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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 ONISTON 
 TALES 
 
 TOLD BY W.G.C. 
 
 & PRINTED & 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WM. HOLMES 
 
 ULVERSTON 
 
 MDCCCXCIX .../. 
 
 ' II. 
 
 
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 To the Editor of 
 '■'^ Nothing Much: a Monthly Magazine." 
 
 It was owing to your encouragement that these 
 
 sketches were attempted ; and it is by your help and 
 
 permission that they are now reproduced from your 
 
 pages. Accept, then, the dedication of our little book 
 
 from 
 
 Your obliged contributor, 
 
 W. G. C. 
 
 Coniston, April, i8gg. 
 
 86746'^
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Apology 
 
 The Cairn on the Moor 
 
 The Great Circle 
 
 Of the Mines in the Mountains 
 
 The Three Godmothers 
 
 A Miracle of St. Cuthbert 
 
 The Bow in the Cloud 
 
 The Stor>' of Thurstan at the Thwaite 
 The Ballad of Young Beaumont 
 The Hermit of Monk Coniston ... 
 
 The Leaguer of Carlisle 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 ... ID 
 
 
 ... l6 
 
 
 ... 27 
 
 
 ... 30 
 
 
 ... 38 
 
 
 ... 40 
 
 
 - 53 
 
 
 ... 60 
 
 
 ... 66 
 
 
 ... 70
 
 THE APOLOGY. 
 
 Two poets of old we know, 
 
 Two saga-smiths to-day ; 
 And the one is " Long-ago," 
 
 And the other is " Far-away." 
 
 For the things of Here-and-now, 
 And the thoughts of Now-and-here, 
 
 They write on the wrinkled brow 
 In runes of an evil cheer. 
 
 They bid us be up and fight, 
 
 They shout to us " Forth and strive ! ' 
 From the cock-crow, on to the night, 
 
 As long as we stand alive. 
 
 But the old-world tale says — " Dream 
 Of days that have long gone by, 
 
 By the light of the sunrise gleam 
 And the glamour of memory." 
 
 And over the hills is hope 
 
 And the wonder of distant things, 
 
 As the stars in the telescope 
 Out-glitter your diamond rings. 
 
 So the cares of a weary day 
 
 Fall from us like spring-tide snow. 
 
 When we gaze upon Far-away, 
 Or dream about Long-ago.
 
 THE CAIRN ON THE MOOR. 
 
 It was on Torver moor I lay in the grass ; and the 
 sun was hot on my shoulders, and the heat of it scorched 
 my cheek, and my ear tingled where it was touched by 
 the burning. I was lying on an old cairn, stone-built 
 and mortared with moss ; the crown of the cairn was 
 dimpled like the crown of a ripe apple, and turf and 
 thyme crept about its foundation. Bees were busy at 
 the thyme ; they sailed and stopped, sailed and stopped, 
 and the coming of thera was stillness rather than sound. 
 Then a very little breath of wind swept over the moor, 
 and they took their ways, and went. And then, down 
 in the cairn, I heard talking, as it might be on the other 
 side of a door. 
 
 " No greater gift is given of man to man. With this 
 the tree that grows thick as thy waist is broken and 
 falls, to hollow for a boat, or to prop thy hut-thatch." 
 
 " Give it then to my hand." 
 
 " Nay, listen. With this the bone thy teeth have 
 cleaned is made as a thorn, to let out the life of beast 
 or man." 
 
 " Give it, I say." 
 
 " Nay, hear. With this the oak-stub is hollowed, 
 before one moon grows round, when red-hot stones have 
 been nightly heaped upon it. With this thou tappest 
 softly — so ! — the wild wolf's headbone, or maybe a 
 man's, and he is dead." 
 
 " It is mine."
 
 "And what mine?" 
 
 " This coat of deerskin." 
 
 "That is nothing." 
 
 " This necklet of teeth." 
 
 " That is little." 
 
 " Ho, child, hither ! Leave twining bark-strips and 
 
 turn thy feet to me. And thou, stranger, look upon 
 
 her. Fat she is, for she eats fat of deer. Red is her 
 
 mouth, for she drinks the blood when it is warm. And 
 
 when the snow is deep, she lies by the fire and none 
 
 stirs her. The best she has of all, and she is strong as 
 
 a young wolf" 
 
 * « « » * 
 
 Then I saw the stranger tramping over the moor, and 
 
 the wind blew ; a tall man, shaggy and fierce; and after 
 
 him tripped a young girl, lithe and strong, with fair 
 
 skin, sunburnt, and slim, ungirded waist. Black were 
 
 her eyes, and gleaming ; and rosy her cheeks, with a 
 
 tear on each. Her long dark hair streamed away in 
 
 the wind. On her back she carried the skin sack of the 
 
 stranger, heavy with its load ; and as he went down to 
 
 the ford of the gill, he turned to her, and seemed to bid 
 
 her look well to her burden ; but with no menace ; and 
 
 she looked at him with soft eyes, as a dog looks. 
 
 But by the low turf-thatched hut on the brow of the 
 
 moor stood the other man, heeding them not at all, but 
 
 patting and fondling a sharp stone axe, stroking it over 
 
 as if it had been a living cub of some beast of the hunt. 
 
 Then he hewed at a log of wood, and the axe stuck in 
 
 it. He laughed and shouted, and wrested it away. 
 
 3
 
 Out of the hut crept a woman, on hands and knees, for 
 the door was low. She stood up and stared around, 
 and shrieked out to the man. He held up his treasure 
 before her eyes, and she sat down and rocked herself 
 and tore her hair. 
 
 * * * m * 
 
 There was talking again ; it would be in the stranger's 
 hut, — a little, cooing voice : — 
 
 " Go then, and come back with the greatest buck on 
 the mountains. The fire shall burn, and I will make 
 thee taste savoury meat." 
 
 " It is thee I would eat, bird : soft to my hands, and 
 to my mouth sweet as honey." 
 
 " And to-morrow ? " 
 
 "To-morrow I would lie still and taste what I had 
 eaten." 
 
 "And the third day?" 
 
 " The third day I would set fire to rafter and thatch, 
 and go in the smoke, thy bones and mine together, thy 
 flesh and mine, to the stars." 
 
 " Nay now, fool ; leave this, and away to the hunting." 
 
 " Come thou with me. We will hunt together, and I 
 will show thee a nest of eaglets." 
 
 "What? And who will get firewood, and fetch 
 water, and pick red heather for thy filthy black hut?" 
 
 " We two, afterwards ? " 
 
 " By moonlight ? Go, rough bear, go ; and be as 
 
 men are. Am I not a woman, and thy wife ? " 
 
 *****
 
 Then it was moonlight. The mist lay flat along the 
 valley, as if the waters had risen to the brink of the 
 moor. Outside the hut a fire burnt, and she threw 
 sticks upon it, and stones : and now and then raked out 
 a stone red-hot, to cast it into a great earthen pot where 
 water was bubbling. She looked over the moor. Other 
 huts, hard by, lay silent ; and their fires smouldered and 
 smoked up to the sky. She looked up at the crags. 
 They were black, and nothing stirred betwixt them and 
 her. The moon waded through the clouds, and a red 
 star shone in the fringe of the moon-burr. 
 
 There was one coming over the moor in the mist. 
 She clapped her hands, and ran to meet him, crying out 
 shrilly like a curlew. She ran and stopped. He was 
 gone. Her knees shook as she came trembling back to 
 the hut, and to the sinking fire. 
 
 The moon was over the crags. She climbed upon 
 a hillock and looked out again. There was one standing 
 on the hillock over against her. She plunged through 
 the heather and panted up the brow : but he was gone. 
 Her teeth chattered as she came back to the hut ; and 
 the fire was failing. 
 
 The moon was set now : only the red star stood 
 upon the edge of the crags. She climbed again to watch 
 the brown moor, and lo ! one stooped at the very door 
 of the hut, stooping as if to enter. He was plain to 
 see, between her and the firelight. She flew down the 
 slope, and fell into the doorway ; but no one was there ; 
 and she lay by the dying fire, hardly able to throw twig
 
 after twig upon it. But this she must do, till he came. 
 
 Then the dawn arose ; and then the morning. 
 ***** 
 
 " What, woman ? Is thy man away ? " 
 
 "Oh, neighbour, where is he?" 
 
 "Who should know but thou?" 
 
 " I drove him out to hunt." 
 
 " A hunting he will be." 
 
 " But I saw him cross the moor." 
 
 " It was a deer." 
 
 " But I saw him stand on yon brow." 
 
 " It was no more than a stone." 
 
 " But I saw him come in at this door." 
 
 " Nay then, get thee gone to the wise man." 
 * * * * » 
 
 Then an old man came, brown-skinned and tanned 
 all over, as if he had lain for a hundred years in a peat- 
 bog. His tawny white hair hung to his waist; his 
 beard clothed him below it, and the hair of his limbs 
 was white on the brown. He had a hollow cobble in 
 his hand, and over it for a lid was a lucky-stone, such a 
 bit of slate with an unmade hole in it as you find on the 
 topmost top of Coniston fells. He took red embers in 
 his finger-tips, and set them in the hollow of the stone ; 
 and white smoke curled up through the hole in the lid. 
 He crept into her hut, and the door was shut upon him. 
 She sat weeping outside, and her hair lay in her lap. 
 Within the hut there was a stirring, and harsh singing, 
 and cries. They bade her ask, now or never, of the 
 
 6
 
 wise man made strong in his wisdom. 
 
 * * * m 
 
 " Father, where is he?" 
 " Search." 
 
 "Where shall I turn?" 
 " Higher." 
 
 " Dost thou see him ?" 
 " I see him." 
 " Oh, tell me." 
 " Betwixt crag and water." 
 "Does he stir?" 
 " He sleeps." 
 " O give me tokens." 
 
 " Black and white the stream falls, red and white he 
 lies." 
 
 # * * * * 
 
 She was clambering over the giant screes, calling and 
 crying. Aloft, the cloven crags hung huge above her. 
 Beneath was a black, still tarn. Over against her rose 
 the mountain into the cloud. The screes moved under 
 her feet, that bled from sharp stones, and her knees 
 were red from rough rasping. There was no answer to 
 her cry but what the rocks gave back, shouting to her, 
 all around. Every cranny of the great rock-slide she 
 searched, and rubbed her eyes with torn hand, and 
 clambered forward. Then into a clift she fell, and in 
 her fall she clasped him. 
 
