E^Eifiris 
 C. K. OGDEN 


 

 
 THE REMAINS OF JOHN BRIGGS.
 
 THE 
 
 K rntat us 
 
 JOHN BRIGGS: 
 
 LATE EDITOR OF 
 
 The Lonsdale Magazine, and of " The Westmorland Gazettes 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 Hetters from tije Hafccg; 
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS; 
 
 THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS; 
 
 TALES; 
 
 REMARKS ON THE NEWTONIAN THEORY Or LIGHT; 
 
 AND 
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, 
 
 A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 tfublielje* for tf)e benefit of I)ts Si2Sitioto an* 
 
 KIRKBY LONSDALE: 
 
 PRINTED AND SOLD BY ARTHUR FOSTER. 
 MDCCCXXV.

 
 2000421
 
 A few supernumerary copies of " The Letters 
 from the Lakes" " Westmorland as it was" and the 
 " Sketch of the life of John Briggs" are printed, 
 and may be had separately. " The Letters," at 
 4s. 6d. in extra boards ; and " Westmorland" and 
 the " Sketch" at Is. each.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 LETTER I The Starting; Greenalph Castle; Galgate; Lan- 
 caster ; Town Hall ; Dalton Square ; Castle, 7. 
 LETTER II Thoughts on drowning, with a specimen; Lucy 
 Milding, the Wyersdale beauty ; The Sands ; Cockle-Getters ; 
 Subject for Painters ; Crispin and the Cask ; The Carter ; Cockles 
 love peace ; Cartlane Conquerors, 20. 
 
 LETTER III The art of Cockle-getting ; Wraysholme Tower ; 
 
 The last Harrington ; Flookborough; How to get shewn through 
 a Church ; Legend of Cartmel Church ; How to find good 
 Ale, 32. 
 
 LETTER IV Black Jack of Graithwaite ; Newby Bridge ; Con 
 
 or Squirrel Hunting ; The Progress ; Woodmen and their 
 Huts; Kitty Dawson ; The Maniac of Graithwaite Woods, 43. 
 
 LETTER V The Regatta; Crossing Windermere; Admiral 
 UUock's Kitchen ; Mr. Tom, the Footman ; Curwen's Island ; 
 Low Wood ; Mrs. Ladyman's Piano ; My Sister's, Uncle's and 
 Father's Songs ; Low Wood Puddings ; Mr. Harrison and 
 Partner, 59. 
 
 LETTER VI. The Morning; Green's Exhibition; Stock-Gill 
 Force; Ambleside, the Roman Dictis; Hugh Hird, the Trout- 
 beck Giant ; Calgarth Skulls, 75. 
 
 LETTER VII. Genius and the Lakes ; Grasmere; Little Lang, 
 dale ; The comparison of the Lake Mountains to a Wheel ; 
 Langdale Head ; The Wishes, 91. 
 
 LETTER VIII. The Borrowdale Poet, with Samples and Cri- 
 ticisms ; Stonethwaite Floods ; Lime, Water, and Fire ; Bow- 
 der Stone; Gorge of Borrowdale ; Lowdore, 106. 
 
 LETTER IX. Keswick ; Sail on Derwent Lake; Crosthwaite 
 Church-yard; Gough; Ascent of Helvellyn; Lynn-Gill Cot- 
 tage; Patterdale, 120. 
 
 LETTER X. Patterdale; Ideas on Agriculture ; Ghosts; Radi- 
 cal Taylor; King of Patterdale; Death and Marriage; My 
 Father, 136.
 
 VI 
 
 LETTEE XI Penrith Castle ; Muncaster Hall ; Penrith Bea- 
 con ; Giant's Grave ; Antiquarianism ; Arthur's Round Table ; 
 Mayburgh ; Hay and Hay Cart ; Sketching ; Rustic Humour- 
 ist; Hunting Song, 152. 
 
 LETTER XII. Kentmere Public House ; Tea-Party; Confabu- 
 lation; Kendal, 173. 
 
 EXCURSION OVER HARTER-FELL TO LONGSLKDDALE, 185. 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE LAKES, 193. 
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS, 199. 
 
 REMARKS ON THE NEWTONIAN THEORY OF LIGHT, 259. 
 
 TALES. 
 
 Caer Werid, 269. 
 
 Charles Williams, 277- 
 
 Thomas a Lynn, or the curse of ill-gotten wealth, 291. 
 
 The broken heart, 296. 
 THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS. 
 
 On the Origin of Evil, 307. 
 
 On the Foreknowledge of God, 318 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 The last day, 333, 
 
 An address by a Manchester Sunday Scholar, 334. 
 
 The Fox and the Grapes, 336. 
 
 An Epithalamium, 337. 
 
 A Fragment, 338. 
 
 Home, 339. 
 
 Home, 342. 
 
 Fragment, 343. 
 
 The tear of Gratitude, 344. 
 
 When a Boy, 345. 
 
 The Dryad's Lament on the felling of the ancient Oaks in Cart- 
 mel Parks, 345. 
 
 Fashionable Lovers, 349. 
 
 Stanzas, 350." 
 
 Desultory Thoughts, 351. 
 
 Sweet Society, 252. 
 
 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF JOHN BRIOGS, 353.
 
 ' 
 
 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 t 
 
 THE STARTING GREENALPH CASTLE GALGATE 
 
 LANCASTER TOWN HALL DALTON SQUARE 
 
 CASTLE. 
 
 DEAR TOM, According to my grandfather's usual 
 adage, "Long looked for 's come at last;" we have 
 actually left the bonny town of " Proud Preston," 
 and are hurrying with the most astonishing impetu- 
 osity to bury ourselves in the seclusion of the Lake 
 mountains to use my uncle's warm phraseology. 
 Oh, Tom ! what it is to be a traveller ! What a 
 world of curiosity and variety bursts upon the en- 
 raptured eye, the moment one steps beyond the 
 verge of that prospect which has bounded one's in- 
 fant years ! 
 
 My uncle, this morning at breakfast, gave us a 
 lecture on the utility of travelling, of which your 
 own Cicero need not have been ashamed; except 
 that the thread of his discourse was occasionally bro- 
 ken by his toast, and that he was once under the
 
 LETTERS FROM THE LAKE*. 
 
 necessity of suspending his judgment upon the com- 
 parative merits of Newby Bridge and Avenham 
 Bridge, while he scooped a whole egg. According 
 to my uncle's theory, (and he asserts that it is the 
 only true one,) the powers of a man's mind cannot 
 possibly expand among the smoke, vapour, and gas, 
 of a town like Preston ; and that a tour to the lakes 
 is absolutely indispensable for bringing the germs of 
 thought to perfection. My sister, (I think she is 
 the greatest Marplot that ever lived,) when my uncle 
 had got thus far, turned up her sweet blue eyes, 
 waved her ringlets aside, set down her coffee ; and, 
 with all that naivete of which you know she is so 
 much the master I should perhaps say mistress 
 asked my uncle, if he did not think the great smoke 
 burner which Mr. Horrocks was building, would 
 have a salutary effect upon the mental faculties of 
 the Preston people, by consuming that smoke of 
 which he complained, and thus render excursions to 
 the lakes less indispensable in future ? I don't be- 
 lieve my uncle comprehended her, for he proceeded 
 with his panegyric upon travelling, without once 
 stopping to discuss the utility of a public smoke 
 burner. 
 
 I must confess to you, Tom, that the farther my 
 uncle proceeded with his theory of travelling, the 
 less I comprehended it. He stated, that by this 
 means we learned that people more nearly resembled 
 each other in their passions, propensities, and dis- 
 positions, (for he loves trios,) than we could have 
 supposed, had we always been lulled to sleep by the
 
 I.ETTK P. I. 9 
 
 rattle of a cotton mill. And went on to prove this, 
 by asserting that the inhabitants of the I.AKING 
 < OUXTRY bore no similitude whatever to those of 
 larger towns. I did expect that my lovely lively 
 sister would have brought the two members of my 
 uncle^s argument together, as she commonly does in 
 such paradoxical cases, but I observed that my 
 uncle's ratiocinations had been " preached to deaf 
 ears ;" for she was at that moment busily engaged 
 with watching the manoeuvres of a gentleman who 
 was standing up to the middle in the river, indulg- 
 ing in the diversion of. fly-fishing. 
 
 I suspect, Tom, that you are looking to the end 
 of the letter, to see how much more of my uncle's 
 metaphysics you are likely to be edified with ; but 
 I can satisfy you upon that head, for it closed upon 
 ray uncle's observing, that more might be learned 
 during one month's tour to the lakes, than by a 
 twelve months' residence in Preston. You know 
 my father's cynical remarks often form the perora- 
 tion of my uncle's arguments ; and so it happened 
 this time. At that moment, five or six wood- 
 cutters and charcoal colliers came past the window 
 into the inn. " Will you pull the bell ?" said my 
 father, just as my uncle was pausing to give empha- 
 sis to his last assertion. " What were you wanting?" 
 said my uncle. " I only want to call the landlord," 
 said my father ; " I observed half a dozen Profes- 
 sors of Mountain Politeness come into the inn just 
 now, and I want to call them in ; for if we have so 
 much to learn in a month, the sooner we enter upon
 
 10 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 a course of instruction, the better." My uncle 
 " looked unutterable things ;" and my sister, smiling 
 at them both, observed, that she believed they were 
 real philosophers from their contempt of dress, and 
 the absence of every thing like that finical dandyism 
 one meets with every day at home. But perceiving 
 something like a cloud gather upon my uncle's brow, 
 indicative of those feelings which scarcely " the firm 
 philosopher" can suppress, she restored tranquillity 
 to every breast by laying her hand on my uncle's 
 arm, and saying, " I think, uncle you have not been 
 educated in this school, as much as you praise it. 
 You possess too much of that sweet complacency 
 which renders human nature amiable under every 
 form, to have been reared under the guardianship of 
 these rude uncultured sons of the lakes." " It is 
 that amiability so pleasing under the rudest forms, 
 that makes me so lavish in my praise of the moun- 
 tain natives," replied my uncle and another assent- 
 ing smile from my sister hushed all to peace. 
 
 My uncle, you know, is no admirer of flattery ; 
 but my sister throws it in so archly and properly 
 timed, that it is generally accepted as an agreeable 
 truth. And I do not believe that my uncle is the 
 only man who is capable of being deluded by female 
 flattery. We all wish to stand high in the opinion 
 of the fair sex ; and to find that we do so, is so con- 
 sonant to our wishes, that we never stop to examine 
 what a beautiful woman says, provided it be any 
 thing complimentary to our opinions, our sentiments, 
 or our principles.
 
 l.KTTKll I. 11 
 
 Thus far, I have copied the plan of our modern 
 novelists, who constantly open the h'rst volume 
 about the middle of the story, and then write both 
 ways. My motive, however, I assure you, was not 
 to attempt any mystery ; but to inform you, at the 
 beginning of my letter, that we had reached Newby 
 Bridge a truth, which, in the common way of 
 writing, you would not have discovered till the con- 
 clusion of this epistle. 
 
 You would have been delighted, had you been 
 at home, with the numerous consultations which 
 were held upon our intended excursion. There 
 could not have been more pros and cons, if we had 
 been contemplating a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. 
 My sister, partly because she is an inveterate pedes- 
 trian, and partly for the sake of teazing the rest of 
 us, proposed making the tour entirely on foot my 
 father preferred taking the coach or pacquet-boat to 
 Lancaster, because it was most economical my un- 
 cle, though he would have had no objection to any 
 thing economical, thought a post-chaise would be 
 best, as we should then escape the disagreeable vici- 
 nage of promiscuous company. My father consented 
 to this proposal ; " because," he observed, in his 
 usual sarcastic manner, " that one should always 
 avoid society as much as possible, when one went to 
 see the world, learn its manners, and gain acquain- 
 tance with its customs."" 
 
 I know that I stepped into the chaise with the 
 utmost alacrity ; but, never having been in one be- 
 fore. I knew not where I was, or whither we were
 
 1 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 driving, till we reached Garstang. I heard my 
 sister admiring the windmills as they receded from 
 our view ; but, for my part, I saw nothing but 
 houses, mills, trees, hedges, cottages, carts, men, 
 and cattle, dancing on either side of the chaise, as 
 we rolled along, as if they were all gone mad. As 
 we had to change horses at Garstang, my uncle pro- 
 posed a visit to the ruins of GKEENALPH CASTLE, 
 which he had observed as we approached the town. 
 " I think,"" said my uncle as we left the inn, 
 " every man living has a taste for antiquarian re- 
 searches. 1 " "Yes," said my father; "unless it be 
 a Lancashire man. He has a taste for nothing that 
 I know of. 11 " You have forgot," said my uncle, 
 " that you are one yourself." But it drew no reply 
 from my father. He is a man, you know, who sel- 
 dom enters into any argument. He deals out his 
 sarcasms against all who come in his way, without 
 any regard to what remarks may be made upon him. 
 I have often thought that the conclusive nature of 
 my father's arguments is chiefly attributable to this 
 particular property. For I have often known my 
 uncle lose a very tenable position, merely by his too 
 great caution in securing it. While my father never 
 loses an argument; for if you attack any of his pro- 
 positions, lie makes no reply to your observations ; 
 but, if in attacking him, you make a slip, he in- 
 stantly reminds you of it. Thus five sentences of 
 my father's will make more impression on a company, 
 and will be longer remembered than five hours of 
 my uncle's arguments; though my father has not
 
 LETTER I. 1*3 
 
 perhaps uttered one rational sentiment all the time, 
 and my uncle's arguments shall have been all axioms. 
 We at length arrived at the ruins. The Castle 
 is situated on a gentle eminence, commanding a to- 
 lerably extensive prospect over the uninteresting 
 level country to the south west. The Filde, as it is 
 called, has all the appearance of an extensive forest, 
 though my father assured me it was entirely a de- 
 ception ; and what I took to be a forest, was nothing 
 but hedges. My uncle has much of the antiquarian 
 in his composition ; and, I believe, had rather a 
 wish to display a little of that sagacity so inherent 
 in the fraternity over the scanty remains of Green- 
 alph Castle. He skipped more nimbly, my sister 
 observed, over the fragments of the old towers, than 
 she had ever seen him do over the smooth carpet in 
 the front parlour. He appeared to be quite young 
 again. He took my father by the arm. ki Look 
 now/ 1 said he, " how securely the old baron was 
 seated here. No enemy could surprise him in his 
 castle ; for this elevated situation would expose an 
 enemy to entire destruction during his ascent to the 
 walls. Indeed I think nothing but treachery could 
 
 ever have ousted the old baron " " Pray," said 
 
 my father, "who might the old baron be, of whom 
 you are speaking ?" " ' The Old English Baron,' 
 to be sure, 1 ' 1 said my sister. This un timed question 
 of my father's, completely dispersed the train of my 
 uncle's ideas. It was not the inhabitants that he 
 was attempting to describe, but the impregnable 
 nature of the habitation ; and the word 'baron' had
 
 14 LKTTilllS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 only been substituted for the word 'inmate, 1 because 
 it sounded better. 
 
 My uncle did not resume his learned remarks till 
 we reached the opposite corner of the remaining 
 tower ; when he exclaimed, " where, in the name of 
 antiquity, did they get water to fill this trench ?" 
 " Where Jonathan Oldbuck got water to fill his, 
 at Monkbarns," replied my father. " O, Eddie Och- 
 iltree !"" whispered my sister. This was too keen : 
 the very name of Oldbuck has something in the 
 sound of it, which grates harshly on the tympanum 
 of an Antiquary. It brings with it such a train of 
 disagreeable images. It pictures the fallibility of 
 human judgment in such vivid colours. It is such 
 a caricature of wisdom, that few men could have 
 heard it, as my uncle did, with composure. He 
 turned him round, strode back to the inn, with a 
 step thirty years older than that with which he had 
 perambulated the ruined Castle. 
 
 My father, you know, has one amiable quality 
 about him which only few men can boast of. He 
 never follows up a triumph. He may wound, but 
 he never lacerates. Some men, when circumstances 
 give them a transient victory, cannot, for their souls, 
 avoid following it up ; and, like a cat, feel a peculiar 
 pleasure in teasing the animal they have conquered. 
 My father, on the contrary, never strikes more than 
 one blow. He generally contrives that this one 
 shall be decisive ; but whether it succeed or fail, he 
 never attempts to improve it by a second. Hence, 
 it is that my -father was never known to be engaged
 
 LETTER I. 15 
 
 in a quarrel ; for his friends know that the storm is 
 past, the moment he closes his lips ; and strangers 
 wait for a second attack, before they think them- 
 selves intitled to be offended. And as this second 
 attack never comes, they never find cause to quarrel 
 with him. Indeed, it would be no easy task to fix a 
 quarrel on my father, for he never does reply to any 
 thing that may be advanced against him ; he never 
 attempts to maintain his ground. While his anta- 
 gonist is parrying the attack of my father, and prov- 
 ing to the satisfaction of every one present, that my 
 father's remarks bear no allusion whatever to the 
 case in point, my father gives him a stroke on some 
 other side, by some ludicrous observation ; and when 
 his opponent thinks my father nearly vanquished, 
 finds himself under the necessity of commencing a 
 new series of arguments in his own defence ; in the 
 midst of which he is probably confounded by another 
 side stroke, upon an entirely new subject. So that 
 he is far too busy to be angry. 
 
 As we proceeded to Lancaster, we passed through 
 the neat little village of Galgate, just as the Silk 
 mill was pouring out its numerous inhabitants, for 
 dinner. And I could not help remarking the pleas- 
 ing contrast which these healthy, well-looking indi- 
 viduals make with the pale, emaciated manufacturers 
 of Preston. So much more wholesome, it appears, 
 is the preparation of silk, than of cotton. 
 
 As we slowly ascended the steep hill which leads 
 from the village, our driver informed us of a very 
 excellent regulation which prevailed in this mill,
 
 1C LETTEItS FllOM tHE LAKES. 
 
 some few years ago. Before the conclusion of the 
 war, when trade was brisk, and the labourers could 
 earn the most extravagant wages, Mr. Thompson, 
 the owner of the mill, established a rule, that the 
 workmen should forfeit ten shillings for every day 
 they spent in drinking ; and that he believed it had 
 a very salutary effect in preventing the extravagant 
 waste of money which had prevailed previous to this 
 regulation. 
 
 My uncle pointed out to us the highly cultivated 
 state of the country about this village the pleasing 
 inequalities of the ground and the healthy verdure 
 that graced the fields. I was quite astonished to 
 observe the different aspect which the ground in 
 this part presented, from that which we had passed 
 a few miles behind. This exuberance of cultivation 
 continued to accompany us all the way to Lancaster. 
 " This," said my uncle, " is really charming. I 
 know of nothing in the universe, that delights me 
 so much as well cultivated fields. This certainly 
 
 must be excellent land." " We are now," said 
 
 my father, " within the precincts of the Lancaster 
 Agricultural Society." " What !" exclaimed my 
 uncle, " does my brother pay a compliment to any 
 man ?" " He did not intend to compliment the 
 Agricultural Society of Lancaster," replied my sis- 
 ter, with her usual captivating smile, " but he meant 
 to throw out a reflection on those places where they 
 have no such societies, or where the societies are 
 more remiss in their duties." For my part, I know 
 not what my father meant by his remark, for he
 
 17 
 
 deigned no explanation ; we might consider it as a 
 compliment or a censure, just as it pleased us 
 twas all the same to him. 
 
 Some more conversation of this nature brought 
 us in view of Lancaster but I can find no words 
 capable of conveying the ideas I felt when I first 
 came in sight of the town. The Castle and Church 
 crowning a beautiful eminence to the west the rest 
 of the town spread like a map below us the river 
 serpentining beyond it a bridge, such as I could 
 have formed no idea of, stretched across the river 
 a beautiful tract of rich land, sprinkled with cots 
 and farm houses, a little to the north beyond that, 
 the sea occupying a large space, beautifully indented 
 with bays and promontories, like a chart and, to 
 close the delightful scene, a range of hills, whose 
 summits appeared in contact with the skies. It was 
 now that I first comprehended the phrase, cloud 
 kissing hills. But think what was my astonishment, 
 when my uncle told me, that we must cross that 
 very spot which the sea then occupied, and where 
 five or six ships were then actually under sail ! that 
 the hills which seemed to pierce the heavens, were 
 the Lake Mountains and that we must soon scale 
 the tops of the most lofty of them ! 
 
 As it was unanimously resolved by a committee 
 of the whole house, that we should remain at Miss 
 Noon's till the following morning, I had an oppor- 
 tunity of seeing some little of the town. As we were 
 waiting for dinner in one of the front rooms, my 
 uncle exclaimed, on looking out of the window at
 
 18 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 the Town Hall, " Nothing in the universe delights 
 me so much as the grandeur of architecture ; it 
 shows how much man can achieve, when his ener- 
 gies are properly directed, and his abilities concen- 
 trated to one point. Mark these noble columns ! 
 the -whole, how simply beautiful, yet how strikingly 
 grand !" " It was necessary," interrupted my fa- 
 ther, " that these columns should be huge. Con- 
 sider what an enormous pediment and cupola they 
 have to support ! Are you not astonished how they 
 bear the disproportioned weight above them F" 
 " Is that all your knowledge of architecture ?"" in- 
 quired my uncle ; but my father had done. He had 
 hinted at the disproportion, and my uncle must 
 establish the balance, or leave it. My uncle was not 
 however deterred by my father's taciturnity. He 
 turned to my sister, in whom he generally found an 
 attentive auditor. " This fabric, my dear," said he, 
 " is constructed on the model of the Grecians. 
 They were a people of high and expanded ideas. 
 All their conceptions were noble even their fables 
 partook of that strength which shone in every thing 
 they did. What sublimity in the idea of Atlas 
 supporting Olympus ! "* " But this, 11 inno- 
 cently replied my sister, " is more like Atlas sup- 
 porting a hen-roost." 
 
 I must not unbethink me, as our Lancashire peo- 
 ple say, to tell you how I was delighted with Dalton 
 Square. There is neither a shop, an inn, or a brick 
 building to be seen in it. All gentlemen's houses ; 
 and all built of polished freestone. There is a large
 
 LETTER I. 10 
 
 oval area in the centre, planted with fancy trees, 
 and surrounded with an iron palisado. When it is 
 all built up, it will surpass the rest of the town for 
 beauty. 
 
 " You must allow, brother," said my uncle, " that 
 the architecture here is proportionate. Here you 
 have all the regularity of military order " " Yes," 
 he replied, " but it is that kind of military order 
 which an army displays when it retreats before a vic- 
 torious enemy. You see the ranks are shockingly 
 broken. Scarcely two men are left together." 
 
 The Castle entirely escaped his satire. My fa- 
 ther, though a cynic, has, you know, a tender heart ; 
 and the appeals from the debtors to his purse were 
 so frequent, that he had no time for censure. And 
 the aggregation of crime and distress, which such a 
 prison displays, operated so powerfully on his feel- 
 ings, that, more than once, I caught the handker- 
 chief travelling to his eyes. 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 
 \eirby Bridge, //;/#*/, 1820.
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON DROWNING, WITH A SPECIMEN LUCY 
 
 MILDING, THE WYERSDALE HEAUTY THE SANDS 
 
 COCKLE-GETTERS SUBJECT FOR PAINTERS 
 
 CRISPIN AND THE CASK THE CARTER COCKLES 
 
 LOVE PEACE CARTLANE CONQUERORS. 
 
 DEAR TOM, I cannot pretend to say what amuse- 
 ment you may find, at Cambridge, in the necessary 
 preparation of arguing to four bare walls ; or in the 
 still more necessary duty of being lulled to sleep, for 
 a couple of hours, by the learned lullaby of a logical 
 Professor. But I suspect that a voyage as far as 
 Mr. Townley's, on a bright summer evening, is the 
 finest syllogism you ever drew that a stroll by the 
 river side, as far as Backbarrow cotton works, would 
 teach more of perception than all Aristotle's works 
 put together and that a lounge through Fins- 
 thwaite woods in the morning dawn, when the gems 
 of dew are adorning every branch and blade of grass. 
 and the feathered music is bursting from every bush, 
 in one delightful anthem of joyous melody would 
 inspire you with sublimer sentiments of God and na- 
 ture, than you can possibly derive from all the stu- 
 died harangues of Professor ***.
 
 l.KTTKR IT. 21 
 
 But I recollect that the conclusion of the letter, I 
 sent off the day before yesterday, left us preparing 
 to quit Lancaster. And you are anxiously looking 
 for the description of that part of our journey which 
 
 reaches forward to Newby Bridge. You shall 
 
 have it. 
 
 I was aroused, by the bustle of preparation, about 
 five o'clock, on one of the finest mornings my eyes 
 ever opened. I hastened down into the travellers" 
 room, where I found my father, uncle, and sister al- 
 ready assembled. I was regaling my senses with 
 the fumes of the coffee, when the driver unceremo- 
 niously burst into the room : " For God's sake," 
 said he, " make haste. The tide is down, and we 
 should have been, by this time, at Hest Bank. If 
 you delay, we shall all be drowned. 1 ' He waited for 
 no reply ; but retired as abruptly as he entered. 
 My uncle drank off his coffee without appearing to 
 taste it : he then pushed away his cup " I do not 
 relish the idea of drowning," said my uncle; "it 
 would form a very disagreeable opening to our ad- 
 ventures." " I think," rejoined my sister, " it 
 would be the most disagreeable prospect the lakes 
 could afford." " If," said my father, " you only 
 disturb yourself, brother, with the idea that drown- 
 ing would be an awkward commencement to our ad- 
 ventures, you may console yourself with the assu- 
 rance, that it will actually be our last." My father's 
 assurance seemed by no means to cheer my uncle's 
 despondency. Indeed we might, all, except my fa- 
 ther, be rather said to break our fast, than sate our 
 appetites.
 
 W l.KTTEKS FUOM THE LAKE?. 
 
 At half past five we found ourselves rattling over 
 the pavement of Lancaster streets. " What a soli- 
 tude, 11 said my uncle, " is a busy town at sun-rise 
 in summer ! All that gave life and activity to the 
 scene twelve hours since, has disappeared the gay 
 variegation of the windows has vanished and no- 
 thing now occupies the causeway but a few stragg- 
 ling quarry-men repairing to the adjacent moor, to 
 earn their bread by the sweat of their brows I 11 Here 
 my uncle concluded or suspended his oration, to ad- 
 mire the elegant proportions of the New Bridge, to 
 which we now approached. " See, uncle," said my 
 sister, " what a noble range of warehouses adorns the 
 quay ; but we are rather unfortunate, as we happen 
 to come, I observe, when there are so few ships in 
 the river-/ 1 " You would generally be unfortunate 
 in that respect, 11 said my father ; " for it always 
 happens that there are only few ships in the river 
 
 " a sudden shriek from a female voice broke 
 
 the edge of my father's satire. I had observed, a? 
 we drove along the open street towards the bridge, a 
 young female, loosely dressed, pacing with a hesita- 
 ting step on the farther bank of the river. And 
 just as we turned the corner of the parapet, she took 
 a desperate spring and plunged into a deep hole near 
 the edge of the shore. The chaise instantly stop- 
 ped ; and my father with the agility of a fox-hun- 
 ter was at the spot in a moment. He waded into 
 the water, and luckily caught her hand as she rose 
 the third, and what probably might have been the 
 last time. She was quite alive, though weakened
 
 LETTER II. 23 
 
 by struggling with the water. We assisted her to 
 the Black Bull, the inmates of which had just risen. 
 After swallowing a glass of punch (the only cordial 
 we could obtain her) she appeared much revived ; 
 and with some kind solicitation, my sister, being left 
 alone with her, obtained the following account of 
 her sorrows : 
 
 STORY OF LUCY MILDING : 
 
 THE WYERSDALE BEAUTY. 
 
 Her father, she told my sister, was an honest day-labourer, 
 near Ortner, in Wyersdale ; and Lucy had been from her 
 early years, a servant in a farm-house in that neighbour- 
 hood. She dwelt at considerable length on the happiness 
 of her infant years, and, though her dialect was by no means 
 elegant, there was much natural pathos in the narration. 
 When she was about thirteen, she first became acquainted 
 with Henry Wilson, who was ploughman at the house where 
 she lived. She expatiated largely on the person and accom- 
 plishments of her dear Harry. Though only sixteen when 
 her master hired him, she said, he was tall and well made. 
 He told the best story of any body round the kitchen fire of 
 a winter's night. He could sing a hunting song most de- 
 lightfully, and for a love song, she never heard his equal. 
 He was allowed to be the best dancer that ever set foot in 
 the Old Hollings' dancing room. He could lead all the 
 shearers on the harvest field. He could mow an acre of 
 thick grass with up sun, before he was eighteen. And she 
 believed he would clip or salve three sheep, while any other 
 man in Wyersdale would do two. In short, according to 
 her account, there was not another person in all the countiy 
 able to compete with Harry Wilson. But, you will recol- 
 lect, that Harry was her lover, or at least had been. 
 
 Harry, she told my sister, was a steady quiet lad, till 1 
 got acquainted with some wild nter-do-goods of lads from
 
 4 LETTERS FBOM THE LAKES. 
 
 besides Marshaw ; who got him out two or three nights a 
 week to snare hares in Mr. Cawthorne' s woods ; and then 
 they spent the money in drink. Often, she said, he would 
 come home late on the cold winter nights ; and as the mas- 
 ter always locked the door at bedtime, she could not find in 
 her heart to let him sleep on the hay mow till morning. She 
 therefore always got up to let him in. It was in consequence 
 of this generosity that she at length fell a victim to her owu 
 good nature, and Harry's new principles. Then, she said, 
 (and tears for the first time found an outlet at her eyes,) he 
 grew more and more remiss in his attention to her, after he 
 knew her situation. Nor did he appear to be making those 
 preparations for their wedding, which she thought he should 
 have done. Still she thought he was honourable, and she 
 did not doubt but he would be faithful. 
 
 One night, she said, she had waited in anxious expecta- 
 tion for his return from looking after his snares. She "had 
 often attempted to persuade him to relinquish a practice 
 which she considered so very dangerous ; and she resolved 
 to talk very hard when he came in. But that night Harry 
 never returned. The next morning the pews arrived, that 
 Harry and three of his companions had been catched poach- 
 ing ; and there was no doubt but Mr. Cawthorne would 
 either hang them or transport them ! Harry however had 
 fled ; and the first intelligence that she heard, was, that he 
 had met with some soldiers at Lancaster, and had enlisted ; 
 and that he would be marched away directly. 
 
 She had saved twenty pounds of her wages, while she had 
 been in service, and set off immediately to Lancaster, to buy 
 Harry from the soldiers. She then thought she would run 
 away with him into some other part of the country, where 
 they could live comfortably out of Harry's earnings and her 
 own ; and if he behaved himself, as she hoped he would do, 
 Mr. Cawthorne perhaps would not follow him. 
 
 She reached Lancaster late last night, she said, and found 
 Hajry so drunk that he could scarcely walk. He pretended
 
 LJtTTE* II. 
 
 at firt uot to know her, and when he could no longer bear 
 this out, he plainly told her, he was now one of the king's 
 gentlemen ; and, as he could get a wife in any town, he was 
 determined not to have a dirty trull trailing at his heels 
 wherever he went. She left the town in a state of distrac- 
 tion. She could not bear the idea of returning to her friends 
 in Wyersdale, where she had always borne a good charac- 
 ter, for every body to laugh at. 
 
 Towards morning, she had walked down to the river side, 
 determined to end her life and disgrace at once. But she 
 felt happy now that we had prevented her ; as she was not 
 sure that she was prepared to die a thought which never 
 occurred to her, till she found herself sinking in the water. 
 
 I have dwelt at some length, Tom, on this poor 
 girl's story ; because I am confident it will give you 
 a better idea of the manners of the country through 
 which we are travelling, than all the books in the 
 college library put together. 
 
 After seeing that she was safe and well attended 
 to, and exacting a promise from her, that she would 
 not again attempt to do violence to herself, we drove 
 from the inn ; with the driver's very comfortable 
 assurance, that we should all be drowned without 
 possibility of escape, owing to our delay at Skerton. 
 
 "' This is one specimen of the happiness of rural 
 life, which is the perpetual subject of your eulogium. 
 brother," said my father, as we hurried along the 
 heavy road towards Hest Bank. " It in a speci- 
 men,"" said my uncle, emphatically. " That charm- 
 ing girl's devoted attachment to her lover, is a 
 specimen to which you can find only few parallels 
 in large towns. It is a specimen, and deserves to
 
 26 LJETTEES FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 be a model." On arriving at Hest Bank, I was 
 much surprised to find that the sea had retired and 
 left a desart of sand, of almost immeasurable breadth 
 behind it. Carts, chaises, and gigs, were scattered 
 over it in all directions. The landlord revived our 
 spirits by telling us, we had quite tide time enough 
 that there was no danger whatever. We there- 
 fore took a slight refreshment, and entered upon the 
 sand. What a strange transition ! The wheels now 
 ran so smoothly, we could not hear them. The 
 land seemed to recede behind us, though we did 
 not seem an inch nearer the other side. 
 
 The first thing that caught my attention was a 
 party of men and women whom we passed on a bank. 
 They had little rakes in their hands, with which 
 they gathered something into a basket. " These 
 people," said my uncle, " are gathering cockles. 1 " 
 My sister would have gone to them, but the driver 
 resumed his essay on drowning, assuring us that he 
 had no inclination for any such a death. 
 
 After crossing several very fine streams, we ar- 
 rived at what the driver called the Channel a river 
 about ten times as wide as Ribble. " Now," said 
 my sister, " we must either go back or swim over."" 1 
 But judge my surprise, when we drove right into 
 the stream ; I own I felt afraid, for a moment. But 
 my sister's vivacity soon dissipated my fears. A 
 more picturesque, grotesque, touresque, or whatever 
 other esque scene you may think fit to call it, I 
 think I never saw. There could not be fewer than 
 forty carts, gigs, horses, chaises, etc. with men, wo-
 
 LETTEK II. #7 
 
 men, children, dogs, and I can hardly tell what 
 beside, all in the river at once. My sister wished 
 that Mr. Hope had been there to have taken a sketch 
 of them. It would have been a fine model, she ob- 
 served, to draw the Passage of the Red Sea from. 
 A painter had nothing to do but transform the carts 
 into chariots the smock-frocks of the drivers into 
 armour the old slouch hats into helmets and the 
 whips into swords, and the picture was sketched. 
 The waves dashing through the wheels the horses 
 up to the breast in water the vehicles, some driv- 
 ing one way, some another, in all imaginable con- 
 fusion the carriers swearing the drivers cracking 
 their whips the women and children screaming 
 and the apparent impossibility of any of them ever 
 escaping formed altogether such a coup d'ceil as I 
 never had seen nor ever expected to see. 
 
 Though I expected that we should every moment 
 be washed down the stream, I could not help being 
 diverted with one droll adventure : A shoemaker, 
 a long slender figure, who had waited at Kents Bank 
 till the smell of the ale had been too much for him, 
 had obtained permission to ride over the Channel 
 in a cart, where there was nothing but an empty 
 cask, lying on one side. Honest Crispin secured 
 this as his seat, and like the skeleton of Bacchus, 
 rode triumphant over the stream. He went on very 
 well for some time, till he met a man on horseback, 
 with whom he wanted to shake hands ; forgetting 
 how slippery a throne he had assumed, he stretched 
 out his long arms to his acquaintance, the cask rolled
 
 128 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 over, and the shoemaker was as neatly turned o/fas 
 you can imagine. The water was little more than 
 three feet deep ; but his head was so much heavier 
 than his heels, that he flounced about, sometimes 
 his head up, and sometimes the reverse, till I really 
 feared he would be drowned. The company was 
 all nearly convulsed with laughter : and it was more 
 than a minute before assistance could reach him, 
 and restore him to his cart and his cask. 
 
 After driving, as I conceived, for a long time 
 right up the stream, we found ourselves on the other 
 side ; and, without any occurrence worthy of notice, 
 we reached Kents Bank a solitary inn by the sand 
 side. At this place it was our good fortune to meet 
 with a very intelligent gentleman who lives close by. 
 He appeared to be a man who had read much and 
 seen more. He told us a number of anecdotes illus- 
 trative of the country we were passing through. 
 Indeed explanations of this kind are necessary to a 
 tourist ; for, as my uncle afterwards observed, one 
 would only see little, if one did not look through 
 other peopled eyes as well as one's own. 
 
 Our new acquaintance informed us that the dan- 
 ger of crossing the sands was less than might be sup- 
 posed, as the king appointed a skilful person to 
 watch by the Channel, from morning to night, when 
 the tide is out, to guide people over the water ; and 
 that a liberal salary was allowed him for his atten- 
 dance. He told us that this office had been enjoyed 
 by a family of the name of Carter, till the country 
 people entitled the office itself, the Carter. " I
 
 LETTEK II. 29 
 
 should think; 1 said my sister, " that if it be a place 
 of emolument, that some person, either by intrigue 
 or favour would have before now endeavoured to 
 creep into the office." " I never knew an attempt 
 of that kind but once," replied our friend, " and 
 that was when the father of the present Carter at- 
 tended the sands. The applicant however thought 
 it would be prudent to inquire, what danger might 
 attend the office ; and for that purpose he one day 
 called on the old Carter. I think, 1 said the man, 
 4 your business must be a dangerous one. Are the 
 Carters never lost on the sands ? ' I never knew 
 any lost? replied the sly old Carter, ' there are one 
 or two drowned now and then, but we generally tind 
 them again ; I do not remember any being lost.' 
 The candidate was so little consoled by the idea of 
 not being lost, that he made no further application 
 for this place : and the same family keeps it still. 1 ' 
 
 One circumstance which our acquaintance men- 
 tioned, my father said convinced him that even su- 
 }>erstition is not without its uses. He was explain- 
 ing to us the manner in which flocks and cockles 
 were catched on these sands. There was one thing, 
 he said, worthy of remark : though the people em- 
 ployed in these occupations are generally selected 
 from the blackest of the blackguards, yet no quarrels 
 ever take place while they are on the sands. This 
 arises, he observed, from an opinion carefully hand- 
 ed down from father to son, and firmly believed by 
 all who attend the sands, that if any quarrel should 
 take place among the wklers, the cockles would
 
 30 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 all leave that place the very next tide. And many 
 of these who in other respects are very sceptical, 
 firmly believe this tradition at least none dare try 
 its efficacy. 
 
 He told us a very humorous story about the last 
 Scotch invasion. When the news reached Cartmel 
 that the Scots were defeated at Preston, it was con- 
 fidently believed that they would cross the sands, 
 and take to the hills on their way home through 
 Cumberland, as their fathers had done in the time 
 of the Romans. The whole country therefore armed 
 themselves, some with guns or pistols, others with 
 scithes, axes, pitch-forks, etc. and assembled by the 
 sand side, at a place called Cartlane. They were 
 led on by an old invalid soldier, in whose skill they 
 placed implicit confidence. When they were drawn 
 up in battle array, the Commander thought it neces- 
 sary to instruct his troops in the use of their fire-arms. 
 Just as the Cartmel Volunteers were enjoying in 
 idea the defeat of the rebels, the Scots were entering 
 the other side of the sand. The firing confounded 
 them ; and they concluded that General Wade had 
 posted himself to meet them on their landing. They 
 consequently retraced their steps, and retreated by 
 Burton to Kendal and thus were preserved the va- 
 lour and the lives of the Cartlane conquerors. 
 
 We did not leave our loquacious friend and his 
 favourite poet Burns, without regret ; but being de- 
 termined to reach Newby Bridge that night, we 
 could not lose much time. 
 
 My paper here admonishes me to defer the rei{
 
 LETTER II. 31 
 
 of our journey till tomorrow's post ; when you will 
 hear our adventures continued. We are in excellent 
 health ; and the mountain air has had a charming 
 effect on your sister's cheeks and your brother's 
 spirits. 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 Newby Bridge, Aug. 1820.
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 THE ART OF COCKLE-GETTING WRAYSHOLME TOW- 
 ER THE LAST HARRINGTON FLOOKBOROUGH 
 
 HOW TO GET SHEWN THROUGH A CHURCH LE- 
 GEND OF CARTMEL CHURCH HOW TO FIND GOOD 
 
 ALE. 
 
 DEAR TOM, Once when Pascal had written along 
 letter, he apologized to his friend, for its prolixity ; 
 Because, he said, he had not time to write a shorter. 
 But this is not the case with me. If I get the pen 
 into my hand, I never think of laying it down again, 
 till the last extremity of my " Bath 11 bids me stop. 
 I will however this time, if possible, be more mode- 
 rate in my demands upon your time. 
 
 On our leaving Kentsbank Inn, about twenty old 
 women and children, without stockings, and most of 
 them without shoes, were sweating under the weight 
 of their cockle bags, as they ascended the steep hill 
 which leads from the sandside. We were walking 
 up the hill ourselves, for my uncle said, horses were 
 only made for servants ; they were never designed 
 for slaves. And I was much amused with the labo- 
 rious manner in which the horses appeared to tug at 
 the empty chaise. Can horses be hypocrite* ? I 
 thought to myself.
 
 LKTTKH III. &J 
 
 My sister had now an opportunity of inquiring 
 how the cockles were found on the sand. And the 
 troop, rough and rugged as they appeared, treated 
 her with a civility, and replied with an intelligence, 
 little to be expected from such an unflattering exte- 
 rior. These little delicate shellfish, they told her, 
 
 buried themselves nearly an inch under the surface 
 of the sand ; so as to be completely out of sight. 
 Their places were therefore only to be found out by 
 signs, known only to those acquainted with the trade 
 of cockle-getting. These signs were not always the 
 same ; but at present, they said, they found them 
 by eyes that is, as they explained it, two holes like 
 pin-holes, in the sand immediately over the cockle. 
 They struck a small instrument with three crooked 
 prongs, called a craam, into the sand, close beside 
 these holes, where they were sure to find a cockle. 
 The cockles were not to be found in all parts of the 
 sand ; only in beds, sometimes of several acres each, 
 called cockle shears. After the cockles were thus 
 picked one by one out of the sand, they were washed 
 in open baskets, and conveyed home in bags. Some 
 of the richer cocklers had an ass and a small cart to 
 carry them home ; but the poorer uniformly carried 
 them on their heads, sometimes several miles ; where 
 they either sold them to their more opulent neigh- 
 bours, or to wholesale dealers who bought them for 
 the Kendal, Kirkby Lonsdale, Lancaster, Preston, 
 or other more distant markets. 
 
 liy the mild pity which shone in my sister's eye, 
 I could observe that she was almost as much op-
 
 34 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 pressed with the cockle bags, as those who bore 
 them. She turned to my father hung carelessly on 
 
 his arm and smiled fondly in his face. " These 
 
 poor children are hard loaded," said she, " they will 
 never be able to get home, I wish you would help 
 me to put the bags into the chaise, and let the horses 
 draw them up the hill. 1 ' " You are the strangest 
 girl I ever knew," said my father, as he assisted her 
 with the bags into the chaise. 
 
 To see all we could, was our travelling maxim. 
 We therefore took the more circuitous rout through 
 Flookborough, for the sake of getting a peep at 
 Wraysholme Tower and Humphrey Head Scar. In 
 passing along from Allithwaite to Flookborough, 
 the prospect was delightful. Nothing cpuld exceed 
 the perpendicular beauty of Humphrey Head. Its 
 bold projection, and grotesque white face were en- 
 chanting. Nearly in a line with Humphrey Head 
 stood Wraysholme Tower, dark and gloomy, shel- 
 tered by clumps of old trees, whose deep green 
 foliage threw a sombre hue over the whole scene. 
 " I know not whence it springs," said my uncle, 
 " but an object of this kind always throws a gloom 
 over my mind. I feel as if the spirits of the dead 
 were hovering round me, as if I was treading upon 
 hallowed ground." " I think," said my sister, " this 
 must have been the residence of some person who 
 has retired from the bustling crowd, and who has 
 wished only to hold communion with himself." " If 
 any dependance can be placed upon ancient tradi- 
 tion, 1 " said my uncle, " there is an interesting history
 
 LETTER III. ~-"> 
 
 attached to yon tower.'" " Oh ! what does tradition 
 say concerning it ?" inquired my sister ; " let us 
 hear at all events. Though truth may be blended 
 with fiction, still there will be something worthy of 
 listening to." " So far," 1 said my uncle, " as memory 
 will allow me, I will relate all I know of 
 
 WRAYSHOLME TOWER. 
 
 " At a remote period/' continued my uncle, " when all 
 the hills and vales around us formed one vast forest, and 
 yon beautiful tract of level ground, by the sand side, was 
 overflowed by the sea, a bold and intrepid knight, named 
 Harrington, fixed his residence at Wraysholiae. He erected 
 the Tower which alone remains to mark the spot where he 
 passed his days. He constructed the walls of stones, and 
 cemented them with lime and ox blood, designing them to 
 exist till the world itself should sink in ruins. He was a 
 man of strange and wayward fancy, as is evident from the 
 shape of the present structure, being considerably wider at 
 the top than the bottom. In his days, the wolves in all the 
 southern part of the kingdom had been destroyed ; but a 
 few still remained in the extensive forest of Cartmel. These 
 it was his amusement to hunt, in order to exterminate the 
 breed. 
 
 In one of those hunting excursions Harrington had been 
 thrown off from his companions, and had ascended the top 
 of Humphrey Head, if possible to regain a sight of his fel- 
 low sportsmen. He was traversing the rocky forest on a 
 fleet horse, when his course was stopped by the shrieks of 
 a female in extreme peril. Harrington, with that gallantry 
 which distinguishes generous minds, sprung to her assis- 
 tance. A lovely and youthful female was with difficulty 
 
 maintaining her position in a cleft of the rock, while an 
 enormous wolf was endeavouring to reach her. His barking 
 was tremendous, and death lightened from his eyes. The
 
 00 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 knight, with that steadiness, which an active arm acquires 
 from constant exercise, transfixed the animal with his lance, 
 before it observed that an assailant was so near. He then 
 dismounted from his horse, and assisted the lady from her 
 precarious asylum. To describe her gratitude would be a 
 fruitless task. It was such an expression of joyous feeling 
 as a generous heart gives birth to it was the thankful 
 acknowledgement of a lovely maiden to the valorous pre- 
 server of her life. 
 
 The knight of Wraysholme was in the vigorous bloom of 
 nia'ihood. He was esteemed for his gallant and hospitable 
 temper he was applauded for his enthusiasm in the chace 
 he was honoured for his heroic deeds in the battle field 
 and he was admired for the eloquence of his tongue, the 
 gracefulness of his person, and the kindness of his nature. 
 Can it then be matter of surprise, if the young lady felt 
 more than mere gratitude for the preserver of her life ? or 
 can we be astonished if she felt a wish to secure the protec- 
 tion of him who had proved himself so able to afford it. 
 
 Harrington beheld in his admiring protege, all that his 
 heart sighed for. He saw that she loved him, and that of 
 itself was equivalent to a thousand charms. No long or 
 tedious courtship was requisite to complete a union which 
 had so strangely begun ; and which, according to the opinion 
 of the times, had already received the sanction of heaven. 
 Their vows were exchanged at the adjoining chapel. Hap- 
 piness was the result of this propitious marriage, and a 
 numerous offspring added yet stronger links to the golden 
 chain which bound them. 
 
 This wolf, says tradition, was the last ever seen in Eng- 
 land ; on which account the knight assumed it as his crest. 
 And the happy pair, after a long life of uninterrupted feli- 
 city, were buried in a niche in Cartmel church. Their 
 effigies were cut in stone, with a figure of the wolf at their 
 feet. A few Runic knots, to mark the Celtic descent of the 
 knight, were carved on the wall ; and without a word of
 
 LETTER III. 87 
 
 inscription, their monument remains to puzzle the fertile 
 brains of modern antiquarians." 
 
 " I see no reason," said my sister, that the sight 
 of a place like this should fling a gloom over your 
 spirits. When you reflect that this solitary man- 
 sion was once the scene of so much bliss, it should 
 rather make you cheerful." " It was not always a 
 scene of happiness/' replied my uncle. " The last 
 Harrington who resided here, was less fortunate in 
 his loves/" " Oh, what of him ?" said my sister ; 
 " tell us all you know of this interesting place. 
 Though I was never in love myself, I feel a parti'- 
 cular pleasure in listening to the histories of those 
 who may have been so unfortunate." 
 
 THE LAST HARRINGTON. 
 
 " The last Harrington," continued my uncle, " was in- 
 troduced, at an early age, into polished life. Here he ac- 
 quired a love for splendour, far beyond the scanty means, 
 which his limited patrimony could supply. He had visited 
 foreign countries, and there was an easy gracefulness about 
 his person and manners, which was peculiarly attractive to 
 the females, even in situations superior to his own. Among 
 the many who felt ambitious to be distinguished by the 
 gallant Harrington, was the amiable and accomplished niece 
 
 of Sir . A sense of his inability to support her 
 
 in &. style equal to that in which she had hitherto moved, 
 for a time prevented the generous youth from indulging 
 those tender feelings which at length became too powerful 
 for controul. Their hearts had long moved in unison. And 
 explanation wa sc^cely necessary to unfold their mutual 
 sentiments. The haughty uncle and guardian of the ill- 
 fated maid, disdained the proposed alliance ; and commanded
 
 38 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 his niece to renounce the hand of Harrington. But it was 
 too late. She loved him with all the fondness of a virtuous 
 mind. And when her lover explained to her his slender 
 resources, and the utter impossibility of maintaining an es- 
 tablishment suitable to her rank, she told him that Wrays- 
 holme Tower would be to her a palace. Rural life had a 
 thousand charms ; and she would, for him, renounce all her 
 brighter prospects, bid adieu to all the false glitter of a court, 
 accommodate her wishes to her station, and prove that hap- 
 piness might as easily be found at Wraysholme Tower as 
 at Hall. 
 
 Young Harrington, with a fond but aching heart, con- 
 veyed his blooming bride to the mansion of his fathers ; but 
 the narrow sphere in which he beheld her move, was a con- 
 tinual source of grief to him. He cherished an honourable 
 wish that she might rival the grandeur of her contemptuous 
 relatives, who often crossed his grounds in their sporting 
 excursions. The wars at that time presented a prospect of 
 wealth and honour. There, he thought, he might procure 
 the means of raising his amiable partner to that distinction 
 which he conceived to be her due. In spite of all the fond 
 remonstrances which virtuous love and conjugal affection 
 could dictate deaf to the soft but powerful eloquence of 
 female tenderness, he took an affectionate leave of his tear- 
 ful spouse, endeavouring to cheer her drooping spirits with 
 the prospect of the rewards and dignities which he would 
 earn by the destruction of his country's enemies. 
 
 But, alas ! his sunny dream of future greatness was de- 
 lusive. He soon fell a victim to his love and valour. His 
 widow survived a few years, to mourn the loss of one whom 
 she almost idolized. Her forlorn condition, her grief, her 
 declining health, commanded the pity of all but her relent- 
 less uncle. She died and with her expired the gallant 
 name of Harrington. 
 
 Her friends would have interred her rexnains in her hus- 
 band's family vault, but the door ha*i not been opened for 
 more than half a century, owing to some of the family hav-
 
 LETTER III. 39 
 
 ing died in foreign countries, and the entrance could not be 
 found. They then applied to Sir but he re- 
 fused her sepulture in the burying place of her fathers. She 
 was therefore deposited between the two. A stone effigy, 
 in a funeral dress, with a wolf's head at one shoulder, is 
 now the only monument that marks the spot where her 
 cold ashes sleep. And often it is said, as the youths and 
 maidens of the vale, repair to the altar, in Cartmel church, 
 previous to tying the indissoluble bond, they will visit this 
 outcast tomb ; and there, pointing to the Runic knot on the 
 wall above, as emblematic of a knot that cannot be untied, 
 breath a silent but sacred wish, that their loves may be as 
 pure and as disinterested, as those of the unfortunate widow 
 of the noble minded Harrington." 
 
 By the time my uncle had concluded this interest- 
 ing history, we found ourselves at Flookborough 
 a village remarkable for nothing, except the good- 
 ness of its ale, and the extreme dirtiness of its one 
 street. We drove up to the Crown, and were in- 
 troduced into an excellent room by the attention of 
 the landlord, whose protuberant form told us, in 
 plain English, that we were in an excellent victual- 
 ling house. We refreshed ourselves with the best 
 the Crown could afford ; and it is but justice to say, 
 that Mr. Roberts honoured us with an excellent 
 lunch, and that we honoured his lunch with excel- 
 lent appetites. 
 
 There being nothing deserving of notice in this 
 village, we drove forward to Cartmel, and put up at 
 the Cavendish arms, with an intention to view the 
 old Gothic church. In the church we found an old 
 man, who seemed to have some connexion with the
 
 40 LETTERS FB.OM THE LAKES. 
 
 building art, from the numerous spots of lime on 
 various parts of his straight-breasted blue coat. My 
 father asked him if we could see through the church ? 
 We might, for any thing he knew, he said. My 
 father, who has a tolerable knowledge of men, im- 
 mediately placed half a crown in the old man's hand. 
 It had the desired effect. His indifference instantly 
 vanished ; and if he could have taken the church 
 to pieces for our amusement, I believe he would. 
 
 As we were walking along the battlements, " I 
 wonder, 11 said my uncle, " what could induce the 
 monks to build a church in such a low situation. 1 " 1 
 " They were ordered to build it here, 11 said the old 
 man. " Ordered I 11 replied my father, " who or- 
 dered them ?" Our conductor answered by repeat- 
 ing the following 
 
 LEGEND OF CARTMEL CHURCH. 
 
 " Better than six hundred years since," said our guide, 
 " some monks came over from another country ; and finding 
 all this part of the kingdom covered with wood, resolved to 
 build a monastery in some part of the forest. In these ram- 
 bles, they found a hill, which commanded a prospect so 
 beautiful and so extensive, that they were quite charmed 
 with it. They marked out a piece of ground on the summit 
 of the hill, and were preparing to build the church, when a 
 voice spoke to them out of the air, saying, ' JVot there, but 
 t;i a valley, between two rivers, where the one runs north, and 
 the other south.' Astonished at this strange command, they 
 marvelled where the valley could be ; for they had never 
 seen a valley where two rivers ran in contrary directions. 
 They set out to seek this singular valley, and travelled 
 through all the north of England, but in vain. Wearied
 
 LETTER III. 41 
 
 with their fruitless search, they were returning to the hill 
 whore they had heard the strange voice. In their way back, 
 they had to cross the valley, at that time entirely covered with 
 wood. They came, at length, to a small river, the stream 
 of which ran north. They waded through it ; and, in about 
 one hundred yards, they found another, the stream of which 
 ran south. They measured the distance between the rivers, 
 and placed the church in the middle, upon a little island of 
 hard ground, in the midst of a morass. The church they 
 dedicated to St. Mary. They also built a small chapel on 
 the hill, where they had heard the voice, which they dedi- 
 cated to St. Bernard. The chapel is long since destroyed, 
 but the hill is called Mount Bernard to this day." 
 
 Our guide then shewed us the two rivers ; and 
 after admiring the landscape, and thanking our lo- 
 quacious circerone, we left the venerable fabric, and 
 all its grandeur. As we were walking leisurely up 
 the market-place, my father accosted a red-faced 
 man, with, " Pray, Sir, where can we get a glass of 
 good ale ?" " At the King's Arms," said the man. 
 " Why did you ask that man in particular ?" in- 
 quired my uncle. " Because," said my father, " when 
 I want a glass of good drink, I always ask a red- 
 faced man where it may be had, and I never yet 
 found myself deceived. 11 It was as my father ex- 
 pected. We found a most excellent tap. 
 
 But evening began to draw on, and we were com- 
 pelled to return to our chaise at the Cavendish 
 Arms. We travelled forward, about six miles, to 
 Newby Bridge, along one of the most delightful 
 roads in existence. Gentlemen's seats skirted the 
 road on either side ; while woods, groves and corn-
 
 2 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 fields filled up the intervals. The birds were warb- 
 ling on almost every bush ; and before we had 
 finished our journey, the setting sun gilded the 
 landscape to the west, with his level beams, in a 
 manner of which an inhabitant of Preston can form 
 no conception. " If there be a scene," said my 
 uncle, u which has a charm for every soul, it is one 
 like this. The vivid colours in the west the chang- 
 ing hue of the hills on the right hand the hus- 
 bandman whistling over the fresh stubble the 
 reaper with the sickle on his shoulder the mild 
 stillness of the evening, broken occasionally by the 
 jocund laugh from the farmer's door the smoke 
 curling upwards from the cottage roof all all 
 conspire to tune the soul to harmony; and to inspire 
 it with sentiments of peace and joy." 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 Newby Bridge, August, 1820. 

 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 ULACK JACK OF GRAITHWAITE NEWBY BRIDGE 
 
 CON OR SQUIRREL HUNTING THE PROGRESS 
 
 WOODMEN AND THEIR HUTS KITTY DAWSON, 
 
 THE MANIAC OF GRAITHWAITE WOODS. 
 
 DEAR TOM, I never doubted it much but if I 
 had been rather incredulous on the subject I should 
 now be convinced that true genius is confined neither 
 to country nor colour. It blooms as brightly in an 
 African jungle, as as even as in your college, 
 Tom. Opportunity may direct it to nobler ends, 
 and education may lend it assistance ; but the ethe- 
 rial spark of heaven's own fire, is scattered with a 
 generous but an indiscriminate hand wherever man 
 has constructed a dwelling whether that dwelling 
 be a palace or a wigwam. 
 
 I am led into this train of reasoning by a conver- 
 sation, to which I was a silent auditor, the other 
 evening, between my uncle and a neighbouring cler- 
 gyman ; a man of plain but solid information. 
 And, what is more to our purpose, Tom, he was a 
 man of simple manners and benevolent feelings 
 just such a man as you and I have often pictured to
 
 14 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ourselves, while reading Goldsmith^ Country Cler- 
 gyman. 
 
 BLACK JACK OF GRAITHWAITE. 
 
 lit told us, that a few years since, Mr. Rawlinson of Low 
 Graithwaite had a negro servant, from his colour, called 
 Black Jack. This man, though retained only in a menial 
 situation, exhibited the most astonishing abilities. He very 
 soon acquired a knowledge of reading and writing ; he studi- 
 ed arithmetic and the mathematics with wonderful success ; 
 and was a proficient in music. He studied the last as a 
 science ; and many specimens of his beautiful manner of 
 pricking tunes, are carefully preserved by the neighbouring 
 peasantry. His progress in these useful and elegant accom- 
 plishments, was by no means attributable to the patronage 
 of his master. For his hours of study were only casually 
 snatched from his time of sleep or recreation. An old gra- 
 nary was his library, and a corn chest his writing-desk. 
 What must the powers of this man's mind have been, to ac- 
 quire a knowledge even of abstruse sciences, without any as- 
 sistance or encouragement ; without even the benefit of lite- 
 rary acquaintances ? For he was shut out from the world 
 among woods and hills. Had he been associated with cul- 
 tivated society, or stimulated forward by some intelligent 
 protector, he certainly would have left many of Britain's 
 sluggish sons behind. What he accomplished was due to 
 himself alone. I f he had possessed the privileges of Ignatius 
 Sancho, he would doubtlessly have surpassed him in acquire- 
 ments. In his immediate neighbourhood, he was more ad- 
 mired for his feats of strength and agility, than for his men- 
 tal excellences ; because he lived in a country where the 
 inhabitants could appreciate the former, while they knew 
 little and cared less about the latter. When he had solved 
 a difficult mathematical problem, no one knew what he had 
 l>ecn doing. They were rather inclined to laugh at him for 
 wasting his time over a piece of a blue slate and a few white
 
 LETTER IV. 45 
 
 figures, to them without use or meaning ; but when he swum 
 over the lake and returned again with apparent ease, every 
 one knew that he had excelled the whole country, for they 
 knew the strength of arm requisite for such an undertaking. 
 Poor Jack is dead, and very few recollect any thing more 
 about him, than that he was a good swimmer and fond of 
 books. Adverse fortune, with him, as with many others, 
 rendered his talents and his genius of no other use than to 
 amuse a solitary hour. His name is nearly forgotten, and hit 
 j'ame was never remembered. 
 
 " I wish, 11 said my uncle, " he had been in Pres- 
 ton."" " Yes,"" said my father, in his usual sarcastic- 
 manner, " every man of genius finds encouragement 
 there."" " I wish he had been in our service," re- 
 plied my uncle, with rather more emphasis than tilt- 
 sentence seemed absolutely to require. The lam- 
 bent fire was instantly kindled in my sister's coun- 
 tenance. She felt the full force of my uncle's wish, 
 and she accorded so freely with his generous senti- 
 ments, that he seemed to her only to be uttering her 
 own words. 
 
 You are thinking, brother, that I might hare 
 learned that negroes were human beings, like our- 
 selves, without rambling as far as Newby Bridge ; 
 and that you are anxious to obtain some account of 
 the country. You shall have it. 
 
 When I tell you that there is a bridge over the 
 river, close to the inn, consisting of five arches, yon 
 will instantly figure to yourself some excellent piece 
 of architecture. You may spare yourself the trouble. 
 You must recollect that I am in a country where art
 
 46 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 has done little, and nature much. Indeed, all that 
 art can do in such a country, is to assist nature. 
 The province of art is little more than suffering trees 
 to grow, and preventing them from concealing the 
 beauties of the scene to plant a few more where na- 
 ture may have accidentally omitted them to cut 
 down one here and there, where they are too pro- 
 fuse and to render the access to the best prospects, 
 as easy as possible. Above the bridge, the water is 
 gradually narrowing from a lake to a river ; the 
 stream is scarcely perceptible the banks are adorn- 
 ed with trees of various kinds, and of almost every 
 growth the uniformity of the forest is however oc- 
 casionally broken by cornfields, meadows, pleasure 
 grounds, and villas ; below the bridge, the water is 
 more contracted it dashes from one crag to another 
 with an impetuosity that forms a charming contrast 
 with the smoothness of the lake above the banks 
 are very steep, and almost covered with wood the 
 bridge itself stands nearly in the centre of a delight- 
 ful amphitheatre of majestic hills and every thing 
 in the vicinity has a rural aspect. What kind of a 
 bridge would you erect in such a place ? A rural 
 one, I know would be your reply. Such a one has 
 been erected. It is constructed entirely of unhewn 
 stones, rough as they came from the quarry. And 
 nothing could accord so well with the surrounding 
 scene, as this simple piece of rustic architecture. 
 
 The place scarcely deserves the name of a village. 
 The seat of JAMES MACHELL, ESQ. is the most 
 prominent figure ; a sweet retirement it is, and com-
 
 LETTKR IV. 47 
 
 mantis an extensive view up the lake. A black- 
 smith's shop joins the corner of the bridge. The 
 inn, plain but comfortable, exactly suited to the 
 place, is close to the other end: Near this, but still 
 nearer the water, stands a simple cottage, the only 
 one in the neighbourhood. But why waste words, 
 when words can convey no idea of the beauties I 
 would describe? 
 
 I must not forget to inform you what a delightful 
 amusement I have witnessed, or rather enjoyed. 
 Yesterday after dinner, we were preparing for an 
 excursion to the iron foundry and cotton works at 
 Backbarrow, about a mile distant, when the landlord 
 very politely informed us that some young gentlemen 
 were going into a wood a con hunting, and would 
 be very glad of our company. ' Our people cannot 
 go," replied my father, ' they want to see the iron 
 and cotton works, things which they never see in 
 Preston ; for con hunting, they know no use it can 
 be of when they get home." " My dear satirical 
 father," said my sister, " let us by all means see this 
 con hunting; I never remember an exhibition of 
 that kind coming to Preston." " Such things, I be- 
 lieve, are very rare in Preston," said a young gentle- 
 men, who, my father afterwards asserted, was a por- 
 trait painter, from the intent manner in which lu 
 studied my sister's features. 
 
 We left the inn, all apparently in high spirits ; 
 but curiosity, rather than enthusiasm in the sport, 
 was the stimulus with some of us. We were about 
 twelve in number, exclusive of the dogs. The most 
 
 R*
 
 48 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 prominent in the group, was the blacksmith, without 
 his coat, and his hands and face indicating the na- 
 ture of his useful but laborious occupation. 
 
 My sister, anxious, I believe, for her uncle rather 
 than herself, asked if there was no danger in the 
 sport,? " Yes," said the landlord, " the ground is 
 rough, and without care, you may get hankled 
 among the bushes."" " But the animal," answered 
 my sister ; " is there no danger from it ? for my 
 uncle is old, and cannot easily escape out of its way."' 
 I confess, I had felt some fears, (entirely for my 
 uncle, recollect,) but our young friend dissipated 
 them all, by telling us that a con was only the pro- 
 vincial name for a squirrel. My father remarked 
 that if we caught one it would be nothing among so 
 many. We had a low hedge to scale before we got 
 into the wood ; and a Laker, a banker's son, from 
 London, in an elegant, thin lounge coat, and nankin 
 trowsers, proposed to help my sister over the fence. 
 " Thank you," said she ; and stepped over the bend- 
 ing boughs like a wood nymph. Either fear of 
 breaking the hedge, or some equivalent fear, detain- 
 ed the young banker till the company was fairly un- 
 der cover, as the sportsmen termed it. He then be- 
 gan to climb the hedge, trying the strength of each 
 bough, as he ascended. " Never fear them," said 
 the blacksmith, " they have carried me ; and I am 
 at least half a ton heavier than you." The young 
 banker gained the summit of the hedge ; and there 
 he stood, tottering upon the elastic boughs, unable 
 either to proceed or retreat. " For charity's sake/'
 
 LEI Tilt IV. 
 
 said my father to my sister, "go and assist the 
 young sportsman down." 1 " He is ' tremblingly alive' 
 to the joys of the game," said my sister, as she has- 
 tened to lend him her hand ; for all the more season- 
 ed hunters only looked upon this accident as a part 
 of the amusement. Her interposition came too late. 
 For the degrading idea of being helped down by a 
 lady, irritated him so much, that he began to vibrate 
 like the pendulum of a clock that beats thirds, and 
 down he tumbled. An unceremonious stake in the 
 hedge caught the skirts of his lounge ; and he re- 
 mained like honest Bailie Jarvis, in " mid air," and 
 might have continued there, had not the strong 
 limbs of the blacksmith, and the slight texture of his 
 coat both contributed to his release. 
 
 Had such an accident happened in Preston, the 
 unfortunate sufferer would have been re-suspended 
 in every company he had entered, for at least ten 
 days ; but here a sense of delicacy which nature 
 cultivates in her votaries, but which a polite educa- 
 tion tends to destroy, prevented any allusion to tlie 
 unlucky hedge. Our young friend did once or twice 
 direct my sister's eyes to the additional opening in 
 the banker's coat, but he said nothing. 
 
 After winding round, or rather through the 
 thickets, for a considerable way, we found our- 
 selves in the middle of a clump of tall old oak?. 
 " Now for the con !" exclaimed a number of voice?. 
 I was all on tiptoe, to catch a glimpse of the squir- 
 rel in its native woods. Our young friend, who 
 had kept so close to my sister, and had carefully
 
 50 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 shaded by any impudent branch, that might have 
 been inclined to salute her too roughly, seemed all 
 alive to the sport. He bent his keen eye to the top 
 branches of the oaks ; but observed that he could 
 not see a con shear. The landlord, who had walked 
 to the wood on a stick, laid his cudgel pretty freely 
 round the trunks of the trees, the blacksmith did 
 the same ; one or two got broken branches, which 
 they threw into the tree tops ; a nimble boy ascended 
 one tree, with an agility that would have done no 
 discredit to a public performer. " A con! A con!" 
 echoed through the wood, as the beautiful little 
 animal sprung from the oak in which it had been 
 concealed, to a scyamore at a considerable distance. 
 It flew (for it was more like flying than leaping) in 
 a fine curve right over our heads, caught a slender 
 t .vig with its feet, and was instantly lost again. " It 
 skulks on one of the branches/ 1 said our young 
 friend ; " heave sticks up to rouse it again ; 'tis go- 
 ing to be sulky." Every one now got a stick ; one 
 of them moved the bough where it sat ; away it 
 scampered to the end of the branch, and sprung 
 right off to another tree. Every stick was hurled 
 at it as it flew, but it reached the next tree in safety. 
 In his anxiety to avoid the falling sticks which 
 came down like a shower on all sides, the young 
 .banker slipped up to the knee in an open drain, and 
 .shockingly discoloured his white stockings and nan- 
 kin trousers. " I wonder," said my father, "that 
 this giddy girl of ours cannot take better care of the 
 young sportsman ; and keep him out of harm's
 
 LETTER IV. 51 
 
 way.* 1 Why he laid such emphasis on sportsman, 
 I cannot tell ; as he never made any pretensions to 
 elocution. 
 
 The con did not, this time, lurk among the twigs, 
 but hurried forward through the trees with a rapi- 
 dity quick as thought. In taking a desperate leap, 
 the animal had evidently missed its calculation ; 
 for it came to the ground in what Mr. Bamber would 
 have called a parabolic curve. The dogs sprung 
 to the place, the men clapped and shouted, my sis- 
 ter and her young friend pressed to the " front of 
 the fray," the blacksmith cleared the litter away 
 with the landlord's walking stick, and the young 
 banker enjoyed the wild ecstacy of the company 
 from behind the shelter of a tree. 
 
 While I was expecting every minute to hear that 
 it was dead, I beheld it whisking up the smooth 
 trunk of aeolitary ash. " Now," cries the Londoner, 
 " we can easily catch it ; for it can get no higher 
 than the top of the tree." " Yes," said my father, 
 " we shall soon have it now." I thought indeed 
 there was no escape ; but rendered desperate by the 
 chase, it flung itself right over our heads, into ano- 
 ther tree on the other side of the plain. " What a 
 pity," said my sister, " to destroy such an agile 
 pretty little animal ! " This," said our young friend, 
 ' is sport." " I own," she replied, " it is pleasant 
 to see the little nimble creature skipping from tree 
 to tree ; but I should not feel much delight in see- 
 ing one of these great dogs devour the inoffensive 
 animal."
 
 5% LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 While my sister and her guardian were thus 
 moralizing, the con took another of its desperate 
 leaps ; but the sportsmen were on their guard, and 
 seven or eight sticks were hurled into the air at once. 
 One of them the blacksmith's, I believe struck 
 the squirrel over the head. Down it plumped into 
 the mouth of a terrier, and its boundings were ter- 
 minated at one stroke. The young Londoner now 
 came forward ; and observing that it was really dead, 
 ventured, but not without evident trepidation, to 
 touch it. He admired its bushy tail, its glossy skin, 
 and slender form exceedingly ; and my father re- 
 marking that the young banker had been the great- 
 est sufferer in the con hunt, the prize was unani- 
 mously voted to him. He promised to take it to 
 London, for the inspection of his friends. 
 
 If I was to repeat all the jokes that passed at the 
 inn, after our return from the wood, I should fill 
 more paper than I have to spare. The landlord 
 detailed all the con hunts that had occurred in his 
 memory. The blacksmith did the same ; and others 
 followed their example, till I found that con hunting 
 must have occupied the chief part of all their lives. 
 From the cons, they wandered off to foxes, hares, 
 and even brocks and otters. One had been bitten 
 through the hand by a con, another had lost a piece 
 out of his leg by the bite of an otter. Every time 
 the glass circulated, the marvellous increased ; and 
 every improbable story made room for another still 
 more so. 
 
 At eleven o'clock, when we retired to rest, they
 
 LETTER IV. 53 
 
 were as busy hunting cons, as they had been any 
 time during the day ; and I laid my head on the 
 pillow, only to re-witness the astonishing bounds and 
 leaps of the little squirrel. Bounds which nothing 
 could surpass except the tongues of the company in 
 the front parlour. 
 
