmorland and cumberland, and south-east and east to the mouth of the tees and to the cleveland hills in yorkshire. near by are many scenes of note in the annals of durham. it was in merrington church that the usurping comyn made his last stand in his "lewd enterprise" of seizing the bishopric in ; and it was the gathering-place of the english forces that assembled to repel the scots before neville's cross. eldon, which gave its name to the eminent lord chancellor; thickley, where were reared those stout cromwellians, general robert and colonel john lilburn; mainsforth, the home of surtees, the historian of durham and friend of walter scott; and bishop middleham, the residence of the bishops for two or three centuries after the conquest, are all within easy reach. to the north and north-east, brancepeth and ushaw college, and the town and towers of durham, are in sight, and between the wear and the sea rise penshaw, wardenlaw, and other heights, and the smoke of collieries innumerable. wardenlaw receives most countenance from tradition for the claim that it is the spot where st. cuthbert made selection of the last resting-place for his bones, weary of long wanderings by land and sea. but, on the ground of situation, the honour might be disputed by a score of other sites commanding a view of the rich valley, the winding river, and the "guarded cliff," crowned by the "cathedral huge and vast," that is at once a monument and a symbol of the grand old saint of the north. to visit durham, or even to see its three great square towers rising in stern and severe majesty over the wear and the masses of houses and foliage clustered beneath, is to feel that the age of miracle is not yet past. or, if the ancient phases of faith and life be indeed dead or dying, there has nowhere in england been left a more solid and impressive memorial of their former strength than the cathedral of durham. the apostle among the angles, dead these twelve centuries, seems to haunt his ancient fane, and to cast the influence of his austere spirit over the narrow streets and lanes of the venerable town. the spell by which these stately arches and massive towers rose, and which, in other centuries, drew towards durham great crowds of pilgrims, and wealth and secular and ecclesiastical power unequalled in the north, is not yet wholly broken. to this day the town stands somewhat aside, with an air of proud seclusion, from the rush and din of the great highways of commerce that pass so near. it gives, indeed, a part of its mind and time to the manufacture of mustard and carpets and the raising of coal, but it does not give its whole heart, like its neighbour cities, to trade. it is a centre of academic culture and learning, and has its thoughts not unfrequently cast back into a darker but splendid past. st. cuthbert's body may follow the way of all flesh, but his will and his character are still living and acting powers in durham. whether chance or heavenly inspiration directed the choice of site, the selection of durham as the stronghold of the religious feeling and of the temporal power of the north was a happy one. for centuries it was the core, not only of the vale of wear and of the county palatine, but of ancient northumbria. to the credit of the scots, to whose account durham and the wear had afterwards to set down so terrible an array of losses and grudges, it has to be said that this region of the north was originally missionised and converted to christianity from the further side of the tweed. when the greater part of saxon england was in heathen darkness, a spark of light was struck at holy island and lindisfarne, and a little later at jarrow and monkwearmouth, and never after was it extinguished. it was carried thither by apostles of the early scottish church, and when oswald, king and saint, granted holy island, close by his royal residence of bamborough, to st. aidan as a site for a monastic house and a centre of missionary effort, the germ was planted of the future see of durham. cuthbert also came from the other side of the border--a border, however, which did not exist in those days as a barrier of ecclesiastical and political power. he was a native of the pleasant vale of lauderdale, and came as a member of the brotherhood of melrose to reinforce the band of holy men whose home was at lindisfarne, and whose special field of labour was the region between tees and tweed. the zeal and the austerities of his companions were not enough to satisfy the ardent soul of cuthbert; neither was holy island a retreat secluded enough for the practice of those penances and prayers by which he sought to mortify the flesh and to propitiate heaven in favour of his work. his fame for piety was such that he was promoted to be bishop of hexham, and afterwards to be head of the monastery of lindisfarne; but, laying down these charges, he retired to the surf-beaten refuge of the farne islands, and there spent the solitary close of his days. even in his lifetime, st. cuthbert's fasts and prayers had, according to the belief of that time, been efficacious in working miracles; and it may be judged whether his brethren were likely to allow the tales of wondrous cures wrought at the touch or word of the holy man to suffer in repetition, or to permit so valuable a power to die with him. on his death-bed, it is said, he exhorted his companions to hold fast by the faith, and, rather than submit to the violation of a jot or tittle of the doctrine and ritual committed to them, to take up his body and flee with it to some spot where the church might be free, and finally triumphant. [illustration: willington.] [illustration: brancepeth castle.] the body of the saint thus became not merely a precious property, in which resided thaumaturgical virtues, but a symbol and pledge of monastic and churchly privileges; and it travelled farther and met with more adventures after death than in life. the pagan norsemen became soon after the curse and the terror of the northumberland coasts. their first descent was made exactly eleven centuries ago--in --and four years later they returned and ravaged lindisfarne, as well as jarrow and other churches; but the monks, on coming back to their ruined home, found the incorruptible body of their saint intact in its shrine. still later, in king alfred's time, the danes hove down upon the shores of england, and the brethren had again to flee for their lives from the marauders. this time, however, because they were not sufficiently persuaded that another miracle would be vouchsafed for the preservation of the precious remains, or for some other good reason, they did not leave the saint to the mercies of the invaders. church legend has repeated with many marvellous particulars the story-- "how when the rude danes burned their pile, the monks fled forth from holy isle-- o'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor, from sea to sea, from shore to shore, seven years saint cuthbert's corpse they bore"; how, also, among other strange experiences, the corpse in its stone coffin floated "light as gossamer" down tweed from melrose to tillmouth; and how, after an excursion to ireland and to craike abbey, it was brought back once more to familiar ground by wear and tyne, but never again to lindisfarne. [illustration: distant view of durham.] it was perhaps because the saint or his guardians thought that the risks of disturbance were too great on holy island that the relics sought refuge at chester-le-street, and there rested for more than a century. and now began the period of power of the bishopric, united to that of hexham. alfred the great had, on regaining the control of his realm, largely endowed the episcopal seat rendered illustrious by the sanctity of cuthbert and the learning of bede. the lands between tyne and tees became "the patrimony of st. cuthbert," and to these were added large possessions or authority in adjoining districts. the king decreed that "whatever additions the bishopric might acquire by benefaction or otherwise should be held free of temporal service of any kind to the crown"--cuthbert's dying wish put into the form of a royal grant. the bishop thus became, within his own domain, a vice-king, exercising civil as well as spiritual jurisdiction. lands and vassals were added by a natural process of selecting the service least onerous in this world and offering the greatest rewards in the next; and the nucleus was formed of the county palatine, which retained, down to the present century, some of the properties of an _imperium in imperio_. in the time of ethelred the unready, the spoilers returned, and the monks and the canonised remains were again driven forth, this time as far as ripon. there came a time when it seemed safe to move back to chester-le-street, but the saint does not appear to have relished reinstatement after eviction. the returning company of monks halted on high ground overlooking the fair vale of wear and the likely site of durham, then an insignificant village, and known as "dunholm." at the top of the hill the precious burden became miraculously heavy, and the bearers had to set it down. three days of prayer and fasting were required before inspired direction was obtained through a monk, or a dun cow--tradition is contradictory on the point--and the _cortège_ finally halted in a grove of trees on the platform of the high peninsula formed by the bend of the river. here first rose a "tabernacle of boughs," and then a humble cell--the "white church"--on the spot, as is supposed, now occupied by the church of st. mary-le-bow, in the north bailey. in a few years' time the bishop, aldune, set to work to erect, upon the site of the present cathedral, a "roof divine" to worthily cover the bones of holy cuthbert; and as the monkish rhyme (translated) runs:-- "arch follows arch; o'er turrets turrets rise, until the hallowed cross salutes the skies, and the blest city, free henceforth from foes, beneath that sacred shadow finds repose." all this happened nine hundred years ago. in counting upon rest, st. cuthbert and his brethren had reckoned without the scots and the normans. aldune's low and crypt-like structure did not last a century. it was rebuilt in statelier form by bishop william de carilepho, and turgot the prior; malcolm of scotland, then on his way to meet rufus at gloucester, also laying a foundation stone. normans and scots thus set their hands to the work of repairing the ruin they had made. it was the way of durham and st. cuthbert's shrine to thrive more by the assaults of enemies than by the benefits of friends. in the meantime, the fame and importance of the place had vastly increased. king canute had made a pilgrimage to the shrine of the patron saint, having travelled the distance from trimdon to durham, by way of garmondsway, with naked feet and clad in pilgrim's weeds. he added liberal gifts and fresh franchises to the see, and encouraged the monks to bring the remains of the venerable bede, the father of english church and secular history, from jarrow monastery to be laid beside those of cuthbert. another great conqueror and sinner--william of normandy--after he had wreaked terrible vengeance on the town that had become the centre of saxon feeling in the north, and that had slaughtered his norman garrison and his norman bishop, showed great respect for the shrine and patrimony of the saint; he even wished to look with his own eyes upon the incorruptible body, but a timely illness that seized him after saying mass in the cathedral baulked his purpose. flambard, pudsey, and the other successors of carilepho, were not so much churchmen as great feudal lords, exercising almost regal sway on the borders and a powerful influence at court. the privileges and revenues of the prince-bishops of durham were a prize that the sovereign himself might covet. they raised armies, coined money, levied taxes, appointed sheriffs and other judicial officers, and, in spite of their vows, exercised the right of presiding in court when sentences of life or death were adjudged upon criminals. in other respects their sacred office sat lightly upon them, and they caroused and hunted and intrigued and plotted on a grander scale than any baron of their time. besides being bishops of st. cuthbert's see, they were titular earls of sadberge, and they found it easy to shuffle off the sacred for the secular character, or the secular for the sacred, as suited them. at the same time they never forgot the tradition of their patron saint, or failed to seize an opportunity of magnifying the office and increasing the dignity and power that centred in the "haliwerk," or castle, and the cathedral. thus flambard divided his energies between building strong castles and completing the great church, and endowing public hospitals and his own bastard children. hugh de pudsey's wealth--such of it as the rapacious hands of the anjou kings left--was spent on similar objects; to him durham town owes its first charter, and the cathedral its famous "galilee porch," or lady's chapel, an ingenious compromise, as we are told, between the inveterate ascetic prejudice of st. cuthbert against the presence of women, and the necessity of allowing the sex access to the chapel dedicated to the virgin. in bishop anthony bek's days the see may be said to have reached the zenith of its splendour. he was little less than a sovereign within his extensive domains; was right-hand man of edward i. in planning and in seeking to carry out the subjugation of scotland; led the van with his northumbrian levies at falkirk, and carried away the stone of destiny from scone to westminster; and, dying, left all he had to st. cuthbert and the church. [illustration: durham cathedral and castle.] signal revenge did the scots work for these wrongs in the time of later bishops; england was never engaged in foreign war or domestic broil but they seized the opportunity of crossing the border, and the see and the city of durham caught the brunt of their attack. that was a crushing check, however, which they suffered in , in the days of the learned bishop hatfield, when david of scotland, taking advantage of edward iii.'s absence on his french wars, crossed the border and with a great host of hungry horsemen was harrying the country up to the gates of durham. england was not altogether defenceless; for the king had left behind him able guardians of the north country, in the persons of his queen philippa and the prince-bishop. the "haliwerk folk" assembled for the protection of their beloved fane, and the nevilles and other great lords called together their retainers to fight under the standard of st. cuthbert. the two armies met at the red hill, a broken and hilly piece of ground a short distance west of the city; and after having hung long doubtful, the fortune of war went utterly against the scots, who left their king in the hands of the victors. a group of monks took up their position at the "maiden's bower," and signalled to another company upon the central tower of the cathedral how it went with the battle; and when at length the invaders were put to rout, a solemn "te deum" was chanted, and this commemorative custom was continued almost to our own day. lord ralph neville, who led the protecting troops, caused the monument to be raised which has given its name--"neville's cross"--to the battle; his body, with that of other members of the great family that once ruled at brancepeth and raby, is buried in the nave; and over his grave was placed, with his own standard, the banner wrested from the king of the scots. though queen philippa was so good a friend to durham, yet the churlish patron saint could not brook her presence near his shrine, and when she took up her quarters in the prior's house she had to flee hastily in the night in her bed-gear. not more hospitable was the welcome given to margaret of anjou, when fortune went finally against the house of lancaster and she fled for refuge to durham. the town and the prince-bishops had ventured and suffered much for the lancastrian cause in the wars of the roses; but they dared not risk the vengeance of the victorious side, and hurried the despairing queen across the border into scotland. more troubles awaited durham at the time of the reformation. for six years cardinal wolsey held the diocese, but confined his duties to drawing its rich revenues. his successor, tunstall, was a man of rare moderation for his time. though a reformer, like his friend erasmus, he was inclined to remain attached to the "old religion," and he suffered at the hands of both parties as they successively came uppermost. in his days the monasteries--including that of durham and the older foundations of monkwearmouth and jarrow, which had long been annexed to it as "cells"--were suppressed; and the curious reactionary movement known as the "pilgrimage of grace" may be said to have had its beginning at durham. it was renewed, with like disastrous consequences, in the time of the first protestant bishop, pilkington, in the famous enterprise of the "rising of the north," when queen elizabeth's partisans, the bowes of streatham, rose to notice over the ruin of the nevilles and percys, earls of westmorland and northumberland. the bishopric was temporarily suppressed during the commonwealth; and the cathedral interior suffered from being the place of confinement of the scottish prisoners from dunbar. but amends came at the restoration, and whatever can be said against the personal or political character of bishops cosin and crewe, they were princely builders, entertainers, and benefactors of the cathedral and city. other eminent men have since occupied the episcopal throne and palace--chief among them for learning and good works being butler, the author of the "analogy"; but since the year almost the whole of the old temporal distinctions and franchises have been stripped from the "fighting bishopric," and her majesty is the countess palatine of durham, and keeps "the peace of st. cuthbert" as well as that of the sovereign. [illustration: chester-le-street.] [illustration: distant view of lambton castle.] durham and its cathedral have an aspect worthy of their history. no such grandly imposing combination of massive norman strength and solemn religious beauty is presented by any other architectural pile in england. seen from framwellgate bridge or any other of the many favourite points of view, it looks, what it has been in the past, "half house of god, half castle 'gainst the scot." about its outward shape there is that air of "rocky solidity and indeterminate endurance" which so impressed dr. johnson in its interior. half the majestic effect of durham cathedral is derived, however, from its situation, settled firmly and boldly upon the highest platform of the rocky promontory washed by the river, its huge central tower rising sheer above all its surroundings--the focus of the picture; its two lesser towers squarely fronting the west; the pinnacles of the eastern transept, or "nine altars," balancing them on the other side; and, grouped around, the castle and its lowering norman keep, and the high masses of other buildings that surmount the beautiful green "banks" and walks descending steeply to the wear. nearer at hand, after climbing and threading the narrow streets to the "castle green," the exterior view of the great cathedral is still profoundly impressive if somewhat monotonous. on the north door hangs the knocker and ring, to which the offender against the laws could cling and claim sanctuary, or "the peace of st. cuthbert." within, the long arched roof and lines of alternate round and cruciform pillars are almost overwhelming, not so much on account of their height as of their ponderous strength and massive dignity. many styles are represented, as many hands have been employed, in the interior; but the pervading spirit is the masterful and dominating genius of the norman. the original work of carilepho and flambard is represented by the nave and choir. bishop pudsey's hand is manifest in the transition-norman of the "galilee" at the west end, under the light and delicate arches of which repose the bones of the venerable bede. the "nine altars," extending eastward beyond the choir, is still later work, and was not completed until about the year . in the graceful elegance of its slender shafts of stone shooting up to the extreme height of the roof, and broken only by the rich carvings of the capitals, and in the light that floods it through the beautiful "rose window" and other inlets, it forms a contrast to the somewhat sombre and heavy grandeur of the main portion of the cathedral, and is one of our finest examples of the early english style of church architecture. here, however, was the "most holy place" in the durham fane; for here is the platform of "the shrine of st. cuthbert," and under it the remains of the hermit of lindisfarne rest after their long wanderings; and beside them lie other relics--"treasures more precious than gold or topaz"--among them the head of st. oswald, "the lion of the angles," and bones of st. aidan. it was long believed that the place of the patron saint's sepulture was a mystery, revealed alone to three brothers of the benedictine order, who, under oath, passed on their knowledge, upon their death-bed, to other members of the monastery. "deep in durham's gothic shade his relics are in secret laid, but none may know the place." but excavations made in have left little doubt that the spot pointed out in this eastern transept is that which contains the veritable remains of the "blessed cuthbert." above it hung his banner and "corporax cloth," carried before the english host to victory at falkirk, neville's cross, flodden, and other fields; and the miraculous "black rood of scotland," another of the spoils of war of the bishopric, was among the treasures of durham cathedral until it was lost at the reformation. the chapter-house, the cloisters, and the dormitory represent most of what remains of the monastery of durham. its priors took rank as abbots, and vied with the bishops of the see in piety and spiritual influence if not in temporal power. in the library and treasury are preserved many valuable manuscript relics of the monastic days, and in the great kitchen of the deanery one may form an idea of the scale on which the old benedictines lived and feasted. other interesting ecclesiastical and secular buildings are collected upon the rocky platform above the wear; but next to the cathedral, the castle takes first rank. it has long ceased to be the seat of episcopal state, as it has ceased to fulfil any warlike purpose in the land. it has been rebuilt, restored and added to many times since the conqueror founded it to hold in check the scots and to overawe the burghers; and it now helps to accommodate the durham university--an institution which oliver cromwell first sought to establish, but which was only brought finally into existence upon the redistribution of the revenues of the see in . norman strength and solidity, so majestically exhibited in the interior and exterior of the cathedral, become grim and sinister in the lines of the castle, and in what remains of the fortifications that enclosed the ancient "ballium." bishop hatfield rebuilt the great keep and the hall named after him, in which bishop anthony bek, that "most famous clerk of the realm," feasted edward longshanks on his way to conquer scotland--the hall which, before or since, has royally entertained a score of different sovereigns as guests of the prince-prelates of durham. but these restorations were made on the earlier foundations, and keep and hall and norman chapel retain many of the old features, and something of the old spirit. feudalism and romance quickly disappear from the scene when durham is left behind, and the wear, now becoming navigable for small craft, is followed farther on its course to the sea. there is an air of mournful solitude about the fragmentary ruins of beaurepaire, or bear park, the retreat of the priors of durham, and of seclusion at the roman catholic college at ushaw, founded for the use of the french refugees from the revolution, and even at sherburn hospital, bishop pudsey's great foundation for lepers, now converted to other charitable purposes. but the squalor of colliery rows intrudes upon the picturesque, and the clash of machinery puts to flight the old spirit of monastic calm. this eastern side of the county of durham is a vast busy workshop--a northern "black country;" and earth and air and water, and even the minds and thoughts of the inhabitants, seem to have an impregnation of coal-dust and engine-smoke. finchale, three or four miles below durham, is still, however, a lonely and retired spot; and a charming road through kepyer wood leads to the interesting ruins of the priory erected by bishop pudsey's son, near the place where the good saint godric dwelt in hermitage. there are still some remains of the beautiful decorative work to be seen through the screen of ivy; and the effect is deepened by the situation, on a promontory round which the river makes a bold sweep, and by the fine woods of cocken that enclose and form a background to the buildings. [illustration: monkwearmouth church.] chester-le-street and lumley and lambton castles are the next places of note by the wear. something already we know about chester, and how narrowly it escaped being the civil and ecclesiastical capital of the county palatine, and the custodian of the bones of st. cuthbert. its business is now mainly with coal and ironstone; but it grumbles a little still over the golden chance it missed, and the baser minerals it has to put up with:-- "durham lads hae gowd and silver, chester lads hae nowt but brass." it is supposed to have been a roman station; but at all events its importance was considerable in saxon times. the church of st. mary and st. cuthbert is six hundred years old; and the most remarkable of its features is perhaps the "aisle of tombs," a row of fourteen recumbent effigies supposed to represent the ancestors of the lumley family, who have lived or had possessions hard by since before the norman conquest, and whose pedigree is so long that james i., compelled to listen to its recital, conjectured that "adam's name was lumley." camden has it, however, that a lord lumley of queen elizabeth's time, who brought this collection of monuments together, "either picked them out of demolished monasteries or made them anew." the family are now represented by the earl of scarbrough whose seat, lumley castle, overlooks the wear and the deep wooded valley through which, coming from houghton-le-spring and hetton-le-hole, runs the lumley beck. it is a goodly and in parts an ancient pile, but since the collieries have crowded around it, lumley sees little of its owners, and has to be content with the range of old family portraits in the grand hall, a companion set to the stone effigies in the church. [illustration: looking up the river, sunderland.] lambton castle is not only surrounded but undermined by pit workings to such an extent that the ground and the fine semi-norman, semi-tudor building upon it--the home for many centuries of the lambtons, now earls of durham--threatened to collapse, and are partly supported by the solid brickwork with which the old mines were filled. lambton belonged of old to the d'arcys; but, according to the legend, it was after it came into the hands of the present family that the famous fight between the heir of the estate and the "worm" took place. the county, as would appear from its traditions, once swarmed with loathly "worms" or dragons; and this one took up its station by coiling itself around the "worm hill," and also frequented the "worm well." the heir of lambton encountered it in armour "set about with razor blades," and the monster cut itself to pieces, the penalty of victory, however, being that no chief of lambton was to die in his bed for nine generations. the most eminent name in the lambton pedigree is that of john, first earl of durham, the champion of reform, and the greek temple that crowns the summit of penshaw hill, on the opposite or south side of the wear, is erected to his memory. at biddick the great victoria railway bridge crosses the wear by a series of large spans at a height of feet above the stream. the "biddickers," now good, bad, and indifferent, like other "keelmen" of their class, were a wild set last century, and among them the jacobite earl of perth found refuge after culloden. the banks of the stream, crowded with busy and grimy colliery rows and coal staithes, the lines of rail and tramway that run up and athwart the inclines, and the fleets of coal-barges ascending and descending, help to announce the close neighbourhood of sunderland. before we reach the seaport of the wear, however, hylton ferry is passed. in spite of the increasing sounds and sights of shipping industry and manufacture, a little bit of superstition and romance continues to linger about dilapidated hylton castle, for a fabulous number of centuries the home of the fighting race of hyltons, now extinct as county landlords: the countryside has not quite forgotten the family goblin or brownie--the "cauld lad"--the eccentric ghost of a stable-boy who was killed in a fit of anger by a former lord of hylton; though it remembers and points out with more pride ford hall, where the havelocks, a martial race of later date and purer fame, were born and bred. it is not easy in these days to associate the three townships comprehended within the municipal and parliamentary bounds of sunderland with cloistral seclusion or warlike events, or with romance or mystery in any form--more especially when the place is approached by road, rail, or river from the colliery districts that hem it in on the land side. yet busy, smoky, and in some spots ugly and squalid as it is, sunderland hardly deserves the censure that has been heaped upon it as a town where "earth and water are alike black and filthy," through whose murky atmosphere the blue sky seldom shows itself, and whose architectural features are utterly contemptible. sunderland has a number of fine buildings and handsome thoroughfares, and a large part of the town is lifted clear of the dingy streets by the wharves and river-bank. the animation on water and shore, the passing stream of coasting and river craft, and the other signs of shipping, shipbuilding, and manufacturing trade, spanned by the huge arch of the cast iron bridge; the larger vessels--evidences of an ocean-going commerce--in and around the docks on either hand; even the smoke and shadows, and the dirt itself in the streets and lanes, might have been reckoned fine pictorial elements of interest in a foreign seaport. coal, lime, and iron; timber, glass, and chemicals; ship stores, ship fittings, and fishing, are the businesses to which modern sunderland, bishop wearmouth, and monkwearmouth, chiefly give mind and time. it was very different when they first began to be mentioned in history. the little harbourage at the mouth of the wear was a shelter for ships, but it was also a place of refuge for studious and pious men. we hear of it first in the seventh century, when, soon after aidan became bishop of lindisfarne, st. hilda, or bega, obtained a grant of land on the north side of the river and founded the convent of st. bee's. biscopius, a saxon knight in the service of king oswyn of northumberland, resolved to renounce war and the world, and having prepared himself by making a pilgrimage to rome, whence he brought back many precious books and relics, he obtained from the pious king ecgfrith a grant of land near the nunnery--the modern monkwearmouth--and set to work in to build the monastery of st. peter's; and a few years later he founded st. paul's, at jarrow. it has to be noted that biscopius, who took the name of benedict, brought over from france masons and glaziers to instruct the natives in these arts, and that glass-making has ever since flourished on the wear and tyne. all this we know from the venerable bede, who, when quite a young boy, resided in st. peter's, under the abbot ceolfrid, before he took up his abode for life in the sister monastery at jarrow. it is thought by archæologists that part of the original building is to be seen to this day in the west porch and west wall of the old church of monkwearmouth. sunderland already existed at that date; and the name was probably confined to the peninsula between the natural harbour on the south side of the wear and the sea. of bishop wearmouth, or "the delightful vill of south wearmouth," as it was called, we do not hear until alfred's time, when large additional grants were made to benedict's monastery, partly in exchange for a "book of cosmogony," which had been brought from rome. the danes, the pest, and the scots troubled much the place, and reduced the number of the inmates of the house. sometimes these were as many as six hundred; sometimes they were like to have perished altogether, and for two centuries the place lay "waste and desolate." malcolm was here on a plundering excursion when st. margaret and her brother, the atheling, happened to be in the wear, waiting for a fair wind to carry them to scotland--a meeting that probably changed the rude monarch's life and the national history. in the brethren of both wearmouth and jarrow were removed to durham, and, as we have seen, both houses were reduced to cells dependent on the monastery of st. cuthbert. the mouth of the wear had compensation in the growth of other and more secular interests. seven centuries ago bishop pudsey granted a charter to sunderland; and the liberties and privileges of the borough were extended by subsequent holders of the see, in consideration of its increasing trade and consequence. in the sixteenth century, as we learn, the coal trade was already of some importance, and sunderland was "enriched every day thereby;" grindstones also became a far-famed article of export from the wear. its industrial development was temporarily checked during the civil war, when sunderland became a centre of fighting between cavaliers and roundheads. the scots army, under leslie, earl of leven, encamped on what is now part of the long high street of bishop wearmouth, and not far from the building hill, which local tradition points out as a druidical place of worship. the king's forces from newcastle drew out to face the "blue bonnets," first on bolden hill and afterwards at hylton; and skirmishing took place, which was not attended with decisive results. the commercial development of sunderland has since been steady and often rapid. including bishop wearmouth and monkwearmouth, it now contains some , inhabitants, and it ranks high among british ports in shipbuilding tonnage and coal output. it has other claims to distinction: paley was rector of bishop wearmouth last century, and wrote his "evidences" there; and further proofs could be given that learning and piety did not come to an end at wearmouth in biscopius's and bede's time, any more than did the worldly enterprise of the "canny" inhabitants. outside, the north sea beats against the long piers and lighthouses, and rocks the fleets of steamers and sailing craft lying at anchor, or plying between the wear and the tyne; and on either hand, at roker and whitburn, ryhope and seaham, are the bold cliffs and bathing sands, the caves and cloven "gills" and wooded "denes," to which the dwellers by the wear resort to fill their lungs with fresh air. john geddie. [illustration: cross fell.] the tees. among the fells--the weel--caldron snout--high force--gibson's cave--bow leys--middleton-in-teesdale--the lune and the balder--scandinavian names--cotherstone cheese--history in teesdale--scott's description of the tees--egliston abbey--greta bridge--dickens and mr. squeers--brignal banks and rokeby--the village of ovington--gainford--pierce bridge--high and low coniscliffe--croft--yarm--the industries of the tees--stockton--middlesbrough--the sea. "you can stand in fower keaunties at yance at caldron snout," said the companionable whip whom i had engaged to drive me, for such distance as the roads went, towards the first joyous springing up of the tees at cross fell. the statement was a palpable exaggeration; no mere biped can stand in four counties at once; the most that is practicable is to straddle from one county to another. but from caldron snout the nearest point of cumberland is distant at least five miles; so that only the counties of durham, yorkshire, and westmorland touch each other where this marvellous waterfall pours through its rocky and precipitous gorge. however, the information was passably accurate. from the natives of upper teesdale no exact knowledge is to be extracted, by hook or by crook. they are chiefly remarkable for what they don't know. from middleton, cross fell was five miles away--six miles, ten miles, fifteen miles, and so on, through an ever-lengthening road. a landlord, who was really not stupid-looking, and who was certainly not indifferent to matters of business, was unable to name the beck which flows within a few yards of his own door. "you will have h'ard o' th' high force?" queried a middletonian. "it's a famous place, is th' high force. well, no; i've never seen it myself; but i've lived five miles from it all my life, an' it's a fine, famous place is th' high force." a fair sample of what the inhabitant of upper teesdale knows, or cares to know. this singular incuriousness is almost general. the facts of nature are accepted as matters of course, and without inquiry. the report of the adventurous traveller is enough. in the first fifty miles of wandering by tees-side i encountered only one man who was proud of his information, and this related exclusively to the places of public entertainment in the village of yarm. mr. samuel weller's knowledge of london was not more extensive and peculiar. in a slow, cautious, and yet eager style of speaking, he gave a detailed and exhaustive account of every public-house in the village, with sidelong glances at the characters of the various landlords, and an evidently cultivated criticism of the quality of the refreshment supplied by each. the long ridge of cross fell was grey and cloudlike, as seen in the morning sunshine, from where our pair of horses finished their journey at the green hurth mines. the intervening space of undulating moor was as parched and brown as if some sudden flame had swept across it; and where the clouds moved slowly across the grey-blue of the sky, long bands of dark shadow fell, so intense as to lend the brightness of contrast to what otherwise might itself have seemed to be a mass of shade. not a single tree was in sight, but only whin-bushes and their yellow bloom. a white gleam of water in occasional hollows of the hills indicated the sluggish beck which divides durham from cumberland; and to the left, in a winding course well marked by the depression of the moorlands, the tees wandered towards caldron snout, flanked by the steep side of dufton fell. it is here but a thin and narrow stream on dry summer days, but in times of rain it broadens and swells with an amazing suddenness, rushing downwards with a great roar and tumult of waters, so unexpected, sometimes, and with a character so much resembling the opposite phenomenon of the bore on the severn, that holiday visitors, inapprehensive of calamity, have before now been carried headlong over the terrible cataract of high force. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the tees.] the guide-book accounts of upper teesdale are mainly remarkable for their singular inattention to facts, and their following of each other. "murray" confidently places high force at a distance of five miles below the source of the river at cross fell. as a plain matter of fact, it is five miles from high force to caldron snout, a much more amazing waterfall, and there are more than seven miles as the crow flies between caldron snout and tees head. it is a country bare of inhabitants and abounding in game. there is no village beyond langdon beck, where we begin the ascent of the moors. the tees is joined by numerous little streams before it leaves cumberland, and flows through the four or five miles of stern valley where westmorland and durham face each other. just before reaching the wild extremity of yorkshire it thrusts out a broad arm through a deep, long recess of the hills, and "as with molten glass inlays the vale." the weel is the odd and unaccountable name which has been given to this winding lake. it lies, white and weird and still, where scarcely even the winds can reach it; and so deserted is it that not so much as a single wild fowl breaks the surface of its ghastly calm. there is henceforth no more rest to the tees water during the whole of its curiously devious journeying to the sea. below the weel it tumbles with desperate tumult over caldron snout, foaming down into a pool two hundred feet beneath. had southey beheld this waterfall when it was in flood he would scarcely have had the heart to write of the falls of lodore. here there are no mossy rocks or sheltering trees to dapple the scene with their brightness and shadow. the river dashes in a succession of leaps over the bare basalt, swirling and boiling after such manner as easily explains the name given to this most lonely and most splendid of english cataracts, where the creamy waters-- "with many a shock given and received in mutual jeopardy, dance, like a bacchanal, from rock to rock, tossing her frantic thyrsus wide and high!" here the tees, in a succession of violent cascades, makes a descent, as we have seen, of two hundred feet. at high force it falls by only seventy-five feet; but, whereas the lonelier cataract is a long and broken slope, the water at high force falls with plummet-like directness, in a vast broad sheet when the river is in flood, in two straight white columns when the floods are subsiding, and in a single glittering fall when the river is at its normal height. here the contrast between the yorkshire and the durham side of the tees first makes itself decisively felt. the steep but still gradual declivity of the durham side is veiled in woods of birch and beech and fir; on the yorkshire side the basalt descends sheer to the river's bed, and beyond and above it there is a bare expanse of unprofitable fields, darkened here and there by patches of whin-bush and long streaks of broom. this barren character is maintained, with a gradual decrease of sternness, until the little town of middleton-in-teesdale comes in sight. [illustration: high force.] [illustration: from york side.] middleton is a long, straggling town, starting away from a stone bridge over the tees, and climbing far away up the sides of the hills. it is built entirely of stone, even to the roofs and the chimneys. this is a peculiarity of all the houses in upper teesdale. slates, in small quantities, have penetrated thus far into the wilds; but of baked clay, otherwise than in the form of pottery, there is no suggestion until the village of cotherstone is reached, whence emanates the famous cotherstone cheese. below the bridge at middleton the tees leaves behind it the stern yorkshire moorlands and scaurs, the hills on either bank withdrawing themselves that it may glitter in the sunbeams over a pebbly bed. henceforth, until it approaches the large towns, and when it encounters the sea-tides, it flows, broad and open, past richly-wooded banks. in all england there is no more pleasant valley than that which the tees waters between middleton and pierce bridge. there is an almost equal beauty in the valleys of its numerous tributaries. "all the little rills concealed among the forked hills" have their individual features of loveliness, and hide sweet secrets of their own. about a mile below middleton the river lune ripples sunnily down into the tees. rising in westmorland, it flows across that portion of yorkshire which interposes itself between westmorland and durham, wearing one of the deepest of channels for itself, and giving token of frequent floods in the large stones by which its bed is thickly strewn. the river lune is a favourite stream for trout, but it is still more renowned as a spawning ground for salmon; for as that kingly fish cannot ascend the tees beyond the seventy-foot precipice at high force, and as some of the higher tributaries are polluted with water from the lead mines, the lune and the balder, a smaller stream which flows into the tees at cotherstone, are almost the only accessible breeding beds. [illustration: barnard castle.] "fish! i should think so!" says a man who has fishings to let. "why, there are times in the year when you could take salmon out by the armful." to the remark that this is not the time when salmon ought to be taken, he replies that there are good trout at any time of the year; and a very cursory observation of the tees proves this to be true. the keen observation of sir walter scott led him to remark on the blackness of this river. coming down from the moorlands, it is thickly stained by the peat; but the peaty colour does not in fact obscure the clearness of the water, and looking down from above, one may everywhere see the fish shooting athwart the stream in little shoals. the river is exceedingly well preserved; indeed, on one side it is in the hands of the duke of cleveland, on the other it is well tended by mr. morritt of rokeby, the earl of strathmore, and sir talbot constable. nevertheless, fishing is to be had on easy terms--from henry ludgate, of winston, for example, who was formerly gamekeeper to the earl of brownlow, and who now keeps a public-house and writes verses. his political ideas take that turn, he observes, and the visitor to henry's hostelry may hear some of the verses repeated if he should be so minded as to listen to them. there are no towns on the tees until one of the most horrible in all england is reached--stockton, to wit; but there are innumerable villages. some of these are quite remarkable for their cleanliness and beauty. romaldkirk, the second village from middleton, on the yorkshire side, is an incomparable village, far scattered, but bound together by a plenitude of trees. romaldkirk--anciently "rum auld kirk," a serious-minded old villager observed, with a trenchant faith in his etymology--is noticeable not only for its combination of all the charms that an english village can possess, but also on account of its parish church and its parish stocks. the stocks are unique, indeed. shackles of this ancient description are usually of wood; but the stocks at romaldkirk are bars of iron, fastened in stone posts, and ingeniously bent so that one of the bars, locked down on the other, will imprison two pairs of feet. in winter the parish stocks of romaldkirk must have been the most uncomfortable parish stocks in all england. the villagers preserve them now with genuine and reasonable pride, and the oldest inhabitant sits upon them and relates sad stories of the last persons who were imprisoned therein. the church has been so little restored that it remains one of the finest examples of early ecclesiastical architecture. it is unusually large for so small a village, a fact which is explained by its erection by the barons fitzhugh, who were buried here whenever they chanced to die in their beds. the building dates from the twelfth century, and is in the early english style. one of the lords fitzhugh is kept in remembrance by a statue in chain-armour, still contemplated by the villagers with a mixture of awe and delight. the fitzhughs are again in evidence at the village of cotherstone, two miles further down the tees. they had a castle there, of which a small portion still remains, bearing the same proportion to a complete feudal castle that an odd brick will bear to a modern house. cotherstone is a smart, businesslike village, for these parts. some of its stone roofs have a coping of red tiles, the first to be seen in upper teesdale. it has recently built itself a very pretty little church. above all, it is renowned for its cheese. this cheese of cotherstone is in shape similar to stilton; but, however long stilton cheese may be kept, it can never approach that of cotherstone in aroma. a cotherstone cheese, truly, requires a large room all to itself; it is not the kind of cheese that one can live with, even for the short space of lunch; it is a militant sort of cheese--fit to defeat armies. those who produce it were formerly thought to be rather pronounced rustics by the inhabitants of teesdale. they were called "cotherstone calves," and uncomplimentary references were made to the strength of their heads; but the school boards have changed all that, and a young cotherstone calf now speaks with a certain air of refinement, and is not above feeling pleasure in giving information to the intruding stranger. the tees is not a river of traditions and memories. it must have a marvellous history, indeed, but it is, for the most part, unknown. up among the fells, where it rises, one is constantly in danger of falling into pits in which the romans or the britons worked for lead; there is scarcely a space of fifty yards by the present roadside which does not bear traces of former mining; from which one surmises that the very road over which one travels has existed from the time when rome conquered britain for the sake of the metals which it was supposed to contain. the watling street approached the tees at greta bridge; the leeming lane went through the river at pierce bridge, to cross the watling street near middleton tyas, in yorkshire. there are almost innumerable remains of roman camps and british defences; but, nevertheless, there is no history to speak of. when sir walter scott sought a story with which to connect the scenery of the tees he went back no further than to the conflict between the cavaliers and roundheads. the records of this wide district have, in fact, perished; between the present population and that of the earlier centuries of the christian era there is no relationship of blood and no inheritance of tradition. the solitary fragment of the castle of the fitzhughs is more like a satirical commentary on the past than its memorial. the balder joins the tees at cotherstone; it is a shady little river flowing through a deep ravine. the tees itself is at this point exceedingly lovely, streaming in a fine curve from beneath overhanging woods, and winding past a quaint old mill, which nestles by the waterside under high banks that are crowned by a tall fringe of trees. there is, probably, no english river which journeys for so many miles through such beautiful and unbroken woods. from the slope which is occupied by the village of cotherstone one may see the domes of the bowes museum at barnard castle, rising out of what appears to be a vast forest, interspersed here and there with patches of cultivated ground. no sparkle of water is anywhere visible in the whole wide landscape, but the course of the tees may be traced by a wavy and depressed line in the woodland verdure; and one guesses how, over many a mile, the bright river is making a sunshine in the shady place. "romantic deepdale" joins the tees a little above barnard castle. it is such a tributary as wordsworth speaks of, a "----torrent white, the fairest, softest, loveliest of them all! and seldom ear hath listened to a tune more lulling than the busy hum of noon, swollen by that voice whose murmur musical announces to the thirsty fields a boon dewy and fresh, till showers again shall fall" deepdale burn winds away across yorkshire, over bowes moor, and to the borders of westmorland, through one of the most lovely valleys in the whole of the north country. "barnard castle standeth stately upon tees," says leland. stately it is to this day, though it is no more than a group of ruined towers and crumbling walls, and though where the tees must have flowed deep and wide from below the castle rock there is now at ordinary seasons only a thin stream, threading its way through what might very well be mistaken for a stone-yard. before the castle is reached we have, in fact, come to the first salmon weir, which, besides its other purpose, is employed to divert the river to the service of industry. from barnard castle these weirs become very frequent, and are, in all cases but this, an addition to the attractions of the stream. it was the weir just below barnard castle that supplied creswick with a subject for one of his most famous and successful pictures. the artist visited the town very frequently, and stayed there for weeks on end; wherefore he is still well remembered by some of the older inhabitants, not always with that kindliness which one would have been glad to associate with his name. barnard castle is one of the oddest and most interesting towns in the north. there is a wholly individual character in its buildings, as if its architects had devised a style of their own. few of the houses are older than the period of elizabeth, but they are almost all of them of respectable age. the building material is stone in all cases, and the houses are unusually high and substantial, often of four and sometimes of five stories. on either bank below the castle they are built down into the bed of the river, and as, in scott's words, the tees here "flows in a deep trench of solid rock," the houses by the riverside descend as much below the level of the street as they rise above it. yet despite the stoutness and the elaboration of these buildings, the riverside streets present that appearance of misery and squalor which seems inevitable in every manufacturing town, however limited may be the field of its industry. dwellings which were clearly built for persons of wealth and position are let as tenements, and, there is, consequently, an odd contrast between their stateliness and the dress and appearance of those who lounge about their doors. however, the wide central street of barnard castle, sloping down from the market place to the river, still preserves an air of old-time respectability, and has the sleepy aspect of a country town, as if it had dozed away a century or two without activity or change. there is in this street a remarkable old elizabethan house, in which oliver cromwell is said to have lodged himself for a while. [illustration: barnard castle: the town.] the castle, which enclosed a circuit of six acres or more, was built by bernard baliol, a son of that guy baliol whom i have had occasion to mention in connection with bywell-on-tyne. a descendant of bernard climbed to the scottish throne, doing homage for the crown at newcastle to the first edward. edward baliol did like homage to edward iii. for the crown and kingdom of scotland. it was a short and unfortunate dynasty which the baliols founded, brought to an end by the battle of bannockburn. john baliol presumed too much on his independence as a king, wherefore his patron, edward i., seized upon his castle and his english estates, and the stately building on the banks of the tees was given to the beauchamps of warwick. thence it passed by marriage into the hands of the nevilles, and was part of the dower of anne neville, the daughter of the king-maker, when she married the scheming politician who was to become richard iii. gloucester not only dwelt here for some time, but left decided marks of his tenancy, the latest portions of the building being held by antiquarians to have been erected under his superintendence. since barnard castle has been a ruin, the survey of that year exhibiting it as tenantless, mouldering, and weather-worn, "the doors without locks, the windows without glass." below barnard castle there is an open space of greensward extending over a few acres, and then the river, after falling over creswick's salmon pass, plunges once more into the woods. between this point and the village of wycliffe lies the most lovely scenery of the tees. at about a mile from barnard castle, on the yorkshire side, thor's gill flows into the river through a deep ravine, and out of the neighbouring trees rise the impressive ruins of egliston abbey. tired indeed of the world must have been those who came to this wild and lonely place for service and prayer. with thor's gill beside them, and the tees far down below, in the front of their dwelling, they would look in all other directions over miles of barren moor, now subdued and cultivated by the plough. in time of flood the noise of waters must have drowned the intoning of their psalms, for at this section of its course the river is confined between rocky precipices, and ploughs its way over an amazing bed of that marble for which barnard castle formerly had a sort of fame. there is a fine stone bridge below the abbey, of one enormous span, with the river flowing a hundred feet beneath, "through paths and alleys roofed with sombre green." the abbey of egliston was founded about the beginning of the thirteenth century, and was dedicated to st. mary and st. john the baptist. its inhabitants were the premonstratensian or white canons, whose alleged object was to ensure a pure and contemplative life, and who, in coming here, certainly removed themselves from the reach of worldly temptations, and secured plenteous leisure for meditative calm. they must have seemed like ghosts amid these woodlands, their dress being a long white cassock, a rochet, a white cloak, and a white cap. they are supposed to have been the schoolmasters of john wycliffe, who was born some four or five miles away, and who would find only one other place of education within his reach. in scott's time some portions of the religious house attached to the abbey were still habitable, and until quite recently a hermit dwelt