 ■jlt "Jlr TF fF ^p 
 
 " Oh, man of mine, strong man of mine, hunter of the
 
 wolf, and the red deer, and the roe ! 
 
 "How have I lost thee, how have I followed thee, 
 how have I found thee again ? 
 
 " Oh, light of my eyes ; oh, drink of my mouth ; oh, 
 fire of the heart in my body ! 
 
 " Where is the glance of thee? where is the breath of 
 thee ? where is the warmth of thy cold, cold breast ? 
 
 "A great thing he gave; a little thing he got; but 
 he took me to his dwelling, and I am his. 
 
 "How shall I call thee? how shall I awaken thee? 
 the life-blood has run through the crannies of the rocks. 
 
 "The grey rocks have eaten thee, the sharp rocks 
 have torn thee; as a bear, as a wolf, growling over a 
 kid of the goats. 
 
 "This I know; this will I do. Be strong, my 
 shoulders, as an oak ; be hard, my broken feet, as the 
 stones of the crags. 
 
 " I will carry him back to the kinsfolk : I will build 
 him the red sleeping-place of the silent : I will lie down 
 beside him, and hold him fast; and we shall go up 
 together ! " 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 Round about the fire of the dead they stood, the wild 
 folk of the fell: and the heather blazed up with a 
 smothering smoke. There was a great cry, shrill as a 
 curlew's; and a low cry, soft as a dove's; and they 
 looked on one another and nodded with their heads. 
 
 When the fire had died away, out of the embers they 
 plucked a few bones, and a handful of white ashes, and 
 
 8
 
 all that was left of a true heart. 
 
 On the spot of the burning they left them, in a rude 
 urn of clay. Men laid stones around, and roofed the 
 spot over with unhewn stones. Women tore their hair 
 and beat their bosoms, keening and clamouring around 
 
 the cairn on the moor. 
 
 « » * * » 
 
 The bees sailed by to the thyme, and stopped, and 
 clung about the grasses. The sun stood over Dow 
 Crags, and the moon was rising, soft, behind the long 
 fir-woods of Monk Coniston, dreamy and warm in the 
 evening light. It was an easy pillow for a sleeping 
 head, that moss-grown, dimpled pile, and turf-invaded 
 base of the still unviolated tomb. 
 
 " Ah ! " said I, rising, " three thousand years ago — 
 or in dreamland — such hearts may be found ! " 
 
 But I was young, then, and had many things to 
 learn.
 
 THE GREAT CIRCLE. 
 
 He was father and chief of the Tykes, 
 
 when the Tykes were a clan; 
 They chaunted him Son of the Hound 
 
 their mightiest man : 
 In the days when the corries were ice 
 
 and the summits were snow, 
 And the valleys were smothered in birch 
 
 and the levels in flow. 
 He was master of borran and lyth, 
 
 he was lord of the moor, 
 And he followed the hunt like a dog 
 
 for his scent was as sure; 
 With breath as unbroken, and muscle 
 
 as ropy and full. 
 And the beard and the brow of an ape, 
 
 and the voice of a bull. 
 
 When the boar of the swamp was at bay 
 
 it was he that ran in; 
 When the Cave-dweller bellowed and boxed, 
 
 it was he took the skin; 
 And when strangers came up through the woods 
 
 from the far-lying plain. 
 It was he that heaved rocks at their heads 
 
 till they vanished again. 
 His desire was a law to his tribe, 
 
 his saying was good : 
 
 lO
 
 He took what he fancied of weapons, 
 
 or women, or food ; 
 He gave what he wearied of, smote 
 
 what he angered with, — slew 
 Foe that fled, friend that fell, child that cried ; 
 
 and to plead, was taboo. 
 
 So the creature grew heavy and fat, 
 
 and at last, unaware. 
 He was caught, he was speared, he was slain, 
 
 like his brother the bear. 
 And with wailing, and faces flint-scored, 
 
 and anointed with mud, 
 His kinspeople buried him — here, 
 
 where the peat drank his blood. 
 They gave him a spear, that the spirit 
 
 might hunt for his meat, 
 And a slave newly-slain at his head, 
 
 and a wife at his feet : 
 And leaving him housed in the cairn, 
 
 their last offering they made, 
 Of drink in a bowl, and of flesh 
 
 for the peace of the shade. 
 
 Now wonders began. For the folk 
 
 climbed hillward at morn. 
 To wit was the offering accepted 
 
 or wasted in scorn : 
 And lo ! the bowl empty, the platter 
 
 lay cleared on the ground, 
 
 II
 
 And two long grey wolves of the wood 
 
 stretched out by the mound. 
 "He was stirring," they whispered, "at night: 
 
 he has drunken, and fed; 
 He has smitten a stroke at the beasts, 
 
 and is back to his bed!" 
 And they prided themselves on their chief, 
 
 filled platter and bowl. 
 And abode between worship and awe 
 
 for the terrible soul. 
 
 So the days wore to winter; the dark 
 
 out-wearied the moon. 
 And the sun-setting nightly drew nearer 
 
 the mark of the noon : 
 And she that should go with the grave-meal, 
 
 a withered old wife, 
 Nay, she would not: let younger folk fare: 
 
 she was feared of her life. 
 She had seen — What? a wolf? Well, a bear? — 
 
 she had heard — What? the dead? 
 She knew not: her heart was as water: 
 
 her knees failed : she fled. 
 So a dare-devil lass cried "Who fears?" 
 
 and forth she would go : 
 And they found her next day by the grave, 
 
 with her face in the snow. 
 
 Then they trembled, and whispered, and pointed, 
 and fled in aff"right ; 
 
 12
 
 And they hid in their hovels, and listened, 
 
 and quaked through the night. 
 But when celandine glittered, and daisies 
 
 peeped out on the grave, 
 The dread of the dark passed away, 
 
 for the spring made them brave. 
 Till at last on an eve came one 
 
 through twilitten ways, 
 With foam on his beard, and his eyes 
 
 yet afire with amaze : 
 " I have seen him ! — he chased me ! — he caught me ! 
 
 I fought him!" he cried: 
 "I wrestled, — I threw him!" he panted, 
 
 and, speaking, he died. 
 
 Then the elders sat grimly in conclave, 
 
 their feet to the fire, 
 With the Druid, their medicine-man, 
 
 in his magic attire, — 
 Strange feathers and furs of creatures 
 
 they dreaded the most. 
 And a snake-skin for belt, and a mask 
 
 would frighten a ghost. 
 He was wizard, and prophet, and priest, 
 
 and he knew what was wise 
 When war was afoot between men 
 
 and the folk of the skies. 
 So he lay on the turf, and was silent, 
 
 and rising at last, 
 
 13
 
 Spoke out, of the salve that should heal 
 the wounds of the past. 
 
 "There are stones on the fell, there are slabs 
 
 as huge as a steer: 
 Go find them and fetch them. Ye cannot? — 
 
 no matter: ye hear! 
 How lead you the bear that is slain ? — 
 
 ye call yourselves men, 
 And heave with a song at the cords 
 
 by ten and by ten. 
 There are thatch-ropes of hide to your roofs, 
 
 go bind them around : 
 There are rafters, go lay them beneath 
 
 that they roll on the ground: 
 So build you a rampart of rock 
 
 in a ring to the tomb. 
 That he bide in his house, and leave troubling: 
 
 lo ! this for his doom." 
 
 He was architect also, the Druid: 
 
 he scored out the line. 
 And planned what none else of his age 
 
 had the wit to divine : 
 And they chaunted the song of his art 
 
 as they toiled in the blaze, — 
 The art of the Builder in Stone, 
 
 the first of his days. 
 And the soul of the terrible dead 
 
 in his grave was at rest: 
 
 14
 
 And the nights of his people were peaceful, 
 
 their mornings were blest; 
 And less than a little they dreamed 
 
 of the alien eyes 
 That should stare at their work with amaze, 
 
 in this world of the wise. 
 
 15
 
 OF THE MINES IN THE MOUNTAINS: 
 A Greek Letter 
 
 WRITTEN ABOUT 85 A.D. 
 
 [Note. Demetrius was a real person, and so was his supposed 
 correspondent. The tablet he dedicated to Oceanus and Tethys I 
 have seen in the Museum at York. Mention of his studies in Britain 
 is made by Plutarch. We do not know that the Coniston mines were 
 actually worked by the Romans, though many writers have affirmed 
 as much. Perhaps the iron-mines in Low Furness were known to 
 them, and worked even still earlier; for at Stainton, two polished 
 stone celts were found in "the old men's workings." In many other 
 parts of England, the Romans certainly mined and smelted, and their 
 coins and pottery have been discovered in the heaps of slag and 
 rubbish where they worked.] 
 
 Demetrius, the scribe, to Ammonius, master of philo- 
 sophy ; health and happiness. Many a time it has come 
 into my mind, O Ammonius, to send thee word of my 
 latest wanderings in this isle of Britain : but the distance, 
 and the wildness of this barbarous country, and the 
 irregularity of messengers have prevailed. But now it 
 seems I can pay the debt : for know that I am come to 
 the shore of the uttermost parts, to a haven whence 
 to-morrow a ship will sail, venturing forth like Perseus 
 winging his way from the unknown mountains of Atlas, 
 committing itself like the bark of Ulysses to the streams 
 of encircling ocean, in the amazing hope of revisiting 
 Iberia and the pillars of Heracles, and so through the 
 happier waters of our own sea, making for Rome. 
 
 16
 
 Thence to Delphi is as it were but a step; so that even 
 this frail waxed tablet may come to thy honoured hands. 
 The master mariner to whom I spoke but now, laughed 
 at my wonderment when I asked him what chance he 
 had of reaching port. Said he, " With fair wind and good 
 fortune, in two months or so we shall be eating grapes 
 on the quay at Ostia : never a doubt, saving reverence 
 due to the Nereids: and I," said he with a grin, "am no 
 Hylas." But indeed a wonderful place is this little 
 harbour*: five years ago a desert of spreading sandhills 
 by the grey and many-sounding sea ; or at least a village 
 of the wildest barbarians, who in frail barks of 'basket' — 
 so they call it — covered with bulls' hides, essay the 
 fishery of herring and of cod, — yea, even attack the 
 porpoise and the seal. Then comes our great Agricola 
 marching through estuary and forest, opening out dense 
 ways and lightless tracks for the rays of wisdom and the 
 arts of life to enter in. With eagle eye he sees that the 
 haven was fair, being a landlocked pool where three 
 rivers meet, and a narrow opening to the hyperboreal 
 expanse of storm. Note by the way that hereabouts 
 they find pearls, though such as I have seen to-night be 
 but little and internally brownish of hue, with no more 
 than a dull gleam upon them. But with a word our 
 Julius bids a camp arise; and lo! a town, well placed, 
 defensible, and for such a climate neither unfit nor unin- 
 habitable. Yonder, they say, — I saw it not, — one beholds 
 the isle of Mona : and from this port go three roads, — 
 
 *Ravenglass. 
 