 The next morning was remarkably fine, and the 
 chaise was at the door at an early hour. We bade 
 farewell to Newby Bridge and all its enchanting 
 scenes, just as the sun had gilded the bright front 
 of Mr. MachelFs. It would be impossible to de- 
 scribe the effect of light and shade, produced by such 
 a morning on such a scene. Mr. Harrison's had the 
 tinge of morning glittering upon it the woods and 
 groves around it, sparkled with dew drops the birds 
 were carolling in Finsthwaite woods most melodi- 
 ously Mr. Tow nicy's was enveloped in a deep 
 shade, thrown over it by the towering summit of 
 Gummers How and the lake partook of both the 
 contrasting hues. Nothing but a poet could de- 
 scribe the scene ; and nothing but a painter could 
 feel it. 
 
 We were fully absorbed in the feelings which such 
 a morning inspires, till we reached Stot Park. Here 
 my sister compelled us to stop while she feasted her 
 eyes with the blooming garden in front of Mr. Tay- 
 lor's, and had sufficiently satisfied herself that the 
 gold fishes in the pond were real fishes. The jet 
 of water arrested my uncle's attention. While my 
 father suggested, as an improvement, that the water
 
 54- LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ought to rise out of the top of the column, and fall 
 again into the cup in a graceful curve. 
 
 We had not gone far beyond Stot Park, when we 
 were all inclined to stop. A coppice of wood had 
 been cut down by the road side, and the workmen 
 had erected small conical cabins, to reside in during 
 the summer. These had such a picturesque appear- 
 ance, that my sister took out her pencil, aud sketched 
 one, while my uncle and I went to visit the inmates. 
 " They tell us of rural situations," said my uncle, 
 " but this is truly rural." Let me try if I can de- 
 scribe one. 
 
 A number of long poles was stuck in the ground, 
 forming a circle for the foundation, and meeting in 
 a point at the top. These were interwoven with 
 long slender twigs, and covered with thin parings of 
 green turf, laid slate-wise. An aperture, in one 
 side, served for a door, window, and chimney ; and 
 was closed at nights with a hurdle. A few rough 
 stones in the centre, formed the fire-place ; over 
 which a pan could be suspended by a chain from the 
 top. A heap of straw was laid all round the inside, 
 by way of bed and sofa. On fine days, the wood- 
 man told us, the victuals were generally cooked in 
 the open air ; they shewed us a kettle boiling on a 
 fire, under the side of a crag, close to the cabin. 
 This, my uncle called the kitchen. The woodman 
 invited us into his hut, which we entered. We sat 
 down upon some coarse sacks which the woodman's 
 wife spread upon the straw. The woodman sat 
 dowh upon the opposite side, pulled a black pipe,
 
 LETTER IV. 55 
 
 three inches long, out of his waistcoat pocket for 
 coat he had none and began to smoke away very 
 deliberately. He was fond of conversing; and gave 
 us every information we required respecting the uses 
 to which the wood was turned, after it was cut down. 
 Not forgetting to remind us, that he only lived there 
 for convenience ; and that he had another very com- 
 fortable, well-furnished house, at a few miles dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Two little hardy children came running to the 
 cabin door. One about eight, and the other perhaps 
 about six years of age. They had no stockings on 
 their legs, clogs on their feet, and were bare-headed. 
 Their hair hung in delightful ringlets over their 
 shoulders, never, it appeared, having been subjected 
 to the scissors. The breakfast was spread out on 
 the grass in front of the cabin, where a tall rock, 
 crowned with a holly bush, formed a screen to the 
 north. The good-natured woodman, as if he wished 
 to gratify our curiosity, politely invited us " ta tak 
 a bit a breakfast with em ;" and we did so. I do 
 not know that I ever enjoyed a more agreeable meal. 
 The tea felt so pleasant the bread and butter was 
 sweet and clean and even the fried bacon was deli- 
 cious. The two youngsters had soon satisfied the 
 cravings of nature, and bounded off into the wood 
 again. 
 
 When we had finished our morning"^ repast, at 
 
 this rural pavilion,, we stood up to rejoin my father 
 
 and sister who waited in the road. As we turned 
 
 away, my uncle stepped back, and from the hearty 
 
 F
 
 56* LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 " Thank ye, Sir," with which the good woman bade 
 us farewell, I suspect that he had left some trifling 
 acknowledgment for their kindness ; but this, you 
 know, was a subject on which I could ask no ques- 
 tions. 
 
 ' I think,' 1 said my uncle to the woodman, as he 
 accompanied us down to the road side, " I could 
 spend my life very happily in a cabin, in the midst 
 of a wood like this/ 1 " I could tell you a very me- 
 lancholy story, 11 replied the woodman, " about a 
 person who did spend her days in these very woods." 
 "' Let us have it, if you please, 11 said my uncle. 
 
 KITTY DAWSON. 
 
 THE MAXIAC OF GRAITHWAITE WOODS. 
 
 - 
 
 It is now a laiig time sen, (began the woodman,) that 
 Kitty Dawson leevd here. SLe was reckoned yan of the 
 handsomest lasses, I suppose, about Dalepark, when she 
 was a lass. Her father was a poor honest man and a wood- 
 cutter like mysell ; but Kitty was his only child, and she 
 was, as ye may guess, a favourite. When she was about 
 sixteen, she fell in with a young man who sometimes cut 
 w ood for her father. He was a stiddy young fellow ; he 
 was careful, and had saved a little matter of brass. Kitty's 
 parents could see no objection to such a match, if they wod 
 wait till she was a few years elder. They were looked on 
 by ivery body as a par ; and they both considered the com- 
 ing day as sartan, though delayed. I weel remember hear- 
 ing my father tell it. He was cutting wood that day hissell 
 in that varra wood. They had just sitten down to their 
 dinner, under some trees ; for they thought it wod be a 
 shower, it looked so black over the water. The storm came 
 on. It was the terriblest thumicr storm, iny father said, he
 
 LETTER IV. 57 
 
 ever knew. Jem Park, him that was to wed Kitty, hail 
 laid his head against the rock, when a thunner bolt fell on 
 it, and rolled down, and killed him dead on the spot. It 
 was a sorry day at Dulepark, when they took Jem home 
 dead; for he was a lad that ivery body respected. Kitty, 
 ye may be sure, took it terribly out. After the wood was 
 done, the colliers left their cabin standing, as they commonly 
 due ; and Kitty went to it, and staid there as long she 
 lived. Her friends could niver persuade her to come back ; 
 for if they got her away by force, she was soon at the cabin 
 again. She niver thought of leaving her cabin till she was 
 hungered out, and then she wod just gang to some farm 
 house, and tak what they had a mind to give her. This 
 she wad carry back to her cabin, and live on it as lang as it 
 lasted, and then go off somewhither for another supply. 
 
 I can just rememmer, when I was a lile lad, being sent 
 with a basket of meat to old Kitty's cabin ; for ivery body 
 was good to her, poor silly thing. When I went, she wod 
 just tak the basket out of my hand, and empty it, and give 
 it me back again ; but she hardly ivcr spoke ; and at most 
 only said, " Good lad, good lad !" 
 
 1 can just recollect, that one morning some gentlemen had 
 been out with their guns ; and, as usual, had looked in at 
 Kitty's cabin to give her something, when they found her 
 lying dead on the straw beyond the fire. Yan of em sent a 
 cart, and had her taken to a house at Dalepark ; and they 
 buried her, 1 believe, at their own expense. If I was in 
 the wood, I could shew you the varra spot where old Kitty's 
 cabhr stood, for I have been at it many a time. But it 's 
 quite down lang sen, and hardly any body knows, that poor 
 old Kitty Dawson iver lived there. Poor thing ! poor thing ! 
 
 " Thou'rt a good-hearted fellow,"" said my uncle, 
 as soon as the woodman had turned away j " there 
 is a natural feeling in the manner of telling that 
 tale, which gives a higher eulogium on the reciter,
 
 58 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 than all the recommendations he could have pro- 
 duced. 
 
 As nothing particular occurred in our journey 
 forward to the Ferry Inn, where we now are, I 
 shall here close my letter ; and continue our excur- 
 sion, in my next. 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 
 Ferry Inn, Aug. 1820.
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 THE REGATTA CROSSING WIXDERMEBE ADMIRAL 
 
 ULLOCK'S KITCHEN MR. TOM, THE FOOTMAN 
 CURWEN'S ISLAND LOW WOOD MRS. LADYMAN'S 
 PIANO MY SISTER'S, UXCLE'S, AND FATHER'S 
 
 SONGS LOW WOOD PUDDINGS MR. HARRISON 
 
 AND PARTXER. 
 
 DEAR TOM, This day forms a contrast with yes- 
 terday. When I arose, the majestic hills to the 
 north and north-east, were completely enveloped in 
 a thick mist. Heavy black clouds hovered over the 
 scene ; and nothing was predicted but an appraoeh- 
 ing flood. This, to the country people, seemed dis- 
 agreeable intelligence ; but my uncle who is an 
 enthusiastic admirer of nature in her wildest, ter- 
 riblest forms cheered himself with the prospect of 
 full mountain streams and foaming cascades. The 
 rain, which, about ten o'clock, began to fall in tor- 
 rents, though an object of regret to every other per- 
 son, was a fortunate circumstance in my uncle's es- 
 timation. 
 
 We remained at the Ferry the greater part of the 
 day, in expectation of the llegatta ; but the rain 
 completely prevented the sports. You, my dear 
 
 F2
 
 60 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 brother, from your classical reading, will be scarcely 
 able to comprehend what the word regatta signifies 
 on the banks of the Windermere. I will therefore 
 give you the best information I could procure. The 
 only rational part of this aquatic amusement consists 
 in a race of barges on the water this you would na- 
 turally expect. But you would scarcely suppose 
 that all the fashion and beauty in the country, would 
 be invited to witness the children's play which con- 
 stitutes the principal part of a Windermere Re- 
 gatta. 
 
 A long pole, well anointed with soap, is erected 
 in the water a hat is stuck on the top and the 
 person who secures the elevated beaver, claims it as 
 his reward. But it generally happens that the com- 
 petitors receive each a good ducking instead of the 
 prize ; owing to the slipperiness of the pole. 
 Sometimes racing in sacks ; where the candidates 
 are each put feet foremost into a sack, the mouth of 
 which is tied round their necks. In this condition, 
 they have to run or leap the proposed distance. 
 Ass races. In these, each man rides his neighbour's 
 ass. and the slowest wins the race. Hence, as every 
 man wishes his own ass to win, he whips the ass he 
 rides unmercifully, in order that it may not be the 
 last. My uncle says, that the Mexicans, when they 
 first saw the Spanish horsemen, supposed them to be 
 all one animal ; but had they seen these jockeys and 
 their donkeys, they would not have been far wrong 
 in supposing them both asses. Pig races. A young 
 pig has its tail shaved and soaped, and is let loose
 
 LETTER V 61 
 
 among the company. The first person who can 
 swing the pig round his head, by the tail, carries it 
 off as a prize. These, Tom, are some of the rural 
 sports of a Regatta. 
 
 About three in the afternoon, we flattered our- 
 selves the evening would be fair, and we determined 
 to proceed. For we had previously resolved to 
 spend the night at the Low Wood Inn, near Amble- 
 side ; as my uncle had frequently heard the accom- 
 modation praised by the Lakers with whom he had 
 conversed. 
 
 For my own part, Tom, I saw no possibility of 
 proceeding any further. For we were then upon a 
 point of land which ran nearly half way into the 
 lake ; and I saw no bridge over the other half. My 
 sister whispered that we must drive through it, as 
 we had done at the water on Lancaster sands ; but I 
 thought that it appeared too deep. I found however 
 that new curiosities awaited us at every stage ; for 
 while we were pondering on the impossibility of far- 
 ther progress, the servants unmoored a large boat 
 wheeled a chaise into it tied up the horses besides 
 the chaise, and requested us to take our seats. 
 
 It was not a little curious to observe the horses 
 standing so quietly in the boat. " Habit," my uncle 
 observed, " even with inferior animals, is second na- 
 ture." " Whoever allows habit to govern him," 1 
 said my father, " may be justly considered an infe- 
 rior animal."" "I trust," rejoined my sister, "you' 
 have a saving clause in favour of a criticising habit." 1 
 
 My father, who, in spite of all his seeming indif-
 
 62 LETTKJIS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ference, is not destitute of curiosity, proposed that 
 we should rest and take tea at the White Lion, 
 Bowness. The motion was carried nem. COIL, and 
 we alighted. My father, I believe, wanted to make 
 some enquiries respecting the intended Boat-race. 
 For my part, I wanted more to see the humours of 
 the kitchen on such an evening ; and therefore while 
 my father, uncle, and sister, repaired to the front 
 parlour, where they could have an uninterrupted 
 view of the returning carriages, bearing back their 
 disappointed loads from the Ferry Inn, I slipped 
 away into the kitchen, to amuse myself among the 
 rustics assembled round the fire. The most con- 
 spicuous of these was the landlord, whose face was 
 the index to an excellent cellar. The kitchen was 
 nearly filled with guests, who were comfortably en- 
 joying a tankard or two of Ullock's best ale, by way 
 of compensation for their fruitless journey to the 
 Regatta. The greasy cook, who looked like one of 
 her own puddings ready bagged for boiling, had to 
 thread her " devious way" through the disregarding 
 company. What woman ? much more, what cook 
 could bear such repeated interruption ? She tried 
 the effects of a frown it was thrown away on a com- 
 pany of men who could scarcely distinguish a hole 
 through a ladder, as the landlord wittily remarked. 
 She then ventured to grumble but this was equally 
 ineffectual, where all were talking and none listening. 
 She at length entirely lost her patience, and uttered 
 her complaints in so loud a voice, and in such a com- 
 manding manner, that she unfortunately opened her
 
 LETTER V. 63 
 
 mouth rather too far. The consequence of which 
 was, as a logician would say, that she gulphccl down 
 so much tobacco smoke, as almost to choke herself. 
 A sly-boots out of Cumberland contrived at last to 
 pacify this Empress of the Larder, by ordering her 
 a glass of rum. This had quite an electrical effect 
 on the good woman. My attention was very soon 
 drawn from the unhappy cook, to a young dandy, 
 who came stretching and prancing through the 
 kitchen, witli his hands in his pockets, and speaking 
 with as much pomposity as if the fee simple of Bow- 
 ness had been a part of his estate. His wit was 
 however to be distinguished only by the rapidity of 
 his utterance, and the perpetual recurrence of phrases 
 similar to these : " Indeed" " So, indeed" Has 
 he, indeed ?" " Will they indeed ?" &c. There 
 was an agreeable interchange of compliments between 
 him and the company. He treated them with ale ; 
 and they treated him with flattery both of which 
 appeared to go down very smoothly. He always 
 uttered his words in rapid succession, except once 
 when the cook had nearly undished a roasted fowl 
 over a vacant foot of his, which had accidentally 
 strayed across her very limited passage from the 
 spit. She turned hastily round, with a counte- 
 nance more in anger than in sorrow, saying, " Get 
 out of the kitchen, Tom, for I cannot do with you 
 here. 1 " " Can... not... you... indeed?" he replied in 
 a slow and subdued tone. We afterwards learned 
 that Mr. Tom was a footman had been in London 
 for the first time and had returned to visit his
 
 64- LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 friends, full of that consequence with whicl^ the me- 
 tropolis so naturally inspires weak minds. 
 
 A well dressed person about fifty, occupied, or 
 would have occupied the attention of all the guests. 
 He had no appearance of a gentleman ; though I 
 suspected him to be a man of property, from the 
 kindness with which the landlord treated him. He 
 seemed to be a good tempered fellow, and tried to 
 please the men by blackguarding them, and the ser- 
 vant girls by his obscenity ! in both of which he 
 
 completely failed. Surely, Tom, a public house, 
 
 as such houses are generally conducted, is the last 
 place to which a Christian would send a daughter 
 to be a servant. 
 
 But you will think I have forgot my friends in 
 the front parlour. I believe I should not have been 
 in a hurry to seek them, had not the disgusting 
 language of this old lecher reminded me of the ra- 
 tional manner in which I might have been spending 
 my time among my friends. 
 
 When tea was over, we prepared to pursue our 
 journey to the Low Wood Inn. The rain fell so 
 heavily that we had little pleasure in contemplating 
 the beauties of the country as we rolled along ; for, 
 as my uncle sometimes observes, " a dull day closes 
 the mouth of an Englishman." As we passed the 
 picturesque residence of the Rev. J. Fleming, we 
 caught another peep at Mr. Curwen's beautiful island. 
 My father fixed his eyes on it, without changing a 
 muscle of his face. My sister, anxious, if possible, 
 to draw him into conversation, whispered to him,
 
 LETTER V. 65 
 
 ' Yon is a delightful place ; I think that even you, 
 father, could suggest no improvement to it, though 
 you can improve almost every thing." He just 
 turned his head round to her, without any emotion, 
 and said, 
 
 " The word Boltea seems wanting ye* , 
 " To make the Canister complete." 
 
 " No wonder," said my uncle, that there are so many 
 lake poets, when even a single day can transform 
 my brother into one ; and such a one too." " I 
 own," replied my sister smiling, " there is some con- 
 ceit in my father's idea ; and though I really admire 
 the building, I shall not quickly forget my father's 
 epigram." 
 
 I do not think that my father views every thing 
 lie sees with contempt ; but he feels a pleasure in 
 censuring, indiscriminately, whatever falls in his 
 way. And he has indulged in this propensity so 
 long, that now, like a genuine reviewer, he studies 
 only to criticise. 
 
 Had the evening been fine, I imagine the few 
 miles between Bowness and Low Wood, might have 
 been a pleasant drive. But we could only just dis- 
 tinguish, through the obscurity which the rain threw 
 over the landscape, the faint outline of Calgarth, 
 and some other magnificent buildings on the banks 
 of Windermere. 
 
 The Low Wood Inn is a solitary house by the 
 water side, delightfully situated for a Lake tourist. 
 We were conducted to an elegant upper room, fur- 
 nished with a piano and an organ. I need scarcely
 
 66 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 remind you that with these accompaniments, we 
 soon forgot the wet evening. My uncle pointed out 
 the piano to my sister; and requested that she 
 would favour us with a song, to enliven the even- 
 ing. She instantly complied, with that grace which, 
 in my estimation, constitutes the loveliest charm of 
 a young lady and sung 
 
 Clje Ccmstantij of Eobc. 
 I. 
 
 When first the youth, devoid of art, 
 Feels love's sweet ardour warm his heart, 
 He vows, to her who caused his smart, 
 Eternal constancy. 
 
 II. 
 
 The simple maid no longer scorns 
 The graceful youth, whose bosom burns, 
 But thinks him faithful, and returns 
 Eternal constancy. 
 
 III. 
 
 Behold the love devoted pair 
 Before the altar, kneeling, where 
 They to each other fondly swear 
 
 Eternal constancy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The moon shall scarcely wax and wane, 
 Before they would be loose again ; 
 For both most solemnly disdain 
 
 .Eternal constancy. 
 
 V. 
 
 So weak a mind does man possess, 
 He neither can be blest nor bless, 
 And such is human faithfulness, 
 
 And human constancy. 
 
 My uncle thought my sister's song was too severe 
 on mankind. He believed there was more constancy 
 in the human heart than she had given it credit for ;
 
 LETTER V. 67 
 
 and if she would play the tune of " John Anderson, 
 me jo," he would try to produce a song more agree- 
 able to his own feelings at least. 
 
 STlje 23acl)clot's Complaint. 
 I. 
 
 A bachelor's life 's distressing, 
 
 No wife to soothe his care 
 When pain and woe, oppressing, 
 
 .Reduce him to despair. 
 Alone he journeys on 
 
 The path which all have trod ; 
 Without a friend to cheer 
 
 The solitary road. 
 
 II. 
 
 For him the heavenly eye 
 
 Imparts no beam of bliss ; 
 The lips themselves deny 
 
 The soul- entrancing kiss. 
 He lives a lonely stranger, 
 
 Unknowing and unknown, 
 He shuns or faces danger, 
 
 Unpitied and alone. 
 
 III. 
 
 He never hears the praise 
 
 Of one whose heart approves him, 
 Nor feels the fond embrace 
 
 Of one who dearly loves him ; 
 He dies without a tear 
 
 Of sympathy shed o'er him ; 
 And round his mournful bier 
 
 No orphan hearts deplore him. 
 
 " You have told us a melancholy tale, brother," 
 said my father ; " and you have pictured your own 
 state in most unenviable colours ; but you have for- 
 got to tell us who it is that compels men to die 
 bachelors." My uncle happened at that moment to 
 be looking at Langdale Pikes, through the window ; 
 and probably did not hear my father's remark he
 
 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 made no reply, however. " I think, 11 observed my 
 sister, " it is now your turn to favour us with a 
 song/ 1 " I have no objections,"' 1 said my father, 
 but 1 will have no flirting of wires while I sing. 
 The music which nature made I admire ; but let 
 me have none of that which art produces." My sis- 
 ter joined the circle, and my father gave us the fol- 
 lowing song. 
 
 Clje 3133oriVs a tuur, 
 I. 
 
 There was a bard in a former age 
 Compared the world to a player's stage, 
 
 And most folks think he hit it ; 
 But I believe, and I may be right, 
 The world's a TVUE that we sing at sight, 
 
 We learn it to forget it. 
 
 II. 
 
 We all are notes in a different key, 
 Somejlats, some sharps, some naturals be. 
 
 Some quicker, and some slower ! 
 Like Handel's, some are full of grace 
 Like Pleydell's, some are thorough bass 
 
 Some higher and some loicer. 
 
 III. 
 
 In life's short tune what airs we find, 
 Bold, cheerful, gloomy, dull, refin'd, 
 
 In full symphoniale'; 
 Our time is quick, and soon we close, 
 We beat away without a pause, 
 
 Till death sings the finale. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The world, I own, has ties most sweet, 
 Yet manj" a bar and slur we meet, 
 
 Though very much we fear them ; 
 Some men can nought but discords trill, 
 With some the world sings counter still. 
 
 Nor gives #ne note to cheer them. 
 
 V. 
 
 The pitch-fork tunes the farmer's voiiv. 
 The sack-but is the miller's choice, 
 
 And all men's the viola ; 
 The maiden plays \heflageolet, 
 While married folks sing a duet, 
 
 And bachelors a solo.
 
 LETT Ell V. OU 
 
 " It is the very solo" said my sister, " of which 
 my uncle has been complaining, in his sweet, pathetic 
 song. For the first thirty years of his existence, he 
 was quite charmed with the bachelor's solo ; but now 
 he longs for the matrimonial duet. 
 
 You will remember, Tom, the glowing descrip- 
 tion, which Mr. Benfield gave of the Low Wood 
 puddings when he paid us a visit, on his return 
 from a lake tour. And my uncle, though no epicure, 
 thought we might as well taste them, since opportu- 
 nity was so favourable. You know, brother, that 
 curiosity is inseparable from a tourist ; we therefore 
 all agreed to my uncle's proposal, and some Low 
 Wood puddings were ordered in as a part of the 
 supper. 
 
 We were just preparing to commence our evening 
 repast, when the landlady informed us that a gentle- 
 man and his lady had just arrived, of the name of 
 Harrison from Poulton in Lancashire, who would 
 be very happy to join our little party. Anxious to 
 see all in our power, we readily consented to this ac- 
 cession to our company and the parties appeared. 
 But how shall I describe them ? and you will expect 
 a description of every thing curious. It was actual- 
 ly December leaning on the arm of May ! The 
 lady from the vivacity of her eye, the airy slender- 
 ness of her form, the elegance of her attitudes, the 
 almost girlish smile on her cheek could not be more 
 than eighteen. The gentleman from his wearing 
 a wig, the airy slenderness of his legs, the absence 
 of whiskers and braces, the extreme length of his
 
 70 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 waistcoat, the furrows in his face, and the antique 
 appearance of his whole figure could not be less 
 than sixty-five. 
 
 We sat down to supper ; and you will perhaps be- 
 lieve me, when I assure you that we did honour to 
 the puddings. Indeed, Mr. Harrison paid them an 
 extraordinary compliment, for he devoured two of 
 them. They were certainly excellent. 
 
 A stranger uninformed of the fact, would have 
 thought that Mr. Harrison had been conducting 
 some darling grand-daughter from the boarding 
 school, so great was the apparent disparity of their 
 ages. But their conduct to each other contradicted 
 such an idea. He gazed on her with all the ardent 
 fondness of a youthful lover ; feasted on her every 
 smile, and caressed her with scraps of songs on his 
 lips. He fixed his eyes on her pleasing countenance, 
 and warbled forth, 
 
 " ' I know that I sigh upon innocent lips, 
 
 ' Which ne'er have been sighed on by any but mine.' " 
 
 Then turning to the window, he said, " what a 
 charming country is this. I am certain that a cot- 
 tage among these hills might, with a woman one 
 loved, be rendered a paradise. 
 
 " ' There far fra a' their scornfu' din, 
 ' Wha make the kindly heart their sport, 
 
 1 We'll kiss, and dance, and laugh, and sing, 
 ' And gar the langest day seem short.' 
 
 " This world has no charms but for lovers, 
 
 " * When I hear thee, I love thee ; when seeing, adore ; 
 
 ' I view thee, and think thee a woman no more ; 
 
 ' Till mad wi' admiring, I canna contain, 
 
 ' And, kissing your lips, you turn woman again.' "
 
 LETTER V. 71 
 
 While my uncle was lost in amazement, contem- 
 plating the amorous old fool, as he considered him, a 
 carriage and four drove into the square. A Sten- 
 torian voice instantly exclaimed, " Have any chaise 
 arrived here this evening ?" " Yes," replied the 
 landlord, " we have had two this evening." " What 
 way are the parties gone ?" " They are all in an 
 upper room at supper, I believe," answered the land- 
 lord. " Did you observe a young man and a woman 
 among them ?" " I did," replied the landlord. 
 " Convey me to them instantly," said the boiste- 
 rous stranger. 
 
 " I am ruined ! I am ruined !" cried Mrs. Har- 
 rison, "What shall I do? what shall I do F* 
 " Compose yourself, my dear," said Mr. Harrison ; 
 " put on your coat and bonnet." He, either through 
 intention or mistake, seized my sister's travelling 
 dresses ; threw them over his wife ; pulled the green 
 veil over her face ; led her to a chair ; and sat down, 
 as if nothing had agitated him. He had only a 
 moment completed his labour when the stranger and 
 the landlord entered. " W T here are the vagabonds ?" 
 echoed the former ; then looking round him, con- 
 tinued in a milder tone : " These are not the per- 
 sons I am seeking. You must have other company." 
 " I have no other company in the house," replied 
 the landlord. " I have traced them hither," said 
 the stranger, " and I must have four of the best 
 horses you have to follow them ; they cannot be far 
 before me." As he left the room, he apologized for 
 the confusion his unceremonious appearance might
 
 72 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 have caused ; and assured us that nothing but ne- 
 cessity could have induced him to disturb us. " You 
 are very probably , v said Mr. Harrison, "in the 
 discharge of your duty ; in which case there is no 
 need of apology ." 
 
 When our angry visitor had driven from the door, 
 which he did, at the full speed of four post horses, 
 Mr. Harrison addressed himself to my uncle and 
 father. " I am aware," said he, " that the strange- 
 ness of our conduct must have excited your suspi- 
 cion ; and to prevent you from entertaining a less 
 favourable idea of us than we really deserve, I will 
 tell you truly what we are. My name is not Har- 
 rison, though I come from the neighbourhood of 
 Poulton. My father was a clergyman ; but being 
 fond of genteel company, beyond what his income 
 would support, I was brought up in elegant poverty. 
 At my father's death, though an only son, I found 
 myself, at the age of sixteen, without money and 
 without a profession. My mother's brother, in con- 
 sideration of my scholarship, proposed to take me 
 home to learn the trade of joiner and house carpen- 
 ter. This would enable me, if fortunate and indus- 
 trious, to attain a comfortable living. With my 
 mother's consent, I accepted the proposal. I was 
 free from my apprenticeship, a week since last Sa- 
 turday "" 
 
 " Last Saturday f exclaimed my uncle, looking 
 at his wig. " Have patience, my dear Sir, 11 said 
 Mr. Harrison, and proceeded with his story. 
 
 " 'Twas last summer but one,"" continued he,
 
 LETTER V. 73 
 
 " that I had been sent, by my uncle to make some 
 alterations in a Cottage Ornee, at Blackpool. Dur- 
 ing my stay there it was my happy fortune to see 
 the charming young lady whom you see with me. 
 I cannot tell how it was, but I ventured to tell her 
 the story of my love ; and strange as it may seem, 
 she heard me with attention. In short, we both 
 discovered that nature and heaven had designed us 
 for each other. But there was a difficulty to be en- 
 countered. She was a rich orphan heiress, left under 
 the guardianship of an uncle, who had a booby son. 
 Either my charmer's fortune or person captivated 
 both the uncle and cousin ; and she has been teased 
 and threatened to a marriage, but in vain. The 
 moment I was my own master, I hastened to Liver- 
 pool, to see my lovely maid. We quickly deter- 
 mined upon an excursion to Gretna Green, as the 
 surest way to secure the happiness of us both. I 
 know the common method is to drive off with all 
 possible speed, and to trust entirely to that for suc- 
 cess. I knew that it would be impossible to outstrip 
 her uncle, for we could not, by any means, get above 
 half an hour's start of him ; and as he could and 
 would command every facility, through the medium 
 of his purse, we could only succeed by stratagem. 
 I therefore disguised myself as an old man, put on 
 a wig, painted my face, got some old fashioned 
 clothes from a pawnbroker, and trusted to this dis- 
 guise for my safety. There was no possibility of 
 disguising her; because, we had scarcely time to 
 effect our escape before her guardian would be alarm-
 
 74 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ed. We never stopped on the road till we reached 
 this house, when we found that a little rest and re- 
 freshment were indispensable. Beside, I was anxious 
 to throw our pursuers off the track ; which that 
 young lady's coat and hat have happily effected. 
 Our pursuers are now before us, and we can proceed 
 on our journey comfortably."" 
 
 We all applauded the young man's successful 
 scheme ; and after drinking a " happy termination 
 to their expedition," and seeing them again set for- 
 ward, I sat down to write this letter ; and to tell 
 you how affectionately I am, 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONAUD ATKIXS. 
 
 Low Wood Inn, Aug. 1820.
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 THE MOKN1XG GREENES EXHIBITION STOCK-GILL 
 
 FORCE AMBLESIDE, THE ROMAN DICTIS HUGH 
 
 HIRD, THE TROUTBECK GIANT CALGARTH 
 
 SKULLS. 
 
 DEAR TOM, This morning the sun rose in 
 cloudless majesty ; and when we stepped over the 
 threshold to drink the invigorating breeze of new- 
 born day, the fleecy mist was rolling up the stu- 
 pendous sides of Langdale Pikes, and creeping along 
 the summit of Coniston Old Man. " How do you 
 like the Old Man? 1 ' said my uncle. "He looks," 
 said my sister, " like a time-worn veteran, whose 
 head is become bald with years, except a few stragg- 
 ling grey hairs, which still wave on his venerable 
 brow."" The scene was truly sublime. The gigan- 
 tic wreaths of mist, so brightly illuminated on their 
 eastern sides, by the level beams of the rising sun, 
 continually assumed new forms, as their almost im- 
 material substance slowly traversed the purple-brown 
 summits of the lofty mountain peaks. 
 
 My uncle whose principal study is to exalt the 
 enjoyments of all his connections ; and, as far as his 
 power extends, to increase the sum of human hap-
 
 76 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 piness proposed a excursion on the lake, while 
 breakfast was preparing. But if the scene was de- 
 lightful from the bowling-green, it was enchanting 
 from the boat. Every hill seemed to rear its sum- 
 mit higher, and every woodland dressed itself in a 
 richer tint. Curwen's island appeared to swim on 
 the surface of the water. Brathay Hall glittered in 
 the sun, while the deep indentations -round the mar- 
 gin of this vast expanse, varied their shade at every 
 stroke of the oar. 
 
 When we returned to the inn, which I did with 
 reluctance, an excellent breakfast of coffee awaited 
 our excellent appetites. We then bid farewell t 
 this charming spot ; and, as the distance was short, 
 and the morning fine, we determined to walk for- 
 ward to Ambleside. The agreeable exercise of 
 walking, and the diversity of the scenery, were both 
 so pleasing, that my sister pleaded hard for continu- 
 ing the excursion on foot. My father observed, that 
 we would so far accede to her proposal, as to walk 
 whenever the road should be so rough, as to prevent 
 our availing ourselves of any other conveyance. 
 
 It is impossible, in this place, to procure a sheet 
 of paper large enough to contain a description of all 
 I have seen; but those things which excited in 
 my bosom the most lively sensations, may perhaps 
 be most agreeable to you. At the head of these I 
 must certainly place Mr. Green's " Exhibition of 
 Views of the Lakes." 
 
 These views are all executed by the artist and his 
 family, and consist of some hundreds of picturesque
 
 LETTER VI. 77 
 
 scenes among the Lakes and Lake Mountains. The 
 room is hung round with drawings ; and the rest 
 are enclosed in portfolios of various sizes. Upon a 
 table I found a heap consisting of sixty aquatinta 
 engravings, coloured after nature. With these I 
 was busying myself, when my uncle exclaimed, 
 " There is the majestic Old Man, which pleased us 
 so much at Low Wood." " Yes," replied my father. 
 ' but the few straggling grey hairs which my daugh- 
 ter admires so much, are fallen off too, and his head 
 is now quite bald she will not admire him now/' 
 My sister, who suspected that my father had a 
 double meaning in his words, leaned gently on his 
 arm, turned up her soft languishing eye towards his ; 
 and in her mildest, sweetest tone, replied, " Do not 
 think, father, that an Old Man will ever appear less 
 an object of veneration in my esteem, because he 
 may be stripped of those ornaments which once 
 formed the grace of his youth. Though Coniston 
 Old Man may produce a pleasing sensation, by his 
 lengthened shade and awful brow, it is beneath the 
 shelter of another old man, that I should wish to 
 live and die." My father glanced a soft look of af- 
 fectior on my sister, and half raised his arm to em- 
 brace her ; but instantly dropped it again, lest he 
 should be induced to act in contradiction to his ac- 
 customed habits of misanthropy. 
 
 I left my heap of pictures, and assisted in admir- 
 ing six large coloured aquatintas that were spread 
 before the other company. A view towards the 
 foot of Windermere very much delighted me ; for I
 
 78 LETTERS FllOM THE LAKES. 
 
 saw there most of the objects that had so much 
 charmed me in my journey. Calgarth and the 
 Island were beautiful objects. And the recession 
 of the hills was nature itself. 
 
 " Observe the grandeur of that hill," said my sis- 
 ter, as she turned over another plate. " This is a 
 view towards the head of Ullswater, r> replied Miss 
 Green ; " and that gigantic hill is St. Sunday Crag." 
 " We must visit this place," said my uncle ; " there 
 is something in that picture which I long to see in 
 nature." " I suppose," said my father, " that some- 
 thing will be those few half starved sheep, sculking 
 under that great rock." " No," said my uncle, 
 " 'tis the soft wooding of the mountains the bold 
 and contrasting lights and shades of intermingled 
 hills, frowning over the fertile vale below, that I long 
 to see." 
 
 My father turning over two or three more, observ- 
 ed to my uncle, that " he had better visit Wast 
 Water, as there were such brilliant sunbeams there." 
 " Whether the subeams be present or not, I should 
 be delighted with the permanent materials of the 
 scene," said my sister. " No doubt," replied my 
 father, " the permanent materials are worthy of 
 notice. Let me see, they are 1st. a dub of water 
 2d. three hills 3d. two crags. What a charm- 
 ing subject !" 
 
 " So far," replied my sister, " from rendering the 
 the picture ridiculous by your analytical manner of 
 describing it, you shew that there is nearly, if not 
 quite, all that a rural picture can contain. All the
 
 LETTER VI. 79 
 
 landscapes that have ever met the human eye, if 
 reduced to their constituents, are only composed of 
 hills and vales, rocks and fields, wood and water. 
 It is the various combinations and striking associ- 
 ations of these, that impart to the eye of taste, those 
 rapturous sensations which we are so proud to feel."" 
 " I thought, indeed," answered my father, " this 
 boasted taste was chiefly pride" 
 
 My uncle, anxious that my father's criticisms 
 should not lead to an unpleasant issue, turned to a 
 heap of sixty large etchings. " Here," said he, " is 
 a picture that will please you all. You may almost 
 fancy you see the motion of that cascade." " Yes," 
 said my father, " and by a farther stretch of the 
 same fancy, you may hear it dash down the rocks." 
 " I think," said my sister, " I am more pleased with 
 the still beauty of that waterfall, with its bridge 
 above the stream, and the overhanging branches, 
 shutting out the light of day." " Or perhaps," 
 said my uncle, " you would be pleased with the 
 twisted root of that venerable old oak, with its tufts 
 of star grass, and small cascades." " No," replied 
 she, " that old mill pleases me better. See the wa- 
 ter pouring out of the mill window and dashing 
 down among the rocks." 
 
 While we were amusing ourselves with these, my 
 father was running over some other aquatintas and 
 some large and small volumes of etchings. " I admire 
 these etchings," said my uncle ; " but I see only 
 few buildings among them. " I intend," said 
 Mr. Green, " if I live, to publish a series of etch- 
 H
 
 80 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ings of old picturesque buildings. I shall begin in 
 my own neighbourhood, and publish a series of 
 views, illustrative of ancient domestic architecture. 
 I shall then publish a series in the neighbourhood 
 of Kendal, having the Castle for the leading sub- 
 ject. Another series for Lancaster, having the 
 Castle for the first. Another series at Preston, with 
 the old Priory for the head."* " When you publish 
 those at Preston," said my uncle, "you may put 
 me down as a subscriber." " You may let me have 
 a set too," said my father ; " I can send them to 
 Tom. He is fond of this kind of nonsense." 
 
 My sister was amusing herself with a fine draw- 
 ing of Stock Gill Force, when Mr. Green kindly 
 volunteered to accompany us to the real waterfall, 
 Which," he said, " was incomparably finer than 
 the drawing." A narrow but shady lane, along the 
 banks of the stream, or heck, as it is here called, led 
 us to the majestic scene. " This," observed Mr. 
 Green, " would perhaps be one of the most attrac- 
 tive objects about the lakes, if the advantages of the 
 
 * Mr. Green did publish forty etchings of picturesque buildings 
 in Ambleside, Keswick, &c. They are very beautiful, and very 
 cheap a guinea for the set. His other projects, we regret to say, 
 have been swept away by that great destroyer of all men's de- 
 signs death The multitude of aquatintas, etchings, and draw- 
 ings which he sent into the world, will long remain as evidence 
 of his talents, and of his astonishing perseverance and industry. 
 We were at his hospitable house the very day when he was, for th'e 
 first time in twenty years, obliged to abstain from his sedentary 
 employment, through ill health by the first symptom of a worn- 
 out constitution. The Exhibitions at Ambleside and Keswick 
 continue to be kept open by Mrs. Green ; and every acquaintance 
 of that amiable and accomplished family will rejoice to hear, that 
 
 thev are very respectably attended by Visitors of the lakes 
 
 Sep. 8. 1825.
 
 LETTER VI. 81 
 
 place were properly improved ; and I sometimes 
 feel surprised that the landlord of the head inn, who 
 is the occupier, does not, for his own interest, lay 
 out a little money in some trifling improvement."" 
 " To reap without sowing," replied my father, " is 
 too much the wish of all men. The landlord would 
 probably have no objections to a greater influx of 
 visitors to the town ; but feels considerable hesita- 
 tion in throwing out those indirect inducements for 
 that purpose." " See now," observed Mr. G. " that 
 tree shuts out the prettiest part of the cascade, 
 while there wants one to hide the deformity of that 
 other bank ; beside, that wood on the declivity of 
 the other hill, which threw so fine a gloom over the 
 whole glen, is now vanishing beneath the woodman's 
 axe; and a certain degree of poverty will be the 
 natural consequence." " You will excuse," said Miss 
 Green, " my father's enthusiasm for his darling art. 
 He knows no world, but that in which a painter 
 lives. Trees, with him, have no other use but that 
 of giving softness and effect to a picture. The mea- 
 dows were created for foregrounds, and the hills 
 were designed for distances. Rivers only roll along 
 to brighten up the landscape ; and cattle graze only 
 to give life to his drawings. When any thing, 
 therefore, is out of place, in a picturesque point of 
 view, it excites his criticism, notwithstanding its 
 utility in other respects." 
 
 " Were it otherwise," observed my uncle, " your 
 father had been as obscure as the country was before 
 his animating pencil drew the public attention to
 
 82 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 this district. We must be enthusiasts in our indi- 
 vidual pursuits, or we shall never excel. Is it not 
 the same in every other profession ? The artist 
 views the present scene with delight, because it is 
 picturesque. The sparkling of the dashing stream, 
 the deep gloom of the precipitous rocks, the inter- 
 mingled light and shade of the thousand-tinted foli- 
 age, are the principal objects of his attention. The 
 stream is good, because it gives effect to the picture 
 the rocks are valuable, because they form a relief 
 to the other parts of the scene and the trees are 
 useful, because they make the other objects harmo- 
 nize. But this partial manner of viewing subjects, 
 is not confined to the painter alone. Every man 
 feels it who is capable of rising to the top of his pro- 
 fession. The engineer would admire this stream, 
 because it would be so well calculated to turn his 
 machinery the rocks would be valuable, because 
 they were at hand for erecting a mill and the wood, 
 because it would furnish timber for the building. 
 In his estimation, the best waterfall is that which 
 falls over a water wheel the finest rock is a huge 
 stone building the most agreeable wood, an inter- 
 minable row of spinning frames. In all our walks 
 we each of us view the scene with reference to our 
 darling pursuit. The painter examines its capabi- 
 lities for a picture the farmer calculates how many 
 cows might pasture on the fields, how many sheep 
 might be fed on the hills, and how much hay would 
 grow on the meadows the carpenter only thinks 
 how many planks might be cut out of such a tree
 
 LETTER VI. 83 
 
 the mason views the rocks, and thinks whether they 
 would make good walling stones the fisher views 
 even the lake as a receptacle for fish the landlord 
 considers it as a place where he can lend his boat to 
 a good profit. Hence you see, that your father dif- 
 fers from other men only in this, that he has disco- 
 vered a beauty and a use in the surrounding scenes, 
 which other men had overlooked. And, as every 
 man of genius will do ; and, as every artist must 
 do, who feels ambitious of distinction, he allows only 
 that idea to predominate. Therefore, so far from 
 being a subject of ridicule, it is perhaps the highest 
 compliment one could pay your father, to say, " he 
 believes that trees, rivers, and woods were created 
 for painters to make pictures of. ' " 
 
 " I think," said my sister, " Mr. Green's manner 
 of viewing natural scenery is superior to that of the 
 farmer or the mechanic.'" " If these are your sen- 
 timents," replied my father, " you must give up all 
 thoughts of marrying the young gentleman farmer 
 out of Yorkshire. You would quite discompose his 
 agricultural plans. Instead of conducting the streams 
 through the fields for the benefit of his cattle, you 
 would study only to make them picturesque. Be- 
 sides he would require a man to drive the cows and 
 sheep into groups, and to dispose them in the most 
 tasteful form. Instead of giving the most useful 
 rotation of crops, you would have the most tasteful. 
 You had best explain this to him, before it be too 
 late." 
 
 When we reached the top of the waterfall, we ob-
 
 84) LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 served an elderly man sitting in a meditative posture, 
 on a little mound of earth, watching, as Langhorne 
 says, 
 
 " The wave that wandered by." 
 
 As we approached him, he turned up a countenance 
 that could not have been warmed by less than se- 
 venty summer suns ; and a head that could not have 
 been bleached by less than as many winters. There 
 was something so rural, and so agreeable in the idea of 
 spending half an hour in such a retirement, that we 
 involuntarily seated ourselves beside the old man ; 
 and as unceremoniously entered into conversation 
 with him. His discourse was that of a well informed 
 peasant, and his diction that of an old man who has 
 acquired confidence by a long intercourse with the 
 world. 
 
 " I think, old man," said my uncle, " this would 
 be a happy part of the country, in these troublesome 
 times of which we read in history. It is so shut out 
 on every side, that an enemy could never find 
 them. 1 ' The old man cast his eyes on the ground 
 for a moment, as if counting the blades of grass ; 
 and then turning to my uncle, replied ; "If there 
 be any truth in the stories of old people whom I 
 have heard talk about those times, this country suf- 
 fered sadly by the Scotch. Only go to the top of 
 Kirkstone yonder, and you'll find a heap of stones 
 that would build a city ; and old folks say they were 
 heaped up as a monument of a battle which took 
 place there. It is said, too, that there was a camp 
 down in yon meadows below the town, where an
 
 LETTER VI. 85 
 
 army was kept for hundreds of years to drive the 
 Scots away, when they came to steal sheep and cat- 
 tle among these valleys. I believe that this is true, 
 for our parson says that he has a book that mentions 
 all about it ; and you know if it be in a book, it must 
 be true." " Without asserting every thing to be 
 true which is found in books," replied my uncle, " I 
 have no doubt that there was a Roman station some- 
 where in the neighbourhood of Ambleside, and that 
 it was called Dictis. And according to the best ac- 
 counts which I can procure," continued my uncle, 
 " the camp was a parallelogram, 165 yards by 100; 
 and was surrounded by a strong rampart and a ditch. 
 A part of the Cohors Nerviorum Dictentium was 
 stationed here. It is likewise said, that about a cen- 
 tury and a half ago, many ruins of the ancient Am- 
 boglana of the Romans were to be seen here. Ro- 
 man bricks were found in the station, as well as urns, 
 
 coins, glass lachrymals, &c. " " Quernstones 
 
 and lachrymals!" exclaimed the old man in astonish- 
 ment, " I never saw or heard of any such things 
 about Ambleside." " I perhaps ought," said my 
 uncle, " to explain these terms. Quernstones were 
 small millstones with which the soldiers ground 
 
 their corn for bread ; and lachrymals are " 
 
 " Weeping mugs," replied my father. " My uncle," 
 observed my sister, " has mounted his antiquarian 
 hobby, and I should not be surprised if it gallop 
 with him from Manchester to Old Carlisle, as it of- 
 ten does. It is the most unmanageable steed that 
 ever man mounted ; for it never can be stopped."
 
 8O LETTERS FEOM THE LAKES. 
 
 Whether my uncle overheard my sister's remarks, 
 or he was offended at my father's very vulgar expla- 
 nation of the word lachrymal, I cannot tell ; but he 
 dismounted from his hobby, and gave the bridle to 
 the winds. 
 
 " The cool bracing air of these hills," my sister 
 remarked, " must conduce very much to the health 
 and strength of the inhabitants."" The old man 
 again seized the idea to introduce some more of his 
 traditional lore; for he appeared to have been a 
 careful preserver of old stories, all of which he firmly 
 believed. 
 
 " That this country has produced strong men, v 
 replied the old man, " is clear from Hugh Hird, the 
 Troutbeck giant." " Was he something remark- 
 able ?" enquired my uncle. " He was a stronger 
 man than either Sampson or Tom Hickathrift," he 
 replied. " What strange associations," whispered 
 my sister, " take place in the minds of the unedu- 
 cated. I have no doubt but he considers the story 
 of Tom Hickathrift equally authentic, as that of 
 Sampson !" " And where did the Troutbeck giant 
 live ?" said my uncle. " He lived in Troutbeck, to 
 be sure," answered the old man. " When they built 
 
 Kentmere Hall youl! have heard of Kentmere 
 
 Hall ? one Gilpin lived at it " " I hope," said 
 my father, " the existence of the Troutbeck giant in 
 nowise depends upon our knowledge of Kentmere 
 Hall." " No," replied the old man, rather piqued, 
 " Hugh Hird was dead and gone, long before you 
 were born. And if you dispute it, you may go into
 
 LETTER VI. 87 
 
 Troutbeck, and enquire for Hird House, and Hird 
 parrock, and Hird brig, and Hugh Hird wife park ; 
 and you'll find them all. The very house where he 
 lived was part of it standing since I remember, 
 though it is pulled down now." " But what con- 
 nexion had Kentmere Hall with all this ?" enquired 
 my father. " None at all," replied the old man ; 
 " but when they built it, ten men had for a long 
 time been trying to lift one end of a beam ; and they 
 could not stir it. But while they were at dinner, 
 Hugh Hird came by, and laid it up himself." ' ' Such 
 a man," observed my father, " would make a rapid 
 progress at a dinner table." " Yes," said the old 
 man, " he had an excellent appetite. Once, a long 
 time, before post-boys and mail-coaches were invent- 
 ed, Lord Dacre, who lived then just over these hills, 
 hired him to go to London to tell the king about 
 some Scotch freebooters who came down on the dark 
 winter nights to rob his brother's sheep pastures at 
 Naworth Castle. Hugh Hird set off on foot to Lon- 
 don, a terrible journey then to what it is now. When 
 he got thither, the king behaved very well to him, 
 and asked him what he would have to dinner ? He 
 said they might cook him the sunny side of a wether. 
 This puzzled the king and all his attendants most 
 sadly. At length they found out that a wether was 
 a sheep, but it was a long time before they could tell 
 which was the sunny side. When they were nearly 
 all puzzled, the king bethought himsel, the sun shone 
 on all sides of a sheep ; and he therefore ordered the 
 whole sheep to be cooked, which Hugh Hird de-
 
 88 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 voured for his dinner. When he had done, he 
 stroked down his waistcoat, and told the king that 
 he had not got so good a dinner since he left Trout - 
 beck." " Indeed,' 1 said my father, " I think the 
 mail-coach would travel to London and back for less 
 expense than Hugh Hird. Half a dozen such men 
 would be enough to make a famine in the country. 1 " 
 
 " If,"" said my sister, " such a man as Hugh Hird 
 could possibly come again, he would be astonished 
 at the alterations which have taken place in the 
 country sinee his days ?" " He would indeed," re- 
 plied the old man ; " but I never heard tell of his 
 coming again." " Did you ever hear of any body 
 coming again ?" enquired my father. " O yes !" 
 answered the old man, " very often : the skulls at 
 Old Calgarth Hall are proofs of that." " What !" 
 said my father, " did the skulls come again r" "Cer- 
 tainly they did," he replied. 
 
 " You see," continued our garrulous acquain- 
 tance, " long since, long before the Bishop of Lan- 
 daff built yon fine house by the water side, there 
 was one Philipson lived at Old Calgarth. And 
 there was an old man and his wife lived in a cot- 
 tage of their own, partly in Philipson's estate. 
 This place Philipson was very anxious to buy, but 
 the old folks would not sell it. He tried every 
 kind means to win it, but they would not part 
 with it. They went almost every day to Calgarth 
 for broken meat ; for Philipson was, like the pre- 
 sent owner, very charitable to the poor. And it 
 happened once when they went, that the servants
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 gave them a whole pie, into which had been put 
 some silver spoons. When they had got about 
 half way over the park, the servants pursued them 
 and took the spoons from them. They were then 
 taken up and hanged for stealing ; and Philipson 
 got the cottage." " It is almost like Naboth and 
 his vineyard, which we read of in the Bible," said 
 my uncle. " That story, 11 said the old man, " may 
 be taken from this, for any thing I know. How- 
 ever Philipson was sadly tormented ; for as soon as 
 they were buried, their skulls came and stood in 
 one of the rooms ; and he could not get clear of 
 them. If he took them away, they were back again 
 next morning. And I have heard a man say that 
 lived there, that he has seen them beat to powder 
 and thrown into Windermere, but they were there 
 again when he got up."" 
 
 " There probably may, 11 said my uncle, " be 
 some foundation for the story of Hugh Hird ; but 
 there can be none for the skull story."" " As far as 
 I can learn," said Mr. Green, " the real story is 
 simply this. In former times, when the catholic 
 clergy were compelled to seek safety in retirement 
 from the persecution of the reformers for all re- 
 form is attended with confusion a pious hermit 
 retreated to Calgarth ; and turned one of the rooms 
 into a cell ; and these skulls were brought thither 
 for devotional purposes. As to their indestructible 
 properties, what they may have possessed, I will 
 not pretend to say ; but I believe they are gone 
 now. Paintings of the Virgin Mary, and several
 
 90 LETTEES FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 other saints, with which the walls of the room are 
 covered, clearly prove the truth of my statement/' 
 " If," said the old man, rather angrily, "you believe 
 the Testament, you must this story ; for you will 
 find that Golgotha meant the 'place of a skull; 1 
 and Golgotha and Calgarth are so near alike, that 
 they must have both one meaning !" 
 
 Though we had been much amused with the old 
 man's garrulity ; we grew tired of it when he began 
 to assert such extravagances. We therefore bade 
 him good bye, and returned to the inn. 
 
 The evening was most delightfully spent among 
 the different walks in this neighbourhood ; all of 
 which we found minutely described in a Guide to 
 the Lakes which Mr. Green has just published, and 
 which we purchased for our future pilot. 
 
 The sun went down remarkably clear, and pro- 
 mised a fine day for our morrow's journey ; and I 
 retired to my room to write an account of this day r .s 
 ramble, and to tell you how much I am 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONAKD ATKINS. 
 
 Ambleside, August, 1820.
 
 ( 91 ) 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 liEXIUS AND THE LAKES GRASMERE LITTLE 
 
 LANGDALE THE COMPARISON' OF THE LAKE 
 
 MOUNTAINS TO A WHEEL LANGDALE HEAD 
 
 THE WISHES. 
 
 DEAR TOM, You tell me that when you visited 
 Westminster Abbey, during your late journey to 
 London, you felt an indescribable sensation pervade 
 your bosom, while wandering through the lonely 
 and final residence of the Sons of Genius. You 
 pictured before your imagination the solemn register 
 of those whose immortal labours had so often solaced 
 a passing hour, and sighed that you could only con- 
 verse with them in fancy. But what would you 
 feel if you were travelling through a country like 
 this ? the birth-place, the residence, or the depo- 
 sitory of exalted genius. Within a few miles of 
 us, the celebrated philosopher, WALKER, first drew 
 the vital air. It was among these mountains, that 
 JUDGE WILSON passed his infancy. It was here 
 that the incomparable BISHOP WATSON, like a set- 
 ting summer sun, sunk to his last repose. In this 
 neighbourhood the kind and benevolent DR. AINS- 
 j.iv first beheld the light of heaven. ARCHBISHOP
 
 9 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 SANDYS was a native of these hills. BURN, the 
 antiquarian, grew in this country. CHAMBERS of 
 undying fame was nurtured hereabouts. The cele- 
 brated BERNARD GILPIN has often trod the very 
 ground we have been treading to-day. ROMNEY, 
 whose never fading monument is found in almost 
 every house, owed his origin to these vales. And 
 even the great ADDISON was a plant from the same 
 nursery. 
 
 Nor has the light of genius entirely vanished 
 from the country. In the little, lovely vale of 
 Grasmere, through which we have this day travelled, 
 has the mantle of the muses often been spread. 
 Here resided the inspired but unfortunate LLOYD. 
 As we passed the cottage where he spent his happier 
 days, my sister observed, " Surely Mr. Lloyd must 
 have had some presentiment of his future insanity 
 when he wrote these lines : 
 
 " ' When shall I be wise and forget ? 
 
 " ' For 'tis madness to feel and to think !" 
 
 " You need not say his future insanity/ 1 replied 
 my father; "all poets are mad. No man in his 
 senses would waste his time in stringing rhymes 
 together to please fools with !" " I suppose, 11 whis- 
 pered my sister to me, " that my father builds part 
 of his claim to wisdom, on his possessing no relish 
 for poetry.' 1 '' " And no doubt, 11 replied my uncle, 
 who overheard her, " those who are incapable of 
 being soothed with a concord of sweet sounds, will 
 readily allow the claim. 11 " Have you also caught 
 the satirical infection P 11 answered my sister. For
 
 LETTEE VII. 98 
 
 though she chose to be a little severe on my father 
 herself, she would not permit any other person to 
 assume the privilege. 
 
 COLERIDGE, the poet and dabbler in the darkest 
 parts of metaphysics, was also an inhabitant of this 
 seclusion. " If,' 1 said my father, "to wander in a 
 path unknown to other men, be any proof of genius, 
 then Coleridge is the greatest genius of the age. For 
 he has not only pursued a different road from other 
 men, but one which no other can follow he loses 
 his reader, and I am mistaken if he does not lose 
 himself very frequently. 1 ' " Well," said my uncle, 
 Coleridge may sometimes be mysterious, but WORDS- 
 WORTH, another genius of the Lakes residing in this 
 neighbourhood, cannot be charged with mysterious 
 nights. He can be easily understood. 1 ' " Oh T 
 replied my sister, " are we near the residence of 
 that sweetly simple poet whom all the world talks 
 about ?" " Yes, 11 said my uncle, " we have passed 
 his residence only a few miles. He lives in one of 
 the sweetest spots, they say, about the Lakes. 11 
 
 You will naturally suppose that we are moving 
 forward all this time, but whether on foot, in a 
 chaise, or in Wordsworth^ boat, will be a dispute. 
 The truth is, we hired a shandry to carry us to 
 Little Langdale, the road being too rough for any 
 other conveyance. Beside, the day was so fine, we 
 considered an open vehicle of this kind was prefer- 
 able to any other. My father, uncle, and -sister, 
 occupied the seat, while T sat on the head with the
 
 94 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 driver; and we jolted charmingly away after we 
 left Grasmere. 
 
 I know not how I can better describe this beau- 
 tiful valley, than by my father's simile. " It puts 
 me in mind," said he, as we ascended the road by 
 Tail End, " of a wash-hand basin, with a little drop 
 of water in the bottom." " Yes," said my uncle, 
 " and to complete the comparison, the island may 
 look like a piece of soap, which some careless person 
 has left in the water." To me, Tom, it seemed 
 like a little vale where Nature had poured all her 
 sweets. The valley is small. A still lake sleeps 
 in the bottom at least it slept when we were there 
 a circle of majestic hills environs it on every side; 
 yet all finely varied in their shapes. A tract of 
 level ground, under the shelter of a towering hill, 
 is brightened by a lovely village, with its neat white 
 church. And you will agree with me, that there is 
 nothing so delightful as a neat village church. 
 
 On ascending the hill above Tail End, I turned 
 round to take perhaps a last farewell of one of the 
 sweetest vales under heaven. " Happy tenants of 
 this happy vale," exclaimed my sister, " you little 
 know the blessings you enjoy. Nature has heaped 
 her richest beauties around you. Every returning 
 day presents you a picture which all the pen- 
 cils in the world cannot imitate. Surely a scene 
 like this must impress the heart with feelings of de- 
 votion, and prompt the ready song of praise to Him 
 who thus bounteously prepares for the highest gra- 
 tification of his creatures." " I agree with you
 
 LETTER VII. 95 
 
 there," said my uncle ; " I have long held it as a 
 favourite opinion, that the Deity has designed us 
 for much of what is called pleasures of sense. Had 
 it not been so, why have we all this diversity of 
 colours in nature ? One would have done for us 
 the rest are given for pleasure. One sound might 
 have served all the business of life ; but we are 
 presented with an almost infinite variety of sounds, 
 all agreeable in their different tones these are in- 
 tended for pleasure. The beautiful variety in the 
 herbs and flowers is for our amusement. Every 
 species of tree has a different hue, because these 
 hues are agreeable. The earth is green, the rocks 
 are grey, and the sky is blue for our pleasure. Even 
 these are again varied to please us the morning is 
 spangled with a thousand dyes, the mid-day sky is 
 speckled with clouds, the evening tinged with gold 
 and crimson, and the silent night gemmed with liv- 
 ing lustre to please us. The charming sensation of 
 heat, the softness of the grass we tread, and the 
 sweetness of the air we breathe, are all intended to 
 give us pleasure." And turning to my sisler with 
 a smile, " Nor is ' the human face divine' less an 
 object of pleasure. The unequalled lustre of the 
 sparkling eye, the soft vermillion of the cheek and 
 lips, the snowy whiteness of the teeth, the sha- 
 dowy brown of those waving ringlets which adorn 
 the face on either side, are all designed for the plea- 
 sure of man." " But," replied my sister, with a 
 blush, "there are persons who imagine they are 
 pleasing our bounteous Creator, by stripping the
 
 96 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 female face of those waving ringlets you so much 
 admire and call it religion !" " And there are 
 some persons," said my father. " who imagine they 
 please themselves," looking under my sister's bon- 
 net, " by concealing their faces altogether under a 
 stack of straw and call it fashion !" 
 
 This conversation was interrupted by our arriv- 
 ing at High Close, where we had so delightful a 
 view of Loughrigg Tarn, with the soft meadow and 
 woodland surrounding it ; over which we caught a 
 glimpse of Windermere, and the high grounds about 
 Troutbeck and Orrest Head. Had the horse been 
 as fond of rural scenery as I was, we should have 
 gone no farther. But the cart kept moving on, and 
 we presently found ourselves descending towards 
 Langdale. Elterwater, with its morass, lay at our 
 feet, and Langdale Pikes, so often an object of 
 beauty, now stood in all their majesty, close to us. 
 
 We passed a few straggling farm houses, at Elter- 
 water head, and began to ascend, by the slate quar- 
 ries, to Little Langdale. We now found ourselves 
 in a country of comparative barrenness. Huge mis- 
 shapen hills presented themselves on every side. 
 The roads narrow and extremely rugged, steep and 
 difficult of ascent. 
 
 Little Langdale is constructed like a deep dish, 
 with a small dirty tarn in the middle. This vale is 
 situated in close contiguity to some of the highest 
 hills in the kingdom, in consequence of which it is 
 remarkably subject to rain. My uncle asked an old 
 man who was looking after some sheep on the hill,
 
 LETTER VII. 97 
 
 " If the rain in these parts was not very detrimental 
 to the crops . ?T> " Wya," replied he, " it rather 
 plagues us sometimes ; but we talk of gitting a lid 
 mead, an 1 then wee's be better off." " I think in- 
 deed," said my father, " you almost might get a lid 
 for it."" 
 
 Under a lofty hill to the east side of Little Lang- 
 dale, we called at a farm house belonging to an old 
 " statesman,"" as they term them here, called Wil- 
 liam Tyson. The good old hospitable farmer set 
 before us new milk, home-brewed beer, butter, bread 
 and cheese, and kindly invited us to " help oursels." 
 My uncle entered into conversation with him re- 
 specting the Lake Mountains. He appeared to 
 have read nothing but the book of nature. He was 
 well acquainted with the arrangement of the hills, 
 and gave us a better idea of the country, my uncle 
 observed, than could be obtained from the best writ- 
 ten work extant. The following is the substance of 
 the old man's remarks. 
 
 " I can compare the lake mountains, 11 said William 
 Tyson, " to nothing so natural as a cart wheel, with 
 nine spokes ; only they are some of them crooked. 
 I call the hills Bowfell, Scawfell, and the Pikes, the 
 nave of the wheel, and the long ridges which run 
 from them, I call the spokes. I will begin on the 
 east side ; and 1 will mark them on this flag with 
 this piece of burnt wood. Those three dots alto- 
 gether, are Bowfell, Scawfell, and the Pikes ; now, 
 that spoke is Langdale Pikes, and the range of hills 
 which run behind Grasmere, Rydal, Ambleside,
 
 98 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 Bowness, and down to Cartmelfell. The next spoke, 
 look you, is yon which you see across the valley ; it 
 runs down by Coniston Old Man, and divides Tor- 
 ver from Seathwaite. The third takes in Hard 
 Knot and Wrynose, and divides Seathwaite from 
 Eskdale. The fourth, shoots away to Ravenglass, 
 and divides Eskdale from Miterdale. The fifth 
 takes in the Screes, and divides Miterdale from 
 Wasdale. The sixth is a very thick knotty spoke, 
 and takes in Yewbarrow, Seatallan, and the Pillar, 
 and divides Wasdale from Ennerdale. The seventh 
 takes in High Stile and Red Pike, and divides En- 
 nerdale from Buttermere. The eighth takes in Caw- 
 sey Pike, Grasmoor, Whiteside, and Grisdale Pike, 
 and divides Buttermere from Borrowdale and Kes- 
 wick vale. The ninth, is a smaller spoke, and di- 
 vides Borrowdale from Leaths water. These spokes, 
 or branches of hills, are many of them again divided 
 into less branches, with vallies between them." 
 
 " This," observed my uncle, " is very like the ac- 
 count given by Mr. Wordsworth, in his late publi- 
 cation. Have you ever seen that book ?" " No," 
 replied the old man, " I see no books. But if we 
 were on Bowfell, I could let you see down all these 
 vallies in a two hour's walk ; though I am so plagued 
 with the rheumatism now, I don't think I could 
 get up so high." " Are we to suppose, 11 said my 
 uncle, " that Mr. Wordsworth has borrowed this 
 idea from an old dalelander, and then published it 
 as his own ?" " Oh, no," said my father, " Mr. 
 Wordsworth will call it a coincidence of ideas .'"
 
 LETTER VII. 99 
 
 After our refreshment in Little Langdale, we pro- 
 ceeded to Langdale Head, along a road of nature's 
 own making, and a rough job she has made of it. 
 Though the jolting of the road was almost insup- 
 ]K>rtable, the view of Blea Tarn, with Laiigdale 
 Pikes beyond it, was exquisite. We rested awhile to 
 feast on the sublime scene, before we descended the 
 steep and rugged road into Langdale Head. This 
 head of the vale was the wildest spot I had yet seen, 
 surrounded on every side but one by hills whose 
 summits appeared to hold communion with the skies 
 we saw no possible egress. A few lonely farm 
 houses invited us to seek refreshment, which was now 
 become necessary. The mistress of the house where 
 we alighted, was one of those interesting females 
 whose countenances are indexes to every thing ge- 
 nerous. She presented us with bread and butter 
 and new milk. While we feasted on this delicious 
 mountain fare, she informed us that there was no 
 road into Borrowdale excepting over a place called 
 the Stake, which was so steep that we could only 
 pass it on foot, and even that with difficulty, as it 
 was nearly two thousand feet high. Besides, she 
 said, the day was far advanced, and there was not 
 another house within ten miles. And in conclusion 
 pressed us very hard to stay all night in her cottage ; 
 where, though the fare and accommodations might 
 be homely, the meat was wholesome, and the beds 
 clean. My uncle felt himself so fatigued with rid- 
 ing over the hill from Langdale, that his own limbs
 
 100 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 and the good woman's presuasion soon induced him 
 to accept her hospitable offer. 
 
 When we had a little recovered our fatigue, we 
 rambled down the vale, to admire the beauty and 
 sublimity of this astonishing place. As we wandered 
 along the margin of the river we fell in with a rather 
 intelligent rustic, who was fishing, with considerable 
 success. My sister was exceedingly delighted with 
 the sport, and solicited the favour of the rod to try 
 her hand ; and either by skill or chance drew a trout 
 to the shore. She was so much elated with her 
 success, that she would not quickly have restored 
 the rod to its owner, had not a shower compelled us 
 all to seek shelter in the peasant's cottage, which 
 luckily happened to be near. He kindly invited us 
 to take a little refreshment, as he said, " in a free 
 way ;" and we would not hurt the poor man's pride 
 by a refusal. We must be fatigued with walking, 
 he observed, " For these quality sort of folk can 
 bide nought." He therefore pressed us to taste a 
 little whisky, which he represented as genuine. It 
 being a liquor my father had never tasted, he was 
 easily induced to accept the kindly meant offer. 
 My uncle too was pleased with it, and asked him 
 where he procured it. He replied, with a signifi- 
 cant wave of his head, " it is made in the neighbour- 
 ing mountains. But the person who makes it, will 
 sell it to none but friends, because it is smuggled. 1 ' 
 My uncle who is not only a loyalist but a patriot, 
 in their unadulterated acceptation, looked very ear- 
 nestly at our host, and replied, " I had formed a
 
 LETTER VII. 101 
 
 much better opinion of you than to suppose you 
 would have encouraged such pests of society as smug- 
 glers, by purchasing their illicit goods ! Do you 
 know that by every gallon you purchase, you are 
 actually robbing the public to the amount of the 
 duty on the article ?" " I know nothing about that," 
 said he ; " but I know that several gentlemen and 
 
 respectable tradesmen and even the parson of 
 
 encourage him. And when such men lead the way, 
 I think I may safely follow." " If, these men," 
 said my uncle, " choose to act contrary to the laws 
 of the country, this is no excuse for you. You owe 
 obedience to the government, and are bound to sup- 
 port it." " And so I will," he replied, " to the last 
 drop of my blood. But these gentlemen are all loyal 
 too, for they signed the loyal address as well as me, 
 and are taking all the methods they can to crush 
 the radicals." " They are only half and half loy- 
 alists," said my uncle, " if they defend the king with 
 one hand and rob him with the other." But finding 
 the poor man so resolute to copy the example of his 
 superiors, whether right or wrong, my uncle desisted ; 
 and the evening, soon after, clearing up, we thanked 
 him for his civility, and left the cottage. As we 
 walked on, I peeped over my uncle's arm, and ob- 
 served him writing in his memorandum book Mem : 
 To send a few copies of Dr. Franklin's Strictures 
 on Smuggling, into this country. 
 
 When we regained the farm house at Langdale 
 Head, the farmer and his servants were coming in 
 from the mowing field. This may appear strange
 
 ]02 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 to you, when you recollect it is now the middle of 
 August. It seemed curious to me. When we left 
 Preston, they had nearly finished their corn harvest; 
 and here at a distance of only sixty miles, they are 
 commencing their hay harvest. 
 
 The farmer gave us a hearty welcome to his "hum- 
 ble cot and hamely fare ;" and my uncle and he en- 
 tered warmly into conversation respecting sheep 
 farms. 
 
 While my father, my uncle, and the farmer were 
 thus employed, I and my sister, the farmer's daugh- 
 ter, (a very pretty girl by the bye,) the farmer's son, 
 and a young person or two beside, amused ourselves 
 by telling stories behind the long table. The far- 
 mer's son was an excellent hand ; and told them 
 with quite a dramatic effect. This manner of spend- 
 ing the evening appeared rather novel to me, but 
 from what I can learn it is the usual plan in this 
 country. When the labour of the day is over they 
 retire to the fire, in winter ; and behind the long 
 table, or else to the stone at the door, in summer. 
 
 " I wish," said the farmer's pretty daughter, "that 
 I had nothing to do but travel over the hills. I 
 should like it exceedingly." You see, Tom, she 
 was a girl of taste. " If thou heel tJiat u'ish" said 
 her mother, " thou wod ivant summet else." " Yes," 
 said her brother, "she wod be lik't tailyer: A 
 tailyer was yance coming from wark, and a fairy com 
 to him, and told him he mud hev three wishes. 
 Then, sed he, I wish to be the best singer in this 
 country ; nest I wish every thing I pull at may
 
 LETTEE VH. 103 
 
 stretch out a yard ivery way ; and then I can make 
 all my screads into waistcoat pieces ; next I wish that 
 ivery thing I strike at may drop to pieces, and then 
 nobody dare skit at me for being a tailycr. It shall 
 be so in twenty-four hours, said the fairy. The 
 next evening the tailyer went to a crag and sat 
 him down to sing ; and was so delighted with his 
 singing that he blew his nose ; his nose stretched 
 out a yard every way, according to his second wish. 
 The poor fellow was almost mad with vexation ; and 
 in his anger, struck his knee with his hand ; the 
 knee instantly dropped to pieces, according to his 
 third wish. And the poor tailyer hopped home 
 again, with one leg and a huge nose, as the fruits 
 of his wishes. 1 ' 1 " Our Mary would be no better," 
 said the mother, " if she had three wishes." Mary 
 looked archly at her mother, (for she was witty as 
 well as handsome,) and observed that any of us 
 would be as foolish as her in our wishes. After a 
 few remarks, it was agreed, that we should each 
 make one wish ; that we should write them on slips 
 of paper, and put them under an inverted basin on 
 the table. That when we had all done, I should 
 take them out and read them. All the company, 
 my father even, joined us at this rural game of wish- 
 ing. Paper was produced ; and after a long silence, 
 and much study, the various wishes were deposited 
 safely under the basin. How loudly every heart 
 beat, how slowly every breath was drawn, and how 
 steadily every eye followed the motion of my hand, 
 I leave you to judge. Had the fate of empires
 
 304 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 hung on the contents of the basin, it could not have 
 excited a higher interest. I enjoyed the suspense ; 
 and slowly drew out the first billet it was 
 
 My uncle's wish. 
 "l WISH FOR GOOD FELLOWSHIP THROUGH THE WORLD." 
 