in one of the chambers; but the progress of decay has, during the last five or six years, been exceedingly rapid, and before long, probably, this interesting ruin will be no more than a heap of grey stones. at my own recent visit parts of the walls were being removed lest they should fall in, and the materials were being employed in some farm buildings near. there were signs of impending collapse elsewhere, and only such restorations as would be a disfigurement could now save what remains of the abbey for future generations. [illustration: on the greta at rokeby.] about two miles from egliston, still on the yorkshire side, is the fine domain of rokeby park, along one side of which the greta flows to the tees. greta bridge is known to all lovers of literature through the mention of it which is made by dickens. it was there that nicholas nickleby descended from the coach which had brought him thus far on his way towards dotheboys hall. "about six o'clock that night he and mr. squeers and the little boys and their united luggage, were all put down together at the george and new inn, greta bridge." dickens insists that whilst he was not exaggerating the cruelties practised on boys at schools resembling dotheboys hall, mr. squeers was the representative of a class and not of an individual. this is a view of the facts that the people around greta bridge cannot be induced to accept, and there is no doubt that the novelist really did--without intending it, probably--very serious injury to one who is held by those who knew him to have been a very estimable man. [illustration: junction of the greta and the tees.] there is now no one living to whom a relation of the facts can give pain, and so they shall be stated briefly here. the school which has been generally accepted as the subject of the great novelist's savage exposure was situated at bowes, four miles from greta bridge. bowes is no more than one straggling street, stretching away towards the desolation of stanmore, and the school which was identified with dotheboys hall is the last house in the village, which lies along the roman road of the watling street. the place was kept by a mr. shaw, who is said to have died of a broken heart. he had "only one eye," as dickens remarked of his grim tyrant; he had also a wife and a daughter who assisted him in the management of the school. so far he "realises the poster," as an actor would say. there is no doubt, either, that his school was visited, and that he was seen by dickens and by hablot browne. the one eye was in itself, unfortunately, a sufficient means of identification, there being no other one-eyed schoolmaster within any known distance of greta bridge. dickens may have meant no more than to make use of this personal characteristic, combined with characteristics derived from other sources, as in the almost equally unlucky miss moucher case; but he had so associated a one-eyed schoolmaster with a place not far from greta bridge that no amount of explanation could remove the impression that mr. squeers was intended for mr. shaw, or could repair what was unquestionably an injury to one who stood high in the good opinion of his neighbours. all the members of the squeers group of characters, indeed, were identified with persons then living in or around bowes. john browdie, for instance, is said to have been a farmer named brown, and of the browns there are still several families among the substantial farmers of the district. of the good-feeling of which mr. shaw was the subject there are evidences still remaining in the resentment which is felt by the older inhabitants of bowes when any inquiry is made as to dotheboys hall. "you'd better gan and inquire somewheere else," one of these remarked when questioned on the subject. "yow folks come here asking all manner of questions, and then you gan and write bowks about us." the name of dickens is absolutely detested by some of those who know the circumstances. as to the lady who was identified with fanny squeers, and who died but recently, she is declared to have been distinguished by great kindness of heart, "the sort of woman a dog or a child leaps to instinctively." in fact, however true it may have been that "mr. squeers and his school are faint and feeble pictures of an existing reality," it seems to be placed beyond question by common testimony that this reality did not exist at the village of bowes, though nothing whatever can now remove the impression that dickens intended to represent the school of mr. shaw. [illustration: wycliffe.] besides the "george," mentioned by the novelist, there is at greta bridge another well-known place of entertainment, the "morritt arms." the village is scarcely of consequence, except as the site of a roman station, of which the remaining indications are now "a grassy trench, a broken stone." the greta is between here and the tees so beautiful a river that scott exhausted upon it all his powers of description, both in verse and prose. having skirted rokeby park, it sweeps over a shelf of rock under a moss-covered bridge half-hidden in trees, and there meets with the obstacle of gigantic rocks, which seem as if they had been carried down in some tremendous flood and piled together in the central bed of the stream. round these the greta swirls to the tees in two long rushing curves when the river is high, but in quiet, dry seasons it has one channel only, down which it rushes impetuously out of the leafy shade into the open sunlight. two miles above rokeby are those brignal banks of which the poet sings-- "o, brignal banks are wild and fair, and greta woods are green, and you may gather garlands there would grace a summer queen." the present mansion of rokeby is modern, and occupies the site of a manor house which was burned down by the scots after the battle of bannockburn. the rokebys were a powerful family in these parts up to the occurrence of the civil wars. it was a rokeby who, according to holinshed, defeated the insurrection of the earl of northumberland, in the time of henry iv., and slew the earl. scott gives the whole of the family pedigree in the notes to his poem, showing how the rokebys were high sheriffs of yorkshire through many generations, as well as justiciaries, secretaries of state, and members of council. they were destroyed by their loyalty and the bad faith of the stuarts, as was the case with so many other ancient families, and their estates, after passing through the hands of the robinsons, have been in the possession of the morritts through several generations. there is a remarkable peel tower, with singularly light and graceful battlements, broken into varying heights, on the ridge of a hill just beyond the junction of the greta with the tees. it is now surrounded by farm buildings, but is much visited on account of the spectre called the dobie of mortham, a murdered lady whose blood the eye of strong faith may still see on the steps of the tower. high above the tees on the durham side, when mortham has been passed, may be seen the pretty village of whorlton, the first red-tiled village that we have so far encountered on tees-side. it is approached by an iron suspension bridge, which crosses the river at a point where its broad bed of solid rock is curiously broken into long uneven steps, giving it the appearance of having been quarried at some remote time, and making a series of falls that, instead of crossing the river, as ordinarily occurs, shelve along one side of it, and continue for long distances, turning the current in an almost indescribable way. [illustration: gainford.] these singular breaks in the river bed mark the course of the tees until the yorkshire village of wycliffe is reached, something over a mile from mortham tower. except for the fact that the great reformer was born here, the place is as unimportant as a newly-planted city in the american wilds; it consists, indeed, of no more than four or five scattered cottages, a parsonage, a church, and wycliffe hall. the parsonage is very large, and the church is very diminutive, seeming to be only an ornament of the parsonage grounds. but around this little church many of the wycliffes lie buried, and among the monumental brasses there is one recording the death and the burial of the last of the name. even yet, however, the wycliffe blood is not extinct, for it flows in the veins of sir talbot clifford constable, the owner and tenant of wycliffe hall. if the "morning star of the reformation" did not receive his first teaching at egliston abbey, as dr. vaughan has surmised, he must have ascended the hill from wycliffe to where now stands the pretty village of ovington, for here was formerly a priory of gilbertine canons, though no traces of it now remain. ovington stands higher than any other village on tees-side, and from the level of its green the woods through which the river surges are far down below, so that even their highest tops do not reach to the crown of the ridge. ovington is a right sweet and pleasant and prosperous village, much beloved of anglers, there being abundant fish. nowhere is the tees more shaded and beautiful, with its stream broken up into many currents by a series of wooded islands, on which the easy-going inadventurous fisher may lie under the leafy branches through torrid summer days. [illustration: croft.] [illustration: blackwell bridge.] ovington is a village with a maypole in the middle of its green--a maypole with tattered garlands still clinging to its iron crown. the neat cottages all have their little gardens in front, and are roofed with rich brown tiles. there is a hostelry with the curious sign of "the four alls," where one may find such entertainment as few villages in england can provide, and sit in rooms over the decoration of which an obviously æsthetic taste has presided. the sign of "the four alls" is weather-stained unduly, but one may still discern pictures of a crowned king, with the motto, "i govern all;" of a soldier, with the motto, "i fight for all;" of a bishop, with the motto, "i pray for all;" and of a husbandman, with his motto of "i pay for all." this is possibly a product of the native yorkshire wit, of the same variety as that which has designed the yorkshire coat of arms, "a flea, a fly, a flitch of bacon, and a magpie." [illustration: yarm.] the tees has much loveliness but little variety between ovington and yarm; it has lost most of its wilder features, and--through many a winding curve, for it is an erratic river, bending and turning with a strange wilfulness--its deep woods "in seeming silence make a soft eye-music of slow waving boughs, powerful almost as vocal harmony." at gainford, which clusters round a large village green, there is an air of rustic fashion and luxury, for here reside many prosperous persons who have places of business in darlington, which is seven miles away. gainford boasts of a medicinal spring, or spa. it is a pretty strong fountain of water, situated about half a mile from the village, and close to the banks of the tees, which at this place has a pathway through the woods. it is affirmed of the gainford spa that whilst the water has the usual "smell of rotten eggs" it is innocent of unpleasant taste, an asseveration which, having tested it, i cannot conscientiously confirm. the church of gainford, it is stated in all the guide-books, is of great antiquity, having been built by egred, bishop of lindisfarne, between the years and ; but as a matter of fact scarcely anything of this old church remains, except a few sculptured stones and fragments of crosses which have been built, in an exceedingly _olla podrida_ manner, into the porch of the present building, where i found displayed a carefully detailed statement of the week's revenue, amounting to the sum of fifteen shillings and eightpence-halfpenny. on the yorkshire bank, opposite to gainford, there is the end of an ancient earthwork, which runs across country from the swale to the tees, and which is surmised to be older than the roman conquest of britain. at gainford, samuel garth, the poet of the "dispensary," was born. two miles from this village, and by so much nearer to the wealthy "quaker town" of darlington, a noble stone bridge crosses the tees, connecting the yorkshire bank with the site of the ancient roman station of magis. pierce bridge carries the old roman road--the leeming lane--from durham to yorkshire. careless antiquaries call it the watling street, which, however, we left behind us at greta bridge. for twenty miles or so, or for an equal space on either side of the tees, the leeming lane, which has various local designations, is probably the straightest road in all england. one may see it rising and falling for miles in front, always keeping the direct course, whatever may be the depressions in the land. at pierce bridge, which is famous for its fishing, and where the trout may be seen lightly disporting themselves, the forces under the earl of newcastle had a skirmish with those of lord fairfax in , at the hottest period of the civil war. a mile further down the river is high coniscliffe, which is quaintly situated above a sudden cliff, so that it seems as if the first buildings erected here must have been intended for defence. it is but a very little cluster of buildings, this high coniscliffe, taking its name, perhaps, from the fact that the river banks hereabouts are much frequented by rabbits, as, indeed, is the case with the banks of the tees from rokeby downwards. the one prominent building is the church, which has the peculiarity of being seven times as long as it is broad. the other singularity is that the pillars supporting the arches of the nave are no more than six feet in height. low coniscliffe, two miles away, is a more humble place, with no appearance of a cliff to account for its designation, and with an aspect of old-world poverty such as is presented by no other place with which we have, so far, met. at this point the interest of the river is, for the present, exhausted, and its beauty is gone, for just beyond low coniscliffe there is a quarter of a mile or so of waterworks, stretching on either side of the main road to darlington, the three towns of stockton, darlington, and middlesbrough, here pumping their water from the tees. darlington itself we leave to our left, but pass the mansions of some of its wealthy men--the peases, the backhouses, the frys--who, however much they may retain of the old quaker simplicity, certainly make no striking exhibition of it in the character of their dwellings. three miles from "the quaker town," and a much greater distance from high coniscliffe, as the river winds, is the ancient village of croft, occupying both banks of the tees. on the yorkshire side is the famous spa, to which invalids resort to drink the waters and to take the baths, and where marvellous cures are said to have been effected in times past. there are four sulphureous springs, of a much more decided character than the one already visited at gainford, and owing, it may be, some part of their attractiveness to the sweetness of their situation. croft is very commonplace on the durham and very lovely on the yorkshire side. the stone bridge which connects the two portions of the village, built in , is the finest which crosses the tees at any part of its course. it is on the site of an older structure, which was deemed greatly important by henry viii., as "the most directe and sure way and passage for the king our sovereign lord's army," when it was necessary to march against the scots. the present bridge has a series of seven ribbed arches of fair width, and is so substantial that it is likely to endure until it can boast a more than respectable antiquity. croft church is a half-brown, half-grey old building of mixed materials and of most evident age. it has an appearance more worn and dilapidated even than its years warrant, though it was built at least as early as the fifteenth century, seeing that it contains a tomb of one richard clervaux, who died in . the interior of the church has great architectural interest, and the exterior is, in its quaint way, one of those "things of beauty" which deserve to remain "joys for ever." in this church bishop burnet may have listened to his first sermon, for it was at croft that he was born. the lord of the manor of croft, by the way, formerly held his lands on the peculiar condition that he should meet every newly-appointed bishop of durham on croft bridge, and, presenting him with a rusty old sword, declare--"my lord, this is the sword which slew the worm-dragon, which spared neither man nor woman nor child." traditions of these worm-dragons are plentiful in the north of england. there was, for example, "the lambton worm," slain by an ancestor of the present earl of durham, which used to devour a maiden at a meal; and there was "the loathly worm of spindleston haugh," with a similarly voracious appetite. the lands of croft had evidently been given to some supposed dragon-slayer, and were continued to his descendants by the yielding up and the immediate return of the famous sword. we are now more than ever reminded that the tees is the dividing line of two counties. though the river has constantly increased in width, all the towns from croft downwards are situated more or less on each side of the stream. the first of these is the quiet and sleepy town of yarm, with a single broad street on one side of the river, and a few scattered houses and windmills on the other. up to yarm the tide reaches, and here also the net-fishing for salmon begins, small cobles, with salmon-nets on board, being plentiful in the neighbourhood of yarm bridge. what else the people of yarm do for a living in these days is not readily discernible. in former times they were shipbuilders on a limited scale, though they must have been exceedingly small vessels which could be launched in such a situation. yet there must have been some period of great prosperity in the previous history of the place, as will be guessed from the fact that the houses are almost all of great width and height, and--as is evident from a peculiarity of style not seen elsewhere--were built with some thought of show. the one street of the place is of the width of three or four streets in the more crowded quarters of the larger towns lower down the tees, and has in its centre an odd sort of town hall, like a large sentry-box on arches. at yarm we set our faces towards the great, growing tees-side towns, passing the pretty bridge at blackwell, where sir henry havelock-allan has a beautiful seat. already the smoke of great industries is darkening the atmosphere, and when the wind is still and the clouds are low, a black, unpleasant haze creeps over the face of the country and spreads itself far inland. [illustration: stockton.] by the time it reaches stockton bridge the tees has been transformed from one of the most wild and lovely to one of the most tame and repellent of existing rivers. its soiled waters henceforth flow between banks of blast-furnace slag; unpleasant odours float about its shores; it is ploughed by great steamships; all around there is the smoke of furnaces, the noise of hammers, the ugliness of trade. stockton is a town of ancient foundation, which, after sleeping beside the tees for ages, suddenly woke up to find itself in the nineteenth century, and, full of the nineteenth century desire to "get on," shook off its old apathy, measured itself against the age, deepened its river, built ships, smelted ironstone, cast and forged and manufactured, until it found itself accepted as one of the most spirited and enterprising of english towns. in the process of growth everything that may have been beautiful in its surroundings has been destroyed, and now, glorying in its ugliness, it flaunts its frightful aspect as one of its claims to consideration. [illustration: high street, stockton.] stockton manor was granted to the see of durham after the conquest. a fortress was built, as was so necessary in those days, and the place was visited in by king john. in the sixteenth century stockton was a town to which a bishop of durham might retreat from the plague. the castle was taken by the parliamentarians in , and destroyed, the only stone houses in stockton a few years ago being such as were built from the castle walls. there is one fine street and a borough hall, but every other part of stockton bears witness to the fact that a town which is engaged in growing and prospering has neither time nor inclination to attend to its looks. as to the growth of the last half century, there is only one town--the neighbouring middlesbrough--by which it has been excelled. at the beginning of the century stockton had already a shipping trade, but one that could seem important only in the eyes of its , inhabitants. at that time the river kept a tortuous, shallow course until it arrived at the wide, sandy flats which stretched far eastward to the sea. the first improvement was a straightening of its course, which dates back to the year . the effect was a heightening of the tide from eight to ten feet at stockton quay, and little short of a doubling of the shipping trade. the construction of the first public railway came just in time to encourage the town in its efforts at development. a tees conservancy was formed, with the consequence that the river was so dredged, banked up, and reformed generally, that stockton is now not only a considerable port and an important manufacturing town, but a centre of shipbuilding, the vessels built here being as large as many of those which are constructed on the tyne. wealth and population have increased enormously, and there seems no necessary limit to further industrial development. any accurate description of stockton is in many respects applicable to middlesbrough, a still more wonderful town, which has, within living memory, sprung up close to the estuary of the tees. fifty years ago there was only a single farmstead where the great town of middlesbrough now stands. the united states have few examples of such marvellous growth. at the census of there were persons in middlesbrough, and at the census of the population was , . it was in that the present town was founded, on acres of marshy land. it has been assisted both by enterprise and good fortune. originally it was intended as a port for the shipping of coals; but iron was discovered in the cleveland hills, and blast furnaces were built where it was supposed that only coal-staithes would be seen. the first ton of cleveland ironstone was mined in , and in sixteen years the output was no less than two and three quarter millions of tons. when the iron trade was declining, a decade since, middlesbrough men set themselves to devise new methods of manufacturing steel, with the result that middlesbrough steel is now in demand all over the world. talent, enterprise, the bounty of nature, have all combined to make of middlesbrough one of our large centres of population and industry, and to bring about a growth so rapid as has not previously been witnessed in the history of our country. the brief voyage down the tees from stockton to below middlesbrough should be made in the night time, when clouds of smoke are shot through by columns of flame; when the furnace fires are blazing out into the darkness; when seething bars of iron, crushing and straining through the rolling-mills, make the forges look like some huge vulcan's smithy; when the steel converters are sending out a fiery rain; and when the tees is reflecting all manner of strange lights and weird coruscations--an appalling sight to one not accustomed to such spectacles, but grand and deeply impressive and wonderfully characteristic of the age in which we live. middlesbrough has its fine docks, crowded with shipping. where, a few years ago, the tees spread itself over a broad estuary, the channel of the river has been divided from the wide stretch of mud and sand and creeping waves by a curving groin of slag; lines of light stretch downward as far as the eye can follow, guiding ships to the desired haven. henceforth the tees-- "not hurled precipitous from steep to steep; lingering no more 'mid flower-enamelled lands and blooming thickets; nor by rocky bands held; but in radiant progress towards the deep"-- flows broadly onward to the northern sea. [illustration: ferryboat landing, middlesbrough.] during the last quarter of a century the river below stockton has been constantly undergoing a process of enlargement and improvement, necessarily accompanied by a destruction of its former picturesque beauty. the work done is in the highest sense creditable to northern enterprise. the foundation stones of two great breakwaters were laid in , these defences against the incoming waves being appropriately built of slag from the furnaces of middlesbrough and stockton. the large quantity of , tons of this material was deposited in a single year, and by , when close upon £ , had been spent, it was possible to report that a shifting bed of sand had been replaced by a solid and immovable wall. the breakwaters have cost close upon a quarter of a million sterling at the present date, a sum well expended, for a fine harbour has now been constructed only less important than that of the tyne. on good authority it has been declared that the recent improvements on the tees are to be ranked amongst the most successful engineering works of the century. messrs. besant and rice have made the marvellous development of middlesbrough the leading motive of one of their most striking novels. the mere history of the place is in itself a romance. so recently as in the place had only inhabitants, and it has now, it is believed, considerably more than , . until iron was discovered in the cleveland hills the smelting works of the north of england were situated almost solely on the tyne and the wear. the finding of cleveland iron made a vast change in the _locale_ of a great industry, and covered the low-lying and desolate lands near the estuary of the tees with mighty forges, and blast furnaces, and iron shipbuilding yards and crowded streets. where, sixty years ago, a shallow stream wound down to the sea, with only an occasional house discernible along its banks, there is now one of the finest outlets of our commerce and manufactures, and a deep river flowing through thickly populated towns. and as regards development the end is not yet. it has seemed more than once that middlesbrough would collapse almost as rapidly as it has grown up, but it has risen stronger from every depression, and some new invention or discovery has at each crisis brought its assurance of continued life and growth. however, it is an unlovely tees that the eye alights upon since the smoke of the blast furnaces came in sight. it would scarcely be possible for a river so beautiful in its upper reaches to undergo a more surprising and spirit-depressing change. yet standing on the lofty quays at middlesbrough and looking seaward, one is conscious of a throb of exhilaration, such as the hero of "locksley hall" must have felt when, imagining the future, he-- "saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales." in the perpetual coming and going of great steamers, bringing in cargoes of "wheat and wine and oil," and carrying out to all lands the produce of english industry and skill, there is a spectacle which very well atones for the destruction of some little picturesqueness here and there. what was bright and pleasant only is often enough in these cases replaced by what, when properly considered, is sublime. aaron watson. [illustration: blast furnaces, from the river, middlesbrough.] [illustration: in the potteries.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter i. the trent, from the source to newton solney. the course of the trent--a lowland stream--etymological--a fish-stream--the source--the potteries--burslem, etruria, and josiah wedgwood--stoke-upon-trent--trentham hall--stone--sandon--chartley castle--ingestre and its owners--the sow--tixall--essex bridge--shugborough--cannock chase--rugeley--beaudesert--armitage--the blyth--alrewas--the tame--burton-upon-trent--newton solney. some of our chief english rivers seek out paths for their waters, the motive of which is by no means easy to explain. father thames, indeed, goes about this work in a fairly businesslike way. born on the eastern slopes of the cotswolds he makes his way to the sea by a tolerably direct course. not so trent. rising on the western slopes of the backbone of england, one would have expected that, like the weaver on the one side of it, and the dane on the other, it would have made its way towards the estuaries of the dee or the mersey; but it flows first of all nearly south, parallel with the trend of the great hill district of derbyshire and north staffordshire, and then after this has sunk down to the lowlands of the latter county, trent bends towards the east, until the hills are left behind, when it sweeps round to the north, and so makes its way towards the ouse and the humber. thus its course, like that of dee, still more of severn, may be roughly likened to a fish-hook. but, unlike these rivers, and like thames, trent, throughout its whole course, is a lowland rather than an upland stream. the hill region already mentioned is, indeed, drained by some of its tributaries, and its western slopes give birth to the little stream which first bears the name of trent, and for a time traverses the north staffordshire coalfield, but the river soon enters the district composed of sandstones, gravels, and marls (referred by geologists to the trias), and as these are but rarely either hard or durable, the scenery is neither bold nor conspicuously varied. such change as it exhibits is due rather to difference of productiveness than to diversity of physical features. in regard to the latter the extremes are only from level plain to undulating hills of moderate elevation, but the former affords every variety between barren moorland and densely wooded or richly cultivated ground. michael drayton thus explains the etymology of trent, and assigns to it a mystic significance when he tells the tale of ... a long-told prophecy, which ran of moreland, that she might live prosperously to see a river born of her, who well might reckoned be the third of this large isle: which saw did first arise from arden, in those days delivering prophecies. * * * * * to satisfy her will, the wizard answers, trent. for, as a skilful seer, the aged forest wist, a more than usual power did in that name consist, which thirty doth import; by which she thus divined, there should be found in her of fishes thirty kind; and thirty abbeys great, in places fat and rank, should in succeeding time have builded on her bank; and thirty several streams from many a sundry way unto her greatness should their watery tribute pay. on the same side may be quoted camden and spenser and milton, yet philology is too strong for poetry, and modern scholars declare that the name trent has nothing to do with the latin word for thirty or any of its modifications in the romance languages, but is of celtic origin, is only a contracted form of derwent, and means river-water. the first of the two words which compose the dissyllable derwent, and enter into the monosyllabic trent, is that which appears in the doire, dora, douro, durance, and other european rivers; the second is indicated by the latin venta, a name borne by more than one riverside town in roman britain. the trent and its tributaries were noted of old as fish-streams, and even now, after years of neglect and poaching, it would not be difficult to make up the "thirty kinds of fish" which were once said to people its waters. isaak walton has made the upper reaches of the dove classic ground; and there, as in the blyth, and in gravelly parts of the main river, one may yet see "here and there a lusty trout and here and there a grayling." eels were and still are numerous in the more muddy parts of its bed; pike are also common, though the giants of olden days are vanished like the rephaim; for in the last century, a county historian tells us, fish weighing more than twenty pounds were not seldom caught, and one monster of thirty-six pounds is said to have been found dead. the barbel also is a trent fish, and the stream may claim the salmon. one was caught many years ago so far away from the sea as rugeley, but it was white and out of season. swans in several districts add to the beauty of its waters, and build their nests by its side among the willow-beds and reeds. the river is navigable only as far as burton, for above that town it is interrupted by weirs and by shallows; but canals follow the valley, and in the year the railroad uniting rugby with stafford passed along it for a few miles, and directed through a district, hitherto secluded, the traffic between london and holyhead or the great towns of western lancashire. this railway quitted the trent near its junction with the sow, but a few years later the towns higher up the river, forming the important district of the staffordshire potteries, were reached by a line which branches off from the main system of the london and north-western company at colwich. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the trent, from the source to newton solney.] the birthplace of trent, like that of many persons afterwards famous, is inconspicuous. the river, according to erdeswick, "hath its first spring in the moorlands between bidulph and norton, and divideth the shire almost into two equal parts, north and south." there is little to note in its earlier course. one or two of the adjacent villages possess some link with our older history, notably "stanleghe," of which the author just quoted says, "of this small village do all the great houses of stanley take their name." but before long a district is entered, unpleasing indeed to the artist, but welcome to the man of commerce--a land of chimneys and smoke, of kilns and furnaces, not only for earth but also for metal. this is the district popularly called the potteries, a group of towns often so nearly confluent as to defy distinction by all but residents. tunstall and burslem, newcastle-under-lyme, hanley and stoke-upon-trent: these, with such suburbs as etruria, occupy a strip of country some ten miles long, drained by the youthful trent and its tributaries, a composite or confluent hive of human bees. we will venture but on one positive statement, that stoke-upon-trent is the last of these towns, and below it the river emerges into more attractive scenery. in this district the smelting furnaces and ironworks are industries comparatively modern, but for centuries it has been noted for its earthenware. burslem, one of the towns more distant from the trent, appears to be the oldest, for under the name of bulwardsleme it is mentioned in domesday book, and its "butter-pots" were noted in the days of the stuarts. when dr. plot wrote his history of staffordshire--that is, during the short reign of james ii.--it was the chief place for the potter's industry, and he tells us that "for making several sorts of pots they have as many different sorts of clay, which they dig round about the town, all within half a mile's distance, the best being found near the coal." this earthenware was all coloured, for the white clay from cornwall had not yet been imported into the district. the most marked advance was due to one man--josiah wedgwood, who was born to the trade in . the effect of an illness in youth led him to turn his thoughts to the more delicate work, and he soon exhibited great skill in manufacturing ornamental pottery. when nearly thirty years old he established himself in business at burslem, and produced such results as the white-stone ware, green glazed earthenware, cream-coloured queen's ware, and the unglazed black porcelain. the works, however, at burslem soon proved too small for his needs, and in he purchased an estate, built a large establishment on the bank of the grand trunk canal, between hanley and newcastle, calling it etruria, in remembrance of the so-called "etruscan vases," which were among his favourite models. aided in business by his partner, bentley, in art by the talent of flaxman, wedgwood prospered, and etruria under his management surpassed the fame of worcester, and rivalled that of sèvres or dresden. wedgwood, in fact, by the graceful form and harmonious decoration of his wares, did not a little to educate the national taste and raise it from the easy contentment with opulent ugliness which is the general characteristic of the "hanoverian period" of british art. since his days the village has become a town; the ironworks of shelton have helped in blackening the precincts of etruria hall, which wedgwood built, and in the cellars of which he made his experiments; spode and minton and copeland have added to the fame of the potteries; villages and towns have grown beyond recognition, and houses have hid what once were fields; but though these and other makers have produced, or still produce, many admirable and characteristic works, "old wedgwood ware" maintains a unique position among the masterpieces of ceramic art. [illustration: etruria.] [illustration: josiah wedgwood.] we must not linger over the grand trunk canal, nor the fame of brindley, the engineer, a native of this part of staffordshire, nor shall we be much tempted to tarry in stoke-upon-trent--at any rate, for æsthetic reasons--unless we confine ourselves to the interior of its show rooms, though there is many a worse place to live in. it is mightily changed since the days when erdeswick wrote of it, "of stoke i can report no more but that the parson of the parish is the best man in the town, being lord thereof, and it being one of the best parsonages in the county." the parson now is a bishop and a baronet, but the town is yet more important. [illustration: trentham.] it contains many buildings which larger towns could not despise: a handsome modern church, a fine town-hall, and a school of science and art, which is a memorial to the late mr. minton. statues, or monuments of some kind, to several members of the great potter families--wedgwood, spode, minton, and others--will be found here, and the town itself is regarded as the centre and show place of the district. below stoke, and almost within sight of its chimneys by the side of trent, stands one of the "stately homes" of england--trentham hall, a seat of the duke of sutherland. the mansion lies low on the flat bed of the valley; the park mounts the slopes on the right hand, thus affording great variety of scenery, from richly-wooded meadows to rather open moorland. there is nothing to suggest a settlement of great antiquity, yet a monastery was founded here in the days of alfred. enlarged by ranulf earl of chester, it passed, after the dissolution, into the hands of the levesons, ancestors of the present duke. one of them built on its site a fine jacobean house, of which plot gives a plate together with the following quaint note: "the stone-rail upon the wall built about the green-court before trentham house is a pretty piece of work, it being supported with roman capital letters instead of ballisters, containing an inscription not only setting forth the name of the ancient proprietor and builder of this seat, but the time when it was done, the numeral letters put together making up the year of our lord, when it was finish't, viz., ." this house was pulled down early in the last century, when the nucleus of the present mansion was erected, which, however, was greatly enlarged and altered by sir charles barry in the time of the late duke. the church, which adjoins the house, contains remnants of very early work and some interesting monuments. there is a large sheet of water in the gardens, which are famed for many a mile round for their beauty, and surpass any that will be found elsewhere near the margin of the trent. after passing trentham the river gradually loses the traces of the grime of the potteries and coalfields, and glides along through pleasant pastoral scenery till it reaches stone. this, for long a sleepy little country town, has been awakened by the railway and other causes, and seems now to be a fairly busy and thriving place, devoted chiefly to malting, brewing, and shoemaking. there is little to indicate antiquity, except a few fragments of an old nunnery, for the church dates from the last century, when that which had once served the religious house tumbled down. stone, nevertheless, begins its history more than twelve centuries ago. there lived then a certain wulfere, king of mercia, who had a residence somewhere near stone: tradition asserts at bury bank, rather higher up the trent, where an earthwork still exists. wulfere was a heathen and a persecutor, but a holy hermit, named ceadda, better known as st. chad, who died bishop of lichfield, was dwelling hidden in the neighbouring forest. the king's two sons were hunting one day, and were led by the chase to the saint's abode. the young men felt the charm of his words, repeated their visit, and became converts. of course this was soon made known to their father; the parent was forgotten in the persecutor, and the young men were put to death. but time brought its revenges, though in this case merciful. before many years were over wulfere himself became a christian, and then, as a monument of sorrow and penitence, he founded a monastery at stone, where also a nunnery was established by his queen. the last statement, as to the date of the foundation, is probably true, but all the rest of the story, like many another concerning chad, is only legend. since then stone, as is the case with many other country towns, has shared in the beatitude of having no history. the suppression of its convents, the ruin of its church, and a connection with the rebellion of --the latter events happening in the same decade--appear to have been the chief incidents that have ruffled its even existence. the last-named incident might have given it a place in national history, had things taken another course. the young pretender charles edward, after his triumph in scotland, had crossed the solway, and begun his invasion of england. he was expected to advance upon london along the line of the main road from manchester, so the duke of cumberland encamped in the neighbourhood of stone to dispute his passage. charles, however, as is well known, struck eastward, and on arriving at derby, was a long day's march nearer london than the duke's army. the inherent weakness of his forces averted the danger, and the hanoverian troops had only to pursue the retreating enemy till he made his last hopeless stand on the moor of culloden. below stone the river passes sandon, an old village. there are not many prettier places in all the valley of the trent than the park of the harrowbys with its slopes of grove and sward, the higher parts of which command views of unusual extent, not only over the rich river valley of the trent, but also as far as the wrekin and caradoc hills. on elevated ground, at the edge of the park, is the parish church, containing several interesting remains of olden time, the most conspicuous, though by no means the most ancient, being the monument to sampson erdeswick, the historian of staffordshire, and former owner of the estate, who died in the year . the property ultimately passed into the hands of the duke of hamilton, and a law-suit in regard to it is reported to have occasioned the quarrel between the duke and lord mohun which, as is well known, had so tragic an ending. erdeswick's house, of which the site is still marked, was a fine old brick and timber edifice, surrounded by a moat; but in the last century a new and uninteresting mansion was erected by lord archibald hamilton, which was burned down in , and replaced by a more handsome building in the tudor style. from him the property was purchased by an ancestor of the present owner, the earl of harrowby. rather below sandon, near the little village of shirleywich, brine is obtained. fortunately, however, for the beauty of the scenery, there has been no temptation to establish extensive salt works. the quiet little villages on the lowlands, near the river, offer nothing to delay the traveller; but the grey ruins, high on the left bank, mark a place of some note. those two broken towers, those fragments of curtain-wall, are remnants of chartley castle; the moorland, which extends back from the park, is one of the few spots in england where the descendants of _bos primigenius_ still linger on in a semi-wild condition. the castle, though it carries back its history to early in the thirteenth century, makes little figure in history. the present house is on lower ground, and parts of it are older than the reign of elizabeth, who not only visited it herself, but made it one of the prisons of mary queen of scots. the estate formerly was included among those of the great earls of chester, but has for long been part of the family property of the present owner, earl ferrers. there is a tragic tale about a former earl, who was a man of ungovernable temper--probably insane, and shot his own steward. feudal times were then too far away, and his coronet could not save him from the halter. [illustration: ingestre hall.] the wild cattle, of which it is not generally easy, and, at certain seasons, not always safe, to obtain a near view are, according to shaw, the historian of staffordshire, "in colour invariably white, muzzles and ears black, and horns white, fine-tipped with black." if a black calf be born it is promptly destroyed, not only because it might alter the constancy of the breed, but also because it is deemed an evil omen, for its birth, so folk believe, is followed by the death of a member of the family. [illustration: wolseley bridge.] [illustration: shugborough.] some distance away, on the opposite bank of the trent, just where the ground begins to rise from the level of the valley, stands one of the most picturesque, and formerly one of the most interesting, mansions along the whole course of the river. this is ingestre, the home of the chetwynd-talbots, now earls of shrewsbury. formerly it was a perfect specimen of an elizabethan mansion, but in the year it was reduced by fire to a mere shell of masonry, and many family relics of interest were destroyed. it has, however, been rebuilt, and as in many places the old walls had remained uninjured, the external appearance is little changed. the plate in plot's "staffordshire" represents a formal garden and courtyard in front, with the church close at hand, near the eastern end of the house, to which some additions have been subsequently made. the other features, though they can still be traced in part, have been modified in compliance with the less formal taste of later ages; but the church is unaltered--a grey stone structure of little architectural beauty, erected in the latter part of the seventeenth century by the owner of the estates in place of one which occupied a less convenient situation, and was in a dilapidated condition. this is the history of its consecration, as it is given by plot, who tells us that milled shillings, halfpence, and farthings "coyn'd that year ( ) were put into hollow places cut for that purpose in the larger corner-stone of the steeple." afterwards he continues, "the church being thus finisht at the sole charge of the said walter chetwynd, in august an. it was solemnly consecrated by the right reverend father in god thomas lord bishop of coventry and lichfield; the dean of lichfield preaching the sermon, and some others of the most eminent clergy reading prayers; baptizing a child; churching a woman; joyning a couple in matrimony and burying another; all which offices were also there performed the same day. the pious and generous founder and patron offering upon the altar the tithes of hopton a village hard by, to the value of fifty pounds _per annum_, as an addition to the rectory for ever: presenting the bishop and dean at the same time, each with a piece of plate double guilt, as a gratefull acknowledgment of their service: and entertaining the nobility, clergy, and gentry, both men and women, of the whole county in a manner, which came that day to see the solemnity performed, with a most splendid dinner at his house near adjoyning." the owners of ingestre were descendants of the great talbot family which fills so large a space in english history during the middle ages. the titles of earl talbot and viscount ingestre were conferred in the eighteenth century, and in the year , in the lifetime of the third earl, the great law-suit was begun to establish his right to the earldom of shrewsbury, and the large estates covered by the entail. for at least a century and a half the earls of shrewsbury had been roman catholics, and during all that time the title had not gone by direct descent, so it had become a saying in the county that so long as a romanist held the title, no heir would be born to him. thus, on the death of earl bertram, while still a young man and unmarried, great doubt existed as to the succession. the suit "involved two separate questions, namely, who was really the next-of-kin, and whether the estates were separable from the earldom. these had been entailed by an act of parliament obtained by the duke of shrewsbury, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, but it was doubtful whether the entail did not expire in the person of the young earl bertram. he was of opinion that it did, and being an ardent roman catholic, left the estates and all the art treasures contained in alton towers (the principal seat of his ancestors) to the duke of norfolk, so that they might still be owned by an obedient son of the pope of rome. it was, however, contended that the entail was yet valid and the estates were inseparable from the title. for the latter two claimants appeared, the one earl talbot of ingestre in staffordshire, the other major talbot of castle talbot, county wexford. the former claimed as descendant of a son of the second wife of a certain sir john talbot of albrighton, grandson of the second earl of shrewsbury; the latter as a descendant of a son of the first wife of the same person. if major talbot could have proved his pedigree, obviously he would have succeeded. this, however, he failed to do to the satisfaction of the house of lords, who decided that henry john chetwynd, the earl of talbot, had made out his claim. he accordingly took the oath and his seat as eighteenth earl, june th, . the important suit about the estates was not decided till , when the court of exchequer pronounced the will of the late earl bertram, as far as concerned the entailed property, to be invalid."