 17
 
 to the south, to the north, and to the west, — whereby the 
 goods of the merchant and the sinews of war are carried 
 on the backs of men and horses far into the heart of the 
 land. Here then at the consummation of my travel 
 through woods and wilds I am greeted by the delights of 
 life: supper not wholly uneatable, being a sheldrake, 
 thought a delicacy by these natives, and with it a salmon 
 and oysters. There is a roof above me fairly built: a 
 couch to lie upon, and — wonder of wonders! — a bath 
 within a few paces of the door. What is no less welcome, 
 I find converse of human beings unlike the apes of the 
 mountains. Think not I mean the same breed with 
 those of Africa, but creatures that are not far removed. 
 Thou sayest, even apes are not too mean nor too unclean 
 for thy disciple to regard with the eye of inquiry : be it 
 so; and indeed I have sought to take the measure of 
 these Gadelic monsters, even to the gauging of their poor 
 wits, and the probing of their shallow ideas of things they 
 ignorantly assert concerning the gods. But the mere 
 sound of a Greek or even a Roman voice cheers me, 
 after the painful solecisms of barbarous guides, and the 
 interpreted stammerings of the more uncouth moun- 
 taineers. " Ah me ! " have I often said, as I strove to hear 
 their various and incomprehensible babbling, "who shall 
 interpret the interpreters!" I call them apes, but in jest. 
 Thou knowest I scorn them not wholly in my heart; for 
 as the Roman says, "Homo sum," and so forth. Now 
 wilt thou ask, where have I been? in what wilds? among 
 what savages? finding what adventures? My Ammonius, 
 
 i8
 
 among the Gadeli, for so my apes are called; and in 
 their savagest hills. Mountains I know, and thou 
 knowest: for do not the mountains rise behind Tarsus, 
 my native town, city of great men? and do they not 
 encircle thy sacred home of Delphi? But what is the 
 great Parnassus' self to these they call Skudau, and 
 Elbelin, and the Pens and Kathars and such-like names 
 innumerable in their jargon? Thinkest thou I compare 
 them for their size? not so: for in mere altitude I reckon 
 Taurus or the Heliconian summit at twice their import- 
 ance. Thinkest thou for their prospects? I smile. 
 Never was sight more horrible. For sheer lack of aught 
 that may make travelling endurable ; for cold and wet, 
 for hunger and toil, for roughness of rock and pathless- 
 ness of waste, for treacherous swamp and tangled forest, 
 and above all for danger of yet unsubdued savages, 
 fiercer than their wolves and wild bulls, — for these no 
 Caucasus nor Alps may be compared with that I have 
 gone through to-day; and I shake the dust, — nay, the 
 mud of them, from my weary feet. For being sent, as 
 thou knowest, O Ammonius, by Augustus Domitian, whom 
 the gods preserve, to search out the resources of this 
 island, and to add unknown wealth to the glory of the 
 empire, I came to Eburacum. How I travelled; what 
 honourable reception I had from the governor; how I 
 laboured to approve myself worthy of his welcome, 
 teaching for a season in the schools which he, — greatly 
 (in my judgment) hoping — has founded for the better 
 sort of barbarians; — all this have I written and sent by 
 
 19
 
 the imperial messenger. To the daring seaman who 
 pushes forth into the unknown to-morrow I entrust these 
 less valued lines. Know then that Agricola the governor, 
 having travelled in these parts, and having sought in- 
 formation from the natives, bade me search diligently 
 for certain iron and copper of which tales were told. I 
 heard and obeyed. By the road his centurions had 
 made I travelled through the land of the Brigantes, 
 making all haste across the less rugged but not more 
 fertile hill-country, until I came to a great bay, called by 
 the Britons Mor Kam, which is to say 'the crooked sea.' 
 Thence over wide wet sands. Thou knowest, in these 
 places the sea falls twice a day, and twice comes roaring 
 back to take up its place. Was it that which Homer 
 meant in saying 'the Streams of Ocean,' and not only 
 the currents and whirlpools thereof? I leave this by the 
 way to thy better judgment. Now across the sands there 
 is a well-known road, by the coasts of the Sistuntii : and 
 where the successive estuaries of Lona and Kanta and 
 Lebena give place to dry land, the road is made over 
 white rocks that put me in mind of the white crags of 
 Greece. Forgive the comparison! for to an exile even 
 the likeness of stone with stone takes the eye. And 
 these white rocks, whereof I bring with me morsels, are 
 assuredly like our marble, though coarser in grain, being 
 well fitted for burning to lime. There is also good 
 abundance of a tophaceous marl, fit for agriculture. 
 Now when I had passed the sands without mishap, 
 trusting to my guides, I came to a road well made in the 
 
 20
 
 red earth, through an undulating land ; and on a brow 
 above a little valley found lodging in the station founded 
 by our Agricola*. Thereabouts the rocks are red ; and 
 it needed no witness to show me iron lying somewhere 
 hidden in the limestone. Not to weary thee with many 
 a day's toil, I found good ore, and marked the spots. 
 Showing my tablets of authority to the prefect, I bade 
 him set men to work digging it in places better and more 
 profitable than those where the ignorant natives had 
 scratched the soil with rude stone tools, smelting the red 
 ore in ruder hearths. Thence, after repose, seven days 
 ago — it seems a month of nights — I set forth, hearing 
 that copper was found in the mountains. My heart 
 failed me to venture into those trackless wilds ; but duty, 
 and the service I owe, impelled me to risk my life : 
 for am I not as it were the soldier of philosophy? 
 Therefore I set forth with a good company, and well 
 armed, given me by the prefect, under a centurion 
 responsible for my safe conduct, to whom was added a 
 ragged crew of aborigines who partly for fear and slavish 
 awe, and partly tempted by promises — for Agricola's 
 comity has taught me to deal friendly even with these 
 apes — had taken oath on all they held sacred, — of which 
 more hereafter, — to show me where copper might be. 
 For thou mayest believe to seek mines in these mountains, 
 be a man ever so expert, is seeking knots in a rush, 
 without he have some forewarning of their place. In a 
 little while we left the plain, if plain it be called, being 
 
 *He seems to mean Dalton-in-Furness. 
 
 21
 
 but the shelf of shore along another estuary. Forgive 
 the comparison again! — but I held it not unUke the 
 coasts of thy home, in that mountains stand over against 
 mountains, with inlets of the sea between. Then we 
 struck into the wilderness, and forced our way through 
 woods of oak and beech ; the olive is unknown in this 
 region, nor does the cypress grow, though the juniper is as 
 it were a mockery of it ; and we passed over tracts 
 of heather, which (wonderful to relate) blooms even here. 
 It gladdened me to breathe its well-remembered fragrance. 
 Much club-moss is found on the hills, and plucked by 
 our Britons for charms, according to their religion. 
 Before us were ever the distant mountains, purple on the 
 afternoon sky. The multitude of birds astonished me. 
 Of lesser kinds were flights innumerable : but what thou 
 wouldst admire is the wild peacock of the north, a great 
 bird of many colours that makes its nest in these moors.* 
 At evening, so wearied was I, for I could not always ride 
 on my horse, the ways being far too rough, and I often 
 rode on the back of an unsavoury Gadelus — pity me, 
 Ammonius ! — so wearied was I that I fell supine upon 
 the heather which they gathered for my couch, and 
 so continued until the sun was high. That day I came 
 to a lake, long and narrow, embosomed in the wooded 
 hills. Here the fresh-water fishery might be to some 
 profit, if ever men were brought to live so far away from 
 the world : but who can dwell in such a place, even to eat 
 fresh trout? Upon heathery wastes I did indeed see 
 
 *The Capercailzie. 
 
 22
 
 huts of the Gadeli, and smoke arising. I bade my men 
 catch one of these same apes, that I miglit see whether 
 he had the form of humanity: and one they caught 
 asleep in his lair. He blinked at me from under a shaggy 
 red thatch of matted hair; and truly, though thou mayest 
 exclaim and doubt, he might have passed, were he washed 
 and combed, for one of those red Galatians, long limbed 
 and barbarous of aspect, whom I have seen come down 
 to Tarsus. But he would answer no word to all 
 questions, and my men, being used to such cattle, began 
 to twist his arms and chastise him, that he should speak. 
 But I, more humane, as becomes thy disciple and a 
 follower of our Julius, bade them somewhat sharply 
 to desist. On which released he was gone in the twinkhng 
 of an eye: skipping among the tall bushes of heather, 
 and hardly discernible at the distance of a stone's throw. 
 One of my men, recovering himself, did indeed sling 
 a bullet after him, but it seemed to fail of the mark : for 
 which the centurion smote him down, and promised 
 discipline to those that had let the ape go free. Thou 
 mightest say, my master, that they were not wholly 
 to blame. I will bear it in mind, if indeed punishment 
 be not already meted out. And yet in these wilds there 
 is little time for ethical disputations and the nice balancing 
 of motives, as we use in the schools. The soul of a man 
 deserts his head, and seems to travel to the finger-joints 
 of his right hand; which, being prompt, has a justice of 
 its own in this land of Britain. So thus I came into the 
 very heart of the mountains, beside a roaring stream that 
 
 23
 
 led into a dell exceeding narrow. I passed therein with 
 fear and trembling; for the rocks were high above my 
 head, and great stones lay around, but lately fallen and 
 shattered. By the mercy of the gods we came through, 
 but only to find rocks still more frightful and dangerous, 
 reaching to the sky all around, and great waterfalls 
 hanging from them, and clouds covering their tops, — 
 who knows how lofty and threatening ? I put up a 
 prayer to the deities of the place and to the genius of 
 Augustus, as well I might; and took heart somewhat : 
 for true it is, in spite of doubting, that holy beings dwell 
 in these sacred recesses. Have I not felt their awe? 
 Even my soldiers, — nay, even the apes themselves, believe 
 it, — held breath, and seemed to fear. Now the rock of 
 these mountains is black : and in places I found (for we 
 spent the night even there) certain pillars of stone 
 hexagonal, such as are seen only in land near a burning 
 mountain, for such is my experience. Seeing which, I 
 enquired if fire had ever been known to burst from the 
 earth. They assured me that no such thing was in any 
 old stories or songs of the people. And yet there are 
 great craters in these hills,* like that of Vesuvius; some- 
 times filled with water, which might seem to have 
 quenched the native fire. And yet, thou knowest how 
 Vesuvius, so long quiet, burst forth but five years ago, 
 and with what terrible consequences. I braved every 
 danger, and confident in my mission and the protection 
 
 *It was clever of him to notice this, but he was quite mistaken, 
 as every schoolboy knows nowadays. 
 