 " I should have known that to be my uncle's wish," 
 said my sister, " even without his name. It is so 
 like him. 1 ' I lifted the basin again, and drew out 
 
 The farmer's wish. 
 "i WISH FOR DRY WEDDUR TUL HAYTIM is O'ER." 
 
 " A very natural wish for a farmer," said my fa- 
 ther. " And a very comfortable wish for us," said 
 my sister ; " considering that we have to continue 
 our excursion sometime yet." I slowly drew another 
 slip of paper from beneath the basin and read 
 
 The daughter's wish. 
 "MAY i NEVER REPENT OF HAVING SEEN HIM." 
 
 " Seen wha ?" asked the mother. The game 
 is wishing^ not confessing," replied the daughter. 
 I thought this was a sensible expression ; and she 
 spoke it so prettily. I should have wished to know 
 who this him was. Though I think it could not 
 be me. The next slip of paper happened to be 
 
 My father's wish. 
 
 "i WISH FOLKS WOULD WISH FOR MORE SENSE, AND LET 
 WISHING ALONE." 
 
 " Wishing for more sense is wishing," said my 
 sister. But my father made no answer ; and I drew 
 out 
 
 The wife's wish. 
 
 " I WISH DUNNEY MAI HEF A BuL KOFE.'' 
 
 " A Bull calf!" exclaimed my father; "what
 
 LETTER VII. 105 
 
 particular benefit would that be ?" " Why," said 
 she, " we could feed it off, and then make cheese ; 
 and there would be some benefit in that." The 
 farmer acquiesced, and I drew out 
 
 The son's wish. 
 
 " I WISH THAT ALL I CAN SEE WAS MINE." 
 
 " All you can see !" exclaimed his father ; " pray 
 what can you see but the house ? and that will be 
 yours ; so you are likely to get your wish." " I 
 can see more than the house," said he ; fixing his 
 eyes on my sister. She blushed, and he bore her 
 company. There was now only one paper under 
 the basin, which was 
 
 My sister's ivish. 
 "l WISH TO BE CONTENT WITH WHAT HEAVEN SENDS." 
 
 They all agreed that this was the best wish that 
 had been read. And as the evening was far ad- 
 vanced, we proposed an adjournment. " You'll only 
 find our rooms plain," said the farmer's wife; "but 
 they are clean ; and I hope you'll sleep comforta- 
 bly." After bidding them good night, we retired 
 to our repose, with light spirits, though a little 
 weary. 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 
 J_(in(/'t><> Head, August, 1820,
 
 ( 106 ) 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 THE BORROWDALE POET, WITH SAMPLES AND CRI- 
 TICISMS STONETHWAITE FLOODS LIME, WA- 
 TER, AND FIRE BOWDER STONE GORGE OF 
 
 BORROWDALE LOWDORE. 
 
 DEAR TOM, " Ye mim gang up t* hill about a 
 quarter ev a mile ; then ye mun cross t 1 beck, and 
 gang up tother side to t 1 top ; then ye mun gang oor 
 a bit ev mossy ground, an' turn to your left hand ; 
 then ye mun gang down t' hill into Borrowdale, an 1 
 t 1 first house ye come at, will be Steanthet ; and then 
 ye kna ye can enquire again." Such were the direc- 
 tions which the servant-man gave us as we left the 
 cart and prepared to climb the Stake into Borrow- 
 dale. 'i Yell find it a lang way an 1 varra brant," 
 said he, stopping the horse, "an 1 I doubt that 
 bonny young woman will be sadly teared afore she 
 gits to t 1 top." 
 
 We had scarcely taken leave of our rustic conduc- 
 tor, when a rather singular personage, almost out of 
 breath, overtook us. He had staid last night, he said, 
 at the inn, in great Langdale, and was intending to 
 proceed over the Stake into Borrowdale. I said 
 nothing ; but, between you and me, Tom, he would
 
 LETTER VIII. 107 
 
 have made a good Parson Adams I mean with re- 
 gard to his figure. He informed us that he was a 
 poet, in search of rural subjects ; for he believed 
 that hills, and vales, and rocks, and woods, had a 
 thousand times more poetry in them, than the most 
 splendid scenes of human art. " Here is a new cu- 
 riosity," whispered my sister; "here is a poetical 
 Doctor Syntax in search of the picturesque. 11 
 
 " I think," said my uncle, anxious to commence a 
 conversation in which the poet might join us, " that 
 Pope is undoubtedly the finest describer of rural 
 scenery, in the list of poets." " I beg to differ from 
 you there," said the poet ; " what can we compre- 
 hend from his Windsor Forest, to which I presume 
 you allude ? 
 
 ' The earth rolls back beneath the flying steed.' 
 
 If the earth roll from under the horse, there is no 
 occasion for the horse to fly ; and if the horse fly 
 there is no occasion for the earth to roll back ; -to 
 say nothing of the falsehood of both members of the 
 proposition." " And pray," said my uncle, " what 
 would you have said ?" " I, or any other poet of 
 the modern school," he replied, " would merely have 
 said ; 
 
 ' WheH the rider only whips, 
 
 ' He lifts one leg and then another ; 
 
 ' And then a third leg up he lifts, 
 ' And then he lifts its brother. 
 
 ' But when the rider whips and spurs, 
 
 4 He lifts two legs together ; 
 ' The other two so quick lie lifts, 
 
 1 You can't distinguish whether.' "
 
 108 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 " This,' 1 said my father, " is undoubtedly very 
 beautiful ; but I am so dull, I really do not see 
 where the beauty lies." "Oh," replied the poet, 
 " the beauty consists in the minuteness of the detail. 
 Any person might tell you that a horse was swift ; 
 but only a real poet could point out the minute par- 
 ticulars of that swiftness. The more of these inci- 
 dental points we can collect together, the finer we 
 reckon the poetry. 11 " Then I perceive, 11 observed 
 my father, " that fashionable poetry is something 
 like old fashioned clumsy prose. 11 " You are no 
 poet, I perceive, 11 replied the poet indignantly. 
 
 My sister, wishing to restore harmony between 
 the poet and my father, observed, " That Gold- 
 smith^ Deserted Village is certainly equal to any of 
 our modern poems. It abounds in detail, and minute 
 
 description " " I beg pardon for interrupting 
 
 you, 11 rejoined the poet ; " but Goldsmith is far too 
 general and too artificial in his descriptions. He 
 aims, like Thompson, at making a vivid picture 
 rather than a faithful one. His alehouse scene, 
 which was formerly much admired, is like any thing 
 but an alehouse. I will repeat you a few stanzas on 
 this subject of my own composing : 
 
 ' Upon the hearthstone burns the fire, 
 4 A fire that's made of peats ; 
 
 1 The peats were got on Hagdale fell, 
 ' And dried with summer heats. 
 
 The guests are seated round the board. 
 
 ' A board with pipes bespread, 
 
 And each has got a pint of ale 
 
 4 The pints are made of lead.
 
 LETTER VIII. 109 
 
 ' The board is made of ashen wood 
 
 4 A simple three-legged stand ; 
 ' Which the good housewife washes clean, 
 
 ' And makes it white with sand. 
 
 4 Tjie landlord wears a fustian coat ; 
 
 4 They call him Andrew Cheetham ; 
 ' He smokes his pipe and cracks his joke, 
 
 ' And drinks when any treat him. 
 
 4 The ale is strong, and farmer Hodge 
 4 Can hardly keep his legs ' " 
 
 This elegant specimen of the modern school was 
 however interrupted ; for by this time, we had reach- 
 ed the crossing of the beck, of which the farmer's 
 servant had informed us. The poet, whose eyes 
 were naturally turned upwards, looking for the in- 
 spiration of his muse, never discovered the brook, 
 and tumbled in. My father, who was stepping up- 
 on a smooth stone had nearly been thrown into the 
 same stream, by the conjoint influence of the poet 
 and his poetry. Without much difficulty the drip- 
 ping poet was safely landed upon the farther bank. 
 My sister wiped the water from his face with her 
 "kerchief, and soothed him with the prospect of being 
 soon dry. My uncle deplored the accident, and 
 cheered him with the contents of a small flask of 
 brandy, which he had brought from Ambleside. My 
 father pretended to lament very much that this ac- 
 cident had deprived us of the remainder of his 
 beautiful (an emphasis on beautiful) poem : but 
 hoped that this dip in the Heliconian stream would 
 brighten up his poetic powers, and be the means of 
 bringing the modern school to still higher, or, to 
 use their own term, to more minute perfection.
 
 110 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 The poet appeared neither to admire the immer- 
 sion in the stream, nor my father's ill timed jests 
 upon the subject ; and we continued to ascend the 
 hill in silence. When we arrived near the summit, 
 we sat down by mutual consent, as we had often 
 done before. But how shall I make you see, as the 
 Trench say, the magnificent prospect which now 
 lay before us ! Langdale, with all its inequalities, 
 lay at our feet ; at a beautiful distance, lay Winder- 
 mere, with all its circumjacencies of woods and hills. 
 The charming vale of Coniston opened just before 
 us. Beyond these, were Lancaster and Ulvcrston 
 sands, Low Furness, the sea, the Isle of Man, the 
 town of Lancaster and a large extent of level coun- 
 ty beyond it, and, but for Longridge fell, I could 
 have seen Preston. You cannot conceive how my 
 heart beat when my eye glanced over the spot where 
 I first drew breath. The blue vapour which ho- 
 vered over the place where Preston must be, might 
 arise from the very town which is so dear to us all. 
 I could not help thinking, does any heart feel a 
 want of us ? Does any individual in that proud but 
 delightful town, ever turn a thought towards the 
 lake tourists ? It might be a weakness in me, Tom, 
 but at that moment, I would have given half the 
 world, had it been mine to give, for one glimpse 
 ******.**** 
 
 [Here a few lines are cart-fully erased in the original letter, which 
 shall by no means attempt to supply. ---Ed. 1 
 
 We at length reach the highest elevation, and 
 began to descend into the grand and magnificent
 
 LETTER VIII. Ill 
 
 vale of Borrowdalc. The scene here was sublime 
 beyond expression. And you know, Tom, I am an 
 enthusiastic admirer of the sublime in nature ex- 
 cept in the fair sex, and there, I confess, Tom, I 
 give preference to the beautiful^ and I am much 
 mistaken if my brother at Cambridge would not do 
 the same, if he had seen as many lovely faces as I 
 have done since I entered the lake district. You 
 could perhaps find no other place where you could 
 meet with so few homely women as in this country. 
 They are almost universally distinguished for a 
 freshness of complexion, (which in spite of all the 
 dandyism of the day I must and will admire,) for a 
 symmetry of shape and an agility of limb, which 
 strongly reminds one of the fabled Arcadia. 
 
 When we reached the foot bridge at the head of 
 Borrowdale, we had a long consultation how we were 
 to pass over it. The bridge consisted of nothing 
 but a small oak tree, about six inches in diameter, 
 flatted a little on one side. It was laid across the 
 river, and rested upon two rocks, presenting no very 
 pleasing prospect of the stream dashing over the 
 crags at a considerable depth below. The poet 
 could compare the passage to nothing but Scylla 
 and Charybdis. My uncle thought it resembled 
 the access to the Mahomedan paradise, as described 
 in the Alcoran. And my father, pointing to the 
 bridge, thought it was no great compliment to our 
 united wisdom to say that we were put to a stand by 
 so small a matter ! My sister, lovely and lively as 
 the summer butterfly, stepped across the narrow
 
 112 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 path with as much gaiety and agility as if she had 
 been parading Avenham terrace. The poet gazed 
 with admiration; and, whether stimulated by the 
 dip in the brook, or that there is something poetical 
 about a handsome female, I cannot say, but he ac- 
 tually complimented her with the following im- 
 promptu : 
 
 " Light and airy, trips the fairy 
 
 Maiden o'er the stream ; 
 Fair in feature, lovely creature, 
 
 Nature's brightest beam. 
 
 Young and blooming, unpresuming, 
 
 Innocently gay ; 
 God befriend thee, angels tend thee ; 
 
 Shall thy poet say." 
 
 "'Shall thy poet say!"" exclaimed my father; 
 "should it not be, 'shall thy poet sing ? You 
 know poets never say any thing : they always sing 
 their wishes and their thanks. You will recollect 
 what De Foe says, 
 
 ' They unsung their praises---and unsaid their prayers.' 
 
 evidently alluding to the poets and the parsons. It 
 is undoubtedly the office of poets to sing." The 
 poet turned round his vinegar aspect, and replied, 
 " Do you never sacrifice a single word for rhyme ? 
 Sing would no.t have rhymed with gay!" "You 
 are right," observed my uncle, " according to But- 
 ler's rule 
 
 ' One for sense and one for rhyme; 
 Arc quite sufficient at a time. 1 " 
 
 " You must recollect,"" said the poet, "that this
 
 LETTER VIII. 113 
 
 is only the first edition. In the second I may per- 
 haps alter say into pray thus, 
 
 ' Shall your poet pray.'' " 
 
 Whether my father did not wish to persecute the 
 poor bard any more, or that he really approved of 
 the proposed alteration, I cannot say; but he pur- 
 sued the subject no farther. 
 
 I wish I could convey some idea of the grandeur 
 of this secluded vale, environed by such majestic 
 mountains. At the foot of the hills, there is but 
 just room for the bed of the river; and our unfre- 
 quented track lay along the declivity of the hill. 
 The stupendous mountains, on either hand, reared 
 themselves into the clouds, with acclivities so nearly 
 perpendicular, that the eye felt fatigued in scanning 
 their bold and rugged summits. Travelling five or 
 six miles between these gigantic walls of grey rock, 
 we reached a patch of cultivated ground; where 
 crossing a rather superior bridge, we found our- 
 selves in a genuine mountain road. These roads 
 are never repaired by any regular plan; but the 
 farmers occasionally, as they return from the fields, 
 fill a cart with stones, and empty them in the dirti- 
 est part of the road thus exchanging one inconve- 
 nience for another. 
 
 The first human habitation we beheld, was ' the 
 little obscure village of Stonethwaite, neatly shel- 
 tered with trees. " We are now," exclaimed my 
 sister, approaching a civilized country." "In- 
 deed," rejoined my uncle, " here are symptoms of
 
 114 LETTEllS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 civilization." " Yes," said my father ; " and supe- 
 rior to the honest Hibernian's, who after crossing a 
 desolate moor, was cheered with the sight of a man 
 in a gibbet. ' Arrah, honey I 1 he exclaimed, ' we 
 are coming into a civilized country, sure enough, 
 for here is a man in a gibbet P " 
 
 We had now traversed nearly ten miles of the 
 roughest road in the north of England, and we na- 
 turally supposed from our own feelings, that my sis- 
 ter must be tired. We therefore called at the first 
 house in the village ; which from the good woman's 
 account, was inhabited by a family from Lancaster. 
 The estate had recently been left them by a deceased 
 relation, and they retired to it in order to spend the 
 rest of their days in peace and comfort. Here we 
 were regaled jndth oat bread and butter, and new 
 milk, to which my uncle added a little rum he had 
 brought from Ambleside. And, believe me, Tom, 
 if there be a delicacy, exquisite beyond all others, 
 it is bread and butter ; moistened with rum and new 
 milk ; after crossing the Stake into Borrowdalc, 
 never in my life did I enjoy so delicious a treat. 
 It seemed to give new animation to my whole frame ; 
 and the fatigues of the journey vanished before its 
 magic influence. 
 
 Having sated our appetites, and rested awhile, 
 we engaged the farmer's market cart to carry us for- 
 ward towards Keswick. The farmer's son, an intel- 
 ligent, jocular young man, was appointed to be our 
 conductor. As we moved along the vale, he pointed 
 out to us, the 'ravages which the heavy rain:; h id
 
 LETTEK VIII. 115 
 
 occasioned on the boat-race day ; (mentioned in a 
 preceding letter ;) in many places the streams from 
 the mountains had covered large tracks of meadow 
 of several acres extent, with stones and gravel. In 
 other places, the streams had ploughed up the sur- 
 face, leaving furrows nearly three feet deep and as 
 many yards wide ; throwing the rubbish upon the 
 uncut grass. 
 
 On the night of the regatta day, just after the 
 dalelanders had retired to rest, the young man told 
 us, the river began to swell beyond its usual bunks 
 The noise of the torrent was awful, and a house near 
 its banks, not far from Stonethwaite, became the 
 victim of its ungovernable fury. The stream car- 
 ried away the the corner of the cottage ; and the- 
 overflowing river, by surrounding the house, cut oft' 
 all egress. One of the boys was fortunate enough 
 to make his escape, before the water became too deep; 
 but the mother, with two or three helpless infants, 
 dared not to trust herself to the darkness of the night 
 and the accumulating flood. Every moment the 
 water rose higher, and every moment the situation 
 of the cottagers became more desperate. The stream 
 had just carried away the corner of the cottage, the 
 young man said, when he and some others arrived. 
 The distracted mother appeared at an upper win- 
 rlow, with two children in her arms crying for help, 
 in terms that would have melted any heart, not cal- 
 lous to the voice of humanity. Our guide told us 
 with much modesty, and notwithout a blush, that 
 he was fortunate enough to extricate a very lovely
 
 116 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES, 
 
 young woman who was nearly falling a victim to 
 the flood. " I got her," said he, " behind me, on the 
 back of Whitefoot, (Whitefoot is an excellent wader,) 
 and she clung so closely round me, and felt so thank- 
 ful for my kindness ;" " indeed," he continued, " I 
 felt as happy as she could do, that I had it in my 
 power to save her life." 
 
 I think I have heard you say, Tom, that there 
 is in every heart, which has not erased every trait 
 of its heavenly original, a natural stimulant which 
 spurs it forward to the assistance of a female in dis- 
 tress ; and that to such a heart there is no pleasure 
 equal to an opportunity of exercising this benevo- 
 lent disposition. You add, I believe, that it is an 
 unerring proof of depravity when a man can remain 
 unmoved by a woman's cries. And that you would 
 as soon trust yourself in the paws of a tiger, as in 
 the hands of a man who can smile at a woman's tears. 
 And that you would avoid, as you would avoid a 
 rattle snake, the man who would cause them. Was 
 it to this heavenly principle that the young man 
 owed the pleasure he felt, on preserving the life of 
 the fair cottager ? 
 
 As we proceeded down the vale, it began to ex- 
 pand, and about the romantic village of Crosthwaite, 
 I never saw any thing more delightful. The hills 
 were so bold and magnificent the fields so beauti- 
 ful the foliage of the woods so luxuriant and the 
 windings of the river so fantastic. 
 
 " Happy ^people !" exclaimed my uncle, " you are 
 ignorant of the vexations attendant on more public
 
 LETTER VIII. 117 
 
 life !" " They are ignorant enough," replied the 
 young man ; " but much less so, I understand, than 
 they were a century ago." " Pray," said my sister, 
 " what might their state of ignorance be at that 
 day ?" " I will give you an instance of it," continu- 
 ed the youth. 
 
 " A long time, I cannot tell how long, an old 
 man had been beyond Keswick to fetch a load of 
 lime. In these days they carried all their lime in 
 sacks, upon horses ; for carts were not then invented. 
 Indeed they had not a road which a cart could have 
 travelled on. When he came at that bridge which 
 we have just passed, there came a shower of rain 
 the lime began to smoke and the old farmer began 
 to fear his horse and sack would take fire. In order 
 to prevent these dreadful accidents, he procured a 
 hatful of water from the river, to quench the lime. 
 This, instead of curing, increased the smoke ; and 
 the old man emptied the lime into the river, very 
 wisely declaring, * That the Dule was i't seek, for 
 water wod' n't slocken it f" 
 
 He told a number of amusing stories ; particular- 
 ly one which even made my father reduce his 
 misanthropic features into a smile. And I doubt 
 not but it would have become the subject of some 
 future epic, had we not unfortunately left the poet 
 at Stonethwaite. 
 
 " A number of Borrowdale wise men once resolv- 
 ed to secure the cuckoo in the vale, by erecting a 
 wall across the entrance, and thus make summer 
 last all the year. They had just finished the fence,
 
 118 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 and wene exulting in the success of their wisdom,, 
 when the cuckoo flew over the inclosure ! ' Od 
 zose,' exclaimed an old man, ' if i 1 had been a single 
 cam heegher, it cud n't a gitten oot !' " 
 
 " I really," said my uncle, " do not know what to 
 think of such tales as these. They seem to have 
 been invented to amuse children with." " The real 
 explanation," said the young man, " is, that Borrow- 
 dale is to the north, what Ireland is to the kingdom 
 in general. If any person can invent a ridiculous 
 story, it is immediately charged to the account of 
 poor Borrowdale. And through every part of the 
 country, the blunders of Borrowdale are repeated 
 by way of diversion. In short, Borrowdale is the 
 Ireland of the Lakes." 
 
 These stories brought us to Bowder Stone. A 
 most immense fragment of rock, evidently detached 
 at some period, from the mountain above. It at pre- 
 sent rests on a thin edge, and, to all appearance, 
 might be overturned by the strength of a child. It 
 rests on its angle, and through a hollow under it, 
 my father and uncle shook hands. 
 
 Winding along a pleasing road, by the river side, 
 we at length came to what is termed the Gorge of 
 Borrowdale ; that is, the opening of the vale to 
 Derwent Lake. Here we found the ruins of a new 
 bridge which had been washed away on the regatta 
 day. It seemed that Borrowdale had been severely 
 visited by the storm. Two good looking men were 
 poring over the ruins of the bridge. On enquiry we 
 found they had been the undertakers of the bridge,
 
 LETTER VIII. 119 
 
 which they were obliged to uphold for seven years. 
 One of them said he had a family and only a small 
 capital, and must he ruined beyond redemption ; 
 which, he said, was a hard case, for the plan, and 
 not the workmanship, was in fault. 
 
 After sympathizing with the masons awhile, we 
 drove forward to Lowdore. It will not be necessary 
 to describe this cascade ; . indeed it would be impos- 
 sible. It is completely embosomed in wood, so thick 
 and dark, the stream is so impetuous, and the fall 
 so rugged, that my sister really trembled as we ap- 
 proached. The noise is quite astounding. We 
 gained a rock in the middle of the river, by means 
 of a foot bridge ; here reclined on a wooden benchfc 
 we contemplated the grandeur and majesty of the 
 scene. The sun was just setting his last rays shot 
 dimly through the matted foliage the overhanging 
 rocks, covered with brown and olive lichens the 
 gnarled and fantastic trees growing out of the fissures 
 the stream plunging precipitously down the rocky 
 steep the deafening noise which accompanied it 
 and the indescribable awe which always pervades 
 my breast, when I contemplate scenes like these, of 
 superlative grandeur do not admit of any descrip- 
 tion ; they must be seen and felt to be understood. 
 
 It was sometime ere we could tear ourselves from 
 this pleasing scene of solemn grandeur, to pursue 
 our road along the banks of Derwent Water to Kes- 
 wick the beauties of which must form the subject 
 of another epistle. 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 
 Kestcick, Aug. 1820.
 
 ( 120 ) 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 KESWICK SAIL ON DERWENT LAKE CROSTHWAITE 
 
 CHURCH-YARD GOUGH ASCENT OF HELVELLYX 
 
 LYNN-GILL COTTAGE PATTERDALE. 
 
 DEAR TOM, Keswick is by far the prettiest place 
 I have yet seen ; but the greatest curiosity we found 
 in it was a bell in the Town-hall cupola, with this 
 date on it " 1001 ." My sister doubted whether nu- 
 merical figures were introduced into England at so 
 early a period. My uncle asserted that figures 
 were introduced at that time, " For,' 1 said he, "there 
 are other dates of similar antiquity. At Rupsey 
 in Hampshire is one of 1011, and another at Wig- 
 nail Hall in Hertfordshire of 1016." " Are you 
 sure," said my father, " that these dates are not 
 names ? May not what you call 1011, be IOH ; 
 and your 1016 be IOIG?" "I own," said my un- 
 cle, "that there have been no manuscripts disco- 
 vered containing numerical figures of an earlier date 
 than 1256, in some copies of Johannes de sacro 
 Bosco; but there have been inscriptions found as 
 early as 975." "If," retorted my father, "the 
 stonemasons were more learned than the clergy of 
 the tenth century, they have sadly lost their pre-
 
 LETTER IX. 121 
 
 eminence in OUT time." " They have indeed," ob- 
 served Mr. Otley, who had accompanied us thither; 
 " for there is a milestone in the vilkge of Shap, 
 with sixteen cut in this form : 
 
 &o Kendal X6. * 
 
 I began to tremble, for we had started an anti- 
 quarian subject ; and you know with my uncle they 
 are endless themes. Luckily, however, the land- 
 lord came to inform us that the boat was ready ; 
 and our intelligent acquaintance, Mr. Otley, very 
 kindly lent us his company. A fine brisk wind 
 agitated the water, and I felt I cannot tell how. I 
 did not feel afraid of being drowned, though I did 
 not conceive such a thing impossible. Lest any 
 person should suspect that I was afraid, I stepped 
 into the boat before any of them, and handed in my 
 sister; taking care however to keep in the middle, 
 though I did not think I should absolutely upset it 
 by standing on the edge. We pushed from shore, 
 and I felt queerer and queerer. My eyes dazzled 
 so that I could see nothing. I recollected several 
 stories of persons having been drowned among the 
 lakes then I thought of you and of some other 
 persons in Preston. The boat turned a little and 
 the wind blew against the side of it, and rocked 
 us like a cradle. Though the sun shone clear, I 
 felt very chill, and something seemed to be creeping 
 up my back this I naturally attributed to the fa- 
 tigue of yesterday. However as we got into deeper 
 water, I felt myself recovering ; I think the moun-
 
 122 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 tain air braced my nerves, for the chillness began 
 to leave me, and the creeping on my back gradually 
 vanished. And I felt only an occasional thump at 
 my heart. 
 
 I can attribute all this to nothing but the effects of 
 the aquatic air on my lungs ; though I felt no effect 
 of that kind where the water was smooth. I cannot 
 account for it; and I assure you, Tom, I was not 
 afraid. After we landed, I stood on the shore 
 sometime to take a view of the scenery, in order to 
 give you a description of the lake as seen from a 
 boat in a storm. But this would have been decep- 
 tion, which shall never be exercised towards you 
 while I have a heart to feel and a head to think. 
 
 Having waited all the forenoon in hopes of the 
 cap clearing off Skiddaw, and seeing no immediate 
 prospect of our wishes being realized, we took a 
 walk with Mr. Otley as far as Crosthwaite church. 
 This walk is remarkably pleasant; the ground on 
 either hand being diversified with gentlemen's seats 
 and pleasure grounds. The church yard wears a 
 livelier aspect than any other we had seen during 
 our excursion, or indeed ever saw. The grave 
 stones are all neatly painted, the letters rendered 
 legible, and no appearance of lichens destroying the 
 frail memorials of the dead, as is usual in other bu- 
 rial grounds. My uncle could not conceal his plea- 
 sure and surprise. " It is owing chiefly," said our 
 friend, " to one Broomley, a painter in this town ; 
 a young man of considerable ingenuity, who first
 
 LETTER IX. 128 
 
 suggested the idea, and continues to embeHish the 
 spot at a cheap rate." 
 
 In our return we had some fine views of Derwent- 
 water, from some beautiful eminences in the path 
 homewards. We saw the residence of Mr. Southey 
 the poet laureate, and author of " Roderick the 
 last of the Goths," a work which you say is suffi- 
 cient to transform cowards into heroes. 
 
 Seeing no prospect of ascending Skiddaw that day, 
 and being assured that the summer had been very 
 unfavourable for mountain excursions, we relinquish- 
 ed with regret the design of climbing this giant hill. 
 \Ve therefore engaged a chaise to convey us to Leaths 
 Water, resolving to climb over Helvellyn that even- 
 ing. " You leave the young lady at Leaths Wa- 
 ter ?" said our friend. " No," replied she ; " it is 
 to indulge me that we shall go over Helvellyn." 
 " It is utterly impossible," said Mr. Otley ; " you 
 can never reach Patterdale by such a road." " Ac- 
 cording to your map," she replied, " there is a foot 
 path way ; and I wish to see the grandeur of the 
 setting sun from one of these mountain heads. I 
 might as well have remained at home, if I am only 
 to creep along the valleys. I wish to explore the 
 lake district to float on the bosom of the waters 
 to dash through the woods and Jthickets to climb 
 the rocks and scale the mountains. I am resolved" 
 said she with emphasis, " to see the country." " You 
 forget," said our intelligent friend, " in the warmth 
 of your admiration of these sublime scenes, that you 
 are but a woman, and but a delicate, though a lovely
 
 124 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 one. This mountain pass is so steep that scarcely 
 any thing can climb it, but the hardy fell sheep that 
 have been reared upon it, and the shepherds whom 
 custom has rendered almost as nimble as their sheep. 
 This hill is upwards of three thousand feet high ! 
 a height of which you can have no conception. 
 And it is not the height alone that makes me fear 
 for you ; the distance is above eight miles to the inn 
 after you leave the chaise. Night too is coming on ; 
 and I, who have been accustomed to the country, 
 know that after sunset, a thick mist will eollect, and 
 envelope the summit of the hill. There is no track 
 no guide no where to enquire. You may wan- 
 der on this accumulation of rocks till your tender 
 limbs share the fate of the amiable but unfortunate 
 
 Mr. Gough " 
 
 " Pray, 11 said my uncle, alarmed for the safety of 
 his niece, " what might his fate be ?" " He was 
 fond of nature in her fairest or her sublimest forms," 
 replied our friend ; " and often wandered over these 
 trackless moors and mountains. It is supposed he 
 had lost his way in the mist, and been precipitated 
 from some of the steep rocks ; for he was found at 
 the foot of a precipice, with his faithful dog beside 
 him. He appeared to have laid there many weeks. 
 This melancholy accident has been pathetically im- 
 proved under the powerful pen of Sir Walter Scott, 
 who has furnished a beautiful poem on his unhappy 
 fate, of which the following is a copy." 11
 
 LET Till IX. 
 
 125 
 
 n on tfjc Dcatfj of Ctjatica Gougt). 
 
 1 climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 
 
 Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; 
 
 All was still save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 
 And, starting around me, the echoes replied. 
 
 On the right, Strachen-edge round the Red Tarn was bending, 
 
 And Catchedecam its left verge was defending, 
 
 One huge nameless rock in front was impending, 
 
 When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer died. 
 
 Dark green was the spot, 'mid the dark mountain heather, 
 
 Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in decay, 
 Like the corpse of an outcast, abandoned to weather. 
 
 Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay : 
 Not yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
 For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 
 The much loved remains of his master defended, 
 And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 
 
 How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber 
 
 When the wind waved his garments how oft didst thou start 
 
 How many long days and long nights didst thou number, 
 Ere he faded before thee the friend of his heart ? 
 
 And ah ! was it meet that no requiem read o'er him ; 
 
 No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him ; 
 
 And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him, 
 Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart ? 
 
 When a prince to the fate of a pilgrim has yielded, 
 
 The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; 
 With escutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 
 
 And the pages stand mute by the canopied pall ; 
 Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleainim 
 In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming, 
 Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
 Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. 
 
 But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
 
 To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, 
 
 When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, 
 And draws his last breath by the side of his dam ; 
 
 And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
 
 Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, 
 
 With but one faithful friend to witness thy dying, 
 In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedecam. 
 
 My sister thanked our friend very kindly for this 
 beautiful piece of poetry. " 13ut, v said she, with u
 
 126 LETTEllS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 smile, " we will go over Helvellyn nevertheless. 
 Our kind friend then gave us the best directions he 
 could ; and we drove away for Leaths Water. The 
 evening was extremely fine, and the scenery grand 
 beyond description. As we arrived at the inn, the 
 Borrowdale hills began to throw a shade over the 
 western side of the Lake, and the poetic furor seized 
 my sister : 
 
 " Now sinking to his nightly rest, 
 
 The sun displays a softer gleam ; 
 A iid, lingering on the burnished west, 
 
 Flings o'er the hills a farewell gleam ; 
 And ev'ry valley, glen, and glade, 
 Are half in sunshine half ii 
 
 My uncle complimented her highly on the feeling 
 and smoothness of her verse, and thought she might 
 one day rival Mrs. Barbauld. My father said it was 
 very ridiculous for young women to be rhyming, 
 without they intended to be stage players. But you 
 know my father is not a poet, and whatever he can- 
 not do himself, he endeavours to undervalue; and 
 hence to make people think that it is choice, and 
 not necessity, which induces him to decline such 
 pursuits. 
 
 We stopped to refresh a little at the inn, and to 
 prepare for our pedestrian excursion over the hill 
 We engaged a very old man who appeared to fill 
 the .various offices of ostler, groom, boots, and plough- 
 boy, to set us into the road. He was a garrulous 
 old man, and told us a number of diverting stories 
 about the country ; and, among the rest, he said, 
 that before the present landlord came to the house,
 
 LETTER IX. 127 
 
 a person of the name of Stanley kept it, and had 
 the following verses on his sign : 
 
 John Stanley lives here, 
 
 And sells good ale ; 
 Pray call and drink 
 Ere it grows stale. 
 John succeeds his father Peter, 
 I'th' old man's time 'twas never better. 
 
 " What soart ev ale auld Peter keept, I can't 
 tell," observed the old man slyly, " but his son John 
 selt varra poor stuff indeed." 
 
 As we trudged along, we overtook a person whom 
 our guide told us was the schoolmaster of a neigh- 
 bouring village. As he would have to pass by the 
 foot of the hill, the old man very considerately for 
 himself, turned us over to the man of figures. The 
 latter seemed to have a great deal of that kind of 
 good 'nature which we occasionally meet with in 
 seclusions like these ; but which, in more populous 
 places, has been substituted by cold civility and 
 heartless compliments. 
 
 The schoolmaster informed us that there was a 
 nearer way through some fields to the mountain, 
 whidh he would shew us. My uncle, who has a 
 taste for the mathematics, entered very freely into 
 these abstruse disquisitions. My father would gladly 
 I believe, have interrupted them in their explana- 
 tion of the quadrature of the circle, but being per- 
 fectly ignorant of the subject, he was compelled to 
 be silent. Our two learned mathematicians having 
 nearly completed a new theory for finding the pro- 
 portion between the diameter and the circumference,
 
 .d LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 without paying much attention to the road, we came 
 rather suddenly to the end of the field. The school- 
 master walked up to the hedge, without observing 
 that there was a stiLe close to it- " There was a 
 stile in this place," he observed, " the last time I 
 came this road ; but I see they have made it up. 
 Never mind, 11 he continued, " we can climb over. 11 
 And instantly sprung over the hedge. " I fear," 
 said he, " that lovely young woman will not be able 
 to climb over; but here is a hole which we can 
 easily widen till she may creep through it." " I 
 thank you for your attention," replied my sister. 
 " but I had rather go over the stile !" " You see," 
 said jay uncle, " how we men of genius forget our- 
 selves. Mr. Schoolmaster at that moment could 
 have more easily found the quadrature of the circle, 
 than the straight line of the foot path. v " I think/' 
 said my sister, " that a painter might make a good 
 subject of it. He might describe the mathematician 
 climbing the hedge, and my humble self walking 
 leisurely through the stile." " Yes," said my father, 
 ' and he might very properly entitle his production 
 Genius and Common Sense /" " It has been 
 justly observed by a great author," said my uncle, 
 " that men of genius have more than common sense, 
 for we never see one follow the beaten road"'' " The 
 schoolmaster," added my father, "must, by this 
 rule, be a man of genius, for he refused to follow 
 the beaten road when he scaled the thorn hedge f* 
 " It was an equally just remark of Dean Swift's, 1 " 
 said the schoolmaster, " when some one asked him
 
 LETTEK IX. 1S9 
 
 the reason why men of genius were unable to pur- 
 sue the common occupations of life ? ' They are 
 not unable," 1 said the Dean ; ' a race horse could 
 carjry a pack saddle as well as an ass, but it will not 
 stoop to such drudgery. 1 " 
 
 Having escaped the inconveniences of the hedge, 
 we began to ascend the stupendous side of Helvel- 
 lyn; and the schoolmaster kindly volunteered to 
 accompany us half a mile up the hill. The sun 
 had apparently sunk behind the Borrowdale moun- 
 tains when we began to ascend, and the long level 
 shadows stretched across the valley, and spread a 
 melancholy gloom over the romantic landscape be- 
 low our feet ; but we soon overtook the sun-beams, 
 as we rose more nearly to the level of the opposite 
 mountain ridge. As we continued to ascend the 
 almost perpendicular steep, we found it necessary to 
 sit down every few yards to recover our breath ; 
 and as the landscape widened before us, we forgot 
 the fatigue of our journey in the prospect which 
 presented itself. Our good natured guide kindly 
 pointed out every object which he considered worthy 
 of notice; and among the rest, one which I shall 
 certainly never forget. 
 
 LYNN-GILL COTTAGE. 
 
 ' Yon almost ruinated cottage," said our guide, "which 
 stands under the shade of yon riven rock, crowned with 
 oak, was tie scene of many a happy day when J was a child. 
 And the sad remembrance of its once cheerful inhabitants, 
 often brings tears into my eyes ; and. as Shakspeare say?,
 
 130 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ' makes me play the woman.' " There is nothing," said 
 my sister, " to use the language of the amiable Darwin, so 
 delightful 
 
 ' As the tear that breaks, 
 
 For other's woes, down virtue's manly cheeks.' " 
 
 " Thomas," continued the schoolmaster, "was a carpen- 
 ter ; a sober industrious man. Finding himself well estab- 
 lished in his humble business, he paid his addresses to an 
 amiable young woman, who had long been the object of his 
 tender wishes. His character and situation in life being un- 
 exceptionable, her parents consented to their union, and 
 they were married. Never shall I forget that day. I had 
 been a favourite with Thomas. I slept among his shavings, 
 mislaid his chissels, and wet his chalk line, and did a num- 
 ber of other innocent and unintentional mischiefs, which all 
 tended to endear me to him. I was invited to the wedding, 
 and was favoured with a kiss of the bride. And though I 
 was then only wearing my first suit, I almost thought my- 
 self a man ; and resolved too that I would have a wife, and 
 promised Thomas that he should have a kiss when I was 
 married. A promise which was heartily cheered by the 
 company ; but which alas ! was never realized. For before 
 I entered that happy state, (and a happy one I have found 
 it,) I had assisted in conveying both Thomas and his lovely 
 partner to their long home. 
 
 Fortune smiled on Thomas and all his endeavours for the 
 first ten years of his married life ; and his kind helpmate had 
 presented him with no less than eight pledges of her affection. 
 It was in the latter end of last century, that Thomas ob- 
 tained a job at a new building ; but the weather coming un- 
 favourable, he got wet every day. The calls of a rising 
 family, and an honest desire to meet these and every other 
 call without parish aid, made Thomas despise the dictates 
 of that prudence which would have induced other men net 
 to expose themselves to such hardships. Before Christmas, 
 Thomas felt the attacks of a pleurisy, which he vainly labour-
 
 LETTEtt IX. 131 
 
 ed to subdue by increased exertion. He was compelled to 
 yield ; and it was nearly four months before I again saw him 
 in his shop. The first time I met him at work, I could not 
 but notice his deathly paleness, and the feeble stroke of his 
 hand. I visited him almost every day ; and I believe that 
 a great part of his weakness arose from want of proper 
 nourishment ; for the little money he had been able to ac- 
 cumulate had been expended during his sickness; and 
 Thomas had a spirit which would not stoop to ask credit. 
 He was very far from being recovered, when the markets 
 began to rise, and what have been emphatically but properly 
 termed the hard times commenced. Oat meal soon rose to 
 sixpence a pound ! but Thomas' labour continued at its usual 
 rate, only that he had less to do ; and the little he had was 
 too much for his strength. So long as he was able to pro- 
 cure it, he gave his children what was necessary, reserving 
 for himself and his wife the scanty fragments of their scanty 
 meals ; but his strength decreasing, and the markets rising, 
 he was compelled to put all the family upon short allowance. 
 Frequently have I seen his wife boil a pint of grey fieas in 
 water, and serve them up for the whole family consisting of 
 ten persons. Any thing like substantial food was never seen 
 on their table. Unsound flour, being cheaper, was their 
 only bread, and clean water their only beverage. I have 
 more than once seen Thomas make a dinner of two potatoes 
 and a small onion ! 
 
 But I will not shock your ears with any further detail of 
 their sufferings. Thomas had formed a resolution that 
 nothing should ever induce him to ask for parochial relief; 
 and he kept his resolution to the last. For I went one 
 morning as usual, having got a little jug full of whey from 
 my mother to carry them. I found the eldest boy sitting at 
 the door crying. ' We have had no breakfast this morning,' 
 said he, ' my father and mother are not yet risen.' I set 
 down the whey, which was instantly swallowed by the fa- 
 mished children. 1 went forward into the little parlour 
 where they slept ; (for I was considered like one of their
 
 132 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 own family ;) but, Oh ! the sight! They were fast locked 
 in each other's arms, and both dead! I turned away to 
 weep. It was a spectacle I shall never forget. True to his 
 resolution, he preferred death to the grudged pittance which 
 a parish would have reluctantly afforded. 
 
 When the neighbours and surgeon arrived, it was declared 
 they had died of hunger ; it was even added, that grass 
 was found in Thomas' stomach, when he was opened ! 
 Though none had ever troubled themselves about him while 
 alive, all seemed to pity his fate, when pity was not longer 
 available. Perhaps conscience told some of the richer sort, 
 that blame rested somewhere. Be that as it may, they were 
 decently interred, and the children properly provided for. 
 At the funeral, I scarcely beheld one dry cheek, it was a 
 scene of silent but of real borrow. Thomas had been a man 
 generally beloved. He had been an indulgent father, a fond 
 husband, and a kind neighbour. 
 
 This hapless pair sleep together in the same grave ; where 
 sorrow and pain can no more reach them. Their family is 
 grown up, and the country has almost forgot that the pa- 
 rents ever lived or ever suffered. But, though all the world 
 forget them, I shall not ; nor will I ever pass through the 
 burying ground, without dropping a tear on the grave of my 
 early friends." 
 
 When the schoolmaster had finished his sad nar- 
 ration, he remarked that it would be time for him to 
 return. And, having given us the best directions 
 in his power, he departed ; and we all bade him fare- 
 well with a sympathetic sigh, as if he had been one 
 of the parties he had just described. Even my fa- 
 ther so far forgot his usual misanthropy as to shake 
 hands with our intelligent guide. 
 
 As we continued to ascend the hill, the dread of 
 tlie mist began to work more powerfully on our
 
 LETTER IX. 183 
 
 minds. We observed the mist which collected on 
 the opposite side of the vale, hurry across to the top 
 of Helvellyn. As it passed us, my uncle remarked 
 what a striking resemblance it bore to the spirits as 
 described in Ossian's poems. One might easily 
 imagine the floating mist to represent troops of war- 
 riors hurrying to battle, or crowds engaged in the 
 chace, where men of mist were hunting deer of 
 clouds. It seemed very natural for people who lived 
 in a country like that of Ossian's, to suppose that 
 such appearances were the spirits of their departed 
 warriors. 
 
 Our fears were at length realized, for the mist 
 collected on the summit of the hill, and settled in 
 a dense cloud, in which we found ourselves enve- 
 loped, before we were aware. We could not see 
 more than ten yards before us, and there was no 
 track. We remembered the fate of poor Gough, 
 and wished ourselves happily at Patterdale inn. 
 Luckily for us, some person had travelled over du- 
 ring the afternoon ; and had left the prints of his 
 feet in the soft ground at the top of the hill. We 
 followed these steps for about a quarter of an hour, 
 when we found ourselves descending, and presently 
 ue left the mist, and entered into the wildest scene 
 of hills and ravines that fancy ever pictured. We 
 travelled many miles down between two rugged hills, 
 till we found a deserted lead mine. From this we 
 had been directed to follow the road by which the 
 lead ore had been conveyed to Patterdale. The 
 road had never been good ; and the recent rains had
 
 134 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ploughed it into furrows three or four feet deep. 
 Our road wound, in some places, round the faces of 
 huge precipices, where it had been built up from the 
 rocks below. In others, it led between two walls of 
 huge rocks, serving at once for the conveyance of 
 water and the conveyance of lead ore. As we des- 
 cended the vale, and came nearer the habitations of 
 men, the road grew better. And after travelling 
 through this desolate track, till the veil of night had 
 " o'er canopied the sky," we reached the borders of 
 Ullswater. along which we found a beautiful road to 
 the comfortable inn. 
 
 I had nearly forgot to mention a circumstance, 
 which to a Prestonian will appear rather singular. 
 As we approached the lake, it being dark, we felt 
 dubious about the road ; and therefore called to ask 
 directions at a humble cottage on the road side. Af- 
 ter stumbling several times in our way through the 
 peathouse to the house door, which opens out of it. 
 we found nothing but a young married female teach- 
 ing two children their prayers. We enquired the 
 road to Patterdale inn ; and she instantly rose, and 
 accompanied us across two fields ; telling us, that 
 was a nearer road, and would save us almost half a 
 mile. What must the innocence of such a country 
 be, where a lone woman ventured to leave her cot- 
 tage, and at so late an hour accompany us so far ! 
 This circumstance made a strong impression on my 
 uncle^s mind ; who, you know, is a warm philanthro- 
 pist, and sighs for a time when " self love and social
 
 LETTER IX. 185 
 
 shall be the same" when a friend shall not deceive, 
 and a stranger's face shall have no terrors. 
 
 The charms of this delightful vale must form the 
 subject of a future letter ; and for the present, I am, 
 as usual, 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 Patterdale Inn, Aug. 1820.
 
 ( 136 ) 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 PATTERDALE IDEAS ON AGRICULTURE GHOSTS 
 
 RADICAL TAYLOR KING OF PATTERDALE 
 
 DEATH AND MARRIAGE MY FATHER. 
 
 DEAR TOM, We could form but a very imperfect 
 idea of the beauties of this vale, on the night of our 
 arrival, as it was so nearly dark. How much greater 
 therefore was our astonishment, when we looked 
 out in the morning, after sleeping away the fatigues 
 of the preceding day ! The sun had arisen in all 
 the splendour of an August morning the mist was 
 slowly retiring from the magnificent brows of the 
 giant hills the dew hung in glittering pearls on 
 every branch and blade and a few light fleecy 
 clouds softened the monotony of the etherial blue. 
 What a feast for the soul ! The hills the rocks 
 the woods the lake the fields the trees the 
 cattle the labourers all conspired to constitute 
 an enchanting whole, for 
 
 " Each gave to each a double charm." 
 
 I think my uncle never seemed so cheerful as he 
 did that morning ; and even my father appeared to
 
 LETTER X. 137 
 
 have caught the sweet contagion. For when my 
 ancle proposed a short walk before breakfast, my 
 father consented without any of those misanthrophi- 
 cal remarks which generally strip his favours of that 
 value they would otherwise possess. 
 
 It was hay-time in this vale, and the hay-makers 
 were repairing, with their rakes on their shoulders, 
 to the hay-field. We presently overtook a small 
 group consisting of an elderly man, his wife, and 
 two young lads, their sons. My uncle, who seems 
 to have as great a pleasure in surveying the interior 
 of the peasant's minds as the exterior of the hills, 
 immediately entered into conversation with the rus- 
 
 tic pair. The two boys hung down their heads and 
 skulked away under the hedge, as if conscious of 
 some crime, while the old folks endeavoured to make 
 themselves remarkably polite ; particularly the wife, 
 who told us she had once lived half a year a servant 
 
 : at the White Lion at Bowness, and was hence bet- 
 ter acquainted with " quality ways, than Joan."" 
 
 My uncle asked " Joan 11 if the soil was good in 
 that neighbourhood, who observed that it was " varra 
 dacent." " I think," said my father, " it seems 
 
 i very stony. Is there no method of clearing the 
 stones away ?" " O, yes," replied the peasant, "yan 
 mud sean gither 'em off; but t 1 grund wad be warse 
 for Y" " I should think," answered my uncle, " if 
 the stones were taken off, the earth would be lighter, 
 and more mellow.'" 1 " Noot oW mak," he replied, 
 " for a farmer aside Banton, gather t 1 steans off yan 
 on 'is fields, tull it wad grow noot at sC ; an" 1 'e was
 
 138 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 foarst et put 'em on again !" " And did he put 
 them on again ?" enquired my father. " To be sure 
 he did," replied honest Joan, " an' then 'e "ed as 
 good crops as iver 'e 'ed.' 
 
 My uncle pondered. This was a system of hus- 
 bandry which he had never studied. After a silence 
 of about five minutes, he observed, " There may be 
 something in it." " Thar is summit in't, I warned 
 yc," replied Joan, " for ye niver sa a stean without 
 a good strent a gers aboot it, e yer life." My uncle 
 studied, and Joan viewed him with a look of triumph ; 
 as much as to say, I have staggered him now. 
 
 Should you, Tom, ever be inclined to study hus- 
 bandry, let me recommend you to study men as well 
 as books ; for many an old farmer, or even day la- 
 bourer would puzzle many a chemical agriculturist. 
 I remember once, (I had just filled my head with 
 the Scotch system of paring and burning,) I was 
 crossing a level tract of pasture overrun with rushes, 
 in company with an old farmer. " I think," said I, 
 if this field was pared and burnt, it would destroy 
 these rushes." " It wod soa, lad,"' said he, " for 
 thear ain't aboon three inch a soil ; an if that war tain 
 off, thear wod be lile left for th' reishes to grow in." 
 I felt the sarcasm ; and from that moment resolved 
 to study men as well as books. 
 
 My sister, anxious to change a subject which was 
 not sufficiently interesting, began to praise the beau- 
 ties of the vale. In this the old woman joined her 
 most heartily ; for she had been born there ; and 
 she saw a thousand charms which escaped our no-
 
 LETTER X. 139 
 
 tice. It was the place where she had passed her 
 infant years and therefore was a happy vale. It 
 was the place where she had been married and was 
 therefore a lucky vale. It was the place where she 
 hoped to mingle with the silent dust, when her life 
 of labour should draw to a close and was therefore 
 a peaceful vale. " Surely," said my sister, after 
 old Nanny had run on sometime in praise of the 
 valley, "one might almost imagine it to be the 
 abode of happy spirits, it is so secluded. 1 ' " I kna 
 noot about it," said Nanny, " whether ther happy er 
 nit; but I kna thers a deal on um." " A deal of 
 what?" enquired my sister. " A deal of ghaists, to 
 be sure," she replied ; " what else war ye talking 
 aboot ?" " You surely don't believe that disturbed 
 ghosts ever haunt these peaceful glens," returned 
 my sister, with a look of compassionate incredulity. 
 " Neabody can doot it," replied Nanny; "for ther 
 seen varra near ivery neet." 
 
 " Ey !" interrupted Joan, " thou kens what a 
 thunging ther war ith 1 garrat amang th' poteatees, 
 just afoar me nant Debby deet." " Weel ye wat, I 
 ken that," said Nanny ; " an thoo knas what lang 
 Ned leet on, when he was gaan a coarting to Tim- 
 my, we nea good intent it war thought. Wad ye 
 belie me ?" said she, turning to my sister, " He war 
 gaan ya Setterday neet on th' loan, an he cam at a 
 coffin, liggen across it. He was a hardent dule, an 
 he slept oth 1 coffin. It crashed doon under his feet, 
 as if t 1 sky wad a broken doon, but he feelt noot. 
 He went a Hie bit farther, and four men cam across
 
 140 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 th' road wi 1 a coffin, an went intoth tother hedge. 
 He went a lile bit ondus, an he hard summit aback 
 o'th' hedge say, ' ashes to ashes, dust to dust," 1 and 
 he hard three bits a yearth fa a top of a coffin lid. 
 He ran as hard as a could to Timmy's, and telt her 
 what ed happened ; an she war ill freetent, ye may 
 guess." 
 
 The poor woman was silent, waiting for the. ex- 
 pressions of astonishment which she supposed such 
 a tale would inevitably produce. We had not yet 
 broke silence, when a singular looking personage 
 overtook us, with a yard wand under his arm ; by 
 which we supposed him to be a tailor going to his 
 daily labour. He slackened his pace to join our 
 company ; and jogged on with us very sociably, till 
 we overtook his apprentice carrying the goose and 
 lapboard. " Now," said the tailor, " you'll keep a 
 suspectful distance behind us, and not consume to 
 coutraduce your calf's head into despectful compa- 
 ny." The boy retired, and kept behind during the 
 rest of our walk. 
 
 " Noo," said Joan, " ye ev been at Lunnon, an 
 ev seen a girt deal; dunnot ye think theres mear 
 ghaists T this country, en ther is f any other et iver 
 ye sa ?" " I can hardly contermine upon that," 
 replied the tailor; " impernatural exhibitions are 
 partly like a straight breasted coat, they are gone 
 out of fashion." " Fashion me na fashions," said 
 Nanny, a little piqued at the tailor's answer, " I 
 kna noot aboot th' fashion ; but I kna theyr nit gone 
 oat o' Patterdale." " I own," said the tailor, "there
 
 LETTEE X. 1*1 
 
 may be a few screeds left in Patterdale ; but they 
 are every button of them dixiled from the Mepo- 
 tolis." " I think," said my father, "so intelligent 
 a gentleman as you will hardly credit all the ridi- 
 culous tales that are told about ghosts and hobgob- 
 lins." " You are defectly right," replied the tailor, 
 " I don't believe half of them, let alone them all." 
 
 The exciseman, who had been walking behind us, 
 unseen, now stepped forward, and looking at the tai- 
 lor, says : " Well Jem, what are you holding forth 
 in your accustomed manner ; but can't you see that 
 the old gentleman is quizzing you. I will tell you 
 what this tailor is," continued the gauger ; " and I 
 will tell you in his own Malaprop dialect. He lias 
 denounced the Bible to be a demance, written by a 
 parcel of Papish priests. He reads Tom Paine, a 
 brother of the thimble, who, Jem says, would have 
 deformed the British institution ; have abandoned 
 the knavery and the millenary, and have given us 
 universal dispensation, and animal parliaments. 
 He is a great admirer of Bonnyprat and the French 
 absolution ; and says we might live without kings, 
 and ministers, and lawyers, and parsons, better than 
 with them. Is not this true Jem ?"" said the gauger. 
 " We could do without gangers, I believe,"" retorted 
 the tailor, with some warmth. 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen,"" said my uncle ; '* do 
 not let your jokes lead you to earnest. Though 
 the honest tailor may not approve of every thing he 
 sees, he would be ready to defend the country even 
 in its present deplorable state, if threatened with
 
 142 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 danger. 1 ' " I will tell you a story apropos, 11 said my 
 father. 
 
 " The king of France, thought that he could in- 
 vade England with success, because party spirit ran 
 so high ; and the whigs were so discontented with the 
 measures of government. He called his minister, 
 and asked his advice. ' I will show you the result 
 of an invasion, 1 said the minister. ' That dog is 
 called Tory, and the other is called Whig ; there 
 you see how they quarrel. Now let this other called 
 Louis try to beat them. 1 With that he set Louis 
 on them ; but they both turned upon Louis and 
 almost killed him. So it would always be with Eng- 
 lishmen. They may snarl a little among themselves, 
 but they instantly unite if danger threatens them. 11 
 " I should be apt to lie my yard wand round the 
 heads of any who might withsturb us," said the tai- 
 lor : " though,we may not be disactly right. 11 
 
 Though our progress had been only slow, we 
 found ourselves sufficiently distant from the inn, to 
 think of returning to breakfast ; and the amusing 
 conversation in which we had just shared furnished 
 us with a topic of discussion till we reached Mrs. 
 Dobsons. Here a plentiful repast of tea and cold 
 ham formed a most delightful appendix to our morn- 
 ing^ walk. 
 
 Having despatched our breakfast with such ap- 
 petites as the pure mountain air produces ; and the 
 morning being delightfully calm, we engaged a boat 
 to convey us down the lake to Pooley Bridge. As 
 we were preparing to begin our aquatic excursion a
 
 LETTER XJ 143 
 
 young gentleman and a lady, who had just arrived 
 from Ambleside, requested to share our boat. To 
 this we cheerfully agreed ; and having delayed a 
 little longer while they took some refreshment, we 
 entered the boat. 
 
 But how shall I describe the beauty of the scene ? 
 I sat with my face towards the stern ; and had con- 
 sequently an unobstructed view of the Alpine scen- 
 ery, as it seemed to retreat before me. The sweet 
 asylum where we had passed the night, now appeared 
 at the feet of some tremendous hills, thrown toge- 
 ther in all the grandeur of terrific wildness ; seeming 
 like gigantic fragments torn from the huge side of 
 Helvellyn, and tumbled down to the margin of the 
 lake, by some terrible convulsion of nature. 
 
 Mr. Mounsey's sheltered by woods and hills, dis- 
 played its white front, enlivened by brown quoins 
 and string-courses, glittering in the morning sun. 
 " Yon,"" said the boatman, " is the palace of Pat- 
 terdale. The proprietor having from time imme- 
 morial been denominated the king of Patterdale."' 
 " Does it arise," said my uncle, " from some undue 
 authority which the owner exerts over his tenants ?'' 
 " By no means," replied the boatman. " I know 
 not what may have been the origin of the title ; but 
 this I know, that if all kings were as kind to their 
 subjects as the king of Patterdale is to his, we should 
 have very little occasion for jacobins." " As to 
 any real occasion we have for jacobins any where," 
 observed my father, " we might very well do without 
 them."
 
 144 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 The Glen-ridding burst sweetly upon the view ; 
 a delightful spot, with gardens in front to the very 
 margin of the flood. It is a place, Tom, which I 
 shall long remember ; but you must see it to feel its 
 beauty. 
 
 As we proceeded up the lake, the different evolu- 
 tions of the hills began to unfold themselves ; rising 
 over each other tier above tier ; till the massy sum- 
 mit of St. Sunday Crag reared its stupendous shoul- 
 ders to the sky, and made what we had viewed as 
 mountains before, shrink into mere molehills. 
 
 " I think, 1 " said the lady, " we could not find a 
 sweeter spot than this to seclude ourselves in. Let 
 us purchase a retirement here." " I have no ob- 
 jections," replied her companion, " let us see all the 
 lakes, and then we shall be better able to judge of 
 their respective beauties." 
 
 I saw my father's curiosity was excited by the 
 glance of his eye. For you know, Tom, he has a 
 particular wish to be acquainted with every person's 
 business, though he will let none know his; nor 
 will he give the least hint of his wish, or make the 
 least acknowledgment to those who may be kind 
 enough to gratify his curiosity. 
 
 Whether it was that the young gentleman ob- 
 served by my father's eye and his lip, that his curi- 
 osity was afloat, or that he thought his adventures 
 might amuse my sister, or that he conceived himself 
 obliged to amuse us in some manner, as a return for 
 our kindness in admitting him and his fair com- 
 panion into the boat, I cannot determine ; but let
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 145 
 
 his motive be what it might, I felt obliged to him 
 for the following story. 
 
 DEATH AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 " Last July but one," said our young voyager, " I came 
 up to a place called Hest Bank, on the borders of Lancaster 
 Sands, for the purpose of bathing. The afternoon after my 
 arrival, it not being a bathing day, on account of the tide 
 happening too late in the day, I strolled along the beach, 
 amusing myself with the coming tide and the fine distant 
 hills. As I turned one of these bluff heads, of which there 
 are many on the coast, 1 observed some person in the water 
 bathing. I took little notice and walked silently on, paying 
 little heed to the individual in the tide ; being fully em- 
 ployed with the soul entrancing works of the immortal bard. 
 A sudden shriek from a female voice aroused my attention, 
 and I beheld the bather struggling with the waves. I has- 
 tened to the spot, threw off my clothes I know not how, and 
 sprung into the water ; but she had sunk to rise no more. 
 The place was not deep when I reached it ; and without 
 much difficulty I conveyed her safely on shore. But Wes- 
 tall himself could not pourtray the scene, or depict what I 
 felt at that moment. She was lovely even in deat.h. The 
 pale rose had not quite forsaken her cheek her eyes were 
 closed her lips half open her limbs hung negligently from 
 my arms, as if they would never more have will or motion. 
 I saw no house near, and therefore to run for assistance was 
 vain. Such means of giving vigour to the vital motion as 
 the pressure of the circumstances permitted, were all that 
 were allowed me. Friction was my only resource ; and my 
 coat the only medium. This I applied with all the enthu- 
 siasm which the ardent mind of a young man, bending over 
 the lifeless form of a young and exquisitely beautiful female, 
 could inspire. But O ! what a thrill of heavenly joy did I 
 feel, when I first beheld the liquid blood come mantling o'er 
 her cheek ! And O ! the pangs of disappointed hope, when
 
 14-6 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 that flush of life retired, and left the pale hue of death on 
 her lovely lips ! Again, the blood mounted to her cheek, 
 her eyes for a moment opened, and a slight spasm told me 
 she was alive. Again, these signs of existence disappeared, 
 and I felt doubtful whether I should succeed. It occurred 
 to me that the breath only wanted to be set in motion, and 
 she would live. When therefore the next flush of return- 
 ing life vermilled her lips, I endeavoured to inflate her lungs, 
 by breathing into them, and expelling the air by pressing 
 on her chest. The third effort was successful, and the hu- 
 man machine was put in motion. Pygmalion could not feel 
 greater ecstacy when his ivory maid became a living woman, 
 than I did when I first beheld my Harriet's bosom heave 
 and sink again. It was sometime before I recollected that 
 we both wanted dressing, or that warmth was necessary for 
 preserving that life I had been the happy means of restoring. 
 I dressed her in my rude way, not the most elegant, you 
 may be assured; for 1 am not a man milliner. I then 
 threw on my own clothes, conveyed her to the sunny side 
 of a rock, and hastened to the inn for some nourishment, and 
 a chaise to convey her thither. I thought the distance im- 
 measurably long, that I had only considered short as I came. 
 I however returned, hoping she would be sitting on a crag, 
 but fearing she would have fainted away. But think what 
 was my surprise, when she was no where to be found ! I 
 searched behind every rock, I rambled along the beach, I 
 called for the lovely maid, but no voice replied to mine, ex- 
 cept the inharmonious clatter of the sea-mew. It was not 
 till the shade of evening ' o'er mantled the scene,' that I gave 
 up the search, and with a heavy heart returned to the inn. 
 
 Hearing no intelligence of the maid, and having no clue 
 by which I could seek her, after a few days, I returned to 
 Liverpool. Often did the lovely image of the drowned maid 
 stand or rather lie before me in my sleep ; and often have I 
 awoke myself with my exertion to snatch her from a watery 
 grave. 
 
 I had completely given up all hopes of ever meeting with
 
 LETTER X. 147 
 
 her again, when I happened to be one day last spring on a 
 visit to a distant relation in the north of Wales. J was stand- 
 ing at the window with my cousin, viewing the sea in the 
 distance, which my cousin was exceedingly admiring, ' O ! 
 said I, ' how many painful pleasing recollections does that 
 ocean bring to my mind. It was on a beach like yon, 
 that I once had the inexpressible happiness to preserve the 
 life of the loveliest maid that this day breathes, and it was 
 also on such a beach that I lost her, never to see her more !' 
 
 ' Do not be so hasty in your conclusions,' said the most 
 melodious voice that ever vibrated on my ears. I turned 
 instantly round, and the very being whom I was regretting, 
 pressed me to her bosom. ' My deliverer ! my protector ! 
 my preserver ! where shall I find words to express my gra- 
 titude ? By what means shall I repay the deep obligation I 
 owe.' ' You owe me nothing,' said J, pressing her closely to 
 my breast. ' This moment is more than a reward for all I 
 hare done. May heaven rendet that life happy which I have 
 been the humble means of preserving !' 
 
 I will not however take up your time in detailing all the 
 expressions of mutual, delight which either bosom felt, in 
 that auspicious hour. 
 
 We became acquainted. I felt anxious to watch over the 
 life I had restored ; and she had a wish to trust herself fully 
 to my protection. Hearts thus disposed, could not be long 
 in prompting a union of hands ; we are happily married ; and 
 are now on an excursion to seek some sweet seclusion, where 
 we may live retired from the busy world and devoted to each 
 other. We would have a cottage, very neat, but only small. 
 It should stand under the shelter of some rugged rock, from 
 the crevices of which a few gnarled oaks should protrude. A 
 small brook should dash down in a neat cascade near the spot, 
 and meander away down a luxuriant meadow in front. A 
 shady walk, of about a mile, down a romantic glen, should 
 lead to the lake, where I would keep a boat. J would have 
 ome serpentine walks up to the summit of the adjoining 
 rocks, varied with terraces, steps and seats. A garden, with
 
 148 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 deep shady alleys and retired grottos, should occupy the 
 space behind the cottage. And then, Harriet, we could 
 pass our time in adding beauty to beauty ; and improving 
 the capabilities of the soil." " Oh !" said his fair companion, 
 " what a paradise you have described. This would really 
 be a retreat 
 
 1 Where care could not enter. ' " 
 
 My father viewed them more tenderly than I ever 
 saw him do any person before, except my sister. 
 " You think," said he, " if you had all this you 
 would be happy. I have seen more of the world 
 than you have done; though I am considerably 
 younger than I look, I have seen and felt sufficient 
 to convince me of the inanity of all these imaginary 
 pleasures. As to associations with the world, they 
 ever bring pain and sorrow in their train. 
 
 1 Mankind are a' an unco squad 
 And rarely to be trusted ' 
 
 The charms of situation are still more precarious. 
 You will soon view the same objects till they have 
 lost their novelty : and the vacant mind will sigh 
 for variety. Domestic happiness is still a more un- 
 certain tenure. No one can say I will be happy to- 
 morrow, though many may think so." 
 
 Something like a tear glistened in my father's eye, 
 and a deep sigh told us that something had touched 
 the inmost chords of his heart. As I had never 
 known any troubles reach him, I was confident that 
 some circumstances at a period beyond my remem- 
 brance must have brushed across his memory. He 
 thus relieved my anxious curiosity.
 
 LETTEB X. 149 
 
 MY FATHER. 
 
 He gazed on my sister awhile, then turned to the young 
 gentleman, and thus began. " Jf the sun ever shone 
 on a perfectly happy man, it was upon me. I was blessed 
 with competence ; nor did 1 desire more. I was united to a 
 woman the choice the joy and the delight of my full 
 soul. Two fonder hearts never breathed heaven's air than 
 ourselves. I will describe her. My daughter is her living 
 portrait " his feelings for a moment stopped his utterance. 
 He resumed " I was already the father of two promising 
 boys ; and was looking with joyous hope to the hour when 
 my wife would bring an addition to our family. Such was 
 the sum of human bliss 1 enjoyed, when all my golden pros- 
 pects of happiness were closed by the villainy of one whom I 
 had honoured with the name of friend. My house had been 
 a home to him whenever he chose to claim it my purse was 
 at his command whenever his necessities rendered it accep- 
 table. This villain sought to express his gratitude by seduc- 
 ing the affections of my wife ! That one word speaks more 
 than I can add. He was repulsed ; but his malicious disap- 
 pointment studied the blackest revenge. He was determin- 
 ed to defame the woman whom he could not ruin. I was 
 informed of these slanders ; and was resolved to vindicate 
 my own honour and that of my injured partner. We met 
 one moon-light night in a field near Penwortham Bridge. 
 1 was severely wounded. The villain left me, as he thought, 
 dead, and quitted the kingdom. I was brought home bath- 
 ed in blood and speechless. This sudden and unexpected 
 stroke was more than my wife could bear. She was taken 
 in premature labour ; and in giving birth to this lovely girl, 
 she resigned her angelic soul into the hands of her Redeemer. 
 When 1 recovered from the fever, consequent on my wound, 
 it was to enjoy a widowed bed, for my wife had been buried 
 two days. 
 
 Think, after this, if I can build a fairy structure on so 
 faithless a foundation as human happiness. I am called a 
 misanthropist I do despise mankind. I am blamed for
 
 150 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 lashing the vices of men I have reason. I do not wish to 
 pour bitters into your cup of joy ; but I would caution you 
 not to be too sanguine in your expectations of felicity." 
 
 Our young friend pressed his bride closer to his 
 bosom the tear stood in my sister's eye my uncle 
 clasped his hands on his breast, and turned his eyes 
 to heaven even the rough boatman heaved a sigh. 
 
 A mournful silence, interrupted by an occasional 
 word, quickly brought us to Pooley Bridge, where 
 after we had taken a little refreshment, we hired a 
 chaise and drove off for Penrith the beauties of 
 which, will probably furnish the subject of a future 
 letter. 
 
 I should not omit to notice the beautiful scenery 
 around Pooley Bridge. As we sat in a back par- 
 lour at the inn, we were much struck with a delight- 
 ful mount, on the opposite side of the Eamont. 
 My sister pointed it out as an excellent situation 
 for a gentleman's house, of the more splendid kind. 
 The hill is very steep on the south-east side, and 
 finely wooded ; but not so steep as to preclude the 
 practicability of intersecting it with walks, and re- 
 lieving these walks with arbours and recesses. Close 
 to the foot of the mount, the river Eamont, broad 
 and tranquil, pursues its unruffled course, admitting 
 of an interesting shady walk on its banks, for nearly 
 half a mile. The hill itself seems to be a rich soil ; 
 and a field nearly level, about one third from the 
 top, points it out as a most desirable situation for 
 a dwelling. The view hence would be extensive 
 and finely varied, taking in the greatest part of
 
 LETTEE X. 151 
 
 Ullswater, and the mountains towards its head. 
 The greatest recommendation is^ that the wood is 
 already up, and contains very few firs ; which spoil 
 the beauty of too many of our modern genteel houses. 
 But my father reminded us that, erecting ideal 
 Lodges on other people's ground, was the next folly 
 to building castles in the air. 
 I am, as ever, 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 Penrith, August, 1820.
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 PKNRITH CASTLE MUNCASTER HALL PENRITH 
 
 BEACON GIANT^S GRAVE ANTIQUARIANISM 
 
 ARTHUR'S ROUND TABLE MAYBURGH HAY AND 
 
 HAY CART SKETCHING- RUSTIC HUMOURISJ 
 
 HUNTING SONG. 
 
 DEAR TOM, Though I have borne ample testi- 
 mony to the simple and engaging manner of the 
 Lake residents, I must confess there is a little Van- 
 dalism among them. They do not feel that gener- 
 ous love and veneration for the glorious relics of 
 other years, which ought to warm the breast of every 
 Englishman. My uncle was indignant at the inat- 
 tention paid to the scattered remains of Penrith 
 Castle. " The Turks," he observed, " could only 
 have turned the ruined habitations of Christian no- 
 bles into cattle-sheds and pig-styes !" We sat our- 
 selves down on the edge of the moat, where the dis- 
 gusting inroads of modern improvements would least 
 obtrude themselves on the view, to contemplate the 
 ruined strength and fallen grandeur of our ances- 
 tors. We were scarcely seated, when an elderly 
 gentleman, on whose countenance a cheerful good 
 nature was visibly impressed, approached us. My
 
 LETTER XT. 153 
 
 uncle invited him to take a seat on our green sofa, 
 with which invitation he smilingly complied. 
 
 My uncle, whose ideas are at least two centuries 
 old, opened the conversation by an allusion to those 
 times when our old northern castles shone in all 
 their splendour; and their inhabitants possessed 
 their original power. " How much of their outward 
 dignity have the higher classes lost," observed my 
 uncle, " since literature and commerce have shed 
 their genial influence on our favoured isle. 11 " Yes," 
 said the stranger, " and how much have the lower 
 classes been elevated since that period. The ranks 
 of society are less distinct ; and the system of equa- 
 lity is perhaps as nearly realized, as the well being 
 of society could admit." " In some respects it may 
 be so, 1 ' said my father ; " but I think we might yet 
 dispense with some of that pride which separates 
 man from his biuthcr man.''" 
 