[ ] neither the winner, nor his son and successor, lived long to enjoy their victory, and the title devolved upon the present earl when he was still a boy. however, the charm seems broken, and the popular belief has been confirmed, for the earldom has already twice descended in the direct line. beautiful as is ingestre hall, its situation is hardly less attractive. the ground swells up from the old-fashioned garden into low hills, carpeted with grass, and shaded by fine old trees and clustering copses, which at last sink down into the rich meadows, through which the trent winds slowly on. rather below ingestre it receives its first important affluent, which bears the prosaic name of the sow. it is a stream of hardly less magnitude, but of less beauty and interest, which comes down a broad and well-marked valley from stafford; this, though the chief town of the county, possesses little to interest the traveller; it is, however, an important railway junction, and is, besides, busied in shoemaking. the sow also, before reaching the trent, receives an affluent which is hardly less than itself. this is the penk, which rises on the edge of the industrial district of south staffordshire, and follows a northerly course through pleasant scenery on the western border of cannock chase until it meets the sow. between the latter river and the trent lies the estate of tixall, once the property of the astons and then of the cliffords, but purchased some forty years since by the talbots. the house, which stands nearer to the sow, is a comparatively modern stone structure, plain and heavy in style, very inferior to the picturesque old dwelling which is represented by plot, and of which he remarks that "the windows, though very numerous, are scarce two alike;" but the grey and ivy-clad old gateway "a curious piece of stone-work," built in , though dismantled, still remains much as it was when his plate was engraved. it stands just at the foot of the slope, where the low hills die away to the river plain, which here is perhaps half a mile in width; fine old trees cluster thickly in the neighbourhood of the house and around the little village, almost masking its cottages and its tiny church. down the valley we see the woods of shugborough closing the view and clothing the opposite slope beyond the union of the two rivers, and above them rises a triumphal arch, a memorial of a former owner of the hall, who was a man of note in his day and generation. [illustration: rugeley, from the stone quarry.] the trent, after it has taken large tribute from the sow, flows through the park of the earls of lichfield, which is certainly not the least beautiful of those on its banks. the house, indeed, is not well situated, for it is built on the valley plain near the river, and is an uninteresting structure in the plainest hanoverian style, but the scenery of the park is no less varied than beautiful. here are broad and level meadows, shaded by groups of aged trees, and extending to the margin of the river; the plain gradually breaking into picturesque undulations as it approaches either border of the valley. on the left bank this is quickly reached. here the slopes descend steeply to the river; on the opposite side, at a greater distance, the park begins to climb the outlying moorlands of cannock chase, on which, at intervals, cultivation wholly ceases. the ancestors of the present earl have resided on this estate since the reign of james i., but the first to reach the peerage was admiral george anson, who, in , began a protracted voyage, during which he circumnavigated the globe, and inflicted great injuries on the spanish settlements in the new world. afterwards he defeated the french in a naval engagement. as a reward for these and other services he was created baron anson, but the title expired with him. a nephew, however, who succeeded to his estate, was ultimately created viscount anson, and the earldom of lichfield dates from . shortly below its junction with the sow the trent is crossed by a curious old bridge, which, if only for its view of the valley, is worth a visit. just above it the stream is divided by a wooded island and the western branch tumbles over a tiny weir: then the united waters, after passing beneath the bridge, contract as they flow between banks overhung by trees; these are backed on the left by the steep slopes already mentioned, but on the right stretch away till the wooded plain mounts to the uplands of cannock chase. the essex bridge, as it is called, from some connection with the family of devereux, once owners of chartley, even now consists of fourteen arches, but, according to the old county histories, was formerly of greater length. it is, however, difficult to see on which side the bridge has been cut short; but possibly the road across the valley may have been continued by a causeway, which was included with the bridge. this is a singularly picturesque old structure of grey sandstone, only about four feet in width, with an angle of refuge for foot passengers at every one of the piers--a convenience which will be appreciated by the traveller even if he encounter only a tricycle in crossing. [illustration: cannock chase, from the trent.] in the park of shugborough, and for a short distance below this, trent approaches nearest to the edge of cannock chase. indeed, for rather more than a mile above wolseley bridge, opposite the villages of great heywood and colwich, a walk of a furlong, through a mere belt of cultivated land, leads on to an open moor which in some directions extends without a break for miles. the chase is an undulating upland rising some three or four hundred feet above the valley of the trent, and often not far from six hundred feet above sea level, a plateau consisting of rolling hills and narrow valleys with steeply shelving sides, composed almost wholly of the "pebble beds"--thick masses of a rather hard and sandy gravel containing pebbles which often are three or four inches in diameter. there is practically no surface soil, and thus the moors offers little temptation to the "land-grabbers." of late years indeed its area has been diminished, and its beauties not augmented, by considerable enclosures in the neighbourhood of rugeley and hednesford, and by the opening of collieries near the latter place. but the new fields do not seem likely to do much more than pay interest on the first expenditure, and the collieries have not been so uniformly successful as to cause apprehensions that, at any rate in the present generation, the moorland will become a "black country." another danger has lately threatened its solitudes, for a tract of cannock chase was one of the sites proposed for the meeting of the national rifle association in succession to wimbledon common. bisley has been preferred, but there is still a possibility that this tract may be used as a practice ground for the volunteers of the midland and northern counties, in which case the charm of another large segment of the chase will quickly vanish. at present, notwithstanding the occasional prospect of distant collieries, there are few districts in the midlands which offer more attractions than cannock chase. the contour of the ground, it is true, does not exhibit much variety. it is, as has been said, an undulating plateau from which fairly well-marked valleys, gradually deepening, descend towards the lowlands, but there is much diversity in the minor details. here sturdy oaks are scattered or graceful birches cluster close on slope or valley. here only some weather-beaten sentinel of either tree, or a wind-worn thorn breaks the barrenness of the hill, or a few scotch firs crown its crest. almost everywhere the bracken flourishes, and heath or ling grows thick on the stony soil. so, in the late summer, the chase for miles glows with the crimson bloom of the heath, or is flushed with the tender pink of the ling, while as autumn draws on the fern turns to gold on the slopes, and on the barer brows the bilberry leaf changes to scarlet, and the moor, soon to don the russet hue of its winter garb, seems to reflect the rich tints of the sunset sky. but this is not all. among its many charms is the contrast of scenery: one moment you may be quite shut in by the undulations of the moorland--sweeps of fern and heath and ling bounding the view on every side--seemingly as far from the haunts of man as among the sutherland hills; but the next, on gaining the crest of some rounded ridge, many a mile of fertile lowland spreads out before your eyes--many a league of the rich vales of the trent and the sow, one vast and varied tapestry of woodland and cornfield and pasture, while beyond and above, rise, in this direction, the wrekin dome and the caradoc peaks, in that the great rounded uplands of derbyshire, and in that the more broken outlines of the charnwood forest hills. deer once were common, black-game and grouse abundant, the snipe and even the woodcock made their nests in the valleys, and other rare birds were to be seen. but now the deer are few and the game is scanty. cannock chase, like the rest of great britain, suffers from the congestion of humanity. but we must return to the trent, from which we have wandered away into the moors. for a few miles, after leaving shugborough park, though it affords much pretty scenery, there is no place of special beauty or of historical interest near its banks. it passes under a new bridge, close to one of the approaches to the chase; it leaves on the left the village of colwich and its neat church, on the right oakedge park, from which the residence has now disappeared. this, more than a century since, was the scene of a local scandal--a fascinating widow, a midnight marriage, and a verification of the old proverb about haste and leisure in regard to that bond. then the river glides beneath the three arches of wolseley bridge--deservedly held in repute for its graceful though simple design--and passes at the back of wolseley hall. the estate has been owned by wolseleys from before the norman conquest--but the house is comparatively modern, is of little interest, and is placed too near the water. of this family viscount wolseley is a member, tracing back his descent to a younger son of a former baronet, and is thus a distant cousin of sir charles wolseley, the present owner of the estate. about half a mile from the trent, and almost at the foot of the uplands of cannock chase, lies rugeley, a small market town, the chief industry of which is a tannery. this place some thirty years ago acquired an unenviable notoriety as the scene of a case of poisoning, which attracted much attention and presented points of legal interest. the chief railway station is near the river, and so at some distance from the town, of which little is seen. the slender spire which rises above its houses is that of the roman catholic church; the anglican church is at the nearer entrance of the town. it was built early in the century, and if ugliness were a merit might claim the first rank, but on the opposite side of the road are the tower and some portions of the old church, which are not without a certain picturesqueness. the tall chimneys on the hill slopes, a mile or more beyond the town, indicate the northern boundary of the south staffordshire coalfield. here the escarpment of the moorlands is not very far away from a fault by which the coal measures are thrown down for so many hundred feet that no attempt has yet been made to sink shafts in the valley of the trent. also on the uplands, and rather further away from rugeley, is another of the great houses which are the chief interest of this part of the trent. this is beaudesert. once a country seat of the bishops of lichfield, it passed into the hands of the pagets in the reign of henry viii. a peerage has been long in the family, but the first marquis of anglesey was a dashing officer, who highly distinguished himself in the great war with france, and lost his leg at the battle of waterloo, where he commanded the cavalry. the house, which stands in a commanding position high up on the slope of the uplands, is built of brick, and not a little of it dates from the reign of elizabeth, though it is not a striking example of the architecture of that era. several small villages are dotted over the lowlands near trent side, each offering some little bit of antiquity or fragment of history, such as armitage, with its church looking down on canal and river, or mavesyn ridware, with some tombs of interest in its highly restored trinity aisle, and its story of a feud between mavesyn de ridware and sir william of handsacre; though over these we must not linger, but follow the trent as it pursues its course through grassy meadows in a widening valley, leaving the old cathedral town of lichfield some four miles away amidst the undulating ground on its southern bank. it glides by various small villages, and receives the tributary stream of the blyth, which traverses one of the prettiest districts of staffordshire, coming down by the park of the bagots, and the remnant of the ancient forest of needwood, where many a grand oak still flourishes. by the water side are many fair pictures--pleasant groupings of trees, and reeds, with wide straths of grass and glimpses of scattered farmhouses, or grey towers of village churches--each with its little cluster of memories, sometimes of more than local interest. of these perhaps the most noteworthy is alrewas, once famed for its eels. excerpts from its registers are quoted by shaw, and make interesting reading. here they tell of a murder, there of a suicide, now of a death by drowning in trent or tame, now of heat, or drought, or frost. fires and storms also figure in the record, even an earthquake, but the strangest tale of all is the following: "this st day of december, anno , was the water of trent dryed up and sodenly fallen so ebb that i, john falkner, vicar, went over into the hall meddow, in a low peare of showes, about of the clocke in the afternoone: and so it was never in the remembrance of any man then living in the droughtest yeare that any man had knownen, and the same water in the morning before was banke full, which was very strange." [illustration: from the meadows near alrewas.] [illustration: armitage.] [illustration: burton-upon-trent.] the tame, which joins the trent near alrewas, coming down by "tamworth tower and town," nearly doubles the volume of the latter, which afterwards flows towards the north, that is in prolongation of the course of the former river. the valley widens yet more between the low hills of leicestershire and the upland which formed part of needwood forest--that region "richly placed," as drayton says, "'twixt trent and battening dove," which, though curtailed of its ancient extent by enclosure, still exhibits more than one grand old oak, and many a choice nook of forest scenery, while the views from the hilly district between the blyth and the dove are often of singular variety and beauty. but now chimneys begin to bristle from the river-plain, and smoke to dim the brightness of the air. is it fancy, or does a pleasant odour of brewing mingle with the scent of meadow-sweet and riverside herbs? it may well be, for we are approaching burton-upon-trent, the metropolis of beer. the description written of it for other pages may be given here:--"if the visitor to burton care neither to drink of beer nor think of beer, he will not find much to detain him there. though an old place, it possesses little of antiquity; nor is there any picturesqueness either in its houses or in its streets. it gives one the idea of a typical staffordshire town--that is to say, a very uninteresting one--which during the last half century has developed into an important mercantile centre. there is thus a certain air of incompleteness about it. homely buildings of the times of our grandfathers are mixed with handsome modern structures; a fine church, school, or institute rises among dwellings of the most ordinary type; one shop is appropriate to the quiet country town of the last generation, another to the bustling country town of the present. but there is one dominant characteristic--burton is wholly given over to beer. the great breweries occupy whole districts of the town, and are intersected by the streets; these are traversed again and again by rails; and locomotives, dragging laden wagons--trains of beer--pass and repass in a way unprecedented in any other english town. great piles of barrels--the pyramids of the valley of the trent--greet the traveller's eye as he halts at the station, and the air is redolent with the fumes of brewing."[ ] the development of this industry is comparatively of late date, though the ale of burton has long enjoyed a local reputation. even the monks of its abbey were noted for the excellence of their beer; but leland and camden speak only of its alabaster works. "but in the earlier part of the seventeenth century, beer from the district--which, probably, was in part brewed at burton--was introduced into london. this, however, bore the name of derby ale, and by that name is favourably spoken of by camden. he, however, states that there were diversities of opinion, for a norman poet had termed it 'a strange drink, so like the stygian lake.'" the original burton ale was, however, very different from that for which it is generally celebrated, for it was a strong drink, the india pale ale dating only from the present century. "in the year , one hodgson, a london brewer who had settled at burton, brewed something like the present bitter ale, which he accomplished in a teapot in his counting-house, and called it 'bombay beer.' a retired east india captain named chapman improved on this, and burton ale soon attained the celebrity that has made the names of bass and allsopp household words all over the world." the heads of each of these firms (now converted into limited companies) have mounted on steps of barrels to the peerage; but there are other firms of slightly younger standing though of hardly less importance. one noteworthy fact in the later history of burton is the liberality of these its leading citizens. not a few of the principal public buildings--churches, schools, baths, and other institutions--are gifts from members of this or that firm; the latest is a suspension bridge for foot passengers over the trent, at the southern end of the town, which is the gift of lord burton. previous to this the river was only bridged in one place. at this spot a bridge has existed for several centuries; but the present structure is quite modern. it is far more commodious, but to the artist less attractive, than its predecessor. that was narrow, built on a curve, consisting of thirty-six arches, hardly any two of which were alike; this is wide, uniform, and strikes straight across the broad valley from bank to bank. like most old bridges, the former had above its piers the usual nooks for the retreat of passengers, and few who remember it will not feel some regret at the change. but this was inevitable; the old bridge was totally inadequate for the needs of the new burton, which had become a very different place from the little town pictured by shaw at the end of the last century, and sentiment was obliged to yield to utility. as might be supposed, the old bridge, in early days, was the scene of more than one conflict. but the history of burton town goes back earlier than that of burton bridge, even if this, as some have asserted, dated from the reign of william the norman. full a thousand years ago there dwelt at bureton, or buryton, a noted lady of irish birth, modwena by name, who, for curing alfred, son of ethelwolfe, of some disease, received a grant of land. her home for some years was the island between the two branches of the trent, and the well from which she had been wont to drink sympathetically retained healing virtues, being in repute, as plot tells us, with those who suffered from the "king's evil." a monastery was afterwards founded by ulfric spot, earl of mercia, to which her body was translated, and which endured till the suppression of such institutions. the church which was attached to it has been rebuilt, and only some fragments of the conventual buildings remain about the house, which still bears the name of burton abbey. the arms of the trent unite below burton, and the right bank of the river affords some varied and pleasant scenery, the ground sloping rapidly down to the level water-meadows, with scattered houses, hamlets, and groves of trees. a castellated mansion of pretentious aspect stands on the hill above fine old trees; beyond, on lower ground, embosomed in yet larger and not less ancient groves, is newton hall, near the village, called for distinction newton solney, which stands nearly opposite to the junction of the dove with the trent. t. g. bonney. [illustration: dove head.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter ii. the dove. what's in the name--axe edge and dove head--the monogram--glutton mill--hartington--beresford dale--pike pool--izaak walton and charles cotton--beresford hall--dove dale--its associations--ilam--the manifold--ashbourne--doveridge-- uttoxeter--sudbury--tutbury--the confluence. there are two rivers bearing the beautiful name of the dove--a name derived from "the shimmering gleam of water, corresponding to the lustre of the dove's white wing." there are also two dove dales. in longfellow's "poems of places," wordsworth's tender verses beginning-- "she dwelt among the untrodden ways beside the springs of dove," are often ascribed to the derbyshire river, which is more than worthy of such a dedication. but the dove which the venerable recluse of rydal mount referred to is the wayward mountain streamlet of his own beloved lakeland; and the dove dale of that district, in its romantic beauty and historic associations, is but a wayside dell in comparison with the enchanting glen where izaak walton discoursed upon philanthropy and fishing, and the gallant charles cotton alternately entertained the ancient angler, and hid himself in caves to escape the polite attentions of unpleasant creditors. the phrase, however-- "a violet by a mossy stone half hidden from the eye," aptly, if unconsciously, describes dove head, where the derbyshire dove escapes from the morose moorlands of axe edge, the mountain cradle of four other rivers--the wye, the dane, the goyt, and the manifold. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ map of the dove.] axe edge is a wild heathery table-land, in which the counties of derby, stafford, and cheshire meet in a savage solitude. the loneliness of this region is impressive, although fashionable buxton, the spa of the peak, is only three miles away. there are whisperings of water everywhere on these breezy highlands, now purple under a passing cloud, now a vivid green in the slanting sunlight, as shadow and shine succeed each other over the rugged slopes. they are mere liquid lispings. their articulations are not so loud as the crow of the blackcock, the clamour of the peewit, or the call of the grouse. but the imperceptible tinkling, the mere tracery of moisture among the rank grass and ebony peat, grow until the rill has become a rivulet; and now we are at dove head. there is an isolated farmstead, the whitewashed buildings of which stand out in strong relief from the sombre moorland background. over the doorway of this solitary old farmhouse are carved the words "dove head." exactly opposite to this house is a moss-grown trough with bubbling water, clear and cold, not topaz-coloured like most streams that have their origin in mountain mosses. on the slab the initials of izaak walton and charles cotton are entwined in cypher, after the manner of the monogram in the fishing-house in beresford dale. this spot indicates the county boundary. staffordshire claims one side of the dove, but derby has greater pretensions to the ownership of the river, for both its head and its foot are in the latter county. dove head is one of the view points of the "peake countrie." the panoramic prospect over bleak height and verdant dale is one to transport the landscape painter. yet it is too near buxton, with manchester only forty minutes' railway ride away, to tempt the english artist. there exist, in a relative sense and with due respect to proportion, few wilder or more picturesque "bits" of scenery than are comprised in the ramble from dove head to glutton mill. for three or four miles the river, a mere brook, passes through a gritstone gorge, with rocky escarpments above, boulders below, and a paradise of ferns around. at glutton mill the character of the scenery changes with the geological nature of the country. the limestone now crops up, and there are peculiar volcanic upheavals, such as chrome hill and parker hill. the rocky glen has widened suddenly into a green and spacious valley, and the harsh and hungry stone walls give place to park-like pastures and hawthorn hedgerows. chrome hill and parker hill rise steep between the "princess dove" in her infancy and her maidenhood; while green high wheeldon and austere hollins clough are the sentinels of two jealous counties. glutton mill, with its red-tiled roof, idyllic surroundings, and sleepy atmosphere, might have inspired the laureate when he confessed-- "i loved the brimming wave that swam through quiet meadows round the mill, the sleepy pool above the dam, the pool beneath it never still, the meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor, the dark round of the dripping wheel, the very air about the door made misty with the floating meal." glutton dale, a rocky gorge, gives access to the odd, old-world village of sterndale, with a tavern the sign of which is "the silent woman." it is a pictorial sign in the most pronounced van daub style; but the designer must have been a satirical humourist, for the lady depicted is without a head! the dove for the next few miles loses its wild features. there are no deep gorges or rocky chasms. the walk now is through lush meadows, and the progress of the stream, so swift and tumultuous in its upper reaches, is in comparison almost sluggish. it ripples with soothing murmur over pebbly shallows, or reflects patches of blue sky in deep and glassy pools. here and there a water-thread from either the staffordshire or the derbyshire side, is welcomed, and trout and grayling invite the angler. past beggar's bridge, crowdecote bridge, pilsbury, broad meadow hall, and a fertile country dotted with dairy farms, and we are at the patrician village of hartington, with its elizabethan hall on the hill, and its venerable church with pinnacled tower, dating back to the first part of the thirteenth century, _temp._ henry iii. hartington, which gives the marquises their title, is eleven miles from dove head, and the length of the river from its source to its junction with the trent is exactly fifty-six picturesque unpolluted miles, without an uninteresting point along the entire course. a riverside path brings us to beresford dale, perhaps the most secluded portion of the valley, for the dove dale tourist and the "cheap tripper" rarely penetrate so far up the zigzag windings of the river. here the stream resumes its romantic features. limestone tors embroidered with foliage shut it out from the world. there is a strip of white cloud above, and a gleam of liquid light below. pellucid pools reflect wooded height and gleaming crag. all around is the sense of solitude and the rapture of repose, broken only by the soliloquy of the stream and the song of the wild birds. at pike pool (there are no pike), alluded to in the "compleat angler," rises from the centre of the dove a pinnacle of weather-beaten limestone forty feet high. izaak walton and charles cotton indulge in a characteristic colloquy concerning this isolated needle, "one of the oddest sights." the intimacy of the reckless young squire who penned the indecencies of "virgil travestie," and the rigid moralist who wrote the lives of hooker and george herbert, is one of the curiosities of famous friendships. it can only be accounted for by the conclusion that true love is like the law of magnetism--the attraction of opposites. here, however, "piscator" and "viator" cease to be abstractions, for, behold! this is the classic fishing house, wherein "my dear son charles" entertained his "most affectionate father and friend." externally it is the same as when izaak and charles smoked their morning pipe, which was "commonly their breakfast," and discoursed of the joys and contentment of country life. the little temple is built on a green peninsula at a pretty bend of the river, with the swing of trees above and the song of the stream below. "it is"--says the author of "pictures of the peak"--"a one-storied building, toned with the touch of time. in shape it is a perfect cube of eighteen feet, with a pyramidal stone roof, from which springs a stone pillar and hip knob. there are lattice windows and shutters on all sides. the doorway, with its three moss-grown steps, faces the dale, and over it is a square panel with the inscription-- piscatoribus sacrum . a monogram, similar to the one at dove head, declares the affinity between the two old-world fishermen!" formerly the oak wainscoting was covered with paintings of riverside scenes, and the portraits of the "father" and his "adopted son" decorated the panels of the buffet. the old fireplace, the marble table, and the carved oak chairs, however, remain intact. [illustration: the monogram at dove head.] not far from this fishing house stood beresford hall, the ancestral home of charles cotton. it was pulled down some years ago, when it was condemned as being structurally unsafe. but the owner (the late mr. beresford hope) had all the stones carefully numbered and marked with a view to their re-erection somewhat after the old style. they now lie in an adjacent meadow. beresford hall in charles cotton's days was a noble building. it stood in plantations among the rocks with woodland vistas opening out to the windings of the water. the hall was wainscoted in oak. it was rich in old carved furniture, ebony coffers, and trophies of the chase. the most prized possession, surrounded with arms and armour, hunting horns and falcons' hoods and bells, antlers and fowling-pieces, was the fishing rod presented to charles cotton by old izaak, whose bed-chamber, "with sheets laid up in lavender," was one of the choicest apartments of the house. there were figured patterns over the chimney-piece, and angels' heads stamped in relief on the ceiling. on the rocks above the site of the hall are to be seen vestiges of the prospect tower, the basement of which was cotton's study, and the summit a beacon where flambeaux were lit by his wife to guide her husband home in the darkness, even as hero's watch-fires brought her beloved leander to her bosom. cotton himself called this observatory "hero's tower," and in a poetic epistle, describing his journey from london to basford hall, he thus alludes to the building:-- "tuesday at noon at lichfield town we baited, but there some friends, who long that hour had waited, so long detain'd me, that my charioteer could drive that night but to uttoxeter. and there, the wednesday being market-day, i was constrain'd with some kind lads to stay, tippling till afternoon, which made it night, when from my hero's tower i saw the light of her flambeaux, and fancied, as we drave, each rising hillock was a swelling wave, and that i swimming was, in neptune's spight, to my long long'd for harbour of delight." dissipated charles! devoted wife! [illustration: the banks of the dove.] leaving beresford dale, we come to many enticing passages on the dove, troutful and leafy, where rock and water and woodland make combinations that are the despair of artists. wolfscote ravine, narrow dale, cold eaton, alstonfield, load mill, and mill dale are but topographical expressions, but to those who know the dove they cease to be words, and become scenes of enchantment. and now we are in the dove dale of the tourists and the trippers, the painters and the picnic parties, the fly-fishermen and the amateur photographers. the guide-books have done dove dale grievous injustice by "heaping ossa upon pelion" with such misleading epithets as "grand," "majestic," "stupendous," "terrific," "awful," etc., _ad nauseam_. dove dale is only imposing by its surpassing loveliness, its perfect beauty. a romantic glen three miles long, narrow and winding, it is a dream of pretty scenery. limestone cliffs close in the clear and voiceful water. their precipitous sides are draped to the sky-line with a wealth and wonder of foliage, the white tors shining through the green gloom. the wooded slopes, rich with wild flowers, ferns, and mosses, just admit of a pathway by the water, which is now white and wavy with cascades, and now a dreamy calm in reflective pools. each turn in this romantic valley has its surprise in scenery. a revelation awaits each step. [illustration: ilam hall.] some of the impending crags have such an individual character that they are known by particular names, such as sharplow point, the twelve apostles, tissington spires, the lion's head, the watch box, the straits, the sugar loaf, the church rock, etc.; whilst perforations in the rock forming natural arches and caverns are entitled dove holes, dove dale church, grey mare's stable, reynard's cave, reynard's kitchen, the crescent, the arched gateway, the amphitheatre, the abbey, and so on. these limestone tors, standing out from their green setting, assume castellated shapes. here they suggest a bastion, there a spire; now an assemblage of towers, anon a convent church. dove dale possesses many literary associations apart from those attached to izaak walton and his "adopted son" charles. surly samuel johnson frequently visited his friend dr. taylor, the ashbourne divine who made his will in favour of the fleet street philosopher, but who lived to preach his funeral sermon in westminster abbey. in dove dale dr. johnson discovered the happy valley of "rasselas." morbid jean jacques rousseau found a hospitable asylum at david hume's house at wootton hall. it was another sort of "asylum" to which he should have been admitted, for he quarrelled with his benefactor. in dove dale he wandered scattering the seeds of rare plants that still flourish, and pondering over his "confessions," the most introspective of autobiographies. thomas moore lived by the banks of the dove, and his letters to lord byron abound with references to the "beauty spots" of the neighbourhood. he rented a little cottage at mayfield, where he passed the early years of his married life, buried his first-born, wrote most of "lalla rookh," and in "those evening bells" swung into undying music the metallic chimes of ashbourne church. congreve wrote several of his comedies at ilam. canning was one of dove dale's devotees, and the reader will remember his political squib beginning-- "so down thy slope, romantic ashbourne, glides the derby dilly, carrying six insides." the law of association links the dove with other illustrious names: with alfred butler, the novelist, author of "elphinstone," "the herberts," and other works of fiction famous in their day; with michael thomas sadler, author of the "law of population;" with ward, the author of "tremaine;" with richard graves, who wrote the "spiritual quixote," and whose portrait wilkie painted; with hobbes, the philosopher of malmesbury; with wright of derby; and edwards, the author of the "tour of the dove." dove dale proper is at its extremity guarded by two imposing hills--thorpe cloud, a cone-shaped eminence of feet, and burly bunster, less conspicuous, but considerably higher. passing these portals we come to the izaak walton hotel, with the walton and cotton monogram of over its lichened gateway. the house is even older, and it serves to introduce us to the delightful village of ilam, with its trim gothic cottages, its magnificent hall, its elegant cross and fountain, and its pretty church. in the church is sir francis chantrey's masterpiece. it represents david pike watts on his death-bed taking leave for ever of his wife and children. the scene is an affecting one, and the composition one of pathetic beauty. it is a sermon in stone, and insensible to all feeling must be the man who can gaze upon this touching group without emotion. in the grounds of ilam hall the manifold joins the dove. both rivers had their birthplace on axe edge, and throughout their course have never been far apart, although not within actual sight of each other. they have kept a "respectful distance," and not been on "speaking terms." the two rivers might have cherished a mutual aversion, if you can imagine such a repugnance. before the manifold emerges into the larger stream it has pursued a subterranean course for several miles. it bursts into daylight from a cave in the limestone rock, and at once plunges into the pure and placid waters of the dove. after leaving ilam, the dove again assumes a pastoral character. it flows with graceful curves through a rich and reposeful landscape, where green woods cover gentle slopes. passing okeover and mappleton, it just avoids ashbourne, that only needed its silvery, shimmering waters to complete the charm of its dreamy old-world streets, as drowsy and quaint now as they were in the days of the ' , when prince charlie raised his standard in the market-place, and the ancient gables framed a highland picture of targets and claymores and dirks, of unkempt, wild-haired clansmen in bonnet and kilt, ready to face any foe or endure any danger in the cause of the young chevalier, whom they proclaimed king of england. a local tradition states that the ashbourne men caught a highlander, killed him, and found his skin so tough that it was tanned, and made most excellent leather! the church is the pride and glory of ashbourne, and it is, indeed, a possession worthy of its fascinating surroundings and historic associations. it was dedicated in ; its tower and spire attain a height of feet. the long series of cockayne monuments, dating from the middle of the twelfth century to the end of the sixteenth, are worthy of a volume to themselves. in the chancel is banks' pathetic monument to the memory of penelope boothby. the portrait of this sweet child was painted by sir joshua reynolds. one of the illustrated papers has reproduced the picture, and made the innocent little face familiar in every home. sympathetic inscriptions in english, french, latin, and italian on pedestal and slab vainly express sir brooke boothby's poignant grief over his great loss. one of these inscriptions reads:--"she was in form and intellect most exquisite. the unfortunate parents ventured their all on this frail bark, and the wreck was total." one of the legends of art is that chantrey stole into the church to study this poem in marble, and that it gave him the idea for his "sleeping children" in lichfield cathedral, which he designed in an ashbourne hostelry while the inspiration was fresh upon him. after leaving ashbourne, the dove, alder-fringed and willowed over, broadening through sweet-smelling pastures and passing prosperous farmsteads, makes its first acquaintance with a railway. the north staffordshire line and the river play at hide-and-seek all the way down to the trent, and the traveller has many gratifying glimpses--carriage-window pictures--of the glancing stream. the dove is now not quite half-way on its journey to the strong and stately trent. the scenery is very much like that of the upper thames, and should tempt some of our bright open-air school of painters. in succession follow hanging bridge and mayfield, associated with the genius of tom moore; church mayfield, clifton, colwich abbey, and norbury, with its grand old church glorious in old stained glass, perfect of its kind, and its manor-house rebuilt in . then comes rocester, inviting alike the artist, the angler, and the archæologist. the dove here receives the rippling waters of the churnet that flows past alton towers, and at marston montgomery it is joined by the tean brook, a tributary of considerable volume. [illustration: ashbourne church.] passing eaton with its rich verdure and hanging woods, once part of needwood forest, we come to doveridge, the hall--the seat of lord hindlip--rising above the wooded ridge. if the house itself, because of its debased style of architecture, is not an attractive addition to the landscape, its situation, on the green heights above the valley of the dove, with the rolling staffordshire moorlands and the obtuse peaks of the weaver hills in the distance, is enchanting. the dove winds in the rich pastoral "strath" below in the most capricious curvatures, and the eye follows the course of the wilful stream by meadow and upland, by deep dell and dusky slope, for many miles. presently comes uttoxeter, the spire of the church being a conspicuous feature in a landscape filled with sylvan beauty. the pronunciation of the word puzzles the visitor, and even the natives grow gently disputatious on the subject. a local bard, however, comes to the rescue of the stranger. in a fine patriotic outburst he declares: "in all the country round there's nothing neater than the pretty little town of uttoxeter." uttoxeter is a characteristic specimen of an old english market town, which neither the railway nor what carlyle contemptuously calls "the age of gin and steam-hammers" has left unspoiled. it has many interesting literary and historical associations. here mary howitt was born; and dr. johnson's father, bookseller at lichfield, kept a stall in the market-place. on one occasion he asked his son to attend the market in his place, but the future lexicographer's stubborn pride led to insubordination. fifty years afterwards, haunted by this disobedience of the paternal wish, dr. johnson made a pilgrimage to uttoxeter market-place, and in inclement weather stood bare-headed for a considerable time on the spot where his father's stall used to stand, exposed to a pelting rain and the flippant sneers of the bystanders. "in contrition," he confesses, "i stood, and i hope the penance was expiatory." the incident says much for johnson's character, and the scene may be commended to a painter in search of an historical theme. [illustration: the straits, dovedale.] at uttoxeter the dove is thirty-eight miles from its mountain home. it now winds past sudbury, where it is crossed by a strikingly handsome bridge giving access to lord vernon's domain, with its deer park of acres and model dairy farm. the hall is a red-brick mansion in the elizabethan style, and was erected in the early part of the seventeenth century. this delightful retreat was the residence of the dowager queen adelaide from to . the church, which is within the park, is a large and venerable structure, grey with age, and green with glossy ivy. presently comes tutbury, where the dove is fifty miles from axe edge. it flows under the commanding castle hill, where the ruins of a building that existed before the norman conquest look down grim and gloomy upon the glad dove, glancing up at its dismantled walls with their chequered history from the green plain to which she lends such grace. the three towers associated with john of gaunt make a diversified sky-line. tutbury castle has all the credentials necessary to make the reputation of a respectable ruin. for fifteen years it was the prison-house of mary queen of scots, and it suffered from the cannon of cromwell. the west doorway of the priory church, with its "chevron" tracery, is a glorious specimen of norman architecture. the village was notorious for its bull-baiting, and everybody has heard of "the fasting woman of tutbury," one ann moore, who professed to live without food. she added an assumption of piety to her imposture, and by this means collected £ . she was subsequently sent to prison for fraud. an interesting feature in connection with the history of the place should receive notice. in an extraordinary find of coins was made in the bed of the river, over , in number. people flocked from all parts to dig up the auriferous and argentiferous river-bed, until at last the crown despatched a troop of soldiers to protect the rights of the duchy of lancaster. still stands the notice-board on the bridge threatening prosecution to all trespassers. it is supposed that the coins formed part of the treasury of the earl of lancaster when he had taken up arms against edward ii., and that in the panic of retreat across the dove the money chests were lost in the swollen river, at that time scarcely fordable. the dove valley downward from tutbury past marston, rolleston, and egginton, is full of quiet and stately beauty. at newton solney the stream, as crystal as it was in the limestone dales, is greeted by the trent, its clear waters soon losing their shining transparency in the darker tinged tide of the larger river. edward bradbury. [illustration: john of gaunt's gateway, tutbury castle.] [illustration: junction of the trent and the dove.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter iii. the trent, from newton solney to the derwent. newton solney--repton: the school and the church--swarkestone: its bridge and its church--chellaston--donington park and castle donington--cavendish bridge. truly a pretty spot is the little village of newton solney, rising up the slope from a low scarp which overlooks the trent, with its scattered houses, its small church spire, and the fine old trees around the hall. this indeed is a modern structure, and certainly not picturesque, but there has been a mansion on this site for many a year, for the de sulneys had the estate full six centuries ago, and there is a fine monument to one of them in the interesting church. trent sweeps on through the broad and level meadows, now become a strong full stream, which near willington station--where it is bridged--is about eighty yards wide. here, in the valley indeed, but nearly a mile away from the actual margin of the river, is a little town of great antiquity and unusual interest. repton, distinguished from afar by the slender and lofty spire of its church, is the hreopandum of the anglo-saxon chronicle. some suppose it to be the roman repandunum; certainly it was a place of importance more than twelve centuries since, for it was selected by diuma, the first bishop of mercia, as the centre of his huge diocese, and here, about the year , he died and was buried. soon after this a nunnery was founded, and before st. chad removed the "bishop's-stool" to lichfield, st. guthlac had started from repton to float down the trent, and to wander through the fenland of east anglia till he settled down on the swampy island of crowland. so many of the princes of mercia were buried here that the abbey is described by a norman chronicler as "that most holy mausoleum of all the kings of mercia." hither, for instance, in the year , the body of ethelbald was brought for burial from the fatal field of secandun. no trace of his tomb, or indeed of that of any other mercian king, now remains. since those days changes have been so many that monuments have had little chance of escaping; but probably these and the monastery were alike destroyed when a horde of danish plunderers swept through the midlands of england, and bathred of mercia, in the year , had to fly before them. these unwelcome intruders spent the winter at repington. at their hands mercian monuments and monastic buildings would fare ill. prior to this calamity the body of st. wystan, a devout prince, heir to the throne of mercia, was laid here by the side of his mother alfleda. on whitsun-eve, , he was assassinated by a cousin, and before long miracles in plenty were wrought at his tomb. his relics, on the approach of the danes, were transferred for safety to evesham, and when the church was rebuilt, in the tenth century, the new structure was dedicated to his memory. repton, at the time of domesday book, was a part of the royal demesne; then we find it included in the estates of the earls of chester. the nunnery in some way or other had come to an end, for a widowed countess of this line founded on the site a priory of black canons in the year , of which considerable remnants may still be seen. [illustration: repton.] [illustration: the "crow trees," barrow-on-trent.] the little old-fashioned town occupies some gently rising ground. this is separated from the broad and level water-meadows by a step or craglet a few feet in height, the scarp of an old river terrace; nearest to this are the church and priory buildings, which occupy a considerable tract of land, and look down upon the remnants of the monks' fishponds. the old trees that have here and there fixed their roots in the broken bank-side, the graceful steeple of the church, rising to an elevation of more than sixty yards, the great group of the school buildings--which occupy the site of the old priory, and in which new and old are mingled together in a picturesque confusion--offer, as we approach repton from the railway station, along the flat and otherwise uninteresting valley, a series of pictures of no little beauty. the school owes its foundation to sir john porte, who in the year endowed it with lands, and assigned to it the buildings of the old priory. these had originally been granted to one thomas thacker, but, as is often the case with ill-gotten gains, had brought him little good. fuller, the church historian, tells a tale which shows him to have been a man not easily thwarted. at repton st. guthlac had a shrine, where was a wonder-working bell, a grand specific for the headache. public gratitude had found expression in a fine church or chapel, and this was included in thacker's share of monastic plunder. he had heard that queen mary had set up the abbeys again, so he lost no time, but "upon a sunday (belike the better day the better deed) called together the carpenters and masons of that county and pulled down in one day (church work is a cripple in going up but rides post in coming down) a most beautiful church belonging thereto, saying he would destroy the nest lest the birds should build again." the gateway of the priory, a fine pointed arch, still serves as the entrance to the school premises, and several parts of the buildings evidently carry us back to the days of the black canons, while others probably indicate the hands of elizabethan workmen, when the ruined monastic buildings were converted into a school. mingled with these are structures of later date, among which those of the present reign are conspicuous, owing to the growth of the school and the development of education in recent days. thus the whole group, in which new and old are mingled, almost entangled, is always interesting and not seldom picturesque. the school chapel, which is modern, and has been further enlarged of late years in commemoration of the tercentenary of the foundation, stands at some little distance from the other buildings, and on the opposite side of the churchyard. the estate bestowed upon the foundation by sir john porte, by whom also a hospital was established and maintained at etwall, a village some four miles away, has proved valuable, so that the endowment is considerable. the school from a very early period enjoyed a considerable local reputation, which has gradually extended, till at the present day it claims a place in the second group of the great schools of england, for some three hundred lads have replaced the black canons, a change which means a good deal for the little town. among its scholars in olden time were lightfoot the hebraist and stebbing shaw the historian of staffordshire, whom we have more than once quoted. the constitution of the school was materially altered by the results of the endowed schools act, for it was originally founded simply as a free grammar school for repton and etwall. the ample churchyard allows of a good view of the church and its slender spire. at the first glance it would be put down as a rather simple but pleasing structure, most of which would be assigned to some part of the fourteenth century. on entering the interior a diversity of dates would become more obvious; but the general impression made is of a large and well-proportioned rather than of a richly adorned or of a specially interesting church. monuments also are fairly numerous, but these are in no way remarkable, except for some connection with local history. repton church, however, has one treasure, but this is almost hidden underground. underneath the chancel, approached by a narrow staircase, is a crypt. it is small, for it is only some seventeen feet broad and long, but one would have to travel not a few miles in order to find another remnant of ancient days equally interesting. the roof is rudely vaulted, supported by four columns, which have a spiral ornament of peculiar character, and rather plain flat capitals; the corresponding piers are relieved by a shallow grooving. the work indicates the influence of classic patterns, with much rudeness of execution. to assign its date is difficult; its style is certainly anterior to the norman conquest, and probably the actual date is the same. a recent authority (dr. cox) considers this crypt to have been part of the first church dedicated to st. wystan, erected after the destruction of the older edifice by the danes, probably in the reign of edgar the peaceable ( - ). this is most likely correct, for the work appears a little too highly finished for a date anterior to the tenth century. dr. cox, however, remarks that portions of the outer walls of the crypt have been proved to be of earlier date than the pillar-supported roof, and may thus be a remnant of the church in which the mercian kings were entombed. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the trent, from newton solney to the derwent.] there is in the crypt an alabaster tomb of a knight in armour, dating from the fifteenth century; and in front of the old gateway is another relic of ancient days. this is the base of a cross, which, to judge from the number of steps, must have been of considerable size, and probably indicated the original market-place; for its proximity to the church and the priory would enable the country folk to attend to the affairs of this world, while at the same time they did not entirely neglect the concerns of the other. one trace both of ancient name and ancient importance is still retained by repton, for all derbyshire south of the trent is called the "hundred of repington." this part of the river-course is about twenty-four miles in length. previous to this it separates for a space derbyshire from staffordshire, and it leaves the former county at the junction of the erewash, a stream from sherwood forest, which, for the greater part of its course, forms a parting from nottinghamshire. below repton for several miles there is no place of special interest in the valley of the trent, though some of the villages in or near it are of considerable antiquity. the sketch of the "crow trees," now fewer than formerly, at barrow, gives a good idea of the quiet but pleasant riverside scenery. at swarkestone the river is crossed by a curious old bridge, the raised approaches across the water-meadows being about a mile in length. the bridge is assigned by the guide-books to the twelfth century, and is traditionally reported to have been the work of two maiden sisters, who spent upon it all their living. it was the cause of a smart struggle in the civil war of , and was occupied by the advanced guard of the jacobites in . chellaston, a short distance from the opposite bank, is a name familiar to geologists. there are extensive workings here for gypsum, and the occurrence of a number of minute fossils (_foraminifera_) in a deposit usually destitute of the remains of organic life has attracted especial attention to the locality. it is, however, now doubted whether these organisms have not been obtained from a deposit of later age. after stanton-by-dale and weston-on-trent comes donington park, with its ample lawns and shady groves extending around the mansion, which was the home of the hastings family, of one of whom more than enough was heard some few years since. behind the park the village of castle donington straggles down and along the high road leading from ashby-de-la-zouch towards the trent. here some remnants of a castle are to be seen, said to have been founded by john of gaunt, and from which the village obtains its distinctive name. beyond this are ashton-on-trent and cavendish bridge, which crosses the river a short distance above the confluence of the derwent. this bridge obtains its name from the family of cavendish, by members of which it was erected about the middle of the last century. t. g. bonney. [illustration: trent locks.] [illustration: junction of the derwent and the trent.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter iv. the derwent. the derwent in its infancy--derwent chapel and hall--hathersage--eyam--grindleford bridge--chatsworth--the "peacock" at rowsley--haddon hall--the wye and the lathkill--darley dale and its yew tree--the sycamores of oker hill--the matlocks and high tor--cromford and willersley castle--ambergate--belper--derby--elvaston. it might be interesting to ask how many englishmen have made the tour of the derwent--a river so rich in pictorial beauty and historic interest. if the country were polled upon the subject, the result would probably not be gratifying to local patriotism. and yet no more romantic revelations of river scenery exist than those traversed by the derwent from its source among the dusky moorland heights of the peak to its junction with the trent, sixty-three miles from its mountain home, after collecting the waters of , acres of country. other streams there are, of course, of greater magnitude, with mountain surroundings more stupendous; but beauty is not to be measured by bulk, or rivers by their breadth and volume, nor is the artistic charm of hills ascertainable by an aneroid. there are several english rivers of the name of derwent, which is derived from the british _dwr-gwent_, the water of "gwent," or of the high lands, and the word is often locally pronounced "darent." there is wordsworth's derwent in lakeland; a derwent which falls into the sea near scarborough; and again a derwent that is a tributary of the yorkshire ouse. but it is the derbyshire derwent that we now propose to trace down from its source. in the north-east corner of the peak district, on the stern and austere yorkshire borderlands, where the langsett moors are most lonely and impressive, the stream spends its earliest infancy, and you hear its baby prattle in a rocky region, wild and desolate, where the titans might have been hurling in space gigantic boulders to bring about chaos. the place where the river actually rises is called barrow stones. the traveller on the line from sheffield to manchester, when he is at woodhead, with its dismal tunnel and long-linked reservoirs, passes as near as civilisation touches the spot. for some distance the river bubbles and babbles down a boulder-strewn valley, and is the line of demarcation between the counties of york and derby. it is here a swift tawny streamlet, with effervescent cascades, and deep pools in which you can discern the pebbles at the bottom of the topaz-coloured water. weather-worn masses of rock are strewn over this heathery wilderness--silvered with rare lichens, and cushioned with delicate mosses. here and there picturesque little rills pour out their trickling tributaries from numerous mountain springs and musical ferny hollows. the only sound beside that of running water is the cry of the grouse, the blackcock, or the peewit. the derwent cleaves its rocky way down the valley into derwent dale, past slippery stones, rocking stones, and bull clough and cranberry clough, with the bradfield moors rolling away in petrified billowy waves to the horizon line. before reaching derwent chapel it has received the westend, a considerable stream, and the abbey brook, another important contributor, foaming down a deep rugged ravine, with gritstone ridges. in derwent dale alder-trees add a shade to the waterside, and the landscape, although still wild in its mountain beauty, is diversified by their green grace. and now we are at the lonely little village of derwent chapel, with its grey scattered houses. the hamlet in the pre-reformation times had four chapels belonging to the ancient abbey of welbeck. at derwent hall, charmingly placed by the river bridge, are preserved several relics of the monkish days. but the most interesting possessions are the old carved oak pieces of furniture. they form a unique collection, and are of historic value. some of the cabinets and bedsteads are four hundred years old. the hall, which formerly belonged to the balguys, bears over the doorway the arms of that family and the date . the duke of norfolk is the present proprietor, and has added a new wing at the expense of £ , . the pack-horse bridge makes a pleasing picture, and the surrounding prospect is as fair as any that ever inspired poet's pen or painter's pencil. by leafy labyrinthian ways, in fascinating aquatic vagaries, our river, brown with peat-moss, ripples over the shallows or becomes demonstrative when obstructed by boulders on its way to lady bower and ashopton, sentinelled by the bold peaks of win hill and lose, so called from a sanguinary battle having been fought here between two saxon kings. the victorious army occupied win hill, and the vanquished the opposite height. there are other magnificently grouped hills all around. ashopton is haunted by painters and anglers. pleasant it is to lounge lazily over the time-stained bridge that spans the derwent near its confluence with the ashop, which has found its way down the "woodlands" from kinderscout--famous as the highest point in the peak, , feet; while from the opposite side the lady bower brook adds its trouty current. here we are tempted to make a _détour_ to visit castleton with its caverns, almost as wonderful as the famed congo cavern in south africa, the elephanta cave in india, or the mammoth cave of kentucky; to climb up the crag to peveril's ruined castle; to explore the beautiful green basin suggestively called the vale of hope; and to penetrate the edale pass until the frowning kinderscout morosely blocks the way. but we must keep to derwentside. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the derwent.] the river is now a large stream, and--passing bamford--at mytham bridge it receives the greeting of the noe. here we strike the dore and chinley railway, a branch line of the midland system, at present in process of construction. it follows the course of the derwent valley for some miles, and is not likely to add to the beauty of the scenery. the noisy puff of the locomotive in this paradise seems a profanation. the line, however, will open out a new holiday ground, and will give the traveller an alternative route between sheffield and manchester, london and liverpool. this railway extension is twenty miles in length. there are five miles of tunnelling under the mountainous moorland, and the cost will not be covered by an expenditure of less than one million sterling. one of the tunnels is three miles in length, and next to the severn tunnel the longest in the united kingdom. at hathersage, moss-grown and still, and one of the prettiest of peak villages, a station will be erected, and much of its old-world charm will then have gone for ever. in the churchyard on the hillside may be seen the grave of robin hood's stalwart lieutenant, little john. the resting-place of this romantic outlaw is marked by two stones which by their distance from each other would indicate that he was ten feet high. the famous forester was born at hathersage, and fought in the ranks of simon de montfort's rebellious barons at evesham in . after the many vicissitudes of his adventurous life, he returned to his native village to die. until recent years his cottage was pointed out to visitors, and at the beginning of the present century little john's bow and green cap were suspended in the church. they were carried away to cannon hall, near barnsley. [illustration: at ashopton, derwentdale.] hathersage is surrounded with places of interest, and the derwent is here thirteen miles from its source. mention should be made of padley wood and the ruins of the roman catholic chapel; burbage brook, another of the derwent's many feeders, that brawls through a defile as sweetly wooded as the fairy glen at bettws-y-coed; longshaw lodge, the shooting-box of the duke of rutland, with its pretty grounds and rockeries; fox house, a famous moorland hostelry; hu gaer, a hoary rocky platform which is marked on the ordnance map as a druidical relic; caelswark, an old british fort; the toad's mouth, a huge and hoary block of gritstone bearing a curious resemblance to that unattractive reptile; stoney middleton, whose houses seem to hang dangerously from the bordering cliffs; and eyam, the scene of the great plague of , when out of a population of no less than were swept away by the pestilence. the infection was brought to the village in a box of clothes from london. the place is hallowed by the devotion of the saintly rector, the rev. wm. mompesson. he never deserted his parishioners (although his wife was one of the first victims); and it was by his exertions that the plague was prevented from spreading far and wide. [illustration: chatsworth.] [illustration: the 'peacock' at rowsley] but we are now at grey grindleford bridge. what a view there is down the richly wooded reaches of the river by froggatt edge, stoke hall, curbar, calver, and bubnall to baslow--the threshold of chatsworth! the derwent has here accomplished a distance of exactly twenty miles, and received numberless and nameless tributary outpourings from the moors on both the eastern and western sides. it is now a fine river, and lends additional beauty to the duke of devonshire's magnificent park, surely the most glorious domain in the wide world. the river sweeps in front of the palace of the peak, with ancient trees reflecting soothing shadows in the shining water. so much has been written about chatsworth--its great hall, its superb state apartments, its miracles of wood-carving, its unique sketch-gallery, its noble libraries, its priceless picture-gallery, its grand drawing-rooms, bed-rooms, and banqueting-rooms, its superb sculpture gallery, its gardens, terraces, conservatories, woods, and fountains--that little fresh can be said upon a subject so well worn. a well-known writer, when he was at niagara, and was supposed to write a description of the scene, simply remarked, "there are some waterfalls hereabouts, which are said to be pretty." in a similar manner the grandeur of chatsworth may be summarily dismissed, we being content with the accounts of a thousand and one admirable authors. enough to say that this treasure-house of art is apt to give the visitor a sense of general splendour on the brain. the house and park are open every week-day to the public, and many thousands of people each year avail themselves of the privileges so freely granted by the generous owner. sightseers pour into the ducal palace, with its gilded casements and princely saloons, just as if the place belonged to them instead of to the duke of devonshire. it is open for them to enjoy, and all their pleasures are prepared for them. they can inspect the carvings by grinling gibbons, the masterpieces of landseer, and sir joshua reynolds' picture of the beautiful duchess; admire the work of verrio and laguerre, and the chisellings of canova and thorwaldsen; dwell upon rare tapestry and the choicest products of sèvres and dresden; pause at tables of malachite and porphyry, be delighted with the plants and orchids of tropical climes, including the _victoria regia_, and stand and watch the emperor fountain and all the _grandes eaux_ playing. all this gratification belongs to the public without the slightest cost of maintenance or responsibility of possession, for the head of the illustrious house of cavendish keeps these precious treasures for his fellow-men rather than for his own private enjoyment. [illustration: the terrace, haddon hall.] [illustration: haddon hall, from the wye.] there is a pleasant field-path through park and pasture, past beeley, to rowsley, three miles away. just below the grey arches of the bridge at the sign of the peacock--a quaint ivied elizabethan building with many gables and battlements, an abundance of heavy-mullioned windows, and green lawns gently sloping down to the water--the wye has its confluence with the derwent. it is a pleasant mesopotamia, the smaller stream issuing from the limestone dales transparent as glass, and so swift in motion as to at first push back the derwent--flowing slow and strong and stately, the colour of cairngorm through its association with the moors. but the deeper river soon asserts its superior weight and strength, and the two streams--happy in their union--amalgamate in one undivided current, recalling--in, of course, a minor degree--the junction of the thames and medway, the alliance of the rhone and arve, the coalition of the moselle and the rhine. we are now in contact with the midland railway, which crosses and recrosses the derwent by bridge or viaduct fifteen times during the remainder of its course. a short walk from the russet peacock--half-way between rowsley and the bonnie town of bakewell--stands, on a wooded eminence, haddon hall. the wye winds in many a graceful curve, overhung by gnarled trees, at the foot of the grey old pile. the antique appearance of the hostelry has assisted to subdue the contrast that must strike every observer between the comparative newness of chatsworth (although it is years old) and the venerable aspect of haddon--a revelation of a bygone age, a memorial of ancient chivalry which is almost unique, for some portions of this perfect baronial castle date back to the twelfth century. haddon, the property of the duke of rutland, is uninhabited, although it is not a ruin, and promises to remain intact for centuries to come. it has never suffered from the violence of war, stronghold as it is, but has always been the home of hospitality. "lightly falls the foot of time, that only treads on flowers." "the kitchens and larders all look as if the domestics had only retired for a short time. we come to the dining, drawing, and ball-room, all clean and dry as when abandoned as a human habitation; and as we pace along this latter room with its polished floor, the hollow sounds of our footsteps lead us to the contemplation of the time when the gay elizabeth, surrounded by her court, honoured the vernons with her presence, and made the rooms echo with shouts of merry laughter. a long day may be spent in wandering about the terraces, gardens, and shady walks; the door is pointed out to us through which eloped dorothy vernon with her faithful lover (sir john manners). which route they took is left to the visitor's imagination; perchance they crossed the remarkable stone foot-bridge. suffice it to say the escape was perfected, and adds additional interest to the romance of haddon hall." [illustration: derwent terrace, matlock.] the wye is the most important feeder of the derwent, and runs through scenery that is romantically beautiful. its length from axe edge to its junction with the derwent at rowsley is twenty-two miles, although the distance as the crow flies is considerably less. but the little river winds about in capricious curvatures, and its serpentine wanderings add much to its peculiar charm. there are two distinct wyes, uniting in the buxton gardens, to which pleasaunce they add attraction. the larger stream issues from the gritstone formation; the other comes from the limestone. the one is coloured by the peat of the mosses; the other is of pellucid purity. the limestone water has its birthplace in the gloomy recesses of poole's cavern, and you may hear it fretting in the chill darkness, as if it were impatient to greet the glad sunlight. in ashwood dale, just below the lovers' leap, and a mile from the fashionable watering-place, the character of the scenery with which the wye is for the most part associated begins. limestone tors, of great height and beautifully wooded, rise above a contracted valley along which the stream pursues its lively course. the river leaves topley pike abruptly to the right, and enters chee dale. nature here is in the imperative mood. chee tor soars to a height of feet sheer above the water--a solemn limestone headland, its gaping fissures here and there clothed with a pendent tree. it is convex in shape, and is faced by a corresponding bastion, concave in form. in the narrow channel between these bold walls of rock the wye forces its way through the pent-up space, making a tumult over the obstructing boulders. a scanty footpath is carried over the abyss, making a passage of unequivocal sublimity, for the defile has no superior and few equals in all derbyshire. miller's dale afterwards opens out its picturesque features, although its idyllic charm is marred by the screaming railway junction and by the quarrying operations that are toppling bastions of rock--ancient landmarks--into lime-kilns. two miles from miller's dale is tideswell, with its grand old church--"the cathedral of the peak"--its secluded valleys and immemorial hills. litton dale and cressbrook dale follow--both wild glens that will repay lovers of rocks, ferns, and flowers. at monsal dale the scenery is no longer savage as it was at chee tor, but is of winsome loveliness. the wye winds in green meadows below wooded heights, with here and there a rocky pinnacle jutting out like a spire; "lepping" stones cross the stream, and rustic cottages, with blue filmy smoke curling from their chimneys, stand just where an artist would have placed them. well might eliza cook sing-- "and monsal, thou mine of arcadian treasure, need we seek for greek islands and spice-laden gales, while a temple like thee, of enchantment and pleasure, may be found in our native derbyshire dales?" close by is taddington, an abode of miners, which contests with chelmerton the claim of being the highest village in england. there is a quaint church, and in the churchyard an ancient cross which archæological authorities argue is the work of the monks of lindisfarne, who introduced christianity into derbyshire. the peakrels, in their caustic humour, gravely furnish the visitor to taddington with the information that "only blind, deaf, and dumb persons, and those who do not live in the parish, are buried in the churchyard." past demon's dale, and we are at the pleasant village of ashford-in-the-water, celebrated for its inlaid marble manufactures. in the old church are hung five paper garlands. they are the relics of the obsolete custom of carrying garlands before the corpses of maidens in the funeral procession, and subsequently suspending them in the church. the custom is alluded to by shakespeare. these garlands are ophelia's "virgin crants" in _hamlet_. the priest tells laertes that but for "just command" ophelia would have been buried--as a suicide--in "ground unsanctified," and "shards, flints, and pebbles" only would have been "thrown on her"-- "yet here she is allowed her virgin crants, her maiden strewments, and the bringing home of bell and burial." the innocent observance lingered longer in derbyshire than anywhere else, and was not abandoned at ashford-in-the-water until . the wye at this point spreads out its waters, turning weedy wheels, and wandering through lush meadow-lands, finely timbered. at bakewell the stream is of considerable width, and is spanned by a handsome old bridge evidently the work of an architect of imagination. the town itself is of considerable antiquity, and the church, one of the oldest and finest in the county, stands on a commanding hill, and is a picturesque feature in a glorious landscape. time has made furrow and wrinkle on the grey old fabric, but "still points the tower and pleads the bell, the solemn arches breathe in stone; window and walls have lips to tell the mighty faith of days unknown." bakewell is the paradise of anglers, and wonderful stories are told of the trophies captured when the may-fly is on the water. the river now narrows, and winds in many a tortuous curve through the haddon pastures. below haddon hall, at fillyford bridge, it receives the limpid lathkill, a stream to-day as clear as when charles cotton described it to "viator" in "the compleat angler" as "by many degrees the purest and most transparent stream that i ever yet saw, either at home or abroad, and breeding the reddest and best trouts in england." [illustration: the high tor, matlock.] after it has welcomed the meandering wye, the derwent spreads through an open verdant country of contemplative beauty, with rounded wooded hills in the distance. this spacious golden-green strath is darley dale. lord john manners (now the duke of rutland), viewing this scene from stanton woodhouse, a wooded knoll close by, with weather-beaten tors, lofty hunting tower, and druidical remains, was inspired to crystallise in verse the deep impression that the pastoral scene and its mountain surroundings had made upon his mind:-- "up darley dale the wanton wind in careless measure sweeps, and stirs the twinkling derwent's tides, its shallows and its deeps. "from many an ancient upland grange, wherein old english feeling still lives and thrives, in faint blue wreaths the smoke is skywards stealing. "the simple cheer that erst sustained the patriarch seers of old, still in these pastoral valleys feeds a race of ancient mould. "and should fell faction rear again her front on english ground, here will the latest resting-place of loyalty be found." in the churchyard at darley dale is the most venerable yew-tree in the world. many authorities claim for it a fabulous age, making it as much as , years old. it is thirty-three feet in girth, but its trunk has suffered not a little from the modern goths and vandals who have carved their names in the bark, and employed other methods of mutilation. the tree is now fenced round to save it from further insult; and "whatever may be its precise age," says the rev. dr. john charles cox, "there can be little doubt that this grand old tree has given shelter to the early britons when planning the construction of the dwellings that they erected not many yards to the west of its trunk; to the romans who built up the funeral pyre for their slain comrades just clear of its branches; to the saxons, converted, perchance, to the true faith by the preaching of bishop diuma beneath its pleasant shade; to the norman masons chiselling their quaint sculptures to form the first stone house of prayer erected in its vicinity; and to the host of christian worshippers who, from that day to this, have been borne under its hoary limbs in women's arms to the baptismal font, and then on men's shoulders to their last sleeping-place in the soil that gave it birth." on the left bank of the derwent, amid rocks and plantations, is the royal residence of the late sir joseph whitworth; and on the opposite side rises, sharply defined, oker hill--a green isolated eminence that was once an important roman station. growing on the summit of this lofty peak are two sycamores. a legend is attached to the planting of these trees, which wordsworth has recited in his tender sonnet:-- "'tis said that to the brow of yon fair hill two brothers clomb; and turning face from face nor one look more exchanging, grief to still or feed, each planted on that lofty place a chosen tree. then eager to fulfil their courses, like two new-born rivers they in opposite directions urged their way down from the far-seen mount. no blast might kill or blight the fond memorial. the trees grew, and now entwine their arms; but ne'er again embraced those brothers upon earth's wide plain, nor aught of mutual joy or sorrow knew, until their spirits mingled in the sea that to itself takes all--eternity." [illustration: matlock bath.] the trout and grayling fishing in the derwent here is of excellent quality, the water being stocked and preserved by zealous local angling societies, supported by the trent conservancy board. after leaving darley the wooded banks contract, and the hills press forward, and at matlock, nine-and-twenty miles from barrow stones, the stream runs through a deep gorge, where limestone precipices, festooned with foliage, rise sheer from the water's edge. this romantic ravine, overtopped by higher hills, extends for about three miles. matlock is a misleading title. the little town is only a small watering-place, but it is split up into several principalities, governed by two local boards, and known as matlock bath, matlock bridge, matlock bank, matlock town, matlock cliff, and matlock green. there are two railway stations, the bridge and the bath, a mile apart; but passengers wishful to get to the one place find themselves alighting at the other, and the divisions and sub-divisions are most confusing. matlock bank (for which the bridge is the station, distant a quarter of a mile) is given up to hydropathic establishments, of which there is a colony. here john smedley introduced the cold-water treatment many years ago, and the building devoted to his system of cure has developed into one of colossal proportions. between matlock bridge and matlock bath the high tor intervenes, occupying nearly the whole distance. it is a most impressive example of rock scenery, rising in one perpendicular face of grim grey limestone, feet above the derwent, which brawls angrily over the rocky bed at its stupendous base. the midland main line perforates this mighty mass, and the dull roar of the trains may be heard reverberating in the gloomy tunnel with strange echoing resonance. there are natural fissures in the rock abounding in dog-tooth crystals, fluor-spar, lead-ore, and other minerals, and at the summit of the giddy cliff are pleasure-grounds. more than one disastrous accident has occurred through people venturing too near the edge and falling into the abyss beneath. matlock bath is a continuation of the poetic gorge, the derwent being almost enclosed on the right by the towering heights of masson (commonly called the "heights of abraham"), and on the left by the lovers' walks. for about a mile the stream is deep and stately, and lends itself admirably to boating. matlock bath is a favourite resort of cheap trippers, who find innocent enjoyment in climbing the hills, exploring the caverns, investing their coppers at the petrifying wells, and driving to the via gellia, a charming valley within easy distance. the pavilion is a large modern building standing on a terrace under the dungeon tors, and commanding panoramic views of great extent and variety. the bath is also a much-frequented resort, and contains hotels that favourably compare with the caravansaries of other fashionable watering-places. the new bath hotel stands on the site of the old hotel, where lord byron met mary chaworth, and the lime-tree under which the poet sat with the proud beauty still flourishes. this tree has weathered the storms of more than three hundred winters, and is a marvel of arboreal growth, its wide-spreading branches covering an area of square feet. byron was a frequent visitor to matlock, and in one of his letters to thomas moore he declares "there are prospects in derbyshire as noble as in greece or switzerland." mr. ruskin visits the new bath hotel, and the author of "modern painters" writes in a characteristic manner:--"speaking still wholly for myself, as an epicurean anchorite and monastic misanthrope, i pray leave to submit, as a deeply oppressed and afflicted brother of that order, that i can't find anything like derbyshire anywhere else. '_j'ai beau_,' as our polite neighbours untranslateably express it, to scale the precipices of the wengern alp with manfred, to penetrate with faust the defiles of the brocken--the painlessly accessible turrets of matlock high tor, the guiltlessly traceable lovers' walks by the derwent, have for me still more attractive peril and a dearer witchery. looking back to my past life i find, though not without surprise, that it owes more to the via gellia than the via mala, to the dripping wells of matlock than the dust-rain of lauterbrunnen." leaving matlock bath, the derwent is utilised for commercial purposes by the arkwrights, in connection with their mill machinery, and a very dangerous weir is the _bête noir_ of the oarsman. cromford, the cradle of the cotton manufacture, follows. here are the immense but cleanly factories founded by sir richard arkwright, the preston barber's apprentice; and here is willersley castle, the seat of the family whose fortunes he made, looking down from a natural rocky plateau, embowered in trees, upon the windings of the river. cromford bridge is a curious old structure. the arches on one side are pointed gothic in style, and on the other side they are of a semicircular character. the same incongruity in architecture is to be observed in the bridges at matlock town and darley. this is to be accounted for by the fact that they were once pack-saddle structures, and have been widened with no regard to the preservation of uniformity. [illustration: markeaton bridge.] [illustration: allestree.] the river now passes down a contracted valley, deeply wooded, to whatstandwell. a prominent feature on the steep crags to the left is lea hurst, the derbyshire home of miss florence nightingale, and on the other the forest of alderwasley, a surpassing example of sylvan scenery. ambergate is the next point of interest, where the derwent receives the amber, which has watered the delightful ashover valley, and wound under the steep hill dominated by the ruined towers and gables of wingfield manor. then our river flows under hanging woods to belper, where all its energies are required to turn the ponderous wheels at messrs. strutt's cotton mills. nowhere in all its course is it more picturesque than at belper bridge. above the weirs it is lake-like in its wide expanse, reflecting the green verdure at its side, the undulating uplands beyond, and the hillside cemetery that by its delectable situation seems to render death beautiful. the weirs make the water a live thing. one of these is a merry sluice, with several gates liberating the flood above, which comes down like southey's torrent at lodore. the large weir is of great width, and of crescent shape, with a wooded island at its foot. but the best view of this tumult of sunlit foam is obtained when we have for a moment turned to the river-path on the right; then, as we look up the stream, the graceful stone arches frame a picture of dancing water. above, in the woodland park, is bridge hill, the residence of mr. g. h. strutt. the ivy-embroidered windows flash back the sunlight, as they look out over the valley of the derwent. at belper the river is forty-three miles from its birthplace. milford comes next, with more of strutt's mills and more turbulent weirs; and at duffield, a mile or two farther south, the river ecclesbourne pours its cheerful waters into the derwent. it has come from the wirksworth country, where george eliot found character and scenery for "adam bede." past pleasant pastoral scenes, farmsteads, and country houses, past little eaton and breadsall, and allestree hall, with its ancestral woodlands, the seat of sir william thomas evans; past darley abbey, where evans's cotton mills break up the river into miniature niagaras, the derwent pursues its course, until presently we are at derby, fifty-one miles from where we first made the acquaintance of the stream. an accession of considerable importance, the markeaton brook, falls into the river at this point; but we must get into the meadows at the west end of the town to see it, for it follows a subterranean course through the principal streets, being arched over in the year . the upper windings of the brook afford the painter many pretty "bits," and are held in high favour by lovers of nature and other lovers. about the ancient borough of derby there is much that is historically interesting; and although the leading thoroughfares abound in pretentious examples of modern architecture, there still remain some of the old-world buildings that were in existence long before prince charlie in the winter of ' began his disastrous retreat from derby market-place, the most southerly point to which his army penetrated. a pilot guard advanced, it is true, six miles farther, to swarkestone bridge, but the rubicon, that is the trent, was not crossed. [illustration: derby, from the long bridge.] [illustration: derby, from st. mary's bridge.] the derwent was formerly navigable up to derby, but the right of communication was sold to the proprietors of two canal companies, who, before the introduction of railways, monopolised the traffic. in this place one peculiarity of the derwent should not escape notice. the late dr. spencer t. hall observed a distinguishing characteristic of the river, and described it in the following happy manner:--"of all the rivers of england there is perhaps not one so noted for the sudden rise and lapse of its waters, on the melting of the snows, or the occurrence of summer storms. even no higher up the stream than chatsworth, there is an annual average of thirteen inches more rain than at derby, and farther up the country a higher average still. for this, and for all the ordinary supply, such rapid descent is afforded by the steep cloughs and gullies and mountain roads, that, whenever a sudden thaw or unusual downpour occurs, the normal channel of the river is very soon overfilled, and on rushes the swelling and boiling torrent till it becomes majestic--almost terrific--as it breaks at last from the confines of the mountain gorges into the plain. it is sometimes easy to tell as low down as derby, by the colour of the water, over which of the tributaries an up-country storm has broken. if out on the heather-side, about the yorkshire border or the longshaw and chatsworth moors, down comes the deluge somewhat the colour of good coffee; if from the limestone districts, almost the colour of cream to it; and in the proportion in which both colours happen to be blended you may calculate pretty nearly how far the storm has been partial or general. some fine morning you may walk as far as derwent bank or darley abbey, and see the river winding quietly along with its wonted grace and its usual flow. at noon you look again, and on it comes with the force of a little niagara through the open flood-gates and over the great weir of darley mills, and thence spreads out until the meadows, as far as the trent, form a series of lakes, which, if that river be also full, soon extends as far or farther down than nottingham." the derwent at derby is spanned by several handsome bridges. the oldest and most picturesque of these structures is st. mary's. at the foot of the bridge is an ancient chapel where "the busy burgesses or men-at-arms turned aside for a brief silent prayer before crossing the derwent and plunging into the forests that stretched out before them on the other side of the river." this mediæval bridge-chapel of our lady is now used as a mission-room in connection with the church of st. alkmund. just below the bridge, on an island, stands the first silk-mill ever erected in england. it is a vast pile of time-toned brick, pierced with as many windows as there are days in the year, and surmounted by a curious bell-tower. the history of the silk trade in derby dates back to the opening days of the last century. at that period the italians held secret the art of silk-throwing, and monopolised the market. john lombe, an ambitious young fellow, full of spirit, an excellent draughtsman, and a capable mechanic, determined to acquire the secret. he visited italy, and brought to derby from piedmont models of the coveted machinery, together with two native craftsmen who had favoured his enterprise and secured his safety. the derby corporation leased to lombe the island swamp in the derwent, where he erected in the present immense mill on a foundation of oaken piles. it cost him £ , , but his manufactures were a superlative success, and the italian monopoly was driven out of the market. but lombe did not live more than two years to reap the rich result of his labours. treachery was at work, and he was poisoned at the hands of an italian woman who was employed by the piedmontese, and who contrived to escape the punishment due to her crime. lombe, who was only twenty-nine when he thus tragically perished, was buried at all saints', a church whose tower is one of the glories of the midland counties. here, too, rest several members of the cavendish family, their virtues commemorated in monumental marble; and there is a magnificent monument to the famous countess of shrewsbury, the friend of queen elizabeth, but better known as "building bess of hardwick." for many years derby has been associated with the production of artistic porcelain. the making of china in the town has really never been discontinued since duesbury commenced his labours here in the middle of the last century, amalgamating the historic works of bow and chelsea with his famous factory at derby. there are now three china-works in the thriving town, which boasts of more than , inhabitants within the borough boundaries. the factory of the derby crown china company, limited, is a palace of porcelain where poems in pottery are produced. it is one of the sights of the neighbourhood, and is much visited by americans and foreigners. established in , the works have been greatly developed, the business connections increased, and an advanced and higher tone given to most of the productions. all the usual services, such as dinner, tea, breakfast, trinket, and _déjeûner_, are made both in porcelain and in semi-vitrified "crown" ware, as are also figures and perforated vases in parian. the specialities of the company are vases of every conceivable design and style of decoration, from the most sumptuous oriental schemes, wrought in raised gold of various hues upon full and lusciously coloured grounds, to the dainty and refined shapes and ornaments of the classic and of the best periods of the renaissance. other productions of the company are the egg-shell specimens of fictile ware, which demand the most artistic skill of the potter. they are of extraordinary thinness; and the beauty of the colouring and the dainty jewelling and enamelling of the ornamentation equal anything achieved at the old works visited by dr. johnson in , when he observed:--"the china was beautiful, but it was too dear; for that he could have vessels of silver of the same size as cheap as what were made here of porcelain." derby, however, is largely dependent for its industrial prosperity upon the midland railway company, who have their chief offices, locomotive, carriage and waggon, telegraph and signal works in the town. they employ in derby alone a staff of , officials and workmen, and their estate covers acres. it extends for some distance along the derwent, which at this point receives the entire sewage of the town. this pollution of the beautiful river calls for legislative interference. what should be a source of delight becomes an object of disgust, and what was lovely is degraded with all that is loathsome. the south sea islanders pelt with filth the people they specially wish to honour: derby treats the derwent to a similar distinction. but a truce to sanitation and economics. let us follow the derwent, unfragrant as it has become, past spondon and the pretty mills at borrowash, to elvaston, the noble domain of the earl of harrington. the stream supplies with water a spacious ornamental lake, with four islands, concerning which the first duke of wellington, walking round it in company with charles, the fourth earl, stopped suddenly, and looking round, exclaimed, "harrington, this is the only natural piece of artificial water i ever saw in my life." the gardens and grounds themselves are a triumph of arboriculture and landscape gardening; and who is there that has not heard of their avenues of quaintly clipped trees? the church tower and castle rise above a forest of patrician trees, while umbrageous aisles of green give vistas of scenes "where boccaccio might have wooed and watteau painted." these poetic perspectives look upon rockery and statuary, lawn and fountain, borders and beds of flowers. there is an avenue of elms a mile in length, framing at the extremity a view of the gotham hills. the "golden" gates at the entrance-lodge belonged to the first napoleon, and once occupied a position near the royal palace at paris; they were erected here in . the castle and church adjoin each other. the former is a gothic mansion, which in was plundered by the cromwellian troops. a costly monument in memory of sir john stanhope was demolished, and outrages were committed in the family vault. the church is a picturesque edifice, with a lofty perpendicular tower; in it are effigies of sir john stanhope and his wife, dated , and other interesting family memorials. below elvaston the derwent flows through a flat country, and at its estuary at wilne, near shardlow, has greatly contracted its banks, so that it presents a striking contrast to the broad and powerful trent. the derbyshire river, indeed, is not worth following for its own sake below the county town. edward bradbury. [illustration: in the south gardens, elvaston.] [illustration: trent bridge, nottingham.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter v. the trent, from the derwent to the humber. the soar--trent junction--the erewash--gotham and its wise men--clifton hall and grove--nottingham and its history--colwich hall and mary chaworth--sherwood forest--newark--gainsborough--axholme--the confluence with the humber. shortly after it has received the derwent and passed by the locks communicating with the erewash canal, the trent is joined by another affluent, on its opposite bank. this is the soar, which, for the latter part of its course, bounds on the west a portion of the county of nottingham. rising in the leicestershire uplands, some miles to the south of the county town, it passes--traversing a rather wide and open valley--by leicester itself, skirting the precincts of the abbey--now marked by but scanty ruins--where cardinal wolsey died in the "winter of his discontent," disgraced by the king whom he had too well served. then it flows northward by the lime-kilns of barrow, and near the granite quarries of mount sorrel, wandering through water meadows, flat and at times flooded, but for several miles bounded on its western side by the rugged hills of charnwood forest, that insular outcrop of old-world rock which so strangely interrupts the monotonous opulence of the "red marl" scenery, and makes a little wales in england. to the soar come tributary streams from the pasture lands of leicester, dear to the fox-hunter, which tributaries, like the river itself, glide past many a quiet village, of which the churches are often of no little interest, and the houses not seldom afford to us excellent specimens of the domestic architecture of our country from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century. the junction of the soar is not far from another junction, which has given both an origin and a name to what is rapidly becoming a town. here the main line of the midland railway receives one or two important tributaries, and as the result, trent junction has sprung up. as we approach, tall factories are seen to rise above lines of red-brick houses, and the college--a young but important school, which has helped to make the name of the place familiar--is conspicuous just on the outskirts of the town. the valley here is wide and level, and the scenery naturally becomes a little monotonous, but its right bank, near to which the river, for a time, is flowing, is sometimes rather steeply scarped. one of the prettiest spots is near to the place where the railway crosses the trent, shortly after emerging from the cutting which conducts it from the valley of the soar to that of the main river. the side of the valley is steep and broken, a pleasant combination of rough grassy slope and clustering trees. the uniform flow of the water is interrupted by a weir, and its surface is flecked with white bubbles, roughened and broken for a time with ripples, while above and below the bridge our eyes range up and down the level meadows broken but slightly with lines of green hedges and dots of trees. shortly below this place the trent receives another tributary, the erewash, a river which traverses the nottinghamshire coalfield, and is now blackened in many places with collieries and ironworks. attenborough church, with its monuments, is of some note, and in the village was born henry ireton, son-in-law to cromwell. some two miles south of the river is a village known throughout the length and breadth of england, for its inhabitants in olden time have made it a household word. this is gotham, where wisdom was once to be found; for are not its wise men proverbial? thoroton, the county historian, thus relates the origin of the saying:--"king john, passing through the place towards nottingham, and intending to go through the meadows, was prevented by the villagers, who apprehended that the ground over which a king had passed would for ever become a public road. the king, incensed at their proceedings, sent some of his servants to inquire of them the reason of their incivility, that he might punish them by way of fine, or any other way he thought proper. the villagers, hearing of the approach of the king's servants, thought of an expedient to turn away his majesty's displeasure. when the messengers arrived, they found some of the inhabitants engaged in endeavouring to drown an eel; some were employed in dragging carts on to a barn to shade the wood from the sun; others were tumbling their cheeses down the hill to find their way to nottingham; and some were engaged in hedging in a cuckoo which had perched upon a bush; in short, they were all employed in some foolish way or other, whence arose the old adage." obviously, when we remember the monarch with whom they had to deal, they were not quite such fools as they seemed. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the trent, from the derwent to the humber.] the trent now begins to draw near to nottingham, and the villages show signs of the approach to a great centre of manufacture. on a cliff above the river is clifton hall. according to the county historian, the house stands on a rock of alabaster, "curiously inlaid in many places with beautiful spars." it is approached by "an avenue of trees, a mile in length, upon gentle swells of the earth, which happily destroy the formal line which would have been shown upon a level surface. below, the silvery trent meanders." tradition links a grim story of a murder to the pleasant groves of clifton, for here, as we are told, "the clifton beauty, who was debauched and murdered by her sweetheart, was hurled down the precipice into her watery grave. the place is shown you, and it has been long held in veneration by lovers. agreeable must be the shady walks above or below on the water's brink. here the blackbird and the thrush whistle through the day, and the little redbreast in the evening sings the creation to calm repose in plaintive song. here commerce is wafted from shore to shore, and industry flows for the reciprocal benefit of the human race." since these words were written, industry has gone on flowing to an extent which would have astonished the historian, and would perhaps have rather deranged the measured progress of his periods. but, even now, the barges not seldom form groups--as they did when turner sketched--tempting to the artist, and the natural beauty of the approach to nottingham has not been wholly destroyed by tall mills and lofty chimneys. the cliftons, from whom the hall and grove take their name, are an old and important nottinghamshire family. thoroton duly records the items of a feast given at the marriage of one of its members in the year , which are so curious as to be worth repeating as an indication of the state of england some three and a half centuries since. for the more solid comestibles were provided two oxen, six calves, six wethers, seven lambs, and ten pigs. among the lighter were "sixty couple conys," four dozen chickens, twelve swans, eight cranes, sixteen "hearonsews" (herons), and ten bitterns. to quench the thirst of the guests, there were three hogsheads of wine, "one white, one red, and one claret." the prices were very different from those of nottingham market at the present time. a pig cost fivepence, a wether two shillings and fourpence, and a calf fourpence more. a chicken could be purchased for a penny, and a couple of rabbits for fivepence. a swan was priced at sixpence, and a crane at fivepence; for the sixteen herons and the ten bitterns the same sum was paid, viz., fourteenpence. one might visit nottingham market now for a long time before getting a chance of buying any one of these four birds, and would then have to pay a fancy price for it. cygnet, as everyone knows who has tasted it, is an excellent dish, but we should have thought that the other wild birds would have needed a hunter's appetite. clifton grove is also inseparable from the memory of henry kirke white, the young poet who died at cambridge, from overwork, in his twenty-first year. the following quotation from his poem on the place may serve as a specimen of his verses, which we think, in the present day, would not have greatly pleased "reviewers, men, or bookstalls," and may give an idea of the grove at the beginning of the present century:-- "and oh, how sweet this walk o'erhung with wood that winds the margin of the solemn flood! what rural objects steal upon the sight! what rising views prolong the calm delight! "the brooklet branching from the silver trent, the whispering birch by every zephyr bent, the woody islands and the naked mead, the lowly hut half hid in groves of reed, the rural wicket and the rural stile, and frequent interspersed the woodman's pile. "above, below, where'er i turn my eyes, rocks, waters, woods in grand succession rise. high up the cliff the varied groves ascend, and mournful larches o'er the wave impend." not many towns in the midland counties of england have a finer natural situation than nottingham. the upland district on the western bank of the trent terminates in an abrupt craggy scarp above the wide and level valley. the river, just opposite to the town, has swung away into the plain to a distance of more than half a mile from its ancient course, and a tributary stream called the leen, which has cut deep into the plateau, intervenes between it and the ancient town. this, no doubt, was once limited to the scarped headland which rises between the two valleys, though probably it straggled down into the plain, and gradually extended along the road leading to the old bridge over the trent. but during the present century nottingham has gained enormously in size, and lost correspondingly in beauty. it has become less picturesque, though probably more healthy, and certainly more convenient; but now it is not wholly guiltless of smoke; it bristles in parts with chimneys, the utilitarian substitute for spires, and it would require very subjective treatment at the hands of an artist who was desirous of depicting the beautiful. still, there are some views of the town, from the side of the leen, which are not even now without a certain beauty. scarped cliffs of grey sandstone support the gardens and terraces of the castle, in the rear of which the town rises from the valley in alternating lines of trees and houses, broken here and there by the steeple or tower of a church. but in olden times, when the valley plain was free from railways, factories, and chimneys, nottingham must have been a singularly picturesque town. then the view from the valley of the trent, especially from near the influx of the leen, must have been a worthy subject for an artist. the southern wall of the town crowned the grey cliff; above it rose the noble tower of the principal church, and near the extremity of the headland, above the steepest crags, stood the keep and bastions of the castle. the church remains, but of the rest, as a glance shows, little is left to recall the nottingham of the days of the plantagenets. [illustration: nottingham, from the castle.] a better site for a town could not readily have been found in the days when the "good old rule" in regard to taking and keeping prevailed. thus there was a settlement on the headland at an early epoch, though the exact date of the foundation of nottingham and its more ancient history are equally obscure. as this is not the place for an antiquarian discussion of the value of legends, we will pass over them in silence. as the trent appears to have been bridged opposite to the town so long since as the tenth century, it is probable that even then a settlement of some importance was already in existence. its subsequent history was for a time not altogether peaceful or prosperous. it was sorely harried by the danes; it was taken and spoiled by the troops of robert earl of gloucester in the days of king stephen, when numbers of the townspeople were slain and no small part of the town was burnt; it was again besieged and captured by duke henry, afterwards the second king of that name. since this time, though more than once the noise of war has been heard in its gates, the town has been, on the whole, much more fortunate. on two occasions only it occupies a prominent place in the history of england. at nottingham castle the young king edward iii. was residing with his mother isabella and her notorious favourite, roger mortimer, when what would now be called a _coup d'état_ was planned and successfully carried out. the insolence of this man had stirred the anger of the english nobles, and they rallied to the aid of the young king. he was lodged outside the castle; within its walls his so-called guardians appeared to be in safety. but one night edward and his friends were admitted through a long underground passage, which is still shown under the name of "mortimer's hole," into the very interior of the castle; the queen and mortimer were arrested in their chambers, and the latter was hurried off to london, where the parliament pronounced his doom, and he was instantly put to an ignominious death, meeting with a fate worse than that of haman. this great act of justice done, the king, as froissart says, "took new counsellors, the wisest and best beloved by his people." the other episode occurred after a lapse of more than three centuries. at nottingham was enacted the first scene of the long drama of the civil war termed by royalist historians "the great rebellion." from york charles i. had issued a proclamation requiring "all men who could bear arms to repair to him at nottingham by the th of august following, on which day he would set up his royal standard there." on the morning of the day named he reached nottingham, and took up his lodging at a house in the town, as the buildings of the castle had even then fallen into a dilapidated condition. the day was wild and stormy; but about six o'clock in the evening "the king himself, with a small train, rode to the top of the castle hill, varney, the knight marshal, who was standard-bearer, carrying the standard, which was then erected in that place, with little other ceremony than the sound of drums and trumpets. the standard was blown down the same night it had been set up, by a very strong and unruly wind, and could not be fixed in a day or two, till the tempest was allayed." it was an evil omen, as many observed--not the first in that ill-fated career--and seemed a fitting beginning to the long series of calamities which was closed on the scaffold before the windows of the banqueting house of whitehall. but in days previous to those of the stuarts, nottingham castle was a not unfrequent residence of the kings of england. it was sometimes a prison for men of high estate, for here owen glendower and david ii. of scotland were immured, the latter for twelve years, after the battle of neville's cross. king charles, after he had set up his standard, was not long able to retain possession of the town, and it fell into the hands of his opponents, who repaired the fortifications, and placed colonel hutchinson in command. several attempts were made by the royalists to regain possession of so important a centre; but though a metal more valuable than lead was also tried, all were unsuccessful, and the king was never again able to set foot within the walls. the castle was "slighted" at the conclusion of the war, and became ultimately the property of the duke of newcastle. he cleared away the ruins, and upon the site built a mansion, the design of which some ascribe to sir christopher wren. if so, it is far from being among the happiest efforts of that great man. how ugly it is those who do not know it may see from turner's early sketch of nottingham, which gives an excellent notion of the leading features of the town before its later development. what an offence it had become to the feelings of his maturity may be seen in turner's latest sketch of the town, engraved on the next plate of "modern painters" (vol. iv.), where the castle is almost thrust aside out of the picture, and is treated rather freely, in order to alleviate slightly the hardness of its rectangular walls and windows. it was not, however, for long a favourite residence, and by the earlier part of the present century the ducal owner seldom passed any time under its roof. at last, on the rejection of the reform bill by the house of lords in , the nottingham "lambs," as the town roughs are called--seemingly because that is about the last animal to which they present any resemblance--"determined to make the castle a burnt-offering to the shade of the outcast bill." with the usual british negligence, no precautions had been taken against a riot, so they had for a season full opportunity to disport themselves. after a little preliminary diversion in the country they swarmed up the castle hill, forced the gates, piled up combustibles in the rooms, kindled them, and in a short time the whole building was in flames. thus the duke got rid of a useless house, and as he recovered damages from the hundred, he probably did not bear much malice against the rabble of nottingham. for some forty years it stood a mere roofless, floorless, windowless shell, an unpicturesque ruin. the walls, however, were still in good condition, and were ultimately acquired by the municipal authorities, at whose expense the structure was thoroughly restored for use as a museum; this was opened in , the adjoining grounds being laid out as an ornamental garden. the terrace commands a fine view over the valley of the trent. "striking at all times, it is never so remarkable as when that river is in flood. formerly this was a common event, but the inundations were mitigated by the removal, in the year , of the old trent bridge, with its narrow arches, and the erection in its stead of the present handsome structure, which gives a more ready passage to the swollen waters. still, it is not a rare occurrence to see the whole valley, as far as the eye can reach, converted into one huge lake. the roads in many places are submerged; the railway embankments barely overtop the waters; hedges almost disappear, and the trees rise forlornly from the flood; whole groups of houses are converted into a bad imitation of venice, and the water disports itself on the ground-floors of warehouses, and among the chattels of store-yards, greatly to the detriment of their owners." [illustration: newark castle.] the stately tower of st. mary's church is still conspicuous in the views of the town from the neighbourhood of the trent, and the whole structure is well worth a visit, for there are few finer churches in the county. it is a noble specimen of perpendicular architecture, especially remarkable for the number and size of its windows--which, as leland says, are so many "that no artificer can imagine to set more." the market-place also--a triangular area some four and a half acres in extent--is an interesting spectacle on saturdays, when it is covered with booths for the sale not only of fish, flesh, and fowl, but of all sorts of wares; for nottingham market still maintains its ancient repute in the town; and there, on its stony pastures, the nottingham lambs were formerly wont to disport themselves at election times, and probably will do it again, whenever political feeling is running high. of this spectacle one might say that distance would certainly lend enchantment to the view. [illustration: carlton.] on university college--a fine new structure, and a lasting monument to the public spirit of the municipality--on the modern churches and public buildings, the arboretum and the town gardens, want of space forbids us to dwell. but the sandstone cliffs so prominent in every view from the river call for the mention of one peculiarity, which is exhibited not only by nottingham but also by some of the neighbouring villages. in these may be seen dwellings hewn in the rocks, for which some persons claim a remote antiquity, and see in them indeed a survival, if not an actual remnant, of the days when, as the greek tragedian relates-- houses of wood or brick they could not frame, but underneath the ground, like swarming ants, in sunless caves they found a hidden home. be this as it may, houses partly excavated in the rock are still not very uncommon, and there are some singular caves in the cemetery which are now being utilised for vaults, so that "at the present day in the town of nottingham, we find a return not only to primitive dwellings as at petra, but to primitive sepulchres as at jerusalem." the secret of the rapid development of nottingham during the present century, the cause, direct or indirect, of the great blocks of buildings that rise high above the level of the houses on the hill, and have spread so widely over the meadows of the trent and leen, is the manufacture of hosiery and lace. in early days nottingham was noted for making malt and tanning leather, but the latter trade, happily for the noses of the inhabitants, is not now among the leading industries of the town. it became distinguished for hand-knit stockings not very long after this method of making them was adopted, and one of the first attempts at a weaving machine was set up in a nottinghamshire village. it is needless to say that the inventor experienced the common fate of those wiser than their generation, and that others reaped the fruits of what he had sown in poverty and sorrow. the machine, after the death of the inventor, was adapted for use in london, and was brought back again into nottinghamshire, where during the seventeenth century it became firmly established. great improvements in the methods of weaving were made in the following century, and these during the present one have been carried to a high pitch of perfection. the machinery in the factories produces almost everything that can be woven, from the most ordinary articles of hosiery to the most delicate lacework. from nottingham to newark the trent continues to flow and to wind along a wide open valley, bounded here and there, as at the former town, by sandstone crags, which with their pleasant combinations of rock, wood, and water occasionally relieve the general monotony of the scenery. on the left bank runs the railway. colwich hall, which is in the valley not far from nottingham, is noted for its memories of mary chaworth, who first awakened the youthful susceptibilities of byron, and is commemorated in more than one of his earlier poems. she married the owner of colwich hall, and her fate was a sad one. at the time of the riots already mentioned, the house was attacked and plundered by the nottingham mob; she escaped from the tender mercies of the playful "lambs" into a neighbouring plantation, but the fright and the exposure to the rain caused an illness which proved fatal. west of the trent lies sherwood forest, with its memories of robin hood, who more than once played his pranks in the town of nottingham, and made its officials his victims. on this side also lies the group of ample estates and lordly mansions called the "dukery"; but on the river itself there is no place of any note--though some of the village churches are of interest--till we reach the old ferry at fiskerton, near to which is east stoke, where the misguided followers of lambert simnel were crushed and scattered by the troops of henry vii. before the trent reaches newark it divides into two streams, the larger keeping to the western side of the valley, while the smaller flows nearer to the undulating plateau by which it is bounded on the east. between the base of this plateau and the water is a broad strip of level land, on which the town is built. it was, in former days, a military post of some importance, for it guarded the line of the great north road, which is now carried across the island plain on a raised causeway, constructed by smeaton. according to tradition, the first fortress by the riverside was erected by egbert, but this was rebuilt by leofric, the great earl of mercia, when it was called the new work, and thus gave a name to the town. but of this fortress not a fragment is now visible, the oldest part of the present castle dating from about the year , when it was rebuilt from the ground by one of the bishops of lincoln. he had a liking for castle-building, but as he doubted how far such work was episcopal, in order to keep his conscience easy, he always founded a monastery when he built a new fortress. since this date also very much has been changed, and the ruin as it stands is for the most part distinctly less ancient. within the walls of newark castle, king john, of evil fame, ended his unquiet life; and not long after it was occupied by the nobles who were in arms against him, and was defended for a few days against the earl of pembroke, guardian of the young king, his successor. but