 24
 
 of the gods, explored the uttermost cranny of this tartarean 
 gulf. It is in these crannies that copper is found. A 
 white streak of hard stone, sparkling like alabaster, and 
 a glimmer as of gold in it, — or a streak of soft red earth 
 in the solid rock, stained with green spots, — betrays the 
 metal. Some little holes had been dug here and there 
 by the natives, but as before the best places were 
 untouched. These I noted, and the manner of finding 
 them again; and shortly (fortune favouring) shall send 
 men to open out mines, and with due authority to work 
 them for copper. But the lamp burns low. My sailor 
 snores at the door, waiting this hour for the letter I 
 scribble hastily. The tablets will hold no more than 
 must suffice to tell thee how, after a day's journey through 
 hills even as frightful, I came to a fort on a steep, lofty 
 tongue of land in the midst of the mountains, where the 
 builders are still at work.* There I was well received, 
 and resting for one night, travelled more easily by a 
 road even now in making, through a valley unspeakably 
 hideous and wild, beside a river, whereof when I asked 
 the name they could tell nothing but Usg or Esk, 
 which is no more than to say ' water.' Such is the state 
 of these barbarians. And now after short repose I must 
 again venture forth into these mountains, for I hear talk 
 of still richer mines in them. May Oceanus and Tethys, 
 whom I here behold face to face under the stars, send me 
 safe into civilized regions ! May all good gods be with 
 thee ! Farewell. 
 
 *Hardknott Castle, of course! 
 
 25
 
 Salute the young Plutarch for me, and tell him that I, 
 who laughed once, follow him now, in carrying tablets 
 with me, and noting all new things in the moment of 
 seeing them. 
 
 26
 
 THE THREE GODMOTHERS. 
 
 In days of yore on a morn in Yule 
 There were folk at a christening : 
 
 The priest was robed, and the stoup was filled, 
 For the child of the Angle king. 
 
 The child was born at the mirk midnight, 
 And lapped in the snow-white lawn, 
 
 And holden forth from bower to kirk 
 Before the break of dawn. 
 
 * Now who stand out to speak the word, 
 
 And stead him at the font ? 
 And who shall be his godmother 
 
 As Christian folk are wont ? ' 
 
 And lo ! beside the holy step 
 
 Three ladies standing fair ; 
 Raven-locks and Chestnut-curls 
 
 And she with the golden hair. 
 
 Raven-hair with the purple robe. 
 And Chestnut-curls with the plaid, 
 
 And Goldilocks with the great white limbs, 
 And the bearskin, and the blade. 
 
 ' Now take the child, and make the pledge, 
 
 And vow the gossip-vow.' 
 They lifted a hand to the stars above 
 
 And laid it on his brow. 
 
 27
 
 And Raven-hair she gave him a gift, 
 
 That was a kingly wand ; 
 And Chestnut-curls she gave him a gift, 
 
 The harp was in her hand : 
 
 And Goldilocks she gave him a gift, 
 
 And a smile was on her lip, 
 When his little red hand shut hard and fast 
 
 On the tiller of a ship. 
 
 ' Now who be these that none saw come, 
 
 And none have seen depart ? 
 Were these thy saints, O priest, from heaven, 
 
 Or wights of wizard art?' 
 
 ' Nay, neither saints, O king, from heaven, 
 
 Nor wights of wicked birth ; 
 But the greatest of all the powers that be, 
 
 And dwell in middle earth. 
 
 ' For one was queen of the South country, 
 
 And one of the Western realm, 
 And one was queen of the Northern coasts 
 
 That bare the long-ship's helm. 
 
 ' And she that gave a golden rod. 
 
 She has given the ruler's dower. 
 To hold the world in weal and peace 
 
 With the heritage of power. 
 
 28
 
 ' And she that gave the chorded harp, 
 
 She has given a secret spell 
 To call the tears to an angel's eyes 
 
 And a smile to souls in hell. 
 
 * And she that gave the tiller-haft, 
 
 She has given a heart of oak, 
 To drive the horses of the storm 
 In the sturdy sea-king's yoke ! ' 
 
 The king laughed out for very pride, 
 And snapped his thumb in glee ; 
 
 But the priest looked forth to the rising sun, 
 And he signed with his fingers three. 
 
 * Hail to thee, child of the Angle-folk, 
 
 And the gifts that the world has given 1 
 Wield them, and prosper — till thou forget 
 The gift I have brought thee is greater yet — 
 
 The cross of thy Lord in Heaven.' 
 
 29
 
 A MIRACLE OF ST. CUTHBERT 
 
 (about 680 A.D.) 
 
 [There is neither history nor legend of St. Cuthbert at Coniston. 
 The whole story is a might-have-been. But there is nothing in it 
 that might 7wt have been ; and Reginald of Durham might have 
 written it somewhat as follows.] 
 
 HIC INCIPIT MIRACULUM QUOD BEATUS 
 
 CUTHBERTUS IN COUPLANDIA EST 
 
 OPERATUS. 
 
 Of that holy man Cuthbert, pleasant and profitable it 
 is to read ; and though the pen refuses to set down all 
 the journeyings he made, and the words he spoke, and 
 the wonderful actions he performed, and many are 
 perforce omitted from the tale of the reckoning, yet it 
 is not ungrateful to add one other to the chapters of his 
 life, as it has been recounted to us by scribes of old time. 
 
 For whereas Cuthbert was made bishop over the land 
 of the Cumbrians, after that King Ecgfrith had subdued 
 them to his arms, it so happened that the pious monarch, 
 impelled by divine desires, gave into the hand of the 
 holy man all that country which is called Cartmel, with 
 such Britons as dwelt therein, to hold in his free possession 
 for aliment and for comfort in his many journeyings, 
 when the office and work of his ministry called him hither 
 and thither. 
 
 Now being at the city of Carlisle, it was borne in upon 
 him to visit this new possession and to set it in order 
 spiritually no less than temporally: and on the way to 
 confirm the churches, exhorting the faithful, rousing the 
 
 30
 
 sluggards, and compelling all to the faithful following of 
 their high calling. Therefore setting forth with those 
 who never were absent from him, night or day, he passed 
 through the wood of the English until he came to the 
 mountains: where on an island in a remote lake dwelt 
 his dear friend Herbert in hermitage. 
 
 Having visited him and held communion with him, 
 the. holy man took his way fearless through the valleys of 
 the rugged hills and untenanted rocks, by a path nigh 
 obliterated of ancient times, going ever southward through 
 the forest of Coupland : for by this road his guides, the 
 shepherds of the mountains, assured him he might the 
 soonest come into Cartmel. And traversing a great 
 valley, and thereafter hills of no small terror and 
 difficulty, he came at last to a hidden place among lofty 
 rocks, where, beside a lake of water, copper is digged in 
 the bowels of the earth. And because this working of 
 metals belongs by right to the king and is done at his 
 command under officers appointed by him, the place is 
 named Cuninges-tune, i.e. the town or village of the 
 king. 
 
 In this place, among rude people of the mines, and 
 certain Welsh who tended a few sheep and goats upon 
 the greener pastures of the desert hills, there was a church 
 in those days, of no great size or beauty : being but the 
 inartificial building of the priest who tenanted it. For 
 he was an Irishman, and one of that sect and heresy with 
 which even the blessed Cuthbert himself being infect in 
 his extreme youth and ignorance, did afterwards forsake, 
 
 31
 
 and under the guidance of holy church, combat and 
 overcome, and utterly extirpate from all the territory ot 
 the English. It was but some five and twenty years 
 before, that Bega the abbess had built the house of nuns 
 on the promontory that by the British is called Baruth, 
 that is, the Red Headland, being come over from Ireland 
 with her following to spread the gospel in these deserts. 
 Nor is she that Bega of Hackness of whom Bede makes 
 mention, as some do vainly imagine; but another, who 
 from her house of Saint Bee's, as the folk of the place 
 call it, sent forth one and another into the mountains to 
 shepherd the flock of the Lord, and to lead wild goats 
 of the hills as lambs to the fold. Yet even so, her 
 followers were uninstructed in the truth as it is taught 
 to us; baptizing with but one immersion, and shaving 
 the hair across the forehead as the Irish used, and 
 keeping the Paschal feast with vitiated calendar at 
 uncanonical time and season ; though earnest withal 
 in their manner, and learned in the Scriptures and in 
 holy arts. 
 
 This poor man, then, being come through the wilds to 
 the aforesaid place, built there his cell of wattle and 
 daubing, as some maintain ; though others will have it 
 of stones plucked from the rough ground and rudely piled 
 together into the form of a round hut, — no fitting temple, 
 but such as he had ability to raise, — at the ford where 
 the track through the forest passed over the brook flowing 
 down from the copper mines into the marshland, which 
 lies wet and slimy between the foot of the crags and the 
 
 32
 
 water of the lake. Hard by were the cots of the miners, 
 and supereminent above them the house of the reeve set 
 over them by the king. These folk the priest had in 
 some measure induced to outward semblance of respect 
 to holy days and the services of the church ; but by long 
 continuance amongst them and partaking of their uncivil 
 ways, not being under obedience to canonical commands, 
 he had as it were fallen asleep with none to awaken him. 
 