 " If one may believe report," said my sister. 
 " there was more love in former times than there is 
 now. People were kinder then; men were more 
 faithful ; and unions in general more happy than 
 they are at present." " I can tell you a story on 
 that subject," replied the stranger, " which will be 
 interesting to the yoting people, and I hope no way 
 disagreeable to old ones. For I count the person 
 who cannot sympathize in a love story, to be unfit 
 for any social duty, and calculated for nothing but 
 the cloister or the cell." " By all means," exclaimed 
 my sister, " let us hear it. If there be any thing 
 about the firm faith of a female heart, it will be pleas-
 
 154 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 ing." " If there be any thing,' 1 said my uncle, 
 " about the manners of our ancestors, it will be in- 
 structive. 1 ' 1 " If there be any thing," said my father, 
 " about the villainy of man in it, it must be true." 
 " There will be something about all these," replied 
 the stranger. 
 
 MUNCASTER HALL. 
 
 It was customary in the times to which I allude, said our 
 garrulous acquaintance, for the owners of these old halls and 
 castles to retain each a jester in his mansion, called by the 
 common people, a fool. According to custom, Sir Alan Pen- 
 nington had a jester, whose name was Thomas Skelton, but 
 whose common appellation was Tom Fool of Muncaster, 
 But I shall have occasion to mention him in the course of 
 my story ; as he performed a tragical part in it rather too 
 much so, to be enumerated among the drolleries of a com- 
 mon jester. I will however give you the tale, as I have 
 often heard the parson repeat it to an old maiden aunt of 
 mine wun wnom 1 was brought up ; and who never heard it 
 without a copious flow of tears. 
 
 The morning was most delightful, (this was the parson's 
 uniform way of introducing the story,) when the level beams 
 of the sun first gleamed on the smooth surface of Devoke 
 Water, and informed the joyous villagers that it was the 
 FIRST OF MAY. The wooden clogs were stripped from the 
 feet of the blooming damsels, and the leathern shoes which 
 had been carefully preserved from the preceding year, and 
 many of which had adorned the feet of their mothers and 
 grandmothers, were taken out of the paper which enveloped 
 them. The oil with which they had been rubbed twelve 
 months before, was polished by the warm hand to a fine 
 gloss. Every garden was robbed of its bloom to form gar- 
 lands and chaplets in order to beautify what could not be 
 beautified ; for what the parson would say, looking Ian-
 
 LETTER XI. 155 
 
 guishingly at my aunt could add beauty to a Cumberland 
 maiden ? 
 
 The Maypole was reared in a delightful meadow on the 
 banks of Devoke Water; and the maidens blooming in 
 beauty, and the youths bounding in health, repaired thither 
 from the surrounding cottages. As the festive dance com- 
 menced, the soul of innocent gaiety began to expand. The 
 festoons of flowers, waving from the maypole, and the gar- 
 lands of the damsels, all gently agitated by a slight breeze, 
 gave a gracefulness to the scene which no language can de- 
 scribe. It seemed as if the exhilerating breath of spring 
 gave elasticity to the youthful limb, and a higher zest to the 
 spirits ; as the lively music gave motion to the nimble feet of 
 the light-footed dancers. 
 
 At the first pause in the dance, every eye was attracted to- 
 wards a most heavenly maiden, attired in the simple garb of 
 a Cumberland shepherdess. She came tripping along the 
 meadow in the full glow of her beauty, and with a smile 
 joined the maiden circle. Every tongue was enquiring 
 " Wha is she ?" and every eye was eager to obtain a glance 
 of her charms. Several of the most respectable shepherds 
 offered to lead her to the dance, but she modestly refused. 
 Among the rest, Wild Will of Whitbeck, as he was general- 
 ly called, urged her to favour him with her hand. " I only 
 came," said she, " to be a spectator of these innocent gaieties ; 
 and should I share in them, I should wish to procure a more 
 modest partner." " A modest partner !" exclaimed Will, 
 "yan et darn'tluik at ya: yan etle stand eaten his thooms, 
 and just whispern la doon, 'will ya dance?' A poor feck- 
 less thing et darn't lait a sweetheart without its minny ga 
 wi' it." " You will please to leave me, shepherd," replied 
 the maid, " and carry your raillery to other ears where it 
 may be more agreeable." " By all the powers of love and 
 beauty," exclaimed the carpenter's son, stepping up at that 
 moment, " unless he stands off he shall repent it. Will you 
 take a dance with me, fair maiden ?" She willingly com- 
 plied. But the elder and more experienced part of the com-
 
 156 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 pany said they observed a glance pass between them, which 
 said they had met before. This renewed the inquiry who 
 the damsel might be, but in vain. Will retired in a gloomy 
 rage, swearing that he would discover who the girl was, and 
 have revenge on the carpenter, if it cost him his life. 
 
 The lovers heard not his threats, but repaired to the may- 
 pole; and as they danced round it, sung the following 
 roundelay. 
 
 ilouirti aiout t!)c j^TanpoIc- 
 
 What are monarchs' courts, my dear ? 
 
 Can their splendour yield them bliss ? 
 Can the thrones and crowns of kings, 
 
 Yield a joy so sweet as this ? 
 
 Dancing round the maypole ! 
 
 Here, no care or pain, my dear, 
 
 Can into our bosoms steal ; 
 Heaven itself can scarce surpass 
 
 Pleasures such as these we feel, 
 
 Dancing round the maypole ! 
 
 Now, returning spring, my dear, 
 
 Wakes the birds on every spray 
 We, whose hearts are formed for love, 
 
 Sure may be as blythe as they 
 
 Dancing round the maypole ! 
 
 Hark the song of love, my dear, 
 Every heart and tongue employ ; 
 
 And shall we, less fond than they, 
 31 ix not in the general joy, 
 
 Dancing round the maypole ! 
 
 Let our glowing hearts, my dear, 
 
 Revel in the burning bliss ; 
 Speak our feelings through our eyes, 
 
 And seal our union with a kiss, 
 
 Dancing round the maypole ! 
 
 Various were the conjectures respecting the unknown 
 shepherdess ; though all the country maids agreed that she 
 was not what she seemed. " Be wha she will," said Wild 
 Will of Whitbeck, " I'll hunt it oot." Therefore when the
 
 LETTER XI. 157 
 
 evening drew on, and the young people began to pair off to- 
 wards home. Will and two of his companions who were not 
 more agreeably occupied, followed Richard the carpenter's 
 son, and his lovely partner towards home. But little did 
 they expect to see her sheltered in Muncaster Hall. As the 
 lovers stood exchanging vows of eternal constancy at the gar- 
 den gate, their pursuers heard enough to inform them that 
 the maid was Helwise, daughter of Sir Alan Pennington ; 
 and to convince them that their faith was mutually plighted. 
 
 " Noo," said Will, " I hev him o'th hip. For Sir Fer- 
 dinand Hoddleston of Millum Castle wants et wed that 
 leddy, an if I yance let him kna et this silly carpenter fol- 
 lows her, he'll meak an example on him." 
 
 When Will informed the neighbours, next Sunday, of his 
 discovery, they were struck with astonishment at the hand- 
 some young carpenter's audacity, as they termed it. The 
 young women hoped and trusted that Sir Alan would never 
 know; for it would be a pity that so nice a young man 
 should be hanged as he was sure to be, if Sir Alan knew 
 that he courted his daughter. At the same time they 
 thought he might have been content with one of the shep- 
 herd girls ; yet it was hard he should be hanged for love. 
 He deserved to be sent out of the country, the young men 
 observed. The maidens thought it would be a pity to send 
 him away ; but they might put her in a nunnery or some- 
 thing of that sort. 
 
 Wild Will of Whitbeck gave no opinion on the subject 
 his plans were deeper. He knew Sir Ferdinand and his 
 temper well. He had often attended him in his sporting 
 excursions ; and owing to his neverfailing flow of rustic wit, 
 could any time find admittance at Millura Castle, where his 
 drolleries would beguile Sir Ferdinand of a melancholy 
 hour. Will therefore adopted this plan to make Sir Ferdi- 
 nand the avenger of the insult he had received from the 
 Carpenter, and the repulse he had met with from the lovely 
 Helwise. 
 
 " We had fine spooarto'th first o' May," said Will ; "but
 
 158 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 I gat cruel ill vext." " What happened to vex thee ?" en- 
 quired Sir Ferdinand. " Wya, ye see," said Will, " Sir 
 Alan's daughter donned hersell like a country hoody, an 
 thought et neabody could a kent her, but I kent her weel 
 eneugh." " And did that vex thee ?" replied Sir Ferdinand. 
 <! Nea," said Will, " but I war vext when she wodent donee 
 wi ma ; and went an donced wi Dick Carpenter." " Art 
 thou certain that she did dance with Dick ?" enquired Sir 
 Ferdinand. " I sa her," replied Will ; "an raear oor an 
 that, I followed em heam, and sa em give yan another a 
 kiss. When she put her arms round his neck, I war stark 
 wood. What war Dick better ner me?" 
 
 The train was now laid. Will had roused Sir Ferdinand's 
 vengeance, without giving the leat hint that he suspected 
 such a thing. " Shall I," exclaimed Sir Ferdinand, as soon 
 as Will had retired, " Shall I be made a fool of by a poor 
 Carpenter's son ? Shall such a wretch as that presume to 
 be my rival in the affections of the loveliest maid in Cum- 
 berland ? Curse the idea. He shall be taught to know his 
 duty better. No, I scorn to apply to Sir Alan. I will 
 
 be my own avenger. Were he removed I should be at 
 
 peace. That will do. He dies." Once resolved, Sir Fer- 
 dinand felt no rest till his scheme was accomplished. The 
 morning had scarcely dawned till he mounted and rode for 
 Muncaster Hall. Few of the family were stirring when Sir 
 Ferdinand arrived. Tom Fool however was up, and hastened 
 to meet the knight, who had often expressed himself pleased 
 with Tom's rustic wit. " Good morning, Tom," said Sir 
 Ferdinand, "what makes you laugh so this morning, Tom?" 
 " Lord Lucy's footman," replied Tom, " put a trick on me 
 the last time he was here ; and 1 have been paying him 
 back what I owed him, for I would be in no man's debt." 
 " How hast thou managed thy revenge ?" returned Sir Fer- 
 Ferdinand. " He asked me," said Tom, " if the river was 
 passable ; and I told him it was, for nine of our family had 
 just gone over. They were nine geese," whispered Tom ; 
 " but I did not tell him that. The fool set into the river,
 
 LETTER XI. 159 
 
 and would have been drowned, I believe, if I had not helped 
 him out." 
 
 " If thou'lt revenge me of a scoundrel who lives here," 
 said Ferdinand, " I'll make a man of thee." " You'll do 
 what Sir Alan could never do then," replied Tom with a 
 laugh. " But who is it pray ?" " 'Tis the Carpenter," 
 replied the knight. " I owe him a grudge too," said Tom ; 
 " for I put those three shillings which you gave me into a 
 hole, and I found them weezend every time I went to look 
 at them ; and now they are only three silver pennies. I 
 have just found it out that Dick has weezend them." " Then 
 kill him, Tom, with his own axe, when he is asleep some- 
 time ; and I'll see that thou takest no harm for it," replied 
 Sir Ferdinand. " He deserves it, and I'll do it," said Tom. 
 " There's three crowns for thee," said Sir Ferdinand, " and 
 he'll not wcczen them, if thou follow my advice." 
 
 Tom wanted no farther inducement. His own injuries, 
 and the hopes of reward from Sir Ferdinand soon influenced 
 him. And the next day while the unsuspecting carpenter 
 was taking his after-dinner nap, and dreaming probably of 
 
 the incomparable bcaulico uf his admablo Holwiee, Tom en- 
 tered the shed, and with one blow of the axe severed the 
 Carpenter's head from his body. " There," said Tom to 
 the servants, " I have hid Dick's head under a heap of shav- 
 ings ; and he will not find that so easily, when he awakes, 
 as he did my shillings." 
 
 Sir Ferdinand was grievously disappointed in his scheme ; 
 for the lovely Helwise had buried her heart in the same 
 grave that held the remains of her sleeping lover. It was 
 in vain that Sir Ferdinand urged the tenderness and sincer- 
 ity of his passion. She was deaf to his entreaties. Her 
 heart was cold, and no human power could warm it. The 
 noisy mirth of the hall, she could hear unmoved the mazy 
 intricacies of the festive dance could not reanimate her 
 the glowing beauties of the summer landscape were gloomy 
 and dull as December. She resolved to seclude herself from 
 the giddy world, and brood over her own sorrows in a nun
 
 160 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 nery. She therefore retired to the Benedictine Convent of 
 Maiden Castle the ruins of which are still visible behind 
 the higher end of Soulby Fell ; where she passed her few 
 remaining days in piety and silent solitude. 
 
 The conscience of Sir Ferdinand left him no repose ; and, 
 to stifle recollections which became continually more insup- 
 portable, he joined the army, and soon after fell in the bat- 
 tle of Bosworth Field, fighting against the Earl of Richmond. 
 
 He left a very handsome estate in the neighbourhood of 
 Kirksancton, to St. Mary's Abbey of Furness, to purchase 
 masses for the repose of his own soul and the soul of the 
 young Carpenter. 
 
 " It is a sorry tale, 11 said my sister. 11 " Yes, 11 
 said my father, " and no doubt well adapted to the 
 feelings of your maiden au nt. 11 " I know not the 
 reason,' 1 said our informant, " but I have often ob- 
 served that old maids are fonder of hearing love 
 tales than young ones. 11 " The reason is this, 11 said 
 my uncle, "young maidens imagine they have a 
 right to be actors in the comedy of love, rather than 
 mere auditors ; while the old ones are content to 
 listen to descriptions of what they are sure they 
 must never be.* 1 " Is this true ?" said my father, 
 addressing my sister. " I am sure, for my part, 11 
 replied she, " I should never wish to be an actor in 
 such a scene as has just been described. And," 
 continued she, with more emphasis, " I believe that 
 young maids think less about love and marriage than 
 you suppose." " They several of them get marri- 
 ed, however," replied ray uncle, with a smile. "Only 
 one here and there," observed my father sarcasti- 
 cally.
 
 LETTER XI. 161 
 
 A something flitted over my sister's cheek, as if 
 she felt for the honour of her sex ; but it instantly 
 vanished on her recollecting that it was her father 
 to whom she had to reply. It was gone. The 
 passing cloud had vanished from her brow ; and all 
 was calm and serene again. She turned up her soft 
 blue eyes to my father, and smiling her sweetest 
 smile, she said, " These maids who either marry or 
 look for it, have not such fathers as I have, to en- 
 gross their affections, and fill up every vacancy in 
 
 their hearts." Haifa tear glistened in my father's 
 
 eye ; but it was the tear of joy. He evidently felt 
 himself a father; and knew that he was not alone 
 in the world. 
 
 We left the neglected remains of Penrith Castle, 
 and ascended to the Beacon, along a very agreeable 
 carriage road, which the Duke of Devonshire has 
 cut to the top of the hill. 
 
 And Oh ! what a prospect opened upon us ! I 
 can give you no idea of its beauty, though I may of 
 
 its materials. Deep below our feet lay the town 
 
 of Penrith. To the east, the bleak Cross Fell, part 
 of the back-bone of England. To the south, 
 " Stanemore's wintry waste." Brougham Hall a lit- 
 tle below us, shot up its neat white battlements from 
 a shelter of waving wood. The gloomy ruins of 
 Brougham Castle, frowning in ridicule of the feeble 
 hand of time, which proves unable to " bow them 
 with its weight." In the extreme distance, and 
 mingling with the sky, was the summit of Ingle- 
 borough, in Yorkshire. Following round by the
 
 162 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 west, Lowther Castle shot up its beautiful turrets. 
 Then comes Ulswater with its numerous bays and 
 creeks; and at its foot the lofty Dunmallard. 
 (The hill mentioned in the conclusion of my last 
 letter, but which I forgot to name.) Clustered one 
 against another, we saw the hills of Swarthfell, High- 
 street, Helvellyn, Catsby, Saddleback, Skiddaw, and 
 a number of other hills, whose names neither I nor 
 my sister can recollect. To the north, we saw Car- 
 rick, Criffell, and the Cheviot hills in Scotland, like 
 a dim mist, breaking on the horizon. A blue speck- 
 on the ground, we were told, was the smoke of Car- 
 lisle. In a clear morning, with a good glass, I sup- 
 pose the towers may be distinctly seen ; but we were 
 obliged to be satisfied with the smoke. 
 
 Having satiated ourselves with this delightful 
 prospect, we descended to the church yard, to see 
 the giant's grave and the giant's thumb. Here it 
 was our misfortune to meet with an antiquarian 
 from Kendal, but whose name I could not learn. 
 " This is a melancholy circumstance," observed my 
 sister ; " we are now to be poisoned with antiquarian 
 dust and rust, and then buried in the the giant's 
 grave !" 
 
 The Giant's Grave consists of two very tall pillars 
 of red freestone, with two rows of semicircular flat 
 stones between them ; all of which have sometime 
 been carved. "These stones," said our Kendal 
 Oldbuck, "are reported to have been erected to the 
 memory of a knight errant, named Sir Ewan Caesa- 
 rius, who made dreadful havock among the wild
 
 LETTER IX. 163 
 
 boars in Inglewood forest, in this neighbourhood. 
 This forest," added he, " was the retreat of the re- 
 nowned outlaws, Adam Bell, Clim o'the Clough, 
 and William of Cloudeslie. I have, 1 ' continued he, 
 " a most invaluable ballad upon these men, consisting 
 of about fourscore verses, four lines to a verse, and 
 fourteen syllables to a line. This, if you will sit 
 down, I will just repeat, by way of introducing some 
 account of these merry archers. 11 " Pray, 1 ' said my 
 sister, who trembled at the idea of listening to a 
 ballad of not less than four thousand syllables; 
 " Pray what reason have you antiquarians to think 
 that Sir Ewan was buried here ?" " The song," 
 he continued, taking no notice, " begins 
 
 1 ."Merry it was in the green forest ' " 
 
 " You have forgot to tell us what yon stone is 
 with the hole through," interrupted my sister, still 
 anxious to prevent this dreadful ballad. " It is 
 called the Giant's Thumb," he replied ; 
 
 ' Merry it was in the green forest, amang the ' " 
 
 "Oh! do you think this has been meant for a 
 cross ?" said my sister, pointing at one of the pillars. 
 " Perhaps," said the antiquary, ".it may 
 
 Where men hunt 
 
 amang the leves 'green. 
 
 " I will go," said my sister, patting my uncle on 
 
 the elbow, " and bespeak beds at the inn !" And 
 
 away she skipped towards the gate ; and I felt a 
 
 wish to follow her. " There, ' said she taking my 
 
 p
 
 14 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 arm, " let us try if we can find nothing to amuse us 
 while the antiquarian repeats his eighty verses." 
 We returned first to the inn to order dinner ; being 
 confident that we should not leave town before noon. 
 
 After surveying the town, we returned to the 
 churchyard, where the antiquarian was endeavouring 
 to prove that King Arthur's bones were discovered 
 in consequence of an old song. They however broke 
 up the conference on our arrival ; and we repaired 
 to dinner. 
 
 As soon as we had dined, we took a chaise for 
 Haws Water, intending to cross the hills into Kent- 
 mere that night. The first object that arrested our 
 progress, was Arthur's Round Table, near Eamont 
 Bridge. " This," said my father, " is a cockpit, 
 without doubt." " It has been an area for jousts 
 and tournaments," replied my uncle, " you may see 
 as clear as noon. Do you not see," continued he 
 warmly, " here is a circular area, with a dry ditch 
 round it, for the spectators, with an entrance at each 
 end for the knights on horseback ? I almost fancy 
 I can see these banks covered with the anxious 
 crowd King Arthur, and his courtiers, and ladies 
 sitting on the side of yon hill the knights, with 
 their lances poised, entering on each side of the 
 ring, with all the ardour of youthful valour and v 
 " I can see nothing," said my father, " but some 
 short grass, and an old grey horse pasturing among 
 it. v 
 
 " You have nothing to do, 11 said my sister, " but 
 to place a knight on the back of the old horse here :
 
 LETTER XI. 
 
 165 
 
 and then double them, and we can imagine a joust 
 immediately." " We have nothing to do," replied 
 my uncle warmly, " but to let our fancy range back 
 to those days of British valour, when ladies admired 
 a youth for his heroism, as she would now do for 
 his dandyism when a lover would pay his suit in 
 a coat of mail, with as much pliability in him as a 
 tight laced Preston dandy.' 1 " Well, well, 11 said 
 my sister, " though I confess I should not much 
 approve of a lover dressed in steel armour, it might 
 be all very love inspiring in the days of King Ar- 
 thur ; but we can talk more about this as we travel 
 towards Haws Water." 
 
 We had however more antiquities to visit ; and 
 the landlord of the inn was requested to conduct us 
 to Mayburgh, a large circle, surrounded with a ram- 
 pire of small stones, leaving an entrance towards 
 the Round Table. There is a single stone in the 
 centre; and some very fine wood growing round 
 the enclosure. It is altogether a romantic spot. 
 " This," said my uncle, " has been either a place 
 of worship or a court of justice. But I should ra- 
 ther suppose it to have been the latter, as there is 
 but one stone." " There were more stones," said 
 the landlord, " but the farmer hired two men to 
 break them up and carry them away." " Oh the 
 villains !" exclaimed my uncle. " I think it was 
 not right to do so, 1 ' observed the landlord ; " for I 
 suppose one of the men lost his reason, and the other 
 hung himself soon after." " If the old farmer who 
 employed them, had hung himself too," urged my
 
 166 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 uncle ; " it would have been only right : he must 
 evidently have lost his reason before, for no sensible 
 man would injure such noble specimens of antiquity ." 
 
 My uncle had mounted his antiquarian hobby, 
 and nothing could have stopped him. A shower 
 of rain which fell very opportunely, caused us to 
 retreat to the chaise, but this did not stop my uncle's 
 hobby. The Kendalian had spurred it to a gallop, 
 and my sister observed, with a smile, that Mayburgh 
 had made it run away. We had reached the vil- 
 lage of Bampton, before he had concluded his ac- 
 count of the Druid worship ; he then began to draw 
 parallels between the religion of the ancient British 
 and that of the ancient Caledonians. " The British 
 believed in one supreme Being, 1 ' said he, " while 
 the Caledonians, brother, brother, What ! are you 
 asleep ?" " Humph !" said my father, " it was an 
 abominable thing of them." " What was abomin- 
 able ?" asked my uncle, " I have said nothing about 
 them." " Yes," replied my father, " you told us 
 they burned their children in wicker hurdles." 
 " Humph," said my uncle, and sunk into a sulky 
 silence, from which he did not rouse, till we reached 
 Haws Water. 
 
 We were exceedingly amused, and my uncle was 
 induced to resume his smile, by a droll adventure 
 near Measand. A party of gentlemen, a lady, and 
 a peasant by way of guide, had taken a drawing ex- 
 cursion to this romantic vale ; and we came in con- 
 tact with them near one of those rustic spots, called 
 farm houses in this country. The farmer, the far-
 
 LETTER XI. 167 
 
 mer's wife, and their two sons were endeavouring 
 to conduct a cart of hay into the barn the wrong end 
 before. The horse which had been accustomed to 
 precede the cart, seemed very unwilling to give up 
 its honourable post, and refused, as well as a horse 
 could refuse, to follow the cart. " It will not give 
 up its precedency," said my sister. " It stands on 
 punctilios, like a baronet, 11 rejoined my father. "Its 
 like a deel on us, 11 said Dick, for we found by this 
 time the peasant guide was so denominated by his 
 employers : " It's like a deel mair on us, it hates 
 et gang back ith 1 ward." " I think, 11 said the young 
 gentleman, " this group, the barn, pig-stye, and 
 other appurtenances, with the fine trees and rich 
 background of hills, would make an exquisite sketch. 1 " 
 " Never did I see a richer subject, 11 said my sister. 
 The stranger sat down on the corner of a crag, and 
 we alighted to watch his progress. 
 
 The farmer's wife, who was probably no stranger 
 to parties of this kind, wrapped her blue apron round 
 her waist, and came running up to us, almost out 
 of breath, " God bless ya, Sirs, 11 she exclaimed, as 
 soon as she was near enough to be heard, " Preigh 
 ya stop a lal bit while oor Joan slips on another par 
 a breeks, for he isn't fit et be draan e thor. 11 How- 
 ever, after much persuasion and assurance that Joan^ 
 breeches were actually the best we had seen that 
 day, she consented that he should be drawn as he was. 
 
 The old woman's fears about Joan served to a- 
 muse us till the sketch was finished ; when we pre- 
 pared to pursue our journey. But as we had to go
 
 168 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 over Nan Bield into Kentmere, and the rain was 
 evidently gathering in the mountain heads, the stran- 
 ger suggested the propriety of our taking his guide, 
 as he might be useful in passing through the mist : 
 to this we agreed. We re-entered the chaise, and 
 Dick mounted, (no little vain,) along with the driver. 
 We soon arrived at the head of Mardale ; where 
 we quitted the chaise, and prepared to ascend the 
 hill. The scene was extremely grand and magni- 
 ficent. A heavy mist was rolling round the sum- 
 mits of the hills we had to climb, wreathing itself 
 into a thousand fantastic forms ; sometimes dipping 
 down almost to the foot of Harter Fell ; at others, 
 re-ascending in a rapid sweep, and exhibiting the 
 steep ravines in its side, and the numerous cascades 
 which tumbled down the glen between that hill and 
 High Street. " Is not this rather a dangerous pas- 
 sage ?" enquired my uncle. " Net varra," replied 
 Dick, " for I niver brak me neck e my life, wi gang- 
 in oor it." " That's no reason but you may do, 1 " 
 observed my sister ; " or at best you may lose your- 
 self, and not find your way home again. 1 " " I niver 
 went fra heam but yance e my life, et I didn't git 
 back again," said Dick, with a grin. " And pray 
 when or where was that ?" said my uncle. " It was 
 this time, I presume," interrupted my sister, smil- 
 ing, and patting my uncle on the shoulder. 
 
 We began to ascend the hill, and rain became 
 more inevitable. " We certainly shall be most 
 genteelly wet," said my uncle, looking up the hill. 
 " If we are," said Dick, " we's be wet a top a Nan
 
 LETTER XI. 169 
 
 Bield ; an ivery body cannot say as Buckle. 1 ' "Well 
 indeed, Dick," 1 replied my sister, " I had rather be 
 wet upon Nan Bield than in a common street." 
 " If a mud be wet," observed Dick, making the 
 sign of swallowing, " a wod be wet in aid Robin's 
 at Banton." " You prefer an inside wetting then?"" 
 said my father. " Raither an gang oor Nan Bield 
 o sick a neet as tis, a wod," rejoined Dick; "an 
 soa wod any sensible man." " But you are going 
 over, as well as we," replied my uncle. " Ey," re- 
 plied Dick ; " but I'se gaan oor for pay. Ye don't 
 think et a wod be seek a fool as gang oor for nooght." 
 " Will you take a dram ? w said my father, handing 
 him the bottle. " Ey, ey, that'l du," replied Dick; 
 " 1 thought if ye wor a gentleman, ye wod ken what 
 a wor efter, forby." 
 
 We had now reached a tarn in the side of the 
 mountain, called Small Water, a most gloomy and 
 romantic spot. Not a shrub or tree softens the 
 rugged grandeur of this horrid chasm. Nearly per- 
 pendicular rocks shelter it on three sides, and we 
 entered by a fourth which is open to the north. 
 The rain began to descend in torrents, and the wind 
 blew a hurricane. Our umbrellas were rendered 
 useless, and we crawled up the rocks, cold and 
 drenched with rain, little capable of either seeing or 
 enjoying our limited prospect of about ten yards 
 round. 
 
 I could not help admiring Dick at this disagreeable 
 part of our journey. When the rain and cold had 
 depressed our spirits, and the difficulty of the road
 
 170 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 rendered us weary, Dick endeavoured to cheer ub 
 with a lively hunting song. You would have been 
 astonished what a happy effect his music, which 
 though rustic was harmonious, had on us. We 
 went forward with more vigour; and, I believe, 
 felt less of the hardships of the road. As nearly as 
 my sister and I can recollect, the following is a copy 
 of it. 
 
 a Bunting Song. 
 
 See, my dear, it is break of day ; 
 
 Kiss me, my love, for I must away ; 
 
 Over the hills and the mountains bound, 
 
 To catch a glimpse of fleet-footed hound 
 While the cheery horn shall play, 
 Tarra laddy, tarra laddy, tarra laddy, lay. 
 
 Through the copse and o'er the ling, 
 We'll make the deaf-eared mountains ring, 
 For nought on earth shall check our course, 
 Or damp the ardour of man or horse 
 While the cheery horn shall play, 
 Tarra laddy, tarra laddy, tarra laddy, lay. 
 
 When at eve, with the jolly pack, 
 Whistling gaily, I journey back, 
 Thou, my love, with smiles shall meet me, 
 And I with a hunter's kisses greet thee 
 While the cheery horn shall play, 
 Tarra laddy, tarra laddy, tarra laddy, lay. 
 
 For the joys of the chace shall be, 
 
 Far less dear to my heart than me ; 
 
 For the sports of the field shall never 
 
 Thee from my heart of hearts, love, sever 
 Though the cheery horn shall play, 
 Tarra laddy, tarra laddy, tarra laddy, lay. 
 
 Then give me a kiss, and let me away, 
 
 To join my comrades wild and gay ; 
 
 And I'll return at night to thee, 
 
 Fonder and kinder, if that can be 
 While the cheery horn shall play, 
 Tarra laddy, tarra laddy, tarra laddy, lay.
 
 LETTER XI. 171 
 
 " Do you call this hill only half a mile ?"" enquir- 
 ed my father. "I kna net," replied Dick; "its 
 mebbe bad rooad, and they give good mezzer." 
 " We shall never reach the top, I think," said my 
 father, peevishly. " Do not be disheartened," said 
 my uncle ; " it is said to be a long road that has 
 never a turn." " I kna net whether its a sign ev a 
 lang rooad er net; but its a varra straight an et hez 
 nivver a turn," observed Dick. 
 
 My uncle looked at Dick some time, pondering 
 over his picturesque interesting countenance ; and 
 then said, " Pray, friend, where is your own coun- 
 try?" "My country! God bless ye! IVe nea 
 country. IVe a lal cot, an a parrock, just oor th* 
 hill, but that's a lang deal short a heving a country," 
 retorted Dick. " Then you come out of Kentmere," 
 replied my uncle. " Nea," replied Dick, " I dunnet 
 come out on't ; but I come fra aside onV 
 
 Our enquiries were suspended, and Dick's rustic 
 wit was silenced, by our arrival at the summit of 
 Nan Bield. The ridge was not more than three 
 feet over, and we descended very rapidly into the 
 vale of Kentmere. We quickly found we had left 
 the rainy regions, and were entering upon a fine 
 evening scene. But we were too much soaked with 
 the wet to feel any enjoyment in the varied prospect 
 of hill and dale, water, wood, and plain, which here 
 presented itself. A few miles of rough mountain 
 road brought us to the only inn this valley contains. 
 The picturesque landlord and the entertainment we 
 met with, are too singular to be compressed into the
 
 172 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 conclusion of a letter. I shall therefore reserve 
 them for my next. 
 
 Dick assured us, at parting, it was a public house 
 where we should pass the night. My sister, with a 
 smile, remarked, we should probably discover that 
 before we left it. " I mickle question that, 1 ' replied 
 Dick, " for its a moderate spot." " 'Twill suit me 
 then, for I admire moderation," replied my uncle. 
 " Dea soa," said Dick ; " then ye'll find this to yer 
 mind ; for its moderate eneugh ! w 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 
 Kentmere, August^ 1820. 

 
 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 KEN'TMEEE PUBLIC HOUSE TEA-PARTY CONFABU- 
 LATION KENDAL. 
 
 DEAR TOM, If I recollect rightly, you will be at 
 Preston this night and this night I and my sister 
 intended to have welcomed you home I with as 
 hearty a squeeze of the hand as ever brother gave 
 to brother, and my sister with as warm, as chaste 
 a kiss as ever mantled on the lips of an affectionate 
 sister. But a wet day, and Kentmere, have com- 
 pelled us to postpone this delightful rencontre. We 
 have reached Kendal, however, and tomorrow, I 
 trust, will see us safe at home. This of course will 
 be my last letter ; but I have a thousand things to 
 tell you which I could not press into the compass 
 of a letter, that must be told when we meet. Should 
 this, however, meet you before I do, you must amuse 
 yourself as well as you can with my poor account of 
 our entertainment in Kentmere, where we arrived, 
 you will recollect, the evening I wrote last. 
 
 You can form no idea of the comforts and accom- 
 modations of a genuine Lake inn of the old school. 
 No sign, or even lettered board, announced a house
 
 174) LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 of refreshment. My uncle approached the door of 
 what Dick assured us was the only public house in 
 the vale. " That cannot be an inn," exclaimed my 
 father. My uncle opened the door, and looking 
 into the house, was inclined to hold the same opi- 
 nion. However, to make the best apology he could 
 for his intrusion, he asked if there was an alehouse 
 any where near. " This is o ther is," replied an old 
 coarse voice. My uncle turned round, and beckon- 
 ing to us, said, " It is an inn." And we followed 
 him into the house. 
 
 Oh ! that Teniers had been with us ! What a 
 subject would the interior of this Kentmere caravan- 
 sary have furnished for his pencil ! The floor 
 
 was bespread with tubs, pans, chairs, tables, piggins, 
 dishes, tins, and the other equipage of a farmer's 
 kitchen. In the dusk of the evening, and the dark- 
 ness of the house, the things were only just visible; 
 and we felt some hesitation in approaching the fire, 
 lest some accident might befal us in working our 
 way through the innumerable obstacles, that inter- 
 vened between us and the coxey hearth. A robust 
 girl, in a short petticoat of Kendal l/ump, however, 
 with more agility than might have been expected 
 from her very unpromising appearance, presently 
 pushed the tubs and pots aside, and by that means 
 formed a tolerable avenue to the fire. When our 
 Amazonian Hebe had conducted us to the fire, she 
 gathered the children's stockings, shoes, frocks, skirts, 
 &c. which occupied every chair in that part of the 
 house; and by a little skill in placing the chairs
 
 LETTEE XII. 175 
 
 upon the broken flags by the hearth, she presented 
 each of us with a tolerably comfortable seat. 
 
 Thus far we had advanced into the " bowels of 
 the land," in silence. But my uncle now requested 
 that something might be added to the fire, as we 
 were thoroughly wet, and very cold. " Put some 
 mear peats tet fire, 11 said the landlord, " thor folks 
 are varra ill drabbled. 11 While the maid was recon- 
 structing the fire, we had time to reconnoitre our 
 quarters. 
 
 There was no fire-place; but a paved area of 
 about two square yards, raised perhaps six inches 
 from the floor, and attached to the end wall, formed 
 the hearth where the fire burned. Parallel to the 
 end wall, a beam, belonging the room floor above 
 us, crossed the house about two yards from the end 
 wall. The space above this beam was shaped like 
 a pyramid ; gradually tapering to the top, where it 
 could not be above a yard square. Up this funnel 
 or chimney the smoke ascended in fine convolving 
 wreaths, very amusing to us, as it gave a dingy hue 
 to the small speck of sky which appeared like the 
 lid of the chimney. 
 
 Under this huge vacant pyramid, and within what 
 they term the chimney wing, we sat, on one side 
 of the hearth. On the other, close to an oven in 
 the wall, sat the ancient landlord ; and beside him 
 sat the landlady, a good looking woman with a very 
 young infant on her knee. In the middle, was our 
 mountain Venus of a waiting maid, erecting a fire 
 This seemed to be a feat of skill ; for she first col-
 
 176 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 lected all the red fragments of the former fire, and 
 placed them in a neat heap. Then she surrounded 
 this heap of fire with a circle of half peats, set on 
 end; and again with two rows of whole peats set on 
 end. The hollow in the middle was then filled with 
 small fragments of peats, so as to rise highest in the 
 middle. In about five minutes the fire began to 
 burn brightly. " Thear," said the landlord, " thee 
 jo is in a good eumor to neet, fort fire loos." 
 
 Hitherto we had been sufficiently amused with 
 their rude but well meant endeavours to render us 
 comfortable. But as we began to warm, we began 
 to feel faint : and my uncle requested the maid to 
 bring my sister a glass of warm shrub, as he sup- 
 posed they would keep no wine, and each of us a 
 glass of his favourite rum and new milk. The girl 
 stood and looked " unutterable things." But the 
 landlord replied, " We hae nae rum." " A little 
 gin and warm water then," said my uncle. " We 
 niver keep nae spirits," replied Boniface. " Let us 
 have something at any rate," replied my father. 
 " We hae capital ale," observed the landlord ; "bring 
 'em ivery yan a pint." " And a pint for your mas- 
 ter," added my uncle. The landlord's face bright- 
 ened up at this ; and all was very pleasant till we 
 tasted the nauseous beverage. However it was all 
 we could procure ; and it was our duty to submit 
 to necessity. Beside, whatever our comforts might 
 be, we might rank them among the curiosities of 
 our lake tour. 
 
 A new difficulty presented itself, in preparing
 
 LETTER XII. 177 
 
 supper. Eggs and bacon were all that the maid 
 with all her ingenuity was able to produce. My 
 sister made herself very cheerful over her rustic 
 meal, and wished she might never be compelled to 
 sit down to a worse repast. " There is not much 
 fear of that," said my father. " Do you think," she 
 replied, " that no one ever supped less splendidly 
 than we do ? For my own part, I am oft asto- 
 nished how it is that the Deity should have been so 
 bountiful to us, while others are exposed to cold and 
 hunger, pain and sickness, want and misery. It is 
 not, I am certain, that we serve him better than 
 others ; or that we are more deserving than the 
 meanest of his creatures." My uncle turned to her 
 with a smile ; for she had touched on a subject on 
 which my uncle loved to dwell. " My dear, my 
 darling niece," said he, " can you give any reason 
 then, why we have been blessed with wealth, while 
 so many others are permitted to endure all the pri- 
 vations to which indigence is exposed ?" " I believe," 
 she replied, " that there are many who are incapa- 
 ble of profiting by the good things of this world, if 
 they had them ; and heaven has placed wealth in 
 our hands, that we might act as stewards to the Al- 
 mighty, in distributing his bounty to those who have 
 not been blessed with it." " And what," said my 
 uncle, " will be the consequence if we neglect to 
 employ that wealth, as heaven designed, and appro- 
 priate it to our own use ? What shall we say when 
 this summons arrives, ' Give an account of thy stew- 
 ard-ship, for thou mayst be no longer steward f "
 
 178 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 My sister made no reply, she clasped her hands on 
 her bosom, turned her eyes towards heaven, a mo- 
 ment ; and then turning to my uncle, she said, in 
 a half whisper, " If you will accompany me after 
 we return home, we will seek out the fatherless and 
 the widow, the aged and the infirm. We will ad- 
 minister to their wants, and endeavour to sooth 
 their distresses. We will calm the troubled breast, 
 and ease the throbbing heart. We will dry the 
 mourner's tears, and bind up the broken hearted. 
 We will watch over the couch of sickness, and solace 
 the dying hour. Oh ! we will raise a little heaven 
 around us ; and when our limited means prevent us 
 from doing more good, we will 
 
 'Give the wretch who passes by, 
 A soothing word, a tear, a sigh."' 
 
 My uncle once or twice dashed away the tear 
 which started in his eye but it would not do. His 
 nature is kind ; and this appeal to his benevolence 
 was too powerfully made for him to repress his feel- 
 ings. He pressed my sister to his breast, printed a 
 kiss on her lips, and promised that she should be his 
 guiding angel, and lead him wherever his services 
 might be acceptable. 
 
 My father too was moved; but his harsher dis- 
 position enabled him better to conceal it. " Call on 
 me," said he to my sister, after a moment's pause, 
 " every Monday morning for two guineas, in addi- 
 tion to your present allowance, to enable you to 
 pursue your benevolent design." 
 
 You, Tom, whose heart is alive to the best and
 
 LETTER XII. 179 
 
 tenderest of human feelings, will easily suppose that 
 we did not make the eggs and bacon much less. 
 The full heart wanted no earthly food. Oh ! how 
 luxurious was a feast of the soul like this ! 
 
 After much contriving on the part of the host and 
 hostess; and many assurances on ours, that we 
 could sleep any where, we were conducted to our 
 apartments. The room appointed for me was any 
 thing but neat. However it had one convenience 
 the casement was an excellent ventilator ; and I was 
 convinced that the circulation of air would dry my 
 clothes, if carefully spread out over the chairs, of 
 which there were plenty. The bedstead was, like 
 the rest of the house, entirely on the model of the 
 old school. The sides were of black oak, about 
 twelve inches deep, by about four inches thick. The 
 posts were about two feet and a half high from the 
 floor. And the curtains, which were composed of 
 patches of old paper hangings of different patterns 
 pasted together, were suspended from hooks in the 
 ceiling. 
 
 I slept very soundly; and when I awoke next 
 morning, my clothes were thoroughly dry. I dressed 
 myself as well as I could ; but the delicacies of a 
 wash-hand basin or a looking glass, seemed to be 
 luxuries unknown to the unsophisticated natives of 
 Kentmere. As several doors opened out of my 
 room, I had some difficulty in determining which 
 should lead me to the apartments below. I how- 
 ever fixed upon one, where I found our Kentmere 
 bar-maid fast asleep. I passed into another, occu-
 
 180 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 pied by the children. A door out of this led me to 
 the stone stairs, by which I descended to our last 
 night's supper room. " Good morrow te ya," said 
 the landlord ; " here's a wet mworning." The rest 
 of the family soon followed; and no unpleasant 
 breakfast was prepared for us, of which we partook 
 in the same room where we had supped before. For 
 this apartment appeared to serve the office of kit- 
 chen, dining room, drawing room, breakfast room, 
 and tap-room. 
 
 The rain continued to pour in torrents ; and every 
 lane assumed the appearance of a river. As no chaise 
 could be procured, we were obliged to submit to our 
 fate, and remain in our present quarters till the 
 rain might be pleased to abate. For my sister hav- 
 ing been so excessively drenched the night before, 
 it would have been murder to have taken her 
 through the rain to-day. 
 
 However we were more fortunate than might 
 have been expected; for, according to immemorial 
 custom among these hills, after every Lying-in, the 
 good woman invites her female friends and neigh- 
 bours to a comfortable dish of tea, so soon as she is 
 able to attend on them. This merry meeting chanced 
 to take place on the very day we were at Kentmere. 
 And the singularity of a genuine Kentmere party, 
 could not fail to prove interesting to my sister, as 
 well as to your brother. 
 
 The dinner was despatched before twelve o'clock ; 
 and all was hurry and bustle to make preparations 
 for the invited gossips. The kitchen utensils which
 
 LETTER XII. 181 
 
 had blockaded our passage to the fire the former 
 evening, were all removed into an outer kitchen the 
 chairs were neatly polished with black lead and but- 
 termilk to a shining black the end wall beside the 
 fire was whitened with lime, which, on drying, as- 
 sumed a bright tawny orange, from the smoky plas- 
 ter on which it was laid. The floor, composed of 
 blue flags, was well washed with water, and rubbed 
 with a stone, till it looked like blue and white mar- 
 ble. The tables and the old fashioned bread cup- 
 board were washed, and then rubbed well with sweet 
 fern, which gave a perfume to the house more than 
 agreeable. The large oak snap table, that stood in 
 the landlord's bed-room, (which, like the state bed 
 of a palace, is on the ground floor,) was brought 
 out, and set on the middle of the floor. The large 
 square mahogany tea tray the black coffee pot 
 the silver lustre teapot the glass cream jug and 
 sugar basin and the finely pencilled china were 
 arranged on the table, with all that pride which a 
 Westmorland yeoman feels when he has an oppor- 
 tunity of displaying his wealth and splendour. 
 
 As the tvives, as they are emphatically termed, 
 began to assemble, rustic compliments began to pour 
 in thick upon our lying-in landlady. " Wy wat I 
 hwope ya mend nicely. Wat hoost barn? Wat 
 its quite a throddy; an as like it fadther as if he ed 
 
 spit it." "Wat yer middling gaily? Ise reet 
 
 fain et see ya luke sae weel. Oh ! its a bonny barn, 
 
 an it fadther varra een. 1 ' " Wy yer welcome 
 
 tot harston again ; ye'll due belive. Ant barn's a
 
 182 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 reet fine an, an it fadther hear till a tee." " Ey, 
 
 marry it fadthers itsell. An yer gaily stoot, I 
 warnd?" 
 
 Such and such like compliments filled up the brief 
 space between their entrance and teatime; which 
 was no longer delayed than could be avoided. 
 
 Our feminine Hercules was dressed up, as the 
 landlord observed, in her bitter best. My uncle 
 could not make out the derivation of this term, 
 though he made several enquiries. One old woman 
 said it meant nothing but bitter best. 
 
 " How comes Miles folk on, Peggy ?" enquired a 
 thin faced matron in a mob cap. " I kna net," said 
 Peggy ; " ye see, Jennet, they nivver offer et due. 
 She spends o et she can git e fine cleas, and he drinks, 
 ey an warse an that, somefolk says. A prood keck- 
 malairy as she iz, she wears leather shoon ivery day. 
 Her fadther, honest man, wor fain ev a par a clogs, 
 weel greased when e warnt at kirk; but she mun ha 
 shining shoon et sit it hoos in. Ye see wat folk 
 gits we ganging et leev e sick pleaces as Lankister." 
 " 1st be reet sorry et a barn a mine sud gang thear," 
 said Peggy. " Er a mine aider," replied another 
 voice. " Hoos Joan Martin duen," said the land- 
 lord. " Duen !" said Peggy, " Wy hees duen as 
 ill as e can. Hees nivver pait his hofe ear rent yet." 
 " Hoo kna ya that ?" said the landlady. " Wy 
 Mr. Wilson telt oor Tom sea when he went et pay 
 his." " Mr. Wilson wod tell yoor Tom noot o'th 
 mack, I ken weel eneugh," said Jennet. " Wy 
 but he ext oor Tom whar Joan Martin wor ; an if
 
 LETTER XII. 188 
 
 Joan had been payan his rent, as oor Tom war, he 
 wod a knan whar e war." " Yer reet, Peggy, 
 whatever it leet on," said the landlord. 
 
 The conversation proceeded rapidly in this man- 
 ner, and one farmer after another was ruined. One 
 with a proud wife, another with an expensive son; 
 some with following the green crop system, and 
 others with liming and draining. One man went 
 to Kendal after bad women; and another had a 
 wife no better than she should be. Almost every 
 maid in the valley was either with child, or de- 
 served it. 
 
 Such, thought I to myself, are the mild and sim- 
 ple manners of these mountain rustics. In places 
 like these, our philosophers tell us, we must look 
 for men in a state of purity. It would seem rather, 
 that the more the human mind is left to its own 
 depravity, and the farther it is removed from the 
 means of improvement, the more vicious it grows. 
 I cannot say but I was glad of this opportunity of 
 exploring the mazes of the mind; as it convinced 
 me that man is man wherever he may be found. 
 
 After tea the evening cleared up, and the land- 
 lord prepared his cart to convey us to Kendal. We 
 had a delightful drive down the vale. The sun 
 shot out its level beams over the woods dropping 
 with rain; and the clouds, as they retired in large 
 white fleeces, gave a cheerfulness to the scene so 
 unlike any thing I had seen before, that I was quite 
 charmed with this part of our journey. As the 
 vale of Kendal expanded before us, a slight mist
 
 184 LETTERS FROM THE LAKES. 
 
 hung over the lower part of the town, through 
 which the old ruined Castle just shewed its dark 
 grey turrets the prospect was beautiful in the ex- 
 treme. But my paper is full, and as I shall so 
 
 soon see you, it is folly to add more. 
 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 LEONARD ATKINS. 
 Kendal, Aug. 1820.
 
 ( 185 ) 
 
 EXCURSION 
 
 OVER HARTER-FELL TO LONGSLEDDALE. 
 
 I have just accomplished my journey into Long- 
 sleddale. And I am highly amused with a peculi- 
 arity in this country dialect, which they tell me 
 extends through all the district of the Lakes ; and 
 which is evidently of French extraction. It con- 
 sists in placing a pronoun at the beginning of a 
 sentence, and adding the nominative as a disjoined 
 phrase at the end. I will give you a few examples. 
 
 " It is a pretty valley, this Longsleddale." 
 " It is a steep hill, is Harter-fell." 
 " It falls an amazing height, that cascade." 
 " It runs remarkably well, does that horse." 
 
 In English these sentences would have stood 
 thus : 
 
 " Longsleddale is a pretty valley." 
 Harter-fell is a steep hill." ' 
 " That cascade falls an amazing height." 
 " That horse runs remarkably well." 
 
 But while I am describing the peculiarities of the 
 Westmorland dialect, I am forgetting the peculiari- 
 ties of the Westmorland vales. A subject about 
 which I sat down to write. 
 
 I must recollect to mention that the morning was 
 fine. This is always an important point with an 
 artist ; for the sun elicits a thousand beauties which 
 do not exist on a cloudy day. The light and shade 
 are so richly mingled, that the most trifling inequa- 
 lity of the hills becomes visible. Every projecting 
 rock throws out a shade every fissure and ravine
 
 186 THE LAKES. 
 
 springs into existence. There was also that me- 
 teorological phenomenon, called the Dry-hop, by the 
 country people, which gives such a soft and dancing 
 appearance to the landscape a beauty which no 
 painter can describe, because it consists in the un- 
 dulating motion of the air. 
 
 Though my host and I had often ascended the 
 side of Harter-fell, we had not hitherto visited its 
 summit. This morning, therefore, we resolved to 
 take the top of Harter-fell in our route, and a young 
 gentleman from one of our public schools, being 
 on a visit to the clergyman, kindly volunteered to 
 accompany us. The old cottager, who knew what 
 would be requisite in such a journey, filled a little 
 pannier with such articles as might prove most ac- 
 ceptable to us mountaineers. 
 
 It was surprising to see the old cottager climb the 
 hill. Though feeble, and much inferior to either 
 the young scholar or me on level ground, he led us 
 a race up the steep acclivity so much for habit. 
 We amused ourselves in ascending the hill, by any 
 remarks which were likely to elicit the gaiety of the 
 mind. The old man compared it to the hill Diffi- 
 culty of Pilgrim"^ Progress, a book which he had 
 nearly by rote. The young scholar thought it might 
 be compared to Mount Parnassus, and reminded us 
 that Pegasus would be flying from its summit on 
 our nearer approach. A raven which had built in 
 one of the cliffs, aroused by the unusual sound of 
 human voices, at length gave its wings to the yield- 
 ing air. " There," observed the scholar, " I told
 
 THE LAKES. 187 
 
 you that Pagasus would fly off presently." " Nay," 
 said the old man, who knew nothing of the classic 
 allusion, " that is only a raven ; many of which build 
 in these rocks."" 
 
 After many a tug, and many a rest, we arrived 
 at the summit of the hill. The prospect was ex- 
 tremely grand. To the north lay the vales of Rig- 
 gingdale, Mardale, and Haws Water. Beyond 
 these, the extended woods of Lowther, and the town 
 of Penrith, and all the rich country down to Pooley 
 Bridge. The fertile lands of Cumberland, limited 
 by the Scotch mountains. The prospect to the east 
 was bounded by the long range of Crossfell. To 
 the west, we saw nothing but the vale of Kentmere, 
 two small tarns immediately below us, with moun- 
 tains heaped upon each other in the wildest confu- 
 sion, far as the eye could reach. To the south, was 
 the beautiful narrow vale of Longsleddale, with its 
 fertile fields ; and a little to the west, over the hum- 
 bler hills, we saw Ulverston and Lancaster sands, 
 and the Irish Channel. Nearer, but in the same 
 direction, we had a charming peep down the lake of 
 Windermere, with its soft and unassuming hills at 
 its southern extremity. 
 
 The warmth of the day made us extremely thirsty ; 
 and we felt like parched travellers on the sandy de- 
 serts of Arabia, sighing for a bubbling spring. After 
 searching about a mile, we found a most delightful 
 spring, in the bosom of the hill, where the vale of 
 Longsleddale loses itself in a number of nameless 
 ravines. Being about the time of sheepshearing
 
 188 THE LAKES. 
 
 the shepherds were busy gathering in their flocks 
 for shearing the following morning ; and a respecta- 
 ble yeoman from the vale below, with his dog " Ser- 
 vant" or as it was abbreviated to " Sirra h" joined 
 us at the spring, and a very valuable guide he was. 
 
 We sat down by the fountain, spread our stores 
 on the green bent, and pleased ourselves with the 
 idea, that Lowther Castle (which was then in view) 
 could not boast a more extensive dining room than 
 ours. Our pasties were highly relished, and a little 
 sorrel which we had gathered on the rocks below, 
 made an apology for a sallad. Our soda water tins, 
 supplied the place of glasses, and a few draughts of 
 ginger beer, restored our wasted spirits. Having 
 finished our rural, but highly savoury meal, and 
 thrown a few fragments to the faithful and thankful 
 servant, that had so patiently waited on us at din- 
 ner, we proceeded on our excursion. 
 
 Mr. S , the Longsleddale yeoman, explained 
 
 to us the method of collecting the sheep, for the 
 sheepshearing, or clipping, as it is there termed. 
 The sheep had been collected about a fortnight be- 
 fore, and driven to a place called Brownlow Bottom, 
 where a stream, which afterwards falls into the Kent, 
 was dammed by a bank of stones and green sods. 
 To this place all the shepherds of the neighbouring 
 vales for a dozen miles round, repaired on the 
 *' washing day" 1 called, on that account, "Brown- 
 low Bottom Fair"' 1 to make enquiries after the stray 
 sheep. 
 
 After washing the sheep they are again turned 
 upon the Fell, and we just came in time to see part
 
 THE LAKES. 189 
 
 of the second gathering. It was pleasing to see the 
 sagacity of the sheep dogs. At this place, the vale 
 branches out into a number of small ravines, gra- 
 dually losing themselves in the mountain heads. 
 Along the ridge of hills which surround these minor 
 vales, the shepherds and the dogs pursued their way ; 
 and thus keeping on the higher ground, the sheep 
 retreated into the vale. I observed that the dogs 
 never attempted to bark, till they were beyond the 
 sheep. Hence having the noise above them, the 
 sheep naturally drew into the vales below, gradually 
 encreasing in numbers, till they reached the foot of 
 the hill. 
 
 As we descended the hill, Mr. S took us to see 
 Langindale Slate Quarries. What an excavation! 
 Now deserted ! Since he could remember, he had 
 known them export slate through Mosedale and 
 Mardale, to a great extent. A galloway, with half 
 a load on each side, trudged over the hills, where 
 neither carts nor sledges could pass. Forty of these 
 galloways, in a string, went over the hills twice every 
 day during the summer, leaving the slate at a place 
 where the carts could take it up. In winter, the 
 galloways were put out to grass, where the snow did 
 not lie long, and where they could pasture at a 
 trifling expense. 
 
 " Did no accidents ever happen at these quarries?"" 
 enquired the young scholar. "O! yes!' 1 replied 
 Mr. S , "many; and one in particular I recollect, 
 which filled the whole vale with pity." We were 
 all anxious for the particulars, and our kind cicerone 
 gave us the following tale, which I shall call
 
 190 THE LAKES. 
 
 THE SLATE QUARRY. 
 
 Jemmy Wilson was a young man of sober habits. Indeed 
 the vale is remarkable for sobriety; as we had once a public 
 house in it, but the landlords all failed in a very short time 
 after coming to it, and we have had none for these many 
 years. Jemmy was of a careful disposition, as most sober 
 people are; and, without wishing to acquire riches, was 
 anxious to merit the character of an HONEST MAN which 
 is the highest honour that a Sleddaler ever looks for. 
 
 When Jemmy was about five and twenty, he married a 
 young woman who had been his playmate at school, for the 
 play days in our valley are concluded at an early period. 
 On their marriage, they went to reside at such a cottage as 
 we term a comfortable one. Ellen's father gave them a 
 cow, and they rented a little piece of land ; but not enough 
 either to support them or find Jemmy in employment. To 
 make up these deficiencies, Jemmy proposed to work at the 
 quarries, where his wages would be certain ; and as his land 
 would nearly maintain them, his wages could be chiefly 
 spared for a wet day, as we term it that is, against sickness 
 and old age. Ellen had no objection to the proposal, except 
 the frequent accidents which happened there, and she would 
 much rather see him turn to any other job. 
 
 Jemmy however had no such fears, and he went to the 
 quarry, or whark, as we call it, full of the gains which his 
 labour would produce. A few months passed pleasantly 
 over, and the happy couple looked forward with pleasing 
 anticipations to the time when they should be enabled to 
 stock a larger farm. But fate had woven the web of Jem- 
 my's life in another loom, and he was not destined to enjoy 
 the blessings for which he laboured. 
 
 One day a blast had been put into a rock, which caught 
 fire more readily than was expected ; and Jemmy became 
 the victim of its fury. I saw the lifeless corpse brought to 
 that door which he had left in the morning with so joyous a 
 heart ; and I saw Ellen faint over the body of her Jemmy ! 
 Distressing, however, as the scene appeared keenly as
 
 THE LAKES. 191 
 
 every one felt at the moment no one ever thinks of it now; 
 no one recollects it but as an occurrence of other years except 
 Ellen she feels as deeply as ever she felt and the name of 
 the slate quarry, will instantly suffuse her eyes with tears. 
 
 " I wonder,' 1 said the scholar, " where you dale- 
 landers learn to be so eloquent." " The voice of 
 nature," replied the old man, " speaks to all hearts 
 alike ; but it is more attentively listened to by the 
 simple sons of these vales, than by the vitiated 
 children of luxury and sloth. The tale which Ro- 
 bert has just told, has none of what you would term 
 eloquence in it. It is as simple a tale as ever was 
 told ; but it depicts the pure feelings of nature, and 
 raises a correspondent feeling in every heart that 
 hears it. If you wish to learn the genuine eloquence 
 of nature, you must learn it in nature"^ own school 
 the Lake Vales." 
 
 In descending the hill, Mr. S showed us a 
 curious narrow trough in the rock, through which 
 the water works its way, into many a wild cascade. 
 One of the most remarkable of the fissures in the 
 rock is called the " Scofs loup." The reason for 
 which name is as follows. In ancient times, when 
 the Scots came down to plunder these vales, two 
 marauders had strayed down Longsleddale, and were 
 pursued by a strong body of Sleddalers. In making 
 their retreat up the vale again, they were so closely 
 pursued, that no way of escape presented itself but 
 leaping the brook, which was then swollen with rain. 
 The trough at the head of a fine cascade, though 
 terrible to look at, seemed the most eligible ; and
 
 lys THE LAKES. 
 
 one of them succeeded in clearing the chasm, but 
 the other fell in and was dashed to pieces by the 
 waterfall, which hurled him into the cauldron below. 
 
 The entrance at the head of the vale is between 
 two magnificent rocks, called Buckbarrow and Goat- 
 scar. At the foot of the former we went to visit a 
 well, famous for the growth of the Saxifraga Stel- 
 laris, or Starry Saxifrage. 
 
 A stony mountain road led us to the inhabited 
 part of the vale. The first dwelling is Sad-gill, a 
 most romantic spot, sheltered with trees ; with a 
 lofty hill behind, and a murmuring stream before. 
 We next arrived at the only village in the vale, 
 called Little London ; for what reason it has this 
 name, I could not learn. Our conductor took us to 
 visit his mother-in-law, a friendly cheerful old wo- 
 man. We sat down to a comfortable repast of bread 
 and butter, and new butter milk, and drank the old 
 woman's health in her own rum and milk, with no 
 common zest. We found ourselves so much at 
 home, that an hour passed away among the bees 
 and flowers before we were aware. 
 
 As we descended the vale, Mr. S pointed out 
 
 a place called Kitt Stone, an Old Roman building full 
 of curious carved work, belonging to Flookborough 
 chapel. We passed Longsleddale chapel, where 
 the Rev. Mr. Greenwood discharges the duties of a 
 rural pastor, to the satisfaction of his parishioners. 
 
 A little below the chapel, we passed Bosswood 
 Crag, a single stone of enormous size, with a flourish- 
 ing oak tree upon its top the young scholar was 
 puzzled to know where the roots procured moisture.
 
 THK LAKES. 193 
 
 Arrived at the house of Mr. S , we refreshed 
 ourselves with a little more bread and butter, and 
 received a new supply of rum and milk. Our young 
 scholar enquired if all the cows in Longsleddale 
 gave that kind of milk ; and suggested the idea of 
 carrying a few churns of such like milk to Kendal 
 every day, thinking that a profitable trade might be 
 opened in that line. Mr. S was of the same 
 opinion; only they had none to spare, the cows be- 
 ing nearly dry. 
 
 Among other information respecting the dale, 
 Mr. S told us that there was not a mechanic of any 
 description neither a smith, a carpenter, a shoe- 
 maker, a grocer, an innkeeper, nor any business, except 
 a tailor, who had not half work. The young scholar 
 enquired how they did without a doctor. " We 
 never want one, 1 ' replied our friend, " except for 
 burns and scalds, and our worthy friend, A , can 
 cure them." Old Mr. A , who was smoking his 
 pipe very comfortably, observed, that " they were 
 far too busy to find time to be out of health ; and 
 that a doctor would soon be starved to death." 
 
 The evening began to draw on, and we bade fare- 
 well to the hospitable inhabitants of this pleasant 
 vale, with a firm resolution to pay them another 
 visit the first opportunity. 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE LAKES. 
 
 There is something gloomy in the idea of quitting 
 for ever those pleasing scenes where I have passed 
 some of the happiest hours of my existence. To
 
 194 THE LAKES. 
 
 bid adieu forever to the silent glens, and murmur- 
 ing rills, and rocky mountains and waving woods, 
 and simple peasantry it is no easy task. I have 
 now for a considerable time kept company with this 
 " ancient brotherhood of hills," and the goodbye 
 hangs lingering on my tongue as loth to hear itself 
 echoed by the bare blue rock. But it must be. I 
 and those I love must part. Other travellers shall 
 pass the spot where I now stand, and find no trace 
 of my sojourn. The sigh which now floats on the 
 breeze shall ere then have sunk into silence ; and the 
 tear drop which now gems the grass at my feet shall 
 have vanished as though it never hung there. 
 
 So it is with human life, as my old friend at Mar- 
 dale Head has often observed. We come as travel- 
 lers in the wilderness of this world, with the certainty 
 that we must leave it for another and an unknown 
 country. Some few are able to meet with some 
 pleasing spot where they almost imagine they could 
 pass an eternity of delight ; but the day of parting 
 arrives, and they quit the favoured spot and all its 
 joys with as much reluctance as the wretch whom 
 fortune doomed to sleep under the shelter of one of 
 these hanging rocks. Uncertainty is the substance 
 of human life ; and joy and sorrow are but its lights 
 and shadows. And shall a tear ever bedew the 
 cheeks of him who knows that there is nothing in the 
 world worth weeping for ? 
 
 Such were the remarks of the Old man of Mardale 
 Head, as I parted with him, on taking my farewell 
 of the Lakes. I could not quit these fairy scenes 
 without visiting the intelligent old man ; and again
 
 THE LAKES. 195 
 
 wandering with him over some of those magic spots, 
 where enthusiasm had seized upon the faculties of 
 my mind, and led my fancy captive. 
 
 " We part,"" said the old man, " probably never 
 to meet again. This parting puts me in mind of 
 the hour, which fast approaches, when I too must 
 bid farewell to the Lakes. I have, I confess, been 
 an enthusiastic admirer of the rich and varied scenes 
 which heaven has placed before my view ; and in my 
 morning adorations to the Giver of every blessing, I 
 never fail to return thanks to Him for having placed 
 me in a situation so congenial to my taste. In my 
 morning walks, I moralize on the phenomena of 
 nature, which present themselves to my view. The 
 magnitude of the hills, leads me to contemplate the 
 power of the Deity their stability teaches me 
 a lesson on the immutability of their Creator, 
 whose promises are firmer than the solid rocks, 
 which have laughed at storms and tempests for 
 nearly six thousand years. Sometimes a heavy 
 mist will hang on the mountain's brow, obscuring 
 the lovely face of nature ; which the rising sun will 
 disperse, and leave the landscape in all its beauty 
 and loveliness. I have then been led to reflect on 
 that mist of darkness which was dispelled by the 
 sun of righteousness, who rose with healing on his 
 wings. I have been also taught to reflect on the 
 transitory nature of human grief. When our pros- 
 pects are the darkest when no bright speck illu- 
 mines the future and nothing but the mist of 
 despondence obscures the scene of life ; then the 
 providential mercy of our heavenly Father, shines
 
 196 THE LAKES. 
 
 upon us with more than usual splendour, and the 
 joy we then feel is rendered doubly sweet by its con- 
 trast with the preceding gloom. The little lake 
 below us, I compare to the human mind. When 
 the air is still, its surface is smooth ; and I see re- 
 flected in it, the hills, and trees, and houses, which 
 adorn its banks. Such is the mind in its tranquil 
 state. It catches the hue of every lovely object 
 around it ; and we gaze on the serenity of the mind 
 with pleasure we trust to it with security. The 
 angry man we compare to the lake in a storm. Every 
 lovely image is obliterated. Its waves dash against 
 its boundaries, as if anxious to overleap those limits, 
 which nature has assigned them. We approach it 
 with fear ; and prudently avoid trusting ourselves 
 to its mercy. The little mountain pansey, some- 
 times, though rarely found among our pastures, tells 
 me that, as the richest of nature's works are thus 
 hid from the eyes of the common observer, we should 
 not contemn the soul which has been nurtured in 
 obscurity ; for there the most powerful operations 
 of the Deity, are found to exist in their highest per- 
 fection. The mountains rising one above another, 
 are to me an emblem of the difficulties which attend 
 all human pursuits. When we begin to climb, the 
 summit appears near and easily attainable ; but as 
 we proceed, new summits rise above those already 
 passed, and new difficulties present themselves, ne- 
 ver dreamt of at starting. But the greatest, and 
 most important lesson, is taught by the changing 
 season on the umbrageous foliage. Now we see the 
 trees stripped of their beauty ; and nothing indicates
 
 THE LAKES. 197 
 
 a return of that covering we so much admired a few 
 months ago. We know that it will return ; but if 
 we had not been taught by experience, we could ne- 
 ver have discovered the fact by philosophy. Thus 
 it is with man. He blooms awhile, the admiration 
 of all around : but the accidents or thunderstorms 
 of his prime, scatter his leaves. Or if he escapes 
 these, as I have done, the winter of old age is sure 
 to consign him to the sleep of death. A few more 
 of the autumnal winds of life, perhaps the next, may 
 close the period of my protracted summer, and none 
 will remember that I ever bloomed. I am already 
 become a stranger in my native vale. The compa- 
 nions of my youth have stooped to the tempest, and 
 I must yield as well as they. Those whom I knew, 
 while the warmth and energy of manhood remained, 
 while the affections of iny heart were yet capable of 
 clinging round the soul of a brother mortal, have all 
 quitted this sublunary sphere. My breast is now 
 become callous. I am no longer capable of feeling 
 that fond affection, which once thrilled through my 
 heart, at the sight of a friend. I seem like a stran- 
 ger who has but a few hours to remain in his lodg- 
 ings, and is careful to form no connections. Yet, 
 though my wasting strength convinces me, that I 
 shall quickly fall like a withered leaf in autumn ; I 
 also feel a certainty that I shall blossom again, like 
 the budding bloom of spring. I therefore do not 
 contemplate death like the annihilation of my men- 
 tal energies ; but as a great and mysterious change, 
 far beyond my conception. I think upon this great 
 and important change, till I sink in humble awe at
 
 198 THE LAKES. 
 
 the feet of that Almighty Being, in whose hands 
 are the destinies of the Universe !" 
 
 The old man ceased, and we proceeded to the 
 foot of the hill in silence. The ascent was steep, 
 and he surveyed it awhile, as if to ascertain whether 
 he could climb it or not. At last he pressed my 
 hand, raised his eyes to heaven, as if supplicating 
 for me. that guidance and protection which he was 
 no longer able to afford. 
 
 I parted at once with him and the sweet vate of 
 Mardale, for I would not allow my lingering fancy 
 to enjoy another gaze. I wished to turn my eyes 
 within, to trace the wild and rugged landscape there, 
 and rethink the solemn train of thoughts which the 
 old man's parting observations had so powerfully 
 excited. 
 
 I do assure you, that I left this delightful region 
 with a sigh ; and looked upon its vanishing points 
 with regret. Though I shall probably never again 
 hold communion with its hills, or recline again on the 
 banks of its streams, fond memory will often recal 
 those days of pure and rational enjoyment which I 
 spent among the Lakes. 
 
 [The reader has now had before him all, or nearly all Mr. Briggs' 
 Compositions respecting THE LAKES of this District. "The 
 Letters" are given as they appeared in the Lonsdale Magazine ; 
 with the exception of a few very trifling omissions and verbal 
 alterations ; which, from a knowledge of the Author's intentions, 
 as communicated to us in frequent conversations, we deem our- 
 selves warranted in making... ."The Tales of the Lakes." which 
 constituted a leading feature of the last volume of the Lon. Mag., 
 are but nominally connected with that part of the country; as any 
 person who takes the trouble of examining them, will at once 
 discover. The " Excursion over Harter-fell," and "The Fare- 
 well to the Lakes," being, however, exceptions to this observation, 
 are inserted in this publication. The latter article, it is presumed, 
 forms a very appropriate finale to the subject.]
 
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS 
 
 Frnni the Rev. Mr. HODGSON'S topographical and historical 
 Description of this county ; 
 
 WITH NOTES ANI> OBSERVATIONS, 
 BY JOHN BRIGGS.
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS, BY THE REV. MK. HODGSON. 
 
 HousesClothing Furniture Food Feasts Schools. 
 
 II. NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS, BY J. BRIGGS. 
 
 Manor-houses Beacons Farm-houses Small tvindov:s 
 Fresh-wood^ or Threshold The HallanThe Down-house Mell- 
 door Windows The evenings Wicker work Store of Bacon 
 Hobthurst Hearth Rannel-balk Oaken closets The bower 
 Loft Wooden posts Thatch of heath, or straw Houses of the 
 peasantry The wool of a black sheep Harden cloth From houae 
 to house Tailor Clogs Rainy country Long oaken table 
 
 Long-settle The sconce The chairs The bedsteads Cheats 
 
 The outer door Peeled rushes Unleavened cakes Funerals 
 Fig-sue Alpine Bistort Tea Feasting The Stang Great 
 Supper Lying-in Christenings Marriages Additional Note ..
 
 C 201 ) 
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 ALL the old MANOR Housss 1 and other edifices were built 
 for defence against the incursions of the Scotch. The larger 
 houses had areas, or yards, strongly walled about, and gar- 
 nished with turrets and battlements. Within these inclo- 
 sures, they shut up their cattle during the night; and when 
 they had notice of an enemy, by firing of beacons* and other 
 modes of alarm. Even the farm houses' were secured with 
 strong doors and gates, and had small windows 4 crossed with 
 strong bars of iron. And many of them had a cow-house 
 and stable in the lower story, in the manner of the piles of 
 Northumberland. 
 