the most stirring episodes in the history of newark castle occurred during the civil war. after the troubles began, the town, which was exceptionally loyal, was held by a strong royalist garrison, which for a time formed a serious obstacle to the progress of the other party. so it was beleaguered by three separate bands of the parliamentary troops. this division of forces proved to be a disastrous policy. the band which had occupied beacon hill, to the north-east of the town, was attacked suddenly on one side by prince rupert, on the other by a sally of the besieged, and was crushed and captured, whereupon the others retreated hurriedly. newark was again besieged after marston moor, and again relieved by prince rupert. but at last, after the fatal field of naseby, the town was blockaded by the scotch army. yet even then it held out till the king had surrendered at southwell, when, in accordance with his orders, it capitulated. among the "siege pieces" which remain as memorials of the great struggle, those of newark are familiar to the collector. the castle, of course, was duly "slighted," and for two centuries the ruins were abandoned to the ravages of the weather and of the local vandals. now, however, they are carefully preserved. the river front, which consists of a lofty curtain-wall with three towers, is still fairly perfect, but the latter do not project sufficiently to produce an effective outline or a picturesque view. newark, though now a busy place, for it is the centre of an important agricultural district, and has a noted corn market, besides gypsum and farming implement works and malthouses, still retains several remnants of bygone times, particularly in its ample market-place, where one or two interesting old houses may yet be seen, as well as a curious though much-restored cross, called the beaumont cross, at the junction of two of its streets. in former days, as a halting-place on the great north road, it was noted for its inns, and two of those which now remain claim to have existed from very early times. the "saracen's head" (where jeanie deans is lodged by the author of the "heart of midlothian") traces back its history to the reign of edward iii., and the "white hart" to that of henry iv. but its chief attraction to the antiquarian is the church, the lofty spire of which rises conspicuously above the houses in every view of the town. it yields to few parish churches in england either in size or beauty; and, now that southwell is a cathedral, may claim to be, on the whole, the finest in the county of nottingham. it incorporates a few remnants of a norman building, but the lower part of the tower is early english--the building as a whole, together with the spire, being perpendicular. the steeple is at the western end, and the plan is cruciform, but the transepts do not project beyond the outer wall of the aisles. the stalls and woodwork of the choir and the roof are very fine, and some of the brasses are interesting. there is also some good modern stained glass, and an excellent organ. the large churchyard allows the church to be well seen from near at hand, and for many a mile along the broad and level valley of the trent its steeple rises like a landmark, which in olden times served to guide the traveller to the shelter of the walls of the "new work." [illustration: on the trent at gainsborough.] the general course of the trent is now almost due north to beyond gainsborough, though the river sweeps through the broad valley in great sinuous curves. the scenery loses its interest, for the slopes which rise from the plain are, as a rule, rather low, and comparatively distant from the waterside. level meadows have, no doubt, a certain beauty of their own, particularly in the early summer, when the grass is dappled with flowers and the scythe has not yet laid low their beauty. there is a charm in the beds of rustling reeds, in the grey willows overhanging the water, in the clusters of meadow-sweet, willow-herb, and loosestrife, fringing the bank and brightening the ditches; in the swan that "floats double" on the still stream, and the kingfisher that glances over it like a flying emerald; but these after a time become a little monotonous; and neither the river itself, nor the villages near its bank, afford much opportunity for illustration or for description. [illustration: old sluice gate at axholme.] west of lincoln, roughly speaking, the trent ceases to traverse nottinghamshire, and becomes the boundary between it and the adjoining shire of lincoln. the only place of importance on the latter portion is gainsborough, a town of considerable antiquity, for here the fleet of sweyn was moored, and here he himself, on returning from his foray, "was stabbed by an unknown hand"; but it retains little of interest and is less picturesque than is the wont of riverside towns. the influence of the tide extends some miles above the town, and bare banks of slimy mud are exposed at low water on either side of the stream. the trent is said to exhibit at spring tides the phenomenon called the "bore" or "eagre," when, at the first rise after low, the tidal wave, forcing its way up the contracted channel of the river from the broad expanse of the estuary, advances as a rolling mass of water, causing no little disturbance to the smaller craft which it meets in its course. a handsome stone bridge of three arches, with a balustraded parapet, spans the river at gainsborough, and affords a good view both of it and of the town. the latter occupies a strip of level land between the water-brink and the well-defined slope which forms the eastern boundary of the valley. mills old and new are its most conspicuous features. not a few have their bases washed by the tide; but at intervals gardens, defended as usual by retaining-walls, come down to the trent. chimneys are more prominent than spires, and the principal church--at some distance from the bridge--has a tower inconspicuous either for height or for beauty. on the left bank houses are not numerous; flat meadows and hedgerow trees generally border the stream, and extend for a mile or more, till the ground gradually rises to the opposite slope of the valley. it must be confessed that neither the scenery nor the town itself is particularly attractive; but the former is improved by regarding it from the higher ground on the east, from which also views are obtained across another expanse of comparatively level ground to a line of low hills forming the northern prolongation of the plateau on which stands the cathedral of lincoln. the parish church of gainsborough is said to have been built early in the thirteenth century; but the greater part of the tower must be considerably later in its date, and the body of the church is a heavy stone structure in what its architects would probably have called the italian style. it has, however, a churchyard, pleasantly--it might be said, thickly--planted with trees; and, to judge by its size, one would infer that gainsborough at any rate was deemed a good place to die in, whatever it might be for the purpose of living. the town, however, possesses easy communication, by way of the trent, with the humber, and is thus an inland port of some rank. [illustration: meadow land at axholme.] the old chapel mentioned by leland, the traditional burial-place of sundry danish invaders, is gone; but the visitor who has traversed the rather long and, near the waterside, unlovely streets which intervene between the railway station and the central part of the town, will find, when he has reached the latter, something between it and the river to reward him for his pains. this is a remarkable specimen, in very fair preservation, of the older english domestic architecture. it is called the old hall, or manor house, and john of gaunt is popularly indicated as its builder; but it may perhaps be doubted whether the greater part, at least, does not belong to a rather later date. the house, which is of considerable size, stands at the end of a kind of open courtyard surrounded by cottages. its general plan is that of a long central block from which two wings project at right angles. the former is chiefly--at any rate, in the upper portion--of timber-work; the latter are mainly built of brick. the mansion has suffered considerably from the effects of time and neglect, but it has been to some extent restored of late years, and portions of it are still either inhabited or in use. about a century and a half since it was the residence of one sir neville hickman, but since his death it has served various purposes, one part for a time having been converted into a theatre. the tidal river below gainsborough passes on through scenery less and less interesting. after a time it ceases to divide the county of nottingham from lincoln, and is bordered on both banks by the latter. the district to the west is called the island of axholme. this, "though now containing some of the richest land perhaps in the kingdom, was formerly one continued fen, occasioned by the silt thrown up the trent with the tides of the humber. this, obstructing the free passage of the dun and the idle, forced back their waters over the circumjacent lands, so that the higher central parts formed an island, which appellation they still retain. from this circumstance it became a place so deplorable that roger, lord mowbray, an eminent baron in the time of king henry ii., adhering to the interests of the younger henry, who took up arms against his father, repaired with his retainers to this spot, fortified an old castle, and for some time set at defiance the king's forces who were sent to reduce him to obedience."[ ] the authority just quoted tells us that an attempt to regulate the drainage of axholme was made so long since as the reign of henry v. by one of the abbots of selby, who constructed "a long sluice of wood" upon the trent "at the head of a certain sewer called the maredyke," and this he did "of his free goodwill and charity for the care of the country." this was destroyed of malicious purpose in the days of his successor, who rebuilt the same of stone. but the chief reclamation of land, not only in the marshes of axholme, but also in the adjacent fens called dikes mersh and hatfield chase, in the county of york, was undertaken in the earlier part of the reign of charles i., when a contract bearing date may , , was made with cornelius vermuden, which was successfully carried out during the next five years, so that many thousand acres of land were made available for agricultural purposes--"the waters which usually overflowed the whole level being conveyed into the river trent, through snow sewer and althorpe river by a sluice, which opened out the drained water at every ebb, and kept back the tides upon all comings-in thereof." the confluence of the trent with the humber takes place near alkborough, "where dr. stukeley places the _aquis_ of ravennas, having discovered a roman _castrum_ and a vicinal road. the roman castle is square, feet each side, the entrance north, the west side is objected to the steep cliff hanging over the trent, which here falls into the humber; for this castle is very conveniently placed in the north-west angle of lincolnshire, as a watch-tower over all nottingham and yorkshire, which it surveys. i am told the camp is now called _countess close_, and they say a countess of warwick lived there, perhaps owned the estate; but there are no marks of building, nor, i believe, ever were. the vallum and ditch were very perfect. before the north entrance is a square plot, called the green, where i suppose the roman soldiers lay _pro castris_. in it is a round walk, formed into a labyrinth, which they call 'julian's bower.'" so, where trent and ouse unite to form the broad and "storming humber," that "keeps the scythian's name," our survey ends; the rivers have now become an estuary, and that, as another writer will presently show, soon begins to open out towards the sea, along which the vessels come and go to "merchandising hull" and other ports which during this century have risen into notice. t. g. bonney. [illustration: bolton bridge.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter vi. the wharfe. general characteristics--the skirfare--langstrothdale--kettlewell--dowkabottom cave--coniston and its neighbourhood--rylstone and the nortons--burnsall--appletreewick: an eccentric parson--simon's seat--barden tower and the cliffords--the "strid"--bolton abbey and bolton hall--the bridge--ilkley--denton and the fairfaxes--farnley hall and turner--otley--harewood--towton field--kirkby wharfe--bolton percy. the wharfe is typical of the broad shire. from beginning to end it is a yorkshire stream. having its origin on the slopes of the cam mountain, in the north-west of the county, it traverses, in the sixty or seventy miles of its course to the ouse, almost every description of the scenery for which this great division of england is famous. over moorland and meadowland, rushing madly down precipitous rocks and flowing placidly along fertile plains, shut up in some parts within deep gorges and at other points spreading out to river-like dimensions, it has an ever-varying charm to all who trace its progress. and its physical characteristics are but a reflex of the incidents of the story to be gleaned along its banks. to make its acquaintance away up on the fells is to find it blending into many a choice bit of folklore and into old-world customs and superstitions. here, in a favoured bend, it murmurs in sweet harmony with an idyll of country life; there it dashes wildly on its way, in keeping with the tragic tale of which at this particular spot it is the scene. yonder it skirts, in a roofless monastery, a memorial of its treachery; here it has turned for generations the waterwheel of a mill that has never failed to find grist from a peaceful farming community. if in one place it sweeps round one of the great battlefields of our country, in another it flows in undisturbed seclusion between wooded slopes where the overhanging trees hide the sunlight from its waters, and dark rock-sheltered pools provide a safe retreat for the otter. not anywhere, in fact, is the wharfe devoid of interest or beauty. it retains throughout its freshness and its charm, and it is cheering to know that very watchful are the people who live on its banks to guard it from anything calculated to lessen its attractiveness. a classic english river, tributes have been paid to the wharfe from the days of the romans. in our own time wordsworth got from it the inspiration for some of his finest verse, and turner found it yield subjects to him in generous abundance for his matchless drawings. camden must have lingered by the wharfe. he knew it better than any other early writer. there is evidence, in what he says about it, that he penetrated into those regions where its interest to the modern tourist too often ends, but where to the naturalist, the antiquary, and the artist, some of its choicest features begin to reveal themselves. in his quaint way, in his "britannia," he tells us that "if a man should think the name of the stream to be wrested from the word guerf, which in british signifieth swift or violent, verily the nature of the river conspireth with that opinion." camden's description of the wharfe is proof that he saw it chiefly in its mountainous aspect. he speaks of it as "a swift and speedy streame, making a great noise as it goeth, as if it were froward, stubborn, and angry." and he further speaks of it as being "verily a troublesome river, and dangerous even in summer time also," which he himself had some experience of, "for it hath such slippery stones in it that our horse had no sure footing on them, or else the violence of the water carried them away from under his feet." the wharfe is joined, at a point about fifteen miles from its source, by the skirfare. both rivers run on a parallel course from the direction of the cam fells, and are close enough to each other to have a common interest. the skirfare passes through what wordsworth, in the "white doe of rylstone," using the ancient name, calls "the deep fork of amerdale." "amerdale" has for a long period, however, given place to "littondale," litton being the name of a village on the banks of the stream. running north of the skirfare, and starting from a point a few miles further west, the wharfe passes down langstrothdale in the fell country, and then through kettlewelldale to the point of junction with the skirfare. the name langstrothdale has a celtic ring, and has not inappropriately been translated to mean the long valley. from here are supposed to have come the two scholars of soleres hall at cambridge, mentioned in chaucer's "reve's tale"-- "of oo towne were they borne that highte strother, efer in the north, i cannot tellen where." the spot is, however, pretty clearly identified otherwise by chaucer himself, the dialect he uses in this tale in connection with the scholars bearing a close resemblance to the langstrothdale folk-speech. it is a speech deserving the attention of the philologist, agreeing as it does in many of its peculiarities with early english forms. the head waters of the wharfe lie far out of the beaten track, in a district so broken up into hilly grandeur, and commanding from its heights so many fine glimpses into the dales "where deep and low the hamlets lie," as to form a fitting introduction to the river that in its course yields so much beauty and romance. at beckermonds, "the mouths of the becks," two small streams unite, and from here the wharfe passes downwards into kettlewelldale. hubberholme, the first village on the river of any note, is supposed to be of danish origin, and is one of the oldest cluster of houses in this part of the country, possessing a church, dedicated to st. michael, the history of which is popularly supposed to go back to the time of paulinus. a short distance below hubberholme lies buckden, in a delightful setting of scenery. then comes starbotton, a village taking its name from a stream that runs through it, and below is kettlewell, the best starting point for upper wharfedale, and the town from which this section of the river's course takes its name. kettlewell figures in domesday as chetelwell, and is said by some authorities to be derived from "the weiler or dwelling of chetel." a norman church of an exceedingly simple pattern remained here until the beginning of the present century, when the existing edifice took its place, only the old font remaining as a memorial of the ancient structure. the town stands at the foot of great whernside ( , feet) and close to it also is buckden pike ( , feet). magnificent views may be obtained from both heights. but one need go no further than the centre of the bridge at kettlewell to find delightful glimpses of the course of the wharfe, both east and west. the river at this point comes down with a great rush, the descent from its source, a little over ten miles, exceeding six hundred feet. two miles or so south of kettlewell is the well-known, although not easily found, dowkabottom cave, perhaps the most interesting of the many openings into the limestone formation in north-west yorkshire. the entrance to the cave is on a level terrace on the mountain slope, at a point , feet above the sea. five chambers and several passage-ways make up the cave, in which are many curious natural formations caused by the percolation of the water through the limestone. the scene inside is singularly weird and fascinating. but the dowkabottom cave is more than a curiosity. it was one of the homes of primitive man, and it seems to have been a place of shelter also in the brito-roman period. bones and skulls of animals were found on the surface when the cave was discovered, and since then there have been scientific examinations of the interior, with the result that human skeletons have been unearthed, together with the bones of the wolf, the wild boar, the horse, the red deer, sheep, and other animals. amongst the articles of domestic use found were bone pins and ornaments belonging to the primeval occupation, and bronze weapons, armlets, rings, coins, etc., of the brito-roman days. the theory as to the last-mentioned articles is that the inhabitants of the district found shelter here for a time after the departure of the romans, when the northern tribes, held no longer in check, came down into the craven country. to account for the loose bones, it has been surmised that the wolf may have found a safe den in this cave long after it was driven out of other parts of england. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the wharfe.] returning to the wharfe, and following the river on its way from kettlewell, coniston is reached--a picturesque village, with a maypole, trim garden ground in front of most of the houses, and a church which, according to whitaker, is the most ancient building in craven. since whitaker's time the church has been much improved, but it retains many of its ancient features. from coniston it is a short walk across country to kilnsey, where is a grand stretch of overhanging limestone, "a promontory," says phillips, "of the primeval sea loch, which is now the green valley of the wharfe." the crag is nearly half a mile in extent, and rises at its highest part, whence there is a fine view, to feet. a beautifully wooded walk of three miles leads from coniston to grassington, where at one time a good deal of lead was obtained and smelted. here is what is said to be the oldest bridge on the river. what became of some earlier bridges on the same stream is told in an entry in the church books of otley, under date . on the th of september in that year there was "a wonderful inundation of waters in the northern parts," and on that occasion "this river of wharfe, never known to be so big within the memory of man, overturned kettlewell bridge, burnsey bridge, barden bridge, bolton bridge, ilkley bridge, and otley bridge." it also swept away certain fulling mills of wood, and "carried them down whole, like to a ship." and when the flood had passed, "it left neither corn nor cattle on the coast thereof." [illustration: skipton castle, from one of the towers.] close to grassington is threshfield, where there are several old buildings, and the grammar school in which dr. whitaker, the historian of craven, received his early education. then comes linton, where in the old time every woman in the place "could spin flax from the distaff, or rock as it was called, and could card or spin wool from the piece." linton, in those days, was a veritable arcadia in the hills, for here there was neither poor's rate nor public-house, and almost every housekeeper had his "three acres and a cow," or what was tantamount thereto. there has been a change in these conditions, but linton has not lost its look of prosperity and comfort. close to the village are what have been called the falls of the wharfe--a rocky break in the river, forming a fine study for the artist. below linton lies hebden, a village whose character and position are well expressed in its name--heb, high; and dene, a valley; and across the river at this point lies thorpe. at thorpe we are on the road leading to rylstone, the seat of the nortons, who risked and lost so much in the "rising of the north," -- "thee, norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes, they doomed to die; alas! for ruth. thy revered lockes thee could not save, nor them their fair and blooming youth." the ballad is an exaggeration, two only of the sons having suffered on the scaffold. the property, however, was cut off, and the "sequestered hall" mentioned in the "white doe" fell into ruins. the name of the family clings to the district, and is perpetuated in what remains of the norton tower. "it fronts all quarters, and looks round, o'er path and road, and plain and dell, dark moor, and gleaming pool and stream, upon a prospect without bound." [illustration: ilkley bridge.] the "white doe" was the pet of "the exalted emily, maid of the blasted family." it was presented to her by her brother, francis norton, of rylstone. francis was one of those who perished in the rising of the north. he was buried in bolton abbey, and, according to the legend, the sister was a frequent visitor to his grave-- "but most to bolton's sacred pile, on favouring nights she longed to go; there ranged through cloister, court, and aisle, attended by the soft-paced doe. nor did she fear in the soft moonshine to look upon st. mary's shrine, nor on the lonely turf that showed where francis slept in his last abode." lying below thorpe and hebden is burnsall, and here the scenery, especially along the banks of the river, is rich in picturesque beauty. burnsall is brinshale in domesday. it is a place where well-worship must have prevailed from a remote time, as is evidenced in its "thorsill" or thor's well, and in its other wells dedicated to st. margaret and st. helena. owing to a peculiarity in the division of the manor, the parish at one time rejoiced in two rectors and two rectories, with two pulpits and two stalls in the church. originally norman, the church has undergone repair at different times. the latest restoration was in . an inscription on a tablet inside the tower speaks of an earlier work in the same direction, describing how in the fabric was repaired and beautified at the "onlie coste and charges of sir william craven, knight and alderman of the citie of london, and late lord mayor of the same." sir william was a native of appletreewick close by. his career recalls that of whittington. he went up to london under the care of a carrier, got employment in the family of a mercer, and eventually excelled his master in business. he was lord mayor in . his eldest son distinguished himself in the service of gustavus adolphus and the prince of orange, and married the queen of bohemia. "thus," says whitaker, with a touch of pride, "the son of the wharfedale peasant matched with the sister of charles i." sir william craven also erected and endowed the grammar school of the village. at this school eugene aram is said to have been an usher. a more interesting character than aram was the rev. john alcock, master of the school in aram's time, and rector of a moiety of the parish. it is said of him that on one occasion, when preaching on behalf of some benevolent object, he noticed his congregation becoming restless. "oh yes," he said, "i see how it is. you want your dinners; so do i. very well, there's sermon enough left for another spell, and so we'll postpone the remainder till next anniversary." on another occasion he had no sermon to deliver at all; he had either mislaid or lost his ms. "it's no matter," he said to the clerk, loud enough for all to hear; "hand me up that bible, and i'll read a chapter in job worth two of it." nor is this the only instance showing how coolly this eccentric clergyman could meet an emergency. there is a story to the effect that the pages of a sermon he had were stitched together in such a way as to confuse the argument. he did not discover this until about to announce the text, when he quietly explained what had happened, adding "i've no time to put the leaves right. i shall read them as i find them. you can put everything straight yourselves when you get home." "that's an awkward word," he said to a lady when she came to the "obey" in the marriage service; "you can skip on to the next!" leaving burnsall, the wharfe skirts hartlington, and flows past appletreewick. both of these places trace their history back to saxon times. there is much to see here, amongst other things caverns worth exploring, and a great collection of boulders known as "the apronful of stones." the legend of the stones is that the devil was carrying them, for some purpose best known to himself, when he stumbled over a knoll, causing the apron to give way with the weight that was in it, and the stones to assume their present position. on the river to the south lies howgill, and we are now close to simon's seat ( , feet), from whose summit fine views of upper and lower wharfedale and neighbouring valleys are obtained. the name simon in this connection has been traced to the northern hero sigmund; but the legend among the dalesmen is that a shepherd once found a male child on the top of the mountain, and adopted the infant, whom he named simon. as the boy grew up the burden of keeping him was shared by different shepherds. the little fellow was cared for, in fact, "amang 'em;" and "amanghem" became his surname--a name, whatever is to be said for the story, that is borne by some families in this part of the country. simon's seat rises gradually from the wharfe, and it is an easy descent from its slopes to barden tower, whose grey ruins look grandly over a wild and beautiful scene. barden tower was the home of henry clifford, "the shepherd lord," and may be taken as a landmark dividing upper from lower wharfedale. the story of the shepherd lord, although some four centuries old, is known by oral transmission all over the countryside here. unlike a good many of the other tales common among the dalesmen, it has the merit of truth. its hero was the eldest son of john, "the black clifford," who was struck down on the eve of the battle of towton, and whose estates were forfeited by the issue of that day. the clifford heir, then a boy of five years, was sent for protection, after the battle, into cumberland, where he was brought up as a shepherd. he pursued this life for about twenty-five years, and when, on the accession of henry vii., he secured the inheritance of his ancestors, his desire for a quiet and simple life was shown in the selection he made of barden tower for his residence. he found the tower a small keep or lodge, and enlarged it sufficiently to provide accommodation for a few of his friends. here he spent his time studying astronomy and alchemy, and enjoying the company of such of the monks of bolton as had similar tastes. the shepherd lord could fight valiantly when the need arose, and the dalesmen rallied around his standard when, in his sixtieth year, he went onwards to flodden:-- "from penigent to pendle hill, from linton to long addingham, and all that craven coasts did till, they with the lusty clifford came." the shepherd lord survived flodden about ten years. after his death, barden tower was only occasionally used by the cliffords, and was allowed to fall into decay. an inscription over the gateway states that it was repaired by lady anne clifford, countess of pembroke, dorset, and montgomery, "and high sheriffesse by inheritance of the county of westmorland." this was in the years - , "after it had layne ruinous ever since about , when her mother then lay in it, and was greate with childe with her, till now that it was repayred by the sayd lady." "the said lady" did a great deal for the houses of her family; hence a citation at the close of the barden inscription (isaiah lviii. )--"thou shalt build up the foundations of many generations, and thou shalt be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of paths to dwell in." a small chapel adjoins the ruin, and a part of the tower adjoining the chapel is used as a farmhouse. the property, like the bolton estate below, now belongs to the duke of devonshire. [illustration: the bridge, otley.] from barden tower the wharfe falls rapidly over a rocky course, densely wooded on both sides, towards the famous "strid," a narrow gorge in the rocky bed, through which the water rushes at a furious speed. the name "strid" has two derivations given to it. one, in common acceptance, is that it is so called because it is possible at this point to stride over the chasm. the more likely derivation is the anglo-saxon "stryth," or turmoil. the common meaning, however, suggests the tradition that gives romantic interest to the spot. it was here over seven centuries ago, as the story goes, that "the boy of egremond," the heir to the romillys, perished in the flood while out hunting. "he sprang in glee, for what cared he that the river was strong and the rocks were steep? but the greyhound in the leash hung back, and checked him in his leap. the boy is in the arms of wharfe, and strangled by a merciless force; for never more was young romilly seen till he rose a lifeless corse." [illustration: farnley hall.] connected with this legend is the founding of bolton abbey, situated in the meadow land close to the river some distance below. it is said that the falconer hastened back to the lady alice, the mother of the boy, and broke the sad news with the significant question, "what is good for a bootless bene?" wordsworth scarcely varies from the story as it is still told in the locality:-- "'what is good for a bootless bene?' the falconer to the lady said; and she made answer, 'endless sorrow!' for she knew that her son was dead; she knew it by the falconer's words, and from the look of the falconer's eye, and from the love that was in her soul for her youthful romilly." the story goes that when the lady alice fully realised what had happened she vowed, now all hope was gone from her, that many a poor man's son should be her heir. according to the legend, she selected a site for a priory, as near to the scene of the accident as she could find one, and when "the pious structure fair to see" rose up, she transferred it to the monks of embsay, in the bleak hilly region beyond. the charter and the romance do not, however, agree. the conveyance of the ground at bolton to the monks appears to have been made before the accident at the strid, as the son is named in the document as a party to the transaction, and the reading indicates that the land had been given over in a prosaic fashion by way of exchange. it has been surmised by believers in the story that after the drowning the monks came to the bereaved lady and induced her to build a priory on what was now their property on the wharfe, as a memorial to her son. her mother, cecily, the wife of william de meschines, and heiress of william de romilly, had joined with her husband in in founding the embsay priory for augustinian canons, the site being two miles east of skipton. the embsay endowment, handsome enough to begin with, was increased by the gift of the village and mill at kildwick and lands at stratton, the deed setting forth that this was done by the heiress of the romillys "for the health of her soul and that of her parents." it is stated in the charter that the conveyance in this instance was made by the lady cecily, mother of alice, and william, her son-in-law, placing a knife on the altar of the conventual church. this william, a nephew of david, king of scotland, was married to alice, who in her turn became heiress of the estates, and adopted her mother's name. she bore her husband two sons and three daughters. the younger son, "the boy of egremond"--so named after one of the baronies of the family--survived his brother until, according to the legend, the sad incident at the strid put an end to the bright promise of his life, and left his mother in "endless sorrow." situated on a bend of the wharfe, with a mountainous background, and an open sylvan expanse of country in front, through which the river moves in a clear, uninterrupted course, the abbey rises in a scene of great sweetness and beauty. the building, like most other works of its kind, shows traces of the workmanship of different periods; but, unlike similar structures in the same county, it is not wholly a ruin. the nave, roofed over, and partly restored, forms the parish church of bolton. it is entered through the gateway of what was intended for a western tower, and retains fortunately the original west front, finely detailed, with much arcading, in the early english style. the entrance, forming the first stage of the contemplated tower, shows excellent perpendicular work. on the spandrels of the recessed doorway are the arms of the priory and the cliffords, and above is a lofty five-light window. the tower was begun by the last of the priors, richard moone, as set forth on an inscription (the name symbolised) on the cornice below the window, "in the yer of owr lord mdcxx, r. [illustration: moon] begaun thes fondachon on qwho sowl god haue marce. amen." the dissolution put a stop to prior moone's work, but it is said that long after this the crane that was used to raise the stones remained fixed, and there was a belief among the dalespeople that the canons would return and complete the building. the nave, which is without a south aisle, is early english on that side, and decorated on the north. at the end of the aisle on the north is a chantry founded by the mauleverers of beamsley, and beneath is the vault in which members of the family are said to have been buried upright-- "pass, pass who will, yon chantry door, and through the chink in the fractured floor, look down, and see a grisly sight-- a vault where the bodies are buried upright!" the ruined portions of the structure include the piers of a central tower, north and south transepts, and a long but aisleless choir, with the remains of chapels on the south side. with the exception of the lower walls, the work here is of the decorated period, and shows many interesting features. there are monumental fragments, and in the south transept may be seen a tomb-slab with an incised figure representing christopher wood, the eighteenth prior, who resigned in . scant remains of the conventual buildings may be traced to the south of the priory ruins. to the north is the churchyard. the priory barn remains in good condition. it is still in use, and has some fine timber work. a short distance west is bolton hall, a seat of the duke of devonshire. this mansion makes a framework to the gatehouse of the old priory, the entrance-chamber being formed out of the ancient gateway. the chamber is represented in landseer's picture of "bolton priory in the olden time," now at chatsworth. there are other matters that recall the past conditions of the place even more vividly, as in the case of a commission sent hither so early as , in which certain irregularities are set forth in these blunt words:--"the whole convent conspired against the predecessors of the present prior, william de danfield. nicholas de broe, the present sub-prior, is old and useless. silence is not observed, and there is much chattering and noise. john de pontefract, the present cellarer, and the sub-cellarer, are often absent from service and refections, and have their meals by themselves, when the canons have left the refectory. the house is in debt," etc. but dr. robert collyer of new york, a wharfedale worthy, who has gone into the records, tells also how "the merry old rogues" had a certain rough humour, which came out in the names they gave their humbler brethren. "one poor fellow," he says, "has stood on their books these six hundred years as adam blunder, a sort of primitive handy andy, i suppose. another, with 'a fair round belly,' no doubt, they dub simon paunch. a third is drunken dick. a fourth, the cooper, as i guess, and a great hand to spoil his work, is botch bucket. the carter is laughingly baptized the whirl, perhaps because his wheels never do whirl by any accident. one is rado the sad; and the blackest sheep of the flock is tom nowt--'nowt' in the dales as applied to a man being still a term of the utmost contempt." the priory was surrendered in , and the estate was given, two years afterwards, by henry viii. to henry clifford, first earl of cumberland. the property next passed to the earl of cork, and thence by descent to the cavendish family. the grounds over the wide stretch from barden tower to bolton bridge are open daily (except sundays) to visitors. their natural attractions, with their relics and associations, make them one of the most interesting of the show places of yorkshire. there are two memorials on the estate to lord frederick cavendish, chief secretary for ireland, assassinated in the phoenix park, dublin, may , . one, in the churchyard, in the form of an interlaced cross, rising seventeen feet, was erected by the tenantry. the other--a hexagonal fountain, rising into pinnacles with a small lantern crown--is in the park, and was erected by the electors of the west riding, of which division of yorkshire lord frederick was for many years a representative. [illustration: ruins of harewood castle.] it is a pleasant walk from the priory to the bridge, across the field on which prince rupert encamped on the way to marston moor. at bolton bridge we get to what is now the nearest railway-station for upper wharfedale, a connecting line between ilkley and skipton having been opened in . from the bridge the river flows past beamsley, behind which is beamsley beacon ( , feet). in the village is a hospital founded in the time of elizabeth, and endowed for thirteen poor widows. beamsley hall, near by, retains some old features, including armorial bearings of the claphams and morleys, its early possessors. the road here follows the wharfe through diversified scenery, and leads to addingham, where is a church which was originally served from bolton. here also on the bank of the wharfe is farfield hall, a fine mansion, from whose site commanding views are obtained. ilkley, three miles further down the stream, is a town of great interest and attractiveness in the modern sense, with a far reaching history. as seen to-day it is almost wholly new; half a century ago it was made up of a few old cottages and its ancient church. its value as a health resort, and its delightful situation, have since then been fully recognised, and it is now a fashionable inland watering-place with well laid-out streets, and some fine buildings. the records of the town go back to the time of the romans, and its existing name is supposed to be a corruption of the designation given to it by the western conquerors. the romans had here a strong fortress, the foundations of which may be traced. some interesting roman relics are preserved in the neighbourhood. on the grounds at middleton hall, on the opposite side of the river, is an altar dedicated to the wharfe, the river figuring in the inscription as "verbeia." in the churchyard at ilkley are the shafts of crosses, very rudely sculptured, and undoubtedly very ancient. the church, dedicated to all saints, is an old foundation, and has some curious features. its earliest monument is a cross-legged effigy of sir adam de middleton, who died in . the ground rises steeply to the south behind ilkley, and at a height of , feet spreads out into a magnificent heathery expanse known as rombald's moor. "rombald" is said to be a corruption of "romilly," the first norman lord of the manor; but there is a tradition which speaks of the moor as a promenade of a certain giant rombald, a mighty figure that is said to have made a stride one day across the valley from almescliffe crag far beyond in the north-east, and to have come down with such force as to leave the impression of his foot on the larger of the two rocks above ilkley, known as the cow and calf. the impression is there, of course. the story may have had its origin in the manner in which the valley at this point was absorbed in the interest of the romillys. from the high land at the cow and calf, and from many other points east and west, fine views are obtained of the valley, now opening out to a grand pastoral sweep. on the slopes are several hydropathic establishments of a public and private character. nearly all are noted for picturesque architectural treatment. this is especially the case with ilkley wells, where there is an observation tower, and the still earlier house in the scotch baronial style, a mile and a half east, at ben rhydding, opened in . across the river from ben rhydding lies denton, the home of the fairfaxes; and from this point onwards to the ouse incidents and houses connected with this great family present themselves. in denton church many of the name lie buried. the present denton hall occupies the site of the old mansion in which sir thomas fairfax, the parliamentary general, was born. at burley, on the south bank of the wharfe, a short distance from ben rhydding, is the yorkshire house of the late w. e. forster. here, too, at the river side, are the worsted mills of which mr. forster was a part owner, and in the cemetery beyond is his grave, with an inscribed slab to his memory. on the other side of the river is weston hall, the property of the vavasours through a long succession. family papers at weston date back to henry iii., and amongst other treasures is an original portrait of cromwell. farther east on the same side is farnley hall, where are relics of the commonwealth, including the hat worn by cromwell at marston moor, and the watch and sword of the protector. farnley hall used to be notable also for a unique collection of about fifty drawings by turner, which were sold in . turner was a frequent visitor at farnley hall, mr. walter fawkes, uncle of the present owner, being one of his earliest patrons and friends. a curious gateway on the property was brought from menston hall, a fairfax seat on the south bank of the river. it is a pleasant descent from farnley hall to the wharfe, on whose south bank at this point is otley, one of the first towns in yorkshire to engage in the manufacture of cloth. otley was long the site of a palace of the archbishops of york, who were lords of the manor, and is now the headquarters of the parliamentary division bearing its name. several of the fairfaxes are buried in the church. sloping from the town to the south is the hill familiarly known as "the chevin" (probably from the saxon "chevn," a back or ridge). the hill rises to a height of feet, and commands fine views. near the town is caley hall, famous at one time for a park in which many varieties of deer, wild hogs, zebras, and other animals were kept. at pool, just below otley, the river expands, and flows pleasantly through the open valley to arthington (where was once a house for cluniac or benedictine nuns), and onwards to the harewood estates. here we are still on part of the wide domain held by the ancient romillys, who are credited with the building of the first harewood castle. from the romillys the harewood lands passed to the fitzgeralds, the lisles, and others, and then to the gascoignes, from whom they went to the lascelles (earls of harewood), the present possessors. the ruins of a castle built in the fourteenth century rise boldly on a pre-norman mound near the river. the church at harewood has some interesting details, and a number of historic monuments--one to sir william gascoigne (the chief justice who is said to have committed the heir of henry iv. to prison) and his wife. harewood house, built in , is seen to advantage from the church. it is a porticoed building, and was erected by the first lord harewood, to replace gawthorpe hall, the seat of the gascoignes, and the birthplace of the chief justice. to gawthorpe hall came at times the great lord strafford in search of repose. "with what quietness," he wrote, "could i live here in comparison with the noise and labour i meet with elsewhere; and, i protest, put up more crownes in my purse at the year's end too." in the same parish is the village of weeton, above which, on the summit of a hill, is a peculiarly shaped rock, known as "the great almescliffe." from the rock a fine view is obtained of wharfedale on the one side, and of harrogate and the district leading into nidderdale on the other. from harewood the wharfe sweeps placidly onwards to netherby, and to collingham and linton, where there is fine farming country. then wetherby is reached on a bend of the river, hence the old saxon name, wederbi, "the turn." there is a bridge here of six arches, affording a good view of the stream. boston spa--a secluded inland watering place--is the next village. then comes newton kyme, with a fine old church, and the remains of a castle that was held by the barons de kyme, the last of whom died as far back as . we are now again on ground over which roman legions passed, and from which relics of the roman occupation have been unearthed. the church, dedicated to st. andrew, is old and interesting, with an ivy-covered embattled western tower. close to the church is newton hall, an old fairfax seat, with portraits of members of that family. a mile and a half further down is tadcaster, the calcaria of the romans, and the "langborough" of later times. the roman name is supposed to have been given on account of the abundance of calx or limestone in the district. tadcaster was an important outpost of york. through it ran the road of agricola--still known as the roman ridge--from london to edinburgh, and it was also on the ancient road between york and manchester. near the town, at a place called st. helen's ford, are traces of a roman encampment. of more interest, however, than what tadcaster reveals of that remote period of its history are the associations that cluster round it in connection with the civil wars. three miles distant, near to the village of saxton, is the site of the battle of towton, "the bloodiest and most fatal engagement fought on english soil since hastings." sore fought towton was, "for hope of life was set on every part," and each side had its awful orders neither to give nor seek quarter. a force of , men in all mustered for the struggle-- , yorkists with edward iv. and the earl of warwick at their head on the one side; on the other, , lancastrians, with whom were queen margaret and the duke of somerset. about a third of this force perished on the field, the greater number being lancastrians. the date of the battle is memorable. all the villagers round about tell to this day how it was fought on a palm sunday in the long ago. the conflict really began on the saturday (march th, ), was suspended during the night, and renewed with vigour in the morning. the issue was decided about noon on the sunday, the duke of norfolk, with reinforcements for edward, giving the yorkists an advantage at the critical moment which was at once followed up. twenty-eight thousand lancastrians were left dead upon the field, and vast numbers perished in the rout that took place. a field near towton dale quarry, half a mile south of towton village, and known as "the bloody meadow," is pointed out as the scene of the thickest of the fight; but the conflict extended over a wide area, and towton battlefield may be said to cover the whole ground between saxton and towton villages. the cock, a tributary of the wharfe, winds round the site. in the swollen waters of this stream many of the lancastrians perished when they broke rank and fled. on the outskirts of grimston park (the seat of lord londesborough) near by, is a field called battle acre, where the lancastrians are said to have made their last stand; and here there is annually a prolific growth of white roses-- there is a patch of wild white roses, that bloom on a battlefield, where the rival rose of lancaster blushed redder still to yield; four hundred years have o'er them shed their sunshine and their snow, but in spite of plough and harrow, every summer there they blow. though ready to uproot them with hand profane you toil, the faithful flowers still fondly cluster round the sacred soil; though tenderly transplanted to the nearest garden gay, nor rest nor care can tempt them there to live a single day. opposite towton is hazlewood hall, the seat of an ancient yorkshire family, the vavasours. the hall commands an extensive view, and it is said that from it on a clear day the towers of lincoln on the one side, and york on the other, sixty miles apart, may be seen. [illustration: at tadcaster.] from two to three miles south-east of tadcaster is kirkby wharfe, where there is a church with some fine norman remains--notably the pillars of the nave, the porch doorway, and the font. there is also a saxon cross. the church, which is dedicated to st. john the baptist, was restored in , in memory of albert, first baron londesborough. the school is at ulleskelf, one mile to the south-east, where there is a railway station, and a jubilee memorial in the form of a chapel-of-ease. it is a short walk from here to bolton percy, where also there is a station. bolton percy was one of the manors granted by the conqueror to william de percy, founder of the great house of that name. from a wood in the neighbourhood, the percys are said to have granted timber for the building of york minster. the existing church dates from the early part of the fifteenth century, and nearly the whole of it is of that period. it is a noble perpendicular building, with an exceptionally fine chancel. the east window, rising full twenty-three feet, with a depth of fourteen, presents five unbroken lights. figured on it are full-length life-size portraits of archbishops scrope, bowet, kempe, booth, and neville, with the armorial bearings of these worthies. above are representations of scriptural characters. the living, which exceeds £ , , is in the gift of the archbishop of york, and is the richest at his disposal. at bolton percy the fairfaxes were a power in their time. ferdinando, lord fairfax, has an elaborate monument in bolton percy church. to make room for it, one of the chancel piers had to be cut away. the son of ferdinando--"black tom," the general-in-chief of the parliamentary forces--died at nun appleton hall, on the south bank of the wharfe, below bolton percy, and is buried at bilbrough, in the same neighbourhood. nun appleton passed by purchase, on the death of the daughter of thomas lord fairfax, to alderman milner, of leeds, whose descendant (sir frederick milner, bart.) is the present owner. from nun appleton the wharfe passes onward to ryther (where is a church that was founded in ), and just below ryther it falls into the ouse. w. s. cameron. [illustration: kirkby wharfe.] [illustration: the ouse at york.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter vii. the ouse. the ure and the swale--myton and the "white battle"--nun monkton, overton, and skelton--the nidd--york--bishopthorpe--selby--the derwent--the aire--howden--goole--the don. the yorkshire ouse (from the celtic "uisg" or water) has one decided peculiarity among important british rivers: it has no natural beginning, and it loses its identity before its waters touch the sea. it is remarkable, further, for the number of other rivers that drain into it. within the immense water-shed of yorkshire, it absorbs in its course the ure, the swale, the nidd, the foss, the wharfe, the derwent, the aire, and the don. looked at in connection with these streams and their tributaries, this chief yorkshire river receives its supplies from over a considerable part of the north of england. although covering a distance of about fifty miles, it keeps well within its own county, is almost wholly confined, in fact, to the great plain of york. its value as a waterway was recognised from the dawn of our history. up its waters rich argosies and primitive war craft have come, and its ramifications east, west, and north proved a convenient channel along which to carry weal or woe into the ancient northumbria. it traverses beautiful and fertile land, and all its tributaries come to it over picturesque and classic ground. it springs into existence with a full flow of water in the neighbourhood of aldborough, at the confluence of two of the prettiest rivers in the country, the ure and the swale. from this point in the plain of york the ouse passes smoothly through rich agricultural lands, alongside quaint villages, and through the heart of the capital of the north, and so onwards until it in turn is absorbed in a greater waterway. the ure (from the celtic "ur" or "brisk") rises on the mountainous boundary line of yorkshire and westmorland, and runs over a course of about fifty miles, passing through wensleydale, and skirting ripon on its way into the plain of york. in wensleydale the progress of the ure is broken by several fine waterfalls, notably the cataracts at aysgarth. close to aysgarth the river passes bolton castle, a magnificent keep, well preserved as regards the external walls. this castle, the stronghold of the ancient scropes, dates from the fourteenth century. it was one of the prisons of mary stuart on her way south to fotheringay. a short distance further down the valley are the ruins of middleham castle, where warwick the king-maker kept house and hall, and where richard iii., his son-in-law, spent the happiest part of his life. near to middleham the ure receives the cover, a stream on whose banks are the remains of coverham abbey, a house of white canons. coverdale is noted also as being the birthplace of the divine of that name to whom we owe an early translation of the bible. exceedingly pretty, if scant, monastic ruins are passed by the ure at jervaulx, just before wensleydale comes to an end. the river then flows on through tolerably open ground towards masham and tanfield into the marmion country, and onwards to ripon, whose minster dates from the twelfth century, and is the outcome of a much earlier foundation. near by, on the skell, a tributary of the ure, is fountains abbey, a majestic and picturesque ruin, whose grounds form part of studley royal, the estate of the marquis of ripon. as the ure nears its point of junction with the swale it passes two towns of great historic and antiquarian interest, lying within touch of each other, namely, boroughbridge and aldborough. boroughbridge is the site of the battle fought in , at which was killed the earl of hereford, who, with the earl of lancaster, had risen against edward ii. lancaster was taken prisoner, and conveyed to his own castle at pontefract, where he was beheaded. three rude blocks of granite, known as the "devil's arrows," form one of the sights of boroughbridge. they vary in height from sixteen and a half to twenty-two and a half feet above the ground. there were four blocks in leland's time. one theory is that these monoliths marked the limits of a roman stadium or racecourse; but they may have had an earlier significance. aldborough, the ancient isurium, was, apart from york, the most important roman station in the county. here two roman roads met--one from york and tadcaster to catterick, and the other, the famous watling street, running north from ilkley. there was a strongly walled camp at aldborough, and it is said that the present church occupies a position in the centre of the ancient possession, and is partly built of material from the roman town. the swale (probably from "swale," the teutonic "gentle") rises amidst bleak surroundings on the hills beyond kirkby stephen, but soon reaches the picturesque valley to which it gives its name. it takes in richmondshire in its course, the wide district from which the saxon edwin was expelled to make room for the norman alan. the earl alan built the oldest part of the castle at richmond. the massive keep was erected later on (about ) by earl conan. a mile below richmond are the ruins of easby abbey, the ancient granary of which is still used. the river, on passing out of swaledale, goes onward to catterick (where the romans had a walled camp), topcliffe, and brefferton. the church at brefferton is on the brink of the river and is said to mark the spot where paulinus baptised his converts in the swale. there is an opinion also that the rite was administered at catterick; but bretherick, to judge by ancient place names derived from paulinus, seems the likelier spot. a little below bretherton the swale unites with the ure, the distance traversed from its source to this point being about sixty miles. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the ouse.] close to where the ouse takes form at the junction of these two rivers is myton, the scene of a conflict sometimes spoken of as the battle of myton, but better known in yorkshire as the "white battle," and the "chapter of myton." the battle was fought on october , . in the autumn of that year edward ii. had equipped an army and gone northward to lay siege to berwick. while the king was thus engaged a strong detachment of scots under randolph and douglas came into england by the west, and marched close up to the walls of york. they destroyed the suburbs, but failed to effect an entrance into the city. the inhabitants of york were not in a position to do more than protect themselves behind their barriers, all their fighting men being with the king. the scots had, however, done and said things at the walls that were hard to bear, and on this account an aggressive movement was made from the city. soon after the troops of randolph and douglas had started on their return journey they were surprised to find a motley army of some , on their rear, made up of clergy, apprentices, and old men, prepared to give battle. though a valiant venture, it was a wild one. this strange force from york possessed but few weapons, and was without adequate leadership, while the scots were largely men trained to warfare, well equipped, and skilfully led. the battle was soon over. the scots turned upon their pursuers and effectually routed them. great numbers of the english were killed, including the mayor of york. many others were drowned in the swale. the name "white battle" is accounted for by the large number of priests and clerks who took part in the engagement. [illustration: bishopthorpe.] from the junction of the two rivers out of which the ouse is formed onwards to york is a distance of about fifteen miles. about midway over this stretch the stream passes three villages lying near together--nun monkton, overton, and skelton--each of which has an interesting church. the skelton church is early english throughout, and is dedicated to all saints, but is popularly known as st. peter's, from a tradition that it has a claim to be considered part of the metropolitan church, it being a common belief that it was built from stones left over after the completion of the south transept of york minster. the church at overton shows transition norman features, and is close to the site of a roman settlement, and in the neighbourhood also of a priory of gilbertine canons founded in the reign of john. nun monkton has mention in domesday, and is supposed to be the site of a saxon monastery. here, too, in the reign of stephen, there was a priory (benedictine); and the church, early english, was the chapel of the nuns. at nun monkton, the nidd, after a rapid course from great whernside, joins the ouse. the upper section of nidderdale is wild and secluded. from pateley bridge the tributary water passes dacre banks, above which are the curiously shaped boulders known as brimham rocks. further down, knaresborough, with its castle dating back to henry i., and its memories of eugene aram and mother shipton, rises grandly over the river. both the ouse and the nidd skirt the grounds of beningborough, where the abbot of st. mary's, york, had a choice park. at red hall on the ouse, a mile and a half below nun monkton, charles i. slept on his way from scotland in . the building was a seat of the slingsbys, who were active royalists. sir henry slingsby, the entertainer of the king, suffered on tower hill in . the minster towers of york are seen to advantage from the plain as the ouse approaches the ancient city. it is said of york that it was founded a thousand years before christ, by one evrog, son of membyr--hence the ancient british name of the place, caer evrog, or evrog's city. this belongs to celtic mythology, but it is pretty certain that the roman eboracum is a variation of the name possessed by york when the western conquerors settled here. york in the roman era was "the seat of the prefect, with the official staff and the ministers of his luxury, when london was still a mere resort of traders." here severus died, and his memory remains perpetuated in severus hill. here constantine chlorus also died, and although it is doubtful whether his son, constantine the great, was "a born englishman," and a native of york, as some have asserted, he was certainly proclaimed emperor in this famous city. here, too, paulinus preached, and edwin of northumbria was baptised. our own early sovereigns held their courts and parliaments at york, and for many centuries it was a place of great military, ecclesiastical, and political importance. the minster--one of the most impressive of all our cathedrals, with a superb west front, which is but one of many glorious features--has in its foundations traces of the early saxon cathedral and norman work. the superstructure is early english and perpendicular. from the platform on the top of the central tower ( feet) magnificent views are obtained on every side. the ruins of st. mary's abbey, near to the river, are very fine, and are carefully preserved. this was a mitred benedictine house, and was one of the earliest monastic establishments founded in the north after the conquest. the castle ruins, also seen from the river, occupy the site of a structure raised by the conqueror. the walls of york, with the ancient gateways or bars, remain one of the features of the city. on the inner side of the embattlements is a promenade, much used. the circumvallation is practically complete. it does not now, of course, embrace the whole city, but it has within its limits the historic york. so well do these old walls become the city, that to this day it is with a shock the fact is recalled that just before the queen came to the throne the civic authorities actually petitioned parliament for powers to demolish the ancient environment with its barbicans and posterns. the successors of the men who advocated such an act of vandalism have, however, atoned for the shameless proposal. they have put the walls into thorough repair, and in june, , the mayor and corporation took part in the completion of the restoration by throwing open the remaining stretch of the walls running from monk bar to bootham bar. the foss enters york on the south, and passes into the ouse on the east bank. it has a run of about sixteen miles from the howardian hills, and flows near sheriff hutton castle, a seat of the nevilles, originally built in , by bertram de bulmer, sheriff of yorkshire. at fulford, just below york, the ouse skirts the scene of the defeat of the earls edwin and morcar, by hardrada ( ). a little further down, on the west side, is bishopthorpe, where the archbishops have their palace. a palace was built here in the thirteenth century by archbishop de gray, and presented to the see. of the original building there are but few remains. it was at bishopthorpe that archbishop scrope and the earl marshal were condemned in the presence of the king (henry iv.) for treason. the sentence was carried out in a field on the way to york. old boatmen tell that it was common at one time to fire a salute of three guns from the river on passing the archbishop's palace, and to be rewarded with a supply of the palace ale. at naburn, on the east bank, a mile and a half below, is a lock (opened in by the late prince albert victor) constructed for vessels of tons. three miles further down is stillingfleet, and here the river is in the neighbourhood of escrick park, the seat of lord wenlock. escrick hall is elizabethan, with fine pictures and statuary. skipwith common, with its tumuli and ancient turf dwellings, is also in this neighbourhood. east of skipwith, and near the river, is riccall. at this point on the ouse was moored the fleet of harold hardrada while his troops advanced to york. a short distance above riccall, on the west bank, the wharfe enters the ouse, and on the same side, half a mile below the point of junction is cawood, where the archbishops of york were established in residence from before the conquest. wolsey thought much of cawood, and it was from his palace here that he was taken a prisoner, when he had perforce to bid farewell to all his greatness. there are some remains of the ancient buildings. the gatehouse stands, and in a room over the entrance the court-leet of the archbishops is still held. [illustration: cawood.] selby, further down the stream on the same side, is a thriving market town. it has the advantage not only of the navigable waters of the ouse, but of canal communication with the aire. its abbey church has many noteworthy features, not the least of which is its length ( feet). the building has a double dedication--to ss. mary and germanus. the foundation is traced to benedict, a french monk. that monk, while in the convent at auxerre, was, according to the legend, commissioned in a vision by germanus to go to england, and find there a similar spot to one revealed in the vision, and there he was to halt, set up the cross and preach. benedict is said to have been so impressed by the mandate that he started at once, and continued his travels until, sailing up the ouse, he found on the curve of the river at selby a district corresponding exactly to what had been revealed to him in the vision. here he set up a cross, and constructed a hut for himself by the riverside. the year has been assigned as the date of this undertaking. there was then, says the old chronicle, "not a single monk to be found throughout all yorkshire, owing to the devastations of the northmen by the conqueror." benedict found favour in the eyes of the norman sheriff, and acting on the suggestion of this functionary, he waited on the king, and succeeded in obtaining a grant of that portion of the manor on which he had settled. a monastery of wood was then erected, and benedict became first abbot. he held the position for twenty-seven years, when he died. the second abbot was a member of the de lacy family, and was wealthy enough to begin a permanent building of stone, portions of which may be traced in the existing fabric, which from the time of james i. ( ) has been the parochial church of selby. pope alexander ii. made selby a mitred abbey, the only other english establishment north of the trent enjoying this distinction being st. mary's at york. [illustration: selby] selby was a place of strategic importance in the wars of the commonwealth. it changed hands two or three times, but was eventually secured for the parliament by the fairfaxes, after a battle in which lord bellasis, the governor of york, and , men were made prisoners, with much baggage and a useful supply of guns and horses. the victory at selby, to quote markham, was "the immediate cause of the battle of marston moor, and the destruction of the royalist power in the north; and the two houses marked their sense of its importance by ordering a public thanksgiving for the same." there is a tradition that selby was the birthplace of henry i., the youngest son of the conqueror, and freeman suggests that "william may have brought his wife into northumbria, as edward brought his wife into wales, in order that the expected atheling might be not only an englishman born, but a native of that part of england which had cost his father most pains to win." some three miles below selby is hemingborough, where there is a fine church with a lofty spire ( ft.), and between here and barmby-on-the-marsh, the derwent, after a long, winding course from the high moorland south of whitby, unites with the ouse. the derwent passes malton, the roman derventio, the site of which is still traceable. here there is an interesting gilbertine priory. the river also passes kirkham, where there are remains, notably an exquisite early english gateway, of an augustinian priory; and on its northern bank at this point is castle howard, the yorkshire seat of the earl of carlisle. many smaller rivers are absorbed by the derwent, particularly the rye, on whose banks are the ruins of rievaulx, the earliest of the yorkshire cistercian houses; the costa, which runs past pickering castle, where richard ii. was held a prisoner just before his tragic death at pontefract; and the bran, which runs close to the celebrated kirkdale cave. two miles further down, on the west side, the ouse receives another important feeder in the aire. turbid enough is the aire at this point, after its contact with leeds and other west riding manufacturing towns; but no river has a more romantic beginning. rising mysteriously from its underground source at the foot of malham cove, "by giants scooped from out the rocky ground," it flows onward through a scene of surpassing grandeur; and very beautiful still is its course through airedale proper, from beyond skipton on to kirkstall abbey. the aire is joined at leeds by the liverpool canal; at castleford by the calder; and at birkin by the selby canal; and after a run of about seventy miles it passes into the ouse at arnim, opposite the village of booth. howden lies a short distance to the north-east of booth. it possesses a fine old church, dedicated to st. peter, and is the site of a famous horse fair. howden boasts also of several celebrities, beginning with roger de hoveden, the chronicler, and coming down to the stable boy who became baron ward, and was minister to the duke of parma. the church at howden was handed over by the conqueror to the prior and convent of durham, and was made collegiate in . the choir and chapter-house are in a ruinous state, and of the former, which was erected in place of an earlier structure about , only the aisle walls and the eastern front remain. the chapter-house, even in decay, is an exceptionally fine example of early perpendicular work, with elaborate tracing and arcading. an archæological authority (hutchinson) writes enthusiastically of "its exquisite and exact proportions," and speaks of it as the most perfect example of its kind in the country. after the dissolution of the collegiate establishment the church at howden began to be neglected. it suffered much more from natural wear and tear than from vandalism, and much of it was easily restored. the portions in use include the nave, the transept, with eastern chantries, and a central tower. over a graceful west front rises a central gable, finely crocketed, and flanked with hexagonal turrets. a head carved over the south porch, supposed to be that of edward ii., but also claimed for henry iii., gives some indication of the date of the erection of this part of the building. the tower, lighted by tall and handsome windows, rises feet, and from its summit a commanding view is obtained. its chambers are of unusual size, and are said to have been constructed to serve as a place of refuge to the inhabitants of the neighbourhood in the event of inundation, the country here having been originally marsh land and subject to floods. the bishops of durham took a lively interest in their collegiate church at howden. here they had a palace, and here several of them died. from the point where it receives the aire, the ouse flows eastwards and southwards, and at the end of the bend thus formed touches goole--a place which was a quiet village some seventy years ago, but is now a busy commercial centre, and, moreover, a town which, although well inland, lays claim to the position of a seaport. goole has the advantage of the don as well as of the ouse. the former stream comes into it along a straight, artificial channel, known locally as the dutch river, after its constructor, vermuyden the engineer. the don rises in cheshire, and has branches running out of derbyshire. it passes doncaster, sheffield, rotherham, and other towns, on its way to the ouse, and is the last of the streams to fall into the great yorkshire waterway; the ouse, after a short run eastward from goole, uniting with the trent to form the humber. w. s. cameron. [illustration: barton-upon-humber.] the humber and its tributaries. chapter viii. the estuary. drainage and navigation--dimensions of the humber--the ferribys--barton-upon-humber--hull--paull--sunk island--spurn point--great grimsby--places of call. a glance at that part of the map where yorkshire is separated from lincolnshire reveals the full extent of the humber, but while it shows a wide estuary, it conveys a poor idea of the national importance of this arm of the sea. nor is the value of the estuary in this respect much increased by the mere statement that the humber is formed by the confluence of the trent and the ouse. these two rivers have to be considered in connection with their tributary streams before a fair idea is formed, not only of what the humber is as a channel of trade, but of the wide extent of the water-shed of which it is the basin. the ouse brings to the humber nearly all the running water of yorkshire, the collection having been made over an area exceeding , square miles; while the supplies from the trent, though less in quantity because of the lower altitudes of their origin, drain about , square miles. this makes the humber the largest river-basin in england, the severn coming next with a total drainage of , square miles, as compared with , in the case of the humber, made up as follows:--ouse, , ; trent, , ; humber proper, , . [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ the course of the humber.] so far as navigation is concerned, the humber is an open way, by means of river and connecting artificial links, with the mersey, the thames, and the severn, and practically, therefore, its waters are in touch with the whole country. the humber figures also in all our histories. from the earliest period the invader found passage along it to mercia, on the one hand, and to northumbria on the other; and along the valleys through which its tributaries run it is not a difficult task to trace, in place-names and surnames, the settlements that took place in this part of england in the long ago as a result of the encroachments of angle, dane, and norse. from the date of the withdrawal of the romans it was always to the humber that the vikings steered their course, and hither they kept coming until the norman conquest was complete, and england out of many elements became compact and strong. at the confluence of the ouse and trent the humber has a width of about a mile. from here to paull, on the north bank--a point south-east of hull--the width varies from a mile-and-a-quarter to two miles. from paull south-east to grimsby the width gradually increases to about four miles, and where the bank on the yorkshire side curves inward like a sickle the width exceeds seven miles. spurn head, forming the point of the sickle, lies almost direct east from grimsby, and here, at the mouth of the humber, the width is about five miles. from the head of the estuary to paull--a tolerably straight line east--the distance is ½ miles. from paull to spurn the stretch is about a mile less than this, thus giving miles as the full length of the humber. the towns on each side have from a remote period had ferry communication with each other. it is said that the romans crossed from the lincolnshire coast in the neighbourhood of whitton to brough on the north bank, and the latter town is spoken of as the petuaria of ptolemy. just below whitton, on the lincolnshire side, is winteringham, close to a roman station on the route from lincoln to york. it was to winteringham ethelreda came in that flight across the humber from egfrid, king of northumbria. west halton--anciently alfham--where she obtained succour, is close by, and the church of this village still bears her name. the next place of interest on the lincolnshire side of the humber is south ferriby, where there is a curious old church--at one time a much larger structure--dedicated to st. nicholas, of whom there is an effigy over the porch. immediately opposite, on the yorkshire side of the humber, is north ferriby. hessle, which lies some three miles further east on the north bank, is noted for its flint deposits; hence its name (from the german _kiesel_). barton, the lincolnshire town opposite hessle, is a place of great antiquity. this is obvious from the tower of the old church, st. peter's. usually the norman evidences in an ecclesiastical building are in the basement, but in the case of this tower they form the superstructure. the lower part is saxon. it is short and massive, rising seventy feet, and is in three stages. there are some curious features in the church, and amongst the monumental work are effigies of the time of edward ii. st. mary's church, close by, is also interesting. it was originally a chapel-of-ease to st. peter's, and is norman and early english. barton figures in domesday as brereton. it was held by the de gants through gilbert, son of baldwin de gant, a nephew of the conqueror, who took part in the norman invasion, and had the land here made over to him. the town carries on a brisk trade, and is noteworthy historically for the fact that it furnished eight vessels fully manned to assist edward iii. in the invasion of brittany. hull boasts not only of being the chief port on the humber, but claims to be the third port in the kingdom, giving precedence only to london and liverpool. there was a time when it was a mere hamlet; but it has not only outgrown the towns near it that once did a greater business--such as hedon and beverley--but has seen what was a much larger commercial centre than either of these places literally pass from the map. what anciently was the chief port on the humber lay, snugly enough to all seeming, just within the bend at spurn head. it was known as ravenser. it had much shipping, and in the time of edward i. sent members to parliament. henry iv. landed here in . unfortunately ravenser, with neighbouring towns, was built on unstable ground. a process of denudation is continually going on at this the extreme point of yorkshire, and from this cause the sea had left only a fragment of ravenser in bolingbroke's day. in no long time after this the town was wholly absorbed by the encroaching waters. hull began to flourish as ravenser began to decay. another circumstance that led to the development of this great humber port was the difficulty the beverley merchants had in getting their supplies by river. hull was originally one of many wykes (the norse name for a small creek or bay). it got the name of the river (the hull) on which it stands in the time of richard i., and by this name it is known everywhere, its corporate title of kingston-upon-hull seldom being given to it in print, and still more seldom being applied to it in speech. the royal title was conferred by edward i., who is said to have noticed the value of the site for commercial purposes while hunting here in . the parish church (holy trinity) is a magnificent decorated and perpendicular structure, cruciform in plan, with a tower rising to a height of feet. it is one of the largest parish churches in england, its length from east to west being feet, and its width feet; and it is claimed for it that in its chancel and transepts it possesses the earliest examples of brick masonry since the roman epoch. holy trinity was founded in . st. mary, in lowgate, also a cruciform structure, with central tower, dates from the early part of the fourteenth century. the dock office is a fine structure of the venetian type; the trinity house is tuscan; the town hall is italian; and the high street shows a picturesque blending of domestic styles, dating from the thirteenth or fourteenth century onwards to work of the present time. in the market place is a statue to william iii., "our great deliverer," as he was called here. the statue has the peculiarity of being gilt, probably as a further tribute from the hull burgesses to the worth of the prince of orange. in the town hall are statues of edward i., the founder of the town; of sir michael de la pole, the first mayor of the borough ( ); of andrew marvell, poet, wit, and statesman, a native of the place. a statue of another noted statesman, also a native of hull, william wilberforce, the anti-slavery advocate, surmounts a doric pillar ( feet) close to the old docks. the river hull, which rises in the wolds, and has a course of about thirty miles, flows through the older parts of the town. it is the passage way to several of the docks, and is itself thronged with shipping on each side, and bordered by warehouses. paull, or paghill (anciently pagula), is about five miles south-east from hull, and is noteworthy as the spot near which charles i. in reviewed his forces. the shore continues in a sharp south-east dip from here to what is known as sunk island--a double name, which is now a misnomer, the land being well exposed and no longer an island. it is the peculiarity of this yorkshire peninsula that while it continually suffers from denudation, it is also being recompensed by the same agency. sunk island has been reclaimed from the humber, and is an interesting example on a small scale of land nationalisation. the soil is exceedingly fertile, and is let out by the crown, to whom the cottages and other buildings on the estate belong. about , acres are at present under cultivation, and there is every prospect that the area will go on increasing. from the end of sunk island to spurn point the humber takes a wide bay-like sweep inward and southward, the peninsula narrowing considerably as spurn point is reached. the spurn point of six centuries ago, with the lost town of ravenspur, lay a little to the west of the present promontory, which has been almost wholly built up afresh by natural causes since that time. there are two lighthouse towers on the point, the larger of the two being smeaton's work. [illustration: queens dock, hull.] it is almost a direct line west across the humber mouth from spurn to grimsby--great grimsby as it is called, to distinguish it from the smaller grimsby, near louth, in the same county. here on the lincolnshire coast the country, viewed from the sea, is flat and dutch-like, but close at hand it is decidedly english in its bustle and trade and signs of manufacturing progress. there is fine anchorage eastward, to which spurn point forms a natural breakwater. dock extension has done much for grimsby as for hull. considerable trade is carried on here with the continent, and immense quantities of fish are consigned direct from the north sea through grimsby to our leading markets. some fine buildings surround the harbour. the principal street runs north and south, and is of great length, leading in a straight line to cleethorpes, a neighbouring watering place. a danish origin is assigned to grimsby. tradition speaks of it as grim's town. grim, we are told, was a fisherman who rescued a danish infant from a boat adrift at sea. this infant was appropriately christened havloch, or sea waif. he was adopted by grim, grew up a fine boy, and was afterwards found to be a son of a danish king. what followed may be readily surmised. havloch was restored to his own country, and when he came to his own he did not forget his foster-father, on whom he bestowed riches, rights, and privileges, enabling him to become the founder of what is now called grimsby. the tradition is perpetuated in the ancient common seal of the borough, which in saxon lettering has the names gryme and habloc, and a design typifying the foundation of the town. british and saxon remains in the neighbourhood show, however, that there were builders here before the somewhat mythical grim. while the vessels sailing from the humber do business with every country, they have almost a monopoly of the north sea trade. and as in the ancient era, so at the present time, this open channel into the heart of england continues to receive at its ports great numbers of northern and germanic peoples. the invasions of to-day are, however, chiefly of a temporary character. hull and grimsby are places of call for the emigrants from the continent, who land here to find their way to liverpool by rail, and from thence to the new world on the atlantic liners, or who re-ship into other vessels in the humber and take the channel route to new york. w. s. cameron. [illustration: distant view of great grimsby.] [illustration: a bit of fen.] the rivers of the wash. the witham: grantham--lincoln--boston. the nen: naseby--northampton--earls barton--castle ashby--wellingborough--higham ferrers--thrapston--oundle--castor--peterborough. the welland: market harborough--rockingham--stamford. the ouse: bedford--st. neots--huntingdon--st. ives. the cam: cambridge--"five miles from anywhere"--ely. fens and fenland towns: wisbeach--spalding--king's lynn--crowland. [illustration: on the fens in winter.] if ever a river could be reproached with not knowing its own mind it would be the witham. rising in the extreme south of lincolnshire, it wanders northward along the western side of the county, and at one place seems almost minded to fall into the trent, from which it is separated only by a belt of land slightly higher than the bed of either river. so slight, indeed, is the division between the present valleys of the witham and the trent that it has been urged by a very competent authority that the great gap traversed by the former river at lincoln really represents the ancient channel of the trent, which has only adopted the present course towards the humber at a very late epoch in its geological history.[ ] but the witham at last, after submitting for a time to the influence of a limestone plateau, which rises to a considerable height on its eastern bank, suddenly alters its course, though low and level ground still continues along the same line, and cuts its way through the upland, which is severed by a fairly wide and rather deep-sided valley. thus it gains access to the broad lowland tract between these hills and the wolds, which is here in immediate communication with the fenland, and along this it pursues a south-easterly course until it reaches the wash. the streams which presently unite to form the witham traverse more than ordinarily pretty pastoral scenery--a region now shelving, now almost hilly, of meadow and pasture, cornfield and copse, where is many a mansion pleasantly situated in its wooded park, and many a comely village clustered round a church, which is often both interesting and beautiful--till we arrive at grantham, once a quiet market town, now rapidly developing into a very important manufacturing centre. the situation of the town on gently undulating ground sloping down to the witham is rather pretty, though its rapid increase during the last quarter of a century has not made it more acceptable to the artist. the steeple of its church is beautiful, even for a county unusually rich in fine churches. tower and spire are almost the same height, together giving to the capstone an elevation of feet. the lower part is in the early english style, the remainder and the body of the church, which is not unworthy of the steeple, belong to the decorated and the perpendicular styles, but a considerable part of the spire was rebuilt, without, however, any change being made in the design, in the year . the angel hotel is "one of the three mediæval inns remaining in england," and within its walls richard iii. signed the death-warrant of the duke of buckingham. grantham once had a castle, but this has disappeared, and so has a queen eleanor cross, but some traces of its religious houses yet remain. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ map of the rivers of the wash.] quietly and lazily, after leaving grantham, the witham works its way along a broader valley, cut down into the blue clays of the lias formation, and bounded on its eastern side by the low upland plateau formed by the harder limestone beds of the lower part of the oolite, which farther to the south are noted for their stone quarries. little, however, calls for special notice till a triple group of towers looms up against the sky, and tells of our approach to the turning point in the river course, where for many a century the cathedral and the fortress of lincoln have kept watch and ward over the gap in the hills, through which, as already stated, the witham finds an outlet towards the fenland and the sea. durham cathedral only, of all those in england, excels that of lincoln in the beauty of its situation, for even ely on its island hill, overlooking the wide cambridgeshire fens, must be content to take a lower place. like durham, lincoln occupies a site which seems to be indicated by nature for a place of defence and offence in war, for a centre of commerce and industry in peace. thus full eighteen centuries since it was crowned by a fortified camp, and eight centuries since it was chosen as the more fitting site of the bishop's stool, in a diocese which at that time was the largest in england. told as briefly as possible and to the barest outline, this is the history of lincoln. on the south-western angle of the limestone plateau, guarded on the one side by the steep slope which falls down to a level plain--that which prolongs in a northerly direction the valley of the witham--on the other by the yet steeper slope which descends to the marshes fringing its actual course through the upland, the romans established a great fortified camp. of this, portions of the defences both in earth and masonry remain to the present day. it has been argued with probability that in the name, given by these invaders, _lindum colonia_, from which the present one has descended, there is evidence that the site was already in british occupation, the first word being compounded from _llyn_ a pool, and _dun_ a hill fortress; thus signifying the hill by the pool in the marshy expanse of the witham. fragments of wall and a gate, the basements of pillars, probably belonging to a great basilica, a sewer, a tesselated pavement, and sundry other relics, remain to this day as memorials of the roman occupation. from lincoln also radiate the lines of five main roads, constructed, where they cross the marshes, on solid causeways. of these the most important are the fossway and the ermine street, which unite just south of lincoln, then scale the steep slope below the ancient south gate, along the line of the present high street, and pass out northward beneath the ancient archway, which still, such is the irony of time, retains its ancient name of newport. [illustration: lincoln, from canwick.] after the romans departed, the history of lincoln for a time is a blank. doubtless the english invaders plundered, and burnt, and slaughtered, as was their wont, but we hear little more till after the missionaries of augustine had begun to preach the gospel to the heathen conquerors of the land. in lincoln there is a little modern church, a short distance south of the newport arch, and very near the remnants of the roman basilica. this marks the site of the first christian church in lincoln, the first sign of its second and peaceful conquest by the followers of the crucified. it was founded by paulinus, bishop of york, and his newly-made convert blæcca, the governor of lincoln. within its walls, as canon venables tells us, honorius, fourth archbishop of canterbury after augustine, was consecrated by paulinus. doubtless the church of paulinus--now st. paul's--like that of st. martin at canterbury, was constructed of roman materials--perhaps was a restoration of an earlier building, but of this unhappily no trace remains. the danish invaders sorely harried lincoln and all the region round. indeed, in the invaders parcelled out the county among themselves. "lindsey became largely a danish land, and lincoln became pre-eminently a danish city." then for a time followed more peaceful days, till william the norman became master of england. his eye was attracted by the natural advantages of lincoln, so on the highest point of the plateau, at the south-western angle of the roman _castrum_, he built a strong castle, remnants of which can still be discerned in the existing walls of that building. to secure space for its outworks he cleared away houses, and in connection with this we have the first distinct notice of the lower town, which at the present day, commercially speaking, is the most important part of lincoln. it is, however, probable that a suburb had already sprung up at the spot where the roman road crossed the nearest channel of the witham--obtaining from its situation the name of wickerford or wigford--to which the families dislodged from the upper town no doubt transferred themselves. for them--on land granted by the conqueror--one colswegen built some houses, and at the same time founded the churches of st. mary-le-wigford and st. peter-at-gowts. the towers, and in case of the latter some other portions, of both these churches still remain, and though built somewhere between the years and are so completely survivals of the rude style which prevailed in england before the normans came that they are often quoted as examples of "saxon" churches. about the same time remigius, a norman monk, was consecrated to the see of lincoln. at that time dorchester, in oxfordshire, was the site of the bishop's stool, but then, as now, it was a place of little importance, and inconveniently situated for the management of so vast a diocese; so he commenced the building of a cathedral at lincoln, of which a part of the western front still remains incorporated into the grand façade of the present cathedral. the severe simplicity of this early norman fabric was relieved by the more ornate work of a later bishop in the middle part of the twelfth century, which may still be seen in the entrance doors of the western façade and the lower parts of the two western towers. then by degrees the remainder of the fabric was rebuilt. most of the work from the eastern transept to the western façade dates from between the end of the twelfth and the middle of the thirteenth century, commencing with that of bishop hugh, afterwards st. hugh, and ending with that of the illustrious englishman robert grostête, who may be numbered with the "reformers before the reformation." to receive the relics of the former the famous angel choir, or presbytery, was built about the year . the cloisters and upper part of the central tower were added some twenty years later, and certain alterations subsequently made, the most important being the upper stages of the western towers, which are assigned to the middle of the fifteenth century. thus, while lincoln cathedral presents us with examples of english architecture from the very earliest norman to the close of the so-called gothic, and even, in its rebuilt northern cloister, of the classic renaissance, it is in the main a specimen of the first pointed or early english style, from its beginning till it merged almost insensibly in the middle pointed or decorated. over its details and its history, its damage from earthquake and spoiler, the labours of st. hugh of avalon, and the tragedy of the little st. hugh of lincoln, its sieges and its narrow escape from destruction in the days of cromwell, it is impossible to linger. suffice it to say that the building is as beautiful as the site is commanding, and that the minster garth is girdled by ancient houses full of interest, although lincoln was never, as the popular name would suggest, the centre of a great monastery. [illustration: lincoln cathedral, from the south-west.] [illustration: boston church: the tower.] we must endeavour to summarise the chief attractions of the town and the leading features of the scenery. of the former it may be said that few towns in england are more full of relics of olden time or more fruitful in pleasant impressions. we never know what the next turn in the most unpromising street may disclose. the roman relics have been already mentioned, but these and the cathedral do not nearly exhaust the list of its antiquities. would you look at a wealthy burgess' residence in the earlier part of the twelfth century? you may find it in the jews' house of the upper town, or "john of gaunt's" stables in the lower. would you seek for domestic architecture belonging to the later periods of pointed work? the gate-houses of the close belong to the earlier part of the fourteenth century; "the chequer or exchequer gate with its shops in the side passage, and the pottergate remain; several residentiary houses were erected at the same period, and are partly remaining, though much altered and disfigured." at every turn in the older parts of the town the eye falls upon some remnant of ancient days, doorway or gatehouse, window or corner of a wall; it may be merely a fragment, a little block, of mouldering masonry, or it may be an almost perfect example of mediæval architecture. but lincoln is not only interesting in detail; the town, as a whole, when seen from the flat land by the witham, is exceptionally attractive. true, it has lost much in recent days. it has become a manufacturing town of some importance; large foundries and other works have sprung up on the meadows by the witham. the lowland begins to bristle up with tall chimneys, which discharge their clouds of dusky smoke. new and old are in sharp contrast. the tower of st. mary-le-wigford looks down on a railway, the quaint little conduit on its churchyard wall is close to a signal-box. still, ugly as the foreground in many places has become, it cannot spoil the beauty of the town itself, as its houses and gardens climb the steep hillside to the summit of the plateau, where above all peer up the grey remnants of the ancient castle, and the vast mass of the cathedral with its lofty towers rises high above the picturesque buildings of the close and the green trees upon the slope beneath. from the walls of lincoln the witham can be watched as it passes onwards to enter the fenland, into which the level valley opens out as the plateau shelves down towards the east. this part of its course is naturally monotonous, so we shall not attempt to describe it in detail, and shall pause only at the old town which forms its port. boston, anciently botolph's town, is a thriving market town, which, as every lover of architecture knows, possesses one of the finest churches in the county, or indeed in the whole country. it stands in an ample churchyard close to the left bank of the witham; the magnificent tower, crowned by an octagonal lantern, which is supported by flying buttresses, is about feet high, a beacon for many a league of fen and sea. the church itself is not unworthy of the tower, and is one of the largest in england, perhaps the largest of those built on a similar plan. the style is late decorated and perpendicular, though doubtless there was an earlier structure on the same site. the tradition runs that "the first stone was laid in the year by dame margery tilney, and that she put five pounds upon it, as did sir john twesdale the vicar, and richard stevenson, a like sum; and that these were the greatest sums at that time given." progress, however, must at first have been slow, for most of the building is of rather later date. the interior, though rather plain, is very fine, producing an impression which may be summed up in the word "spaciousness." lofty aisles are connected with the nave by corresponding arches; the clerestory is comparatively small. the chancel is large, and open to the body of the church, so that there is little interruption in any direction to the view. formerly boston church was exceptionally rich in brasses, but most of these have perished; two, however, one of a merchant named peascod, whose dress is appropriately ornamented with pea-pods, and another of a priest vested in a richly-ornamented cope, still remain at the east end. among the many minor objects of interest to be found in this grand church, which was carefully restored about thirty years since, may be mentioned the stone roof of the tower, the lower storey of which is open to the church, the chancel-stalls, and the curious elizabethan pulpit. [illustration: northampton.] above the church is a great sluice, below it a bridge, which may be reckoned as the head of the port of boston. here sea-going vessels may be seen afloat at high tide, or stranded on the mud bank at low water. the sea itself is about four miles away, and the dead level of the fens extends all around the town. except the church there is little of interest in boston, but probably its tower is surpassed by none in the kingdom, in either its fine design or its extensive prospects. [illustration: peterborough cathedral.] from the table-land about naseby, much of which lies at an elevation of some six hundred feet above the sea, flow two of the rivers which ultimately pass through the fenland into the wash. these are a source of the nen and the welland. near the springs of these rivers, on the undulating upland not far from naseby, was the last great struggle in the field between royalist and roundhead; charles and rupert on one side, cromwell and fairfax on the other, "looked one another in the face." both sides were brave enough; but on the one were rashness and incapacity, on the other discipline and skill; so that before four hours had passed the king's army was shattered before the "new model," and he became "like a hunted partridge flitting from one castle to another." thus the nen has its sources quite on the western side of the county--thence each feeder flows through a pleasant rolling region, where pastures alternate with cornfields, and both with copses, broadening its valley, as it proceeds, until they join and reach the chief town of the county, by which time the water meadows bordering its banks are of considerable extent. northampton is a town which has increased rapidly in size, and in consequence diminished rapidly in attractiveness. while it possesses some very interesting remains of ancient days, its older buildings for the most part are those of a midland market town of the last century, and these have been seldom replaced with the more imposing structures erected at the present day; thus, if we except the new town hall, the chief additions to northampton are blocks of factories, and rows of small houses, monotonous wildernesses of red bricks and purple slates. the place is very old, but the politics that prevail are very modern; for some years one of its parliamentary representatives was the late mr. bradlaugh. [illustration: rockingham village and castle.] [illustration: gateway of the castle.] this slope above the nen, where its course begins to bend towards the north, was a town full a thousand years ago, when it bore the shorter name of "hamtune." for a considerable time it was in the hands of the danes; it was burned by them in , and harried by the forces of morkere a year before the norman conquest. the successors of william often kept court here, for the forest of rockingham--which then spread over a large part of the county--was a favourite hunting ground, and many councils and parliaments were held in the castle. in its hall becket confronted henry ii., and at a later date, the constitutions of clarendon were ratified. its annals have not always been peaceful. de montford struggled for it with prince edward, and the duke of york with henry vi. once northampton seemed in the way to become a seat of learning, for owing to the state of feeling between "town and gown" in the year the students abandoned oxford and settled there; their stay, however, was not long, the "town" found that a proud stomach would soon be an empty one, and made interest with the king to recall the "gown," so the nen did not replace the isis. the ruins of the castle are inconspicuous, but northampton possesses two churches of great interest, one, st. peter's--a fine, and in some respects remarkable, example of a rather late norman parish church--which, notwithstanding some alterations, retains in the main its original character, and is an unusually ornate example of that style--and st. sepulchre's, one of the four churches in england which commemorate in their plan the ancient church of the holy sepulchre at jerusalem. this church has been much altered and added to, but the rotunda, or rather octagon, is still in fair preservation, and indicates a date rather later than that of its three companions. the queen's cross, on the higher ground about a mile south of northampton, is one of the three which remain to mark the resting-places of queen eleanor's body and the affection of her husband. though somewhat injured, it is still in fair preservation. [illustration: stamford.] the valley of the nen below northampton affords scenery which, if a little monotonous, is generally pretty. there are flat water meadows by the winding stream, forming a plain a mile or so wide, bounded by slopes, rising sometimes gently, sometimes more rapidly, to a low plateau on either side, and pleasantly diversified with copses and hedgerow timber. the district is an excellent example of the ordinary midland scenery, quiet, peaceful, seemingly fairly opulent, notwithstanding agricultural depression, but offering few subjects, so far as the scenery is concerned, for pen or pencil, though occasionally an ancient bridge and frequently an old farmhouse of grey stone will attract the artist. as we pass along we note high on the left bank the church of earls barton, of which the solid and curiously ornamented tower was built before the norman conquest, and the body retains remnants of almost every succeeding period of architecture. indeed, all this part of the valley of the nen, which is followed for the most part by the railway to peterborough, if comparatively uninteresting in its scenery, is exceptionally rich in its churches. in the words of the late canon james: "the saxon tower of earls barton; the complete early english church of warmington, with its wooden vaulting and exquisite capitals; the unique octagon of stanwick; the lanterns of lowick, irthlingborough, and fotheringay; the spires of raunds, rushden, and irchester; finedon, perfect in the best style; strixton, the model of an earlier one; the fine steeple of oundle--are but selections cut of a line of churches, some but little inferior, terminating in the grand west front and more solemn interior of peterborough cathedral." besides this, opposite to earls barton lies castle ashby, the home of the marquis of northampton, overlooking from its terrace a great extent of the valley of the nen, and the wooded hills on its other bank. the house, which is built round a quadrangle, replaces a castle which had disappeared by leland's time. three sides were built in the reign of elizabeth, the fourth was added by inigo jones. a lettered balustrade, a rather favourite device in elizabethan and jacobean work, is to be seen here. the house contains some interesting pictures and some memorials--according to the author of the account in murray's guide-book--of the famous spendthrift election, when my lord northampton, my lord halifax, and my lord spencer all ran candidates for the borough of northampton, and the race cost the winner a hundred thousand pounds, and each of the losers a hundred and fifty thousand pounds! yardley chase, a fragment of one of the old northamptonshire forests, adjoins the park. [illustration: bedford bridge.] the nen winds on to wellingborough, with its chalybeate spring, a town which began to prosper when the iron ore of northamptonshire found favour in the market. the ore, which is the oxide of iron, popularly known as "rust," occurs in a group of sands of no great thickness at the base of the lower oolites, and overlying the stiff blue lias clay. according to horace walpole, quoted in the guide-book, wellingborough was not well provided with hotels in . "we lay at wellingborough--pray never lie there--the beastliest inn upon earth is there! we were carried into a vast bed-room, which i suppose is the club-room, for it stunk of tobacco like a justice of the peace! i desired some boiling water for tea; they brought me in a sugar-dish of hot water in a pewter plate." the church is a fine one, and interesting in more respects than space allows us to enumerate. for the same reason we must pass rapidly by higham ferrers, with its old bridge (the best of two or three over this section of the river), and the buildings founded by archbishop chichele as a mark of affection for his birthplace. the grand church dates from various periods, commencing with the early english, and ending with the first half of the seventeenth century, when the steeple was rebuilt, but on the old pattern. the church was made collegiate by chichele in , to which date belongs the woodwork of the chancel. a brass indicates the burial-place of his parents, and there are several other monuments of great interest. the school-house on the north side of the churchyard, quite close to the steeple, and the bede-house on the south, are also chichele's work, together with the college, which stood in the main street, but is now in ruins. probably no townlet in england possesses such a remarkable group of ecclesiastical buildings. the shafts also of two crosses remain. the castle, however, which once belonged to the earls ferrers, has now disappeared. hence the nen flows on by bridge or mill to the little town of thrapston, noted for its grain market. "there is a very pretty view from the bridge which crosses the nen between thrapston and islip. the river sweeps round between green meadows, overhung in the foreground by masses of fine trees. loosestrife, arrowhead, the flowering rush, and many of the rarer water plants, abound, and the tall rushes which border the stream are used here for plaiting the outer portion of horse collars and mats, and for the seats of chairs." then comes thorpe with its fragment of a castle and the old bridge over a tributary of the nen, which near here for a while parts into two channels. the scenery generally in this part of the valley is attractive, especially near lilford, where the old mansion stands on rising ground surrounded by fine trees; and near to the river are the churches and the ruined castle of barnwell. then, hurrying on, oundle is reached, with its lofty steeple and fine church, its ancient bridge over the river, and its quaint old houses. oundle has been inhabited since the days of the romans, and is justly noted as "one of the pleasantest towns in northamptonshire." cotterstock with its memories of dryden, tansor with its curious church, come next, then fotheringay with its "fair builded paroche church" and its ruined castle, in the hall of which stern justice was done to mary stuart, overlooks the valley of the nen. at wansford the river sweeps round to the east, and glides slowly through a less interesting district down to peterborough, passing on its way castor with its interesting church and relics of a roman station. this, durobrivæ by name, appears to have occupied both sides of the river, and was evidently a wealthy and important settlement. it was famed also for its pottery; "kilns and great works extended round castor and its neighbourhood for about twenty miles up and down the nen valley. roman potters' kilns have been found nowhere else in england so perfect or in so great numbers." far above the lowland, far above the fens upon which the river is now entering, rises the huge mass of the cathedral of peterborough. the town, once a mere appendage to the great monastery, is now an important centre of railways and of works connected therewith. within the last forty years the population has trebled; acres and acres of land have been covered with rather commonplace dwellings; but the nucleus of the town, the houses by the nen bridge, the picturesque market-place, the old residences of the close, and above all the cathedral, are little changed. a few years ago it was found necessary to rebuild completely the