 And so when Cuthbert the holy man, hungered and 
 weary with much travel, approached, he beheld this poor 
 man sitting thus at the door of the cell that was his church, 
 bearded unseemly and unbefittingly attired, while through 
 rents in the walls things sacred were revealed to eyes 
 profane, and the unthatched roof let in the droppings of 
 birds who nested thereupon, to fall over the very altar. 
 Which seeing, Cuthbert was moved to anger and com- 
 passion, saying "O dog of the Lord, why slumberest 
 thou? Art thou then indeed one of those dumb dogs of 
 whom it is written that they cannot bark? Arise and let 
 thy voice be heard. Call thy flock together for the 
 morrow that I may salve them." 
 
 And this being spoken in the tongue of the Irish which 
 Cuthbert knew right well, roused the poor man, who 
 blinked upon him and brought forth his bell, which was 
 as it were an iron pot with a stone hanging therein by a 
 rope of bark; and he began to rattle it. But none 
 answered : for it was of a Saturday at evening, and all 
 were in like manner ensnared with carnal feasting and 
 sodden with ale. 
 
 33
 
 Then the blessed Cuthbert sighed in spirit and went 
 from house to house, seeking for himself and his men 
 where to lay their heads. But none received him, for 
 even the reeve said churlishly that he would have nought 
 to do with strangers, be they who they might. So they 
 came to the last cots in the village, and there was a very 
 mean house, and a poor widow sitting at the door of it: 
 who seeing the man of God rose up and made obeisance. 
 
 Now Cuthbert was tall of stature, of a long face and 
 ruddy, but meagre with fasting : and yet of a countenance 
 most benign, and shining as the sun ; and his eyes were 
 as bright as stars under thick brows that hung over them 
 grey and bushy ; and the bones of his brows were great 
 and stood forward under the sloping field of his forehead. 
 Upon his head he wore a lofty mitre glistening with 
 crystal, and in his hand was the pastoral staff set with 
 many pearls ; and upon his robes were orphreys 
 embroidered with thread of gold. Seeing this poor widow 
 he blessed her and her house, and she bade him enter, 
 for that such as she had was at his service. 
 
 Within the house, which was rudely framed of wattled 
 boughs and thatched with broom, there was scant space 
 for that company even to stand ; and one of the disciples 
 plucked the bishop by the sleeve, bidding him in a 
 whisper beware of the foulness and contamination of so 
 mean a dwelling. But Cuthbert smiled, and penetrating 
 the darkness with his keen glance, beheld upon a bed of 
 heather in the corner two children lying; the one a lad of 
 tender years, and- the other a babe. Their mother 
 
 34
 
 prayed him to forgive their incapacity, for, said she "the 
 lad has lamed himself in the mines where his father was 
 killed a year ago, and the babe is sick, and there is 
 no one can heal it." 
 
 Now of all men whose name has come to our under- 
 standing, this holy Cuthbert was most like to our Lord 
 and Saviour in this, that he loved little children and was 
 good to them: and none of his company wondered when 
 he sat down, and taking the babe in his arms kissed 
 it and blessed it: and it looked up to him and laughed, 
 and in that hour the sickness was abated. And then he 
 did in like manner to the lad, touching him and stroking 
 his hurt, so that in a little while the pain went out of his 
 limbs, and he stood up, and was utterly healed. 
 
 Then came running the daughter of the woman, with 
 a vessel in her hand, and it was empty : for she had gone 
 to find milk for the children, but no one would give 
 to her: and so she returned weeping. But Cuthbert 
 laid his hand on her head and blessed her, and bade her 
 go to the well and draw water; and lo ! when she poured, 
 it was sweet as milk to the taste, and as new milk with 
 the cream therein; so that this well was reckoned a holy 
 well after that Cuthbert had done this miracle. And 
 sitting down, some in the house and some at the door, 
 the men drew from their wallets the crusts that remained, 
 and they supped together, they and their hosts; and 
 never was merrier supper nor better fare, when the holy 
 man had blessed it. 
 
 Now when morning was come the noise of these doings 
 
 35
 
 had gone forth, and a great company was awaiting the 
 bishop, of these who over-night had despised and rejected 
 him. First, he went to the Uttle church, and there did the 
 service in right order. Then, standing in the door, 
 he spoke to the people with that eloquence and divine 
 persuasiveness which many a time softened stony hearts 
 in the recesses of Lodonian hills, and overawed the proud 
 in the halls of Northumbrian lords and wealthy men and 
 the satraps of the king. 
 
 And when he had done speaking they all with one 
 consent lifted up their voices, these kneeling to him and 
 those lifting up rough hands to heaven. As if moved 
 by I know not what heavenly inspiration, some brought 
 wood and timber, others axes and saws ; yea, even the 
 children plucked broom fbr roofing ; and in an incredibly 
 brief space of time, the reeve leading the way and 
 labouring among them, having laid aside his cloak and 
 trappings of dignity, the posts of a new and greater 
 edifice were sunk in the earth, and the frame as it were 
 of a fair church and house of assembly for all them of 
 the village was marked out. For a while the priest 
 stood by as one bewildered, and then in faltering words, 
 " What do ye, my brethren?" he cried, " and ye Romans 
 in this labour on the Lord's day, in which it is not lawful 
 to do any manner of work ? " 
 
 But the blessed Cuthbert looked smilingly upon him, 
 saying " Rebuke them not ; for the Sabbath was made 
 for man, and not man for the Sabbath, This is a work 
 of mercy, and of necessity. It is a gladness and no 
 
 36
 
 labour, to build the Lord's house on the Lord's day." 
 And with that the priest himself, as if smitten with the 
 contagion of fervour, threw down his encumbering 
 garment at the bishop's feet, and fell to haling and 
 dragging of timber until the sweat dripped from his 
 temples. 
 
 So cheerfully they wrought that by sunset the new 
 house was roofed ; and if not wholly finished nor a work 
 of perfect architecture, still serviceable and ready to be 
 consecrated : the which was done before the blessed 
 Cuthbert took his ways and went on his journey to the 
 region of Cartmel. 
 
 Now this is accounted the greatest miracle which St. 
 Cuthbert did in the land. For to heal the sick is a 
 great work, and to turn water into wine is a wonderful 
 thing; but no man by human wit and science alone 
 could impart to sordid souls the greatest of all spiritual 
 gifts, as then, when by divine grace, and the working of 
 heavenly might, he made churls charitable. 
 
 37
 
 THE BOW IN THE CLOUD. 
 
 The floods were out at Coniston, 
 
 And round the Waterhead 
 On road and meadow, hour by hour, 
 
 The rising water spread. 
 
 It rained as it had never rained ; 
 
 It stormed, — at each alarm 
 The creaking fir-tree mopped and mowed, 
 
 And waved a threatening arm. 
 
 And Yewdale crags were out of sight, 
 
 It was so thick that day ; 
 Only their falls like lightning-forks 
 
 Glared white upon the grey. 
 
 Then Baby, from the window-sill, 
 
 Peered out into the gloom. 
 With anxious eyes, as one who waits 
 
 The very crack of doom. 
 
 " What is it then, my little one? 
 
 Come down," the mother said ; 
 "You'll scare yourself:" — for older folk 
 
 Had cause to feel afraid. 
 
 " O mother, let me stay a while ; 
 
 The storm will soon be done, 
 I'll tell you when the rainbow comes, — 
 
 You know there will be one." 
 
 38
 
 Yes, — differences must be, while men 
 
 Dwell on the outer form : 
 There must be strife, while flesh is weak 
 
 And blood is quick and warm. 
 
 The only peace, the only truth 
 
 Is that primeval faith 
 That holds the Promises of Good, 
 That looks for rainbow after flood 
 
 And glory after death. 
 
 39
 
 THE STORY OF THURSTAN AT THE 
 THWAITE. 
 
 Chapter I, Of the folk that dwelled there. 
 
 Chapter II. How the Kent-dale men came. 
 
 Chapter III. How two monks came to the Thwaite. 
 
 Chapter IV. How Thurstan's house was divided. 
 
 Chapter V. Doings at the Thing. 
 
 Chapter VI. Of the withstanding in Yewdale beck. 
 
 Chapter VII. Of the burying of Thurstan. 
 
 [The division of High Furness was made in the reign of Henry 
 II., in the days of Abbot John Cantsfield. Dolfin of Kirkby 
 and the rest, as well as the two monks, are historical characters, — all 
 except the family at the Thwaite ; which place nevertheless may 
 have been a Norse settlement, probably the first Norse farmstead in 
 our immediate neighbourhood. 
 
 It is true that no sagas were ever written here ; but there must 
 have been tales told by the Northmen's descendants which, had they 
 been written down, would have fallen more or less into saga-form : 
 thus :— ] 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Of the folk that dwelled there. 
 
 Thurstan hight a man. He was Swainson : Swain 
 was Thurstanson: and their fore-elder was Swain, the 
 son of Thurstan of the Mere. He dwelt at the Thwaite ; 
 that is at Conyngs-tun in the land of Hougun, by the 
 side of the mere that was his mere. He was a stout 
 
 40
 
 man and a strong man of his hands, but elderly, and 
 stirred out little from his fields downbank along the 
 waterhead and the garths on the how aback of his hall. 
 For he saw the way things were going, and liked it not : 
 being a man of the old sort, and not given to change. 
 Most of all he hated King Stephen, though he had little 
 love for King Henry that was : but ever a good word 
 for the King of Scots, that had been reckoned overlord 
 of these parts in his young days, and let folk be, with 
 no talk of stirring old use and wont. Now the old use 
 in these parts was that every man was his own man, and 
 no king's man whosesoever. 
 
 Thurstan wedded Gunnhild ; she was Orm's daughter 
 of Kirkeby nigh Gerlewarth ; but she was dead. Their 
 son was Swain, and their daughter was Ingiburg. Swain 
 was a good farmer, but this grieved Thurstan, that his 
 son should be ever after new fangled ways in farming. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 How THE Kent-dale men came. 
 