 But the great bulk of dwelling-houses consisted of four 
 rooms on the ground floor, and two on the second story. 
 The front door was covered with a low porch, the entrance 
 from which was called the freshwood, or threshold. 5 From 
 this the hallan, 6 a passage nearly four feet broad, led to the 
 other side of the building, where, in front, was the back 
 door, on the left side the down house' door, and on the right 
 the meli door 8 . The down house had no second story, and 
 was open to the rafters which were left naked. The parti- 
 tion which divided it from the hallan was generally of 
 wicker work, sometimes of oak staves, or of stone. Here 
 the baking, brewing, washing, and such like, of the weal- 
 thier class of yeomanry was performed. Others used it as a 
 receptacle for elding, \j)ld and dead things Saxon^ the 
 provincial name for firing, whether wood or turf. With the 
 mechanics, this was the workshop. The mell door opened 
 into the Jieck, a narrow passage six feet long, and leading 
 into the house, from which it is separated by a stone parti-
 
 202 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 tion, that screened the wind from the fireside. The house 
 was lighted by two small windows 9 in front, and one behind, 
 and was the common apartment of the family at meals and 
 in the evenings. 10 The back of the chimney was formed by 
 the wall of the middle edifice. The other sides were of 
 wicker work, 11 smeared over with clay and cow dung, or of 
 lath and plaster, commencing at the floor of the loft, six feet 
 wide, and gradually narrowing to the top. Here joints of 
 various kinds of meat were suspended to dry for winter 
 use; 12 and under this smoky dome, which in moist weather 
 was continually shedding a black sooty lee, called the hallan 
 drop, sat the family; 13 the women knitting, or spinning 
 wool or flax ; the men often carding wool, and the school- 
 boy conning Lilly ; while the grandfather, the chronicler of 
 border tales and superstitious legends, related among other 
 things, the freaks of Hobthrust, lt so exquisitely described by 
 Milton : 
 
 Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
 To earn his cream bowl duly set, 
 When in one night, ere glimpse of mom, 
 His shadowy flail had thrashed the corn, 
 That ten day labourers could not end j 
 Then lays him down, the lubber fiend, 
 And stretched out all the chimney's length 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength; 
 And cropfnl out of door he flings, 
 Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 
 By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 
 
 The fire was lighted on a hearth 15 slightly raised from the 
 ground. A beam of wood, called the rannel-balk 16 ran 
 across the chimney, and from this hung a sooty chain gar- 
 nished with crooks, suitable for hanging different culinary 
 vessels upon. At the end of the house opposite the fire, 
 was a large oaken closet 17 of different compartments, on 
 which was carved the owner's name, the year in which it 
 was made, endless scrawls, crowns, and other curious devi- 
 ces. This closet was the full height of the house ; and had 
 on the right hand of it the door into the pantry or dairy ; 
 and on the left the door of the bower 18 or chamber, in which
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 203 
 
 the master or mistress slept, and which was one-third larger 
 than the pantry. The children and servants slept on the 
 loft, 19 which was unceiled, the males at one end, and the 
 females at the other. The sides of these buildings were 
 made of stone ; the timber of the roof was supported by 
 strong wooden posts 20 fixed in the ground ; and the whole 
 covered with thatch 21 of heath or straw, and in the western 
 mountains with a sort of heavy blue slate. This description 
 answers to the houses of the yeomanry in general : those of 
 the? peasantry 22 wanted the down house, and were more 
 rudely built. 
 
 The CLOTHING of the men was of the native fleece of the 
 county, homespun, and woven by the village weaver. The 
 wool of a black sheep, 23 slightly mixed with blue and red, 
 was the favourite colour of this cloth, which was very thick 
 and heavy, and of which the coat and waistcoat were made ; 
 the breeches, if not of the same, were of leather, generally 
 of buckskin. The shirt was of harden cloth, 24 made of the 
 finest part of hemp, or the coarsest part of flax; and both 
 of these plants were grown for the use of each family, on 
 almost every farm in the county. Itinerant hecklers and 
 ropers went their annual rounds from house to house. 2 '' 
 The hemp-ridge in many fields bears its name after its use 
 has been forgotten. The women's apparel was of the finer 
 sorts of the native wool, woven into a kind of serge, dyed of 
 a russet blue, or other colour ; and like the men's, made up 
 by the tailor, 20 at the wearer's own fire side. C/og\s 27 or 
 wooden-soled shoes, still continue in common use, and are 
 well adapted to a mountainous and rainy country.* 8 
 
 Besides the large partition closet, the FURNITURE of the 
 house consisted of a long oaken table 29 with a bench on each 
 side of it, where the whole family, master, children, and 
 servants ate together. The richer sort of people had a ser- 
 vice of pewter ; but amongst the middling and poorer classes, 
 the dinner was eaten off wooden trenchers. Hasty pudding 
 and liquids were served up in small wooden vessels called 
 piggins, made in the manner of half barrels, and having one
 
 204 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 stave longer than the rest for a handle. On one side of the 
 fire was a seat above six feet long, called the longsettle. 30 Its 
 back was curiously carved ; and its seat formed a chest with 
 two or three divisions,, in one of which the economical house- 
 wife laid up, in sorted bnudles, thread, buttons, and rem- 
 nants of cloth for mending the family apparel. Along the 
 heck side of the fire was the sconce, 51 a sort of fixed bench, 
 under which one night's elding was deposited early every 
 evening. The chairs 32 were of heavy wainscot, with high 
 arms, and carved on the back ; but by being narrow a and 
 upright, 
 
 " They pressed against the ribs, 
 
 And bruis'd the side; and elevated high, 
 Taught the raised shoulders to inrade the ears." 
 
 Three footed stools were, however, the most common 
 moveable seats. The bedsteads 33 too were of oak, with carved 
 testers of the same wood ; those on the loft were commonly 
 without either testers or hangings. The dresses of the fa- 
 mily, meal, malt, and dried meat, were kept in strong clum- 
 sy chests, 34 the fronts of which were laboriously ornamented 
 with carved borders, and like that of the furniture, joined 
 together with wooden pins, instead of nails. The latches 
 and bolts of the doors were of wood ; but the outer door, 3 * 
 studded with large headed nails riveted in the inside. Can- 
 dles made of peeled rushes, 36 (juncus conglomeratus) dipped 
 in the hot fat, procured from frying bacon, were more in 
 use than those made of tallow. The candlestick was a light 
 upright pole, fixed in a log of wood, and perforated with a 
 row of holes up one side, in which a piece of iron, bent at 
 at right angles, and furnished with a socket for holding 
 tallow candles, and a kind of pincers for rushes, was moved 
 upwards and downwards as convenient. 
 
 The refinement and general condition of a people are in 
 nothing more apparent than in the kinds and qualities of 
 their FOOD, and in their method of preparing it. To the 
 rank meals of the Greenlander we attach ideas of stupidity, 
 filthiuess, and poverty ; and the delicate viands of a London
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 205 
 
 epicure as naturally represent to the mind refined manners, 
 elegance and riches. This county heing supposed unfavour- 
 able to the growth of wheat, black oats, called haver, and a 
 species of barley, called here or bigg, were the only grains it 
 produced. Of the haver, bread was made, or a species of 
 pottage, called hasty pudding ; this bread being made into 
 thin unleavened cakes, 37 and laid up in chests, within the 
 influence of the fire, has the quality of preserving its sweet- 
 ness for several months : it is still in common use. The 
 bigg was chiefly made into malt, and each family brewed its 
 own ale ; during the hay harvest, the women drank a plea- 
 sant and sharp beverage, made by infusing mint or sage into 
 buttermilk whey, and thence called whey-ivhig. W beaten 
 bread was used on particular occasions. Small loaves of it 
 were given to persons invited to funerals, 38 which they were 
 expected to " take and eat" at home, in religious remem- 
 brance of their deceased neighbours ; a custom the prototype 
 of which is evidently in the establishment of the eucharist ; 
 for in this country it still bears its Saxon name, Arvel bread, 
 from ARYVLi^full ofreverence, meaning the holy bread used 
 at the communion. A mess made of ale, boiled with fine 
 wheaten bread and figs, sweetened with sugar, and called 
 fig-sue, was the dinner for Good- Friday, on which day the 
 boys dragged the bones of horses and other animals about, 
 to the tune of " Trot herring, trot herring, trot herring 
 away." The summer provisions consisted of boiled animal 
 food, and the produce of the dairy. Garden vegetables, ex- 
 cept onions and a few savoury herbs used in broth, were 
 little known : but a mess made of the tender leaves of Al- 
 pine Bistort, 40 and groats mixed with a small portion of 
 young nettles, the leaves of the great bell flower, and a few 
 blades of chives, all boiled together in a linen bag with the 
 meat, was accounted a great delicacy to eat with veal, in 
 spring. For want of green fodder, the supply of fat cattle 
 failed in the early part of winter ; the food of this season, 
 therefore, consisted in a great measure, in dried beef and 
 mutton, and in bacon. Poultry and geese were kept in pens
 
 206 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 till about the latter end of February ; and in the festive 
 season of Christmas, as many pies, made of flour of wheat, 
 and containing goose, mutton, or sweetmeats, were baked, 
 as served the family for a month or six weeks. Thin half- 
 fed veal made its appearance in March. The fish in the 
 rivers and lakes were never in much esteem. Salmon was 
 in plenty ; but in Kendal, as in Newcastle-upon-tyne, the 
 apprentices covenanted in their indentures, that they should 
 not dine upon this or other kinds of fish more than three 
 days in a week. This sort of winter provisions, and the 
 houses being generally built in low situations, and a foot or 
 ttvo within the ground, caused agues to be prevalent here 
 in spring. But the introduction of tea, 41 potatoes, and 
 wheat, and new modes of agriculture, have nearly prevailed 
 over the old system, and agues have disappeared.. 
 
 A year of dulness and parsimony was always begun and end- 
 ed with FEASTING. 42 From Christmas-Eve to the Twelfth- 
 Day, all labour ceased, except attending to cattle, and the 
 drudging miser, who dared to violate this custom, was pu- 
 nished by being elevated upon a long pole, called the stang,* 3 
 and in this state borne through the village amidst the huz- 
 zas of his neighbours. This punishment was also inflicted 
 upon adulterers, and those who beat their wives, but in cases 
 where the offender was too powerful to be personally pun- 
 ished, a deputy mounted the stang, and published his 
 neighbour's shame in some such rhyme as this, 
 
 "It isn't for my foat et I ride stang, 
 But for W. B. who his wife does bang." 
 
 At this time, persons of every condition " made a great 
 supper, and bade many." 44 Care was taken that none of 
 the party should have more than one engagement at a time. 
 Each family knew, by old custom, its own night, and every 
 night was merry. Gervase Markham's " Skill in Cookery" 
 was sometimes studied on these occasions, and the tables 
 were loaded with vaiious joints of meat, fowls, pies, pud- 
 dings and tarts ; but the minced and goose pies were the
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 5207 
 
 fare of which all that were orthodox to the customs of their 
 forefathers partook. Ale brewed in October was copiously 
 drunk. From the banquet the aged withdrew to the chim- 
 ney corner, and passed the night in conversation, or at cards 
 on a low " mensa tripes," turned in a lathe. A part of the 
 youths, in odd dresses, masked, and headed by a motley 
 fool, shewed their dexterity in the sword dance, or enter- 
 tained the party with songs, or rehearsals learnt from their 
 fathers, and the last resemblances of the Corpus Christi, or 
 miracle plays, which were suppressed through the kingdom 
 in the beginning of the reign of James I. After this, the 
 young of both sexes amused themselves with dancing ; or, 
 squatting down closely in a circle, played at hunting the 
 slipper, or, casting the names of the beaux into one hat, and 
 those of the belles into another, drew an anxious marriage 
 lottery; the cushion dance always ended the ball. Ale 
 possets, (milk boiled with bread and curdled with ale,) were 
 in esteem at entertainments, and made the breakfast of Sun- 
 day morning and of visitors. 
 
 At a lying-in 45 the matrons of the fating, were regaled 
 with furmity and sweet butter ; the latter of which was a 
 compound of sugar and butter boiled together, and seasoned 
 with spices and spirits : this and a new milk cheese, were 
 always provided a few weeks before they were wanted ; and, 
 amongst poor people, the expense attending these prepara- 
 tions for each addition to a family was defrayed by a " ga- 
 thering" amongst the gossips. 
 
 Christenings, 46 were always celebrated with great jollity ; 
 but to marriages 47 all the neighbourhood were lated. As the 
 party returned from church, they had always a foot or horse 
 race to the bridal house, when the victor was rewarded with 
 a ribbon from the hands of the bride. After dinner the 
 jocund rebecks " began to sound," 
 
 " To many a youth and many a maid, 
 Dancing till the evening shade." 
 
 A barn was the ball-room. Hucksters and alehouse 
 keepers fixed booths about the dwelling, and sold liquor
 
 208 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 and sweetmeats to the company. The carousal too, was 
 heightened with wrestling and leaping matches, and with 
 foot and horse races ; the ladies not unfrequently entered 
 the list, and contended in speed for a piece of fine holland. 
 Near the conclusion of the entertainment, the bride sat in 
 state, and the company cast money or household utensils 
 into her lap. These orgies concluded with the custom of 
 throwing the stocking, a custom which refinement has pre- 
 scribed as indelicate, though it offered no offence to the de- 
 corum of the rude simplicity of the people amongst whom it 
 prevailed. It was, however, accessible only to a chosen party. 
 While the new married couple sat upright in bed, with the 
 curtains open only at the foot, the young men attempted to 
 hit the bridegroom, and the young women the bride, by 
 throwing the bride's stockings over their shoulders. Those 
 who were successful in their attempt, went away assured 
 that their marriage was near. 
 
 Funerals too were solemnized with feasting. After any 
 one died, visits of condolence were paid by the aged ; and 
 the young people constantly watched the corpse till the day 
 of burial, to which the master and mistress of each house 
 in the lating were invited. Among the rich, the custom of 
 distributing arvel bread at these times gradually yielded to 
 a sumptuous arvel dinner ; but a deal of money and provi- 
 sions was usually given to the poor. 
 
 The influx of refinement was, however, the most apparent 
 in its effects upon the SCHOOLS. The tide first rolled back 
 upon the fountains out of which it had originally issued. 
 The predilection for ancient literature and learned profes- 
 sions, which, from its immemorial prevalence, seemed a kind 
 of instinctive propensity among the people of these secluded 
 vales, soon began to yield to the lure of wealth. The dis- 
 cipline of the grammar schools had been severe, the hours 
 of attendance from six in the morning to six in the evening, 
 with the exception of the breakfast hour from eight till nine, 
 and the dinner time from twelve till two. Prayers were 
 read every morning by the master or usher ; the roll was
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 209 
 
 called over every day ; defaulters marked ; and the truant, 
 the idle, and the dull, too often punished with indiscriminate 
 severity. All red letter days were half holidays. The va- 
 cations were at Christmas and Pentecost, and seldom for 
 more than a fortnight; but between these seasons the bar- 
 ring out occurred, a riotous proceeding, in which the boys 
 took possession of the school room at an early hour in the 
 morning, and refused the master admittance till he had 
 signed certain rules for the regulation of holidays, and a 
 general pardon for past offences: to this instrument a 
 bondsman was always demanded. The fray concluded with 
 a feast, which, perhaps, and an idle day, were the chief 
 objects both of the institution and continuance of the cus- 
 tom. At Shrovetide, the master's industry was usually re- 
 munerated with a gift in money or provisions, proportioned 
 to his desert, and the circumstances of the donor. This in 
 some schools was called "the cockpenny," a name derived 
 from the master being by ancient usage, and the " barring 
 out'' rules, obliged to give the boys a premium to fight cocks 
 for. Happily, however, the cockfighting part of this cus- 
 tom has been long unconnected with the schools, and 
 matches at foot ball, or other games, in which a whole 
 school divides itself into two parties, each headed by its 
 respective captain, established in its stead. The parents 
 were often spectators of these contests. The youths of a 
 neighbourhood, rich and poor, were all instructed together, 
 a circumstance which diffused and kept alive a plain fami- 
 liarity of intercourse amongst all ranks of people, which 
 inspired the lowest with independence of sentiment, and 
 infused no insolent or unreal consequence into the wealthy. 
 Families that could afford it, sent their sons to one of the 
 Universities ; and the exhibitions to Queen's College, Ox- 
 ford, and to other Colleges, annually maintained a number 
 of youths, whose frugal habits, industry, and abilities, al- 
 most invariably led them to honourable distinction. But 
 the greater number completed their education in the head 
 schools, and about their twentieth year became schoolmas-
 
 210 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 ters, in which employment they continued till they were of 
 age to enter into Holy Orders. This class of scholars was 
 dispersed all over England, and mostly spent their time in 
 stipendiary curacies, or in small livings. In this scholastic 
 age the yeoman and the shepherd could enliven their em- 
 ployment or festivities, with recitations from the beauties 
 of Virgil, idyls of Theocritus, or the wars of Troy. But 
 when a shorter and easier way was opened to the introduc- 
 tion of youth into opulent prospects, this learned simplicity 
 began to disappear. Teachers of writing and arithmetic, 
 who had hitherto wandered from village to village, now be- 
 came necessary appendages to the larger schools ; and those 
 of inferior note were soon almost exclusively employed in 
 qualifying youth for the counting house or excise. Many 
 respectable merchants, whose early circumstances compelled 
 them to toil for their daily bread, have been educated in 
 night schools, taught during the winter by a village school- 
 master, a parish clerk, or some industrious mechanic. In 
 short, there seems to have been a long hereditary emulation 
 among the inhabitants of this country to raise their sons 
 beyond the situation of their birth. But then this laudable 
 practice was, till of late, clouded by neglect of their daugh- 
 ters. The education of the females in general consisted 
 merely in learning to read very indifferently ; a few were 
 taught to write ; and many entirely neglected. Indeed the 
 servile drudgery in which the women were employed, was 
 strongly characteristic of the manners of feudal times. A 
 century has not passed since, in the dales bordering upon 
 Yorkshire, the women often carried dung in holts, a sort of 
 wicker panniers, on their shoulders to the fields, while the 
 men laid in groups on a sunny bank, employed in knitting, 
 and no other way participating in the labours of their wives 
 and daughters, than in filling their loads; and, though this 
 degrading custom has disappeared, it is still far from un- 
 common to seethe "beautiful servant maids of this country 
 toiling in the severe labours of the field, driving the har- 
 rows or the ploughs, or sweating at the dung cart !"
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 211 
 
 NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 1 " Manor Houses Only few specimens of 
 this higher class of rude habitations remain. The 
 most perfect one we know of, is Collinfield, near 
 Kendal. But of this we intend to give a particular 
 description hereafter ; and shall, therefore, pass 
 it by for the present. Cark Hall, in Cartmel, is a 
 h'ne specimen of the old manor house. Most of the 
 ancient court yard is still remaining. It was once 
 a place of no little importance. Indeed, every thing 
 about the building proves it to have been the abode 
 of ancient dignity. But O, how altered now ! 
 What a change has taken place since George Fox, 
 the first Quaker, was taken thither to be committed 
 to Lancaster Castle, by its magisterial owner. The 
 hall of Justice is now converted into a receptacle 
 for potatoes. The library, once so famous for its 
 antiquarian treasures, is now equally famous for a 
 fine colony of rats. The elegant windows of the 
 projecting front are now supplied with a few hand- 
 fuls of bracken (fern,) and the court yard, once so 
 trim, now produces some of the most luxuriant 
 wormwood in the parish. Indeed, wormwood seems 
 to have been an attendant on old manor houses, 
 for it is generally found about the places where they 
 have stood. Hampsfield Hall lias undoubtedly 
 been a place of this description ; and has suffered in 
 the civil wars. Some remains did exist a few years 
 ago, but the dilapidating hand of modern improve- 
 ment has removed these vestiges of the days that
 
 212 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 are passed. The old fire place, about twenty years 
 ago, retained its original form, and marked the taste 
 of former times, when half a neighbourhood could 
 assemble to tell old tales, and drink old ak under 
 the chimney wing. The distinguishing character- 
 istic of these buildings, was a high wall in front. 
 As the necessity of fencing against depredations has 
 now vanished, these walls have been removed, and 
 consequently the identity of the real antique left 
 difficult to discover. At Canon Winder, in Cart, 
 in el, a fine specimen, however, remains, well worthy 
 of notice. Halsteads, near Kirkby Lonsdale, was 
 one of the Halls, but the late worthy owner, destroy- 
 ed the wall, among the tasteful improvements of that 
 place. Part of the wall remains at Swarthmoor 
 Hall, near Ulverston. We would direct the curious 
 enquirer to this place, as it contains an excellent 
 specimen of the embrasured window, so often men- 
 tioned in Scott's Novels. Low Levens is a good 
 specimen of the old manor houses, so is Clawthrop 
 Hall, near Burton-in-Kendal. Biggins Hall, near 
 Kirkby Lonsdale, is so mueh dilapidated, that its 
 original construction cannot now be discovered. 
 We should refer it to a date anterior to that of the 
 old manor houses. It has, in all probability, had 
 some connections with the religious buildings, in the 
 days of the Roman Catholics. The house called 
 Hill Top, in Crosthwaite, erected by the late Sir 
 Daniel Fleming, is no bad specimen of the ancient 
 manor houses, being constructed in that style. 
 2 " Beacons? Beacons may be considered as the
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 213 
 
 Telegraphs of former days. By these the inhabi- 
 tants of the country contrived to give information of 
 an approaching enemy. The effects of the blazing 
 beacons on the minds of the country people, are 
 beautifully described in the Scotch song of Symon 
 and Janet : 
 
 "She seeing our signals a-blazin, 
 
 Came rinnin in rivin her hair, 
 O, Syuion ! the Frenchmen are Ian (lit ! 
 
 Gae, look, man, and slip on your shoon ! 
 Our signals I see them extendit, 
 
 Like red-risin blaze o' the moon. 
 What plague, the French landit I quo' Symon, 
 
 An' clash gaed his pipe to the wa>, 
 Faith, then there's be loadin and primin, 
 
 Quo' he, if they're landit ava." 
 
 Such, we may suppose, would be the language of the 
 Westmorland farmers, when the " blazing beacons" 
 informed them that the Scotch were prowling the 
 country for prey. At that time they came down 
 upon our peaceful vales in large bodies ; these spread 
 themselves into smaller companies, in order to ravage 
 the country mare effectually. The first indication 
 would naturally be from Penrith beacon, where the 
 marauders would be observed sculking through 
 Inglewood Forest. From this beacon, all the others 
 on Helvellyn, Highstreel, Crossfell, Ingleborough, 
 Benson Knott, Warton Crag, Clougha, and all 
 the smaller ones, the marks of which we find on 
 every hill top which commands two vales. There 
 has scarcely been five miles without a beacon through- 
 out this hilly country. Many of them still retain 
 the name of beacons as indicative of their original 
 designation. As the alarm spread through the
 
 214 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 country, the inhabitants hastened to secure their 
 property by driving the cattle into the lower offices 
 of fenced buildings, and fastening the gates. The 
 poorer cottages, therefore, which had not these secu- 
 rities, fell an easy prey to the plunderers. How 
 happy ought we to feel now, when the humblest cot- 
 tager sleeps as securely as his lordly neighbour ! 
 
 ! " Farm Houses."" The ancient farm houses are 
 here extremely well described, and numerous speci- 
 mens are to be found at this day, in all parts of the 
 surrounding country. Many have been altered, and 
 the characteristics destroyed, but plenty remain for 
 the amusement of the antiquary. One of the best 
 specimens we have seen, we observed one evening 
 after descending " the brow of the mighty Helvel- 
 lyn," into Glenridden vale. The hour was late, and 
 we doubtful of our road, we, therefore, made enquiry 
 at the first cottage we found, which proved to be 
 one of the genuine Westmorland kind ; for the plan 
 was not confined to this county alone, but extended 
 through all the neighbouring country. The house 
 of Mr. Sewart, at the south end of Ambleside, is of 
 this kind. There is a very good one at Smithy 
 Green, about five miles from Lancaster, formerly 
 inhabited by Mrs. Catharine Threlfall. A cottage 
 close to the residence of James Crossfield, Esq. near 
 Cartmel, called Guy^s House, is a good specimen, 
 except that the heck is either wholly or partially re- 
 moved. The Three Dollies in Cartmel, was once 
 one of this kind of buildings. 
 
 4 " Small Windows:' The small windows, with
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 21 
 
 stone mutiions, at about eight inches distant, were 
 undoubtedly intended to prevent the entrance of 
 robbers ; and when they were made wider, iron bars 
 let into the stone, answered the same purpose. 
 
 5 " Fresh-wood or Threshold? This word did 
 not apply to the entrance, but to a huge piece of old 
 oak, let into the ground, and secured in the walls 
 on each side. This was most commonly called the 
 Thres/t-wood, in the provincial dialect, and not 
 Fresh-wood, as Mr. Hodgson intimates. The in- 
 convenience of this thresh-wood's standing five or 
 six inches from the floor, first suggested the idea of 
 laying a stone in its place, even with the entrance. 
 It was upon this thrcsh-wood that cross straws, 
 horse shoes, &c. were laid to prevent the entrance 
 of witches much importance being attached to the 
 thresh-wood. 
 
 6 " The Hallan" The hallan is evidently the 
 origin of modern lobby, from which it differed only 
 in being wider, and having a door at each end. In 
 the farm houses the sacks of corn were frequently 
 deposited here, the night before the market day. 
 Here, too, pigs were hung up after killing. Over 
 the joists above the hallan^ a delightful assemblage 
 of sickles might be observed ; and a shelf over the 
 door, with hammers, nails, pincers, and other car- 
 pentry tools of the farmer. 
 
 7 " The Down-House? This apartment was 
 not always separated from the hallan ; but formed 
 one common kitchen with it. In some houses we 
 find a second story over the downhouse. This we
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 consider as marking the transition from the ancient 
 to the modern plan of building ; and such houses 
 may be considered as of more recent construction 
 than the others. 
 
 8 " MeH-Door" The mell-door, it will be ob- 
 served, entered from the Hallan, at the opposite 
 end of the passage from the front door. On open- 
 ing this door, another passage presented itself. The 
 passage was separated from the house by a partition 
 of old oak, and only seldom of stone, as Mr. Hodg- 
 son represents it. This partition was frequently 
 carved and bore the date, and the builder's name ; 
 and was denominated the heck. In houses of the 
 most ancient date, this heck reached to the first 
 beam of the upper story, where a huge octagonal 
 post formed its termination. It was usual to bore 
 an augur hole into this post, and secure a piece of 
 cow hair in the hole by wooden peg, for the purpose 
 of cleaning combs upon. Behind this heck, was 
 generally a bench or seat, covered with woolly sheep 
 skins, or with a cushion, which owed its existence 
 to the good housewife's thrift. 
 
 9 " Windows." One of these windows opened into 
 the middle of the house and was separated into three 
 or four lights by stone munions; or munions of oak 
 wood, secured with bars of iron. The second window 
 in the front, opened from under the chimney iving, 
 and seldom exceeded two lights, divided by one 
 munion. Here the Bible and Prayer-book might 
 generally be found, along with a few other books of 
 almost equal reputation among our forefathers, viz.
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 217 
 
 " Tom Hickathrift" " Jack the giant killer" and 
 other cottage lore. The garland of the Golden 
 Glove and Sir William Stanley's Garland, usually 
 kept them company. The window in the back of 
 the house was smaller than the first mentioned one 
 in the front, and often not very far from the mell- 
 door as it must be observed that the meH-door and 
 heck were always at the back of the house. 
 
 10 " In the evenings? It must be recollected, 
 that the evenings were the hours of social glee among 
 the rude sons of Westmorland and its neighbour- 
 hood. When winter brought the "lang, lang neets," 
 the neighbours met together by some fireside, ac- 
 cording to appointment ; varying their houses almost 
 every night. Here the women, young and old, 
 employed themselves with the rock and spindle, and 
 enlivened the dreary evening with many a terrible 
 gong of love and murder. The old local tale of the 
 old woman, alludes to this custom of visiting each 
 other's houses, for the purpose of spinning : " Wya 
 Matty," said a young wag, " what Parliament's gaan 
 et meak a la 1 et thear's to be full moon for three 
 months this winter." " Girt falk can due aught," 
 replied Matty i " then we can gang a rocking every 
 neet." This ganging a rocking, or going with the 
 rock and spindle to the neighbour's houses was a 
 favourite pastime among our grandmothers, who had 
 not the most distant idea of the more elegant em- 
 ployment of tea drinking, which has now entirely 
 superseded spinning and knitting. 
 
 11 " Wicker icork."" The chimney wing was a
 
 218 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 spacious place, as the chimney flue descended no 
 lower than the second floor. From its pyramidical 
 construction, the family could gaze on the heavens 
 out of the chimney top, as they sat by the fire. On 
 that side of the fire, next the keck, there was usually 
 an oven, serving as the common repository for stock- 
 ings, and yarn for darning stockings. On the op- 
 posite side of the fire, near the little windows, was 
 commonly a small cupboard, called the locker, ge- 
 nerally with a shelf in it, where all dry articles were 
 kept. 
 
 is p or w i n t e r use." The capacious chimney 
 wing was mostly well supplied with lumps of beef 
 and bacon, for the family in winter. Dr. Goldsmith 
 alludes to this custom, in his " Haunch of Venison, 1 " 
 where he says the Irish have 
 
 ... "A Gammon of bacon hung up for a shew. 
 
 But for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, 
 They'd as soon think of eating the pan that its fried in." 
 
 Not so the hardy yeomen of Westmorland. They 
 enjoyed good cheer ; and considered a well filled 
 chimney as the most elegant furniture with which 
 they could adorn a house. The practice of drying 
 beef for winter use, was occasioned by the want of 
 fresh meat during the winter months ; as it was not 
 then customary to slaughter much meat during the 
 winter. So strong, however, are ancient habits, 
 that beef is still dried in this country, even when 
 fresh meat can be obtained at all seasons, though 
 dried beef is allowed to cost double the price of fresh. 
 13 "Sat the family* The large space under the
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 219 
 
 chimney wing was a truly comfortable place for a 
 winter evening. While the females were busied in 
 spinning and knitting, the elder branches of the 
 family or visitors, amused themselves with the rela- 
 tion of marvellous tales at that time currently be- 
 lieved. The regular dobbies of the vicinity never 
 failed to furnish conversation for the cottage fire- 
 side. According to the ancient sages of Westmor- 
 land the oldest and best acquainted with the phi- 
 losophy of spirits no spirit could appear before 
 twilight had vanished in the evening, or after it ap- 
 peared in the morning. On this account the winter 
 nights were peculiarly dangerous, owing to the long 
 revels which dobbies could keep at that season. In- 
 deed there was one exception to this. If a man had 
 murdered a woman who was with child to him, she 
 had power to haunt him at all hours; and the Romish 
 priests (who alone had the power of laying spirits) 
 could not lay a spirit of this kind with any certain- 
 ty, as she generally contrived to break loose long 
 before her stipulated time. What a pity that this 
 superstition should have been exploded. The ter- 
 ror of the gallows has not half the effect. A culprit 
 may hope to escape that, but there was no hope of 
 escaping being haunted. The murderer might e- 
 lude human justice; but he could not escape the 
 vengeance of the dobby. In common cases, how- 
 ever, the priests could " lay"" the ghosts ; " while 
 ivy was green,"" was the usual term. But in very 
 desperate cases, they were laid in the " Red Sea," 
 which was accomplished with great difficulty and
 
 220 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 even danger to the exorcist. In this country, the 
 most usual place to confine spirits, was under Haws 
 Bridge, a few miles below Kendal. Many a grim 
 ghost had been chained in that dismal trough. 
 According to the laws of ghosts, they could only 
 seldom appear to more than one person at once. 
 When these dobbies appeared to the eyes, they had 
 not the power of making a noise ; and when they 
 saluted the ear, they could not greet the eyes. To 
 this however there was an exception, when a human 
 being spoke to them in the name of the Blessed 
 Trinity. For it is an acknowleged truth, that 
 however wicked the individual might have been io 
 this world, or however light he might have made of 
 the Almighty"^ name, he would tremble at its very 
 sound, when separated from his earthly covering. 
 -The causes of spirits appearing after death were 
 generally three. Murdered persons came again to 
 haunt their murderers, or to obtain justice by ap- 
 pearing to other persons, likely to see them avenged. 
 In this, however, the spirit seems generally to have 
 taken a very foolish plan, as they mostly appeared 
 to old women, or young men, with old women's 
 hearts. Persons who had hid any treasure, were 
 doomed to haunt the place where that treasure was 
 hid ; as they had made a god of their w.ealth in this 
 world, the place where their treasure was placed, 
 was to be their heaven after death. If any person 
 could speak to them, and give them an opportunity 
 of confessing where their treasure was hid, they 
 could then rest in peace, but not without. Those
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 221 
 
 who died with any heavy crimes on their conscien- 
 ces, which they had not confessed, were also doomed 
 to wander the earth at the midnight hour. These 
 three causes are all that we have been able to disco- 
 ver among our Westmorland hills, where the laws 
 of spirits seem to have been extremely well under- 
 stood. Those spirits had no power over those who 
 did not molest them ; but if insulted, they seem to 
 have been extremely vindictive, and to have felt 
 little compunction in killing the insulter. They 
 had power to assume any form, and to change that 
 as often as they pleased ; but they could neither 
 vanish nor change, while a human eye was firmly 
 
 fixed upon them. This is the chief of what 
 
 we have been able to collect respecting ghosts, but 
 witches and wizards seem to have been extremely 
 plentiful in this country at the period to which we 
 allude ; and their freaks formed the subject matter 
 for many an evening's chat under the chimney wing. 
 We have not been equally successful in gaining a 
 knowledge of witches, as we have of ghosts. They 
 were always old women, of remarkably ugly feature*, 
 and cross tempers, who mostly resided alone in some 
 solitary cottage. These beings had the power of 
 doing mischief to those who treated them kindly ; 
 but if their intentions were suspected, and the per- 
 son they were about to witch, could draw blood of 
 them, their power was destroyed for that time. 
 They had no power over any thing with a cross 
 over it ; on this account, the farmers' wives in Lan- 
 cashire, always make a cross on the dough, at night,
 
 222 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 to this very day. Butter was formerly printed with 
 a cross, and two cross straws were laid on the thres- 
 hold : a rowan tree branch also checked their power. 
 The principal feats of witches \vere to make cows 
 cast the calf, overturn carts of hay, turn themselves 
 into hares for the purpose of misleading the hunters, 
 and witching people. It is generally supposed that 
 what was called being witched, was what we now-a- 
 
 days term cptfeptic fits. There was another 
 
 order of persons, superior to witches and wizards, 
 called wise men, or conjurors. These were supposed 
 to have made a compact with the devil, that he was 
 to serve them for a certain number of years, and 
 then to have them body and soul after death. These 
 wise men were such as had spent their lives in the 
 pursuit of science, and had learned too much ; for 
 conjuration was supposed to be a science which as 
 naturally followed other parts of learning as com- 
 pound addition follows simple addition. The wise- 
 man possessed wonderful power. He could restore 
 stolen goods, either by fetching back the articles, 
 shewing the thief in a black mirror, or making him 
 walk round the cross on the market day, with the 
 stolen goods on his shoulders. This last however 
 he couid not do, if the culprit wore a piece of green 
 sod upon his head. When any person applied to 
 the ivise man for information, it was necessary for 
 him to reach home before midnight, as a storm was 
 the certain consequence of the application, and the 
 applicant ran great risk of being tormented by the 
 devil all the way home. The wise man was com-
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 223 
 
 pelled to give the devil some living animal, when- 
 ever he called on him, as a pledge that he intended 
 to give himself at last. It was usual to consider all 
 schoolmasters as wise men, and .many an aching 
 heart has the affectionate mother had, lest her darling 
 boy should learn too far. At Cockerham school, 
 below Lancaster, the boys in the master's absence, 
 had got to his books, and had raised the devil. He 
 must be employed, or have one of them for his pains. 
 The ready wit of one boy saved them all, for he or- 
 dered him to count the seeds on the Windmill hill. 
 This he accomplished instantly ; and again de- 
 manded employment. The same ready wit ordered 
 him to twist a thumb syme (a rope) of sand, and 
 wash it in the Cocker. He could twist the syme, 
 but could not wash it in Cocker. Thus the boys 
 escaped; for he returned no more. The broken flag 
 through which he rose, is shewn to this day. This 
 story is firmly believed by half the farmers'" wives 
 in that neighbourhood, and by many of the farmers 
 too. We insert it to shew that these superstitions 
 are not so completely exploded, as some philoso- 
 phers would persuade us. Whoever will search the 
 country with the same attention that we have done, 
 will find hundreds of equally improbable tales told 
 and believed. In justice to Westmorland, we must 
 confess that the country between Lancaster and 
 Preston is ten times more superstitious than any part 
 
 of this county. Fairies, which were once so 
 
 plentiful in this country, are completely gone. Even 
 those who believe they once existed, acknowledge
 
 224 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 they are now extinct. They were a race of beings 
 between men and spirits. They had marriages and 
 reared children, followed occupations ; and particu- 
 larly churned their own butter. Their habitations 
 were in caves ; and they were considered perfectly 
 harmless, capable of being visible or invisible at 
 pleasure ; and generally of small stature. We have 
 never been able to learn whether they were immor- 
 tal or not, or whether they were liable to future re- 
 wards or punishments. Information of this kind 
 may be had from books ; but that is not our pur- 
 pose. We are only tracing the opinions which ex- 
 isted in this country, which we have collected from 
 the lips of old folks, independent of what writers 
 may have said on the subject. 
 
 14 " Hdbthru-st'" or (as he was more generally 
 called) Throb-Thrush, was a being distinct from 
 the fairies. He was a solitary being who resided 
 in Millom, and had his regular range of farm 
 houses. He seems to have been a kind spirit, and 
 willing to do any thing he was required to do. His 
 only reward was a quart of milk porridge in a snip- 
 ped pot. The servant girls would regularly put 
 the cream in the churn, and say, " I wish Throb 
 would churn that," and they regularly found it done. 
 Throb's readiness to fulfil the wishes of his friends 
 was sometimes productive of ludicrous incidents. 
 One evening there was every prospect of rain next 
 day. and a farmer had all his grain out. " I wish." 
 said he, " I had all that grain housed." 11 The next 
 morning Throb had housed every sheaf, but a fine
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 stag that had helped him was lying dead at the bam 
 door. The day, however, became extremely fine, 
 and the farmer thought his grain would have been 
 better in the field. " I wish," said he, " that Throb- 
 Thrush was in the mill-dam ;" and next morning 
 all the farmer's grain was in the mill-dam. Such 
 were the tales that were told of the Millom Brownie, 
 and as constantly believed. He left the country at 
 last, through the kindness of a tailor, who left him a 
 coat and a hood to keep him warm during the win- 
 ter. He was heard at night singing at his favourite 
 haunts, 
 
 "Thoh-thrush has got a new coat and anew hood) 
 And he'll never do more good. " 
 
 From this we conclude, that however excellent he 
 might be as a workman, he was but a very indiffer- 
 ent poet. With this we shall conclude the super- 
 stitions of the country, which will in a few years be 
 forgot. It was only by seeking out the old and 
 garrulous in the most romantic spots, that we were 
 enabled to procure these theories. To the careless 
 and superficial, such studies will appear trifling; 
 but to the philosopher, who seeks for a cause to 
 every consequence, these hints will be valuable. 
 How have these superstitions arisen ? Whence 
 are they derived ? In what do they differ from 
 other countries ? And what light do they throw 
 upon the history of the country ? What part is 
 Celtic? What Roman? What Heathen? What 
 Christian ? -Such are the uses to which they ought 
 to be turned.
 
 22 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 1: ' " Hearth" The hearth was generally raised 
 a few inches above the floor, and paved. This ap- 
 pears to have been the most ancient fire-place for in- 
 ferior houses, though a recess in the wall, similar to 
 those of the present day, has universally prevail- 
 ed in all old castles see Gleaston Castle, where 
 the fire-place still remains. The ancient hearth 
 seems well adapted for peat and wood fires. It 
 would be impossible to burn roots of trees, and ash 
 tops (the usual winter fire) in a grate. As coals be- 
 came the general fuel, hearths disappeared ; because 
 coals require a greater quantity of fresh air to keep 
 up the combustion, which can only be supplied by 
 a grate. 
 
 16 " Rannd-balk" The rannel-balk was a strong 
 piece of wood crossing the chimney, parallel to the 
 floor of the upper room. From this was suspended 
 a chain, with crooks, which could be raised or lower- 
 ed from link to link. In the better sort of houses, 
 there was a long crook reaching from the rannel-balk 
 to the fire, called the ratten-crook. These fire- 
 places were exceedingly convenient for farmers' 
 kitchens, where large pans were in constant requisi- 
 tion. They were also useful for baking oat cakes 
 upon a girdle, which was a circular plate of iron, 
 placed upon a brandreth, or iron tripod. This gir- 
 dle was also occasionally suspended from the ratten- 
 crook in a jack-idle, made to supply the place of the 
 brandreth. 
 
 17 " Oaken closets:" Many of these closets still 
 remain. They were the usual depositories of the
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 227 
 
 oat cakes, and other eatables which required to be 
 kept dry, and out of the reach of the mice. Those 
 which now remain generally bear dates from 1650 
 to 1720 30; very few being found of a more an- 
 cient date. 
 
 18 " The bower? The bower was not always on 
 the left of the oak closet, or bread cupboard^ as it 
 was more generally termed. The rule for making 
 the bower was this : The pantry, or place for keep- 
 ing milk and butter was always on the north or cool 
 side of the house, and the bower on the other ; so 
 that it might open on the right or left side of the 
 cupboard, as circumstances required. 
 
 19 " Loft? It was usual for the stairs into the 
 loft to lead from the bower or chamber. That part 
 of the loft into which the stairs opened, was com- 
 monly open to the thatch or slate ; and a second 
 room opening from that, was ceiled and made com- 
 fortable for a spare bed. 
 
 20 Wooden posts? Mr. Hodgson has made an 
 error here. Those houses which had two rooms 
 above stairs were roofed according the present plan. 
 When the roof was supported by a pair of pi'incipals 
 resting either on the ground or on huge stones, on 
 each side of the building, there was seldom any loft, 
 except a small place for lumber. In building these 
 ancient houses, the principals were first erected, and 
 bound together with strong wood pegs. The walls 
 were then raised to a proper height, and the whole 
 covered with thatch or slate. In Lancashire, a sim- 
 ple manner of building houses prevailed. The prin-
 
 228 
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 cipals were erected as above, and the sides of the 
 house constructed of posts let into the ground ; 
 strong twigs were wrought in between these posts 
 and covered with a mixture of clay, rotten straw and 
 cow dung. Many of these edifices still remain, par- 
 ticularly in the neighbourhood of Garstang. These 
 houses have no upper rooms, the sleeping apartments 
 being separated from the dwelling-house by a parti- 
 tion, and ceiled over. 
 
 21 " Thatch of heath or straw. 1 " Thatching, 
 though once an important trade in this country, is 
 now almost unknown in Westmorland. There are 
 men who can cover a house with straw, but none 
 that can thatch. The art is however still under- 
 stood in the Fylde, in Lancashire. It is there 
 studied as an art ; and executed in its original 
 perfection. To prepare the straw, in Lancashire, 
 several carts of wheat straw are laid in a heap beside 
 some pit of water, commonly beside a marl pit. 
 The straw is there regularly watered, in dry weather, 
 every day, till it decays and sinks into a half rotten 
 mass. It is then drawn out straight and tied up in 
 bundles which are set on end, and remain in that 
 position for a length of time. When in a proper 
 state, it is laid upon the buildings, as wet as possible. 
 When the thatching is finished, the ridge and ends 
 of the house are secured with a cement of clay, short 
 straw, and cow dung, well mixed. A well thatched 
 house has an extremely beautiful appearance, when 
 finished. The straw lies perfectly smooth, and no
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 229 
 
 spelks or binding rods are visible the whole roof 
 presenting one uniform mass of interwoven straw. 
 
 - " Those of the peasantry.' 1 ' 1 The houses of the 
 peasantry had seldom either down house or hallan. 
 A door in that end where the chimney was, opened 
 behind the heck ; thus screening the cold external 
 air from the fire-side. Numbers of these houses 
 still remain in all parts of the county. Many of 
 them evidently, not above a century old. 
 
 - 3 " 77*6 wool of a black sheep?' The specimens 
 we have seen of the self-grey, as it was called, was 
 a neat mixture of black and white wool, without 
 either blue or red among it. When very neatly 
 mixed with a small portion of black wool, it made 
 very neat stockings ; but for coats, only a very 
 small quantity of white was added. 
 
 - 4 " Harden cloth" Harden cloth, such as bales 
 are commonly packed in, rather of an open texture, 
 and very coarse. Shirts of this cloth were apt to 
 make too free with the skin, from their natural inflex- 
 ibility. To render them a little more tractable and 
 kindly, they were taken to some neighbouring brook, 
 where there was a battling stone. The battling 
 btone was a large smooth faced stone set in a slop- 
 ing position ; and the shirts being steeped in the 
 water, were laid in folds upon the stone, and 
 beat with a battling wood. It is surprising how 
 soft the cloth was rendered by a few operations of 
 this nature ; and how much the bleaching was faci- 
 litated by the wetting and drying. Such are the 
 alterations and refinements of a few years, that our
 
 230 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 very paupers would now desjlise the dresses worn 
 by our yeomanry a century ago ! 
 
 25 From, house to house.' 1 '' It was usual for 
 nearly all trades to go from house to house to work, 
 as well as the ropers and hacklers. The carpenters 
 and tailors in country places still keep up the ancient 
 custom ; and act as the newspapers of their respec- 
 tive districts. Shoemakers and many other trades 
 formerly practised this itinerant manner of working, 
 or as it was provincially termed, whipping the cat. 
 
 2(5 " Tailor."" The tailors had formerly a greater 
 variety of work than at present. In addition to 
 men's clothes, they made women's gowns, petticoats, 
 and stays. These articles being made of so much 
 stronger materials than at present, were not consi- 
 dered women's work, but were the peculiar province 
 of the tailor. 
 
 27 " Clogs."" These still form an important arti- 
 cle of a Westmorland farmer's dress. Indeed, it 
 would be impossible to wade through the wet and 
 dirt of a farm-yard, in winter, without these guards 
 to the feet. It would make a good subject for anti- 
 quarian research, to ascertain whether clogs or shoes 
 were the more ancient invention. 
 
 28 " Rainy country, ." This has been justly deem- 
 ed a rainy country ; but what proportion the fall of 
 rain in Westmorland may bear to that of flat coun- 
 tries we have never been able to ascertain. 
 
 29 " Long oaken table? The long table was an 
 indispensable piece of furniture in every farm house. 
 Many of these ancient tables still remain, with finely
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 carved feet and frames. They always stood under 
 the principal window in the house, and were erected 
 on the spot where they were to remain. 
 
 30 " Long-settle.'" This was a kind of fixture ; 
 and a remarkably comfortable seat it was, snugly 
 sheltered by the chimney wing, and skreened from 
 the winter winds ; the younger part of the family 
 claimed the long-settle, as their seat. Here, too, 
 the lovers whiled away the midnight hour, when the 
 rest of the family had retired to sleep. 
 
 31 " The sconce.' 1 '' The sconce was very often a 
 moveable article, capable of being drawn across the 
 front of the fire, from the corner of the heck ; thus 
 shutting the family up, as it were, in a little parlour. 
 In houses of this kind, where the fire was placed 
 against the end wall, the long-settle was set against 
 the heck, and the old hollow armed chair, with its 
 drawers, stood on the other side. But in some 
 houses a partition of stone was drawn along the 
 beam, which separated the chimney wing from the 
 house, leaving a wide entrance to the fire ; within 
 this, were benches all around, except where the fire 
 was placed. The sconce was usually a piece of fur- 
 niture in such houses as these ; and when drawn up, 
 formed a place of peculiar warmth and comfort. 
 
 32 " The chairs" The chairs were of oak, and 
 made to correspond with the other furniture. A 
 set of chairs in those days would have served many 
 generations, as time had no effect upon them. 
 
 33 " The bedsteads" In some of the very best 
 houses, they were the most extravagant articles of
 
 232 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 furniture. There is a bedstead in Dallam Tower, 
 which was brought from Low Levens, of peculiar 
 beauty. The carving is so fine, that Mr. Gillow, 
 of Lancaster, declares it could not now be imitated 
 at a less expense than 600. This will give some 
 idea of the luxury of our forefathers. Only very 
 few specimens remain of these truly antique bed- 
 steads. One or two at Sizergh, one at Dallam 
 Tower, one at Muncaster Hall, and one or two in 
 Lancashire, are all we have heard of. 
 
 34 " Chests." Only very few of these ancient 
 chests now remain, of the true carved kind. Those 
 that do remain are invaluable. It may be observed 
 that in all these old carvings the endless or runic 
 knot was a particular subject. Some of these runic 
 knots are extremely amusing to trace through all 
 their intricate windings. 
 
 35 " The outer door.' 1 '' The most ancient out doors 
 are not studded with nails, but with large wooden 
 pegs, about an inch square, cut to a pyramid. 
 
 36 " Peeled rushes.'" The peelings of the rushes 
 were made into besoms for sweeping the floors. 
 Even at this day, several poor people in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the mosses, make a tolerable livelihood 
 by peeling rushes for candles, and making besoms 
 and bears of the peelings. 
 
 37 " Unleavened cakes" Clap-bread, as it is call- 
 ed, has been the prevailing bread in Westmorland 
 from time immemorial. Its name is derived from 
 the method of making it formerly. The bread was 
 made of oat-meal and water, mixed to a paste. The
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 233 
 
 housewife sat down on the floor, with the back-board 
 on her knees. On this board she laid a piece of 
 paste, which she clapped, or beat with the hand, till 
 it expanded to a broad thin cake hence the name 
 of clap-bread. This bread is now expanded by a 
 piece of wood, called a rolling-pin, which answers all 
 the purposes of clapping, and is much readier. The 
 riddle-bread, used in Lancashire and Yorkshire, is 
 prepared from oat-meal, leavened by a little sour 
 dough, preserved in the kneading trough from one 
 baking to another. The meal and water are, in this 
 case, mixed thin, and left all night to ferment. 
 Next morning, the dough is poured upon a board, 
 cut by furrows into squares. By a motion similar 
 to riddling corn, the dough is made to expand- 
 hence the name of riddle-bread. Bread thus made 
 is spread upon a cratch, or a frame of wood, crossed 
 with strings. Here the bread becomes very hard, 
 and will keep almost any length of time. Before 
 eating, it is usually toasted by the fire; and, when 
 well buttered, is remarkably pleasant. A gentle- 
 man in Lancashire observes, that the proper quan- 
 tity of butter, is, the same thickness as the bread. 
 
 38 " Funerals.'" Perhaps few subjects could be 
 found more interesting than a description of the 
 manner of conducting funerals in this country. In 
 most parts of Westmorland, the regular ancient sys- 
 tem of conducting funerals, was to invite what was 
 called the bidding, being a certain extent of houses, 
 considerably less than the township, but which had 
 been called the "bidding, 1 " for ages. In very
 
 234 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 thinly inhabited places, it was customary to " bid" 
 two at a house ; but where the country is more po- 
 pulous, only one was " bidden" 11 at each house. On 
 arriving at the " funeral house," a large table was 
 set out, covered with cheese, wheat bread, and oat 
 cake ; ale also, cold or warm, according to the sea- 
 son of the year, was served round to each of the 
 company, and a small wheaten loaf given to carry 
 home. It was also customary for each attendant 
 to touch the corpse. This arose from an old super- 
 stition, firmly believed through all the country, that 
 if the murderer touched the person he had murdered, 
 the corpse would begin to bleed ; hence all who at- 
 tended funerals were required to pass this ordeal, 
 to prove that they were innocent of the deceased's 
 death. A few miles below Lancaster, an entirely 
 different form prevails, even at this day. All who 
 are bidden are expected to present the mistress of 
 the house with a shilling each, towards defraying 
 the expense of the funeral. The provision is what 
 they term white posset, made of milk, &c. and cur- 
 rants. The posset is served up in very large bowls, 
 generally borrowed for the purpose. This is placed 
 upon a long narrow table, so that three persons on 
 each side of the table can sit to each bowl, and feed 
 themselves with spoons. After the posset, ale is 
 carried round in flagons to the company. At Dai- 
 ton, in Furness, however, the most singular mode 
 of conducting funerals prevails. A full meal of 
 bread and cheese and ale is provided at the " funeral 
 house ;" and after the corpse is interred, the parish
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 235 
 
 clerk proclaims, at the grave side, that the company 
 must repair to some appointed public house. Ar- 
 rived there, they sit down by fours together, and 
 each four is served with two quarts of ale. One half 
 of this is paid for by the conductor of the funeral, 
 and the other half by the company. While they 
 are drinking the ale, a waiter goes round with cakes, 
 serving out one to each guest, which he is expected 
 to carry home. Even the passing-bell and tolling 
 vary considerably in the course of a few miles. At 
 Heversham, on the morning of the funeral, each of 
 the three bells is tolled six times for a child, ten 
 times for a woman, and twelve for a man. This is 
 repeated three times; thus, for a child, the first bell 
 tolls six times, the second bell six times, and the 
 third bell six times ; then the first bell six times, &c. 
 In the afternoon, the bells toll at intervals till the 
 funeral; tolling six or eight minutes, and resting 
 six or eight minutes, successively. This method of 
 "crossing the bells'" is common, we believe, in several 
 other places. In some places, the largest bell tolls 
 every minute its " solemn knell." This has cer- 
 tainly the most solemnity in it. 
 
 39 " Fig-sue" It would formerly have been count- 
 ed extremely profane, not to have dined, or at 
 least supped upon fig-sue ', on Good-Friday. This 
 was made of ale, figs, and wheat bread. It may not 
 be amiss to notice that this fig-sue is a perfect cure 
 for colds and coughs, if taken at bedtime. 
 
 40 " Alpine Bistort." This plant is commonly 
 called Easter-ledges, in this part of the country,
 
 236* WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 and was the usual herb for what were called herb 
 puddings. Besides the Alpine Bistort (Polygonum 
 viviparum) other plants were occasionally used, such 
 as the Mercury, (Mercurialis perennis,) and the 
 Great Bell flower, (Campanula Ilapanculus,) Sec. 
 
 41 " Tea." 1 " 1 It has often been asked how people 
 lived before the introduction of tea. However dif- 
 ficult it might be to resume the ancient regime, we 
 believe that people lived as well in the olden time as 
 they do yet. The breakfast was commonly hasty 
 pudding, with beer, milk or butter. In the after- 
 noons, bread and cheese, with beer or milk. The 
 introduction of tea has made a complete revolution 
 in the constitutions of English people. Our light 
 watery food has banished those inflammatory fevers 
 which formerly raged with such violence ; and as 
 human beings are continually liable to disease, ano- 
 ther order of maladies has usurped their place. 
 Nervous disorders and apoplexies are much more 
 prevalent ; and people now-a-days die of milder dis- 
 eases than in the days of our fathers. 
 
 41 " With Feasting.' 1 '' Relics of the Christmas 
 feasts, to a greater or less degree, remain in all parts 
 of the country. In most places, within a few years, 
 the ancient hospitality, though expatriated from the 
 dwellings of the rich, was permitted to creep into 
 the servants 1 hall, on Christmas Eve. All the la- 
 bourers and mechanics of the neighbourhood paid 
 their annual visit to the kitchens of those houses, 
 where they could produce a claim, however weak 
 such as ever having worked for the master having
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 237 
 
 opened a gate for him when hunting being the son 
 of some person who had been servant to the master's 
 father being thirty-second cousin to one of the ser- 
 vants being very kind with some person who was 
 very intimate with the shoeblack's assistant or in 
 fact, any cause which would get the visitor within 
 the door, at a time when all was gaiety, and no par- 
 ticular attention paid to the bearing of the guests. 
 Then came out the two gallon copper, foaming with 
 brown October, that " drank divinely." The full 
 horns were handed round with cheerfulness, and 
 " A Merry Christmas, and a happy New Year" 
 invoked upon the heads of all the family, evendown 
 to the favourite lapdog, whose treble bark cheered 
 the lone hours of the housekeeper, while the butler 
 attended his master to London. Many was the tale 
 and smutty jest which circled round the old kitchen 
 on this joyous night. And as many of the stories 
 had not been told since the last Christmas Eve, 
 the company was ready to hail them with fresh 
 cheerings. Early in the morning, bvery old man 
 who could " rub the hair of the horse over the 
 bowels of the cat/ 1 wandered from house to house, 
 in company with some neighbour, whose Stentorian 
 voice was best caculated to " break the bands of 
 sleep asunder." 11 The honest inhabitants of the 
 Westmorland cottages were agreeably roused from 
 their dreams of mince pies and "three card lant," 
 (as loo is called in this country,) by the elegant air 
 of " Hunsup through the wood," 1 and the homely sa- 
 lute of " Good morning, John Dixon, good morning,
 
 238 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 Betty Dixon, and all the rest of your family ; I wish 
 you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year." It 
 often happened that while the husband was gone to 
 " open Christmas," in the great man's kitchen, the 
 good wife was plucking geese and preparing sweet 
 pies at home ; so that the " fiddlers," were often in- 
 vited in to the first taste of the Christmas cheer, in 
 these their nocturnal visitings ; and as " daylight 
 began to glent in the sky," the two minstrels might 
 be seen toddling towards home with their " skins 
 fu." In such places as could boast of a set of bells, 
 the brazen music from the church steeple announced 
 that it was Christmas day. At the joyous sound, 
 all the boys within hearing of them quitted their 
 beds, to load the kitchen hearth with a huge fire ; 
 the most conspicuous object of which was a huge 
 piece of wood, pompously denominated the " Christ- 
 mas stock ;" and hang on the kettle. After the in- 
 troduction of tea, it was usual to breakfast upon it 
 that morning, though it was never tasted all the rest 
 of the year. The noise of the preparations, by the 
 boys, roused the master and the female part of the 
 family. In farm houses, the master's first duty was 
 to compliment every cow with a sheaf of corn, and 
 then return to broach the " Christmas drink." This 
 done, the boys and young men sallied out into the 
 villages, singing this very elegant piece of poetry, 
 which Sir Walter Scott has overlooked in collecting 
 his relics ; 
 
 "Get up auld wives 
 
 An' by uk. yer pies, 
 
 A Kersmas day in the morning. '
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. & 
 
 The enunciation of this minstrelsy, generally pro- 
 cured a good appetite for tea and hot buns which 
 awaited their return. It is only however within a 
 recent period, that the male part of these families 
 was allowed the whole even of that breakfast of tea. 
 A basin of milk porridge, and in some places a basin 
 of sweet broth preceded the tea, one cup of which 
 was considered a great treat. The sweet broth was 
 made from the mutton which had been boiled for 
 the mince pies, and was seasoned with sugar, raisins, 
 
 currants, cloves, &c. The breakfast being over, 
 
 generally by day break, the boys procured a quan- 
 tity of yew, box, laurel, and other evergreens, with 
 which the girls decorated the windows. The clerk 
 of the church or chapel took care to adorn the can- 
 dlesticks, the windows, the pulpit, and in some places 
 even the pews in a similar manner. In Westmor- 
 land, box and yew were and are considered indis- 
 pensable, but in some parts of Lancashire where no 
 yew grows and wild box is not cultivated, and stone- 
 crop, (sedum reflexum, &c.) is nourished in flower- 
 pots ; spruce or Scotch fir is used as an evergreen 
 for adorning both houses and places of worship. 
 Breakfast over, and the morning work done, the 
 young men, dressed in their " Sunday duds," went 
 into the fields with their guns ; for Christmas day 
 was a great day for field sports. Even long after 
 the introduction of the game laws, the more wealthy 
 part of the community connived at this practice, 
 and allowed their more indigent brethren to enjoy 
 the sports of the field for one day out of three hun-
 
 240 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 dred and sixty-five. We believe that in many of 
 the less civilized parts of the country, particularly 
 in Lancashire and Cumberland, this custom is not 
 yet abolished. Where the privilege was denied, a 
 custom obtained of shooting at a "white' 1 '' upon a 
 barn door, for a tea kettle, or other trifling prize. 
 Where the observances of religion are more strictly 
 enforced, that sport is also denied, and the shooting 
 takes place on the following day ; and a sober game 
 at whist or loo fills the tedium of Christmas day in 
 the afternoon so impossible it is to compel people 
 to be virtuous. The custom of giving Christmas 
 boxes has been long laid aside. And little of that 
 feasting which took place at Christmas now remains. 
 In some of the more retired parts of the country, 
 however, the ancient custom still continues. Ale, 
 brewed expressly for the season, and uncommonly 
 strong, called " Christmas Drink, 1 ' 1 is prepared for 
 the occasion. A large quantity of mince pies, are 
 hung up in baskets over the dairy ; and every visi- 
 tor, whether friend or stranger, is invited and treated 
 with a pot of beer and a mince pie. Dances are 
 made at the village inns public card parties for 
 buns or pears take place at the farm houses. Some- 
 times these card parties are for a goose, a leg of 
 mutton, or a whole sheep. This part of our notes, 
 is much more imperfect than we had intended. It 
 was originally our intention to have spent a Christ- 
 mas in an excursion through what we call a primitive 
 part of the country, previously to our publishing 
 these notes. The track we had chalked out, was,
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 41 
 
 to pass over Kirkstone and visit Hartshope, Deep- 
 dale, Grisedale, Glenridding. and the rest of Patter- 
 dale, where we could have fixed our quarters at Mrs. 
 Dobson's of Ullswater head. Having visited most 
 of the farm houses and cottages in this district, at 
 that festive season, we would have taken up our 
 next quarters at Newchurch, and have explored the 
 recesses of Matterdale ; then have crossed the wa- 
 ter at Hallsteads, and spent a few days in Martin- 
 dale, and so have returned home. Our increasing 
 avocations have hitherto rendered the execution of 
 this desirable project impossible ; but should we 
 ever have the command of a month's leisure at 
 Christmas, we shall certainly avail ourselves of the 
 opportunity to acquire that varied and valuable in- 
 formation which can alone be obtained by such a 
 tour. 
 
 43 " The Slang? The custom of riding the stang, 
 was a punishment for several crimes, which, since 
 its abolition, pass almost unnoticed. The ceremony 
 was, we believe, generally performed by proxy ; and 
 was the punishment for men beating their wives, 
 though oftener for women beating their husbands. 
 It was also the punishment for adultery. The last 
 time we witnessed an exhibition of this kind was 
 for this crime. The culprit thus honoured was 
 generally no common offender ; for a whole village 
 would seldom unite to punish an innocent person 
 the sentence was therefore, in most instances, per- 
 fectly just. When it was ascertained that one of 
 the villagers had " overstepped the modesty of na-
 
 242 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 tare," by breaking the laws of chastity, a night was 
 appointed, in the absence of the moon, for " riding 
 the slang." The person nominated to personate the 
 culprit, (generally the greatest blackguard in the 
 village,) was originally mounted astride of a pole ; 
 (in the country dialect a stang ;) but the pole being 
 a rather slippery situation, as elevated situations 
 generally are, a ladder, a plank, or a hand barrow, 
 was frequently substituted for it. The stang was 
 borne on the shoulders of men, from door to door, 
 with a large retinue of men and boys, laughing and 
 shouting. The " rider" stopped before each door, 
 explaining the cause of his appearance, in doggrel 
 rhyme, rather famous for its obscenity than its wit, 
 and concluded by begging money to spend. The 
 perambulation generally concluded at the culprit's 
 door, where (such is conjugal affection !) if it was 
 for the faults of the husband, the wife saluted the 
 crowd with a shower of boiling water, or something 
 worse ; and if for the wife's crimes, the husband at- 
 tacked the assembled multitude with his flail. This 
 was the signal for a concluding huzza and separation. 
 They then repaired to the village inn, to spend the 
 money, and boast of their individual courage and 
 prowess in their contest with the punished party. 
 And the evening was spent in recapitulating all the 
 stang ridings at which any of the party had ever 
 been present. Nor was this ceremony confined 
 solely to punishing the irregularities of married folks ; 
 for we can just recollect seeing a party " ride the 
 -stang," for a journeyman skinner at Cartmel, who
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 243 
 
 had thrashed his sweetheart one Saturday night 
 while he was sitting up with her ! but this was out 
 of the common line of such occurrences ! 
 
 44 " Great supper and bade many" Though 
 this article is entitled " Westmorland as it was," we 
 have not confined ourselves entirely to this county ; 
 but have occasionally rambled into the contiguous 
 parts of the adjoining ones. We shall, therefore, 
 illustrate the manner of making a Christmas feast, 
 as it was practised at Ellel, near Lancaster, within 
 these few years ; though now, we believe, laid aside, 
 never to be again restored. Some of the parties to 
 whom we shall allude, have passed " that bourne 
 from whence no traveller returns, 1 '' others have fallen 
 victims to that change in the times which has pressed 
 so heavily on the agricultural interests, and others 
 have left the country to seek a more genial soil. 
 The main props of ancient British hospitality being 
 thus either dead, expatriated, or ruined, there is 
 little prospect of a new race arising to restore these 
 
 usages. These Christmas festivities were carried 
 
 on at the rate of about three nights a week, it having 
 been arranged by immemorial custom that such in- 
 dividuals should have their feast (or do, as it is called 
 in that place,) on such a particular night. At the 
 first house the females assembled about three in the 
 afternoon to drink tea, after which, and settling the 
 affairs of all the new married couples, and deciding 
 whether true love knots, bows or muscle shells, were 
 the neatest trimming for a cap, and expatiating on 
 the fashions then in vogue, they sat down to specu-
 
 244 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 lation, that very noisy game ; where the curiosity of 
 the Ellel ladies seldom allows them to suffer the 
 cards to remain unexamined till the appointed mo- 
 ment. About seven, the men arrived, and instantly 
 took their seats at the card table. One party crept 
 into a corner to play at penny whist. These were 
 mostly dons whom nobody dared to encounter at any 
 other game. A few of the more noisy, joined the 
 ladies at the speculation and loo table. And a 
 party of choice spirits sat down to a bold run at 
 brag. Meantime " swops of good brown ale" were 
 handed round. The pipe was in great request, and 
 the deal table was often buttered in settling the 
 superiority of Swedish to common turnips, or ex- 
 posing the folly of Mr. B , of Leach House, for 
 introducing short-horned cows and Southdown sheep. 
 The probable expense of marling a five acre field, 
 and the advantages of soot for killing the wire worm, 
 were properly canvassed. This brought on the hour 
 of supper, when the wide spread board groaned be- 
 neath the numerous dishes, many of which were 
 such as had graced the Christmas do of some great- 
 great-grandfather. The principal dishes on all these 
 occasions, were a roast-goose, with groats or apple 
 sauce a six ribs of beef a giblet pie potatoes 
 roasted in the skins pyramids of mince pies, and 
 preserved gooseberry tarts apple pies veal pies, 
 &c. Sic. These, or part of these, having vanished 
 beneath the knives and forks of the assembled farm- 
 ers, the company again assembled round the card 
 tables. Pipes, and grog (above proof,) were hand-
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 245 
 
 ed round. The good natured farmer and his wife, 
 with that honest civility which ever characterizes 
 those retired parts of the country, invited the com- 
 pany to make themselves welcome. Many a tale 
 which had shook the sides of the relators grandfa- 
 ther, was again repeated for the amusement of the 
 present company. As -the night wore away, and 
 grog began to prevail, the minstrelsy of " Love in 
 a tub," " Chevy Chace," Sec. gratified the ears of 
 the auditors. Towards one o'clock, the winnings 
 and losings of the company were enquired into : 
 when it proved, that though much had been won, 
 only very little had been lost ; as nearly all the par- 
 ties had either won something, or just saved them- 
 selves. The necessary congratulations on this for- 
 tunate circumstance being exchanged, a glass of 
 " humming grog," stronger, it was observed ; than 
 the rum itself, was handed to each of the guests, 
 after which they toddled home to dream out the 
 night upon cows and fashions, cards and rum punch. 
 
 It is unnecessary to describe other festivals, as 
 
 they were exactly similar, excepting that some were 
 more splendid than others, according to the circum- 
 stances of the parties making the feast. Nor was 
 this circumstance attended with any remarks. The 
 company appeared to enjoy the plainest supper with 
 the same zest as the richest. It happened, however, 
 generally that some little trifles of scandal transpired 
 at these meetings, which kept the township in a 
 flame till the next Christmas. These suppers were 
 continued till each of the parties had treated all the
 
 246 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 rest ; and as the companies consisted of about twen- 
 ty families, it took two months before all was 
 settled. After the married people had thus enter- 
 tained one another, with a round of feasts, the 
 younger part of the families had another series of 
 similar festivals, though upon a less splendid scale, 
 where dancing formed the most attractive part of 
 the evening's amusements. Such were the splen- 
 dours of Ellel, when the labours of the farmer were 
 prosperous, and the leading toast was 
 
 " Success to the farmer, the fieece, and the flail, 
 
 May the landlord ever flourish, and tenant never fail!" 
 
 45 " Lying-in." It has not been our fortune to ob- 
 tain very much of the customs formerly practised on 
 these occasions, though we believe there were some 
 very interesting ones. What we have obtained we 
 shall give. Previous to the time, a quantity of 
 sweet butter was prepared ; for many of the Dale- 
 landers believed that a lying-in woman would never 
 recover, unless she had plenty of sweet butter. It 
 was thus prepared. The butter was melted (not 
 boiled) in a brass pan, till the milk ran to the top, 
 and the salt sunk to the bottom. The milk was then 
 scummed off, and the butter decanted clear from the 
 salt. A quantity of rum and sugar having been well 
 beat together in a bowl, with a little grated nutmeg, 
 was then mixed with the butter, when all was stirred 
 till the mixture began to cool. Thus prepared, it 
 would keep for any length of time ; and few houses 
 were without a pot of sweet butter at all seasons of 
 the year. On this occasion, or at funerals, a certain
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 247 
 
 range of families was called " the laiting ,-" the prin- 
 cipal females of which were laited. So soon as the 
 child was born, its head was washed over with rum. 
 And the midwife took a few scraps of cheese, which 
 indusio ejus involvebat. These scraps of cheese, 
 were taken home by the younger females of the com- 
 pany, and called dreaming cheese, being extremely 
 valuable in predicting the future fortune of young 
 females. Before the women departed, they sat down 
 to tea, whatever time of day or night it might be. 
 As soon as the good woman could bear to sit up, 
 the neighbouring women were invited to a second 
 tea party, called the " wiving" when they all at- 
 tended with presents some brought bread, butter, 
 sugar, wine, or any thing deemed necessary at such 
 a time. A great deal of etiquette was observed on 
 these occasions. It was a great insult if one within 
 the laiting was forgot in the general invitation. It 
 was also an insult, if one of them was not invited till 
 after the child was born. 
 
 46 " Christenings."" These in all ages have been 
 considered as great festivals ; but we have been able 
 to collect no particulars respecting them, peculiar to 
 the country. In general, all the friends and rela- 
 tions of the parties were invited, as well as the spon- 
 sors. The clergyman, and often the clerk was a 
 party on these occasions. The evening was spent 
 in drinking and merrymaking. There is somewhere 
 in the county, a manuscript poem, called the Chris- 
 tening, the scene of which is laid in the neighbour- 
 hood of Orton ; and which gives a faithful picture
 
 24*8 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 of the ancient custom of holding Christenings. We 
 have often enquired for a copy of this poem, which 
 is exceedingly well written, but in vain we have 
 been constantly disappointed in our enquiries. 
 
 47 " Marriages.'" The " Bridewain," or "Bidden 
 Wedding," was not confined to Westmorland alone, 
 but was general throughout all the north of England. 
 Poor blind Stagg, the faithful poet of Wigton, has 
 described one of these scenes in the most natural 
 colours ; Anderson of Carlisle, in his Cumberland 
 ballads, does not come far behind him. The Collier 
 Wedding, is another excellent description of the 
 Bridewain. It never prevailed much in Lancashire. 
 The last that took place in that county, was about 
 
 forty or fifty years ago, at Kirkby Ireleth. It was 
 
 usual to invite the whole country far and near, to 
 these weddings ; and at the appointed time, prepara- 
 tions were made for a general feast. Each of the 
 company gave something to the bride, who sat with 
 a plate upon her knee to receive the contributions 
 of the company. 
 