central tower of the cathedral, for it was on the point of falling; much underpinning and other structural work has had to be done in the choir, during which some very remarkable remnants of the older fabric have been found; and it will probably be some years before the work of restoration is completed, for the expense is great, and neither the chapter nor the diocese is rich. at peterborough we stand on the brink of the lowland. it is not yet actual fen; the cathedral, the town, stand on a thin bed of rock, which overlies clay and provides a foundation. here, about the year , the place being then called medeshamstede, a monastery was founded. for more than two centuries it flourished; then the dane swooped down on the fenland abbey, and for nearly a hundred years it was desolate. it was rebuilt about , and in less than a century had become so wealthy that in the days of abbot leofric, a great benefactor, it was called the golden burgh of peter. the splendour for a time was dimmed when the monastery was burnt, and the church sacked, by hereward the wake as an english welcome to the first norman abbot. all of this church that was above ground has long disappeared, but considerable portions of the foundation have been discovered during the recent alterations, and will not be again buried. the grand norman structure which still remains--one of the most complete in the kingdom--was begun about , and completed, except the west front, about . that--a structure perfectly unique, a gigantic portico, in the form of three huge pointed arches--is assigned to the first quarter of the thirteenth century. for boldness of design and perfection of execution it is unsurpassed by anything of this period in the kingdom. the small spires, the pinnacles, and the porch, unfortunately stuffed between the piers of the central arch, are of later date. the "new building" or lady chapel at the east end is a fine piece of tudor work, but it has not improved the lower part of the norman church. the perpendicular architects have inserted poor tracery in many of the windows, and have made other alterations, seldom for the better, but less mischief has been done at peterborough by these meddlesome blunderers than in most other norman cathedrals. [illustration: huntingdon bridge.] * * * * * the welland rises, as has been said, on the high ground near naseby, but runs parallel with the outcrop of the rocks, while the stream going to the nen descends with their slope. thus the valley of the former widens rapidly, and before reaching market harborough is already trench-like in outline. this, for long a sleepy little town, seems to have been stimulated into some life by the meeting of railways. still it possesses one or two old houses, a chapel and a church of some interest; and from it charles led his army to the fatal field of naseby. below harborough the valley of the welland continues to broaden and flatten its bed, the slopes often rising steeply on both northern and southern sides. though sometimes pleasantly wooded around the site of some old family mansion, they are commonly rather bare, and the scenery is on the whole less attractive than is usual in this region of england. such churches also as are near the river are not remarkable, and it is not till we come to rockingham that we care to pause. here, however, high on the right bank, backed by shady woods, are the terraces, gables, and the remaining bulwarks of rockingham castle. the road climbs through the picturesque village to the grey old gateway, which, with other portions, dates from the thirteenth century, but the part more conspicuous from the valley is mainly of the reign of elizabeth. "anywhere the high site of rockingham, backed with its avenues of limes and groups of forest trees, would be a fine one, but in northamptonshire the wild and broken ground of the park, and the abrupt slopes and earthworks on which the castle stands, make it signally unique." the earlier kings of england not seldom used this for a hunting seat in the days when rockingham forest was a reality instead of a name. the river winds on with little change in the general character of the scenery; the tower of gretton looks down from the high scarp of the right bank, the little spire of seaton rises among trees hardly less high on the left, the small village of harringworth, with its grey stone houses, its interesting church, and its old cross still standing in the market-place, lies by the river side, near to which a branch of the midland railway crosses river and valley on a mighty viaduct of brick arches. then collyweston crowns the slope on the right. here are the quarries of so-called slate, which in former days roofed all the churches and most of the mansions for miles round--a material in its slight irregularity of form and colour far more pleasing to the eye than the formal smoothness and dull tints of the slates of wales or westmorland, which now find favour with builders. then near the river are more grey houses, always worth a passing glance, for they are often at least a couple of centuries old, and as stone was plentiful and good, men in those times forbore to do their work "on the cheap." but here is something more, for above them rises the steeple of ketton church, perhaps the most graceful to be found in any village in england. high on the hills behind are the famous quarries, which for long took the place of those of barnack, but are now in their turn becoming exhausted. [illustration: old bridge, st. ives.] then above the willow trees by the water, grey houses, towers, and spires, rise from the bed of the valley, climb the slope on the left, and that on the right also, till the suburb is arrested by densely massed woods. these hide from view the palatial mansion of burghley; this is "stamford town," once a noted halting-place on the great north road. there is, perhaps, no town in england of the same size which is more picturesque or more interesting. grey stone houses, often of excellent design, overhang the river, and border the streets; the steeple of st. mary's is very similar, and hardly inferior, to that of ketton; that of all saints is also fine. in st. martin's, near the gate, burghley, the great lord treasurer, the founder of the houses of exeter and salisbury, lies buried; the burghley bede house, browne's hospital, and the ruined priory of st. leonard's, are full of interest, and the town boasts that to it, as to northampton, there was once a migration from oxford. at stamford itself one would hardly suppose that the fens were near. the ground on either side is fairly high, the valley not notably broad, but the river, like the witham at lincoln, after cutting through the great limestone escarpment, passes out into the vast expanse of marsh-land that borders the wash. * * * * * the ouse rises in buckinghamshire not far from banbury, noted among children for its cross and cakes, and wanders leisurely on by the quiet county town of buckingham, by newport pagnell, and olney, known to admirers of cowper, its scenery for the most part opulent, but rather monotonous, till it approaches bedford--once a town wholly agricultural, now the site of important works of agricultural implements, and evidently prospering. sleepily the ouse glides along by its reedy banks through the wide lowland, silently it slides by the waterside houses, the pretty gardens, and the modern bridge which has replaced an earlier and more picturesque structure. among the fields towards the south, the massive tower of elstow church rises above the trees, indicating the birthplace of john bunyan, who "lighted on a den" in bedford gaol, and there "dreamed the dream" of the "pilgrim's progress." bedford castle has disappeared, the churches are of little interest, the houses commonplace. except for a few memorials of bunyan, bedford does not offer much to detain the traveller, unless he would examine its excellent schools or search for the remains of palæolithic man in the neighbouring gravels. below bedford the ouse passes on through wide meadows, near the pine-clad hills of sandy, and the market gardens, fertile from the happy mixture of the light sand of the slopes with the mud of the river; by the old town of st. neots, with its fine church tower; by huntingdon with its picturesque bridge and its memories of cromwell, where the old mansion of the earls of sandwich looks from its terrace over the wide and often flooded river plain; and beneath the ancient bridge of st. ives. the valley becomes less and less definite, the scenery flat, flatter, flattest, till somewhere or other in the fens the ouse receives the cam, and somewhere or other at last reaches the sea. this enigmatical sentence will be presently explained; let us now turn back to notice briefly the course of the last-named river. * * * * * the cam is shorter than any which have been noticed, yet a stream which passes through cambridge, and may claim to glide by ely, may well demand a longer notice than any of them. this, however, the limitations of space forbid, so we shall pass over, as generally known, the history of cambridge and of its university. we will merely glance at the site of the roman camp on the low plateau and the old "saxon" tower of st. benet's on the plain across the cam, indicating, as at lincoln, an early separation of the military and the civil element. we will only mention the round church, another memorial of the holy sepulchre. we will not discuss the rise and progress of the university, whether or no its founder was sigibert, king of the east angles, nor speak of the work of many a pious benefactor, royal, noble, and lowly born, or of its illustrious sons, its treasures of literature, its museums and colleges. we will merely trace the course of the cam through the town, because there is no mile of river scenery in all england, or, so far as we know, in all europe, which can be exactly compared with it. the cam at cambridge results from the union of two or three streams which have stolen sluggishly down, from sources a few miles distant among the chalk hills or the yet lower undulations of the clay district, to form a river rather wider and deeper, but hardly more rapid than an ordinary canal. meadows and osier beds end at a mill, up to which barges can come, and below the pool, at the first bridge leading into the town, the characteristic scenery may be said to begin. close to this the buildings of queen's college overhang the water, linked to the garden on the left bank by a picturesque wooden bridge. with tall trees to the left, with another garden on the right, we then glide beneath a single-arch bridge into the precincts of king's college. on the left bank are meadows bordered by tall trees; on the right, from smooth-shaven lawns, rise the master's lodge, the massive fellows' buildings, and the stately chapel, the pride of king's college. overlooking the lawns, but parted by a garden from the river, is the single court of clare college, an excellent example of seventeenth century domestic architecture, behind which is the group of buildings belonging to the university library, the older part of which was erected for the students of king's college. a handsome three-arched bridge links clare to its beautiful gardens on the opposite bank of the cam, and almost closes the view along the stream, though beneath its arches glimpses are obtained of more gardens and yet more bridges. rowing on, with some care for our oars, we pass beneath an arch, and glide by the gardens of clare college and beneath the terraced wall which hides that of trinity hall, but not its stately chestnut trees. then, through a single arch of iron, which carries one of the roads leading into the town, we enter the grounds of trinity college, the largest, richest, and most aristocratic of the educational foundations of cambridge. before us is its bridge, interrupting the noble avenue of limes, which on the one side separates its tree-fringed meadows, on the other leads up to the gateway tower in the façade of the "new court." there are now neither shrubs nor flowers by the river, but here and there a weeping willow overhangs the water. as we pass beneath one of the arches we obtain on the one side a clearer view of the trinity meadows; on the other, of wren's stately but rather ugly library adjoining the "new court," and in front, across more meadows, and yet more aged trees, we see the grand mass of the "new court" of st. john's college. [illustration: junction of the cam and the ouse.] on approaching these the river bends to the right. old elms border the meadows of st. john's, an ivy-clad wall bounds an old garden belonging to trinity, and then, beyond another three-arched bridge, the cam passes between the buildings of st. john's. they rise directly from the water, like the palaces of venice; on the right, a picturesque group of red brick and old grey stone, dating from the seventeenth century, linked by a covered bridge of stone--a gothicised rialto--to the loftier mass of the new court on the left. bridge and buildings were erected rather more than half a century since; the material is a cream-coloured limestone; the style is late perpendicular. passing between these and by the gable of the college library, a view is obtained of the master's lodge and of the west front of the chapel with its heavy inappropriate tower. both are the work of gilbert scott, and the latter is by no means one of his successes. these left behind, some rather poor but not unpicturesque houses border the cam, till it is crossed by an iron bridge, supporting the main street of the town. then we glide past the buildings of magdalene college, which of late years have been opened to the river. soon after this we emerge from the town, to see, below a lock and weir, the boat-houses of the college rowing-clubs bordering the left bank of the cam, and the grassy expanse of "midsummer common" on the opposite side. for the next three or four miles the margin of the cam, uninteresting as its scenery may be, is often lively enough, for skiffs, pairs, four-oars, eight-oars, dart up and down, propelled by the strong arms of sturdy rowers. dingeys or "tubs" progress more leisurely, while now and again a long string of barges is towed or punted onwards, and almost blocks the waterway. as a result of this, the representatives of learning and of commerce exchange compliments, when the language is vernacular rather than classic. brightest of all is the scene on occasions of the college races. carriages and spectators crowd the right bank, on the left runs a yelling crowd, which, as it follows the boats, resembles in its motley mixture of uniforms a huge party-coloured water-snake. age and youth, don and undergraduate, mingle in one confused mass, like a pack of hounds in full cry. oh, the music of that shout! oh, the memories of those days when friends were many and cares were few--when many a face was bright which has now faded away into the shadow-land, many a heart was warm which is now mouldering in the dust! [illustration: queen's bridge, cambridge.] before long the cam fairly enters the fenland, and creeps along by willows and reeds, by wide tracts of black earth, once marshy and malarious, now rich plains of corn land. here and there a cluster of trees, a tower or a spire, marks the spot where some insular bank afforded in olden times a site for a village among the wild waste of flooded fen. when the winter frost has gone, when the spring north-easter is still, when the summer sun is high, it is indeed a sleepy land. the spirit of the scenery may be not inappropriately summed up in the words written over the door of a waterside inn, half-way between cambridge and ely: "five miles from anywhere; no hurry!" one object only breaks the monotony of the horizon; this is the vast mass of ely cathedral towering up from its island hill, and overlooking the fens of the cam and of the ouse. this isle of ely, a large but low plateau surrounded by meres and marshes, was of old a place of note. it was the dower of etheldreda, daughter of anna, king of the east anglians, and she, soon after the year , founded a monastery near to the site of the present cathedral. of this she became abbess, and here she died and was ultimately enshrined. to her memorial festival pilgrims crowded from all quarters, and the trifles sold at "st. awdry's" fair have left their mark upon our language. the danes came and the monastery was devastated, but it was founded anew about a century before the norman conquest. at that epoch it became a "camp of refuge" for the patriots who refused submission to the invaders. the deeds of hereward the wake are too well known to need recounting; suffice it to say that the resistance was long and stubborn, and that the normans were more than once beaten off from the isle with heavy loss. the scene of their gravest defeat is still marked by an old causeway which crosses both the fens and a channel of the ouse to a spot near haddenham, about four miles distant from ely.[ ] along this william advanced from cambridge to the attack. by the river brink there was a desperate struggle, but at last the dry reeds above the causeway on the norman side were fired by the english; the flame fanned by the evening breeze came roaring down on the invader's column; then was a wild rush for dear life, but between fire and morass many a norman never got back again to his camp. the monastery which sheltered hereward's men, the church where they worshipped, have now disappeared. the foundations of the present cathedral were laid by simeon, the first norman abbot, who was appointed in . most of it belongs to a yet later date. the oldest work is found in the transepts; the upper parts of these, with the nave, are late norman, the west tower and remaining part of the façade not being completed till near the end of the twelfth century. the singularly beautiful choir is partly early english, partly decorated; the eastern bays dating from about , the western nearly a century later. in the year the norman central tower fell in with a mighty crash, and was replaced by the octagon and lantern, which form the unique glory of ely. about the same time the great lady-chapel at the east angle of the northern transept was added. the beautiful western galilee porch was built in advance of the western façade, perhaps a quarter of a century after the completion of the latter, which has lost, at what date it is uncertain, its northern wing or transept. [illustration: ely cathedral, from the river.] of the additions and alterations made by the architects of the perpendicular period--rarely improvements--it is needless to speak, and through want of space we must pass over the beautiful monuments, the stall work ancient and modern, the decoration of the roof, and the many enrichments which the cathedral has received during the latter part of the present century. nor can we do more than mention the interesting remains of the annexed monastery--the ruins of the infirmary, the ancient gateway, the deanery and other old houses, or the bishop's palace, which stands a little apart from these to the south-west of the cathedral. in this respect its precincts are not less interesting than those of lincoln and peterborough. * * * * * we have not attempted to follow either nen, welland, or ouse, to the sea, because their courses through the fenlands are now to a considerable extent artificial, forming part of a connected system of drainage; and because the whole district is an almost unbroken plain. a description written for one part will apply to any other; a few trees, more or less, grouped a little differently by the dykes or on the low shoals which rise a few feet above the plain; a little more or less of marsh or peat still left among the enclosures: that is all; the only differences are in the sluices, pumping-stations, windmills, houses, churches--in short, in the artificial, not in the natural features of the scenery. the history of the drainage of the fens and the rectification of its river courses is a long and complicated one.[ ] restricting ourselves to the vast plain west and south-west of the wash, the silted-up estuary, rather than the river delta of the welland, nen, and ouse, it may suffice to say that, while works were executed so far back as roman times, the first great effort for the reclamation of the land dates from the seventeenth century. formerly these rivers branched in the fenland. the welland divided at crowland, one arm passing by spalding, the other inosculating with an arm of the nen, which was thrown off near peterborough; of this river the other arm passed through whittlesea mere to wisbeach, and so to the sea. the ouse also divided at erith, one arm passing northward to join part of the nen, the other, that mentioned above, flowing south of the isle of ely and uniting with the cam. the part of the fens which lay north of the nen was partially reclaimed in the reign of james i. the drainage was completed by rennie in the beginning of the present century, but some sixty years afterwards powerful pumps had to be added to his work to discharge the drainage into the sea. the reclamation of the district south of the nen was undertaken by vermuyden with the help of the earl of bedford. his scheme was elaborate and open to criticism, its history complicated and unsatisfactory. it may suffice to say that the work, begun under charles, was completed under cromwell; that the rivers were conducted along channels, mainly artificial, enclosed by banks, and that before long, owing to the drying of the peat, the consequent reduction of the slope of the ground, and the silting-up of the outfalls, it was found necessary to introduce windmills for pumping. since then many improvements and alterations have been made. whittlesea mere, for example, a sheet of water from , to , acres in extent, has been drained, new sluices have been added, steam pumping engines erected, and the drainage of the fens may now be regarded as complete. the wild marsh-land, once a steaming swamp in summer, a vast sheet of water in winter, is now a plain of dry black earth, "green in springtime with the sprouting blade, golden in autumn with the dense ears of grain. it is a strange, solemn land, silent even yet, with houses few and far between, except where they have clustered for centuries on some bank of jurassic clay, which rises like a shoal not many feet above the plain; with water yet dank and dark, but brightened in summer with arrowhead and flowering rush and the great white cups of water-lilies. strange kinds of hawks yet circle in the air, the swallowtail butterfly yet dances above the sedges, though the great-copper no longer spreads its burnished wings to the sunshine. few trees, except grey willows or rows of rustling poplars, break the dead level which stretches away to the horizon, like a sea, beneath a vast dome of sky kindled often at sunrise and at sunset into a rare glory of many colours."[ ] [illustration: among the fens.] with the progress of cultivation the peculiar flora and fauna are gradually disappearing. the bittern, the spoonbill, the crane, and the wild swan, are becoming rare visitants, the ruffs and reeves, once so common, are now scarce; the decoys are falling into disuse, and the strange unearthly cry of the wild fowl less often breaks the frozen silence of the winter night; but if this is a loss to the naturalist and the sportsman, there is a gain to the labourer and the farmer. ague and marsh fever have all but disappeared. though the fenland is less wild and strange than in days of yore, he who has gazed in the early autumn from one of the high church towers over the vast expanse has seen a sight which he will never forget, for all around the endless fields of grain "are like a golden ocean, becalmed upon the plain." a word must be said of the fenland towns. wisbeach claims to be the metropolis. built upon the nen, which is navigable up to it for vessels of moderate tonnage, and a prosperous town, it has little of special interest besides its principal church, for its castle has practically disappeared. spalding, also a bright and thriving place, among shady trees; and king's lynn, at the mouth of the ouse, with a fine church, an old guildhall, and the curious pilgrimage chapel of the red mount--claim more than mention. nor must we forget the once mighty abbey of crowland, that grey broken ruin which towers still so grandly over the fens, or its singular triangular bridge, or the memories of st. guthlac and of waltheof. t. g. bonney. [illustration: a norfolk broad.] the rivers of east anglia. the crouch: foulness--little barsted and langdon--canewdon--rayleigh--hockley spa. the blackwater: saffron walden--radwinter--cadham hall and butler--booking--braintree--felix hall--braxted lodge--tiptree-maldon. the chelmer: thaxted--the dunmows--great waltham--springfield--chelmsford--mersea island. the colne: great yeldham--castle hedingham--halstead--colchester. the stour: kedington--sudbury--flatford and john constable--harwich. the orwell: stowmarket--barham--ipswich. the deben: debenham--woodbridge--felixstowe. the alde: aldborough--southwold--halesworth. the waveney: diss--bungay--mettingham--beccles--breydon water--horsey mere. the bure: hickling broads--st. benet's abbey--salhouse and wroxham broads--hoverton great broad--horning ferry--fishing in the broads. the yare: norwich--yarmouth. [illustration] after the medway and the thames have delivered their great contributions to the sea, the peculiar essex coast country--flat, marshy, and often very uninteresting--is sufficiently served by a number of small streams of little note in literature, and generally as commonplace in appearance as in the duties they perform. there are exceptions, which will be duly indicated, but with regard to the majority of the streams of east anglia, poet has not sung nor painter wrought his magic art. if not remote, unfriended, or melancholy, they are, it cannot be denied, slow. during the hot summer-time, when the level fields through which they meander are quivering with heat-haze, and the pastures and hedgerows are ablaze with the wild flowers which love fat pastures and flourish upon them, the upper waters are choked with luxuriant tangles of aquatic vegetation, and the current is barely sufficient, without the frequent application of scythe and water-rake to the thickets below water, to turn the rustic mills planted upon their banks. the dainty trout loves not the muddy beds and lazy flow of these rivers, which will be found to be much more numerous than is commonly supposed; but the waters are the natural home of the eel, pike, roach, bream, and other specimens of the so-called coarse fishes, or summer spawners, of great britain. a purely pastoral country is that watered by these narrow reed-margined rivers, famous for grain, roots, and grassy acres, with good soil where the solid earth lies so low that the hand of man must perforce sometimes exert itself to save it from the inroads of the salt sea. let us follow the coast-line from the north shore of the thames, abounding in marshes that have been so well described by dickens in "great expectations," and by the author of "mehalah" in his novels. * * * * * the first river is the crouch, whose estuary is still the groundwork of a remunerative oyster fishery. anything more dreary than the shores of this long and gaping river-mouth can scarcely be imagined. the beacons out at sea tell the tale of danger, and point to the dread maplin sands, and the treacherous shoals that culminate in the fatal goodwins. true, upon foulness the tenants of lord winchilsea most successfully reclaimed a space of forbidding foreshore from the sea, but as a rule these expanses yield little better than coarse marsh grass, wild fowl, and everlasting salt; and the island of foulness, which is formed by the curvature of one of the smaller channels, half river and half creek, that abound in these parts, is the oasis of this marshy desert. yet the church on the island, which was built less than forty years ago, occupies the site of one which was founded in the twelfth century, and the danes, as every schoolboy is taught, built themselves forts hard-by, and made camps that have left their landmarks to this day. at high water the crouch estuary is a pleasant enough arm of the sea, and as the river is navigable for brigs of respectable tonnage at burnham, and for smaller craft to fambridge ferry, the ruddy and white-sailed boats impart a refreshing liveliness to the scene. especially is this the case when the little fleet of oyster boats are on active service. the crouch rises from a couple of springs in little bursted and langdon, the district lying between the high and picturesque uplands of these parts, billericay (where the romans had a station) and langdon hill. a small stream for a while, the crouch passes several villages, the branches joining forces at ramsden crays; it becomes navigable for barges at battle bridge, and for sea-going brigs and schooners at hull bridge, near which place the scenery is pretty and undulating. from north fambridge, however, the normal marsh-land of the estuary begins to assert itself, and burnham is to all intents and purposes the seaport of this portion of the hundreds--a local term applying to the aguish levels between the crouch and the colne, which latter stream will presently engage our attention. before leaving the crouch, however, the village of canewdon should be mentioned, as being well situated above the flats, and as being in the neighbourhood of a battlefield upon which canute defeated edmund ironside. the discovery of relics from time to time shows that the romans as well as the danes were located on the shores of the crouch, and the ancient village of rayleigh is claimed to have been the home of the saxon. the mineral waters of hockley spa are credited with peculiar virtues, and the place is in consequence growing in importance. * * * * * [illustration: cadham hall: portrait of samuel butler.] the blackwater, sometimes called the pant, which is the next river as we proceed northwards, waters a pleasant, flourishing, and populous part of the county of essex. it is the kind of landscape that delights the agriculturist, and that gives to rural england its distinctive charm, its combination of pasture and arable land, wood and water, village and town. the blackwater rises near the borders of cambridge, not far from saffron walden, the wooded slope of the saxon, the strategic position upon which the britons had formed an ancient encampment, and geoffrey de mandeville built his castle in the early days of the norman conquest; the place where in more recent times the cultivation of the saffron suggested a suitable prefix to "weald den." the tower and spire of radwinter church forms a conspicuous object from the surrounding country, but the church has been restored and enlarged in our own times. here, towards the close of the sixteenth century, robert harrison, the author of the "decay of the english long bow," and an historical description of the "land of britaine," was rector. lower down the river, in the village church of hempstead, a monument stands to the memory of william harvey, the discoverer of the circulation of the blood, but the hall where harvey's brother eliab resided no longer exists. butler is said to have written the greater part of "hudibras" at cadham hall, below shalford; and at finchingfield, on a hilly site near a tributary of the main stream, spains hall, an early tudoresque mansion in a fine park, represents the free hand of the conqueror, who gave the estate to one of his normans. [illustration: maldon.] bocking church, as we descend the river, now running almost due south, stands high, and is of some note as a building of the time of edward iii., in which ministered the dr. gauden who, in the opinion of some of the authorities, was the author of _eikon basilike_. bocking is virtually an outlying suburb of the neat market town of braintree, where a colony of flemings, settling in the time of elizabeth, founded the weaving establishments which, with ironworks, corn mills, and malting-houses, maintain the present population in general prosperity. the vale and park of stisted succeed, and by-and-bye the old-fashioned little town of coggeshall, partly covering the rising ground of one of the river banks. weaving is still carried on, though not to the extent of former days, when the town was a valuable centre of the woollen manufacture; and of the cistercian abbey founded by stephen and maud nothing remains but an antiquated barn appropriating portions of the ruins. john owen, chaplain to oliver cromwell, was born at coggeshall; and bishop bonner probably resided at feering bury manor house, by the village of feering, nearer kelvedon, where the blackwater is crossed by a strong, handsome bridge. felix hall is the show-place of the neighbourhood, and its noble park and the works of art contained in the mansion attract numerous visitors. another beautiful specimen of "the stately homes of england" is braxted lodge, perched upon an eminence, with commanding views of one of the most richly cultivated prospects to be found in all essex, and including, amongst the landscape features of the lovely demesne, a lake some twenty acres in extent. tiptree, once a notable waste, boasting of nothing but heath, within the memory of living man became even more notable as tiptree hall farm, which was created out of most unpromising materials into a model homestead by the late mr. alderman mechi, a scientific agriculturist who expended large sums of money in machinery for the treatment of sewage and irrigation. the town of witham, on the further side, stands on the tributary brain. [illustration: _walker & boutall sc._ map of the east anglian rivers.] the borough and seaport of maldon, marking the junction of the chelmer with the blackwater, stands at the head of a long, uninteresting, marshy estuary of the same pattern as that of the crouch, and extending a dozen miles before the open sea is reached. camden infers that camalodunum was on the site of maldon, and another historical tradition is that edward the elder encamped here to oppose the invasion of the danes. local antiquarians point to remnants of the ancient encampment, and assert that though at first the danes were beaten back, unlaf in sailed hither and successfully led his vikings to the rout of the saxons and capture of the station. landseer, the painter, lived at maldon in the early part of his artistic career, and many of his drawings have been preserved in the town and neighbourhood. the royal academician herbert was a native of the town. * * * * * the river chelmer has been referred to as a tributary of the blackwater, but it is a navigable river on its own account, and brings the county town, by means of an improved canal system, into communication with maldon and the sea. though in the meadows above chelmsford it, from a not excessive distance, looks but a silver thread trailed across the grass, it has a distinct value in the commerce of the county. thaxted, near which it takes its rise, is a typical specimen of the decayed country town that, once of some importance, has been left to sleepiness by the march of progress, which somehow passed it by. its fourteenth century church, with massive tower and lofty octagonal spire, is amongst the finest in a country where good churches are plentiful. horham hall was a residence of queen elizabeth before she came to the throne; and the pleasantly situated village of tilty, in the valley of the chelmer, environed by hills and graced by a wood along the banks, boasts the remains of a cistercian abbey dating from the middle of the twelfth century. easton park is in the valley; its fine old elizabethan mansion is in good preservation, and the church contains many interesting memorials of the maynards, who have long been in possession of the estate. great dunmow is the next place touched in our downward course, a comfortable town set upon a hill, with a charming suburb thrown out to the river bank. in the neighbourhood, but on the other side of the stream, is little dunmow, associated with the memories of the fitzwalters, one of whom is credited with the famous bequest of a flitch of bacon to any married couple who could prove that for twelve months and a day they had lived in perfect harmony. the custom of awarding the flitch has been almost forgotten, though ainsworth made a gallant attempt to revive it, and the prize was claimed as recently as . it was first offered by robert de fitzwalter in , the actual conditions being "that whatever married couple will go to the priory, and kneeling on two sharp-pointed stones will swear that they have not quarrelled nor repented of their marriage within a year and a day after its celebration, shall receive a flitch of bacon." whether the people of the generations past felt the conditions impossible, or treated the affair as a farce, no one may decide, but it is remarkable that the first prize was not claimed until two hundred years after it was established. up to only five flitches had been won, and there have been two since. the parish church of little dunmow owes its fine columns, richly carved capitals, and windows, to what is left of the priory church of the augustinian establishment founded in . onwards through farms and parks, with many a hamlet and village rich in relics of the middle ages, the chelmer flows, laving no land more fair in its disposition of deer parks, woods, lawns, and mansions, than that around the village of great waltham. an excellent view of the valley, the river, and a widespread scene which includes the town of chelmsford, is obtained from springfield hall. the village of springfield is one of many in england which are said to have given goldsmith the theme of his "sweet auburn! loveliest village of the plain, where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain, where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, and parting summer's lingering blooms delayed." had the poet been standing on any of the eminences from which on every side the wayfarer seems to descend upon chelmsford, he might have noted all the points which are so sweetly made in "the deserted village;" but the same remark would apply to many a spot in many an english county. yet the following lines do chance to answer with happy accuracy to the springfield outlook:-- "how often have i paused on every charm-- the sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, the never-failing brook, the busy mill, the decent church that topped the neighbouring hill, the hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, for talking age and whispering lovers made." but springfield is in these days a portion of chelmsford, from which it is separated by the chelmer and the smaller cann, both crossed by bridges. chelmsford is one of the characteristic county towns of the smaller type (its population is about , ), which thrive in a centre of agricultural activity. the attempts made to restore to the town the privileges of a borough were at last successful, as it was strange they were not before, for though it sent four members to the council at westminster in the time of edward iii., it was at last the only county town in england, except the little capital of rutlandshire, that was not a borough. with its markets and fairs as important periodical events, the corn exchange may be regarded as in some respects the principal building, though a more imposing edifice is the older shire hall, in which the assizes are held, and in which, so recently as , a precious discovery of ancient documents was made in one of the upper rooms. the papers related to matters of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and comprised records of the persecutions of episcopalians, catholics, and nonconformists, and of punishments, in which the community enjoyed some notoriety, for witchcraft. chief justice tindal was one of the worthies of chelmsford, and his name is inscribed upon the elegant conduit in the market-place. the chelmer, as already stated, becomes an established navigation from the county town, and continues its course to the east. the most noticeable feature of the north side of the vale is boreham house, with its park, avenues of trees, water, and tastefully laid-out gardens. in the parish is new hall, an educational establishment, on the site of henry viii.'s palace of beaulieu, and used subsequently as a residence by monk, when duke of albemarle. the modern visitor is shown the sculptured initials, with love-knots, of bluff king hal and anne boleyn. to the west of ulting church, the chelmer receives the ter, fresh from the well-wooded park of terbury place. considerably increased in volume by this addition, it hastens to maldon and its confluence with the blackwater. [illustration: the shire hall, chelmsford.] in discharging its waters at the termination of its long estuary, the blackwater, with the chelmer in union, sweeps along the southern shore of a charming little island in the bay between st. peter-on-the-wall and colne point. this is mersea island, five miles long from east to west, and three miles at its widest portion. the oysters which have made whitstable famous have good breeding ground in pyefleet--the creek, passable at low water, which separates the mainland from this prettily wooded and verdant isle, with a bold front to the north sea. in common with all the coast from southend to harwich, the foreshores at low water present a melancholy expanse of ooze, upon which the sea-birds may forage without fear of the approach of man. but while at its lower end mersea island faces the outflow of the rivers we have been considering, its upper shores are in a similar position with regard to the colne, which will next engage our attention. * * * * * of the four rivers of this name in england three are spelt with the final "e," and this stream in the north-eastern portion of the county is often described as the essex colne to distinguish it from its namesake, which is a tributary of the thames. rising near moynes park, the river pursues a south-easterly course to great yeldham, a village embowered in trees, amongst which must be reckoned, as of particular account, the gnarled oak, of which the inhabitants are not a little proud. a larger village is castle hedingham, standing upon its breezy acclivity, and favoured with a delightful prospect of highly cultivated valley. what remains of the castle which gave name to the place is in grand condition, the great tower or keep, with its stupendously solid walls, standing almost externally entire upon its turfy mound. the norman masonry is square and lofty, with walls twelve feet in thickness, and the keep, as a whole, is feet high. so well preserved is the structure, that the grooves for the portcullis in the gateway facing the west might still be used for their original purpose. halstead, lower down the widening river, is doubtless what its name signifies, a healthy place, covering the gentle ascent from the stream. the market is one of the oldest in the country, and for many years the population has prosecuted the trade of straw-plaiting, and manufactures of silk and crape. a tributary feeds the colne from the extensive lake of acres in the park of gosfield hall, three miles below halstead. gosfield hall was the seat of the nugents, one of whom wrote the life of hampden, and it afterwards came into the hands of the marquis of buckingham. four villages, three on the left and one on the right, take a portion of their name from the stream:--colne engaine, so called from its ancient lords of the manor; earls colne, once the residence of the earls of oxford; white colne, a modern rendering of colne-le-blanc; and wakes colne. this is the colne village near which, at chappell, the valley is crossed by the stour valley railway viaduct, , feet in length, and feet above the level of the stream. by the villages of fordham, west bergholt, and lexden, the river at length, by devious ways, arrives at colchester, the largest town in essex, the ancient fortified post which historians nominate the capital of the trinobantes; and mr. j. h. round, who has written a history of colchester castle, identifies the town with the british camalodunum. a similar honour, as we have seen, has been claimed for maldon on the blackwater. this "hill-town at the bend of the river" has figured often in history, and the relics exhibited in the colchester museum, and the writings of early historians, sufficiently warrant us in beginning with the romans. the number of remains unearthed at colchester has been enormous, and romans, saxons, and danes, in succession, occupied this valuable position on the eastern coast. it became the point of contention in civil war, sent ships and men to edward iii., was visited by both mary and elizabeth, and was a staunch contributor of men and money to the parliament against charles i. the river colne, to which colchester owes so much of its importance past and present, is navigable to hythe, where the newest bridge, a construction of iron, replaced a brick bridge which was washed away by a winter flood in . north bridge is also an iron structure, and east bridge, with its five arches, is of brick. the public buildings of colchester are handsome and mostly modern, and the business of the place has been much increased since the extension of colchester camp as the headquarters of the eastern military district. the picturesque portion of the town must be looked for on the high ground where stand the remains of the castle, supposed to have been built by the romans. the monastic ruins in the town are also of more than common interest. the river colne, widening as it goes, passes wivenhoe park, receiving a small tributary called the roman river, and henceforth it is an estuary proper, with salt water, fishing-boats, oyster-beds, and marshes intersected by creeks dear to the wild-fowler. one of the best known landmarks for the incoming mariner is the tall tower of the church of the fishing village of brightlingsea. * * * * * dividing for some distance the counties of essex and suffolk, next in order comes the stour, born upon the borders of the adjoining county of cambridge, and running an almost parallel course with the colne, but longer. three brooks contend for the reputation of starting the stour upon its journey, and the matter is not placed beyond dispute until the three become one. the river begins to act as a county boundary at kedington, where archbishop tillotson was rector at the time of the commonwealth. birdbrook and whitley, baythorn park and stoke college, the village which gave a name to the cavendishes, the old hall of pentlow, the village of long melford, with melford hall and kentwell hall, and liston park opposite, bring us, with a curve of the river, to the borough town of sudbury, the birthplace of the painter gainsborough, and the point from whence the stour becomes navigable. with smaller villages in close succession planted along its course, the stour at higham is joined by the bret, and the district between higham and the town of manningtree is the veritable country which inspired in the heart of john constable a love for rural scenes, and stored his mind with the knowledge which in after life served him so well. the artist was never tired of saying that these soft pastoral landscapes in the stour valley made him a painter. he was born at east bergholt, and numbers of his pictures were actually representations of scenes at flatford. the flocks and herds, the swelling uplands at different periods of the year, the shade of the woods, the sunlight on the corn, the dripping waterwheel, the cottage, and the church--they are still the common objects of the country on either side of the river. at manningtree the stour is lost in the sea long ere it arrives at the thriving port of harwich, where the channel is commanded by a port on either side, and vessels are directed by a couple of lighthouses, one of which is a lofty erection surmounted by a powerful lantern. a new town, the watering-place of dovercourt, which in all probability has a future before it, is growing up a near neighbour to harwich. [illustration: . mill on the colne. . high street, colchester.] * * * * * if the stour has its harwich, the river orwell, which farther north joins the same estuary, has its ipswich; and while the name of constable has been mentioned in connection with the former, that of crabbe belongs to the latter. the river, rising near the village of gipping, is generally known to the country people by that name in its freshwater course; and it is formed by three small tributaries which become united near stowmarket, the ancient county town of suffolk. this town, celebrated in these later days for the manufacture of the new explosives, fed the fire of genius in former times, for hither came milton to visit his tutor young, and until modern times a mulberry tree in the vicarage garden was called the milton tree. george crabbe received the rudiments of his education at stowmarket. the river subsequently passes needham market, and a number of country seats and villages; barham being the parish where kirby, the entomologist, lived for more than half a century pursuing his patient and successful studies. the stream is navigable to stowmarket, and in the channel between that town and ipswich there is a total descent of ninety-three feet, with fifteen locks in a distance of about sixteen miles. it is not until the river approaches the tidal end that it is termed the orwell. [illustration: on the orwell at ipswich.] ipswich is well situated on rising ground with a southern aspect, and gainsborough, who lived here, and constable, who knew it well, thought highly of the district of which it is the capital. constable said of it, "it is a most delightful county for a painter. i fancy i see gainsborough in every hedge and hollow tree." ipswich in many a quaint corner and irregular street gives evidences of its age. the merry dog rochester, boon companion of a merry king, saw ipswich once in the small hours of the morning, and described it as a town without people on the banks of a river without water. the tide was out at that time, and the banks of the orwell are to this day a marvellous acreage of muddy foreshore at low water. but ipswich has always been a prosperous town, and its leading inhabitants flourishing men of mark. in these days it is the headquarters of agricultural implement manufacture, sending labour-saving machinery to all parts of the world. the busy ironworks extend along both banks of the river. new docks are established where a new cut has been made to serve them. ocean-going ships and fleets of "billy-boys" from goole and elsewhere lie along the wharves. public buildings, in a fine modern group, attest the progress of ipswich with the advancing times. even the grammar school, one of queen elizabeth's foundations, has been reared in the newer town. the wealthy merchants, trading with the continent, used to live in the midst of the people on the lower land; their villas now stud the heights overlooking the river. yet here and there an antique chimney, an old-world doorway, indicate where the solid old houses once stood. in the butter market there is a marvellous piece of ancient architecture, a house front quaintly timbered and embellished with carvings chiselled centuries ago; and the inhabitants love to believe that this is one of the numerous houses in england in which charles the second hid from those who sought his life. also is the visitor taken to see a gate through which it is affirmed entrance was obtained to cardinal wolsey's cottage. the ipswich of to-day, however, with its water and steam mills, its export business in boots and shoes, its great ironworks, is, in east anglia, the conspicuous type of go-aheadness, and when the orwell is at high tide the outlook from the heights is of extreme beauty. the estuary then is a lovely stretch of scenery; gently rising hills laid out with grounds and country seats, diversified by woods and high cultivation, appear on either side, and the estuary from grassy shore to grassy shore is covered with water, dotted with white-sailed yachts and craft of more serious order. * * * * * the river deben runs in a parallel direction with the orwell, rising a short distance northward of debenham, becoming navigable at woodbridge (where crabbe learnt surgery), and making estuary near felixstowe, the favourite watering-place of southern suffolk. bernard barton, the quaker poet, thus grandiloquently described the section of the coast:-- "on that shore where the waters of orwell and deben join the dark heaving ocean, that spot may be found: a scene which recalls the lost beauties of eden, and which fancy might hail as her own fairy ground." the poet crabbe, to whom passing reference has been already made, was born at aldborough, the quiet seaside town which receives its name from the little river alde, and which was the subject of the poem "the borough." the stream passes close to the town, but instead of making for the sea close by, turns abruptly south, and follows the line of the coast, within sound of the ocean, for several miles, past orford, to hollesley bay. north of aldborough is southwold at the mouth of the river blythe, another minor stream, navigable to halesworth, a picturesquely situated town below hevingham. * * * * * a district in many respects quite unique meets us at the estuary which is marked on the maps, though scarcely known by the country folk, as lake lothing, this being, in point of fact, an estuary harbour a little south of lowestoft railway station. following the coast northward, past great yarmouth, and up to a trifle beyond cromer, we have that extremely interesting district known as the east anglian broads, which have now become one of the most popular summer resorts for boating and fishing men, and a well-frequented haunt of the wild-fowler who is not afraid to brave the bitter winds of winter, cruising over the great watery wastes in search of the game which can be found in such quantities in this part of the country. till within a comparatively few years this extraordinary network of waterways connecting freshwater lakes was comparatively little known, but the increase of railway communication, and the spread of knowledge consequent upon the multiplication of cheap literature and the new departure taken by the daily press, brought the rivers and broads of both norfolk and suffolk before the public. now for months together wherries and yachts peculiar to the locality sail by day and anchor at night upon the broads; and camping-out parties may be encountered at all the villages connected therewith. this may also be described as savouring of dutch-land, the salient features of which are in some wise reproduced here in our own country. although elsewhere changes are continually taking place in the habits and customs of the people, and often in the aspect of the country, the broads so far remain unaltered. the rivers are characterised by a slow rate of speed. many of them for miles together resemble canals in the appearance of their banks, and in their tardy, discoloured currents. it is difficult sometimes to imagine that the sheets of water are connected with them at all, but, as the name broad would indicate, the apparent lakes are nothing but openings-out of the waterways, which sooner or later send their contents to the sea. there are two or three exceptions, which will be pointed out, but the broads are for the most part fed by such rivers as the bure and the yare. the southernmost river is the waveney, which at first runs from west to east, until it approaches within a few miles of the estuary above named. then, however, it takes an arbitrary turn northwards, gives the go-by to lowestoft, and, joining the river yare at breydon water, empties itself into the sea outside of gorleston pier. [illustration: harwich: the quay.] the waveney, one of the largest of the norfolk rivers, waters both norfolk and suffolk. the talented agnes strickland, who wrote of the queens of england, calls this river the sweet stream of her childhood, and in its upper part it certainly does merit that somewhat poetical description. it rises from springs near lopham gate, and the little ouse, which takes a contrary direction, is also born in the same neighbourhood. the first town on the banks of this river is diss, which is very prettily situated on high ground, with a considerable lake with steep banks on the eastern side. the little river called the dove, which passes the borough of eye, joins the waveney. the town of harleston is near the waveney proper, and at bungay, on the borders of norfolk and suffolk, where the river describes a curious loop towards the village of ditchingham, the broads district is held to have its south-western boundary. there are no broads, however, near, but the tourists who hire their wherries and make water parties for periods of weeks and months frequently push on to this point. the ruins of bungay castle remind us of the old days when barons held their sway, and there is a parish church which was once connected with a nunnery. for the most part, the broads district is a dead level that becomes monotonous until one gets accustomed to its quietude and freedom. but occasionally there is an exception to the rule, and we have an example at mettingham, a portion of which parish spreads over a range of hills, upon which are the remains of a castle. sir john suckling, the poet, was lord of the manor in the parish of barham, which has its hall some distance from the river, and a stretch of marshes bordering it. the