 Now it was a day when men came to the Thwaite 
 and asked guesting. None said nay, for many passed 
 by that road, what with thingmen going to Little 
 Langdale, what with cowper-lads and chapmen : there 
 would be never a two-months' time but new faces came 
 by, and all were welcome. So when they had bite and 
 sup, says the head man of them, ' Well I know thee, 
 master Thurstan, by name, and better would I kno\^ 
 
 41
 
 thee by nature.' With that says he, sitting easily in his 
 high-seat, ' Little there is to know but what there is to 
 see. I am an old man, in the old spot.' * Well,' says 
 the other, 'there is one I serve would be thy friend.' 
 'Good friends,' says he, 'are always good finding.' 
 'True,' says he, 'and this is a good friend and a bad 
 foe.' * I like him the better," says Thurstan at the 
 Thwaite. 'They call him William of Lancaster,' the 
 other went on. ' I like him the worse,' says Thurstan 
 in his beard. ^Splendor Dex,' says the stranger, 'but 
 thou must like him or lump him.' ' And who art thou, 
 thrall of him they call baron, to come knapping French 
 at me?' Now this was Bernard the forester, and with 
 him was his brother William, and they had a half-score 
 of men with them. And they leaped up and rattled the 
 arrows in their quivers. ' Peace, lads,' cried Thurstan, 
 * I bide no durdoms in my hall. Sit ye down, and sup 
 mannerly. Are ye slockened? Then come with me 
 and I will show ye somewhat' With that he took his 
 great hoUin staff, and went forth of the door, going stiffly 
 because of his age and of the sickness that was in his 
 knee-joints : and led them up to his how aback of the 
 hall, and bade them stand in the garth that was atop of 
 the how, when you come out of the wood on the how- 
 side. 'Look ye well," said he, waving the hoUin wand 
 around, so that they backed somewhat ; ' Look ye well 
 and see yon garths and fields, folds and cots, and the 
 reek rising from the hall of the Thwaite. All this land,' 
 said he thrusting the wand into the ground, "all this 
 
 42
 
 land my fore-elders took when it was no-man's land. 
 All this land they cleared, and digged, and ploughed, 
 and tilled. All yon cots they built for their thralls : and 
 yon hall for themselves and their children. Two 
 hundred winters they have lived on this spot, and I 
 hold it now. Go back to your lord that calls himself a 
 Northman, and tell him this. If Northman he be, a 
 Northman's hand he shall have. If Frenchman he be, 
 my old knees are none so lish as they were.' And so 
 the men went back to Kent-dale very ill pleased ; but as 
 for the baron, men say he laughed at that word, and 
 was loath to take it ill. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 How TWO MONKS CAME TO THE ThWAITE. 
 
 Now it was another day, and two monks came that 
 gate. They were clothed all in woollen, and wore white 
 kirtles that were long to the feet, and hoods and white 
 scarves they called scapulary, and over all, for the 
 weather was cold by now, black gowns to wrap them in. 
 Also they had boots, but gloves they wore none. And 
 the thralls gaped at them, but Thurstan gave them a 
 seat, and they broke bread, but flesh-meat they would 
 not so much as look at. Nevertheless they might drink 
 ale, and they drank it, but not much. So when they 
 were fed, they began to open out their business and it 
 seemed that the one was brother William of Leeds, he 
 who afterwards was cellerar in the Abbey of St. Mary's, 
 
 43
 
 and the other was brother William of Lonsdale. 'Why,' 
 says master Thurstan, *it rains Williams nowadays. 
 But no harm,' says he, 'since we like a sup of wet.' 
 
 * And get it,' says the monk. ' And thrive on it,' says 
 Thurstan. ' For ' says the monk, ' He sendeth it on 
 the evil and the good,' ' So I have heard tell,' says 
 Thurstan. ' Maybe ye think us heathens, but many's 
 the time that word has been flung at my head by father 
 John there, when we have had our little strifes : — 
 easily settled, father John, easily settled, man, are they 
 not ? ' ' It is well ! ' said the monk : ' for we of Holy 
 Church love a man of worth that bows his neck to the 
 yoke that is easy and light ; and in that hope we come.' 
 
 * What now ? ' says Thurstan to the ale-horn, as it were. 
 
 * Our lord abbot and our house of St. Mary in Furness, 
 by the grant of King Stephen of blessed memory' — 
 ' Whom God forgive,' says the old one. ' It is well,' says 
 the monk, ' for all men need it, and the prayer becomes 
 all that can say it; but as I am bidden tell thee, our 
 lord, knowing thee to be a true son of the Church, — 
 though as yet lacking — we all lack, my good sir, — 
 somewhat of perfection, our lord would have thee know 
 that by such kingly grant this land is in his holding ' — 
 
 * It was never a king's to give,' broke forth master 
 Thurstan. ' Hear me, my good master, and hear a 
 friend friendliwise. Our lord abbot is loath to use 
 violence, as violent men of the world use. There be 
 those yonder,' he went on, waving his hand to the 
 morning-ward, 'would think no more of roof-burning 
 
 44
 
 and throat-cutting than of smoking a wolf out of his 
 earth. Now of all such our men be free, for who dare 
 touch the lands of Holy Church ? Many, aye and thy 
 own kin, they of Kirkeby, have come in to us : and 
 what ask we of them? Burdens? Gifts? Shames? 
 Nay, it is honour we show them, gifts we give them, 
 their burdens, as the apostle bids, we bear. Ask master 
 Dolfin thy brother, ask Orm, or any of the holders of 
 the southlands: and be guided.' But for all answer 
 looked master Thurstan across the hall and through the 
 reek of the hearth, as one in a dream ; and then slapping 
 his right hand upon the arm of his seat, said he, * See 
 ye this old settle? Heart of oak it is, and black with 
 eld. See ye yon rafters and balks ? soot-blue they be, 
 and even yet sound as a bell. See ye the smoke going 
 up ? For two hundreds of winters never has the spark 
 died out on the hearth. Holy church we reverence; 
 lords we love not : thralls we are not. And sooner than 
 follow yon nithings to their shame, I would see the roof 
 of my fathers in a low, and lie like a blue coal among 
 the ashes.' So the monks went home and told the 
 abbot, and he took it badly enough. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 How Thurstan's House was divided. 
 
 So matters went on for that winter and no stir was 
 made; for if the Abbot came in with force then he 
 would have the baron against him, and if the baron sent 
 
 45
 
 his men against the folk of the fells, then the Abbot 
 would complain of him to the King. But they went to 
 work nevertheless, by words and promises and threats to 
 bend the holders to their side and so get what they 
 wanted ; for it is said ' Possession is nine points of the 
 law.' And in a while Swain Thurstanson says he is 
 bidden to Kent-dale to guest with the baron there ; and 
 with much grumbling from his father, off he goes in 
 his best clothes ; and back he came, boasting of the 
 friendliness of my lord, and the kindness of my lady, 
 and the new ways of hunting and the weapons he had 
 seen : until his old father bade him hold his peace for a 
 fool. And then must Ingiburg away to the abbey for 
 what father John called a pilgrimage for the good of her 
 soul ; and will he, nill he, Thurstan must give her horse 
 and horseman to ride withal; and back she came 
 chattering like a jay of the fair great houses of the 
 monks, and their chapel so rich with carven work and 
 gold and gems, and the singing of the choir, and the 
 preaching of one that spoke to the heart, and the 
 goodness of all the holy men, and their sufferings at the 
 hands of worldly folk — * Like me,' growls Thurstan at 
 the Thwaite. And so he abode like one betwixt two 
 fires, or a balk of timber men are bringing to a house- 
 building, when the oxen are unruly and pull two ways 
 at once. 
 
 46
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 Doings at the Thing. 
 
 Now midsummer was come, and men rode to the 
 Thing as of old use and wont. For matters of the 
 countryside were still talked over at the old spot in 
 Little Langdale, and folk met there year by year for 
 their sports and their speaking, however it were of little 
 avail. And this time it was said there would be talk of 
 this new business, namely the business of the abbot and 
 the baron and their striving for the fell country. So 
 thither rides Thurstan at the Thwaite with his men; 
 and there he finds his kinsmen Dolfin and Ulf of 
 Kirkeby, and Orm of Ourgrave, and Ailward of 
 Broughton, and Gillemichael of Merton and Orm 
 Bernulfson of Urswick, and Siward and Ketel and 
 others of the old stock, such as had gone under the 
 abbot, because they lived near at hand to him, and 
 feared the Church, and saw what was coming. But 
 with these old Thurstan would have nought to do, and 
 when they spoke friendly he passed them by. And 
 when the business was opened, they spoke for the 
 Abbot and praised his rule, and their lot, and threatened 
 all gainsayers with the ban of the Church, and house- 
 burning and man-slaying. Then spoke up the men out 
 of Westmorland, from Ambleside way and Bronulfs 
 head and Kent-dale and the Lyth, and they were for the 
 baron, bidding the fell-folk think on his might and 
 wealth ; for, said they, he could crush the whole tale of 
 
 47
 
 them as a lad cracks a nut in his teeth. And then the 
 old man held up his hand to speak. He was tottering 
 with eld and with wrath : and the words clove to his 
 tongue; and he stood there white and angry, being a 
 laughing-stock to all. But before speech could come 
 of him, there was thrusting among the crowd, and into 
 it pressed a little man, in a long gown, swordless and 
 beardless : but behind him was a company of billmen 
 and bowmen, no folk of the fells, and around and about 
 the Thingstead rode a many men on great horses, 
 mailed and helmed, with long spears, and painted 
 shields, and one of them bare a banner, and it was the 
 banner of King Henry. And the little man, going 
 boldly up, stood on the mount, and cried out shrilly as 
 one who speaks a strange tongue, and mockingly as 
 one who has his foe at his foot : and he said * By your 
 leave, good men and liege men all; by the leave of 
 this good company whatsoever it calls itself: the king 
 speaks : hear the word of the king.' And so he fell to 
 reading off a scroll in Latin, and setting it out in English 
 bit by bit, as a lad does with his grammar-task : — 
 ' Henriais, Henry, Dei gratia, by the grace of God, rex 
 AnglicE, King of England, and so forth and so forth. 
 Sciatis omnes, know ye all, ad quos, to ^^Yioxa^prcesentes 
 littercB, these present letters, pervenerint, may come, and 
 so forth. Inspeximus cartam, we have seen the charter — 
 friends, by your leave I pretermit the Latin, which is 
 here for your learned inspection, and come to the 
 business in plain terms. The king sayeth, he confirms 
 
 48
 
 the grant of Stephen Earl of Boulogne and Mortaigne 
 and late king of England, to the abbot and monks of 
 St. Mary in Furness, giving them all his forest of 
 Furness and Wagheney, and so forth and so forth. 
 Likewise our lord the king hath seen and does hereby 
 confirm the grant from the honour of Westmorland to 
 William of Lancaster of the barony of Kent-dale, and so 
 forth. And whereas a certain land or lands, being 
 forest and debateable ground is or are in dispute betwixt 
 the two, namely the abbey of Furness and the barony 
 of Kent-dale, and whereas for the better holding of the 
 king's peace and the settlement of this realm it is 
 reasonable and proper that such dispute should be 
 determined : — Now therefore the king commands and 
 ordains that thirty good men and true, being well 
 acquainted with such land or lands, namely, the lands 
 in dispute between the Abbey of St. Mary's in Furness 
 and the Barony of Kent-dale, do appear before commis- 
 sioners as hereby constituted and hereinafter appointed, 
 and there and then make oath that they will truly and 
 justly and equally survey apportion and divide the land 
 or lands in the dispute herebefore mentioned : and that 
 such division being made and determined the parties 
 thereto are hereby summoned — ' 'What says the chatter- 
 ing con, in a tongue a man may hear ? ' quoth Thurstan 
 to his son. 'Thus much I gather, that they have 
 netted the boar and will forthwith flay him.' And when 
 folk saw a young man leading an old one, they made 
 way, seeing that he was sick to death. 
 