 " The breyde now on a coppy stual, 
 Sit down i'th' fauld a' wnith'rin', 
 With pewter dibbler on her lap, 
 On which her towgher's gath'rin' ; 
 The fwoak leyke pez in a keale pot, 
 Are yen thro 3 tother nrintflin' 
 An' crowns an' hauf crowns thik as hail, 
 Are i'the dibbler jinglin', 
 
 Reeght fast that day." 
 
 This subscription not only served to clear the ex- 
 penses of the day, but produced a trifle as an outfit 
 for the new married pair. After the marriage cere- 
 mony, they all mounted their horses, and had a race
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 249 
 
 for a ribbon and a pair of gloves. This generally 
 created considerable mirth. The race over and the 
 gathering done, the company sat down to dinner, 
 which is well described by Anderson. Stagg says, 
 
 " Indeed there was some feckless fwok, 
 That luikt to be owr neyce, 
 'At nobbit nibblen peykt an' eat, 
 Just leyke as monny meyce ; 
 Bit then there was some yt-therin' dogs, 
 'At owr the lave laid th' capsteane, 
 For some they said eat lumps as big 
 As Sammy Liank's lapsteane, 
 
 I'th' bam that day." 
 
 Thus being "trigged with solid geer," they re- 
 tired to the loft to dance. Ale and liquors were 
 handed round, and all drank their fill. To fill up 
 the day, races, wrestling, or any athletic sports were 
 resorted to among the dancing and drinking. It 
 seldom happened among so large a company of " rus- 
 tics, weel plied wi 1 drink,' 1 that they parted without 
 a battle or two ; and it was generally nearly morn- 
 ing before the party was completely broken up.- 
 There was another custom at marriages rather more 
 ancient than this that prevailed in Lancashire and 
 some parts of Cumberland. The Lord of the Manor, 
 in whose jurisdiction the marriage took place, allow- 
 ed the parties a piece of ground for a house and a 
 garden. All their friends therefore assembled on 
 the wedding day, and the bridegroom having pro- 
 vided a dinner and drink, they et to work and con- 
 structed a dwelling for the young couple, of clay 
 and wood ; many of these " clay biggins' 1 still re- 
 main in the Fylde, in Lancashire. The relatives of 
 the pair furnished them with the most necessary
 
 250 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 part of the the furniture, and they were thus enabled 
 to start fair in the world. 
 
 Among our memoranda, we find a variety of notes 
 on subjects connected with the ancient state of West- 
 morland, which do not apply to any part of the 
 foregoing extracts ; which we shall therefore con- 
 dense in the form of additional notes. 
 
 Had our time permitted, we should have wished 
 to have collected the changes which have taken 
 place in the buildings of Westmorland. This we 
 would have done partly in the following manner : 
 Belle Isle, on Windermere, was a plain country 
 house of the old fashioned Westmorland kind, and 
 called by the name of Holme House. The present 
 splendid edifice was erected by Mr. English ; by 
 
 whom the plantations were laid out. *-Kirkby 
 
 Lonsdale Workhouse was formerly an old house, 
 famous in the Annals of the County, for having 
 originally been the residence of the Moors, of Kirkby 
 Lonsdale. The old house being in a most wretched 
 state, was pulled down, and the present substantial 
 
 building erected in its place. Orrest Head, t}ie 
 
 property of Mr. John Soulby of Ulverston, was 
 built about 250 years ago, by one of the Browns. 
 Being a young man of goodly aspect, he captivated 
 the heart of a young Catholic lady, to whom the 
 estate belonged, as they were dancing together on 
 the green at Bowness, according to the custom of 
 the times. Having married her, he built the pre- 
 sent house, in the/onn of a cross, in compliment to
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 251 
 
 her religion. The celebrated Josiah Brown, and 
 Rowley Brown were descendants of this family, and 
 
 possessors of Orrest Head. The fine range of 
 
 stone buildings, occupied by the Bank, &c. in Kirkby 
 Lonsdale, was formerly a heap of miserable wooden 
 houses ; which being burned down were replaced by 
 the present edifices, &c. &c. 
 
 The improvement in the roads was another parti- 
 cular, for which we should have collected materials, 
 something in this manner : The great North Road 
 over Shap fells, was formerly passable only for horses, 
 carrying packs. It is, therefore, of only compara- 
 tively recent date, that there was a good road at all 
 in Westmorland. Now this county is only surpassed 
 by few. The mail road, when completed, will be 
 excellent. The improvements recently effected be- 
 tween Selside and Shap, are truly astonishing ; and 
 prove the greatness of the minds which could sug- 
 gest such plans. Hills are cut through and valleys 
 levelled up, over wild moors, where nothing but the 
 nimble and hardy shepherds of the north could pass. 
 The new Ulverston road, is scarcely less surprising. 
 Carriages and the heaviest waggons now pass safely 
 over four or five miles of a morass, where, a few years 
 ago, except in very dry weather, the human foot 
 could not tread with security. The excellence of 
 the roads in this county is not attributable to the 
 materials alone, but to a superior method of con- 
 structing them ; though this latter point is only in its 
 infancy in this county, and is utterly unknown in 
 Lancashire.
 
 252 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 The ancient relics of other years which still re- 
 main in the county, would form a copious subject 
 for our research ; and though many years must 
 have been consumed in the enquiry, the result 
 must have afforded the highest gratification to the 
 lovers of antiquity. The following is a slight 
 sketch : 
 
 Kendal Church, peculiar for its having^i'e aides, 
 was given by Ivo de Talebois, the first Baron of 
 Kendal, to the Abbey of St. Mary's, York ; and 
 was undoubtedly dedicated to St. Catherine, as ap- 
 pears from records in Sizergh Hall. Abbot Hall 
 
 belonged, no doubt, to the aforesaid Abbey ; and 
 the present structure was built by the late George 
 
 Wilson, Esq. at an expense of about ^8,000. 
 
 Capper lane is a corruption of Chapel lane, which 
 led to a Catholic chapel near the head of Well Syke. 
 
 St. Anns Chapel stood near Dockray Hall. 
 
 It was afterwards converted into a dwelling-house, 
 which house is also destroyed. : All-hallows Cha- 
 pel stood at the east end of Stramongate Bridge ; 
 
 but is now converted into a dwelling-house. 
 
 Spittle was originally a hospital for lepers. It was 
 dedicated to St. Leonard, and belonged to Conis- 
 
 head Priory. Kendal Castle, of which no records 
 
 remain. Castle-low-hill, an artificial mount to the 
 
 west of Kendal, said by antiquaries to have been a 
 small Roman station ; and, by tradition, to have 
 been raised for attacking the Castle. Its name con- 
 firms this tradition. Helsington Laithes, the 
 
 seat of the ancient family of Bindloss. r Sizergh
 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 258 
 
 Hall, from time immemorial, the residence of the 
 Stricklands. Natland was so called from being 
 inhabited by the Nativi pr Bondmen of the Barons 
 of Kendal. And a very old chapel, pulled down 
 
 and rebuilt in the year 1735. Watercrook was 
 
 one of the principal Roman stations in this country 
 a most beautiful situation on the banks of the 
 Kent. It is in the centre of a level piece of ground 
 round which the Kent winds in the form of a horse 
 shoe. It may properly be considered the centre of 
 the vale of Kendal ; and from this place the sur- 
 rounding scenery assumes an appearance of beauty 
 not discoverable from any other point. It is with- 
 out exception the most eligible situation, for a gen- 
 teel residence, in the neighbourhood of Kendal. 
 Watchfield, an old manor house, close to Kendal, 
 now half buried in fine ancient trees ; originally a 
 
 watch tower. Grayrigg Hall now in ruins, was 
 
 a strong manor house, of a quandrangular form, be- 
 longing to the Duckets. Selside Hall, to the 
 
 Thornburghs of Hampsfield in Cartmel, contained 
 the chapel ; but this, after the Reformation proving 
 disagreeable to the Thornburghs, who were a Ca- 
 tholic family, they gave a piece of ground for the 
 erection of the present chapel.-^ Skelsmergh Cha- 
 pel was dedicated to St. John the Baptist ; and had 
 a stream of water running through it from east to 
 
 west, which was planked over. Burneshead Hall 
 
 is a fine old ruin, and formerly belonged to the Bur- 
 nesheads, Bellinghams, and Braithwaites, succes- 
 sively. Burneshead Chapel was probably dedi-
 
 254 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 cated to St. Oswald, as there is a well near it, now 
 called Miller's well which was formerly called St. 
 Oswald's well. The bell, however, was anciently 
 called St. Gregory's. Godmond Ball, in Strick- 
 land Roger, is the remains of a small castellated 
 building, where the family of Godmond resided. It 
 was a good building till it was dismantled by Mr. 
 Burn of Orton, its owner, in the last century. 
 Uberry Hall, in Longsleddale, was an ancient tow- 
 er, having walls two yards thick. It belonged to a 
 younger brother of Harrington of Wraysholme, in 
 
 Cartmel. Kentmere Hall, the birth place of 
 
 Bernard Gilpin, is an old building with a tower, 
 
 standing under a vast craggy hill. St. Ann's 
 
 Chapel was anciently situated at Grassgarth about 
 
 a quarter of a mile north west from Ings Chapel. 
 
 Crook Hall belonged to the Philipsons, and was 
 
 called Twatterdon Hall. Dunmail Raise is a 
 
 great heap of stones by the road side going from Am- 
 bleside to Keswick, erected by Dunmaile, King of 
 Cumberland, to mark the boundary of his kingdom. 
 
 Rydal Hall, the seat of le Flemings. Fold 
 
 House in Loughrigg, once the residence of the Ben- 
 sons. Bowness Church, the east window of which 
 
 was filled with glass from Furness Abbey. Col- 
 garth, the ancient seat of the Philipsons. Hels- 
 
 fell Hall where the ancestors of Colonel Briggs 
 
 resided. Lady Holme, an island in Windermere, 
 
 upon which was anciently a chapel dedicated to the 
 
 blessed Virgin. Troutbeck, in which was a heap 
 
 of stones called the Raise ; on being opened a chest 
 

 
 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 255 
 
 of four stones was found in the centre, filled with 
 dead men's bones. There is another, called Woun- 
 dale Raise, which has never been opened. They 
 are supposed to have been British sepulchres. > 
 Ambleside was the Roman station, Dictis. The 
 Brathwaites are supposed to have risen at Amble- 
 side, and to have their name from the river Brathey. 
 ~-Borrans has been a square fort, called Borrans- 
 ring, surrounded with a bulwark and a trench.- 
 Levens has been a place of some importance from 
 the Conquest. Crosscrake Chapel was founded 
 by Anselm de Furness in the reign of Richard I. 
 and was granted to the Priory of Cartmel, by Sir 
 
 William Strickland, knt.< ~Beethom Church is 
 
 very ancient ; and dedicated to St. Leoth or Lyth ; 
 others say to St. Lioba or Liobgytha ; and others 
 
 say to St. Michael. Beethom Hall has been a 
 
 strong Castle building, though now in ruins. 
 Hazehlack Tower and Arnside are little known 
 
 and their history is entirely lost. Dallam Tower 
 
 the seat of the Wilsons. Farleton Knott had 
 
 a beacon lighted upon it during the incursions of the 
 
 Scotch. Preston Patrick Hall, so long the seat 
 
 of the Prestons, is now a farm house, nothing remain- 
 ing but a few arched rooms. Kirkby Lonsdale 
 
 Bridge, the history of which is entirely unknown. 
 
 Kirkby Lonsdale Church is very ancient ; and 
 
 is undoubtedly of Saxon Origin. The architecture 
 seems to be such ; and we know that it was given 
 
 to St. Mary's of York, by Ivo de Talebois. 
 
 Tearnside or Tarnside near Kirkby Lonsdale, once
 
 256 WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS. 
 
 possessed a chapel, which was destroyed about 150 
 
 years ago. Casterton had once a chapel at a place 
 
 called Chapel head close, dedicated perhaps to St. 
 
 Columbe. Rigmaden Hall once belonged to a 
 
 family of its own name. Middleton Hall, was 
 
 long the seat of the Middletons ; it was built in the 
 Castle form, though now only a farm house. 
 Killington Hall,, now in ruins, was long the seat of 
 
 the Pickerings. Appleby was once a very large 
 
 town ; and the foundation of its buildings are often 
 ploughed up, at a considerable distance from its pre- 
 sent limits. Barwise Hall near Appleby, was 
 
 once the residence of a family of that name. 
 
 To have collected the ancient history and present 
 appearance of these places ; as well as those we have 
 omitted in this short sketch of only part of the coun- 
 ty, would have been a work of time, though an in- 
 teresting one, yet it may be collected at some future 
 opportunity. 
 
 
 END OF WESTMORLAND AS IT WAS.
 
 LIGHT : 
 
 HEMARKS ON THE NEWTONIAN THEORY OF LIGHT ; 
 IN WHICH THE UTTER INCONSISTENCY OF THAT 
 THEORY IS ATTEMPTED TO BE PROVED.
 
 J..The philosophical portion of our readers will excuse us for in- 
 serting the following Theory, after its appearance in the Lonsdale 
 Magazine. Our idea of it is, that it is extremely interesting on 
 account of its novelty, and the facts and inferences that are chosen 
 and deduced to support it. No man in the world possesses a 
 greater aptness to imagine Theories, than did our late lamented 
 friend JOHN BRJGGS ; with less facility to incline him to labour 
 in the practical establishing part. As a philosopher, he might 
 have given birth to some amusing invention but seldom would, 
 we think, have toiled through the process of experiment to the 
 result of any valuable discovery.]
 
 ( 261 ) 
 
 ON LIGHT. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, and nearly all who have written 
 on the subject since his days, have asserted light to 
 be a material substance. The design of the present 
 article is, therefore, to expose the inconsistency of 
 this theory ; and to prove its impossibility. 
 
 The Newtonian theory, which is most generally 
 received, maintains, that " light consists of a vast 
 number of exceedingly small particles shaken off in 
 all directions from the luminous body, with incon- 
 ceivable velocity, by a repulsive power."" 
 
 If this theory be true, then is the sun composed 
 of " exceedingly small particles," each of which is 
 endued with a repelling power , by which the par- 
 ticles are successively driven off from the luminous 
 body ; for if light be driven off ** by a repulsive 
 power," the repulsion must be inherent in each par- 
 ticle. The sun, according to this theory, being 
 composed of particles of light, which are driven off 
 by a repulsive power, that repulsive power must 
 exist in each individual particle. If it does not exist 
 in each particle, it cannot exist at all ; for there is 
 no other place in which it can reside. 
 
 Here then follows the unanswerable query a 
 query that dashes the whole theory to pieces : If 
 each particle of the sun, possesses an inherent re-
 
 pelting power, by which each particle is impelled 
 to recede from its neighbouring particle with an in- 
 conceivable velocity, why were not all the particles 
 of the sun scattered through the immensity of infi- 
 nitude, at the moment of the sun's creation ? If 
 each particle possess this repelling power, what power 
 has retained those particles of the sun together, 
 which flew from it yesterday ? How has that re- 
 pelling power laid dormant for nearly six thousand 
 years, only to be called into action yesterday ? Those 
 particles which are lying dormant to-day, and which 
 will fly off to-morrow, possess the same repelling 
 power, as those which flew off a thousand years ago, 
 yet they have slept quietly till now ; and are only 
 now asserting their right of flying off! How un- 
 accountable is such a theory ! If the sun be com- 
 posed of particles of light ; and those particles each 
 possess such a repelling power as Sir Isaac Newton 
 describes, the sun would be dissolved as instantane- 
 ously as a barrel of gunpowder, on the application 
 of a lighted match ! 
 
 This might perhaps be considered sufficient to 
 destroy the present theory of light ; but there is 
 another argument equally powerful, and equally un- 
 answerable, which shall be here produced. 
 
 When a lighted candle is introduced into a dark 
 room, if tho light consist of particles continually 
 exuding from the luminous body, the light will gra- 
 dually increase in the room ; for the particles ema- 
 nating from the candle in the first minute will be 
 equal to a, and since as many particles will be
 
 LIGHT. 5263 
 
 thrown off in any succeeding miuute as in the first, 
 the number of particles in the room, at the end of an 
 hour, will be equal to 60 a that is, the room will 
 be sixty times as light at the end of an hour as it 
 was at the end of a minute. Such tvould be the 
 phenom-e)ion of light, was it a material substance. 
 But this is not the ca^e, therefore light is not a 
 substance. 
 
 Again, on the light being extinguished, after 
 burning for a length of time, in a room, the particles 
 of light which had escaped from the candle, and 
 which were floating in the room, would continue to 
 illuminate the room for a considerable time after the 
 candle was extinguished. As the particles of light 
 escaped through the creeks and crannies of the room, 
 the light would decrease, something in the form of 
 a twilight. This icould be the inevitable conse- 
 quence of light being a substance ; but this is not 
 the case ; therefore light is not a substance. 
 
 Considering light as a substance, it must pass 
 through solid bodies by its momentum, because it 
 cannot pass through by attraction ; for the attrac- 
 tive power which drew the light to the body, would 
 prevent its passing forward. Now if the impetus of 
 light carries it through a piece of glass, why cannot 
 that impetus carry it through a piece of metal of 
 the same thickness ; or at least through a piece of 
 wood, which is much more porous than glass. Light 
 will instantly pass through a piece of glass an inch 
 thick, but it never gets through a piece of oak only 
 a line thick. The momentum of any thing else
 
 264 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 woukl pass through the wood in preference to thi- 
 ghs, at equal thickness, this shows the folly of 
 the idea, that light passes through solid bodies by 
 its momentum. 
 
 Henry Brougham, Esq. saw the folly of this, and 
 attempted to account for the phenomenon on the 
 principles of attraction. He says, " the initial ve- 
 locity of light is sufficient to carry it through the 
 first surface or set of particles ; but it is so much 
 diminished, that it is reflected by the repulsive power 
 of the back side of these particles, unless there be 
 others behind at a certain distance, namely, that at 
 which inflection or attraction acts, that is, apparent 
 contact. This attraction renews the impetus of 
 light, and transmits it to another set and so on."" 
 According to Mr Brougham's account, it appears 
 that light is attracted like nothing else. A row of 
 magnets, for instance, would not have the compla- 
 cence to attract a piece of steel, and turn it over to 
 one another to be attracted by the whole range, and 
 then send it about its business. Bodies which attract 
 light, however, seem to be of a more accommodating 
 nature ; and to act upon the principle of a school- 
 boy game, called Bite, lug, and throw away ! 
 
 To make this mysterious subject more plain, Mr. 
 Brougham adds " When particles of light pass at 
 a certain distance from any body, a repulsive power 
 drives them off; at a distance a little less, this power 
 becomes attractive ; at a still less distance it becomes 
 repulsive as before ; always acting in the same direc- 
 tion. These things hold, whatever be the direction
 
 LIGHT. 265 
 
 of the particles ; but, if, when produced, it passes 
 through the body, then the nearest repulsive force 
 turns the particles back, and the nearest attractive 
 force either transmits them or turns them out of 
 their course, during transmission." Independent of 
 the incomprehensibility of light being attracted at 
 one distance and repelled at another, the student 
 will be struck with the inconsistency of the whole 
 theory. If a piece of glass attracts or repels light 
 at any fixed distance, how can a room be enlighten- 
 ed ? For, in approaching the glass, in order to be 
 transmitted, the light will have to pass that very 
 point where it is repelled, and consequently could 
 never reach the glass, on account of the repelling 
 power. Again, if the light could elude the vigilance 
 of this repelling power and enter the glass by the 
 pewer of attraction, it would remain there ; for it is 
 impossible to conceive such a power in the glass, as 
 that which Mr. Brougham has described, where the 
 first particles of glass attract the particles of light, 
 and then suspend their attractive powers in order 
 that the next set of particles of the glass may attract 
 the particles of light, and all the particles of the 
 glass continuing to act upon a principle of this kind, 
 till the particle of light reaches the opposite side, 
 where the attraction of the glass becomes repulsive, 
 and the particles of light are repelled forward. 
 Such a theory is in direct opposition to the establish- 
 ed laws of nature. If, however, the light escaped 
 all these obstacles, it would be retained by the at- 
 tractive power which Mr. Brougham describes as
 
 266 LIGHT. 
 
 existing at a certain distance from the surface of the 
 glass. Thus it appears that light cannot pass 
 through a piece of Glass, if it be a substance, with- 
 out acting entirely contrary to the principles of that 
 very theory which makes it a substance. 
 
 The sensation on the eye, called light, according 
 to the philosophers is occasioned by the particles of 
 light entering the eye. Now if this be the case, an 
 enquirer might naturally ask, what becomes of all 
 these particles of light thus drunk in by the eye'? 
 The Count de Buffon has very learnedly explained 
 this query. He found that, on shutting his eyes after 
 looking at a white object, the image remaining on 
 his eye, first became violet, then blue, or a mixture 
 of blue and other colours, and last of all red. " So 
 that the impression of white," says Mr. Brougham, 
 in commenting on this subject, " is compounded of 
 all the other rays mixed together. The violet was 
 first obliterated, or weakest ; and the red last, or 
 strongest." Sir Isaac Newton, however, differs 
 from Mr. Brougham, and asserts that " the orange 
 and yellow are the most luminous of all the colours, 
 affecting the senses most strongly."" It is not how- 
 ever worth while to argue which of these philoso- 
 phers is farthest wrong, for it is well known that 
 no part of matter can be extinguished or destroyed. 
 Therefore, if light be a substance, its particles can- 
 not be extinguished in the eye at all. Hence the 
 dispute whether red or yellow rays are first extinct, 
 is nonsense; since, if they be matter, they can 
 neither of them be ever destroyed. If the particles
 
 267 
 
 of light be substances, and these substances enter 
 the eye, and remain there, how long may it be be- 
 fore the " eye is filled with seeing . ?r) 
 
 A few queries will naturally strike the mind of 
 the inquisitive reader, respecting the amazing velo- 
 city of light. 'If light be a substance, and move at 
 the rate of 200,000 miles in a second of time, its 
 momentum must be such as to carry it through the 
 hardest opposing bodies ; so that the human frame, 
 on a sunny day, must be like a sieve, by the parti- 
 cles of light passing through it. So far, however, 
 from this being the ease, the particles of light with 
 all their momentum, cannot pierce a sheet of tin ! 
 How clear a proof is this, that light is not a sub- 
 stance. 
 
 The idea that light, being a substance, ought to 
 have a momentum, arising from its amazing veloci- 
 ty, has struck the mind of several philosophers. 
 Hartsocker and Homberg attempted to prove the 
 momentum of light, but the effects which they mis- 
 tnjik for this momentum were evidently caused by a 
 stream of heated air produced by the burning glass. 
 
 M. Marian next tried to prove the momentum, 
 but he failed. M. du Fay then attempted the ex- 
 periment, but he also failed. Mr. Michell was the 
 last who tried. He threw the light from a concave 
 mirror two feet diameter upon a small plate of cop- 
 per, fixed to the end of a needle, suspended in the 
 manner of a compass needle. He was fortunate 
 enough to produce a motion in the plate of copper ; 
 but that motion was evidently occasioned by the
 
 268 
 
 expansion of the heated air, which moved the cop- 
 per. Hence the momentum of light, so necessary 
 to prove it a substance, is yet undiscovered. 
 
 If light be a substance, surely some method may 
 lye found for fixing it, and rendering it useful in the 
 arts. For instance, when a fine picture is reflected 
 on a sheet of paper in the Camera Obscura, the 
 colours might be fixed, and the picture preserved. 
 But light not being a sul)stance, the colours cannot 
 
 No man ever suspected sound to be a substance, 
 though equally as powerful arguments might be pro- 
 duced for the one as the other. Sound being no- 
 thing but the undulation of the air, and light being 
 only the reflexion of the luminous body upon the 
 subjects of vision. That LIGHT is ONLY THE RE- 
 FLEXION OF THE LUMINOUS BODY, one would think 
 might have been the first and most natural supposi- 
 tion. When a man sees his face in a mirror, he 
 considers it the reflexion of his face, and not so 
 many particles of the face which have flown off 7 to 
 the glass. 
 
 The idea that the cause of vision is the particles 
 of light impinging upon the object, and being thence 
 reflected to the eye, does not explain the nature of 
 vision. For if the light was merely reflected from 
 the object, we should only feel a sensation of light, 
 and not see an image or object. But it is natural to 
 suppose we may gain a view of the object, from its 
 being rendered visible by the luminous object being 
 reflected upon it,
 
 LIGHT. 269 
 
 That objects are rendered visible by the image of 
 the luminous body being reflected upon them is evi- 
 dent from this, if we throw coloured lights upon any 
 object, that object will assume the colour of the light 
 thrown upon it. Some very pleasing experiments 
 may be tried in this way, by coloured glasses in a 
 Camera Obscura. On the principle of reflection, 
 the velocity of light may be easily comprehended. 
 It is easy to suppose a long range of looking-glasses, 
 so placed in two rows facing each other, at such dis- 
 tance that they may catch the reflection from each 
 other. Supposing them to be placed in a long lobby, 
 that which stands to the right shall throw its reflec- 
 tion upon that on the left ; and that on the left shall 
 throw its reflection upon the second to the right, and 
 so on to the end of the two rows. If a candle be so 
 placed that it will be reflected from one glass to ano- 
 ther, through all the line, we shall have an experi- 
 ment of the velocity of light. However rapidly the 
 light may be reflected through the line, it must 
 take some time ; for it cannot be reflected from the 
 second till it has been reflected from the first ; nor 
 from the third till it has been reflected from the 
 second ; so that it must reach the last after it has 
 reached the first. And though these reflections may 
 succeed one another with amazing rapidity, time 
 must elapse between the first and the last. 
 
 The few hints here thrown out, will, it is trusted, 
 induce the inquisitive reader to reflect a moment, 
 before he places implicit confidence in the generally 
 received theory of light a theory which has not 
 one experiment to corroborate it.

 
 TALES.
 
 ( 269 ) 
 CAER WERID. 
 
 A BRITISH TALE. 
 
 In times long gone by, when these mountains reared 
 their naked heads to the clouds, when their sides 
 were clothed with oak, and their feet were wet with 
 morUsses when the wild cow and the wolf contested 
 the mastership of the unclaimed property when 
 human feet had never trod these hills or vales a 
 mighty warrior left his companions in the south, and 
 journeyed hitherward. His followers called him 
 Brig, and themselves Briges,* because they had se- 
 parated from their brothers. As they traversed 
 the forests towards the north, they met with a beau- 
 tiful river, at the foot of a gentle hill, well clothed 
 with wood. Brig said to his companions, let us here 
 construct our tents. Here is wood for shelter and 
 fire ; and this river and these mountains will sup- 
 ply us with food : and the Briges consented. And 
 they called the beautiful river the Z,ow,f because the 
 water flowed so smoothly. 
 
 Then they fixed poles in the ground, and fasten- 
 ed them together with wicker work of branches, and 
 covered them with the green sod from the ground. 
 And Brig said, the old oak trees round our dwellings 
 will shelter us from the storm in winter, and shade 
 us from the sun in summer, we will therefore call it 
 
 * This word was afterwards Latinized by the Romans, to Bri, 
 (/antes. 
 f- This word was Latiuized by the Romans, to Alaumtm.
 
 270 CAER WERID. 
 
 CAER WERID, for it is a green town ; and it was 
 known by that name till the time of the Romans.* 
 The Briges continued to pass their lives in hunting 
 the wild deer among the hills, and in fishing in the 
 adjoining river; and as they were not disturbed by 
 wars, they rapidly increased in strength and num- 
 ber. 
 
 Their ancient priests or Druids retired farther 
 north, because their solemn rites required the great- 
 est privacy ; and the misletoe, their sacred emblem, 
 abounded more among the northern forests. Be- 
 sides stones to construct their temples of, were more 
 easily procured among these hills ; and being far 
 from the haunts of men, they could indulge in the 
 gloomy contemplation of the vindictive character 
 of the Deity for they knew him only as a Being 
 capable of revenging every insult offered to his name. 
 When the Green Town was become very popu- 
 lous, there lived in it a youth of superior strength 
 and agility, who was remarked for being particularly 
 expert with the bow, and so swift that few could 
 outstrip him in the race. At feats of strength or 
 skill, he was ever foremost ; and in attacking the 
 wolf, or the wild cow, few possessed so daring a soul. 
 It is an old maxim, with few exceptions, that love 
 is the companion of bravery and Mudor loved the 
 gentle Ella. They had retired, at an early age, to 
 a grove farther up the river, where stood the image 
 of their god Mogan, which had been purchased of 
 
 The Romans altered this name to Longovicum.
 
 CAER WERID. 271 
 
 some Phoenician merchants, along with some iron 
 hatchets, in exchange for the skins of beasts slain 
 in thechace. Before this rude representation of the 
 deity they mutually pledged their vows ; and to 
 render those pledges more binding, they each stained 
 a blue sun on their breasts, as a memorial that their 
 faith should be as durable as the light of that lu-- 
 minary. No one felt so proud on hearing the praise 
 of Mudor, as Ella did no one hailed his return 
 from the chace, loaded with spoils, with the warmth 
 of Ella nor did any one so much admire the ele- 
 gance of the blue symbols of his prowess and his 
 faith, which were painted on his skin, as did the 
 faithful Ella. Reared in two adjoining cabins, their 
 infant sports had been together. For her he had 
 plunged into the morass to procure the richest and 
 sweetest water lilies; for her he had]climbed the tallest 
 oak to gain the cushat eggs ; and the scarf of squir- 
 rel skins which screened her from the cold, was the 
 produce of his most early adventures in the chace. 
 Thus circumstanced, their hearts were knit together 
 by those ties which bind the savage as well as the 
 civilized; for the heart of the naked Indian who 
 treads the burning sands of the desert, is as warm 
 to the tender impressions of love, as the prince who 
 stretches his limbs on a silken couch, or reposes on 
 a bed of down. 
 
 These faithful lovers dreamt of no unkindly fate 
 interfering, when a fever broke out in the Green 
 Town, and swept away a number of its inhabitants. 
 Application was made to the priest of Mogan to
 
 272 CAER WEIUIX 
 
 avert the awful visitation by prayer ; but he return- 
 ed for answer, that the wickedness of the Green 
 Town had offended the Great Invisible, and the 
 fever was sent as a just punishment. The Druids, 
 therefore, who resided in the neighbourhood, made 
 a pilgrimage to one of their largest temples, situated 
 among the mountains, in the midst of a vast forest. 
 The Arch-Druid, having gathered the misletoe, 
 just as the rising sun licked the dew from its berries, 
 and performed a number of other rites, to obtain an 
 answer from the Great Spirit, informed them, that 
 heaven would not be appeased unless a young virgin 
 of the Green Town was immolated as a sacrifice for 
 the sins of the inhabitants. When this intelligence 
 was announced to the Briges of Caer Werid, the 
 utmost dismay seized on every heart. Parents 
 trembled for their daughters, and the daughters 
 trembled for themselves ; for no one knew on whom 
 tke lot would fall. 
 
 The Druids of the neighbouring groves assembled 
 together, and cast lots according to their established 
 usage. The lot fell on Ella ! Sad was the heart 
 of Mudor when he heard this ; and vainly did he 
 entreat that some other victim might be selected in 
 her stead. It was the irrevocable decree of heaven, 
 and the priest had not the power to alter it. No 
 one felt the sentence less severely than Ella did. 
 She resigned herself to the will of the deity ; and 
 would not render unavailable the sacrifice by any 
 vain and foolish complaints. Still her affection for 
 Mudor would steal across her mind, and a momen~
 
 CAER WERID. 273 
 
 tary wish that she might have lived to fulfil her 
 vows, would interrupt her devotional complacency. 
 
 The morning arrived when Ella was to be con- 
 veyed far into the deserts, among the northern 
 mountains, where heaven would alone be appeased. 
 Mudor at a humble distance, followed the procession 
 of the Druids, and separating himself from the crowd 
 which usually assembled to witness those awful rites 
 of the Druid priests, appeared like one who had no 
 conception of what was passing before him. They 
 at length arrived at the place of sacrifice, which was 
 a gloomy dell in the midst of a forest, near the banks 
 of a river, almost as large as that which washed the 
 edge of Caer Werid, but more rapid, and surround- 
 ed by more magnificent scenery. This dell was a 
 curious cavity in the rock, of considerable extent, 
 and rendered almost dark by the overhanging 
 branches of ancient oaks which grew above it. A 
 small circular area, surrounded with large upright 
 stones, was the place of sacrifiae. The priests as- 
 sembled to perform their horrid rites ; while the 
 gaping crowd hung in the fissures of the rock on 
 each side, or sat on the branches of the trees, waiting 
 the celebration of the awful ceremony. The bards, 
 with their heads crowned with oak, advanced to the 
 north side of the circle ; and after paying obeisance 
 to the sun, they chanted the following hymn : 
 
 Being Great, who reign'st alone, 
 Veiled in clouds, unseen, iinknown, 
 Centre of the Tast profound, 
 ( 'Umds oi' darkuess close thee round !
 
 274 CAEE WERID. 
 
 Thy nod makes storms and tempests rise, 
 Thy breath makes thunder shake the skies, 
 Thy frown turns noon-day into night, 
 And makes the sun withdraw his light ! 
 
 Beneath thy anger we expire, 
 The victims of thy vengeful ire ; 
 Destruction rules at thy command, 
 And ruin blackens all the land. 
 
 A small cabin of basket work was erected near the 
 western side of the circle, in the lowest part of the 
 dell, with a door opening towards the Druid circle 
 in this the youthful Ella was to be immolated. 
 She was brought into the circle, a garland of oak 
 leaves was bound round her neck a chaplet of wild 
 flowers placed on her head and a piece of misletoe 
 in her hand. Thus adorned, she was led to the cen- 
 tre of the circle, and supported there by two aged 
 priests, while the bards chanted the following in- 
 vocation to the sun. 
 
 Jfirat 13 art. 
 
 See, thy destined victim see, 
 Bright, and chaste, and pure as thee, 
 Let this sinless virgin please thee, 
 Sinful man could ne'er appease thee. 
 
 Round her brows the wild flowers see, 
 Embtems of thy purity 
 
 Touch'd by mortal's finger never ; 
 Round her breast the oak survey, 
 Which like thee can ne'er decay 
 
 Innocence endures forever. 
 
 Spirit ! who no birth has known, 
 Springing from thyself alone. 
 We thy living emblem show 
 In thy mystic misletoe :
 
 CAER WEBID. 275 
 
 Springs and grows without a root 
 \ ields without a flower its fruit 
 Seeks from earth no mother's care 
 Lives and blooms, the child of air. 
 
 JTourtf) ISavti. 
 
 Thou dost thy mystic circle trace 
 
 Along the vaulted blue profound, 
 And, emblematic of thy race, 
 
 We tread our mystic circle round. 
 
 311 UK Barfcs. 
 
 Shine upon us mighty God 
 
 Raise this drooping world of ours 
 
 Send from thy divine abode, 
 Cheering sun and fruitful showers. 
 
 The lovely Ella was then enclosed in the wicker 
 cabin a quantity of dry withered leaves, and small 
 dry branches were laid all round the cabin ready to 
 set fire to. Every one of the crowd was obliged to 
 furnish at least one stick towards producing a fire to 
 consume the victim. But Mudor stood at a dis- 
 tance, determined rather to incur the vengeance of 
 the Invisible Spirit, than add one particle to the 
 destruction of his adorable Ella. The Arch-Druid 
 took two pieces of wood, and exposing them to the 
 sun, rubbed them together, while all the bards 
 chanted the following verse. 
 
 .^un descend in a ray of light, 
 
 Wrapped in thy power and alad in thy might ; 
 
 Come in a red and a fiery stream, 
 
 Come in a bright and a glowing beam ; 
 
 Come in thy flaming chariot down, 
 
 Burn the wtxxl in a flame of thy own. 
 
 The friction of the two pieces of wood had the de- 
 sired effect they took fire. The sticks and leaves
 
 276 CAEll WERID. 
 
 round the cabin which contained the ill-fated Ella, 
 were instantly in a blaze. As the flames arose the 
 Bards chanted, with loud voices, the following 
 verses. 
 
 Mighty Sovereign of the skies, 
 
 Accept this virgin sacrifice, 
 
 Let her spotless soul atone 
 
 For wipked actions not her own. 
 
 As to death her spirit stoops, 
 
 As she faints, and as she droops, 
 
 Lay aside thy fiery crown 
 
 And spare, O, spare, her native town ! 
 
 She was good, and she was kind, 
 
 And she possess'd a heavenly mind ; 
 
 Wicked man could ne'er atone 
 
 For his sins and crimes alone, 
 
 A purer victim must be found 
 
 To wash the stain away. 
 
 The Bards stopped short, and raised their hands 
 with astonishment the crowd shrieked out with fear 
 and all the rites were suspended; for at that 
 moment a flood of water burst out from the fissures 
 of the rock on every side, and came rolling down 
 the dell like a river. The wicker hurdle in which 
 Ella was confined, was instantly surrounded by the 
 flood the fire was quenched, and she came out un- 
 hurt. It is said that a voice was heard by the Arch- 
 Druid of solemn import, intimating that human vic- 
 tims were not acceptable to the deity that a great- 
 er sacrifice was about to be offered and that the 
 reign of Druidism was at an end. The Arch-Druid 
 turning his face towards the sun for a moment, and 
 then to the other priests, remarked that some mighty 
 change was surely about to take place among them ;
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 277 
 
 for this was a miracle they could have no conception 
 of. Henceforth, he added, this place shall be called 
 Guylingreave, for it is a stream in the Temple of 
 God! 
 
 The assembled Briges returned in consternation 
 to Caer Werid ; and the devoted Ella was happily 
 restored to the arms of the overjoyed Mudor, with 
 whom she lived to a good old age ; and the rock 
 has occasionally poured forth its stream, ever since. 
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 Charles Williams was one of those individuals 
 who are " born to blush unseen." It is probable 
 therefore that his name is unknown, and that his 
 merits might have slept in obscurity but for us. We 
 suspect that he has never been heard of before, and 
 it is very likely that he never will again.- Charles 
 had no long line of ancestors whose merits he could 
 impute to himself. His great-grandfather had, to 
 be sure, been the most noted wrestler in his day ; 
 and had annually won the belt at Bowness and at 
 Keswick, but his prowess was forgot by all but his 
 immediate descendants ; and even his hard earned 
 belts had long since been cut up for repairing cart 
 gear. Though Charles was only the son of a small 
 farmer, yet there was one thing on which the family 
 prided itself there was a W. W. over the kitchen 
 door which " was a sartan sign,"" his mother argued,
 
 278 CHAllLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 " et that hoos lied belengd to them sometime lang 
 sen. 11 
 
 There was one circumstance which we ought not 
 to omit ; particularly as it excited no inconsiderable 
 interest at the time through all the neighbourhood 
 of Kentmere. On the very day and as far as we 
 could learn, on the very hour when Charles was 
 born, a huge stone, self-moved, rolled down Wallow 
 Crag into Hawes Water ! The old women could 
 and would account for it no other way, than that he 
 was to be droond. Mr. Gough who was then be- 
 ginning to exhibit the first dawning of that genius 
 which has procured him the esteem and admiration 
 of all true lovers of rational philosophy would 
 gladly have convinced them that it was nothing but 
 the effects of a thaw which had taken place only a 
 few days before. But they argued, that " thear bed 
 been many a tha afoar, but niver a stean rolled doon 
 Wallow Crag afoar." 
 
 Charles, however, grew up to be a boy, just as if 
 this ominous stone had continued to sit secure on 
 the mountain's ridge. But it might be said of him, 
 that "a strange and wayward wight was he.^ While 
 other boys were ranging through the woods in pur- 
 suit of bird nests, Charles would stretch himself on 
 a smoothfaced rock, and pore on the adjacent land- 
 scape like one half crazed. To retire into a lonely 
 wood behind his father's, and teach a little brook, 
 which ran through it, to take a thousand fantastic 
 forms, was to Charles the sweetest recreation he 
 could enjoy. The perpetual wings of time had now
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 279 
 
 spread fifteen or sixteen winters over the vale of 
 Kentmcrc, since the stone rolled into Hawes Water, 
 and Charles was grown a tall and graceful boy. 
 The little time which his father had spared him to 
 school, had not been misemployed by the active 
 youth ; and though he felt a diffidence about enter- 
 ing into conversation, it was generally allowed that 
 when he did unloosen his tongue, he could argue 
 any man in the valley, except the parson who never 
 stopt to hear any body speak but himself, and the 
 schoolmaster who never spoke at all. 
 
 One evening about this time, as Charles was re- 
 turning from an accustomed ramble, where he had 
 been enjoying a view of the mist slowly gathering 
 among the mountain-heads to the north, he was 
 aroused from his reverie by a shrill scream ; a 
 young female had been pursuing a footpath over the 
 adjoining field, and was at that instant closely fol- 
 lowed by a neighbour's bull. Charles with the speed 
 of lightning was at the girl's side ; and, with a pre- 
 sence of mind oftener found in boys than men, he 
 snatched the umbrella out of her hand, and unfurled 
 it in the enraged animal's face. The astonished 
 beast retreated a few paces and, according to a 
 standing rule among mad bulls., having been foiled in 
 its first attempt, it did not make a second attack. 
 
 Charles with that gallantry, which is a concomi- 
 tant of generous minds, proposed to see the affrighted 
 maid to her father's dwelling. Maria was a girl 
 whom Charles had known from her infancy ; he had 
 played with her at school, but he never before ob-
 
 280 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 served that she possessed any thing superior to the 
 other girls of the dale. But this evening, as she 
 hung on his arm and thanked him with such a pair 
 of soft blue eyes, so kindly as the colour varied so 
 often on her cheek and her bosom throbbed so agi- 
 tatedly he discovered that Maria possessed more 
 charms than all the valley beside. 
 
 This evening^ adventure formed an epoch in the 
 life of Charles Williams. All his actions were now 
 influenced by one all-powerful impulse. Ardent in 
 his admiration of nature's charms that ardour was 
 now transferred from the general beauties of creation 
 to the particular beauties of the lovely Maria. 
 Indeed Maria was peculiarly formed to please the 
 fancy and captivate the heart of a youth like 
 Charles. There was a symmetry in her limbs, an 
 elegance in her person, and a simple gracefulness in 
 her motions, which rendered her an agreeable object 
 even to the most indiiferent observer. But the 
 charms of her mind were the gems on which he 
 placed the highest value. There was a sombre 
 shade of seriousness, perfectly distinct from melan- 
 choly, which none could behold without feeling in- 
 terested. This seriousness however had nothing in 
 it inimical to that lively joyance which gives so de- 
 licious a zest to our youthful days. She even pos- 
 sessed a vivacity that accompanied all her actions, 
 and threw her real character into the distance. 
 Though endued with the keenest sensibility, she 
 appeared all life and gaiety. Wherever she was, 
 she was the soul of the little company her lively
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 281 
 
 wit and her smiling beauty procured her attention 
 wherever she shewed herself. This beautiful mix- 
 ture of the gay and the grave, assumed on some 
 occasions such strange contrasts, that she seemed to 
 be composed of inconsistencies. Often in her little 
 evening rambles with her young companions, after 
 having put them all in good humour with them- 
 selves and with one another, by her little flattering 
 railleries,, and harmless frolics, she would in an in- 
 stant bound away from the group with the elastic 
 grace of a mountain nymph abruptly enter the 
 cottage of some sick or suffering neighbour, with a 
 smile on her countenance, like the angel of comfort 
 charged with blessings kindly inquire after their 
 various wants and distresses sooth them with con- 
 solatory hopes of better days offer all those little 
 assistances which old and decaying age accepts so 
 gratefully at the hands of youth and after mingling 
 a sigh or a tear with theirs, again join her gay com- 
 panions as though nothing had occurred. 
 
 In the innocent society of this fair maiden, Char- 
 les passed the sweetest hours of his existence. His 
 former boyish pursuits were renounced. The wind- 
 mill, on a rock at a little distance, though nearly 
 matured, was never completed ; the water works in 
 the wood were permitted to run to ruin ; even the 
 perpetual motion in the room over the old kitchen, 
 which was in a state of great forwardness, was neg- 
 lected for a time, and eventually relinquished. 
 
 It is supposed, if Charles had never been in love, 
 that he had never been a poet ; and, in confirmation
 
 282 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 of this idea, we observe that his first productions 
 are of the amatory kind. " Odes to beauty ;" 
 " Lines to Maria ;" " Acrostics,"" &c. Among 
 these fragments, we found a little airy piece without 
 a head, but we suppose intended for Maria. 
 
 If all the world was made of kisses, 
 And all those kisses were made for me, 
 And I was made for you, my love, 
 How happy we should be ! 
 
 If all the graces were joined in one, 
 And all the wit and beauty too, 
 They'd make a maid like you, my love, 
 They'd make a maid like you ! 
 
 Some of his lyric pieces exhibit a strange mixture 
 
 of philosophy and passion, learning and love. 
 
 In the eleventh page of the manuscript before us, 
 we find as curious a specimen of this kind as ever 
 we recollect. It is much interlined, and seems 
 never to have been finished. 
 
 n Hobc, 
 
 Newton's keen observant eye, 
 Found a power pervade creation ; 
 Ignorant of when or why, 
 He fondly called it gravitation. 
 
 But 'tis love that binds the spheres 
 Love's the real central forces 
 Wheels them round their varying years, 
 Impels them on and shapes their courses. 
 
 Nature all abounds in love, 
 What is there but feels its power ? 
 
 Hear it warbling in the grove ! 
 See it blooming in the flower ! 
 
 What's attraction, pray, but love ? 
 And affinity's the same
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 283 
 
 But the tender passion does not seem to have en- 
 grossed all his poetical powers, as we find several 
 pieces both grave and gay on different subjects. 
 One of these we shall select, as it seems to possess 
 some originality, and has been occasioned appa- 
 rently by that influx of strangers which generally 
 enlivens the lake district during the summer months ; 
 some of whom have probably noticed our mountain 
 bard, if we may judge from one of the stanzas. 
 
 2j)e Stranger at tlje JUkea, 
 
 When summer suns lick up the dew, 
 A nd all the heavens are painted blue, 
 'Tis then with smiling cheeks we view, 
 The stranger at the Lakes. 
 
 When morning tips with gold the boughs, 
 And tinges Skiddaw's cloud-kissed brows, 
 Then round the lake the boatman rows, 
 The stranger at the Lakes. 
 
 \Vhen grey-robed evening steps serene, 
 Across the variegated scene, 
 Beside some cascade may be seen, 
 
 The stranger at the Lakes. 
 
 Embosomed here, the rustic bard, 
 Who oft has thought his fortune hard, 
 Is pleased to share the kind regard 
 
 Of strangers at the Lakes. 
 
 He whose ideas never stray 
 Beyond the parson's gig and gray, 
 Stares at the carriage and relay 
 
 Of strangers at the Lakes. 
 
 As by his cot the phseton flies. 
 
 The peasant gapes with mouth and eyes, 
 
 And to his wondering family cries, 
 
 " A stranger at the Lakes !" 
 
 Sometimes when brewers' clerks appear, 
 And Boniface is short of gear, 
 He says, " Kind Sirs, we've had this year 
 Few strangers at the Lakes."
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 At Christmas, Poll, the bar-maid, shews 
 Her lustre gown and new kid shoes, 
 And says, tk I tipped the cash for those, 
 From strangers at the Lakes." 
 
 But could the post-horse, neighing, say 
 What he has suffered iifght and day, 
 'Tis much, I think, if he would pray 
 For strangers at the Lakes. 
 
 Time, it is said, has wings ; but Charles neve* 
 observed that it even moved, till he found himself 
 in his twentieth year. That love which at first 
 sought only to relieve itself in the society of its ob- 
 ject, now began to assume a determined character. 
 
 But to any but lovers, the description of love 
 
 scenes, would be irksome. It will be quite sufficient 
 if we hint at the affair, aud leave our fair readers to 
 fill up the outline. We will only therefore assure 
 them on the best authority that Charles set out no 
 less than three several times with a resolute deter- 
 mination to declare the full extent of his passion, 
 and solicit the fair hand of Maria. And that as 
 soon as he saw the maid, his purpose " dissolved 
 like the baseless fabric of a vision." That Charles 
 at length conquered this timidity, and urged his suit 
 with such ardour, that he was heard afterwards to 
 say, he believed that love was like steam, the more it 
 was compressed, the greater was its elasticity. That 
 Maria received the declaration with all due bashful- 
 ness, and promised to be his bride as soon as she had 
 completed her twenty-first year. That Charles, as 
 is usual on such occasions, flew home on the wings 
 of ecstacy, &c. &c. It seems to have been about
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 285 
 
 this time that the following birthday ode was writ- 
 ten perhaps while he was suffering under the effects 
 of his own bashfulness. 
 
 Maria, this is just the day, 
 Some twenty years ago, they say, 
 
 You fill'd your mother's arms ; 
 A little puling sprig of love, 
 So kindly dropp'd from heaven above, 
 
 To bless me with your charms. 
 
 Obeying custom, I intend 
 
 Some little birthday gift to send 
 
 But stay, what must it be ? 
 Of beauty you have quite a share, 
 Accomphsh'd too, as well as fair, 
 
 And richer far than uxe. 
 
 I would not ever have it said, 
 J offer'd trinkets to a maid, 
 
 \V~hich you might scorn to take ; 
 I'll offer then no works of art ; 
 I'll give to you, love, an honest Jieart 
 
 Pray, keep it for my sake. 
 
 Our correspondent says, he would be happy if he 
 could here conclude his narrative, as Sir Walter Scott 
 does, with a happy marriage ; for however delight- 
 ful the transition from sorrow to joy may be, the 
 reverse, even in description, has no charms. But 
 poor Charles was doomed to be hurled from the 
 height of his felicity to the lowest depths of despair. 
 The joyful promise had scarcely escaped the lovely 
 lips of Maria, and while her lover was yet giddy 
 with his joy, when the amiable maid was attacked 
 by a severe illness which baffled all the doctor's skill. 
 If intreaties for human or divine aid could have 
 prolonged the existence of the ill-fated Maria, she 
 had not died. Charles was ever at her pillow his
 
 280 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 studies were relinquished his poetry was neglected 
 -and the dying Maria filled the whole extent of 
 his capacious mind. But all was vain the grisly 
 monster death had selected her as his victim, and 
 he would not quit his hold ; he was deaf alike to 
 the lamentations of a parent v the regrets of friends, 
 and the distractions of a betrothed lover. Though 
 every succeeding morning showed how great was 
 the havock that disease was making in her tender 
 frame, and the period of her suffering was evidently 
 approaching, Charles still hoped she would soon be 
 well. If she was more than usually debilitated, h* 
 observed that the fever had left her, and she only 
 wanted her strength recruiting, and they would then 
 renew their walks. If the hectic flush overspread 
 her cheeks, he hailed it as the sign of returning 
 health. And thus he hoped even against hope 
 3iis reason would have convinced him she was dying, 
 if reason had been allowed to speak ; but he wished 
 her to live, and he would not stoop to think that 
 she would die. Thus he fulfilled the remarks of 
 the poet 
 
 " We join in the fraud and ourselves we deceive. 
 What we wish to be true, love bids us believe." 
 
 When at last,, the pale hue of death overspread 
 her once blooming cheek, when she turned her lan- 
 guid eye towards her lover and faultercd " farewell,"'' 
 when she closed her faded eyes and expired in pray- 
 er ; Charles stood by the bedside, like a being 
 bereft of power and motion. The deepest despair
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 287 
 
 overwhelmed him his hopes were blasted his fond 
 creation of future bliss was in an instant destroyed 
 and his mind received a shock too powerful for 
 nature to sustain. 
 
 From this moment, a smile was never seen to illu- 
 minate his features, the most gloomy and secluded 
 places were his favourite haunts. He avoided so- 
 ciety as if the breath of man was pestilential ; and 
 occupied his time in brooding over his own melan- 
 choly. In his manuscripts we find a number of me- 
 lancholy effusions, which were evidently written 
 about this time ; and clearly bespeak a mind border- 
 ing on the gloomy verge of insanity. But as they 
 are some of them by far the best pieces in the col- 
 lection a proof that poetry and madness are nearly 
 allied we will select two which tend to illustrate 
 the awful state of the writer's mind. 
 
 CTK Six mug tiLIalfc, 
 
 How soothing to the soul, the shade 
 - Which evening spreads around ! 
 How bright the dewy gems that braid 
 Th foliage of the'ground. 
 
 No sound is heard through ether \ride, 
 
 From hill or coppice green, 
 Save where the streamlet seems to chide 
 
 The stillness of the scene.' 
 
 Contagion catches on the soul 
 
 And lulls e'en grief to rest ; 
 No more contending passions roll 
 
 Along the troubled breast. 
 
 I seem a moment to have lost 
 
 The sense of former pain ; 
 As if my peace had ne'er been crost, 
 
 Or joy could spring again.
 
 288 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis there, the pang is there ! 
 
 Maria breathes jio more ! 
 So fond, so constant, kiiid, and fair, 
 
 Her reign of love is o'er. 
 
 No more through scenes like these shall we 
 
 Together fondly stray ; 
 Till night itself would seem to me, 
 
 More genial than the day. 
 
 I feel the cold night's gathering gloom, 
 
 Infect my throbbing breast ; 
 It tells me that the friendly tomb 
 
 Alone can give me rest. 
 
 1 then shall sleep the sleep serene, 
 
 Where she so long has slept ; 
 Nor be the wretch I long have been, 
 
 Nor weep as I have wept. 
 
 Yavfc, 
 
 Here then my weary head shall rest, 
 Here weep and sigh alone ; 
 
 And press the marble to my breast, 
 And kiss the senseless stone. 
 
 I'm calmer now a silvery sound 
 
 Is whispering in my ear ; 
 That tells me this is sacred ground, 
 
 And she is hovering near. 
 
 Celestial stillness reigns around, 
 Serenely beats my breast ; 
 
 Maria's spirit treads this ground, 
 And hushes me to rest. 
 
 1 see Maria hovering there- 
 She waves her wings of light ; 
 
 Angelic music fills the air, 
 And charms the ear of night. 
 
 Stay, lovely maiden, longer stay, 
 And bless thy lover's eyes ; 
 
 And do not soar so fast away 
 To seek thy native skies. 
 
 'Tis gone the lovely vision's gone ! 
 And night's dull shades prevail ; 
 in I feel myself alone, 
 1 pour my fruitless wail.
 
 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 289 
 
 I seem like one who madly raves, 
 
 Among the silent dead ; 
 And start to hear the hollow graves, 
 
 Re-echo to my tread. 
 
 But 1 shall soon forget my woes, 
 
 And dry my every tear, 
 And rest as unconcerned as tjiose, 
 
 Who sleep serenely here. 
 
 So far from having a salutary effect upon the mind 
 of Charles, time seems only to have increased the 
 despondency that had enveloped and clouded the 
 reasoning faculties of our poet. We find in a sub- 
 sequent part of the volume, the following lines, 
 which shew that his mind was giving way under the 
 pressure of acute distress. 
 
 Ah ! tell me not of husy life - 
 
 Its bustling folly joyless strife- 
 Can these dispel my care ? 
 
 No let me seek some cavern dread, 
 
 Where not a sound can meet my ear, 
 
 But groans of death and shrieks of fear 
 The music of despair. 
 
 The blackening storm, the driving rain, 
 Shall cool the fever in my brain, 
 
 And lull me to repose ; 
 Then, when the thunders o'er me roll, 
 And spirits scream and goblins howl, 
 The tempest shall compose my soul, 
 
 And cheat me to repose. 
 
 About six months, our correspondent says, did 
 Charles continue in this deplorable condition, at- 
 tracting the sympathy of all who beheld him. And 
 often when he passed the cottage doors, where in 
 happier days he had accompanied Maria on her er- 
 rands of benevolence, the objects of his former bounty 
 would look after him with a sigh, and say, " poor 
 Charles ! poor Charles !
 
 290 CHARLES WILLIAMS. 
 
 Though he generally spent the day in rambling 
 about the woods and hills, the hour of his return 
 seldom exceeded that of nightfall. One evening 
 however he delayed his return Jhis parents made 
 every enquiry but in vain. He had been seen on 
 Harter-fell in the afternoon, but no further tidings 
 could be obtained. Early next morning the melan- 
 choly suspicion was confirmed he was found drown- 
 ed. It is rumoured in the vale, says our friend, but 
 he will not vouch for its truth, that he was found in 
 the very spot where the stone rolled down when he 
 was born. It appears that he had meditated this 
 act from the following lines, which shall conclude 
 our extracts. 
 
 And what is death, that I should dread, 
 To mingle with the silent dead ? 
 'Tis but a pang and pangs are o'er ; 
 A throb and trobbing is no more ; 
 One struggle and that one my last ; 
 A gasp a groan and all is past ! 
 
 [The foregoing tale made its appearance in the Lonsdale Maga- 
 zine for October 1820. The Editor, with that finesse so often 
 resorted to in the management of periodicals, introduced it by 
 saying : " A volume of manuscript poems and fragments of differ- 
 ent kinds, said to have been written by the late Charles Williams 
 of Kentmere, has been collected and transmitted to us by a kind 
 friend, with a sketch of his life, and a request that we would 
 
 make what use we thought of these papers. As several of these 
 
 poems appear to possess some merit, we have selected a few for 
 this month's publication ; and should these be acceptable to our 
 readers, we may perhaps make a further selection another month." 
 
 The simple fact is, the principal part of this article, if not 
 
 the whole of it, was written one night after Mr. Briggs' family 
 had retired to rest. We remember leaving him about ten o'clock, 
 just as he was beginning his work ; and next morning he put 
 " Charles Williams" into our hands, as the fruit of his labaurs. 
 Oct. 6, 1825.]
 
 ( 391 ) 
 THOMAS A LYNN : 
 
 Oil THE CURSE OF ILL-GOTTEN WEALTH. 
 
 I knew Thomas a Lynn very well, said old Mat- 
 thew. I have heard my mother say that our families 
 were distantly connected ; but Thomas looked upon 
 every poor relation as a claimant upon his purse, and, 
 therefore, was not very eager to trace the consangui- 
 nity of the two families. Indeed, it was an argu- 
 ment with Thomas, that relationship constituted no 
 claim ; we were all relations, he observed, and cousins, 
 or nephews, or, indeed, brothers, sisters, parents, or 
 children were but rather nearer relations than the 
 King of France. 
 
 Thomas dressed in the coarsest garb, and com- 
 pelled his family to copy his example. Hfe table 
 was served with the cheapest and plainest of food, 
 which he argued was more conducive to health, than 
 the pic nics of the rich and prodigal. His dwelling 
 was the picture of poverty ; and the very beggar 
 turned away from its door without presuming to ask 
 for charity. He had seven sons, and three daugh- 
 ters, all of whom were educated in this most wretch- 
 ed state. 
 
 As might be expected, he did not always stop to 
 enquire whether his conduct was perfectly justifiable 
 in the sight of both God and man ; if the transaction 
 was certain of being attended with gain, it was suffi- 
 cient for him. The unsuspecting, or the unwary, 
 fell an easy prey to his wiles. He would deceive,
 
 292 THOMAS A LYNN. 
 
 when it was his interest to deceive, and when the 
 appearance of honesty answered his purpose better, 
 he would assume that which was so foreign to his 
 heart. To the poor, the sick, or the afflicted, his 
 bowels never yearned. The widow, or the orphan, 
 were to him unknown. I even remember his refus- 
 ing to give employment to a man, because he was so 
 very poor, that Thomas was afraid he would not be 
 able to work hard enough ! In letting his estates, he- 
 bound down his tenants to the utmost extremity, and 
 in collecting his rents, or any money owning to him. 
 he took advantage of all the laws which could be 
 twisted to favour the cruel, or the oppressive. He 
 was never known to favour any one, whatever might 
 be his distresses. I remember a poor honest man, 
 who having scraped a trifle of money, took one of 
 his farms. The season was a bad one, his family 
 large, and the rent high. He contrived, however, 
 to pay the first half year's rent. In the autumn he 
 laboured hard to improve the farm, was at a great 
 deal of expence ; and, by so frequently getting wet, 
 brought on a pleurisy fever, of which he died about 
 Christmas. Thomas instantly seized the property 
 he had left, and sold him up for the rent. The 
 overplus he never returned to the widow, who soon 
 after died of a broken heart, and her children were 
 put out to the neighbouring farmers, as apprentices 
 by the parish. Another poor man had a house and 
 a small piece of ground attached to it. worth, at that 
 time, about 200. This he mortgaged to Thomas, 
 for 20. The poor man was never able to redeem
 
 THOMAS A LYNN. * 29$ 
 
 the mortgage ; and when he died, Thomas persuad- 
 ed the widow to let him take the place into his hands 
 as a smaller place might serve her better ; and he 
 would pay her a rent for it. Thus possessed of the 
 property, Thomas, knowing she had no friends to 
 assist her in a lawsuit, set her at defiance. 
 
 But, those actions, though they argued the utmost 
 depravity of heart, and, in the eyes of the Deity, 
 were crimes of the deepest nature, were not equal, 
 in the eyes of men, to what followed. You, how- 
 ever, who have paid attention to the corruptions of 
 our nature, will not feel any surprise at any action 
 committed by a person who is capable of perverting 
 the salutary laws of the country to the destruction 
 of widows, and the oppression of orphans. Other 
 crimes may appear worse in the eyes of human jus- 
 tice, but in the sight of heaven, these are the blackest 
 crimes of which human beings are capable. 
 
 It happened one bleak and stormy night, in the 
 beginning of December, that a benighted pedlar 
 called at the house of Thomas a Lynn, and requested 
 shelter from the storm. Thomas hesitated, for hu- 
 manity never touched his breast. They could not 
 find accommodations for him without putting them- 
 aelves to great inconvenience. The pedlar, who 
 dreaded the idea of being again thrust out into the 
 storm, assured Thomas that he had plenty of money, 
 and was willing to make him any recompense he 
 might desire. The word money acted like a talis- 
 man on the feelings of Thomas, and he pretended
 
 294 THOMAS A LYNN. 
 
 to commiserate the situation of the pedlar ; and even 
 ordered his wife to warm a pot of his best beer. 
 Thus warmed and revived, the pedlar entertained 
 the family with a relation of his travels till bedtime, 
 when Thomas showed him to that bed from which 
 he designed him never to rise again. The pedlar 
 was never seen after entering the cottage of Thomas 
 a Lynn, and the wealth he possessed added another 
 mite to his already enormous hoard. Such however 
 is the crime of murder, and so loudly does the inno- 
 cent blood cry to heaven for vengeance, that all the 
 neighbourhood, by unanimous consent, branded him 
 as a murderer, and avoided him as a serpent that 
 was crossing their path. 
 
 But I shall not detail even half the crimes of which 
 I knew him to be guilty. My intention is to show 
 you that the curse of heaven is upon wealth thus 
 acquired ; and that the man who seeks by dishonest 
 means to aggrandize his family name, shall quickly 
 have no family name to be aggrandized. 
 
 At the death of Thomas a Lynn, he left five of 
 his seven sons grown up to men, besides his three 
 daughters. If any man could look forward to the 
 perpetuation of his name, it was Thomas. His 
 wealth was so immense, that his sons were like little 
 lords but mark the sequel. 
 
 His eldest son, Thomas, the moment he was free 
 from the constraint of his father, purchased a fine 
 hunting horse, and kept a pack of hounds ; but the 
 first winter, he broke his neck in galloping over that 
 estate which his father had obtained by seizing upon
 
 THOMAS A LYNN. 
 
 295 
 
 the widow's mortgage, and having no issue, his pro- 
 perty went to his brothers. 
 
 His second son, William, was an amiable young 
 man, and beloved by every one. He was particu- 
 larly charitable to the poor ; and treated with every 
 kindness those who mhis father had injured. He 
 married an agreeable young lady who brought him 
 two sons, one of whom was drowned in bathing when 
 he was about fifteen, and the other died of the small 
 pox, when he was about three years old, a lovely 
 promising boy. 
 
 Richard married, but had no issue whatever. 
 
 Henry also married and had an only daughter, 
 who being extremely rich, from the accumulation of 
 all her uncles 1 property, was looked upon as a very 
 desirable match. She married a very respectable 
 young man ; and all the family looked anxiously for 
 her bringing a son to perpetuate the family name, 
 which was then evidently in danger of being lost. 
 She did give birth to a son, who was immediately 
 baptized Thomas a Lynn, after his grandfather. 
 Every attention was paid to the child, who promised 
 fair for life ; but, alas ! these promises were not rea- 
 lized. In taking an excursion in a sail boat upon the 
 lake, in his seventh year, a sudden gust of wind up- 
 set the boat, and every one on board perished. Thus 
 fell the last of the Lynns; for the youngest brother 
 never married. Two of the sisters died old maids ; 
 and the third, though she married, died childless. 
 So completely is the family name extinct, that very 
 few people in this part, have the least knowledge
 
 296 THE BROKEN HEAUT. 
 
 that it ever existed. The property is gone into other 
 families, where it would be difficult to trace. Those 
 large domains which he had scraped together, are 
 squandered among strangers to his blood ; and the 
 name of Thomas a Lynn is as though it had never 
 been. The man that doubts the operation of a vi- 
 sible Providence, will attribute such occurrences as 
 these to mere accident. As well might he attribute 
 the regular return of day and night to mere acci- 
 dent. As well might he say the world itself was 
 produced by mere accident. Besides this is not a 
 solitary instance. The inquisitive Christian may 
 see similar occurrences taking place every day ; and 
 without the least difficulty perceive that THE CURSE 
 
 OF HEAVEN RESTS UPON ILL-GOTTEN WEALTH ! 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 It was in one of those fine evenings in the latter 
 end of September, when the setting sun elicits a 
 thousand brilliant tints from the autumnal foliage, 
 that I had wandered farther among the involutions 
 of the Lake mountains, than I had intended to do 
 -when I left the inn. An aggregation of gloomy 
 vapour had already enveloped the summit of Hel- 
 vellyn, and a blue mist was slowly accumulating on 
 several of the lakes in the vicinity ; the western 
 horizon was burnished by the retiring luminary of 
 day ; and an awful stillness seemed to dispose the
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 297 
 
 mind to meditation. At such a moment as this, 
 and surrounded by scenes of such unusual grandeur, 
 it was impossible for any one not to feel the divine 
 influence of devotion mustering at his heart. The 
 Myterious Power which had reared the magnificent 
 scenery around me, and the inevitable doom that 
 was pronounced upon both it and me, were reflec- 
 tions which thronged with solemn but pleasing me- 
 lancholy to my mind. 
 
 I had entered the precincts of a small sequestered 
 church-yard, which stands at the foot of a hill, and 
 was listening to the monotonous voice of a mountain 
 stream, which pursues its invisible track through a 
 cluster of venerable oaks on the northern side of 
 the church-yard. In the midst of my reverie, my 
 attention was arrested by a feeble and subdued sigh 
 close behind me. I instantly turned round, and 
 beheld an old man seated on the grassy mound 
 which covered the remains of perhaps some dear 
 relative. His hands were folded on his breast; and 
 through the dusk of the evening I could observe a 
 pensive melancholy on his countenance. His dress 
 indicated that he was one of the neighbouring pea- 
 sants; while the fire which glittered in his eye, be- 
 spoke him something superior to the mountain 
 .shepherds. 
 
 I approached the old man with a feeling of sym- 
 pathy; and, pointing to the grave on which he sat, 
 observed, " that as the grave must soon be our 
 common home, we cannot do better than accommo- 
 date our thoughts to our inevitable fate." 
 
 BBS
 
 298 THE BROKE* HEART. 
 
 Perceiving that he sighed more deeply, I said, 
 " if it be the will of heaven that those whom we 
 love most dearly, and in whose affections we feel 
 proud to possess an interest, should be consigned 
 to the tomb before us, it is kindly meant to teach us 
 the transitory nature of all human enjoyments, and 
 to wean our hearts from earthly objects, and to fix 
 them on the imperishable riches of a better world." 
 
 " I could bend with resignation to the will of 
 providence," said the old man; "but it was the 
 hand of a villain that humbled me in the dust, and 
 made me the wretch I am. 
 
 " One and twenty years ago," Continued he, " I 
 was perhaps the happiest occupant of this peaceful 
 vale. I had then a little farm that supplied me 
 with all the necessaries of life; my wife had been 
 the choice of my early youth, and had blessed me 
 with three healthy and promising children. I felt 
 
 no wish ungratified. But, sad reverse ! a fever 
 
 which ravaged the country, deprived me of my wife 
 and two elder children. An infant daughter alone 
 remained ; too young to participate in a father's 
 woes, but not too young to administer to my com- 
 fort. In her childish but innocent prattle, I found 
 a solace for many a grief. As she grew in years, 
 in beauty, and in virtue, she wound herself more 
 closely round the fibres of my heart, and became a 
 part of my very existence. At an early age, she 
 was capable of conducting the domestic concerns of 
 my little cottage, and my bosom enjoyed a tran- 
 quillity which I had once thought was forever fled.
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 299 
 
 " There was no indulgence that I could deny her, 
 no favour that I could refuse to one I loved so af- 
 fectionately. In an evil hour, she solicited my per- 
 mission to attend the amusements of a village wake 
 nly heart misgave me, but I could not refuse. I 
 remember with how light a step she returned 
 what a glowing description she gave of the mazy 
 dance, and the assembled crowd. She mentioned 
 but slightly and with a blush, that the 'Squire's son 
 had paid particular attention to her, and had very 
 kindly conducted her within a few yards of home. 
 A sudden dullness crept over my whole frame at 
 the intelligence. I warned her of the danger of 
 such company, in all the eloquence that a father's 
 fondness could command. I told her that he was 
 only just returned from college, where under pre- 
 tence of studying useful learning, our fashionable 
 youths only study how they may spend an estate 
 when they get one, and in the interim how they may 
 seduce their neighbours' wives and daughters. She 
 shuddered at the information, and resolved to avoid 
 him as an animal of prey. But, alas ! how frail are 
 female resolutions. Maria was constantly left in 
 charge of the house, while I pursued my labour in 
 the field ; and Henry Wildman took these oppor- 
 tunities to reiterate his visits. He seemed so inno- 
 cent, his conversation was so unexceptionable, and 
 his manners were so prepossessing, that she could not 
 believe him to be one of those dangerous youths I 
 had pain fed in such odious colours. But Maria was 
 deluded by the hypocrisy of her visitor. The vam-
 
 300 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 pire only sought to twine himself completely round 
 her affections, that he might devour his prey in 
 security. 
 
 " She fell the victim of a villain's wiles ; but still 
 she cheered herself that he would be faithful to his 
 vows. She could not conceive how one so intelli- 
 gent could stoop to betray a harmless maid. She 
 thought it impossible that he who had taken so much 
 pains to cultivate her mind, could be base enough to 
 destroy her happiness. I could not be so cruel as to 
 unveil what I was confident would prove the truth. 
 The delusions which constituted her only happi- 
 ness, I did not dare to remove. But when at last 
 the fatal truth burst on her soul ; and she beheld 
 him the husband of another woman, I trembled for 
 the consequence. But I heard no complaints ; a 
 quiet serenity, broken occasionally by absent mu- 
 sings, alone marked her conduct. A ghastly smile 
 still welcomed me to that cottage where I once had 
 been happy. She endeavoured to conceal from me 
 the grief which had consumed her, till the time 
 nearly approached which was to make her a wretch- 
 ed mother. 
 