mother of nelson, and captain suckling, his uncle, were both born in the rectory house of barham. beccles, with its fen to the north, its racecourse to the right, and the gillingham marshes on the other side of the river, are important stations connected with the line from lowestoft and yarmouth. beccles was a favourite resort of the poet crabbe. this little town is finely situated on a promontory, giving a pleasant view of the broad valley, with villages and country houses dotted along its banks. in its northward course the waveney passes somerleyton station, then st. olaves, and finally, running parallel with the terminal course of the yare, winds through reedy marshes and becomes lost in breydon water, a huge expanse of estuary, which visitors to yarmouth will remember as presenting such a dreary waste of muddy flat at low water. the yare and the waveney are connected by an artificial channel, called the new cut, making the course by water to the ancient city of norwich complete from the south-eastern portion of the district. away to the east of the river at st. olaves is fritton decoy, one of the smaller, but at the same time typical, broads of norfolk. * * * * * the district of the broads is computed to hold not less than , acres of lake, and miles of river, or canal-like waterway that passes as such; but the broads, as they are popularly known, mostly cluster along the banks of the bure. towards the coast in the north-east is delightful little horsey mere, the outlying lake in that direction connected with the combination of watery stretches, generally known as hickling broads, the largest of the entire series, and brought into the common watery highway by means of the thurne, sometimes called the hundred stream. as a rule, the water of these east anglian broads is discoloured by sand in solution, and sometimes, as at fritton, it assumes a greenish hue. but hickling, which is a very beautiful sheet of water, though, by reason of its shallowness, not wholly beloved by yachtsmen, has the enviable peculiarity of being clear. upon the hard gravelly bottom the loveliest of water plants grow; and sailing over them in a small boat, brushing them lightly even with your keel, and the breeze not being sufficiently strong to ruffle the surface, you look down upon a submerged panorama, upon a subaqueous fairyland of mossy meadows and weedy bowers, from and into which the zebra-barred perch and the silvery cyprinidæ glide. from hickling it is a long sail down to thurne mouth, where we regain the main stream of the bure, and the scenery is thoroughly characteristic of east anglia. truly there is nothing like it elsewhere in this country. league upon league we steal along the placid waterway, between rustling sedge, flag, reed, and coarse grasses, protecting all the aquatic flowers in their season. sleek cattle graze upon the low, fat, boundless pastures; everywhere weather-worn windmills catch the breeze, and work devoted to the perpetual service of pumping out the intersecting dykes. beyond the marshes, undulating country swells gently to picturesque and distant woods; square church-towers peep above the trees. there are cornfields and patches of turnip surrounding the ruddy buildings of many a happy homestead. hour after hour we silently move between margins gay with the bold purple loosestrife, the free-blossoming willow-herb, the fragrant meadow-sweet, and the dark glossy-leaved alder, which never thrives so well as when its feet are in the water, and which seems to be most strong in the sap when other trees are on the verge of decay. the broads connected with the upper part of the bure are the most generally known, following each other in close succession, and having a number of villages in their neighbourhood. the trip from yarmouth up this river is at first monotonous in the extreme, but the traveller soon gets accustomed to the hollandish land and water. the smaller the boat for this excursion, the better the speed; the mast has to be lowered at the low, modest bridges, and to meet this requirement the so-called wherries and the una-rigged boats are provided with special appliances. very soothing it is, when the breeze is merry, to loll upon the cushions aft, gaze up at the heavens, and list to the ripple at the bows. the shivering willows present an everlasting intermingling of moving grey and green as the slender leaves expose now the upper and now the under covering, after their kind. water-fowl scuttle off to cover as you heave in sight. by-and-bye there will bear down upon you one of the famous east anglian wherries, half-sister to the sailing-barges of the medway and the thames. her large ruddy sails are hoisted by machinery, and as she sweeps round a bend, running free, she will seem to be dooming you to destruction. yet she flies past, making splendid speed, and docile as a child under the management of the skipper at the helm. one of the show-places on the bure is st. benet's abbey, to which all strangers resort. the ruins that attract attention long before the landing-place is reached are the remains of an ecclesiastical establishment of the early part of the eleventh century. it was a strong post, and the monks offered a stubborn resistance to william the conqueror. eventually the abbey was annexed to the bishopric of norwich; and, inheriting the old right of the abbot to a seat in the house of lords, the bishops of norwich, who are in legal parlance abbots of st. benet's-at-holme, as well as bishops, have a double claim to a seat on the episcopal bench. the river bure was, in those old fighting days, a line of defence to the abbey on the south, and the position of the moat, which completed the isolation, may still be traced. the gateway of the abbey, which was a cruciform building with a plain round tower in the centre, stands, but it is blocked by the rubbish of a large windmill which tumbled upon it in the last century. there are other relics, and the prettiness of the place, its historical associations, and the soft turf that contrasts so agreeably with the rougher herbage of the marshes, make it a resort of picnic parties. walsham, ranworth, hoveton, woodbastwick, salhouse, and wroxham broads are a close constellation. wroxham is a typical specimen of the larger broads upon which regattas are held, where a large yacht may cruise, and the shores of which present diversity of woodland, private grounds, farm lands, and village life. equally typical of the smaller lakes is salhouse broad. i visited it last in the late summer, the boat slipping out of wroxham broad through an inviting opening in the reeds. to my mind there is nothing prettier in all norfolk than this sheltered lakelet, a watery retreat which, like many of the broads, is private property. the reeds around its margin on one shore, which presents a series of bays within bays, are of gigantic height. they stand out of the water in thickets, lofty walls of slender growth, coped with nodding plumes and restless tassels. on the opposite shore the scenery is park-like. at the time of my visit there were a number of small yachts moored at salhouse, and upon the weedy shore there was, at points, a striking intermixture of ash trees, alders, and the guelder rose, vieing with one another as to which could thrive best nearest the water's edge. the guelder rose bushes were bright with their clumps of red berries, glittering and transparent like venetian glass. out of this small enclosure you push through a narrow waterway into hoveton great broad, a lake of quite another type, particularly dutch-like in its surroundings. productive arable land stretches right and left, and windmills mark the horizon all round; no point of the prospect is without its square-towered church or red-tiled houses. so shallow are many portions of hoveton broad, that as you sweep through the light beds of reeds, forcing the graceful growths out of your course, there are often not eighteen inches of water beneath your keel, and the dutch flavour before mentioned is intensified by the appearance of large clumsy boats, laden high with cut reeds, to be used hereafter as fodder. horning ferry, a well-known waterside resting-place, may be taken as a typical feature of village life in these parts. at a bend in the river bure you arrive at a village with granaries, and the red-tiled cottages of a long street close to the water's edge. there are heaps of produce on the bank, a fleet of boats-of-all-work, wherries waiting for cargoes, and a huge windmill on the low ridge behind this quaint country settlement. you sail close to the walls of the village street, and it is expected that you offer a largesse of coppers to the sunbrowned children who run along, keeping pace with the boat, and singing a hymn, as the horning children have done from time immemorial, in praise of john barleycorn. all the yachtsmen coming and going halt at horning ferry, lounge upon the smooth-shaven lawn, and enjoy the comforts of a civilised inn; for the first time, perchance, for days, in the case of men who have been roughing it in wherries or smaller boats. in the hotel parlour may be noticed a case of stuffed birds, containing excellent specimens of the beautiful summer teal, black tern, solitary fowl, and jack-snipes, and two or three rare visitants, all shot by the proprietor of the hotel. guns, fishing-rods, hunting pictures, whips and spurs, adorning the walls, give an air of sport to the place both welcome and fitting. [illustration: the beach, yarmouth.] the largest broad in the north-eastern part of the district i have already nominated as hickling, which also includes whitely and chapman's broad. horsey mere is, however, still further east, and it is a lovely bit of wild water, with an abundance of tall poplars around the shores, and most picturesquely reeded. by proceeding up palling dyke, on the trip to which i have once or twice referred, i was able to stroll across to the beach, through the sand dunes, and inhale the real odour of brine from the ocean. on the way i passed the blackened ribs of a wrecked ship protruding from the silver sand which had been drifting year by year with the kindly object of burying them out of sight. the dunes here are high embankments of sand, covered with spear-like grass. looking east was the blue sea and its ships and steamers; west was a sunshiny land, dotted with villages and farms. barton broad is a detached lake of considerable size; and in an opposite direction, south-east, is the long, narrow collection of broads--filby, rollesby, and ormesby--one expanse of water, independent of the rivers and cuts which abound in every other part of the district of the broads. this peculiar piece of water straggles along a length of three miles, and throws out queerly shaped arms both east and west. the attractions for visitors to the broads are sailing, and sport with rod and gun. the country is so sparsely populated that the visitor has to provide rations for himself, and is, when once upon the broads, far away from the noise of the world. the angler who has read glowing accounts of the sport to be obtained is likely to be disappointed at the large proportion of the water which is in private hands. the broads and rivers abound with bream and roach; and there are pike, perch, and eels. in some of the broads the rudd, which is first-cousin to the roach, occurs in incredible quantities, and affords capital fly-fishing on summer evenings off the fringes of the reedy thickets. a wholesale system of poaching, which has not been completely stopped by the special legislation provided by the norfolk and suffolk freshwater fisheries act of , has, however, of late years inflicted much injury. in his description of the marriage of thames and medway, spenser selects the yare as having-- "with him brought a present joyfully of his own fish unto their festival, which like none else could show; the which they ruffins call." by "ruffins" spenser means the pope or ruffe, the voracious little impostor that pretends to be a perch, and that is often a nuisance to the east anglian fisherman. according to cuvier, this fish was discovered by dr. caius, who was a native of norwich, and who, taking a ruffe in the yare, sent it to gesner. * * * * * though the episcopal city of norwich is its great inland headquarters, yarmouth is considered to be the capital of the broads district. in the literal sense of the term these are well-known towns. norwich abounds with old streets and houses, as becomes a city said to be of more than fourteen centuries date. kings of east anglia dwelt in its castle, or were ejected from it, as saxons and danes in turn carried it by storm. the keep and outer vallum are well preserved, and in celebration of the queen's jubilee the building has been dedicated to the purposes of a county museum. the cathedral, with its lofty steeple, and the bishop's palace, are fine monuments of an historical past, and one of the palace apartments is lined with a carved oak wainscot, brought from the st. benet's abbey mentioned on a preceding page. yarmouth, at the mouth of the yare, is the margate, if not the brighton, of east anglia. the narrow "rows" or connecting alleys between the main thoroughfares of the oldest portion of the town have a renown all their own. they are the principal curiosities of this emporium of fish-curing, and may be taken as a foil to the magnificent market-place, covering nearly three acres of flagged area. the types of men and women who gather here at the saturday market are of a most varied and interesting kind; and the booths, like the comfortable country folks who furnish them, are just what they have been during the lifetime of the oldest inhabitant. the far-stretching yellow sands are the abiding strength of yarmouth as a watering-place, and they give the place a steady average of prosperity which seaside resorts without so noble a beach cannot reckon upon. of the remains left of the ancient walls, north gate, bearing the date of , is the best, but there are many venerable buildings worthy of inspection, such as the elizabethan house on south quay, built in . the market place, as before indicated, is one of the largest in the country; and the grand parish church of st. nicholas at its foot enjoys the same distinction. in all but name it is a cathedral of which any diocese might be proud. w. senior. [illustration: outward bound.] footnotes. [ ] suffer in patience. [ ] "our own country" (alton towers), vol. iv., p. . [ ] "our own country," vol. vi., p. . [ ] "beauties of england and wales," vol. ix., p. . [ ] a. j. jukes-browne, "quarterly journal of the geological society," vol. xxxix., p. . [ ] it is called aldreth; there was here some twenty years since an old wooden bridge, of which the late professor freeman (with whom i first visited the place) wrote in his "norman conquest" (vol. iv., p. ), "it looked very much as if it had been broken down by hereward, and not mended since." a few years later i found it had almost disappeared. [ ] much information not only on this, but also on many other questions relating to the fens, will be found in messrs. miller and skertchly's book "the fenland." [ ] the author, "cambridgeshire geology," p. . index. abbey craig, stirling, , abbotsford, , aberdeen, meadows of, , , aberdour, aberfeldy, "birks" of, , aberfoyle, ; proximity to the trossachs and loch katrine, abergeldie, , aberlady, ; the golf links, abernethy, aboyne, achray, loch, ad fines camps, agricola, estimate of the tay by, , ; camp of, ; association of with cilurnum, ; corstopitum and, aire, the, aldborough, importance of in roman times, , ; crabbe and, allan water, , allen, river, , alloa, , , alrewas, registers of, alston, , alwinton, , amble, dreary, ancrum moor, the fight at, , angus, anson, admiral george, antonine, wall of, ardoch, roman camp of, armstrang, johnie, armstrong, lord, residence of, , ashbourne, the divine of, , ashestiel, association of scott with, ashford-in-the-water, , athole, earls of, castle of the, augustine, saint, ; on cross fell, ; at alston, avondhu, river, axe edge, ayleburn, baliols, the, and barnard castle, ballater, balleichan, ballengeich, ballinluig, balmoral, history of, , ; situation and beauty of, ; the castle, - ; the queen and her "journal," banbury, bannockburn, battle of, , bannock, river, barnard castle, , barton, barty of the comb, , bass rock, firth of forth, , ; the covenanters' prison, ; "no surrender," ; viewed from tantallon castle, beamsley, bear park, beaudesert, beccles, bedford, bellingham, comparison of with donnybrook, , belper, , ben alder, ben an, ; as a feature of loch achray, ben chonzie, ben cleuch, benedict (biscopius), labours of, , ben lawers, ben ledi, , ben lomond, romantic characteristics of, ; as the source of the forth, ; "rob roy's" country, ; adjacent beauties, ; extensive prospect from, ; form of, ; as a feature of loch katrine, ben macdhui, ben venue, ; the "coir-nan-uriskin," ; in relation to loch achray, ben voirlich, , ; as seen from ben ledi, ben-y-gloe, beresford hall, charles cotton and, , ; hero's tower, berwick-on-tweed, position of, ; halidon hill, , ; the town walls, , ; as seen from the south bank, ; the old bridge, ; tweedmouth, ; spittal, ; royal border bridge, ; view to the cheviots, ; the outlook seawards, ; as a saxon settlement, ; advent of the danes, ; the town of the scot, ; sold by john baliol, ; stormed by edward, , ; crushed into insignificance, ; emancipated by robert bruce, ; made english once more, ; the castle ruins, ; as a garrison town, ; the parish church, , ; the town hall, ; the curfew bell, ; churches without names, bewick, thomas, birthplace of, biddick, binchester (binovium), birnam, perthshire, , birse, parish of, bishop auckland, palace and park of, ; castle of, bishopthorpe, archbishop's palace at, bishop wearmouth and paley's "evidences," black adder, river, black mount, blackwater (or pant), the: scenery of, ; source of, ; saffron-walden, , ; hempstead and william harvey, ; cadham hall and the author of "hudibras," ; spain's hall, ; bocking church, ; braintree, ; stisted park and stisted vale, ; coggeshall, ; feering and bishop bonner, ; kelvedon bridge, ; felix hall, ; braxted lodge, ; tiptree hall farm, ; witham, ; maldon, ; confluence with the chelmer, ; mersea island and pyefleet, , blair in athole, , bochastle, roman encampment of, bolton abbey, , bolton percy, bo'ness, ; pig-iron industry of, boroughbridge, historical interest of, boston, - bracklinn, falls of, braeriach, mount, braes of doune, the, braintree, brancepeth, castle of, , breadalbane family, seat of the, bridge of earn, perthshire, brig of turk, the, brinkburn, priory of, ; its history, broads, east anglian, locality of the, ; as a summer resort, ; a wild-fowler's paradise, ; recent revelation of, ; holland in england, ; character of the rivers, ; a typical example, ; lake area of, ; horsey mere, , ; hickling broads, , ; colour of the waters, ; a characteristic district, ; up the bure from yarmouth, ; st. benet's abbey, , ; wroxham broad, ; salhouse broad, ; hoveton great broad, ; horning ferry, , ; from broad to sea, , ; barton broad, ; a curious trio, ; the fish to be caught, ; norwich, ; yarmouth, bruar, river, bruce, chase of in perthshire, bure, the, _see_ "broads" burnet, bishop, birthplace of, burnsall, well-worship at, , burslem, earthenware of, , burton-on-trent, , burtreeford, leadmines of, bywell, cairngorm mountains, cairntoul, mount, caldron snout, a fallacy concerning, ; a splendid cataract, canning, delight of in dove dale, cannock chase, callander, ; view from bridge of, , callater, loch and glen, cambridge, _see_ "cam" cambuskenneth, abbey of, cambusmore, campsie hills, cam, the, at cambridge, ; a unique mile, ; constituent streams, ; queen's college, ; king's college, ; clare college, ; university library, ; clare college bridge and gardens, ; trinity hall, , ; st. john's college, ; the town bridge, ; magdalene college, ; the boating reach, , ; through fertile fields, ; a sleepy land, ; the isle of ely, ; twixt fire and morass, ; ely cathedral, , carchonzie, river, castle donington, castle hedingham, castleton, caverns of, castleton of braemar, , castor, cawood, wolsey and, chad, saint, a legend concerning, , chantrey, sir francis, , charltons, home of the, chartley castle, , chatsworth, - chellaston fossils, chelmer, the, commercial value of, ; thaxted, ; horham hall, ; tilty, ; easton park, ; great dunmow, ; little dunmow and the fitzwalters, , ; great waltham, ; springfield and the "deserted village," ; chelmsford, , ; boreham house, ; new hall and beaulieu, ; the ter tributary, ; confluence with the blackwater, ; mersea island and oyster breeding, , chelmsford, , chester-le-street, , chesters (ancient cilurnum), chipchase, , chollerford, ; roman wall at, clackmannan, , claverhouse, , cleish hills, cockenzie, , coggeshall, coilantogle ford, fight of, colchester, , coldstream, historic associations of, , colne, the essex, ; source of, ; early course, ; great yeldham and its oak-tree, ; castle hedingham, ; halstead, ; gosfield hall, ; stour valley railway viaduct, ; colchester, , ; the navigation limit, ; hythe bridge, ; north and east bridges, ; at wivenhoe park, ; the roman river tributary, ; brightlingsea tower, comyn, red, residence of, ; death of, ; "a lewd enterprise," congreve, thomas, at ham, coniscliffe, high and low, coniston, constable, john, home of, ; his opinion of ipswich, coquet isle, the monastery on, ; coin "smashing," coquet, the, ; "peat-bogs," ; as an angling stream, ; source in debateable land, ; thirlmoor, ; kidland solitude, , ; ad fines camps, ; outer and middle golden pot, ; the first house, ; dandie dinmont, , ; carl croft and philip burn tributaries, , ; the usway stream, ; eel-spearing and poaching, ; alwinton, ; harbottle, , ; holystone well and paulinus, ; simonside, ; rothbury, , ; thrum mill, , ; bull trout, ; mistaken for salmon, , ; the armstrongs' seat, , ; a noble picture gallery, ; brinkworth, , ; the priory, ; an anglers' haunt, ; felton, ; frank buckland's joke, ; acklington, ; warkworth, - ; mr. pape's fishery, ; the hermitage, ; literary associations, ; the castle, ; amble, ; farnes, ; coquet island, , corbridge, coronation stone, the, , corrichie, battle of, , cotherstone, cotton, charles, , , crabbe, stowmarket and, ; association of with woodbridge, ; birthplace of, ; visits to beccles, cragside, craigendarroch, craigmore, mount, craig-na-gow-an, croft, spa of, , cross fell, height of, , , , crouch, the, estuary of, ; maplin sands and the goodwins, ; foulness island, ; traces of the danes, ; limits of navigation, ; the oyster fishery, ; source of, ; hull bridge, ; burnham, ; canewdon and canute, ; roman, dane, and saxon, ; hockley spa, culross, , culross bay, beauty of, , dalkeith castle, darlington, mansions of, deadwater bog, deben, the, source of, ; the navigation limit, ; felixstowe, ; aldborough and the poet crabbe, ; the alde tributary, , ; southwold and the blythe tributary, ; halesworth, dee, the highland, source of, , ; a natural reservoir, ; typical scenery, ; the lui and glen lui, , ; glen lui beg, ; a mountain legend, ; floods of , - ; association of byron with, , ; castleton, , ; morven, , ; last of the celtic kings, ; rebellion of , ; balmoral, - ; abergeldie, ; burns and the birks, , ; ballater, ; a highland tragedy, ; craigendarroch, ; reel of tullich, , ; a catholic legend, ; deeside and the classics, , ; the muich and lynn of muich, ; loch muich, ; loch callater, ; glen callater, ; breakneck waterfall, ; an admiral's peril, ; aboyne and its castle, ; glentamner, ; hilly birse, ; lunphanan and macbeth, ; as a boundary stream, ; queen mary and corrichie, , ; execution of sir john gordon, , ; through fertile meads, deepdale burn, derby, situation of, ; a subterranean river, ; derivation of the name, ; historical and legendary, , ; st. mary's bridge, , ; silk ware at, ; all saints' church, ; "crown derby," , ; the midland railway works, derwent chapel, , derwent dale, alder trees of, derwent, the derbyshire, comparative neglect of, ; romantic scenery of, ; source, length, and drainage area of, , ; derivation of the name, , ; the infant stream, ; barrowstones, ; as a boundary stream, ; the westend and abbey brook tributaries, ; in derwent dale, ; at derwent chapel, ; derwent hall, , ; win hill and lose, , ; the ashop and ashopton, ; the lady bower tributary, ; castleton caverns, ; mytham bridge and the noe tributary, ; dore and chinley railway, ; hathersage and "little john," , ; padley wood, ; burbage brook, ; longshore lodge, ; hu gaer, ; the toad's mouth, ; stoney middleton, , ; eyam and the great plague, ; grindleford bridge, ; chatsworth, - ; "the peacock," rowsley, ; the wye tributary, - ; the river and the midland railway, , ; haddon hall, , ; tideswell church, ; the highest village in england, ; "virgin crants" at ashford-in-the-water, , ; a piscators' paradise, ; darley dale, , ; a venerable yew, ; oker hill and its sycamores, , ; trout and grayling, ; at matlock, , ; cromford and the cotton mills, ; sir richard arkwright, ; willersley castle, ; incongruous bridge architecture, ; lea hurst and florence nightingale, ; alderwasley forest, ; the amber and ambergate, ; belper and the strutt cotton mills, , ; belper bridge, ; milford, ; duffield, ; the ecclesbourne tributary, ; the scene of "adam bede," ; allestree hall, ; darley abbey, ; markeaton brook, ; derby, - ; floods, ; st. mary's bridge, , ; enterprise and treachery, ; pollution of the river, ; elvaston, ; the estuary, derwentwater, earls of, devon, glen, ochil mountains, devon, river, dichty, river, dochart, river, , doune castle, ; associations of, dovercourt, doveridge hall, dove, the derbyshire, ; the two doves and the two dove dales, ; isaac walton and charles cotton, , ; dove head, ; axe edge, ; county boundary, ; fishing monogram, ; proximity to buxton, ; glutton mill, , ; mountain sentinels, ; sterndale and "the silent woman," ; hartington, ; beresford dale, , ; an isolated needle, ; "piscatoribus sacrum," ; beresford hall, , ; devotion and dissipation, ; dove dale, ; limestone tors, , ; samuel johnson and dr. taylor, ; the happy valley of "rasselas," ; jean jacques at wootton hall, ; mayfield and thomas moore, , ; thomas congreve at ilam, ; canning as a devotee of, ; other literary associates, ; thorpe cloud and burly bunster, ; ilam, ; another monogram, ; chantrey's masterpiece, ; the manifold tributary, ; ashbourne in ' , ; a famous church, ; penelope boothby, ; north staffordshire railway, ; norbury, ; rocester, ; the churnet and tean tributaries, ; doveridge hall, ; uttoxeter, , ; birthplace of mary howitt, ; dr. johnson's penance, ; lord vernon's domain, ; tutbury castle and history, , ; a fasting woman, ; a rich find, ; junction with the trent, drummelzier, , drummond family, ancient seat of the, drummond hill, perthshire, drumoak, parish of, dryburgh abbey, , duchray water, , dunblane, ; the cathedral, duncan, locality of burial of, duncraggan, dundee, extent of, ; width of the tay at, ; angus, ; tay bridge, ; the city from the law, ; the growth of four centuries, , ; ancient trade, ; early records, ; "bonnie" dundee, , ; business and beauty, ; razed castles, ; st. mary's tower, ; broughty craig castle and its story, ; raid of montrose, ; magnanimity extraordinary, ; sack by monk, ; john graham and "bloody mackenzie," ; admiral duncan, ; lochee, ; famous men of peace, ; the jute industry, ; the "howff," ; the old amidst the new, ; a glance around, dunearn, dunfermline, , dunkeld, perthshire, dunmyatt hills, durham, site of, ; as a spiritual centre, ; attacks of the scots, ; early history of the see, ; bishop-princes, ; wars of the roses, ; the reformation's effect, ; pilgrimage of grace, , ; during the commonwealth, ; abolition of the see's temporal distinctions, ; the cathedral, ; the "galilee porch," ; transformed into a prison, ; situation of cathedral, ; styles of architecture, ; remains of the monastery, ; the castle, ; the university, earl's seat, mount, earn, river, perthshire, east anglian rivers, general characteristics of, , east lomond, mount, eden, river, edinburgh, situation of, ; arthur's seat, , ; as guardian of the firth, ; edinburgh rock and castle, ; mons meg, ; chapel of canmore and margaret, ; the grassmarket, ; west port, ; cowgate, ; old greyfriars' churchyard, ; university buildings, ; morningside, ; newington, ; craiglockhart, ; the braids, ; craigmillar castle, ; the adjacent hills, ; the lawnmarket, ; high street, ; the "crown" of st. giles, ; parliament house, ; canongate, ; holyrood palace and abbey, ; princes street, ; calton hill, ; new town, ; corstorphine, ; leith, , ; view of, as affected by the weather, ; granton breakwater, ; newhaven, ; portobello esplanade, ; seaside watering-places, ednam, egliston abbey, eildon hill, , , , elcho castle, eldon, ellen's isle, , ely, _see_ "cam" erdswick, sampson, memorials of, erichdie, river, erskines, earls of mar, ancient seat of, esk, river, , essex bridge, ettrick river, the, , eures of witton, eyam, ravages of the great plague at, falstone, farne islands, - faskally, featherstone castle, , felixstowe, felton, , fen country, general characteristics of the, , ; drainage and reclamation in the wash district, ; fauna and flora of, , ; diminution of fevers, ; an autumn prospect, fenwick, sir ralph, , ferrers, earl, property of, fife ness, fingal, tradition of, fintry hills, fitzhughs, the, , flodden, battle of, , flodden hill, forteviot, perthshire, forth bridge, the new, , , forth, the, historical pre-eminence of, ; as an emblem, , ; source, ; "rob roy's" country, ; loch katrine and the trossachs, , , , ; the view from ben lomond, ; under the glamour of scott, ; the charm of romance, ; to the head waters, ; loch ard and its associations, , ; the "clachan of aberfoyle," ; combining waters, ; lingering traditions, ; in the country of "the graemes," ; lake menteith and its memories, ; a queen's retreat, ; scenes of "the lady of the lake," , ; the macgregor fastness, ; scott's influence, , ; sentinel mountains, ; goblin's cave, ; ellen's isle and its story, , ; to loch achray, ; the art of nature, ; clan alpine rendezvous, ; by coilantogle ford, ; on the hill of god, ; a tryst of waters, , ; down the teith to stirling, ; falls of bracklinn, ; cambusmere, ; doune castle, ; "heading" hill, stirling, , ; stirling castle, , ; the river at stirling, ; flanders moss, ; tide and navigation limits, ; the "links o' forth," ; goodly sites and historic memories, ; the banks of allan water, ; dunblane and the cathedral, ; a roman camp, ; stirling rock and its record, ; baptism of prince henry, ; palace of james v., ; parliament house, stirling, ; murder by a king, ; where noble heads have fallen, ; stirling battlefields, ; in memory of wallace, ; bannockburn, , ; on the lower river, ; through fat meadows, ; the valley boundaries, ; beautiful ochils, , ; river and glen devon, ; tullibody and alloa inches, ; north british railway bridge, ; alloa, , ; from river to estuary, ; clackmannan, ; kincardine, ; scotch "auburns," ; tulliallan castle, ; in the "bruce country," ; forth bridge, ; broadening to the sea, ; grangemouth and bo'ness, ; carron iron works, ; linlithgow, ; the wall of antonine, ; culross and culross bay, - ; sanctified memories, ; culross monastery, ; departed industries, , ; "cu'ross girdles," , ; from anvil to coronet, ; "standard stone," ; castle hill and its tradition, ; traces of strife, , ; a "peculiar people," ; upstart villages, ; rosyth castle, ; inch garvie island and its memories, ; "st. margaret's hope," , ; dunfermline castle, tower and palace, ; new abbey church, , ; tomb of robert the bruce, , ; graves of kings, , ; oratory cave, ; buildings and industries of dunfermline, ; a look over twelve shires, ; new forth bridge, , ; inch garvie castle, ; blackness castle, ; abercorn woods, ; hopetown house, ; south queensferry, ; castle of barnbougle, ; dalmeny, , ; inverkeithing, ; dombristle house and its story, ; aberdour and the douglases, ; inchcolm island, , ; cramond island, ; inchkeith, ; may island, ; bass rock, , , , ; dunearn, ; rossend castle, ; grange, ; kirkcaldy, ; largo, ; dreel castle, ; essence of scotland, ; edinburgh, - ; pinkie and prestonpans, , ; cockenzie, ; seton, ; aberlady, ; a golf coast, ; the golfers' mecca, ; north berwick and the law, ; tantallon castle and the douglases, , ; under the spell of scott, fotheringay, foulness island, gainford, , gainsborough, birthplace of, ; residence at ipswich, gainsborough, situation of, &c., , galashiels, garchary burn, , garrigill, cumberland, garry, river, , garth, samuel, birthplace of, gask, gateshead, , gildersdale burn, , glenalmond, glendeary, glen dochart, legend of, glen lochay, glen lui, , glen lui beg, glen lyon, perthshire, goole, gordon, sir john, , graham of claverhouse, grange, grangemouth, grantham, grassington, great dunmow, great grimsby, situation of, - great waltham, greta bridge and "nicholas nickleby," , guthlac, saint, floating of, ; a specific for headaches, hadrian's bridge, , halstead, haltwhistle, ; burn of, harbottle, castle of, harrowbys, seat of the, hartington, harvey, william, monument to, harwich, haughton castle, , hawick, haydon bridge, heaven's field, battle of, hemingborough, heron, sir george, ; grim joking, heron, sir hugh, , , hesleyside, hexham, - higham ferrers, high force, danger of, - holystone, the famous baptistry of, howden, hull, importance of as a port, ; growth of, ; history of the name, ; holy trinity church, , ; st. mary's church, ; the dock office, ; trinity house, ; the town hall and its statues, ; domestic architecture, ; the prince of orange statue, ; the wilberforce statue, humber, the, estuary of, ; drainage area of compared with the severn, , ; connection with other great waterways, ; as a name in history, ; width and length of, ; memories of the past, ; south ferriby, , ; hessle and its flint deposits, ; barton, ; hull, , ; ravenser and its fate, ; paull, ; sunk island, ; spurn point lighthouses, ; great grimsby, , ; the north sea trade, ; emigration from, huntingdon, huntly, earl of, - hyltons, the, ; the "cauld lad," ilam, , ilkley, situation of, , inchcolm island, firth of forth, , inch garvie island, , inchkeith island, firth of forth, inchmahone island, ingestre, the shrewsburys and, - innerleithen, innerpeffray, perthshire, inverkeithing, inversnaid, invertuthil, perthshire, ipswich, situation of, ; gainsborough and, ; opinion of constable of, ; antiquity of, , ; rochester's description of, ; a muddy foreshore, ; prosperity of, ; industries of, ; docks and wharves, ; the public buildings, ; the grammar school, ; merchants' villas, ; ancient architecture, ; a beautiful outlook, isla, river, jarrow-on-tyne, shipyards of, jedburgh, kedington, archbishop tillotson and, keilder castle, keilder moors, , kelso, - keltie, glen of, kenmore, perthshire, kettlewell, , killiecrankie, pass of, , killin, perthshire, beauty of, kilnsey, limestone crag of, kincardine, kinderscout, mount, kinfauns, king's lynn, kinnairds, homes of the, kinnoull hill, perthshire, , kinnoull, lord, family seat of, kirkby wharfe, kirkcaldy, kirkham, early english remains at, knaresborough, knaresdale hall, knar, river, knox, john, preaching of in perth, ladykirk, legend of, laggan mountains, lake lothing, _see_ "broads" lambton castle, landseer, residence of at maldon, largo, larig, the, , leith, leny, river, source of, , lichfields, seat of the, lincoln, situation of, ; roman occupation of, ; roman remains, ; advent of christianity at, , ; st. paul's church, , ; the invading dane, ; in the time of the conqueror, ; "saxon" or "norman" architecture, ; the cathedral, , , ; the jews' house, ; john o' gaunt's stables, ; "pointed" architecture, ; general beauty of, linlithgow, linn of dee, the, - linn of muich, linton, little dunmow, , "little john," grave of, , loch ard, , loch chon, loch clunie, perthshire, loch dochart, loch earn, loch ericht, loch katrine, ; from aberfoyle to, ; as a tourist resort, ; mountain sentinels of, ; ellen's isle, , ; stabbed by a woman, ; "silver strand," loch lomond, situation of, loch lydoch, lochnagar, mention of by byron, loch tummel, lomonds, the, lubnaig, loch, lui, river, lumleys, seat of the, lunan, river, perthshire, , lune, river, fishing in, , lunphanan, lyon, river, perthshire, macbeth, locality of death of, machany, river, perthshire, maiden way, the, maldon, malton (roman derventio), gilbertine priory at, manifold river, the, mansfield, seat of earls of, market harborough, marston moor, martin, john, matlock, the derwent at, , mavesyn ridware, may island, firth of forth, meikleour, perthshire, , melrose abbey, estimate of by dorothy wordsworth, - melrose, battle of, melrose, features of, menteith, lake, , menzies, family seat of the, merrington, , middlesbrough, milford, cotton mills of, milton, john, association of with stowmarket, moncrieffe hill, perthshire, , montague, mrs., moore, thomas, life of at mayfield, morven, , muich, loch, muich, the, murray, earl of, , myton, , naseby, battle of, ; market harborough and, needwood forest, , nent river, the, nen, the, source of, ; early course, ; northampton, - ; typical midland scenery, ; earls barton church, ; a plenitude of churches, , ; castle ashby, ; a costly election, , ; yardley chase, ; wellingborough, ; higham ferrers, ; thrapston, ; a pretty view, ; thorpe, ; the river divided, ; lilford mansion, ; barnwell castle, ; oundle, ; cotterstock, ; tansor, ; fotheringay castle, ; castor and its remains, ; peterborough and its cathedral, , ; wisbeach, ; the navigation limit, nevilles, the, badge of, , ; neville's cross, ; association of with barnard castle, newark, - newburn, , newcastle, historic associations of, ; norman keep, ; the moot hall, ; pons Ælii, ; st. nicholas, ; quayside, ; trade of the river, , ; the reign of cloud, , ; sandgate and its press-gangs, ; the roman segendunum, ; wallsend coal, ; jarrow, the saxon gyrwy, ; jarrow shipyards, ; the first screw collier, ; venerable bede, , ; the old monastery, ; danish marauders, ; jarrow "slake," , ; the docks, ; a grand transformation, newhaven, newton kyme, nightingale, florence, derbyshire home of, norham, - northampton, ; ancient and modern characteristics, , ; early history of, ; st. peter's church, ; st. sepulchre's, ; the queen's cross, north berwick, , northumberland, hugh, norwich, nottingham, situation of, , ; beauty _versus_ utility, , ; episodes in the history of, , ; royal residents and prisoners, ; the castle and its history, , ; trent bridge, ; in time of flood, ; st. mary's church, ; the market-place, , ; university college, ; excavated dwellings, , ; ancient and modern industries, ochil hills, , , orwell, the, source of, ; constituent streams of, ; stowmarket, ; needham market, ; barham and the entomologist kirby, ; the navigation limit, ; a lock to a mile, ; ipswich, , otley, oundle, ouse, the buckinghamshire, source of, ; early course of, ; banbury, ; olney and cowper, ; scenery of, ; bedford, ; elstow and john bunyan, ; sandy and st. neots, ; huntingdon, ; lost in the fens, ; king's lynn, ouse, the yorkshire, peculiarities of, ; tributaries of, ; drainage area of, , ; as a waterway, , ; commencement of, ; course, ; the ure tributary, , [see also "ure"]; the swale tributary, [see also "swale"]; myton and its battle, , ; nun monkton, overton, and skelton, and their churches, , ; the nidd tributary, ; nidderdale, ; brimham rocks, ; knaresborough, ; beningborough, ; red hall and the slingsbys, ; york, , ; the foss tributary, ; sheriff hutton castle, ; fulford and its battle, ; bishopthorpe, ; naburn and its lock, ; escrick park, ; skipwith common, ; riccall and harold hardrada, ; junction of the wharfe with, ; cawood and wolsey, ; selby, - ; selby abbey, , ; hemingborough, ; junction with the derwent, ; malton and its priory, ; kirkham, ; castle howard, ; rievaulx ruins, ; pickering castle, ; kirkdale cave, ; the aire tributary [see also "aire"], ; howden, ; goole, ; the don tributary, ; junction with the trent, ovingham, ; st. wilfrid's church, ovington, , pagets, property of the, paulinus, bishop, peak, the, highest point of, peebles, - peel fell, description of, perth, original site of, - perthshire, historic associations of, peterborough, , philiphaugh, , pierce bridge and leeming lane, , pike pool, pinkie, battle of, , pitlochrie, porte, sir john, school, of, &c., portobello, pow, river, perthshire, preston island, prestonpans, , procolitia, ; roman relics at, , prudhoe, , , pudsey's priory, pynkinscleugh, queensferry, rannoch, moor of, , ravenser, gradual destruction of, reed, river, , repton, - riccall, ridley, bishop, ; a fighting stock, rizzio, murder of, robert the bruce, , rokebys, the, romaldkirk, rosebery, ancestors of earl of, rothbury, - rousseau and david hume, rugeley, ruthvens, the, , saffron-walden, , st. cuthbert, residence of by the leader river, ; the saint and the abbess of whitby, ; last resting-place of, ; immortal influence, ; the wandering of the saint, ; an incorruptible body, , ; thaumaturgical virtues, ; pilgrimages to the shrine, st. ninian's, stirling, saline hills, schiehallion, mount, , scone, perthshire, - scott, sir michael, , , selby, advantageous situation of, - seton, , sewingshields, castle of, shaftos, the, seat of, sheriffmuir, shields, harbour of, ; rise of south shields, , ; ballast heaps, ; north shields and its stairs, ; intensely maritime, ; the "low lights" and "high lights," ; the first lifeboat and volunteer life brigade, ; south pier, soar, the, , south ferriby, curious church at, , south queensferry, southwold, spalding, spittal, stamford, stanhope, the bishops and, stephenson, george, birthplace of, sterndale, a satirical signboard at, stirling, situation of, ; "heading hill," , ; the castle and its record, , , ; the bridge, ; stirling rock, ; palace of james v., ; parliament house, ; memories of knox, ; king's garden and king's park, ; west church, ; grave of james iii., ; adjacent battlefields, ; a wallace memorial, ; abbey craig, ; the bridges and their stories, ; bannockburn, , ; the "bore stone," ; "gillies hill," stirling castle, ; commanding site of, ; a geological retrospect, ; its place in history, ; the "upper square," ; a prince's baptism, ; a royal murderer, ; "heading hill" and its record, , ; pulpit of knox, ; the king's garden and park, ; queen mary's lookout, stockton, , stoke-upon-trent, , stone, , stour, the, , stowmarket, strathearn, perthshire, view of from moncrieffe hill, , ; grave of the "heir of scotland," ; "cross macduff," ; forth bridge railway, ; "wilks of baiglie," ; dupplin castle, ; gask and the oliphants, ; tullibardine, ; a glorious district, strathfillan, ; the home of a saint, strathmore, perthshire, sudbury, gainsborough and, sunderland, surtees, home of, sutherland, seat of the dukes of, swale, swarkestone bridge, , swyneburn, sir william de, , tadcaster, talbots, home of the, - tarset castle, , tay, the, comparison of with the tiber, , ; the camp of agricola, ; dawn of history, ; crowding associations, ; its sources, , ; its basin, ; vanished woods, , ; a new forest, ; the "planting duke," ; "parent larches," , ; the tummel, ; loch tummel, ; the garry, , ; feeding streams, ; blair and its castle, , ; a memorable campaign, ; from the hill of tulloch, ; a jacobite shrine, ; a tourist haunt, ; pitlochrie, the "gateway of the highlands," ; the infant river and its names, ; a sainted memory, ; fingal's grave, ; a painters' paradise, ; a salmon stretch, ; an ancient priory, ; lovely kenmore, ; taymouth castle, ; the breadalbane estates, ; on the lyon tributary, ; the "wolf of badenoch," , ; glen lyon house, ; garth castle, ; the oldest tree in europe, ; the "rock of weem," ; castle menzies, ; abbey of dull, ; bridge of tay and the "black watch," ; "birks" of aberfeldy, , ; grandtully castle, ; a combination of attractions, ; dunkeld and birnam, ; gavin douglas, ; murthly estate, ; neil gow, ; the spirits of birnham hill, ; homes of poets, ; caroline oliphant, ; kinclaven castle, ; invertuthil, ; a viking tradition, ; an arboricultural marvel, ; loch of clunie, ; the lunan and its legends, , ; in the heart of strathmore, ; from "the fair maid of perth," ; macbeth's castle, ; battle of lancarty, ; at scone, ; the "macalpine laws," ; the "stone of destiny," , ; scone monastery, , ; the ruthven family, , ; huntingtower castle, ; deeds of the ruthvens, ; revenge of king james, ; the "gowrie conspiracy," ; the reformation at perth, , ; murder of the "poet-king," ; st. john's, perth, ; a sermon by knox, ; a schismatic district, ; martyrdom in perth, ; royal visits to perth, ; mementoes of cromwell, ; a "spate" on the river, , ; benefactor and ornament, ; 'twixt wooded heights, ; the carse of gowrie, , ; rival prospects, , ; strathearn, , ; the lower course from kinnoull hill, ; kinfauns, ; elcho castle and nunnery, ; "braes o' the carse," ; st. madoe's church, ; hay heritages, ; wallace's schoolplace, ; home of the "lass o' gowrie," ; homes of the kinnairds, ; church of invergowrie, ; the widest part of tay firth, ; balmerino abbey, ; on the last reaches, ; dundee law, - ; at dundee, - ; mouth of the river, ; the new tay bridge, ; the catastrophe, ; dundee from the law, ; history and progress of dundee, , ; the hero of the "talisman," ; defacing blows, ; the renowned of peace and war, , ; the view around dundee, ; drainage area compared with the tweed, tees, source of the, ; cross fell, , ; caldron snout, - ; a local fallacy exposed, ; ignorance of the natives, , ; high force, - ; the weel, ; middleton-in-teesdale, , ; cotherstone and cheese, , ; tributary lune, , ; famous fishing, ; "rum auld kirk," ; the fitzhughs, , ; roman camps and british defences, ; the balder stream, ; the bowes museum, ; deepdale burn, ; barnard castle, - ; thor's gill, ; egliston abbey and the white canons, ; rokeby, ; greta bridge, ; "dotheboys hall" located, , ; "nicholas nickleby" characters, , ; scott's description, ; the rokebys' mansion, ; the "dobie of mortham," ; breaks in the river bed, ; wycliffe and the great reformer, , ; ovington and "the four cells," , ; gainford springs, ; an ancient earthwork, ; samuel garth, ; pierce bridge, ; coniscliffe waterworks, ; darlington villas, ; croft spa, , ; a noticeable bridge, ; bishop burnet's birthplace, ; a worm-dragon, ; yarm, and net-fishing for salmon, ; tide limit, ; a change for the worse, ; stockton, - ; middlesbrough and progress, ; the docks, ; a broad estuary, teith, river, source of, ; its component streams, ; glen of keltie, ; falls of bracklinn, ; doune castle, ; meeting with the forth, ; stirling castle, teviot, river, the, ; branxholm hall and the buccleuchs, ; hawick and sir alexander ramsay, , ; denholm and leyden, ; the revenge of ancrum moor, ; the waterloo monument, ; carlenrig and johnnie armstrang, ; the ale and jed tributaries, ; jedburgh and its reputations, thaxted, thorpe, thor's gill, thrapston, ; grain market of, threshfield, , tideswell, tillotson, archbishop, birthplace of, till, river, ; as described by scott, ; st. cuthbert's chapel, , ; st. cuthbert's coffin, , ; "tillmouth cell," ; friar john, ; twisell castle, ; twisell bridge and flodden, , ; ford castle and william heron, , tilt, river, trent, course of the, , ; derivation of the name, ; fish of, , ; relation of to railway, ; birthplace of, ; "stanleghe," ; the potteries, ; burslem and its earthenware, - ; wedgwood, ; etruria, ; stoke-upon-trent, , ; trentham hall, ; stone, , ; legend and history, , ; sandon, ; the harrowbys' estate, ; erdswick the historian, ; shirleywich brine, ; chartley castle, , ; mary queen of scots, ; a tragic tale, ; wild cattle, , ; ingestre hall, - ; church history, ; the talbot family, , ; disputed claims, , ; the sow and penk tributaries, ; tixall, , ; shugborough park, , ; home of the earls of lichfield, ; admiral george anson, ; essex bridge, ; not yet a "black country," , ; cannock chase and the n.r.a., ; an attractive district, ; colwich, ; oakeridge park and the widow, ; wolseley bridge and hall, ; malodorous rugeley, ; the pagets' property, ; a dashing officer, ; armitage, ; mavesyn ridware, ; lichfield, ; the blyth tributary, ; a pretty district, ; needwood forest, , ; alrewas registers, ; the metropolis of beer, ; the history of burton ale, , ; liberal citizens, ; burton bridges, ; a lady doctor, ; newton hall, ; junction of the trent and dove, ; newton solney, ; repton, - ; the mausoleum of the kings of mercia, , ; danes in possession, ; the black canons' priory, , ; sir john porte's school, ; the church, , ; the erewash stream, ; swarkestone bridge, , ; geological interest, ; stanton-by-dale, ; weston-on-trent, ; castle donington, ; cavendish bridge, ; the valley at trent junction, ; the erewash, ; attenborough and henry ireton, ; the wise men of gotham, , ; approaching nottingham, ; clifton hall and its tragedy, ; clifton grove and henry kirke white, ; nottingham, - ; trent bridge, ; colwick hall and mary chaworth, ; sherwood forest, ; the "dukeries," ; east stoke and its battle, ; newark, - ; from newark to gainsborough, , ; as a boundary stream, ; at gainsborough, , ; the tide limit, ; the "bore," ; gainsborough bridge, ; in lincolnshire, ; axholme island, , ; land reclamation, ; confluence with the humber, ; alkborough and the romans, trentham hall, ; an ancient settlement, ; its noble owners, trent junction, ; the college, trossachs, the, - tulliallan castle, tullibody, , tullich, , tummel, river, - tutbury castle, , tweedmouth, tweed, the, homely characteristics of, ; natural charms, , ; associations, ; in debateable laud, ; character of its course, , ; tide limit, ; drainage area, ; the stream at berwick, , ; old berwick bridge, ; royal border bridge, ; berwick town, - ; longridge, ; the adder tributaries, ; union suspension bridge, ; norham and its castle, - ; ladykirk and its legend, ; a pretty stretch, , ; the till and glen tributaries, , ; twisell castle, ; ford castle, , ; flodden hill, ; battle of flodden, , ; coldstream, ; smeaton's bridge, ; an historic ford, ; wark castle, ; the order of the garter, ; a broadening valley, ; in roxburgh, ; the eden tributary, ; hadden rig and its fight, ; rennie's bridge, ; the river at kelso, ; springwood park, ; kelso abbey, - ; floors castle, , ; roxburghe castle, , ; an annihilated town, ; the teviot and its associations, - ; in a broadening valley, ; mertoun house and "marmion," , ; smailholm and scott, ; littledean tower, ; the village cross, , ; eildon hill and its legend, ; sir michael scott, ; a lovely prospect, , ; dryburgh abbey, ; earl buchan's monuments, ; the leader tributary, ; st. cuthbert and thomas the rhymer, , ; melrose abbey, , ; the melrose-gattonside suspension bridge, ; skirmish hill and the battle of melrose, ; a drawbridge with a history, , ; the monks of st. mary's, ; alwyn and gala tributaries, ; glendearg and the lady of avenel, ; abbotsford, , ; the ettrick and its memories, , ; the yarrow, ; philiphaugh, ; clovenfords, ; cadon water, ; ashestiel, ; "peels," , ; a prosaic reach, ; innerleithen and st. ronan's well, ; traquair and traquair house, ; horsburgh castle, ; peebles, - ; neidpath castle, - ; eddlestone water, ; "fall" of the river, ; the climax of beauty, , ; a vandal duke, , ; a marquis's tribute, ; manor water, ; grave of the "black dwarf," ; stobo bridge, ; drummelzier and its castle, , ; a queer story, ; merlin the wild, ; by the edinburgh road, ; stanhope bridge, , ; the crook inn, ; at the fountain heads, tyndrum, bruce's defeat near, tynemouth, , tyne, the, sources of, , ; south tyne, , ; north tyne, ; peel fell, ; the border railway, ; debateable land, ; deadwater bog, ; source of the north tyne, ; keilder burn, ; keilder castle, ; keilder moors, ; good sport, ; ancient camps, ; lewis burn, ; in rich pastures, , ; border peel, ; border feud and foray, ; falstone, ; greystead bridge, ; dally castle, ; tarset castle, ; death of red comyn, ; love and death, ; barty of the comb and corbit jack, , ; "donnybrook," ; charltons and sir ralph fenwick, ; hesleyside, ; old stories, ; bellingham, , ; hareshaw lynn cascades, , ; bellingham church, ; st. cuthbert, ; the reed tributary, ; salmon fishing, ; walk, ; chipchase castle, ; the heron family, ; haughton castle and the swinburnes, , ; chollerford, ; the roman wall, ; procolitia and its roman relics, , ; cilurnum, ; heaven's field, ; meeting of the north and south tyne, ; in cumberland, ; cross fell and its rivers, , ; "helm wind," ; garrigill, ; alston, , ; st. augustine, ; junction of trent and south tyne, ; in northumberland, ; whitley castle, ; gildersdale burn, ; maiden way, ; the knar, ; knaresdale hall, ; featherstone castle, , ; birthplace of ridley, ; willimontswick, ; unthank hall, ; haltwhistle town and burn, , ; view from bardon mill, ; allen tributary, , ; langley and the derwentwaters, ; haydon bridge, ; an artist's birthplace, ; arthurian legends, ; warden, ; the "heart of all england," - ; devil's water, ; a sylvan scene, ; corbridge, - ; a roman station, ; bywell castle, ; cherryburn house, ; ovingham, ; prudhoe castle, ; wylam and george stephenson, ; denton hall, ; battle of newburn, ; a jurisdiction limit, ; arsenal of the tyne, ; heaven and hell, ; trade of the river, ; a libel refuted, ; hadrian's bridge, ; the "tyneside london bridge," ; the swing bridge, ; high level bridge, ; gateshead, , ; newcastle quay, , ; sublime darkness, , ; sandgate, ; the roman segendunum, ; wallsend coal, ; jarrow shipyards, ; jarrow church and monastery, ; venerable bede, ; don tributary, , ; dock accommodation, ; engineering extraordinary, , ; south shields, ; built upon ballast, ; north shields, ; a salt sea savour, ; lighthouses, ; shields fishing industry, ; tynemouth promontory, ; a colossal statue, ; tynemouth priory, , ; two great piers, ; immunity from wrecks, ; coquet island lighthouse, uam-var, ; an historic hunt, ure, the, , urlar burn, perthshire, ushaw college, uttoxeter, , vennachar, loch, ; clan alpine and the "fiery cross," vernon, lord, seat of, wallace, william, walton, izaak, charles cotton and, , wardenlaw, wark, antiquity of, ; scottish courts of, warkworth, - waveney, the, early course of, ; confluence with the yare, ; termination, , ; drainage area of, ; agnes strickland and, ; source of, ; diss, ; the dove tributary, ; on the broads border, ; bungay, , ; mettingham parish, ; barham and sir john suckling, ; nelson's mother's birthplace, ; beccles, ; breydon water, ; the new cut, ; a typical broad, wear, the, a twelfth century description of, ; ancient and modern iconoclasts, ; the march of industry, , ; venerable associations of, ; beauties of the river, ; primitive nature, , ; dalesmen and miners, , ; tributaries, ; stanhope park, ; provision for the bishops of durham, , ; sport, pleasurable and serious, , ; an old township, ; from moorland stream to lowland river, ; walsingham, ; lang man's grave, ; hamsterley, ; witton castle, ; the linburn and the wear, ; bishop auckland castle, ; "ravinous sacrilege," ; princely hospitality, ; binchester and watling street, ; the binovium of ptolemy, ; brancepeth castle and the nevilles, , ; whitworth hall, ; merrington church, , ; a "lewd enterprise," ; eldon, ; thickley and the cromwellians, ; mainsworth and the surtees, ; bishop middleham, ; st. cuthbert's resting-place, ; a view of durham cathedral, ; a suitable site, ; in warfare, religious and profane, - ; the monastery, ; bear park, ; ushaw college, ; an old leper hospital, ; chester-le-street, ; the "aisle of tombs," ; "adam's name was lumley," ; lambton castle and the worm, ; the biddickers, ; a ghost story, ; sunderland, , ; st. peter's monastery, ; wearmouth, ; the north sea, wedgwood, josiah, , weel, the, weldon bridge, the angler's favourite, welland, the, - wellingborough, wells of dee, the, weston-on-trent, white adder river, wharfe, the, source of, ; length, ; as an epitome of yorkshire scenery, , ; ancient and modern tributes to, ; the skirfare tributary, ; amerdale or littondale, ; langstrothdale, and chaucer, , ; source scenery, ; a danish village, ; kettlewell, , ; dowkabottom cave, , ; coniston, ; kilnsey crag, ; grassington, ; the oldest bridge on the river, ; the floods of , ; threshfield, , ; linton, ; falls of the wharfe, ; hebden and thorpe, ; rylstone and the nortons, , ; burnsall and well-worship, , ; hartlington and appletreewick, ; satan's stumble and its results, , ; view from simon's seat, ; barden tower and the "shepherd lord," , ; the "strid" and its story, , ; bolton abbey, , ; bolton hall, ; the cavendish memorials, , ; bolton bridge, ; beamsley, ; addingham, ; farfield hall, ; ilkley, , ; denton and the fairfaxes, ; burley and w. e. forster, ; weston hall and the vavasours, ; farnley hall and its treasures, ; otley, ; "the chevin," ; caley hall, ; harewood estates, ; harewood church, ; harewood house, ; gawthorpe hall and the gascoignes, ; view from the great almescliffe, ; wederby and its saxon bridge, ; newton kyme, ; tadcaster, ; towton battlefield, ; hazlewood hall, , ; kirkby wharfe, ; bolton percy, ; nun appleton, , wharlton, willimontswick, wisbeach, witham, the, source and course of, ; pastoral scenery of, ; grantham, ; lincoln, - ; fenland monotony, ; boston, - ; naseby, wolseleys, hall of the, wycliffe, john, the white canons and, ; birthplace of, wye, the, confluence of with the derwent, ; haddon hall, , ; scenery of, ; windings of, ; constituent streams of, ; characteristic charms, , ; in chee dale, ; chee tor, ; miller's dale, ; tideswell and its church, ; litton and cressbrook dales, ; monsal dale, ; taddington, ; an ancient cross, ; ashford-in-the-water, , ; bakewell, ; limpid lathkill, wylam, ; stephenson's home, wystan, saint, murder of, ; crypt of,