 49
 
 Chapter VI. 
 Of thk withstanding in Yewdale beck. 
 
 Thurstan at the Thvvaite sat on his liow that is aback 
 of his hall, in the garth that is on the how, as you come 
 out of the woods on the how side. Thurstan sat there on 
 a rigg of stone that comes up out of the turf, and the 
 stone is blue stone, but is waved in the bait like sand 
 of the sea strand : and that stone is there to this day. 
 Thurstan had let do on him his sword, that was his 
 father's and his father's father's sword before him : and 
 he loosened the strings from the sheath and laid it 
 athwart his knees. And no man spoke to him. In 
 Yewdale all was still. But about noontide when the 
 sun was bright there was a flickering in the trees of 
 Yewdale, where Yewdale beck comes out from betwixt 
 Raven crag and Yewdale crag : and in a while a 
 company of people was seen, some a-foot, some a-horse, 
 coming down the beck bottom as it were down a road. 
 Now these were the company of the thirty men, who 
 had taken oath to divide the land of the fells according 
 to the bidding of Henry : and their dividing was on 
 this wise. First they compassed the country round 
 about, beginning even from Little Langdale, and going 
 by the Broadwater, that is Brathay, to the head of 
 Winandermere, and thence by Leven to Greenodd. 
 And then they made the boundary from the Thingstead 
 to Wreneshause and so dovv'n the Duddon to Broughton 
 and the sands. And lastly they lialved the land so 
 
 50
 
 marked out ; tor they came beating the bounds from the 
 Bratliay to Tillesburgthwaite, and from Tillesburgthwaite 
 down Yewdale beck and so to the head of Thurstan's 
 water, and down the farther shore of Thurstan's water 
 to Crake. But by now they were come into Yewdale : 
 and the array of their company was seen flashing and 
 moving in the noonday sunhght in the dale betwixt the 
 crags and the woods wherein the Tarns are. Which 
 when the old man saw, he stood up, and held his sword 
 in his right hand, and passing out of the garth-door he 
 went slowly down the hill that was his howe, and stood 
 in the beck that was his beck, wading knee-deep in the 
 brown water, and standing there so still that the trout 
 nestled and nosed against his knees. When suddenly 
 by a bend of the river the foremost of the thirty sworn 
 men came in sight, and it was Dolfin of Kirkeby, who 
 knowing that land right well was the guide and leader 
 in their wayfaring. And he was the brother of Thurstan's 
 wife. Whom when Thurstan saw he bade him stand 
 and asked him by what right he thus entered his land 
 with men not unarmed. ' Brother ', said he, — ' No 
 brother,' cried the old man, * I know thee not, if thou be 
 not that nithing of the Northmen, that thrall of the 
 monks, that betrayer of thy kin — ' ' Peace, old man,' 
 cried they all, ' and let the king's warrant pass.' ' Fiend 
 take ye all,' shrieked the old man, and his eyes were 
 flashing and his face trembling. ' Foul fall your king, 
 and you, ye dastards, nithings all ' ; and he spat upon 
 them, and heaved up his brand to fall upon the fore- 
 Si
 
 most, crying out with a great cry. But even in that cry 
 he fell, and lay there flat in the water : and when men 
 stooped to lift him up there was no life in him. 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Of the burying of Thurstan. 
 
 After that went Swain Thurstanson to Dalton to 
 speak with the priest there of the burying of his father 
 that was dead. For folk of these parts must go even so 
 far to get kirk-burial. But the priest, he was brother to 
 the Abbot of Furness, said that one who had fallen in 
 resisting the church and the king's men, and with ill 
 words in his mouth, should have no Christian burial at 
 his hands. And so they buried him on his how, and 
 poor folk wept for him. And so ends the story. 
 
 52
 
 THE BALLAD OF YOUNG BEAUMONT. 
 
 [In the time of Edward III., Sir John Elland, sheriff in Yorkshire, 
 attacked Quarmby Hall and slew Sir Robert Beaumont. His two 
 boys and widow went to Towneley in Lancashire and Brereton in 
 Cheshire, where they lived until the lads were grown up. Then, 
 with young William Lockwood, son of another victim of Elland, 
 they met Lacy, Dawson, and Haigh at Cromwellbottom near Brig- 
 house, and killed Elland; after which they fled to Furness Fells 
 (1346). In or about 1363 they returned to Yorkshire, and tried to 
 recover their patrimony, but were set upon by the people and slain 
 (Whitaker's, " Loidis and Elmete," III. 396). In 1346 the Fleming 
 of Coniston was Sir John, who was succeeded in 1353 by his elder 
 son Richard. 
 
 The ballad is such as would give the tradition of our local Robin 
 Hood, after some generations had blurred and confused it. In 
 1350-60 there was probably no park, though there were deer: there 
 were no tall chimneys, though there was a Coniston Hall : and it is 
 not certain what was the age of the Springs bloomery, though I 
 think it may have been in working about the time of the story]. 
 
 When grass was green and shaws were sheen 
 Young Adam o' Beaumont's gone 
 
 To hunt the roe and the fallow doe 
 In the park of Cunningston. 
 
 For he has slain the proud Elland 
 
 That did his father quell, 
 And he has fled with his merry-men all 
 
 To the woods of Furness Fell. 
 
 53
 
 There's Adam, and his young brother, 
 And Lacy, and Lockwood's Will, 
 
 And Dawson tough, and Haigh o' the Clough 
 That the sheriff's life did spill. 
 
 And they have ta'en to the Furness Fells 
 
 Their outlawry to bide, 
 But little they reck of the outlaw's doom 
 
 And little their deeds they hide. 
 
 In Satterthwaite they housed them 
 
 In a safe and sure bigging, 
 All for to drive the Abbot's deer 
 
 And the deer of the proud Fleming. 
 
 So now when dew was white on grass 
 
 Or ever the morn was red, 
 They tripped so light o'er Grizedale moor 
 
 And turned the Waterhead, 
 And the granger woke as he heard them pass 
 
 And cuddled him closer in bed. 
 
 Fowl and folk were sound asleep, 
 
 Toft and town were dark, 
 And Coniston hall was steeked and still 
 
 When they brake into Coniston park. 
 
 Swiftly ran the good greyhound. 
 
 And sharply twanged the bow, 
 And for every flight the arrow flew 
 
 A hart was lying alow, 
 
 54
 
 " Come, big we here a bright bonfire, 
 
 And brittle a hart o' greece : 
 Hold now your hand, my brethren dear, 
 
 And break your fast in peace. 
 
 " Here's venison steaks would feast a duke 
 
 And drink that never will fail, — 
 It is my proper tap," quoth he, 
 
 " For they call it Adam's ale ! " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Sir John he waked and Sir John he winked; 
 
 " Is the laithe afire " ? quoth he, 
 •* Nay, nay, Sir John, 'tis a pitstead reeks ; 
 
 Lig whyat," said his lady, 
 
 Dickon looked out, the young Fleming, 
 
 And Robin looked out, his fere ; 
 And as they stood at the grey garth-yett 
 
 A laugh on the breeze they hear. 
 " The woodland thieves are breaking our park, 
 
 And taking our fallow deer ! " 
 
 Forth they went with their meinie. 
 
 They were six men and a score ; 
 ** Now will ye fight or will ye flee? 
 
 For we be twenty more ! " 
 
 Adam he drew a good yew bow, 
 
 And Will, and his fellows all ; 
 But a score still stood in a laund of the wood 
 
 Though six of the foe should fall. 
 
 55
 
 " A boat, a boat," cried young Lacy, 
 
 And " A boat," cried wily Will : 
 " Now stand, ye rogues," cried Robin and Dick, 
 
 " We'll be upsides with ye still ! " 
 
 By Thurston water there's a spot — 
 
 Ye'll ken the Springs for sure ; — 
 Where smithy folk should land a boat 
 
 For leading of the ure. 
 
 " Cut her adrift, lads ! " Adam he cried, 
 
 " I'll hold them while ye board." 
 But even as she took the waterway 
 
 He's fallen on the lairy sward, 
 
 " A rescue, a rescue ! " cried they then, 
 
 And backed upon the oar ; 
 But up there came the Fleming's men 
 
 And he's down beneath a score. 
 
 "Now fare ye well, my merry men all, 
 
 Farewell till the morrow's morn ! " 
 " We'll stop thy false tongue," Dickon he growled, 
 
 And gagged his mouth in scorn. 
 
 Sir John sat on his high ha' seat : 
 " Now fetch the rascal here. 
 
 To be judged for shooting of my men 
 And for slaughtering of my deer. 
 
 56
 
 *' For these two deeds that thou hast done 
 
 It is each a felony : 
 So think to-night upon thy sins, 
 
 And to-morn on the hangman's tree." 
 
 The gag was rugging at his teeth, 
 
 His hands and feet were fast. 
 And beards wagged all in Coniston hall 
 
 For they'd ta'en the thief at last. 
 
 And never a soul would rue the morn 
 
 But one, her name I'll tell, 
 That was the lady's bower-maiden 
 
 And they called her Kirsty Bell. 
 
 It was Kirsty here and Kirsty there, 
 
 And " Kirsty, fill for me ; " 
 But aye as he sat on the rushen floor 
 
 He followed her with an e'e. 
 
 So light of foot, so fair of face, 
 
 And a look so soft and kind ; 
 " And O," thinks he, " could I win me forth 
 
 She never should bide behind." 
 