 " I remember one evening she met me at the door, 
 and, with that supplicating look which an offending 
 child often assumes to ward aside a parent's anger, 
 she requested me to accompany her to this church- 
 yard. She spoke little, and her voice was tremulous. 
 * I would gladly, 1 she said, 'be laid beside my mother, 
 if you do not think me unworthy of such a favour.' 
 ' Maria,' said I, ' do not give way to desponding
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 301 
 
 thoughts ; you are still my daughter, the darling of 
 my aged bosom, the only comfort I can possess on 
 this side of the grave. If all the world should for- 
 sake and despise you, still remember you have a fa- 
 ther who can drop a veil over female frailties to 
 me you are still dear.' It was in vain I sought to 
 cheer her spirits. She had been deceived by the 
 only man in whom she had ever placed confidence ; 
 aftd the stroke had proved too heavy for tar. I press- 
 ed her to my breast, but I could not soothe her. I 
 kissed away the tear that hung on her cheek, but no 
 smile succeeded. It was but too evident that she 
 was dying of a broken heart that she had already 
 taken a farewell of the world, and all its false aBure- 
 ments. 
 
 " The same moment that gave birth to a still-born 
 infant deprived me of all I held dear in this world, 
 and numbered my hapless Maria with the forgotten 
 tenants of the valley. She was deposited, according 
 to her wish, at her mother's side. The youths and 
 maidens of all the neighbouring hamlets attended 
 her funeral. It was truly a solemn scene. She 
 had fallen the first victim of modern refinement in 
 our neighbourhood. Those who have grown old 
 in tire vale of their fathers, wept for the fate of then- 
 children the maidens shuddered lest another des- 
 troyer might prowl through the valley and the 
 youths felt indignant at the thought, that the wolves 
 were already among the flock, that one lovely lamb 
 had been devoured, and they knew not who might 
 succeed.
 
 302 THE BKOKEN HEAET. 
 
 " But over my mind, 11 said the old man, " neither 
 hopes nor fears had any influence. The villain had 
 stripped me of my only riches he had struck the 
 prop from under my declining age he had mingled 
 for me a bitter draught, and compelled me to drink 
 it all the days of my life. 
 
 " And this," said he, in a voice rendered powerful 
 by anguish, " this is a laud of glorious liberty 
 this a country whose equal laws are the boast of the 
 world ! If I deprive my neighbour of forty shillings, 
 I pay the forfeiture of my life for my crime but 
 yon villain who has murdered the loveliest maid of 
 the vale who embitters the few remaining days of 
 an old man's life, is allowed to pass unpunished 
 he rolls about in his carriage, and no one taunts 
 him with his cruelty. 
 
 " Young man," said he, in a softer tone, " if you 
 yet feel a love for your fellow-beings if the love of 
 social peace is not yet dead in your breast abhor 
 the company of the seducer shun his steps, as you 
 would shun the poisoned track of a serpent spurn 
 the human demon from your society sanction not 
 the crime, by giving countenance to the criminal 
 never let it be said that you associated with a sedu- 
 cer do not rank among your list of friends the 
 being who so far degrades his nature, as to seek the 
 ruin of that sex which he was born to protect. Be- 
 lieve me, young man, the villain who values so 
 lightly the happiness of the girl whom he betrays 
 who sneers at her father's tears who mocks at the 
 upbraidings of the virtuous who stifles his own con-
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 303 
 
 science and who rejects the laws of his God and 
 the precepts of his religion would sacrifice his dear- 
 
 t and nearest friend, if his convenience required 
 it. Do not suppose that he can keep any faith 
 that he will fulfil any engagements or be bound 
 by any promises. 
 
 " Avoid him too lest you imbibe his principles 
 Can a man carry Jire in his bosom and not be 
 burnt ? Can you associate with a seducer and not 
 have your own principles of virtue shaken ? The 
 only means of withstanding temptation is to flee from 
 it. Therefore hold the seducer in contempt. If 
 you have a sister, spurn the seducer from your door, 
 for he would strip your family of its richest honour. 
 If you have a daughter, drive the seducer from 
 your dwelling, for he seeks but to crop the flower 
 that you have reared with such tender solicitude. 
 If you are a member of society at all, despise the 
 seducer, for he is a corrupter of innocence an 
 enemy to virtue and a spoiler in the garden of 
 nature."
 
 THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS 
 
 I. OK THE ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 II. ON THE FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD.
 
 
 [The following Essays are offered to the public not solely for 
 their originality, but as specimens of Mr. Briggs' argumentative 
 style and penetrating genius. With little leisure to attend to 
 theological disquisitions and subtleties ; and still fewer advantages 
 to become familiarly conversant with the different tenets and 
 opinions built thereupon ; by the mere force of his intuitive facul- 
 ties, he was enabled to enter upon their discussion as indeed 
 upon all others by a train of thinking and a kind of logic pecu- 
 liarly and characteristically his own. He was schooled in nothing. 
 Where he was a master the ground of his authority was all his 
 own. Impressed with these ideas, we hope our readers will view 
 them in a proper and liberal light ; and where they cannot agree 
 with him m matter will candidly bestow upon the manner the 
 indulgent consideration which we conceive to be its due."]
 
 ( 307 ) 
 
 ON THE ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 Evil, in Scripture, is commonly compared to dark- 
 ness, and goodness to light. From this we learn 
 that light and good rrsemble each other ; and that 
 evil and darkness, being coupled together, must 
 have parallel properties. Now darkness, we know, 
 is but the absence of light ; and, by analogy, Evil 
 is but the absence of Good. 
 
 Too many men both think and write as if there 
 were twe opposite principles in the human soul, con- 
 tinually warring with each other, and contending for 
 the mastery. These two opposite principles they 
 denominate GOOD and EVIL. This most unaccount- 
 able error has been the father of a number of other 
 errors ; for the dispassionate seeker after truth, natu- 
 rally asks how a Being so perfect as the Deity, could 
 be the author of both these principles ? To solve 
 this query has been the fruitless labour of centuries. 
 How simple is the real Scriptural answer, that there 
 is no such thing as a principle of Evil, either in 
 man or spirit, consequently the Deity is exone- 
 rated at once from the charge of implanting that in 
 the human breast, which never had a being. 
 
 No man would be so foolish as to say " The Deity 
 created darkness." He created the light, and 
 wherever that light does not shine, there will dark- 
 ness be found. Hence the term darkness does not 
 apply to any entity, or existing being ; but is the 
 name of an z'cfea, in tended to represent the effect of the
 
 308 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 absence of light. The same mode of reasoning will 
 exactly apply to Good and Evil, which has been ap- 
 plied to light and darkness. Evil is not a created 
 being, or an existing principle. It is merely the 
 name of an idea which represents to our minds the 
 effect of the absence of Good. Good is an entity ; an 
 active vigorous principle, but capable, like light, 
 of being excluded from the mind. Evil is the term 
 by which we express the state of the raind when 
 Good is withdrawn. 
 
 " If the light which is in thee be darkness, 11 
 (that is, if the Good which is in man become evil,) 
 " how great is that darkness r 
 
 It would have been impossible for the Deity to 
 have been the author of Evil ; for, since Evil is but 
 the absence of Good, Good could not be present and 
 absent with him, at the same time, which must have 
 been the case, if he was the author. He must have 
 been Good, else whence was the Good derived which 
 is so manifest in all his works ? But he could not 
 be Good and destitute of Good, at the same time, 
 which must have been the case, if he was the author 
 of Evil. 
 
 Having thus explained the nature of Evil, the 
 next inquiry will regard its origin. That it was 
 originally inherent in man, is contrary to its nature ; 
 for Evil and Good being only the absence or pre- 
 sence of Good, they could not exist together, one 
 must have precedence of the other. If Evil had the 
 precedence, then Evil must have been eternal, and 
 the Deity himself must have been an evil Being
 
 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 309 
 
 which is absurd. If Evil be not eternal, then Good 
 must ; and, as the Deity must be the essence of 
 Goodness and Perfection, that Goodness must ex- 
 tend through infinitude, because he does ; and if 
 Good was present through all the extent of unbound- 
 ed space, Evil, or the absence of Good, could no 
 where exist, for if there had been a place where Good 
 was not present, it must have been a place where 
 there was no God, and God could not, in that case, 
 be omnipresent, which is absurd, since it limits the 
 attributes and perfections of the Almighty. 
 
 Evil, therefore, has had a commencement but 
 when ? Did it emanate from the will of the Deity ? 
 
 The great characteristic of the Deity must be 
 perfect wisdom ; this our reason, without revelation, 
 will tell us. The source of all wisdom must be pure 
 and unclouded, and that source of all wisdom is the 
 great and glorious Being whom we call God. But 
 the Deity, since he is all Goodness, must have made 
 all his creatures by his Goodness, and must uphold 
 them with his Goodness too. For if he does not 
 uphold them with his goodness, he does not uphold 
 them at all, for he has nothing in his essence but 
 Goodness to uphold them with ; and if he does not 
 support them they must support themselves, which 
 experience tells us they cannot do. If the Deity 
 supports them, they can no more derive Evil from 
 him than they can derive darkness from the sun- 
 beams. 
 
 Whatever Evil, therefore, may be in the world, 
 it must have been derived from some source inde- 
 ed
 
 310 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 pendent of the Deity, for the Deity could not im- 
 part what he did not possess. 
 
 Neither can the origin of Evil have been derived 
 from example ; for the first sinner could have no 
 bad example to copy. It is immaterial to the argu- 
 ment whether the first sinner was a man or an angel 
 Evil could not originate from example or .tempta- 
 tion : for there could be neither evil example nor an 
 evil temper, before evil was introduced. 
 
 The above are the principal points, in which all 
 controversies have turned, and all parties have agreed 
 to charge the origin of Evil upon the Deity ! Im- 
 pious thought ! The just, the perfect, the Al- 
 mighty, the Eternal God, is to bear the blame of 
 man's disobedience and corruption ! Perish the 
 idea ! 
 
 The pious Christian humbly bends at the feet of 
 his Maker, and confesses himself to be the cause of 
 all the sins he has committed ; but he believes that 
 God so formed man at first that he could not avoid 
 Evil, and that the Deity either foresaw (with the 
 Arminian,) or decreed (with the Calvinist,) that his 
 creatures should commit Evil ; and there is no real 
 difference between the two. For if God decreed 
 that man should sin, it was not in the power of man 
 to avoid the decree ; or if God foresaw that man 
 would sin, it was equally out of man's power to avoid 
 it. For if man could avoid that sin which God fore- 
 saw, then God has foreseen what will never come to 
 pass which is absurd. And if man was so formed 
 that he could not avoid- sin, then the Being who
 
 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 311 
 
 formed him so, is justly chargeable with his conduct. 
 But it has been before, proved that the Deity could 
 not any way be the author of Evil, and, therefore, 
 could not be chargeable with man's transgressions. 
 Hence it is clear that God did not put it out of 
 man's power to avoid sin. 
 
 The Deist, with all his absurdities, is more ra- 
 tional in his conclusions, for he believes that there 
 is no Evil in the world. He has studied the cha- 
 racter of the Deity, till he has discovered that Evil 
 can neither directly or indirectly be derived from 
 God ; and as he sees no other source whence it can 
 spring, he denies its existence altogether. Could 
 the Deist be convinced that evil could exist without 
 implicating the perfect wisdom of the Almighty, he 
 would renouce his error and become a believer ; but 
 this is beyond his reach, and he clings to his doubts. 
 To account for what we call Evil, he considers that 
 we only see a part of the Divine operations, and that 
 when we see the whole, we shall find that what we 
 call Evil is really good. We shall then learn, he 
 says, to call 
 
 " AH discord, harmony not und 
 
 " All partial Evil, universal Good." 
 
 The next enquiry, therefore, is to find the origin 
 of Evil, without implicating the Wisdom or Good- 
 ness of the Deity, which may be easily done, if we 
 will take a rational and scriptural view of the subject. 
 
 In explaining the Origin of Evil, it is immaterial 
 who was the first sinner, since reason convinces us 
 that there must have bee?i ajirst sinner, else there
 
 31 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 would have been no sin. The Scriptural account 
 therefore, independently of its divine origin, affords 
 as good a suggestion as any that could be formed, 
 namely, That the first sinner was one of the higher 
 angels, who fell through pride, and carried with 
 him a number of others. 
 
 Though human reason never could have disco- 
 vered this, human reason sees clearly that this must 
 have been the case. It has been already proved 
 that the Deity could not be accessary to the intro- 
 duction of Evil ; and yet we find that Evil is in the 
 world. That this evil existed before the creation, 
 we have strong presumptive proof; but without re- 
 velation we could not have ascertained it. How 
 beautifully do the Scriptures lend their aid to clear 
 up those difficulties which human reason finds ; and 
 without presenting us with difficulties, they seem to 
 extend our rational powers, and to give us views 
 which, but for them, -we never could have had. 
 But whoever the original sinner may have been, will 
 have no effect on the following arguments, as they 
 are only calculated to explain how sin was first in- 
 troduced, let the first sinner have been whom he 
 may. 
 
 Admitting then that one of the higher order of 
 intelligent beings was the first sinner ; this inquiry 
 naturally arises : If that being had never heard of 
 Evil if that being was perfectly pure how could 
 he all at once become Evil, seeing there was no 
 Evil in the Universe ? To explain this, we must 
 explain how this being was formed, and see if there
 
 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 313 
 
 was not a capability for Evil, though none existed. 
 
 The Almighty, to prove his love to his creatures, 
 did not construct them like machines, so that they 
 could only praise him ; but endued them with high 
 and heavenly thoughts, and perfectly free will*. 
 These beings had a full controul over their own 
 actions, and hence became accountable to their Ma- 
 ker for the use and abuse of their faculties. A 
 being without a free will, could no more worship 
 his Maker, than a clock or watch could worship 
 the man who made it. Though a machine might 
 be contrived to utter the praises of the person that 
 put it together, he would feel no pleasure in listen- 
 ing to such praises ; because the conviction that the 
 machine could not help but utter them, would take 
 away the satisfaction which would have resulted 
 from the sound of voluntary thanks. If the Deity 
 could possibly find pleasure in the adorations of a 
 set of machines, to which he had denied the power 
 
 of refusing that adoration, he would But stay 
 
 the impious thought ! Those who deny to man a 
 free will, are little aware how far they degrade the 
 character of the all-wise, all-perfect God ! If they 
 would *j?r a moment stay to reflect on the deduc- 
 tions which mast naturally be drawn from such pre- 
 mises, they would spurn the impious idea ! 
 
 But this subject belongs to a future essay. And 
 I will at present refer to that period when there was 
 no Evil ; for there must have been a time, some- 
 where in the circling rounds of eternity, when there 
 was not even a germ of wickedness, and when Evil
 
 814 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 
 was unknown. The Devil himself would then be 
 bright an angel as any under heaven's canopy. 
 
 If all the angels in heaven were endowed with 
 free wills, they could either comply with the com- 
 mands of their Maker, or reject them they could 
 either do good or let it alone. It has been proved 
 before, that Evil is but the absence of Good , there- 
 fore when one of these celestial beings ceased to do 
 good, he began to do evil. The mere act of ceasing 
 to do right was committing Evil. Having once 
 refused to comply with the mandates of his Maker, 
 he had thence resisted that divine influence which 
 had till then supported him ; and he would have ever 
 after nothing to support him but his own strength. 
 As there is no Good but that which emanates from 
 the Deity, and as all created beings possess the 
 Good they do possess as a gift from God, whe'n 
 the angel had, by his own voluntary act, refused to 
 accept the freely offered grace, he became Evil ; for 
 to refuse the grace of God, is Evil. The sunbeams 
 of the Almighty's favour having been rejected, and 
 consequently withdrawn, the light which the spirit 
 before possessed would become darkness : and when 
 his former light became darkness, " how great would 
 be that darkness T 
 
 His will having once resisted the orders of hea- 
 ven, and become dark or Evil, on that account there 
 remained only total darkness or Evil. The will it- 
 self would become Evil. Though the will was still 
 free, being destitute of Good, he could only will 
 Evil ; for Good was gone, and could not b restored
 
 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 315 
 
 by any act of his own. Therefore, his will, though 
 still free, could only choose what kind of Evil he 
 would commit. Thus was Evil introduced without 
 the Almighty having planted it in the breast of any 
 one, or having any to plant there. At the first glance, 
 it may appear strange, that a being like Lucifer, who 
 enjoyed all the happiness of which his nature was 
 capable, should have any inclination to disobey the 
 commands of his Maker ; but on more serious reflec- 
 tion this surprise will vanish. It will not appear 
 so very astonishing, that among the myriads of 
 happy spirits who inhabited the regions of beatitude 
 and in the course of innumerable ages one 
 spirit should be found daring enough to refuse to 
 do good; for when one had opposed the divine 
 command, (whatever that command might be,) 
 others could learn to sin from example. 
 
 What has hitherto puzzled some of our most learn- 
 ed Divines, was the question, "Where did Satan find 
 
 any suggestion to ill ?" If the suggestions were 
 
 external^ then there was evil in heaven, and God 
 must have been its author ; and if the suggestion 
 was internal, arising within his own mind, then 
 there must have been a principle of Evil dwelling 
 in him, which was only kept under restraint by the 
 power of God and if there was a principle of Evil 
 dwelling in Lucifer, while he was an archangel, then 
 God was equally the author of Evil for having 
 planted it there. This mistake arises merely from 
 considering Evil as a PRINCIPLE, independent of 
 Good, and opposed to it ; whereas it is only the
 
 316 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 
 
 ABSENCE of Good and to cease to do Good, is to 
 do Evil. Exactly consonant with this idea, are the 
 words of our Liturgy : " We have left undone 
 those things which we ought to have done; and we 
 have done those things which we ought not to have 
 done ; and there is no health in us." 
 
 Some will naturally say, " What could induce 
 Lucifer to leave undone those things which he 
 ought to have done?" There was nothing to in- 
 duce him to any such thing ; for we consider 
 Lucifer as the first sinner, (as some one must have 
 been the first,) and thejirst sinner could have no 
 inducement to sin. He had neither example nor 
 temptation to assail him; for Evil, before that, had 
 not so much as a name. His will was perfectly 
 free; he could do or not do, as he thought fit, with- 
 out any compulsory power. There was no external 
 agency that necessitated him to his actions ; there- 
 fore, when any command was laid on him, he could 
 comply with it or refuse. There was nothing to 
 incline him to comply with the commandment but 
 the law of love which habit had tended to strengthen. 
 There was nothing in his nature, however, which 
 prevented him from asserting his own independence, 
 and neglecting to obey the commands of the Deity. 
 His will was free. To exercise that will as he 
 was commanded, indicated a voluntary obedience 
 this was doing Good ; but to refuse or neglect that 
 voluntary obedience, was equally easy. He asserted 
 his liberty. He refused to obey the commands of 
 his God ; AND THIS WAS THE ORIGIN OF EVIL.
 
 ORIGIN OF EVIL. 317 
 
 It sprung entirely from the free will of the creature. 
 Nor does it appear so astonishing that one among 
 so many should, in the long lapse of ages, be found 
 presumptuous enough to try the experiment of ex- 
 erting his will contrary to the wish of his God. 
 
 Lucifer having thus introduced evil into the bo- 
 som of heaven, it was necessary, for the good of those 
 angels who fell not by the example of the first apos- 
 tate, that the inventor of discord should be expelled 
 from the seat he held ; and that he should be depriv- 
 ed of those beams of happiness which must eternally 
 emanate from a being whose essence is love. Driven 
 from heaven and the presence of God deprived of all 
 external good, and having voluntarily thrown away 
 the internal which had been given him by his Cre- 
 ator, he became a being as destitute of Good as his 
 Maker was of Evil. The thoughts of his heart 
 would be evil continually ; and though his will was 
 still free, it could only be free to do evil, the prin- 
 ciple of Good being extinct, he could have no will 
 to act from principles which he did not possess. 
 
 From his example and inducement, others might 
 be taught to imitate him ; which we see has been 
 the melancholy case. But the Almighty has been 
 more merciful to us human sinners, and has offered 
 us pardon and grace, if we will cease to do evil and 
 learn to do well a boon which was never held out 
 
 to Satan. This I believe to be a just account 
 
 of the origin of Evil. 
 
 Cartmel, October lOM, 1818.
 
 ( 318 ) 
 
 ON THE FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 Innumerable are the opinions entertained respect- 
 ing the knowledge and foreknowledge of God. Some 
 are so stupid as to imagine, that the Almighty can 
 foresee nothing ; others, as foolishly, aver, that, be- 
 cause he can see every present transaction, he can 
 likewise see every future one. 
 
 Among those who hold the doctrine of God's un- 
 limited foreknowledge, one party accounts for it with 
 some appearance of rationality ; by maintaining that 
 before the beginning of all things, the Eternal God 
 predestinated every, the most minute action and 
 event ; on which account, he knows what will oc- 
 cur, because he knows what he has decreed. His 
 decrees being unchangeable his foreknowledge is 
 perfect. 
 
 Another party, with more pretences to reason, 
 but with weaker arguments to defend those preten- 
 ces, asserts that the Almighty has decreed nothing ; 
 and that his foreknowledge is one of his attributes ; 
 that he is able to foresee all events, without having 
 ordained them, merely by his Almighty power. 
 This they call his foreknowledge, as distinguished 
 from predestination. 
 
 These two opinions are not more absurd than false, 
 a position which will appear evident by a candid exa- 
 mination of the subject : 
 
 We read that God created man in his own image. 
 What was that image?' It could not be the shape 
 or form, because a spirit has no shape. It could not
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 319 
 
 be his habit, because the habits of a corporeal sub- 
 stance must necessarily be different from those of a 
 spiritual one. But by joining the declaration of 
 man's being created in the image of God, to the ac- 
 count, that God "breathed into his nostrils the 
 breath of life, and man became a living soul, 1 " we 
 may fairly infer, that something about man bears a 
 resemblance to the Deity ; and that the soul of man 
 is a real emanation from the Supreme Being ; and 
 farther, if the human soul be an emanation from the 
 Deity, it must bear the image of the being from whom 
 it is derived ; that is, it must partake of the divine 
 nature : consonant with this idea, are Pope's words, 
 
 " Mean though I am, not wholly so, 
 " Since quicken'd by thy breath." 
 
 We must then look for the image of God in some 
 property of the soul. And what are the properties 
 of the soul ? The first and most obvious one is rea- 
 son. 'Tis this which gives man that degree of emi- 
 nence over all created nature. It is the proper cul- 
 tivation of this, that makes man approach more 
 nearly to the perfection of his Maker. It is reason 
 that tells him there is a God. It is reason that 
 tells him if there be a God, " He must delight 
 in virtue ; and what he delights in must be happy ." 
 But as reason may tell a servant that it is his duty 
 to serve his master ; still it would be necessary that 
 the master should inform the servant in what man- 
 ner he might render those services most acceptable. 
 Thus it became necessary that the Almighty should
 
 320 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 furnish his creatures with a revelation of his will ; 
 having previously given them reason to make use of 
 that revelation. 
 
 If, then, it be allowed that our reason is the part 
 in v.'liich we bear the image of our Maker, our reason, 
 as far as it reaches, will be like his ; but it will only 
 be like the shadow to the substance, like the image 
 to the original. Though it may bear a resemblance, 
 it wants power and energy ; it will be imperfect ; it 
 will frequently wander ; it cannot be able to com- 
 pare effect and causes like that of the Almighty ; 
 but it can attempt such things ; and it will suc- 
 ceed, when these effects and causes are not very 
 complex. Our reason tells us, that if we touch a 
 pendulum, it will swing: if the Deity touch the 
 springs of the universe, he can foresee what the con- 
 sequences will be, with as much ease and accuracy 
 as we could foretell the swinging of the pendulum 
 from touching it. Though the knowledge which 
 our Maker possesses, in this respect, be so much 
 superior to what we possess, ours is still the image 
 of it; there is still a resemblance. We can foretell 
 the production of a third substance, from the mix- 
 ture of other two. He can instantly foresee the 
 result of all the combinations of matter in all their 
 various modifications and proportions. Still, though 
 our reason be ever so imperfect, though at an in- 
 finite distance from that of the Deity the image 
 is perceptible. 
 
 If then our reason be the image of God, what is 
 the reason that we cannot foresee future events as
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 321 
 
 well as he ? The answer is plain : we are incapable 
 of tracing causes to these effects, when they become 
 complicated. Beside we are often ignorant of the 
 causes themselves. Were it possible that any hu- 
 man being could be possessed of a mind, capable of 
 comprehending the nature of all the component 
 parts of the material and immaterial creation : the 
 effect which these different parts have upon one 
 another: the consequences of their action and 
 reaction : the properties which they acquire by 
 composition and decomposition ; by contiguity and 
 separation : and were this knowledge clear and per- 
 fect, universal and unlimited, his perception instan- 
 taneous, and his comprehension unbounded : he 
 
 would be able to foresee future events ; because from 
 knowing the state of every part of the universe at 
 this moment, he could know what changes were 
 taking place from the operation of one part upon 
 another ; he could see likewise what other changes 
 would be produced by those now taking place ; he 
 could easily comprehend the consequences of all 
 those changes, and the continual new changes which 
 would arise from those preceding changes ; and 
 thus he could calculate the exact successive order of 
 all things, till the total annihilation of all the mate- 
 rial world, worn out and destroyed by its own action. 
 And his power of prediction would be the more com- 
 plete, and the more accurate, the more perfect were 
 his powers of perception, apprehension, and compre- 
 hension. 
 
 But powers like these constitute what we term 
 
 DD2
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 Omniscience, an exclusive attribute of the Deity. 
 Then the Almighty, from his knowledge of all these 
 things, can any moment, with a glance, foresee the 
 train of effects, which will arise out of the present 
 order of things; and this constitutes foreknowledge. 
 Those who argue against predestination will say, 
 here is a clear explanation of God's foreknowledge, 
 independent of predestination, for God without de- 
 creeing any thing, can tell what will come to pass 
 from the effects of material and immaterial changes ; 
 or movements of the machine of Creation. There- 
 fore when Adam was first created, from taking a 
 survey of his passions and his appetites, and con- 
 necting these with the effects which other things and 
 circumstances would have in exciting or allaying 
 those passions, God foresaw that Adam would fall 
 from the state of innocence in which he had placed 
 him. But, at the same time, he could see from the 
 nature of the human soul, that Adam would repent, 
 on pardon being offered. With as much ease, could 
 he see what varying passions would agitate the 
 hearts of all men, to the end of time. He could 
 likewise see in what situations we should be all 
 placed, and to what temptations we should all be 
 subjected ; and whether the portion of grace, which 
 he intended to give to every man, to enlighten him 
 withal, would be sufficient to reclaim him or not ; 
 thus he could, from the foundation of the world, 
 foresee who would be reclaimed from their evil ways, 
 and who would not ; who, among those who would 
 be reclaimed, would hold out to the end, and who
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF oOD. 323 
 
 would return, like a dog to his vomit. Thus 
 
 will they argue, who maintain that the Almighty can 
 foresee all things. Thus they acquit the God of 
 all mercy, of having any hand or pleasure in the 
 death of the sinner, while they attempt to prove 
 that he could foresee all this evil and good. 
 
 But if we take this survey a step farther, we shall 
 find this foreknowledge amounts to an equivalent 
 with predestination. For if the Creator could know, 
 from the arrangement of all things, what conse- 
 quences would ensue, from that arrangement; to ar- 
 range things thus, was to predestinate future events, 
 in the strictest sense of the word. For the AL 
 mighty must have known when he made man, that 
 he would not retain his original state, but that he 
 would forfeit his innocence, and, thus, entail misery 
 and wretchedness on his posterity. If, then, the 
 Creator formed him, in such a manner, that the na- 
 tural consequence of that conformation, could be 
 nothing less than ruin to a large majority of the hu- 
 man race, the Creator is accountable for all the sin 
 and its concomitant misery, which we now see in the 
 world. It will thus be clear that he might have 
 made man in such a manner as would have enabled 
 him to stand secure against the temptations to evil, 
 which would assail him from the invisible powers of 
 darkness. And if he could do this, why did he not ? 
 It is said he acted thus, in order to exercise and 
 prove his power. So a tyrant might be excused, 
 who should devote half his subjects to destruction. 
 He might do it to prove his power. But if this de-
 
 824 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 structive system of divine providence, proves the 
 power qf God, it gives us only a poor proof of his 
 love. It will be argued, I know, that he has shown 
 his love and mercy in sending his Son to die for us 
 men, and our transgressions. But we can hardly 
 allow this to be any proof of love, considering that 
 he had previously rendered us incapable of avoiding 
 those transgressions, and has rendered many of us 
 still incapable of profiting by the pardon and re- 
 demption which such a system holds out. Many, 
 we see, are, from the composition of their souls and 
 bodies, unable to accept the boon of pardon. Beside 
 to redeem only a part of mankind, when the Al- 
 mighty had been the original cause of the whole re- 
 quiring redemption, is scarcely consistent even with 
 our ideas of moral justice. This many be called 
 human reasoning, but to argue that such a line of 
 conduct in the Supreme Being, was perfectly right, 
 would be very inhuman reasoning, and would make 
 the God of love a capricious tyrant. 
 
 It is thus, then, proved that in either case, whe- 
 ther God predestinated the future happiness or 
 misery of all mankind, or foresaw it from the nature 
 which he gave them originally ; (which amounts to 
 the same thing as predestination ;) he alone is ac- 
 countable for all the evil which exists. An idea 
 which no person can for a moment entertain who 
 seriously reflects on the goodness of God : who 
 compares his attributes ; who weighs his conduct 
 towards us ; and the proofs of love which he has 
 given us.
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 The true solution of the question then only re- 
 mains ; here all becomes consistent ; the Almighty be- 
 comes a God of love and mercy ; man appears a poor, 
 culpable, miserable object ; but God's foreknowledge, 
 with regard to man's eternal state, becomes limited. 
 This may appear like blasphemy to some pious per- 
 sons; but it is the inevitable consequence of giving 
 man a free will. If God endued man with a free will, 
 that he could choose good and avoid evil, or the con- 
 trary, he stands acquitted of man's transgressions. 
 And if God did not give man a free will why did he 
 give him laws ? for laws are of no use to any but 
 free agents. It would certainly be below the dig- 
 nity of a God, to command a man to keep his com- 
 mandments, to whom he had denied the power. 
 How ridiculous to say, " Believe on the Lord Jesus 
 Christ," to one who, he knew, could not believe ! 
 But how beautiful does the system of providence 
 appear, when we reflect that man, though from na- 
 ture he was limited by his passion and propensities 
 in many of his actions, was endued with a free will 
 to accept or reject his own salvation. The Creator 
 gave him a state of virtue, with rules how to retain 
 it ; a will free as his own, for it was derived from 
 him, and was a part of his image. This will and 
 freedom man abused ; but the glory of God was 
 no less conspicuous on that account ; for he might 
 have retained his happy state, had he chosen. There 
 was nothing in his nature that inclined him to vice, 
 for God made him ; and a God, whose nature was good- 
 ness, could have no bad principle to infuse into man.
 
 326 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 The nature of the free agency, with which man 
 was favoured by his Maker, was such, that he could 
 act or forbear to act he could commit evil or re- 
 fuse ; he could do good or let it alone ; without 
 having any bias either way, resident in that will. 
 Though his reason told him he ought to do good, 
 and avoid evil. For if he could not have rejected 
 good or evil, independent of any external power, he 
 could not have free will, and consequently could 
 not have been accountable to his Maker for the abuse 
 of his free will, if he had not possessed it. When 
 the Almighty saw man in that deplorable situation, 
 which was occasioned by the fall, he spoke to him, 
 and promised him a Redeemer, and required him 
 to believe on him, in order to obtain pardon for his 
 transgression ; if man had not been free, how foolish 
 to make such a request ! He should have influenced 
 him, by his power, to accept what he could not re- 
 fuse. If man was not free, how foolish to give him 
 laws, which God knew he had not the power to 
 keep ! What a capricious, childish being do we 
 make of the omniscient God, when we deny the free 
 will of man ! 
 
 But if man had a perfectly free will, so that he 
 could act as he thought, how could the Almighty 
 foresee what the result of man's free will would be ; 
 for an action before it is committed, is not an action ; 
 and thought before the mind gives it being, is a per- 
 fect nothing ; and if we have power to make those 
 thoughts as we choose, the Deity cannot foresee them, 
 for if the Deity can foresee all our thoughts, before
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 327 
 
 they arise in our minds, even before we are born, 
 then there must be some secret cause, which renders 
 those thoughts unavoidable, and whatever that cause 
 may be, it is a constraint on our thoughts and ac- 
 tions, and we are not free "agents. 
 
 But the Scriptures confirm this idea, that God 
 cannot foresee whether we shall be wicked or good ; 
 for it says that God repented him that he had 
 made man, or, as it is in the original, he was grieved 
 that he had made man. Now if God was grieved 
 or repented that he had made man, it is evident that 
 he did not foresee all the wickedness they would 
 commit, for it would be folly to be grieved at find- 
 ing man acting just as he knew he would do, when 
 he made him ; had he known what man would do, 
 and disapproved of those doings, he naturally would 
 not have made him. We read again that the wick- 
 edness which was practised in the valley of Hinnom, 
 was such as never entered into the mind of God. It 
 was evident he had not foreseen this evil. It is 
 said that God is angry with the wicked every day, 
 but why should he be angry at what he foresaw 
 would take place before he made man ? He takes 
 no pleasure in the death of the sinner but had rather 
 he would repent and live ; but if he could foresee 
 that so many would not repent and live, would it 
 not be better to destroy them than to be angry with 
 them every day ? The parable of the barren fig- 
 tree, is a clear proof that God does not foresee our 
 good or evil. " I will dig and dung about its roots, 
 and if it bear not fruit another year, then let it be
 
 828 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 cut down and cast into the fire." Had the Gardener 
 known whether the fig-tree would bear fruit another 
 year, why introduce that condition ? 
 
 The Almighty can foresee much, but it would be 
 depriving man entirely of his free agency, could 
 the Almighty foresee his future happiness or misery. 
 His power nevertheless is very great, and he can 
 foresee his own actions, and all others, those excepted, 
 which spring from the free will of man. 
 
 It will be argued, that if God cannot foresee those 
 things, how can he predict the wicked actions of 
 men ? To this I answer that God reserves to himself 
 the power of interposing with his providence, when- 
 ever he chooses ; but that he has designed those 
 men for eternal torment, on whom he has thought 
 n't to exhibit his power, is what we can by no means 
 tell. And often when he has foretold events, he 
 may have reserved the choosing the agents, till the 
 time should arive, when he could select such as were 
 best adapted for the purpose. We are confident 
 that whatever he does, is right ; and we are equally 
 certaii , that he would not do an action himself, 
 which he condemns in us. If he did, what would 
 become of the image of God ? or how could he say 
 " be ye perfect, as I am perfect," if the imitation of 
 his actions, was criminal ? How could he hold him- 
 self up as pattern of moral excellence, if he was in 
 the practice of doing actions, at which the most 
 abandoned would revolt? But he may influence 
 men to do what from our narrow views we may con- 
 ceive to be wrong : but if he should send those per-
 
 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD 82[) 
 
 sons to hell, for doing what he compels them to do, 
 where would be his moral justice ? or if we should 
 pursue a similar conduct, and compel those who 
 may be under our power to do wrong, and then pu- 
 nish them for it, should we not be acting contrary 
 to the commands which he has given us ? But it 
 will be difficult to prove that God ever did influence 
 any man to do wrong. Even in the case of Pharoah, 
 which bears most strongly on this point, where it 
 says he, "hardened Pharoah's heart," it may be 
 easily explained, without making God the author of 
 Evil. 
 
 God has mercifully sent his Spirit unto all men, 
 " to profit withal :" while Pharoah was acting under 
 the influence of that Spirit, he consented to let the 
 people go ; but as Pharoah had probably been a very 
 great sinner, and had hitherto rejected all the calls 
 of grace, through the strength of that free will 
 which he possessed ; the Almighty was justified in 
 withholding the influence of his grace, from the 
 heart of the sinner ; we know that the consequence 
 of withholding the grace of God from the heart of 
 man, would be the most abandoned wickedness ; 
 there was then no good in the man, he could not 
 act from principles which he had not : it was thus 
 that the Almighty hardened the heart of Pharoah. 
 Those who imagine that he infused any evil unto 
 Pharoah 1 s heart, must be very ignorant of the attri- 
 butes of God ; else they would know, that he had 
 no evil to infuse into the heart of any man. 
 
 Many of the prophecies of the Scriptures, which al- 
 EE
 
 330 FOREKNOWLEDGE OF GOD. 
 
 lude to the wicked actions of men, allude to such 
 as were then living ; having sinned away their day of 
 grace, God withdraws his Spirit from them, and then 
 their actions will be nothing but a tissue of wicked- 
 ness. That Judas was decreed from the foundation 
 of the world to be the betrayer of our Saviour, is no 
 where upon record. Some one was to do it, and 
 our Lord selected him for some particular reason, 
 to fulfil the prophecy ; for had Judas been decreed 
 to do it, then it would have been an act of necessity, 
 and Judas would have been innocent. 
 
 That man is a free agent. Scripture amply test 
 fies ; and if he be a free agent, that the Almight 
 cannot foresee all his actions is equally evident, bot 
 
 from Scripture and reason. But one thing i 
 
 evident, that God wishes all our actions to be good 
 and if we be lost, we shall only have ourselves t 
 blame we shall be denied even the poor consola 
 tion of upbraiding the Deity with rendering u 
 miserable, and leaving us so ! 
 
 Cartmel, October llth, 1818.
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 

 
 [The following poetical pieces, selected from disjointed and some- 
 times almost illegible Manuscripts, we trust will be more satisfac- 
 tory to the majority of our subscribers, than would be the whole 
 collection published indiscriminately without regard to the merit 
 of any one individual paper. Besides, we have been so presump- 
 tuous as to omit two prose articles one (on Education) because 
 it remains unfinished and therefore only in part interesting, and 
 the other (" the Castle of Truth or a peep into the Soul" an 
 Interlude) because though dramatically imagined, it is but feebly 
 executed. Our aim is to confer all the credit we can upon the 
 Author, and bestow all the pleasure in our power upon his readers 
 if we fail, either our judgment or our matter is in fault, and not 
 our inclination. If on the part of the Author any apology be 
 necessary, we possess it in the certainty that he did not deem any 
 of the succeeding fragments which are now first printed, of suf- 
 ficient merit to warrant their publication : if he nad, we may be 
 assured, that, during some hurry or indisposition, he would have 
 put them into the hands of the Compositor.]
 
 ( 333 ) 
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 THE LAST DAY. 
 
 Now sober midnight reigns, that solemn hour, 
 
 When mortals feel sweet sleep's refreshing power. 
 
 Nowr silent all : the breathing gale is still. 
 
 The foaming ocean, and the babbling rill. 
 
 Then rolling thunders rouse the stagnant air ; 
 
 Black clouds arise, and vivid lightnings glare. 
 
 Man starts from all the trembling world around, 
 
 Waked by the golden trump's terrific sound ; 
 
 The rising dead behold, with aching sight, 
 
 The awful terrors of this peerless night ; 
 
 The bloody moon no more a smiling world, 
 
 And useless stars to foaming chaos hurled. 
 
 The reeling sun, with fervid heat, dissolves ; 
 
 And, belching flames, this bursting globe involves ; 
 
 The self-accusing, guilty soul invokes 
 
 The dreadful succour of ignited rocks. 
 
 Now swells Emanuel's train with crowds divine, 
 
 Whom dazzling saints, in countless myriads, join. 
 
 Jehovah sweeps ten thousand worlds aside, 
 
 And leaves a flaming universal void ; 
 
 The veil removed, and all creation lost, 
 
 Heaven's pearly gates, with sparkling gems embossed, 
 
 Shine glorious o'er the bright angelic host. 
 
 EE2
 
 334 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 Down, far beneath, hell's dismal caverns glare ! 
 Whose sulphurous fire and smoke pollute the air. 
 The Sov'reign Judge his powerful arm extends, 
 Ten thousand leagues the swinging balance bends. 
 The book 's displayed, the ponderous seals removed, 
 And one small book, the names of those he loved. 
 He smiles : the virtuous through the ether spring, 
 And loud hosannas to their Saviour sing : 
 Celestial robes their spotless limbs embrace, 
 Ecstatic raptures beam in ev'ry face ; 
 He frowns : but oh ! my wondering soul conceal, 
 The awful pangs blaspheming wretches feel ; 
 Debarred to them each avenue to heaven, 
 Without one cheerful hope of being forgiven. 
 Suffice to say, the dread tribunals close, 
 Eternal pains for these, eternal bliss for those ! 
 
 AN ADDRESS 
 
 Spoken by a scholar at the Anniversary of one of the 
 MANCHESTER SUNDAY SCHOOLS. 
 
 Tho' o'er my heart few summer suns have rolled, 
 And graceful language, to my feeble lips, 
 Has never yet found way ; yet at my heart, 
 I feel a kindly warmth that points to you, 
 Ye generous patrons of the infant poor; 
 Not I alone the grateful fervour feel, 
 But thousands more pant to express the same, 
 Of those your liberal bounty kindly leads, 
 From ignorance, immorality, and vice,
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 335 
 
 To knowledge, virtue, happiness, and heav'n ! 
 Behold the group which meets your joyous eyes 
 In evVy breast ""s a heart full charged with thanks, 
 Their feeble lips want utterance to express. 
 And while you view them, does no conscious joy 
 Spring in your breasts and plant an Eden there ? 
 Does not a sweet emotion touch the soul ? 
 Does not a something, softly whispering, say 
 'Twas kindly done, " to rear the tender thought, 
 To teach the young idea how to shoot ; 
 To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
 To breath th 1 enlivening spirit, and to fix 
 The generous purpose in the glowing breast ?" 
 When far removed (as probably we must 
 Remove) from all the haunts of infant years, 
 Then shall we learn to prize those gifts 
 That from your bounty we have now received : 
 When sweet returning sabbaths give to toil 
 The welcome interval of needful ease, 
 How will our hearts with gratitude expand, 
 When from our little library we select 
 That volume, which you taught us to revere, 
 To read, to love, to practice and pursue. 
 With hands upraised to Him who ever gives 
 A sure reward to charitable deeds, 
 We will implore his bounteous hand to shower 
 His richest blessings on the generous head 
 Of each subscriber to the Sunday School.
 
 336 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 THE FOX AND THE GBAPES. 
 
 The old maid, who with features of homliest fashion, 
 Has attempted in vain to excite the sweet passion, 
 To catch the gay youth in the nooze of her halter, 
 Half willing, half coy, to be led to the altar ; 
 When she finds that the men are too strong for her 
 
 power, 
 Like the fox with the grapes, she exclaims, " They 
 
 are sour f" 
 
 The proud plodding fool, who has racked his inven- 
 tion, 
 
 To gain the reversion of place, post, or pension, 
 Finds all his chicane and his cunning outwitted, 
 And sees some more fortunate suppliant admitted, 
 Turns patriot, and rails at the great ones in power ; 
 Like the fox with the grapes, he exclaims, " They 
 are sour r 
 
 The youth who has sighed at the feet of some fair one, 
 And called her his jewel, his love, and his dear one, 
 Sees his rival preferred, and himself left to languish : 
 He finds the best method to smother his anguish, 
 Is to rail at the fair sex, make light of their power; 
 Like the fox with the grapes, he exclaims, " They 
 are sour" 
 
 The fool who would conscience and liberty barter, 
 To have the dear baubles, a Star and a Garter, 
 But knows 'tis impossible ever to gain them, 
 Since wealth, which he has not, can only attain them ;
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 337 
 
 He calls them the playthings of fortune and power;- 
 Like the fox with the grapes, he exclaims, " They 
 are sour.'"' 
 
 The wretch who has seen the mayor's dinner, de- 
 lighted, 
 
 And to taste of the dainties, would fain be invited, 
 But finding he 's either unknown or forgotten, 
 Sits down to a dinner of turnips and mutton, 
 And rails at the lux'ry of others in power ; 
 Like the fox with the grapes, he exclaims, " They 
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM. 
 
 
 
 May the sun of affection shine warm on thy heart, 
 And the calm of contentment lie there : 
 
 May fortune forbid thee to feel the fell smart 
 Of happiness turned to despair. 
 
 May want and adversity never disturb 
 That peaceable mansion, thy breast ; 
 
 Nor the hard hand of jealousy venture to curb 
 That freedom thou still hast possessed. 
 
 May thy children be numerous, thy daughter's be fair, 
 And prove themselves lovely as thee ; 
 
 Mayst thou view them with pleasure, exempted from 
 
 care, 
 Till thy grandchildren swarm round thy knee.
 
 338 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 May thy husband, who now is the choice of thy heart, 
 
 Be always affectionate and kind ; 
 And when death brings his summons, and bids thee 
 depart, 
 
 Mayst thou meet him with spirits resigned. 
 
 A FRAGMENT : 
 
 Probably written on contemplating the melancholy fate of the fixe 
 
 unfortunate Females, who perished in the conflagration of the 
 
 Rose and Crown Hotel, Kirkby Lontdale. 
 
 The dream of life, the sleep of death ! 
 
 How very near allied ! 
 The weak partition of our breath, 
 
 Alone the extremes divide. 
 
 Those fell without a warning given ; 
 
 Consumed in health and youth elate ! 
 And who can say, indulgent heaven 
 
 Designs for him a happier fate ? 
 
 They saw no danger, felt no fear, 
 Nor thought that death was hovering near, 
 Till sheets of flame around them glowed, 
 And wrapped them in a fiery shroud ; 
 Consigned them to a burning grave, 
 With none to succour, none to save ! 
 
 Mr. Briggs planned the Monument which is erected in Kirkby 
 Lonsdale church-yard to the memory of these poor girls.
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 3S 
 
 HOME. 
 I. 
 
 Dear brother, inmate of my heart, 
 
 Whose keen observant eye, 
 Can through the flimsy veil of art, 
 
 Pure nature's charms descry- 
 To you, whose ever gen'rous mind 
 
 My wanderings wilt excuse, 
 I send (and homely you will find) 
 
 The effusions of my muse. 
 
 II. 
 
 When retrospection paints to view, 
 
 Those years to joy consigned ; 
 When sweet oblivion kindly threw 
 
 Her mantle o'er the mind ; 
 Though absent from each much loved scene, 
 
 By fate compelled to roam, 
 And widening oceans roll between, 
 
 Still Crusoe sighs for home. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yes, home has charms for every soul 
 
 The monarch and the slave ; 
 From Congo to the icy Pole 
 
 From childhood to the grave. 
 Then rise, my muse, be this our theme, 
 
 From nature never roam ; 
 But painting objects as they seem, 
 
 Correctly picture HOME.
 
 340 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sweet infancy those playful years, 
 
 .When thought nor care annoy 
 We feel but momentary fears, 
 
 Or transient gleams of joy ! 
 The little thorns that tear our feet, 
 
 Inflict no lasting wound ; 
 And infant joys, however sweet, 
 
 Are lost as soon as found. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now nature, working uncontrolled, 
 
 The future man displays ; 
 Which ripening manhood will unfold 
 
 To view in various ways. 
 But art will oft assistance lend, 
 
 The human heart to veil ; 
 As belts and braces oft befriend, 
 
 When potent medicines fail. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then view, at home, the human heart. 
 
 The infant passions scan ; 
 'Tis now they work, unswayed by art 
 
 View now the future man. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ( This poem was found on detached pieces of paper this ttanza, and 
 part of the preceding and following ones, are lost. )
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 341 
 
 VIII. 
 
 * * # * 
 How many a wretch, in tatters dressed, 
 
 Would gild the Historic page ; 
 And prove, if not by want depressed, 
 
 The glory of his age. 
 
 IX. 
 
 You parents, who have sons to rear, 
 
 And would their genius know, 
 Inspect their simplest acts with care 
 
 'Tis there their talents glow. 
 Too oft the parent's flatt'ring view 
 
 Mistakes the opening mind, 
 Compels their children to pursue 
 
 What nature ne'er designed. 
 
 X. 
 
 Thence he who might a pulpit grace, 
 
 Now trembling deals in war, 
 And he who might have ruled the seas, 
 
 Now " blunders at the bar." 
 As, parents, now on you depend 
 
 Your children's weal or woe, 
 Mark well where inclination tends, 
 
 And bend the pliant bow. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The infant heart will still display, 
 Some sketch of nature's plan, 
 FF
 
 342 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 From which the skilful parent may 
 Erect the future man. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 (Another Fragment on loose pieces of paper.) 
 
 When the Almighty, to complete his plan, 
 As last and best, the Eternal formed the man ; 
 With his omniscient glance, surveyed the whole, 
 And stamped his image on the human soul. 
 He breathed, and reason swelled the expanding mind 
 For instinct was to meaner things confined. 
 Yet instinct rules the uncorrupted heart, 
 W here nature operates uncontrolled by art ; 
 The youthful lover kindling instinct warms, 
 And binds him captive to a virgin's charms. 
 The maiden feels the instinctive impulse rise, 
 And bashful meets her Strephon's fonder eyes. 
 'Tis instinct binds us to the friendly home, 
 Our solace from the cradle to the tomb. 
 Domestic joys, e'en infant hearts beguile, 
 Who paint their pleasure in the dimpling smile ; 
 Well pleased the mother lulls them in her arms, 
 Till downy sleep their feeble powers disarms. 
 This home contains what Caesar sought in vain, 
 'Mid conquered kingdoms conscience free from pain. 
 These infant eyes no anxious tears bedim, 
 His father's home is all the world to him ;
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 343 
 
 With grateful heart, and pleasure in his eyes, 
 He meets the hand that all his wants supplies : 
 Ungrateful babes we seek in vain to find 
 ""Tis education warps the human mind. 
 
 Oh ! happy childhood, scene of every joy 
 
 Nay, here, e'en here, will grief and fear annoy ! 
 Else whence that shriek, that struggle, or that sigh ? 
 Those lifted hands and cheeks so seldom dry ? 
 ""Tis hence, at last, this harrowing truth we gain, 
 That all mankind are born to suffer pain. 
 Yet still, at home, may comfort sweet be found, 
 Where meeting friends the social board surround. 
 The tender mother, anxious to impart 
 The warm instruction to the childish heart, 
 Intrusts her darling to some pedant's care, 
 With strictest charge, the awful twig to spare. 
 
 FRAGMENT. 
 ( Written an a scrap of paper in black-lead. ) 
 
 What ! dost thou think, that nature could produce, 
 So fine a creature for no better use ? 
 Thinks 1 ! thou, that He who reigns enthroned on high, 
 Who strewed yon spangles o^er the vaulted sky, 
 Who spake and life upheaving sprung the ground, 
 Who smiled and beauty scattered graces round ; 
 Can, with indifference, view the Devil man, 
 With sacrilegious hand, disturb his plan ? 
 Deal death and misery round the humbler train, 
 And laugh, exulting at a creature's pain ?
 
 344 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 When Wisdom form'd this universal whole, 
 He stamped his image on the human soul ; 
 Appointed Reason's pure, but feeble light 
 To check our Passions, and to lead us right ; 
 But there, see Reason, from her station hurled, 
 And Passion ruling o^er a prostrate world. 
 Else, whence these actions which disgrace the man. 
 And have disgraced him since the world began ? 
 While coachmen, Reason, on the dicky sits, 
 And makes the Passions horses, feel the bits, 
 These urge the mental chariot to the race, 
 While that directs it with a steady pace. 
 
 THE TEAR OF GRATITUDE. 
 
 Oh, let the grateful incense rise 
 From off the altar of thine eyes, 
 
 Nor deem the offering rude ; 
 There is no gem so pure, so bright, 
 So fraught with lustre and with light, 
 
 As the tear of gratitude. 
 
 Though Adam be rough as the rocks of our glen, 
 
 Though his manners be coarse and rude, 
 I'll forget his exterior, nor think of it then, 
 But rank him the best and most polished of men, 
 Whose eye fills with tears of gratitude.
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 845 
 
 WHEN A BOY. 
 
 As the red feathery streaks in the east have dilated 
 At morn, has ray youthful heart panted for joy, 
 
 Believing the gaudy display indicated 
 A sun- shiny day when a boy. 
 
 So oft has the tongue of deception, pretending 
 Its utmost exertions for me to employ, 
 
 Delighted my soul, with a promised befriending, 
 And cherished young hope when a boy. 
 
 As round our lone cottage the winter storm pelted, 
 No dread of the season my breast could annoy ; 
 
 Delighted, I played with the snow, till I felt it, 
 I feared not the cold when a boy. 
 
 THE DRYAD S LAMENT 
 On the felling of the ancient Oaks in Cartmel Parks. 
 
 The last fading tints of the day were retiring, 
 And cloudless and clear shone the moon through 
 
 the vale ; 
 
 As I sauntered alone through the Park-wood, re- 
 spiring 
 The breath of the evening flower borne on the gale. 
 
 'Twas the hour when the children of folly admire 
 T he grandeur and pomp of the splendid saloon ; 
 
 'T was the hour when the children of nature retire 
 To muse in the gay solemn beams of the moon.
 
 346 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 No sound, but the rustling leaf, crossed my reflection, 
 No foot, but my own, left its print on the dew ; 
 
 From the stillness around me, I caught the infection, 
 And fairy-land rose on my fanciful view. 
 
 I saw, or imagined I saw, rise before me 
 
 A troop of young virgins, in mantles of green ; 
 
 Their sweet brunette beauty like magic stole o'er me, 
 And gave a new zest to the brilliant scene. 
 
 A nymph, more majestic, more grand in appearance, 
 Than the Dryads her sisters, stept slowly across, 
 
 And gracefully beckoning, implored their forbearance 
 While thus she so mournfully wailed their loss : 
 
 " Dear sisters," 1 " she sighed, and the dewdrops of 
 sadness 
 
 Arose in her eyes, at the sorrowful truth, 
 " How often, alas ! have we chanted, with gladness, 
 
 That here we should live in perpetual youth. 
 
 " In the morn of existence, when stillness and silence 
 Would scatter the spangles of dew on our feet, 
 
 Religion protected our shelter from violence, 
 
 And nought but the vesper disturbed our retreat. 
 
 " And now twice three centuries have rolled to that 
 ocean 
 
 Whose gloomy wave washes e'en grandeur away ; 
 Since first we beheld this young grove with emotion ; 
 
 Or frisked o'er the grass in the moon's silver ray.
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 347 
 
 " And no one, till now, has presumed to invade us, 
 By avarice urged, or by callousness led, 
 
 But ages have woven these mantles that shade us, 
 And formed the green canopy over our head. 
 
 " But now, when the soul-soothing beauties of nature 
 Can thrill with delight e'en the breast of the clown, 
 
 This time-tilled haunt of the nymph and the satyr, 
 Must feel the rude axe tear its bosom of brown. 
 
 " And we, who have guarded this oak grove from 
 danger, 
 
 Must bid its dear branches a lasting farewell, 
 And share, though immortal, the fate of the stranger, 
 
 Or pine in the gloom of some briar-tangled dell. 
 
 " But ah ! with a sigh, will our fond recollection 
 Recal the sweet hours we have passed in this shade, 
 
 Where the warm hearted lover, beneath our protec- 
 tion. 
 Has sighed, not in vain, to his favourite maid. 
 
 " How oft has the votary of truth, with emotion, 
 Our leaf-sprinkled carpet, with ecstacy trod, 
 
 Till his bosom has glowed with the warmth of de- 
 votion 
 For the palace of NATURE ""s the temple of GOD ! 
 
 " Beneath our umbrageous shelter united 
 
 By spirits congenial, would friendship recline, 
 
 And point out the beauties of nature delighted, 
 And cherish the mutual passion divine.
 
 348 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 " In the shade of our labyrinth, age would assemble 
 
 To drink the cool breeze, in the heat of the day, 
 
 And impetuous youth make the parents' 1 hearts 
 
 tremble, 
 
 Lest chance should dissolve his frail hold on the 
 spray. 
 
 " Who, now, o^er the votary of science, shall hover, 
 And still every sound that could burthen the ear ? 
 
 Who, now, shall give wings to the sighs of the lover, 
 Or mould into dewdrops the heart-easing tear ? 
 
 " Or where shall our Poet contemplative wander ? 
 
 Where, now, shall his musing feet carelessly stray, 
 When his dear native village is stripped of its gran- 
 deur, 
 
 And the haunts of his childhood have vanished 
 away. 
 
 " In youth, when the nurslings of fortune despised 
 
 him, 
 He loved through our shades and their windings 
 
 to stroll, 
 
 For, of all whom he knew, we alone patronized him, 
 And cherished the dawnings of thought in his 
 soul. 
 
 " O, rural simplicity ! where 's thy defender ? 
 
 Are pity and taste and antiquity dead ? 
 Yes, ornament bows to the idol of splendour, 
 
 Dear Cartmel, adieu, for thy beauty is fled."
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 349 
 
 A sigh of regret left each breast as they vanished, 
 Like that, which the bosom of misery rends ; 
 
 I felt for the Dryads, thus wantonly banished, 
 And preserved their complaints for the use of my 
 friends. 
 
 FASHIONABLE LOVERS. 
 
 No lover now deserves the name, 
 Who talks of Cupid, dart or flame, 
 
 As emblem of his passion ; 
 'Tis commerce that employs his care, 
 And all who now address the fair, 
 
 Must copy from the fashion. 
 
 So much does trade engross his mind, 
 That e'en his similies, we find, 
 
 Are quoted from this master ; 
 As golden hair, and diamond eyes, 
 And ivory teeth, and lips of spice, 
 
 And breasts of alabaster. 
 
 Like shopman will your lover stand, 
 With cane for yardwand in his hand 
 
 And with a bow observe you ; 
 And tell you, though a monstrous bill 
 Your beauty has incurred, yet still 
 
 He would be proud to serve you.
 
 350 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 A lady's real estate is found 
 To be her value to a pound 
 
 Wit, beauty, education, 
 Are reckoned so much tare and tret, 
 And still subtracted from the net, 
 
 In marriage speculation. 
 
 Just so, when land is let to farm, 
 By lease, to tenant, for a term, 
 
 Thejields are only stated ; 
 But be the buildings what they may, 
 We very seldom find that they 
 
 Are ever calculated. 
 
 The phrase -for BETTER or for WORSE, 
 Means now a full or empty purse ; 
 
 For love is never thought on 
 By those who deem it better far 
 To wed ABOVE, than under par 
 
 A wealthy maid they doat on. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Ah ! do not court the public praise,- 
 There 's poison in its breath ; 
 
 Reject the chaplet of its bays 
 'Tis but the wreath of death ! 
 
 The fame is often dearly bought, 
 By wayward mortals given ; 
 
 The only honour worth a thought, 
 Is the applause of HEAVFN !
 
 FUGITIVE PIECES. 251 
 
 DESULTORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 When busy mortals crowd around 
 
 The city, court, and throne ; 
 Intent to see, and to be seen, 
 
 To know, and to be known. 
 
 I turn away content I turn, 
 
 To sweet domestic bowers, 
 And ponder how I best may spend 
 
 My life's few fleeting hours. 
 
 The evening twilight oft I trace, 
 
 Sometimes the dusky dawn ; 
 My steps unseen by human race 
 
 I love to be alone. 
 
 I love the intellectual feast 
 
 Shared by the good and wise ; 
 Nor less the little temperate meal, 
 
 Simplicity supplies. 
 
 I freely join the rustic throng, 
 
 Where decent mirth is known, 
 With children's play, but ere 'tis long, 
 
 I wish to be alone. 
 
 Sure I would leave my couch by night 
 
 To serve my greatest foe, 
 And quit the brightest hour of joy, 
 
 To wipe the tear of woe.
 
 352 FUGITIVE PIECES. 
 
 SWEET SOCIETY. 
 
 Begone, ye selfish souls, begone, 
 Who live but for yourselves alone ! 
 
 And let us quiet be ; 
 There want no arguments to prove, 
 That man was formed for mutual love, 
 
 And sweet society. 
 
 In solitude we ne'er can find 
 
 A joy to fill the boundless mind ; 
 
 No 'tis variety 
 
 That gives the thirsting bosom ease, 
 For nought on earth the soul can please, 
 
 Like sweet society. 
 
 If fortune, in one golden shower, 
 Around our paths profusion pour, 
 
 E'en to satiety, 
 
 We then may sooth a neighbour's fears. 
 Or wipe a fellow mortal's tears, 
 
 In sweet society. 
 
 Or if misfortune on us frown, 
 
 And press our hearts in sorrow down 
 
 Whate'er her fiat be, 
 We find a balm for every grief, 
 In ev'ry woe a sure relief 
 
 In sweet society. 
 
 END OK THE BEMAINS.
 
 SKETCH 
 
 THE LIFE 
 
 GG
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 
 
 THE life of so humble an Individual as the subject 
 of the following Memoir, cannot be expected to pos- 
 sess much attraction beyond the circle in which he 
 was personally known; yet those who have been in- 
 terested with our Author's literary productions, may 
 feel an inclination to learn the leading traits of his 
 character, and the principal incidents which chequer- 
 ed his existence : 
 
 " In which there was Obscurity aud Fame, 
 " The Glory and the Nothing of a Name." 
 
 JOHN BRIGGS, the third son of John and Jane 
 Briggs, was born on Christmas Day, 1788, in a 
 small cottage, near the village of Cartmel, Lanca- 
 shire. Before he was six years old, he was sent to
 
 356 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 school about a quarter of a year ; but the progress 
 he made was very trifling, as his mother (for whose 
 maternal instruction he manifested great fondness) 
 afterwards taught him the alphabet, &c. His fa- 
 ther, noticing in him an uncommon aptitude for 
 learning, frequently read to him, when quite a boy, 
 favourite passages from the few books which were 
 within reach of the family. To these he eagerly 
 listened, and endeavoured to imitate the poetic 
 parts by arranging his own little words into metrical 
 order. 
 
 Before the age of nine, at his own request he was 
 initiated into his father's trade, that of basket or 
 swill-making. After his daily task was finished, 
 he amused himself with making children's baskets 
 and artificial flowers from the useless shavings and 
 chips, which had been thrown aside; and as his pa- 
 rents, who had a numerous family to support from 
 an occupation which is never very lucrative, could 
 not afford him money to purchase colours for orna- 
 menting these articles, he contrived to stain them 
 with preparations of his own. Having sold them 
 among the neighbours, with the small sums thus 
 obtained, he was enabled to procure a few books, 
 which after an attentive perusal, were disposed of, 
 and others purchased with the money. 
 
 Soon as reason dawned upon his youthful mind, 
 he began to evince that enthusiastic devotion towards 
 the beauties of Creation by which in after life he was 
 so much distinguished. Herbs and flowers parti-
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 357 
 
 cularly engaged his boyish fancy. With " Cul- 
 pepper's English Physician" in his hand as his 
 guide, he frequently ranged far and near in search 
 of different plants; and such was his success in this 
 fascinating pursuit, that to extract a line from a 
 juvenile poem by his brother Edward, who en passant 
 seems to have inherited the family partiality to the 
 muses 
 
 "Himself a botanist he thought." 
 
 Being naturally inclined to privacy, these rambles 
 were generally solitary. A small island, formed by 
 the windings of a powerful stream in the mazes of a 
 stately grove was his favourite seclusion.* Here, 
 in company with his brothers, he sometimes on the 
 sabbath read portions of the Bible or other religious 
 books ; and when he had neglected to attend public 
 worship at the church he would read the liturgy, 
 as an atonement for the omission. So fond was he 
 of this sequestered spot, that he often wished it was 
 his own ; and then, in the lightness of his heart, he 
 formed a thousand plans for beautifying it by 
 
 " His brother Edward in the poetic piece before mentioned, thus 
 alludes to this scene of their blissful hours : 
 
 And still that pleasant Isle I prize, 
 Well screened by wood on every side ; 
 
 Which now perhaps neglected lies, 
 Unseen or heedless seen by pride. 
 
 Oft I think and think with pleasure 
 How this Isle we wandered round ; 
 
 Not envying Cavendish's treasure, 
 Save this little spot of ground. 
 
 GG 2
 
 358 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 excavation, embankment, and cultivation, till in his 
 warm imagination it would appear a little Eden 
 and lie, though confined to its narrow limits, become 
 
 "King of infinite apace." 
 
 These and myriads of other harmless fancies occu- 
 pied his youthful mind when whiling away an hour 
 in this peaceful retreat. 
 
 About this time he prevailed upon a few neigh- 
 bouring young men to meet him on the winter nights 
 at his father's house for their mutual instruction. 
 Among these, was a youth named Beck, who, hav- 
 ing been educated at the Cartmel Grammar School, 
 was considered the best scholar. In this young man 
 he found a valuable friend, and we have often heard 
 him revert with pleasure to the circumstance. This 
 person died many years after in America; and our 
 Author concludes a very interesting notice of him 
 in the Lonsdale Magazine with these words : 
 
 Of the manners of his latter and more happy years, we 
 
 know but little. But in his youth, he was of a kind friendly dis- 
 position. An enthusiast in every thing that presented itself to his 
 mind. Indefatigable in his researches, and deterred by no difficul- 
 ties. Our Sundays and his were generally spent in company ; and 
 at that time our pursuits were nearly similar. And it is amusing 
 to recollect what trifling difficulties would sometimes hinder our 
 progress, and the joy we felt, we remember in particular, when we 
 were able to prove that the square of one was a half. But 
 
 He is gone he has fled from this world of paia 
 And the hint may we wisely improve ! 
 
 We shall meet him no more, till we meet him again, 
 As friends, in the regions above ! 
 
 The task thus self-imposed, became truly delightful. 
 Their ideas by mutual intercourse expanded. Each
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 359 
 
 night brought with it some new and pleasing disco- 
 very, on which they could congratulate each other, 
 before they parted to meditate upon the next subject 
 for their discussion. Thus was laid the foundation 
 of his mathematical and mechanical knowledge. 
 
 When he attained his twelfth year, he was at- 
 tacked by a violent fever. From it his constitution 
 sustained so severe a shock, that he, who had hitherto 
 been healthy and vigorous, became henceforward weak 
 and sickly. Unable therefore, to follow his trade du- 
 ring the regular hours, as a relaxation he devoted a 
 part of the day to self-instruction in reading and 
 writing ; and his father assisted him in the study of 
 arithmetic. A strong taste for drawing and paint- 
 ing now manifested itself, from beholding the scenery 
 of some strolling players who were performing in an 
 old barn at Cartmel. These lowly patrons furnished 
 him various colours, with instructions how to pre- 
 pare and mix them. 
 
 When about sixteen years of age, he obtained a 
 slight knowledge of Latin from such books as he 
 could borrow of his acquaintance. This language 
 being considered a superior acquirement by his 
 compeers, he was regarded as a youth of uncommon 
 abilities. The whole of his library at this time 
 consisted of " Fisher's Grammar," "Young man's 
 best companion," " Hawney's Mensuration," "Fish- 
 er's Arithmetic," " Culpepper's English Physician," 1 
 a few old magazines, and a mutilated dictionary. 
 
 In October 1808, he entered the married state.
 
 360 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 This step involved him in difficulties he had not fore- 
 seen, and which he wanted the means of surmount- 
 ing. It was now high time seriously to consider in 
 what manner he was to obtain a livelihood. After 
 some deliberation, he fixed upon opening a school 
 at Ulverston. Previously, however, to quitting his 
 native village, he got, from a person who had been 
 the captain of a vessel in some instruction, Navi- 
 gation ; a knowledge of which is thought a neces- 
 sary attainment for a schoolmaster in a maritime 
 district. In a fortnight, he was pronounced com- 
 plete master of the science. As a recompense for 
 this service, he became the captain's tutor in Al- 
 gebra. 
 
 Without a shilling in his pocket, he now removed 
 to Ulverston, to open his school ; and such was his 
 diffidence, that he had many internal struggles be- 
 fore he could summon sufficient resolution to ask of 
 an intimate friend the loan of a guinea. Having 
 had no one to direct his studies, he had hitherto 
 bestowed more time upon the mysteries of figures, 
 than upon the rules of grammar; he now, there- 
 fore, from a consciousness of his deficiency, devoted 
 every spare moment to the study of the English 
 language. So intense was his application, that the 
 hours which exhausted nature required for repose, 
 were often spent in the perusal of such books as had 
 been lent to him in the day. His pupils, though 
 sufficiently numerous, were mostly the children of 
 poor parents, who were unable to pay the small
 
 JOHN BKIGGS. 361 
 
 quarterage for which he taught. We shall pass 
 rapidly over this most unpleasant portion of our 
 Friend's existence; as the compassionate reader 
 will probably be satisfied with imagining the priva- 
 tions under which he laboured. 
 
 After remaining more than a year at Ulverston, 
 he was animated by learning that Ellel school near 
 Lancaster, was vacant. Elated by the flattery of 
 hope which never forsook him, he became a candidate 
 for the situation. Friendless and a perfect stranger 
 while his fellow competitors were enjoying a com- 
 fortable dinner at the inn, on the day of election 
 he was taking a solitary walk till the hour of exami- 
 nation arrived With agitated frame and gloomy 
 forebodings, he stood the fiery ordeal; and never 
 did culprit at the bar more joyfully hear the sound 
 of acquittal, than did our Aspirant after scholastic 
 preferment receive the information that he was re- 
 gularly and impartially elected. 
 
 He entered upon his new situation in February 
 1810 ; and though the salary, independent of the 
 quarterage, was trifling after the struggles he had 
 encountered, thirty or forty pounds a year would 
 be affluence itself! And now drowning the past 
 in the waters of Lethe he began to fancy that 
 Fate was weary of persecuting him, and that For- 
 tune had chosen him for her adopted child. The 
 dark cloud, which through life had hung over him, 
 was dissipated, and the unsetting sun of happiness 
 had arisen upon him. But, evanescent as dew was
 
 362 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 this gleam of better days ! One part of his emolu- 
 ments should have arisen from teaching a Sunday 
 school, supported by voluntary subscriptions which 
 after the first year were never collected. A small 
 piece of land belonging to the school, should have 
 been another source of his receipts but the rent 
 was unjustly withheld, through the intrigues of an 
 inveterate enemy, who wished to instal one of his 
 own relatives in the situation. Besides, during 
 the winter, itinerant teachers took up their quarters 
 at Galgate ; and occasionally succeeded in drawing 
 scholars from the established school, which is situ- 
 ate at an inconvenient distance from the village. 
 And in summer the farmers found sufficient em- 
 ployment for their children in the fields. Under 
 these circumstances, finding himself unable to sup- 
 port his family, he relinquished his school in 1814, 
 and betook himself to the business of a swiller. 
 
 In 1816 a house was built in Cartmel, by a zealous 
 Methodist ; the lower part intended for a school- 
 room during the week-days, and a meeting-house on 
 the Sundays : the upper part for a dwelling. Mr. 
 Briggs, sen. being connected with the Methodists, 
 this place was offered to our Author and accepted, 
 upon condition that, in lieu of rent, he should provide 
 the preacher with hebdomadal refreshment and 
 lodging. 
 
 It was about this time that he appeared before the 
 public as an author. A gentleman who resided near 
 Rokeby, having published in a neighbouring news-
 
 JOHN BBIGGS. 863 
 
 paper several political articles (signed " Common 
 Sense," and dated from " Orton Parish,"") in which 
 was adopted a train of reasoning opposed to the 
 popular feeling of that period Mr. Briggs, probab- 
 ly with the design of forcing his way into notice, en- 
 tered the lists against him ; though with scarcely a 
 hope of victory, as his antagonist was an acknow- 
 ledged scholar. " Common Sense" was very witty 
 upon the occasion, observing that the signature 
 of EGEXUS, which his opponent had chosen, was 
 exceedingly appropriate, and very characteristic of 
 his writings which were poor indeed ! But, if 
 we may judge from the violence which he afterwards 
 permitted himself to indulge, and from his reluc- 
 tance to give up the contest at the Editor's com- 
 mands, we might be led to conclude that in his Go- 
 liah-like attempt to crush his humble antagonist, he 
 had met with a signal discomfiture. 
 
