his flight from the Yorkists. In acknowledgment of the protection
    he had received, the King is said to have presented his host with
    this curious glass cup with a prayer that the family should ever
    prosper, and never want a male heir, so long as they preserved it
    unbroken: hence the cup was called "the luck of Muncaster." The
    Hall contains, among other family pictures, one representing "King
    Henry VI. giving to Sir John Pennington, on his leaving the Castle
    1461, the luck of Muncaster."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  HOB-THROSS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "HOB-THROSS."

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

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

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

    This lordship still retains its own coroner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTE:

[6] Qu. Had a grant of?

  THE ABBOT OF CALDER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "THE ABBOT OF CALDER."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  THE ARMBOTH BANQUET.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "THE ARMBOTH BANQUET."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  BRITTA IN THE TEMPLE OF DRUIDS.
  (THE LAST HUMAN SACRIFICE.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "BRITTA IN THE TEMPLE OF THE DRUIDS."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTE:

[7] Birth of Christ.

  THE LADY OF WORKINGTON HALL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "THE LADY OF WORKINGTON HALL."

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

    Sir Thomas Curwen, the seventh in descent from Patric, died in
    the thirty fourth year of Henry VIII. In reference to this member
    of the family, Sandford in his M.S. History of Cumberland relates
    an instance of the pleasant manner in which conventual property
    at the dissolution was dealt with, and disposed of, among that
    monarch's favourites and friends. It is thus given:--"Sir Tho.
    Curwen Knight in Henry the Eight's time, an excellent archer at
    twelve score merks: And went up with his men to shoote with that
    reknowned King at the dissolution of abbeis: And the King says
    to him, Curwen, why doth thee begg none of thes Abbeis: I wold
    gratifie the some way: Quoth the other, thank yow, and afterward
    said he wold desire of him the Abbie of ffurness (nye unto him)
    for 20 ty one years: Sayes the King, take it for ever: Quoth the
    other, its long enough, for youle set them up againe in that time:
    But they not likely to be set up againe, this Sir Tho. Curwen sent
    Mr. Preston who had married his daughter to renew the lease for
    him; and he even renneued in his owne name; which when his father
    in law questioned, quoth Mr. Preston, yow shall have it as long as
    yow live: and I thinke I may as well have it with your daughter as
    another."[8]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTE:

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

  THE ALTAR ON CROSS-FELL.
  (FORMERLY FIENDS'-FELL.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "THE ALTAR ON CROSS-FELL."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  WILLIE O' SCALES.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "WILLIE O' SCALES."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ERMENGARDE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    NOTES TO "ERMENGARDE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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