 It is understood to be upon this controversy that 
 the enemies of our Friend profess to ground the 
 charge which they have so often preferred against him 
 namely, that he then advocated political principles 
 which he afterwards found it convenient to abandon 
 for the sake of pecuniary gains. It is not necessary 
 to admit, that if he had varied his ideas, he would 
 have been so very culpable ; as men of all ranks and 
 persuasions are seen daily doing the same. And if 
 any one of us would for a moment look back upon 
 ourselves as we were in other years, and acknowledge 
 the wonderful mutations which have taken place
 
 364 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 in our own principles, opinions, and prejudices we 
 should perhaps look with a more tender eye upon 
 the wanderings of our fellow men. But the great 
 difference is this : when a rich man alters his tenets, 
 it is merely an expansion of the mind the infusion 
 of a new light ; but should a poor man go astray, 
 he is a base tergiversator an apostate for the sake 
 of "filthy lucre. 11 In the present instance, how- 
 ever, no apology is required ; for, though support- 
 ed by abundance of assertions, it does not appear 
 that any proofs have been brought forward. May 
 not the Reader then be assured that this accusation 
 has been laid solely through malevolent motives ? 
 since if any evidence had existed, it would not have 
 been so studiously concealed. 
 
 Elated by the favourable manner in which his 
 communications to the Kendal Chronicle were re- 
 ceived by his friends, Mr. Briggs was induced to 
 entertain the idea of publishing by subscription a 
 volume of Poems. Proposals were accordingly circu- 
 lated; and being on Saturdays free from the duties 
 of his school, he usually spent that day in canvass- 
 ing for subscribers frequently, with pennyless poc- 
 kets, passing the day almost without food. The 
 result was, that his subscription-list was swelled be- 
 yond his most sanguine expectations. In his own 
 words, " he found himself treated with a respect to 
 which his birth and fortune gave him no pretensions ; 
 and distinguished in a manner which he is conscious 
 his talents never merited. 1 '' But how much so ever
 
 JOHN BKIGCS. 36'5 
 
 he might feel gratified by this encouragement ; the 
 profits arising from this publication, scarcely remu- 
 nerated him for the expense and fatigue attending 
 it. But his principal object was attained it brought 
 him into notice. 
 
 These Poems were printed at Ulverston in 1818, 
 and rank with the neatest specimens of typography 
 which the North of England has produced. They 
 were not subjected to the correction of any literary 
 friend ; as is in general necessary, before putting 
 the productions of self-taught persons to the press. 
 Though they may not display any extraordinary 
 flights of the imagination; they are generally allowed 
 to exhibit an ardent affection for the beauties of 
 nature, and a deep knowledge of the human heart, 
 expressed in easy and correct versification. At the 
 conclusion of his preface, under the impression of 
 modest and respectful gratitude to his supporters, 
 he thus writes : 
 
 u These effusions may obtain a limited degree of approbation 
 from those who have kindly introduced them into the world ; but 
 when they shall have to rest upon their intrinsic excellence, in- 
 dependent of time and place, they will, in all probability be con- 
 signed to the shades of oblivion, where thousands of similar pro- 
 ductions are quietly lodged before them." 
 
 The friends of Mr. B. and the possessors of his 
 poems may perhaps pardon us for intruding a 
 few particulars respecting them, as this is the only 
 opportunity we may ever have of so doing. " Ed- 
 ward/ 1 the first piece in the volume, though written 
 one afternoon amid the buz and din of his scholars,
 
 366 
 
 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 Las been thought the best. The succeeding passage- 
 is given as illustrative of his train of thought, when 
 his "mind's eye" fell upon himself: 
 
 Though nature scatters, with an equal hand, 
 
 Her blessings, yet, sometimes, a soul appears 
 Of still superior mould ; whose brilliance shines 
 Like Cynthia 'mid the twinkling gems of night. 
 And should the genial sun of wealth or birth, 
 Shine on his fortunes, with unclouded ray. 
 His fame, far sounding, meets the distant ear 
 Of other climes, and nations yet unborn. 
 But if misfortune claim him as her chiid, 
 And shroud his ardent mind in poverty, 
 He crawls, neglected, through a useless life ; 
 The by-word of the vain ; the mock of fools ; 
 The wealthy proud one's scorn : or, silent, sits 
 And mourns his inability to reach 
 The fruit, that science holds before his eye.* 
 
 This poem was composed in memory of a favourite 
 
 * Mr. B. must have been labouring under similar feelings when 
 
 Jie penned the following quoted from his life of Dr. Garnett : 
 
 ...The youth whose bosom is endued with the love of knowledge, 
 pursues his career along the path of science, and figures to himselt 
 an ideal temple of fame at its other extremity the thirst of learn- 
 ing warms his breast the sublimity of his native country inflames 
 his soul he longs to escape from the bonds which confine him 
 and looks around for encouragement in his progress. But he 
 meets with scorn, or at best with neglect. Those whom fortune 
 has placed at their ease, consider him beneath their notice ; and 
 the plodding herd of mankind, cannot comprehend what his va- 
 garies aim at 
 
 " None count him wondrous wise, for most believe him mad." 
 
 After many an unsuccessful struggle after exhausting the best 
 rlays of his youth in fruitless attempts to escape into a more genial 
 clime after discovering that mind is the only unsaleable commo- 
 dity a man can bring to market, he generally retires from the 
 chase in disgust, sinks into a state of gloomy despondency buries 
 those talents iu uselessness which might have served his country 
 adds another to the number of those who are drooping under dis- 
 appointed hopes, and who may be found in almost all our villages 
 pines away a few unhappy years in obscurity and at last faU, 
 at onre his country's honour and disgrace.
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 367 
 
 brother, who was in the last stage of a consumption 
 when our Author returned from Ellel. He tenderly 
 watched over his sufferings, and kindly administered 
 every relief and comfort in his power he witnessed 
 his gradual decay he heard his last groan 
 
 When in the bud, 
 
 " The bursting bud of life, unpitying death 
 "'Dashed from his lips, the cup of earthly hope." 
 
 " Henry and Margaret," a very pathetic tale, was 
 founded on fact. " Windermere" was written in 
 compliment to such of his patrons as resided on its 
 banks ; as was " Charity" to eulogize his Cartmel 
 friends. In the " Poor Man," the odes to " Pover- 
 ty, 1 ' and to his " Pipe," he has evidently had him- 
 self in the foreground; that to "Poverty" is strik- 
 ingly descriptive of his own circumstances. It was 
 to the harsh and ungenerous treatment he experi- 
 enced at Ellel, and to his sorrow at leaving his neat 
 little cottage there, that the stanzas called " The 
 Farewell," owed their birth ; and it is rather singu- 
 lar that the semi-prophetical part of the last verse 
 should soon afterwards be accomplished : 
 
 4i Though 'round him sweeps his large domain, 
 " (Enclosures rich with waving grain,) 
 " MISFORTUNE may with grief and pain, 
 " Make him bid it farewell." 
 
 We shall only further mention, that the " Elegy 
 written among the ruins of St. Mary's Abbey, near 
 Dalton in Furness," was a favourite of the Author's, 
 and published with the proposals as a specimen.
 
 868 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 Another difficulty now approached. His house 
 and school, as before mentioned, belonged to a mem- 
 ber of the Methodist connection. It had been de- 
 voutly wished by this zealous Body, that our Friend 
 should become a convert to their persuasion ; indeed 
 it has been said, that this was one of the condi- 
 tions upon which he was allowed the privilege of 
 the school-room. Those, however, who were ac- 
 quainted with his uncompromising disposition, will 
 pause before they believe that he would sacrifice his 
 principles for so paltry a consideration ; more es- 
 pecially when they find him emphatically stating, 
 in the preface to his little volume, " that he has 
 been generally MISREPRESENTED as a dissenter." 
 This declaration gave great offence to the whole 
 body, and they warned him to quit the dwelling 
 immediately ; but he refused to obey this mandate, 
 till he had been served with a regular legal notice. 
 In 1819, he retired to Ayside, a neighbouring vil- 
 lage. The short time he remained here, was occu- 
 pied in land-surveying, &c. 
 
 He had for several years thought, that the publi- 
 cation of a monthly Magazine would be interesting 
 to the neighbourhood, and not without emolument 
 to himself. An extract from one of his letters will 
 afford some idea of his sanguine expectations : 
 
 Believe me, Sir, 1 never 1 felt a doubt respecting it ; the 
 
 more I reflect upon it the more I am convinced that it will 
 not only succeed, but bring both wealth and honour to its 
 conductors, It is upon too popular apian to fail. 1 have
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 369 
 
 thought too much about the project to hesitate now. I have 
 no fears. I know 1 have difficulties to encounter, but 1 
 think I can surmount them. " Perseverance, like faith, 
 removes mountains." 
 
 After duly consulting some friends on his novel 
 project, he published an exceedingly well written 
 prospectus, announcing the intended appearance of 
 "a new periodical publication," under the title of 
 " THE ULVERSTON MAGAZINE, or ELEGANT RE- 
 POSITORY." What follows will give some account 
 
 of his progress : 
 
 The length of time which has elapsed since I first pub- 
 lished these proposals, has allowed that warmth which 
 showed itself then in my favour to subside, and it is only 
 beginning to rise again. I have been this week among some 
 very respectable men, who flatter me very much upon the 
 plan; and tell me that however much difficulty I may find 
 in the commencement, I shall ultimately be successful; for 
 no great undertaking ever met with perfect encouragement 
 at first. These sentiments were expressed by men whose 
 character and situation in life give weight to their opinions. 
 
 I find more people inclined to encourage me, than those 
 
 who give their names, but the country has been so long 
 pestered with travelling bookmen, that they dread any thing 
 in the shape of a catalogue. 1 shall have many subscribers 
 when the work appears, who will not give their names now. 
 
 Those men who pique themselves on their wisdom more 
 
 than their philanthropy, will see the work before they sub- 
 scribe ; but 1 have no reason to complain those gentlemen 
 whom I can get to see, come forward as well as can be ex- 
 pected 
 
 Some unforeseen obstacles being however inter- 
 
 HH2
 
 '370 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 posed, to prevent its being printed at Ulverston, 
 he concluded arrangements for its being brought out 
 at the Kirkby Lonsdale Press, whence the first num- 
 ber eventually issued on New-year's Day, 1820; 
 its title being changed to " THE LOXSDALE MA- 
 GAZINE." 
 
 That, as Editor, he did not intend his share of 
 the duties to partake much of the nature of a sine- 
 cure, will be tolerably evident, from the following 
 paragraph, copied from the draft of an agreement, 
 drawn up by himself, but never executed : 
 
 That the following be considered as the duties of the 
 
 Editor : viz that he prepare in writing, &c. all the articles 
 for the magazine, and give them to the printer in the order 
 in which they are to be printed that he shall assist in cor- 
 recting the press that he shall attend carefully to the 
 printing department, and give his advice when required 
 that he shall keep a book with the debtor and creditor of all 
 accounts respecting the magazine that he shall keep an ac- 
 count of all paper purchased for the magazine of all money 
 paid to the printer of all the numbers sent out, and to 
 whom of all 'money received, from whom, and when that 
 he shall get the plates drawn and engraven, and keep an ac- 
 count of the expense that he shall form and keep up all 
 
 necessary correspondence for the benefit of the magazine 
 that if it be necessary for him to be any time absent from 
 his office, he shall procure a proper substitute, and pay him 
 out of his own pocket. 
 
 .No- better reasons can be assigned for the estab- 
 lishment of this Work, than are found in the open- 
 ing of his prospectus : 
 
 " The wild diversity ofiNorthern scenery is no doubt favourable to
 
 JOHN BUIGGfl. 371 
 
 the cultivation of a literary taste. That regular gradation from the 
 beautiful to the sublime, which every where prevails, can scarcely 
 fail of inspiring the inhabitants with corresponding ideas, and con- 
 genial sentiments. Numbers in all probability have felt the vivid 
 inspiration thrill an undefined emotion through their breasts, but 
 no work of this nature being within their reaeh, and no unusuat 
 circumstance occurring to call forth the latent energies of the mind, 
 they felt themselves under the painful necessity of suppressing the 
 rising impulse ; and of smothering those sparks of native genius, 
 which fortune itself can seldom extinguish. 
 
 " As Dr. Watts justly observes, we feel a particular interest 
 in every thing within the immediate sphere of our acquain- 
 tance, and we are more closely attached to those objects, with 
 which we have been conversant from our infancy, than to 
 those, which from distance, we may have but seldom seen. Even 
 the cottage in which we were born the village in which we first 
 breathed the circuit of our juvenile excursions all appear to 
 possess charms which we look for in vain, in other (according to 
 our ideas) less favoured situations. And though we may be re- 
 moved from them in succeeding years, still the * mind's eye' reverts 
 to those scenes, as to a place enlivened by perpetual sunshine. 
 It is this propensity of the human mind, that gives a PROVINCIAL 
 MAGAZINE, such a decided superiority over those of the METBO- 
 POLIS. How particularly interesting will the pieces be, in a work 
 like the present, where every paragraph is written within the 
 circle of our immediate knowledge where every reader is either 
 directly or indirectly acquainted with some of the contributorsito. 
 the monthly bill of mental fare ! A considerable degree of in- 
 terest and curiosity is excited. We feel a pleasure in seeking and 
 obtaining information, relative to those correspondents whose 
 views and opinions most nearly coincide with our own. Men of 
 similar dispositions thus become known to each other. And thus 
 the links which form the great chain of society, are more firmly 
 united. Individual knowledge is improved, and social intercourse 
 is extended 
 
 " A monthly Magazine may be properly compared to an orderly 
 flower-garden, where all classes of society may spend an hour in 
 rational enjoyment ; for where the bouquet is so various, it is prtf- 
 sumed, something will be found to gratify the most capricious 
 fancy, It is intended to serve as a stage, on which the sons of 
 genius may exercise their literary powers behind a friendly veil.
 
 372 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 Where, whatever may be the peculiar forte of the writers, they 
 have an opportunity of making trial of its strength, without sub- 
 jecting themselves to the ridicule of personal criticism." 
 
 Having given the passages themselves, we shall 
 give his reply to the observations of a critical friend, 
 who had been commenting upon them : 
 
 The first and second paragraphs, you will observe, ap- 
 proach most nearly to the false sublime ; these I would gladly 
 
 have omitted However, when you prune, you must be 
 
 aware that all those substantives, whose adjectives give you 
 such offence, will look very solitary by themselves; you 
 should then consider what is to be substituted in their place. 
 You kuow in writing we often put a quadrat word in, not 
 that it adds to the elegance of the piece, but it makes the 
 period of a proper length. In lopping excrescences, we should 
 consider this. Beside if I do not speak well of my own 
 work, who will ? Though the sober part of mankind may 
 despise puffing, fashion has rendered it almost indispensable ; 
 and the sober part of mankind is so very small, that if we 
 write for them only, I might pack all the magazines up in 
 a pocket handkerchief, and carry them about without fa- 
 tigue 
 
 It is a well known fact, that of all the many 
 Magazines which the Country has produced, few 
 have survived the limits of the first year; and that 
 none have been permanently established. With 
 these fatal examples before him, if it may seem sur- 
 prising that our Editor should have embarked in 
 such an undertaking. The answer is obvious 
 without laying claim to a degree of talent exceeding 
 that possessed by his predecessors in such adven-
 
 JOHN BR1GGS. 373 
 
 tures, he flattered himself that the intrinsic excel- 
 lence of the plan, aided by his own indefatigable 
 industry in carrying it into effect, would shield it 
 from that fatality, which had hitherto destroyed all 
 periodicals published out of the Metropolis. Aware 
 that his own unaided exertions would be scarcely 
 adequate to the task, he solicited "the aid of those 
 ladies and gentlemen, whose other pursuits might 
 allow them leisure, and the bent of whose genius 
 might incline them to indulge in the pleasures of 
 literature." 
 
 The first number was embellislued with a coloured 
 aquatinta of Holker Hall, (Lord George Caven- 
 dish's seat,) with a descriptive and historical ac- 
 count^ collected with great labour and research. A 
 copy, on extra paper, was transmitted to his Lord- 
 ship, probably in the pleasing hope of substantial 
 remuneration ; but, from some unknown cause, it. 
 was never acknowledged. The third number com- 
 menced with an account of Lancaster, which was. 
 continued for many consecutive months. This ar- 
 ticle, which caused the Author an incalculable de- 
 gree of toil, was very accurately compiled ; and its, 
 gracefulness of style rendered interesting a rather 
 dreary subject. But it will not be expected that we 
 should enter into the minutiae of the Lonsdale Ma- 
 gazine during the first year the circulation was 
 very respectable, and perhaps slowly increasing. 
 Our Friend's expectations continued undiminished. 
 Still did he anticipate not merely subsistence
 
 374 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 but fortune and retirement. So soon as these de- 
 sirable acquisitions are his (he writes to his bro- 
 ther) 
 
 I will purchase a plot of ground in some delightful part 
 
 of the lake district, upon which I will erect a comfortable 
 cottage, where you shall reside and cultivate the land ; but 
 I must have a room or two, when I choose to visit the lakes. 
 1 will also have a few select volumes for my own entertain- 
 ment, and a boat upon the lake for pleasure 
 
 In pourtraying the character of Mr. Briggs, no 
 one can avoid pointing out the facility with which 
 he was continually lulling himself to rest, with the 
 sweet idea afapjtfoaching "fields for evergreen, and 
 skies for ever fair." But none, even of those who 
 knew him best, will suppose, that at the very time 
 the preceding letter was written, his pecuniary af- 
 fairs were more than usually embarrassed. In this 
 dilemma, knowing not where to look for a helping 
 hand, he received seasonable aid from a gentleman 
 of his native vale. His case also happily became 
 known to a learned and pious Divine in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Ulverston ; from whom he received a 
 liberal present. These disinterested instances of 
 benevolence were emulated by two other gentlemen ; 
 the one residing in Ulverston, the other in its vici- 
 nity. By these acts of kindness, an indelible feeling 
 of gratitude was implanted in his breast, which con- 
 tinued undiminished till the termination of his life. 
 
 About this time, he again writes to his brother 
 in the highest spirits :
 
 JOHN BttlGGS. 375 
 
 You will not fail to let your friends know, that each 
 
 number next year will be embellished with a plate of some 
 gentleman's seat in the district, with descriptions annexed. 
 Hv this means I hope to secure respectable patronage 
 
 Thus hope, delusive hope ! still led him on, he 
 could not 
 
 moment think, 
 
 "What meagre profits spring from pen and ink " 
 
 1821. The second year's volume of the Maga- 
 zine was now in progress ; but the aquatintas, from 
 which so much had been expected, were not so very 
 attractive. On the contrary, the expense of the draw- 
 ings and engravings sunk him into almost unredeem- 
 able debt. He constructed a new copper-plate press, 
 of considerable value, in order that he might be en- 
 abled to strike off the prints with his own hand. 
 The confinement and exertion attendant upon this 
 avocation were most pernicious to a delicate con- 
 stitution. He had to labour too almost night and 
 day in preparing matter for the press. Yet such 
 was the unprofitable nature of the concern, that for 
 all these unwearied exertions he did not receive more 
 than the scanty pittance of a common day labourer. 
 When it is further considered, that he was obliged 
 to be absent nearly a fortnight in each month, col- 
 lecting materials, at a serious expense, it may 
 well be asked, how he contrived to support his fa- 
 mily ? To this it is replied, that had it not been 
 for the little Mrs. B. earned by folding and stitch- 
 mg books, they could scarcely have subsisted. The
 
 376 SKETCH OF THE ^IFE OF 
 
 Editor's own abstinence and economy were most 
 exemplary. On his return from the before men- 
 tioned excursions, he would occasionally call upon 
 a friend, when quite exhausted, after having travelled 
 twenty or thirty miles ; and acknowledge that his 
 whole day's expenditure had not exceeded a shilling. 
 He felt these privations as a man ; yet he bore them 
 as a man. So long as he conceived that the smile 
 of public approbation was not withheld from his 
 Magazine, he cheerfully supported his present toil 
 in the pleasing anticipation of better days. 
 
 Some idea of his affairs may be formed, from the 
 following extract of a letter to a friend, who had 
 solicited pecuniary aid, dated Sep. 29. 
 
 Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than 
 
 lending the trifling assistance you require, but I am satisfied 
 so small a sum would not answer your purpose.. ..The wants 
 of a family take a good deal to supply.... Before I can have 
 a single guinea at command, I must be worth 50 at least ; 
 for 1 have to live so long before I can get any thing in ; and 
 have so much to pay out ; that I am deeply in debt, and 
 know not at this moment what way to look. And what is 
 worse, I know not whether my income at the close of the 
 year will cover all my debt. If I was sure of this, I should 
 have a disburthened mind ; but pray do not breathe a 
 whisper* about it the world must not know that 1 am poor. 
 I have just sold seven pounds' worth of books out of my 
 scanty stock, to discharge a debt that presses. Still 1 live 
 in hopes, that things will balance tolerably well 
 
 Here, then, is a view of his circumstances, near 
 the end of the second year's publication. The idea of
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 
 
 being in debt weighs heavily upon his spirits ; yet 
 he is not quite hopeless. If, at the winding up of 
 the accounts, he could only cover that, he would be 
 happy. But another disheartening occurrence was 
 his partner in the Magazine thought it prudent 
 to withdraw from a concern that as yet afforded so 
 little remuneration. Without capital, it was evi- 
 dently impossible for Mr. Briggs to take the respon- 
 sibility upon himself. He therefore applied to a 
 respectable printer in Preston; but before any de- 
 finite arrangement was made, the Editor of the 
 Kendal Gazette, MR. JOHN KILNER a young man 
 of great worth and respectable abilities, to whose 
 memory we are glad to have an opportunity of pay- 
 ing a sincere but humble tribute died ; and our 
 Author, who for some weeks previously, during 
 Mr. K's illness, had officiated as Editor pro tempore, 
 was appointed to the situation. And thus he attained 
 what for years he had sighed for, as the grand ob- 
 ject of his ambition he was the Conductor of a 
 Newspaper. Immediately after this arrangement, 
 he thus writes from Kirkby Lonsdale to his bro- 
 ther : 
 
 I am not coming to Preston. I have just completed a 
 
 very advantageous engagement at Kendal, to conduct the 
 (Jazettc, and carry on the Magazine there. V\ r ant of money 
 would have been a great hindrance to me at Preston, 
 though Mr. made the most advantageous offers pos- 
 sible. But at Kendal I shall have no money to find. I have 
 no doubt from the very liberal manner in which I have been 
 II
 
 378 SKETCH OP THE LIFE OF 
 
 engaged, that I shall in a year or two be very comfortable. 
 I .have taken a house in the most delightful place in Kendal. 
 My great difficulty will be in leaving this town with credit ; 
 as I shall be compelled to go to Kendal before I can get my 
 money in ; but I must do as well as I can. The Magazine 
 will be much improved another year. The gentlemen, who 
 intend to support me, promise me it sl;a!l not be Jet down 
 for want of money to push it into notice. 1 1 is not yet fixed, 
 but I am apprehensive that it will be published in quarterly 
 parts, with rich coloured plates in 12mo ; but you will know 
 all at the end of the month. I am confident I shall be bet- 
 ter situated at Kendal than I could be at Preston ; for with- 
 out any risk I have a living certain, and that is what 1 
 nevt j r had before in my life 
 
 It appears from the preceding, that he suffered 
 himself to indulge in expectations, which were ne- 
 ver realized. The negociation by which the Ma- 
 gazine was to be transferred to the Proprietors of 
 the Gazette, and published by them at their own 
 risque, was never completed. It is to be regretted, 
 that he did not abandon the work, on entering Ken- 
 dal. A newspaper office, unless upon an extensive 
 scale, is not perhaps the best place in the world for 
 the printing of a magazine. The bringing-out of 
 the two journals interfere one with another. Re- 
 gularity of appearance is essential to the welfare of 
 both. But when a clash does take place, the latter, 
 as the least important, is postponed. Without for 
 a moment imputing blame to any of the Proprietors 
 who could, indeed, have no motive to induce them 
 to deceive their Editor it must be admitted, that
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 379 
 
 the slovenliness and irregularity with which, from 
 some cause or other, it issued from the Press, could 
 not but be highly detrimental to its interests ; and 
 no one will wonder, that its sale considerably de- 
 creased ; especially as since the Editor's attention 
 was partly diverted to the Gazette he found it im- 
 possible to pay so much attention to the getting up 
 of copy, as he had hitherto done. He was some- 
 times under the necessity of admitting articles, 
 written, with the best intentions, by his friends ; 
 but neither original in matter, nor happily express- 
 ed. He cherished the hope, that the time would 
 arrive, .when he might fearlessly reject such com- 
 munications; but while the system lasted, it was 
 injuring the work in the eye of all men of judg- 
 ment. Besides, as Editor of the Magazine, Mr. 
 Briggs was too frequently identified with the Editor 
 of the Gazette. In their coolest moments, few men 
 can totally divest themselves of party prejudices ; 
 at the time we are speaking of, the angry passions 
 which the two previous County elections excited, 
 had not subsided; therefore, those who disagreed 
 with him on that point, made it a matter of con- 
 science to use their endeavours to ruin his favourite 
 project, The Magazine because, we presume, it 
 did NOT interfere in political affairs. How far their 
 .success was commensurate with their desires, is not 
 now the question. 
 
 To the above causes, collectively, may be attri- 
 buted the sinking popularity of the Lonsdale Ma-
 
 580 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 gazine. And the Reader is of course prepared for 
 what ensued that the Editor found it expedient 
 to discontinue the Work at the close of the third 
 
 volume buried more deeply than ever in debt and 
 
 difficulties. 
 
 The Lonsdale Magazine when we take into con- 
 sideration the difficulties under which it sprung into 
 light, and the obstacles which continually obstruct- 
 ed the Editor in executing his plans must ever be 
 regarded as a meritorious production. Few of its 
 readers are aware of the labour unavoidably atten- 
 dant upon the compilation of many of the articles ; 
 or of the numerous tomes which had to be examined 
 for the ascertaining of a single fact. For examples 
 we refer particularly to the various genealogical ac- 
 counts of families, and histories of places. And yet 
 such parts of the volume are passed over as unworthy 
 of attention, by all, except the chosen few who love 
 to linger over the contemplation of by-gone years. 
 That portion of the work which by its lightness 
 assisted in relieving the Jteavy, being mostly ex- 
 cursions of the fancy, was of course despatched with 
 greater ease. In the composition of " The Centi- 
 nel, v he gave wings to his pen. How he succeeded 
 as an Essayist, is not for us to determine ; but his 
 endeavours were graciously accepted by a great ma- 
 jority of his subscribers. In light, but keen satire, 
 he touched the foibles and failings of mankind, with 
 the pencil of truth as, indeed, he could scarcely 
 fail to do ; for as some of his intimate acquaintan-
 
 JOHN BRICGS. 381 
 
 ces may happen to remember his sketches were 
 all from the life. Yet so polished were his animad- 
 verisons, that we have never heard of any one be- 
 ing offended at his freedom. When under the 
 immediate influence of the furor scribendi, it might 
 no doubt be very pleasing to be lively and affable ; 
 but to be obliged, with a continuance, to cause the 
 countenances of his readers to beam with delight, 
 must, we think, have operated as an extinguisher 
 to the pleasure of the task. The " Letters from the 
 Lakes," which formed part of the second volume, are 
 admitted on all hands to possess much talent, and 
 have become deservedly popular ; yet the materials 
 were collected in two hasty peregrinations in the 
 course of which he was beholden neither to chaise nor 
 " farmer's cart," for conveyance. Neither was the 
 invigorating " rum and milk" in such abundance as 
 he has represented it. The reader will conclude 
 that he fed chiefly on the charms of the country, 
 when he learns, that our Author avoided inns as 
 monsters which would have swallowed the contents 
 of his pocket. He usually started about five in the 
 morning; and proceeded without food, till about 
 noon, when he called at some farm house, and made 
 a little oat cake and a penny-worth of milk, an apo- 
 logy for more sumptuous fare. In his first excursion, 
 he went from Kirkby Lonsdale to Bowness the first 
 day ; over the Stake into Borrowdale, to Keswick, on 
 the second ; on the third day he travelled over Hel- 
 vellyn into Patterdale ; and he reached Kendal, on 
 ii 2
 
 382 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 his return home, on the fourth. Those lively 
 
 sketches may be in part despoiled of their interest, 
 when the mantle of Fiction in which they were en- 
 veloped, is withdrawn ; when the shades of " my 
 father," " my sister," and " my uncle," have 
 
 " melted into air, into thin air." 
 
 But the beauty and grandeur of the scenery remain 
 just as they are therein described; the tales arc- 
 founded on fact, or tradition ; and most of the inci- 
 dents are related as they took place, with that de- 
 gree of embelishment which the licentia of the Au- 
 thor empowered him to employ. His second journey 
 was equally fleet ; the notes and memoranda that he 
 made were scanty ; and he had seldom opportunity 
 to fill up the outline that he had hastily drawn, till 
 the Compositor was in actual want of copy* The 
 hurry in which his articles were written may serve 
 as an excuse for any insipidity that the acute taste 
 of the reader may have perceived ; especially as he 
 was often compelled to write when overcome with 
 fatigue, or oppressed with indisposition. He often 
 suffered under grievous head-aches ; and we have 
 seen him bear with great fortitude most excruciating 
 attacks of the cholera morbus. 
 
 * Owing to this hurried manner in which the " Letters from the 
 Lakes" were written and printed, it was the Author's intention, 
 had he been spared, to have revised and corrected them. But as it 
 ig to be regretted that he did not live to do this, they necessarily 
 reappear before the public (with a few trivial omissions, as before 
 mentioned,) with " ail their imperfections oa their head."
 
 JOHN BU1GGS. 38tf 
 
 Mr. Briggs had very singular notions on various 
 subjects regarding the human race. We are anxious 
 to unfold a little of his sentiments and disposition 
 to the Reader : and conceive we cannot do better 
 than give them his own words in the following Frag- 
 menta. They are short but they are pithy and 
 carry along with them their own comment. With 
 them we shall conclude our notice of the Lonsdale 
 Magazine. 
 
 The great public character struggling under difficulties, is cheered 
 forward by the prospect of an ideal reward The poor man U 
 
 destitute even of this inducement. The general, when he enters 
 
 the field of battle, is convinced that if he conquers, he will be re- 
 ceived with acclamations, and that his name will be resounded 
 through his native country ; and if he falls, his memory will be 
 embalmed by a nation's tears, and even complimented by his ene- 
 miesThe common soldier, when he enters the field of battle, 
 is conscious that if he conquer, no part of the honour will attach 
 to him, his name will still remain unknown ; and if he fall, he 
 will fall unnoticed and unregretted, and that his body will be flung 
 into the promiscuous heap of the nameless slain. 
 
 If the great man be stretched on a bed of sickness, his situation 
 will be echoed round the kingdom, and his fortitude under suffer- 
 ing will furnish admiration for millions But if the poor man's 
 energies fail him, if his feeble nerves shrink under the attacks of 
 pain, he excites no one's sympathy, there are none to extol his 
 courage under pain ; if one friend condescends to sooth him for 
 an hour, numbers will taunt him with idleness, and insult him with 
 
 upbraidings The great man, under misfortune, is confident that 
 
 if he discover any indications of weakness or want of spirit, he 
 will bi; subjected to the public scorn ; but if he bear up nobly, he 
 will obtain a nation's homage. The poor man knows that, let 
 his conduct be what it may, he can never expect to be censured 
 or applauded beyond the village where he lives, or perhaps not 
 farther than his own wretched cottage. 
 
 The poor man, then, has no inducement to exercise his fortitude 
 under suffering. And while the splendid tombs of the wealthy
 
 38 i SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 and the great are inscribed with complimentary details of heroic 
 greatness, and courageous achievements, the peasant, whose life 
 perhaps lias been one continued scene of noble action, is numbered 
 with the forgotten, and no one remembers that he ever had a 
 virtue. 
 
 Should we not, after viewing the subject in this light, rather be 
 surprised to find any heroism among the inferior ranks of society, 
 than not to find more ? The greatest spur to noble deeos is honour; 
 but the poor man receives no honour for his noble daeds ; what 
 then prompts him to be honourable ? It is the powerful voice of 
 religion in his own breast which makes him what he is deprive 
 him of that, and our English peasant would be guided by no scru- 
 ples of honour he would acknowledge no law but force he would 
 
 hear no reason but interest Convinced of this, every :>incere 
 
 lover of his country and of man, will encourage habits of virtue 
 and principles of piety, in the manners and hearts of his fellow 
 
 '* I think," said 3Ir. Dixon, " we may compliment our- 
 selves on the number of our charitable institutions ; we have a 
 Sunday-school, a charity-school, a lying-in charity, an institution 
 for the relief of the infirm, and a discretionary charity for the re- 
 lief of all who may apply, where small donations are given as the 
 case seems to require ; I give to all these charities, and I cannot 
 see that any thing farther is required. If it be, I am a constant 
 
 contributor to the Missionary and Bible Societies" " I 
 
 grant," said I, " that these are all very good. But is the money 
 laid out in these charities, calculated to produce the greatest de- 
 gree of real benefit ? In the first place, you deprive yourself of 
 the sweetest pleasure of human life, by deputing to others the 
 distribution of that bounty, which would be the most acceptable 
 if conveyed by your own hands. What could be so pleasant, to a 
 virtuous mind, as to have a little Discretionary Charity of your own, 
 to meet all cases of distress ? If it was not so extensive in its be- 
 nefit, it would be more select in its objects. You subscribe to the 
 Missionary Societies ; you do well. But how can you justify 
 .your conduct to your own conscience? Your village chapel is 
 literally a ruin. Your neighbours and your tenants cannot really 
 attend it through the greatest part of the winter, without endan- 
 gering their health. It may be meritorious to send ministers to 
 preach to the unenlightened heathen; but it would be equally so,
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 385 
 
 at least, to enable your friends at home to partake those blessings 
 which you are dispensing to distant regions. But my principaj 
 objections are levelled at your public charities. Yeu have not 
 duly reflected on that independent spirit which influences the con- 
 duct of an English Peasant. Every honest Englishman considers 
 himself an important individual in society; and if misfortunes over- 
 take him, he struggles hard and long to maintain that individuality. 
 If he is in distress, he knows that he can be relieved by his parish 
 or by any of your charitable institutions ; but while he retains the 
 slightest hope of supporting his independence, he will not stoop to 
 the proffered aid he will not identify himself with those who have 
 abandoned all hope he cannot brook the idea of asking charity ! 
 But according to your system of benevolence, he must do this or 
 perish. Poverty surrounds him necessity presses and at last, 
 with a desperate struggle, he disengages himself from the pride 
 of his nature, and becomes a suppliant to one of your committees. 
 Here he is strictly examined ; and is obliged to divulge the extent 
 of that distress which he had hitherto honourably attempted to 
 conceal. Degraded, as he considers himself, he feels the elasticity 
 of his mind give way. The road to the institution, once trod, 
 grows smoother every journey ; till common charity becomes a com- 
 mon necessary. Had the money been expended in preventing his 
 poverty, which is now used in relieving it, the poor man had per- 
 haps been now successfully providing for a comfortable old age. 
 There is yet another more important consideration. There is the 
 parent's debased offspring ! The children enter on the world 
 with a less degree of independence than their parents did. They 
 know that their fathers fed them on a parish allowance, or on pub- 
 lic charity, and they feel little hesitation to follow their example. 
 If they feel any scruples of honour, they are only weak and they 
 easily give way : the next generation will then be less and less 
 scrupulous till at length there will be no middle rank rich men 
 
 and beggars will be the only two distinctions in society All 
 
 this might be prevented, if you would take the trouble to be your 
 own almoner. You might easily ascertain the means of subsis- 
 tence of your poor neighbours ; and if you thought these means 
 too much circumscribed, vou could easily throw something in 
 their way at a little, or perhaps no expense to yourself which 
 would completely relieve them. If sickness or misfortune over- 
 took them, you could administer such relief as their necessities 
 appeared to demand, in some way that would neither wound their
 
 386 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 feelings nor crush their spirit Suffer the swallow to flap the 
 
 ground, he will soon break his wings and disable himself for far- 
 ther flight ; but raise him only a foot above it, and he will soar 
 away without further assistanceSo it is with the poor man, 
 while his spirit remains unbroken ; leave him to straggle with 
 his misfortunes, and he will at length become a burden to society; 
 but assist him into a situation where he may earn an honest living, 
 and he will support himself with credit, and set an example of in- 
 dustry and economy to the next generation." 
 
 The following is extracted from a letter written 
 soon after his appointment to his new situation : 
 
 I may here mention a neat criticism which passes in the 
 
 oflke. When we want to throw ridicule on any thing, if there 
 be a word in the sentence that admits of a double or doubt- 
 ful meaning, we say "such a word in italics," Example 
 Some person was saying the first week I was here, " what 
 a good leading article the Chronicle had that week." " Yes," 
 replied , "and good in italics." I shall always re- 
 ceive your favours (in real italics) with pleasure. This time 
 they would be favours, "for though I am scribbling away as 
 if I had purchased half an age of time, I have not been in 
 bed above eight hours these last forty-eight ; and must be 
 still closer confined than that, for I have all to do for the Ma- 
 gazine 1 , and nearly all for the Gazette. 
 
 As a specimen of the easy style of our Author's 
 correspondence, we are favoured with the commence- 
 ment of what he termed " My Journal." The se- 
 cond chapter never came to hand : 
 
 July 26. Left Kendal at half past five in the the morn- 
 ing, every body predicted a wet day. Wild clouds and a 
 green sky. Took the coach to Orrest Head, fell in with a 
 very pleasant fishing party on the coach, going to spend a 
 few weeks among the mountain streams and tarns. Lament-
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 887 
 
 td the disappointment they would feel, as all the fish would 
 naturally creep into shelters to keep out of the vet. As 
 this idea did not seem to disturb them, I said nothing 
 about it. Thinking, that 
 
 " Where ignorance is bliss, 
 " Tis folly to be wise." 
 
 Nothing material having occurred, I arrived in good time 
 at Orrest Head, called at Mr. Braithwaite's. Not got up. 
 House taken to pieces, in order to improve it by putting a 
 new lining into it.' Went to Elleray to call upon Professor 
 Wilson, while Mr. Braithwaite awoke. Opened the gate 
 next the road, (the only gate about the place,) pursued the 
 coach road to the Hall found the door half open knock- 
 ed no answer. 
 
 " 'Twas solemn silence all." 
 
 Not a dog announced the residence of a living being. Re- 
 tired and wandered through a most picturesque garden, 
 without either gate or door to it ; but with half a score of 
 entrances. Not a soul, but my own, to meditate among its 
 intricacies, and enjoy the beauty of the sun which had just 
 risen on the still and silent landscape, which lay like a rich 
 panorama around me. Every blade and bough silvered 
 with rain drops, brightened by a warm and cheerful morning 
 sun. Windermere smooth as polished silver. Langdale 
 Pikes just rolling the morning's mist from their brows. It 
 was a lovely morning, and the silence which reigned around 
 was delightful. From the garden, returned again to the 
 house, went in, wandered from room to room, found nothing 
 but the footsteps of desolation. Nothing human nestled 
 there. 
 
 I then resolved to follow the coach road, lead whither it 
 would. I presently came to an ancient cottage half hid 
 among old spreading trees, and grown grey with age look- 
 ed in at the windows a lady's dress lay in the drawing- 
 room,, and a table with candlesticks and glasses stood in the
 
 388 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 dining-room a large quantity of stockings hung by the 
 kitchen fire tried the door all was fast. Went back to 
 Orrest Head, and saw Mr. Braithwaite adrcired the im- 
 provements he was intending to make. Returned again to 
 Elleray. A Scotch lass was rubbing the sleep out of her 
 eyes at the kitchen door. Chatted with her but preferred 
 the wicker seat at the door to the chair within. Went to 
 the garden chatted with the gardener, who apologized for 
 the rough state of his garden, by remarking, that his master 
 took him to the lake on the fine days, and on the wet ones he 
 coul.l not work in the garden. Supposed I was going to 
 spend the day with Mr. Wilson on the lake, and recommend- 
 ed me in that case to prepare myself by making sure of a 
 good breakfast. Saw the footman, who awoke the Professor 
 a little before nine. Waited for him in the drawing-room, 
 among the scattered fragments of a telescope. 
 
 At length the Professor appeared. The moment which for 
 yearg I had sighed for, was at last arrived I was standing 
 
 face to face with the great champion of Blackwood ! But 
 
 what such a man he was, and how he treated me, remain for 
 the next chapter 
 
 It will not be desired that we should enter into 
 any discussion of his management of the Kendal 
 Gazette in which he was employed for the three 
 last years of his life. He was too much inclined to 
 indulge in the pleasures of study, and in the enjoy- 
 ment of domestic comforts, ever to have become a 
 practised politician. But as political subjects fell 
 directly within his sphere, he wrote upon them, and 
 with his accustomed ease. The Editor of a party 
 Journal stands upon a pinnacle which few, who are 
 aware of its instability, will desire to attain. lie can 
 scarcely fail of disobliging his friends, or offending
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 389 
 
 his foes. If he be mild and moderate he is luke- 
 warm ; if bold and unbending he is violent and 
 rash. From arguing upon general topics, rival 
 Editors too frequently descend to personal abuse. 
 That such was the result in the instance of the two 
 Kendal papers the friends of each cannot but re- 
 member with regret. And the Editors themselves 
 if we may form an opinion from the eagerness 
 with which they each disclaimed having made the 
 first assault seem to have apprehended that some 
 apology was requisite. Newspaper squabbles can 
 never answer any purpose, except exciting in the 
 reader a sickly appetite for scandal ; for which there 
 is generally too much room for where is the in- 
 dividual whose life has been so spotless, that an un- 
 principled adversary can discover no venial follies to 
 magnify into palpable crimes ? And it is a practice, 
 "more honoured in the breach than in the obser- 
 vance," to 
 
 " Distort the truth, accumulate the lie, 
 "And pile the Pyramid of Calumny !" 
 
 However, so far as himself was concerned, our Edi- 
 tor seemed to be impervious to every attack, and to 
 be delighted with the contest. But, when his near- 
 est relative was assailed, we happen to know that it 
 required the utmost persuasions of his friends, to 
 induce him to forego an appeal to the Laws of his 
 country. 
 
 From the end of 1822, to the time of his decease, 
 no occurrence took place of sufficient importance to 
 KK
 
 -390 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 occupy cur attention. The storms and struggles 
 which he had hitherto had to cope with, seemed to 
 have vanished ; but in their consequences he was 
 still involved. His debts pressed heavily upon his 
 mind ; and, as we are sorry to learn, from most re- 
 spectable authority, probably brought on that com- 
 plaint which hurried him to the grave. But, as 
 regards the enjoyment of " this life's good 11 his 
 last days were his best days. When he first ob- 
 tained the situation, in a letter to his brother, he 
 says : 
 
 I have long delayed writing. 1 wanted to inform you 
 
 that J had engaged the Editorship of the Gazette as a per- 
 manent thing ; which I can now assure you of. The former 
 Editor died on Tuesday last, and a full meeting of the Pro- 
 prietors have confirmed me here, for any thing J know for 
 life. Wliat a comfortable thing! How long have 1 heen 
 tossed about, but I am come to anchor at last ! It will be 
 some time before I can get my affairs so far settled, as to feel 
 quite comfortable ; but I am happy in the thought that I 
 cannot want bread again, which I have often dene 
 
 Little did he dream when, in his fond imagination, 
 he thought he had come so happily to anchor, after 
 so long buffeting the waves of the troubled ocean 
 of life that his cable would so soon be cut ! 
 
 It was about the early part of June, 1824, that 
 the shattered state of his constitution became risi- 
 ble. We have handed to us the following sentence 
 from one of his letters: (Dated June 16th.) 
 
 I shall be happy to see you, but much fear, if I shall bi> 
 
 able to meet you. I have been very ill this week, scarcely
 
 JOHN BRINGS. 391 
 
 able to get to the office, feel myself better to day, however, 
 and hope I shall be well, but God only knows when 
 
 From this period his illness became more and 
 more serious. We had the melancholy pleasure of 
 seeing him several times in the course of its pro- 
 gress ; and he always seemed to flatter himself that 
 he was better. But we have learned, within these 
 few days, that he was for a considerable time pre- 
 vious to his disease, perfectly aware of the peril of 
 his situation ; though with that clinging to life of 
 which few of us are devoid he did not wish the 
 world to fancy he was dying. In October he wrote 
 to his brother 
 
 Look back upon your past life, and recollect how often 
 
 in the course of that life, every thing has looked so gloomy, 
 that there appeared no way of escape ; yet a way was found 
 and better days shne. These were acts of Providence ; and 
 shall that God, who protected unasked, refuse his aid when 
 we humbly solicit ft ? T, myself, have been very poorly for 
 some time, but am a little better 
 
 He had some intention of taking part in a contro- 
 versy on Emancipation, which was raging between 
 the Protestants and Catholics of Preston ; on the 
 approach of convalescency. But his complaint gra- 
 dually gained ground, and he was hourly sinking 
 under a feebleness of the system the effect, proba- 
 bly (as we are informed by one of his medical at- 
 tendants) of his sedentary employment. In another 
 letter to his brother, he writes :
 
 '. SKETCH OF THE WIFE OF 
 
 I am sorry to say,, that I am still very poorly I mend 
 
 but slowly. I have so far to go to the office, that I get cold 
 and injure myself; yet I must attend to my duties, else the 
 Proprietors may think of getting another. They are very 
 indulgent, and some of them assist me in the books; but I 
 want to be well, to go through my work again myself. My 
 present purpose is to require you to make me a great coat.... 
 
 Here we have expressions of his anxiety about the 
 discharge of the duties of his situation the interests 
 of the Gazette were ever near his heart. The Pro- 
 prietors, with the exception of one or two, who were 
 not perhaps aware of his weak condition, were uni- 
 formly kind and indulgent to him. This will ap- 
 pear from his next letter to his brother, which was 
 written only a few days before his death, and was 
 the last he ever wrote 
 
 1 have just obtained holiday for a month, from the 
 
 Gazette Office. I again urge you to get me a coat made in 
 as short a time as possible. This I have, will not turn the 
 frost wind, and I want to be walking out, when there is a 
 fine day, as my strength will permit. This order I have 
 from the doctor positively 
 
 Even here, it would seem, hope has not deserted 
 him. He still flatters himself that a short abstrac- 
 tion from the duties of the office a few fine days 
 and exercise in a warm top-coat, will restore him to 
 health ! 
 
 It was not till the Wednesday, four days before 
 his decease, that any immediate danger was appre-
 
 JOHN BRIGGS. 393 
 
 hended. On the morning of that day he intimated, 
 that he had still a great work to perform ; and re- 
 quested that he might not be disturbed in the after- 
 noon by the presence of any one, unless he required 
 it, as he wished to pass some time alone. When 
 the time came, he repeated his wish ; and soon after, 
 when all was still and quiet, he was heard very loud 
 and fervent at his devotions. On an interruption, 
 from a fear that in his weak state he might exhaust 
 himself, he stopped, and calmly observed, that he 
 had not yet finished. And this was repeated more 
 than once or twice and he still observed, that he 
 had not done. He continued at intervals, after 
 taking a little nourishment, in this state of devotion 
 for several hours ; till at length, on being revisited, 
 he said " I HAVE NOW DONE," and his mind 
 seemed easy and composed. From this period, his 
 strength rapidly declined, till about one o'clock in 
 the morning of Sunday the 21st of November, 1824, 
 when exhausted Nature could no longer support 
 the struggle. 
 
 Little remains to be added by way of recapitula- 
 tion. Notwithstanding the narrowness of his 
 
 education, he possessed an ample share of learning 
 and knowledge. In addition to an intimate ac- 
 quaintance with his Mother Tongue, he was versed 
 a little in the Latin and Greek languages ; in French 
 he was more of a proficient. He was skilled in the 
 mysteries of figures. His reading was latterly 
 very extensive. He was a connoisseur in the Fine
 
 394 SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF 
 
 arts. He drew when his leisure admitted; and 
 painted many fancy sketches. He constructed, upon 
 an improved plan, a camera-obscura for the exhi- 
 bition of prints. He etched on copper, and was 
 practised at copperplate printing, for which he ma- 
 nufactured inks of all colours and hues. He disco- 
 vered a new method of etching on stone, but did not 
 bring it to any great degree of perfection. To 
 evince his impartiality in his devoirs to the sisters, 
 Painting, Poetry, and Music, he taught himself to 
 play very tolerably upon the flute and flageolet 
 though he scarcely knew one tune from another. 
 
 When in company, of which he latterly was rather 
 fond, he could upon occasion speak extemporaneous- 
 ly, at considerable length, and with great effect, 
 though his pronunciation was not very polished. 
 But his great forte lay in bright sallies of wit and 
 humour, and in the recital of anecdotes, of which 
 he had an inexhaustible store. After hours spent 
 in study of some abstruse subject, like the unstrung 
 bow in the fable, he would throw the reins of his 
 imagination to the winds, and with "flashes of mer- 
 riment set the table in a roar." 
 
 Yet it was only in the retired walks of private 
 life with his friends in the bosom of his family 
 that his worth could be properly appreciated. 
 Without descending to the hacknied phrases of 
 monumental eulogy, it may be justly said, that his 
 conduct in all the relative duties of life was blame- 
 less. In his breast, the sympathetic glow of friend-
 
 JOHX BRIGGS. 395 
 
 ship and good-will ever found a sanctuary. Indeed 
 he was to a fault ever more ready to consult the 
 interests of others, than attend to his own. He was 
 a firm believer in the great truths and doctrines of 
 Christianity ; and those who have seen him in the 
 hour of "giddy mirth, 11 can safely affirm that no 
 sentence ever escaped from his lips, which could be 
 considered as militating against the principles he 
 professed. 
 
 Had our friend been patronized in early life by 
 the learned and opulent, he might have been raised 
 by the power of his abilities, to fortune and to fame. 
 And thus by the stimulation of some kind foster- 
 ing hand, his genius might have found a medium 
 for establishing its own remembrance, in leaving a 
 lasting work behind. This however was not his 
 destiny in every step that he took through the va- 
 rious stages of a toilsome and weary life he by woe- 
 ful experience found 
 
 ' H'>w hanl > the scholar's lot, condemned to sail 
 " t'npatronized o'er life's tempi-stuous wave.; 
 
 '-Clouds blind his sight, nor blows a friendly gali: 
 " T* vaft him to one port, except the graTe." 
 
 KXD OF THE SKETCH.
 
 [The Reader may perfiaps require some apology for the errors 
 which, it is feared, have crept into this volume. The long period 
 which intervened between the first issuing of the prospectus and the 
 putting of the work to the press, rendered it necessary, when the 
 publication was finally determined, to -use every expedition, in order 
 that the Subscribers might not be a second time disappointed. Henee 
 less attention has been paid to the correction of the proofs than is the 
 usual custom. This explanation may probably be as satisfactory as 
 a formal table of errata. But there is one mistake which we mutt 
 particularize it is, that the numbering of the pages in the subsequent 
 list of Subscribers exceeds the real amount; tfie last page being 406, 
 instead of 404. This error icas occasioned by these Xames being, 
 for the convenience of the printer, struck off prior to the Memoir 
 It was anticipated that the Memoir would occupy more space 
 than it has proved to do. Hence arose the mistake of commencing 
 the List with page 401, instead of page 397- We are thus particular, 
 as we should be sorry that any one should suspect us of being guilty 
 
 of the mean trick of pilfering four pages from the purchaser 
 
 The general apology we have made, is probably especially requisite 
 for the concluding portion of the volume the Sketch of Mr. JBriggs' 1 
 hfe. A$ the Gentleman who has so kindly furnished that article, 
 resides at a considerable distance from the Printing Office ; it was 
 impossible to have the benefit of his aid in correcting the press. Ifoiv- 
 pfer, the reader may rely upon the main facts of our Author's life be- 
 ing faithfully stated ; as the information lias been conveyed to the 
 Writer of the Memoir, by members of Mr. Briggs" family.}
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 The Right Hon. the Earl of Lonsdale, K. G. 6 copi 
 The Hon. Col. Lowther, M. P. 3 copies 
 
 The Hon. Col. Howard, M. P. 2 
 
 The Hon. Mrs. Howard 
 
 Lady Le Fleming 
 
 W. W. Cams Wilson, Esq. M. P. 2 copies 
 
 Professor Wilson, 3 copies 
 
 Robert Southey, Esq. Poet Laureate, LL.D. 2 copies 
 
 WilJiam Wordsworth, Esq. 
 
 Thomas Greene, Esq. M. P. 
 
 Kendal, #c. 
 
 Rev. J. Hudson, 2 cop. 
 G. Forrest, Esq. 2 cop. 
 Mrs. Maude 
 Edward Tatham, Esq. 
 E. Wilson, Esq. 
 Jacob Wakefield, Esq. 
 W. D. Crewdson, Esq. 
 Mr. Alderman T. Harrison 
 
 Pearson 
 
 J. Harrison 
 
 T. Gandy, Esq. 
 Mrs. J. Gandy 
 A. Yates, Esq. 
 Mr. I. Wilson 
 
 J. Barton 
 
 G. Webster 
 
 Johnson 
 
 Heelis 
 
 J. F. Holden 
 
 Reveley 
 
 Russell 
 
 Mrs. Harrison 
 Rev. J. Fawcett 
 Rev. J. Sampson 
 Mr. J. Webster 
 
 Sinkinson 
 
 Fen ton 
 
 W. Marriott 
 
 Mullard 
 
 Wardle 
 
 Rogan 
 
 G. Gibson 
 
 S. Bell 
 
 J. Salkeld 
 
 J. Taylor 
 
 J. Taylor, Hospital 
 
 J. Fawcett 
 
 W. Corson 
 
 J. Harnson 
 
 T. Cookson 
 
 Stirzaker 
 
 Williams 
 
 Crosby 
 
 J. Squire
 
 402 
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Mr. C. Nicholson 
 
 Mr. W. Morris 
 
 S. Marshall 
 
 Ladyman 
 
 A. Anderson 
 
 M. Suart 
 
 J. Walker 
 
 Miss Knott, Green Bank 
 
 T. Kendall 
 
 Dr. Cair, Compstone House 
 
 J. Carradus 
 
 T. Harrison, Esq. Green 
 
 W. Armitstead 
 
 Mrs. Stalker 
 
 E. Burton 
 
 Mrs. Watson, CaJgarth, 2 
 
 Thompson 
 
 Miss Watson, do. 
 
 R. Lough 
 
 Mr. G. Alexander, Elleray 
 
 Barrow 
 
 Capt. Wilson, Howe 
 
 C. Robinson 
 
 Starkie, Esq. Bownexs, 
 
 J. Clark 
 
 2 copies 
 
 C. Taylor 
 
 Mr. E. Garnett do. 
 
 E. Wilson 
 
 R. Burrow do. 
 
 R. Benson 
 
 J. Boitoiij Esq. Starrs Hall 
 
 T. Wilkinson 
 
 3 copies 
 
 F. Richards 
 
 P. Taylor, Esq. BellfieM 
 
 Lowthian 
 
 
 J. B. Longmire 
 
 
 J. Wiggins 
 
 Kirkby Lonsdale, $c. 
 
 J. Beard 
 
 
 Miss Lickbarrow 
 
 Alex. Nowell, Esq. Under- 
 
 Mr. J. Read, Kirkland 
 
 ley Park, 3 cop. 
 
 Mrs. Briggs, do, 
 The Mechanics' Institute 
 
 R. Carus, Esq. LunejL-hl 
 Rev. J. Dobson 
 
 Mr. Bram well, Selside 
 
 Mrs. Gathorne 
 
 Kirkby, Underbarrow 
 
 Mrs. Dent 
 
 Addison, Beathwaite 
 
 W. Pearson, Esq. 
 
 Green 
 
 Mr. J. Gibson 
 
 Rev. J. Curry, Natland 
 
 J. Gibson, jun. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson, do. 
 
 J. B. Pearson 
 
 Mr. Pearson, Crosthwaita 
 
 F. Pearson, jun. 
 
 R. Thompson, Brigsteer 
 
 Buttle 
 
 
 Preston 
 
 
 Gregg 
 
 Ambleside, fyc. 
 
 Miss Gregg 
 Mr. G. B. W. Gregg 
 
 Ford North, Esq. 
 
 E. Wilson 
 
 Mr. W. Newton 
 
 G. Moore, Esq. 
 
 T. Wadeson 
 
 Rev. E. Gorill 
 
 W. Wilson 
 
 Mr. Just 
 
 J. B. Dickson 
 
 Parkinson, 3 cop. 
 
 Troughton 
 
 A. Dodd 
 
 J. Suart 
 
 S. Grundy 
 
 H. Coleridge 
 
 J. Whittingdale
 
 SUBSOBIBKIIS. 
 
 463 
 
 Mr. R. Burrow 
 
 G. Gibson 
 
 W. Read 
 
 R. Croft 
 
 J. Dixon 
 
 Swainson 
 
 J. Pool 
 
 Breaks 
 
 Harrison, Lowfitkls 
 
 Richardson, Tunstall 
 Rev.T. B. Pooley, Thornton 
 Mrs. Foxcroft, Halsteads, 
 
 2 cop. 
 Mr. J. Drinkall, Green 
 
 R. Carr, Burton in Lons- 
 
 dak 
 
 R. Tatham, do. 
 
 J. C. Altham, do. 
 Mrs. Robinson, Hill 
 
 H. Roughsedge, Esq. Ben- 
 
 tham 
 Mr. Marshall, do. 
 
 Overend, do. 
 
 J. Cock, do. 
 
 T. Booker, do. 
 Rarasbottom, Whittington 
 C. Burrow, Esq. Buckstone 
 
 House, 3 cop. 
 
 Rev. H. Sill, Burton 
 
 Rev. J. D. Bannister, do. 
 Mr. Clarkson, do. 
 
 M. N. Pearson, do. 
 
 Thomas Beetham, d. 
 
 J. Langstreth i/<>. 
 Book Club do. 
 Mr. Jenkinson, Yealund 
 
 Clarkson, da. 
 
 Humber, Holme 
 
 Rev. J. Thexton, Beethom 
 George Wilson, Esq. Dallam 
 
 Tower 
 
 Mrs. Blewett, Milnthur/> 
 Mr. Postlethwaite, do. 
 
 Parsons, do. 
 
 Hancock, do. 
 
 Towers, do. 
 
 Mrs. Hay ton, Milnthorp 
 Mr. G. Wbitaker, do. 
 Rev. G. Wilson, Heversham 
 Rev. Dr. Lavvson, do. 
 Mrs. Garnett, do. 
 
 Mr. O. Burrow, do. 
 
 Forbes, Levens 
 
 J. Dockary, do. 
 
 W. Goodman do. 
 Mrs. Binks, do. 
 Mr. Gardner, LeasgiU 
 
 Palmer, Thorns Hall 
 
 J. Upton, Esq. jun. Ingmire 
 
 Hall 
 
 Mr. Robt. Airey, Sedbergh 
 Rev. H. Wilkinson, do. 
 Mr. Batty, do. 
 
 Davis, do. 
 
 T. Fawcett, Gate 
 
 Rev. G. Hebden, Killington 
 Rev. S. Scott, Preston Pat- 
 rick 
 
 W. Johnson, Esq. Old Hall 
 Mr. T. Cartmel, Farleton 
 
 J. Atkinson, do. 
 Mrs. Backhouse, Milton 
 
 W.Bmd]oss,Deeptfiu'aite 
 
 Talbot, Lane Hvuse 
 
 Sill, Black Yeats 
 
 J. Foster, Esq. ChallonHall 
 
 Settle, Gigglestrick, $c. 
 
 W. Birkbeck, Esq. 
 Miss Hartley 
 Miss Holgate 
 J. Moffat, Esq. 
 Mr. Tatham 
 
 Croudace 
 Rev. J. Howson 
 Rev. Samuel EUi* 
 Mr. Broader 
 
 Birkbeck, jun. 
 
 Paley 
 
 Pirn, Swawbeck, 4 cop. 
 Miss Holgate, Stainforth
 
 404 
 
 SUBSCRIBERS, 
 
 Miss Dawsou, Marshfield 
 
 Mr. Harrison 
 
 
 E. Ingleby, Austwick 
 Thos. Foster, Esq. Clapham 
 
 Greenall 
 Ellithorn 
 
 
 Mrs. Clapham, 
 T. Woods, Esq. Gilderskeis 
 
 Eadon 
 Baron 
 
 
 
 Hodgson 
 
 
 Lancaster, fyc. 
 
 Highton 
 T. Peddar 
 R. Robinson 
 
 
 L. Redmayne, Esq. Mayor 
 Rev. T. Rowley 
 Mr. C. Johnson 
 
 Bulfield 
 Shrigley 
 Hartley 
 
 
 Nunns, 2 copies 
 
 Bracken 
 
 
 Carter 
 
 S. Naylor 
 
 
 Minshull 
 
 Whalley 
 
 
 M. Briggs 
 
 Caton 
 
 
 T. Briggs 
 
 Bush ton 
 
 
 Peddar 
 
 Bain bridge 
 
 
 Abbott 
 
 M'Clellan 
 
 
 H.Abbott 
 
 C. Clark 
 
 
 Grime 
 
 Gardner 
 
 
 Danter 
 
 Askew 
 
 
 Stubbs 
 
 J. Fearenside 
 
 
 Pritt 
 
 T. Atkinson 
 
 
 Askew 
 
 Wilkinson 
 
 
 Ashburner 
 
 Miller 
 
 
 Hoggarth 
 
 Dixon 
 
 
 Leeming 
 
 J. Rothery 
 
 
 Ireland 
 
 R. Stout 
 
 
 Foxcroft 
 
 Miss Bayless 
 
 
 Millar 
 
 Beckett 
 
 
 Briden 
 
 Parker 
 
 
 Green 
 
 Aitchinson 
 
 
 Winder 
 
 Hodgson 
 
 
 Swainson 
 
 Townley 
 
 
 Seward 
 
 Mrs. Croudson 
 
 
 J. Knowles 
 
 Mr. Taylor, Skerton 
 
 T. Knowles 
 
 Mrs. Hargreaves, 
 
 Sprin 
 
 Anderton 
 
 field Hall, 
 
 
 Gibson 
 
 Mr. Richmond, 
 
 Bolton 
 
 T. Anderson 
 
 Bilby, 
 
 do. 
 
 Dewhurst 
 
 T. Willacy 
 
 do. 
 
 J. Bathgate 
 
 Miss Shippendale 
 
 do. 
 
 Wilcockson 
 
 Mr. Ridding, 
 
 do. 
 
 Sharpies Park, Slyne 

 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 405 
 
 Preston , Sfc. 
 
 T. Miller, Esq. 
 
 
 Mr. J. Westley 
 
 W. Tomlinson, Esq. Albin 
 
 H. Bowerbank 
 
 Bank 
 
 P. Hamilton 
 
 Mr. Davis 
 
 L. Valentine 
 
 J. Winter 
 
 Smith 
 
 J. Bell 
 
 Bulman 
 
 J. Patterson 
 
 _ J. Wilcockson 
 
 A. M'Kie 
 
 _ T. and J. Barker 
 
 T. Morphet 
 
 _ Walker 
 
 S. Crane 
 
 _ J. Moss 
 
 J. M'Ewen 
 
 A. Irving 
 
 R. Holden 
 
 _ J. Weel, sen. 
 
 Greenwood 
 
 _ F. Hannah 
 
 Irving 
 
 _ J. M'Kune 
 
 J. Moffat 
 
 _ M'Guffoy 
 
 H. Snape 
 
 _J. MKay 
 
 W. Smith 
 Hugh Hunter 
 
 The Paradise Lodge of Free 
 Gardeners 
 
 M'Gowan 
 
 Mr. Newton, HuttonGrange 
 
 Bulman 
 
 
 Hilton 
 
 
 G. Weel 
 T. Briggs 
 T. Roberts 
 
 Ulveraton, <SfC. 
 Robert Jackson, Esq. 
 
 F. Williams 
 
 Myles Sandys, Esq. Jun. 
 
 G. Burton 
 T. Cur wen 
 
 B.Harrison, Esq. Lune Hall 
 Mr. Caddy 2 cop. 
 
 W. Moss 
 
 Jas. Caddy 2 cop. 
 
 J. Lowry 
 
 Jas. Goad 2 cop. 
 
 R. Casson 
 
 R. James 2 cop. 
 
 W. Green 
 
 Remington 
 
 J. Peel 
 
 Jackson 
 
 T. Seward 
 
 _J. Taylor 
 
 T. Clark 
 
 Gilpin 
 
 _ W. Clemmy 
 
 Mason 
 
 R. Pennington 
 
 _ Fairer 
 
 Cubben 
 
 _ G. Atkinson 
 
 W. Blockhurst 
 
 E. Salthouse 
 
 H. Blockhurst 
 
 _ W. F. Hustler 
 
 T. Leigh 
 
 _ J. Soulby 
 
 J. Fallowfield,jun. 
 L. Clarke 
 
 S. Tyson 
 R. Worthington 
 
 _ P. Whittle 
 
 _ T. C. Clark 
 
 _ G. Wilkinson 
 
 _ J. R. Cragg 
 
 J. Park 
 
 _ T. Stables
 
 406 
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Mr. C. S. Kennedy 
 
 Mr. Barton 
 
 Rev. Dr. Stonard, Aiding- 
 
 _ Field 
 
 ham, 2 copies 
 
 Field, Jun. 
 
 Miss Stonard, do. 
 W. Gale, Esq. do. 
 
 Clayton, Grange 
 Briggs, Oak Head 
 
 Rev. T. Caddy, Urswick 
 Rev. W. Ponsonby, do. 
 
 Briggs, Green Oak 
 Miss Briggs, do. 
 
 Mr. W. Cranke, do. 
 
 Mr. Hudson, Holme 
 
 W. Ashburner, do. 
 
 J. Machell, Esq. Newby 
 
 W. Lewthwaite do. 
 
 Bridge 
 
 Fell, Pennington 
 
 Scholes Birch, Esq. Stony- 
 
 Rev. J. Pattinson, Dendron 
 
 dale 
 
 Mr. J. Jackson, Dalton 
 
 J. Atkinson, Esq.Broughton 
 
 Couperthwaite, do. 
 
 J. Crosfield, Esq. do. 
 
 Denny, do. 
 
 R. Machell, Esq. Broughton 
 
 Rev. J. T. Kirkbank, do. 
 
 Grove 
 
 R. Towers, Esq. Duddon 
 
 GrayRigge, Esq. Broughton 
 
 Grove 
 
 Hall 
 
 Mr. Cragg, Ireleth 
 
 W. Leigh, Esq. Cattle Head 
 
 Merry \feather, Milwood 
 
 Mr. J. Bell, Newby Bridge 
 
 Shaddick, Haume 
 
 J. Machell, Esq. do. 
 
 J. Statter, Gkaston 
 
 Rev. J. Romney, Whitestock 
 
 The Apollo Lodge, 544, 
 
 Hall 
 
 Grimsby 
 
 R. Taylor, Esq. Finsthwaite 
 
 J. Richmond, Esq. do. 
 
 Mrs. Braithwaite, Stock 
 
 Rev. G. Oliver, do. 
 
 Park 
 
 Rev. R. Warriner, Lydd, 
 
 J. Harrison, Esq. Landing 
 
 Kent 
 
 Mr. T. Machell, Staveley, 
 
 Mr. T. Fresh, jun. New 
 
 Chapel Home 
 
 Barns 
 
 T. Airey, do. 
 
 Park, Lindale 
 
 W. Briggs, Backbarraw 
 
 Fresh, jun. Steumer 
 
 Mrs. Sunder land, Longlands 
 
 Parkinson, Bardsea 
 
 Rev. N.Wilson, Witherslack 
 
 Green 
 
 Mr. Cooper, do. 
 
 
 Clarke, Ay side 
 
 Cartmel, <*c. 
 
 Johnson, Flookburgh 
 Ashburner, Kents Bank 
 
 G. Bigland, Esq. Bigland 
 
 Kerr, Holker 
 
 Hall, 3 cop. 
 
 Barlow, Barbergreen 
 
 T. M. Machell,Esq.Jwwome 
 
 Brocklebank, Newton 
 
 W. Machell, Esq. Hollow 
 
 Jas. Beck, do. 
 
 Oak 
 
 Jno. Beck, do. 
 
 Rev. P. Richardson 
 
 J. Walker, Wellknous 
 
 Mr. Strickland 
 
 J. Stockdale, Esq. Cark
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 407 
 
 Jppleby, Kirkby Ste- \ Air. J. Hogg 
 
 phen, Sfc. }J\? e11 
 - F. Downes 
 
 Rev. Mr. Milner, Appltby 
 
 R. Pringle 
 
 Rev. Mr. Bellas, Bongate,do. 
 
 - F. Stafford 
 
 Mr. Weymss, do. 
 
 W. Nicholson 
 
 Stephcnson, do. 
 
 T. Hardy 
 
 Captain Dent, do. 
 
 G. R. Taylor 
 
 Mr. T. Fryer, do. 
 
 T. Magail 
 
 C. Fryer, do. 
 W. Hodgson, do. 
 
 P. Laing, South Shields 
 T. Hal], do. 
 
 J. Atkinson do. 
 
 J. Park do. 
 
 W. Pearson, do. 
 
 J. Hall, North Shields 
 
 J. Hird, do. 
 
 Capt. J. Wiseman, Lynn 
 
 Chapelhow, do. 
 
 
 W. Higgin, do. 
 
 
 R. Bateman, do. 
 Mrs. Wood, Satutford 
 
 Mr . Le th er barrow, Gar stung 
 'M'Kie do. 
 
 Hope, Soulby ' 
 Rev. T. Jackson, M. A. 
 
 W. Bateson, Matshead 
 Knox, Blackburn 
 
 Kirkby Stephen 
 Mr. Moore, do. 
 
 Blezard, do. 
 C. Graham, Guilford 
 
 Mason, do. 
 
 I. Grundy, Bury 
 
 Hope, Ducking-tree, do. 
 Rumney, Brough 
 
 J. Morland, Cateral 
 J. H olden, Liverpool 
 
 T. Lancaster, do. 
 
 J. Wilson, 43 Church 
 
 Scott, do. 
 
 Street, do. 
 
 Grindred, do. 
 
 Egerton Smith, do. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey, do. 
 
 Rodick, Gateacre 
 
 Miss Porter, do. 
 
 T. Scarisbrick, Prescott 
 
 ~Mr.\Vlielpdalc,Argill-house 
 
 Miss Scarisbrick, do. 
 
 Stainmoor 
 
 Rev. Mr. Butcher, Ham- 
 
 Rev. Dr. Robinson, Raven- 
 
 bleton 
 
 stonedale 
 
 Rev. Mr. Bryers, Morton 
 
 Mr. Hardy, do. 
 
 Mr. Warbrick, Bispham 
 
 W. Fawcett, do. 
 
 Nixon, Blackpool 
 
 J. Langhorne, do. 
 Wharton, Ashfield, do. 
 
 Dixon, do. 
 Gaskill, do. 
 
 
 Bentham, Manchester 
 
 
 Waters, Harrow^ate 
 
 Sunderland, #e. 
 
 Otley, Keswick 
 Ashton, do. 
 
 Mr. J. Preston 
 
 M. Webster, Carlisle 
 
 J. Armstrong 
 
 W. More, do. 
 
 _ E. Grimes 
 
 E. Bell, Great Orton 
 
 J. Lindsay 
 
 Gibson, Whitehaven
 
 408 
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Mr. Auchterlowme,.Knare$- 
 borovgh 
 
 A. Cowan, do. 
 
 Woodward, do. 
 
 Pratt, Low Wood 
 
 Barrow, Hole, EM 
 
 Storey, Gargrave 
 Joseph Mason, Esq. do. 
 Mr. Hall, Green Head, do. 
 
 Wildman, do. 
 
 Mr. Nicholson, Lowther 
 
 H. Frears, Birmingham 
 
 Strachan, London 
 
 G. L. Dinsdale, do. 
 
 J. Wilson, HebdenBridge 
 
 Halifax 
 
 A. Paterson, Wakefield 
 
 C. Metcalfe, Hawes 
 Miss M. Crow, Bolton-lf- 
 
 Printedby A. Foster, Kirkby I.misdf'e.

 
 J N! -x
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILI" 
 
 A 000 007 587 9