 Sir John was merry, the lady laughed, 
 And Dickon and Rob 'gan sing : 
 
 " Lass, take yon knave a sup of ale 
 For a health to our lord the king : 
 
 It will put him in heart to play his part 
 O' the morn," says the proud Fleming. 
 
 57
 
 " How can he speak, if his mouth be stopped?" 
 
 Says Dick, "Take out the gag." 
 " How can he stand if his feet be fast?" 
 
 Says Rob, " Then let them wag." 
 
 " How can he drink if his hands be tied ?" 
 
 " Why so ! " says Kirsty Bell, 
 And sned the cord with a carving-knife 
 
 Or ever the shouting fell. 
 
 The bicker was in his left hand. 
 
 And the whittle was in his right : 
 " Here's to the king ! " cried Adam Beaumont, 
 
 " And the lads I'll meet to-night ! " 
 
 O, and folk were fain to flee 
 
 When they saw yon whittle shine, 
 
 But their feet were all in a snarl with ale 
 And their eyes were mazed with wine. 
 
 And man ! there was a durdom 
 
 Or ever they cleared the hall : 
 There were folk aneath the table board 
 
 And up the chimney tall. 
 
 ** Away, away, my bonny lad. 
 
 It is no time to laik ' " 
 " But will ye 'gree, and flit with me? 
 
 Or never a step I take ! " 
 
 S8
 
 He's dipt her up betwixt his arms 
 
 As a shepherd carries a lamb, 
 And they're afloat in the Httle cock-boat 
 
 The bainest gate for beam. 
 
 And whiles she'd laugh, and whiles she'd greet, 
 And the stars shone bright aboon ; 
 
 And eh ! but life and love were sweet 
 By the light of a hunter's moon. 
 
 59
 
 THE HERMIT OF MONK CONISTON. 
 
 [It is often asked by readers of the late Dr. Gibson's " Ramblings 
 and Raving's round the Old Man," whether his "legends" are 
 founded on fact, or mere inventions of his own. That of the hermit 
 at Bank ground was based on a tradition preserved by the old 
 statesman-family there, who used to show a well which, like another 
 between Far End and the village, had some repute as a holy well. 
 It is likely that there was a hermit, or more than one in succession, 
 on the spot where the Bankes family afterwards made their 
 "Ground." As a set-off to the rollicking nineteenth-century tale 
 of "Father Brian," I have tried to sketch the portrait of a real 
 hermit, from authentic records. 
 
 In the middle of the fourteenth century certain Yorkshire nuns 
 wrote the life of Richard Rolle, of Hampole, preacher, author and 
 hermit. They prepared it in the form of an "office" or service to 
 be used in celebrating his feast-day, for they hoped that the Pope 
 would canonize him, as indeed was well deserved; for no man has 
 ever written more nobly of the love of God and the life of the 
 Christian than Richard Rolle ; he was one of those born saints who 
 were a real blessing to their age. Whether the nun's petition never 
 reached the Pope, or whether the Devil's Advocate prevailed, we 
 know not. Richard is not on the Calendar; but his Life and 
 Works remain, in mediaeval English and medieval Latin, to show 
 us what a real hermit might be, if we need assurance that the faith 
 was not without witnesses in an age we call dark and erring. 
 
 Fancy, then, for a moment, that another such lived here ; and that 
 the house of Furness put in their claim for him. On this wise, in 
 the florid Latin of their day, they would have written]. 
 
 Fragment from an unedited MS. of Furness Abbey. 
 
 That blessed John, who for the honied sweetness of 
 his eloquence and the golden sentences of his wisdom 
 may rightly be called a second Johannes Chrysostomus, 
 
 60
 
 was born in a certain city of the meridional parts of 
 England ; but his parents being of the north country 
 and loving the mountainous rudeness of this their 
 fatherland more than the urbane enjoyments of the 
 south, brought him yet a child into these regions. By 
 the which habitude and early dwelling beside the out- 
 spread waters of our lakes and beneath the wooded 
 rocks of remoter valleys, there was instilled into him 
 such awe of the divine wonders of the desert wilds, 
 which to many another are but a terror and a stumbling- 
 block, that even in his infantile age he sang with rare 
 sweetness the glories of the Creator in these his 
 manifold and marvellous works. 
 
 Ps. Levavi oculos etc.* 
 
 Nor was his mind on other matters uninformed ; for 
 by the industry of his parents he was set to learn the 
 rudiments of worldly letters : and being proficient in 
 Latin was put to the university of Oxford, where he 
 studied, not without praise and early reputation. There- 
 after voyaging in foreign parts from town to town of 
 Gallia and Burgundia even unto the holy city, he 
 sought the converse of the learned and the study of 
 such things as remain from ancient times, in order to 
 perfect himself in arts and sciences both humane and 
 divine. And in due course being made Doctor and 
 Teacher in the said University, by his eloquence he 
 
 *These psalms and hymns are intended to be sung to enliven and 
 vary the collation or reading- of the office upon the feast-day of 
 the saint. 
 
 6i
 
 attracted, by his exhortations improved, and by his 
 erudition informed the studious youth who flocked to 
 him, together with many of their elders, both in Oxford 
 and elsewhere, in whatsoever place he appeared, 
 another Abelardus, teaching and preaching a spiritual 
 philosophy.* Admirable indeed and profitable were this 
 wonderful man's outpourings and sacred illustrations, 
 with which he brought many a hearer out of darkness 
 into light; and moreover in his mellifluous tractates 
 and books composed for the edification of the world, 
 how many a period still re-echoes the sweetest harmony 
 in the souls of those that have read with understanding ; 
 how many a word of warning still rolls its thunders 
 in the quaking hearts of those that have heard, and 
 trembled at the storm of his righteous indignation. 
 
 [Here follow verses in praise of his eloquence]. 
 
 Now when many years had been consumed in these 
 labours, and his bodily strength was somewhat abated, 
 though not the fire of a spirit ever ardent after the 
 secrets of divine life and the mysteries of the divine 
 working, this blessed man, having regard to the saying 
 of the apostle "Lest when I have preached," etc., 
 bethought himself of retirement from the world. And 
 quitting the scene of his triumphs, and disparting his 
 goods among the poor, he denuded himself of gold and 
 silver, giving to these precious stones, and to those his 
 books and images of price ; thus laying up greater and 
 
 *The passage following is closely copied from the Life of Richard, 
 showing that it was known to the Furness scribe. 
 
 62
 
 more enduring treasure in heaven. Of all rules of 
 religion he chiefly esteemed the Cistercian, not for 
 learning, nor for power, but being led by his philosophy, 
 not falsely so called, toward the virtue of bodily toil 
 and the felicities of pastoral life in which the Cistercians 
 do exercise themselves, fulfilling the command " In the 
 sweat of thy brow," etc. For in this rule he found 
 rightly balanced and intermixed the Contemplative with 
 the Active, and the double blessing of faith and works 
 enjoyed. So being come with the remnant of that he 
 had to Furness, he was received with joy, as one about 
 to do honour to the place of his adoption with his 
 substance and his fame, and to edify men with the 
 example of his life and the wisdom of his teaching. 
 
 [Verses in praise of the Cistercian rule]. 
 
 Thus remaining for a space in all humility and yet in 
 labour abundant, it seemed that he might be chosen to 
 high place, — yea, even to end his days in the dignities 
 of Lordship and the chair of the Abbot. But for our 
 faults this was not permitted; and for his own greater 
 glory hereafter greater things were in store for him. 
 There is a certain piece of water within the liberties 
 of the lordship of St. Mary's, by name the water of 
 Turstinus, or in the English tongue le Thorstane^s waiter. 
 Around this lake stand huge and well nigh inaccessible 
 mountains, and especially along the oriental shores of it 
 arise steep hills thickly beset with ancient trees, such as 
 oaks, beeches, hollies, and so forth. None inhabit 
 there, saving it be wood-cutters and hearth-men in the 
 
 63
 
 service of our Lord Abbot, for the burning of iron ore 
 which they carry thither on the backs of horses from 
 pits in Alinschales and Ourgrave and elsewhere. But 
 on the adverse coast lie certain houses of the tenants of 
 St. Mary's at a place called le Thwait, and beyond the 
 water of Ywedallbec is Conyngeston and the hall of a 
 good knight, father at the time of Sir John Fleming, 
 who now holds of our Lord.* Else all is desert and 
 forest land, until you come to Haitkensheved at the 
 farther side of certain mountains. Now with permission 
 of our lord, and conducted by men who knew the land, 
 is the blessed Johan come to the water and brought in 
 a boat to the farthest headland of the shore, and there 
 set down, with little pomp, in the thickest part of the 
 wood, beyond that region which the colliers and workers 
 of iron had heretofore penetrated. It was surely by 
 some providence that he found even in these wilds a 
 little hut, left by a certain wood-cutter, and empty, 
 though ruinous and hardly keeping the rain from his 
 body. The which by labour being restored into some 
 fitness of use, he inhabited, requiring little and content 
 with that which others scorned. 
 
 [More verses, so barbarous as to be untranslatable]. 
 
 Many are the wonderful histories yet in the mouths 
 of all, concerning the deeds of this blessed man ; how he 
 dwelt there alone, improving the solitude with heavenly 
 converse and wrestling with the demons which infest 
 
 *This fixes the date ; for tliere were two Sir Johns, father and son, 
 ot whom the second died 1353. 
 
 64
 
 the darkness of the waste. For victual he had that 
 which the wood afforded him, and the little plot of land 
 which with his own hands, the rough growth of wildings 
 being eradicated, he tilled and set with fruit and herbs. 
 IMoreover they of the place, knowing that a sanctity 
 had come upon their homes through his presence, 
 would visit him with their little offerings of a fish, or a 
 handful of meal ; and from the hither bank of the water 
 would come in their boats the children of the neigh- 
 bours dwelling at le Thioait and round about : whom 
 he received gladly, telling them indeed but little of that 
 philosophy for which he had been sought, and was still 
 famed, but things suited to their infantile understanding, 
 as one who had learned the secrets of the world and set 
 no store by them. For he taught them of herbs and 
 healing things, such as he had in daily habitude before 
 his eyes, as the Scripture says, " From the cedar tree," 
 etc. And beasts, and fowl, and creeping things were 
 his brethren, resorting to him; and as Adam in the 
 Paradise, he welcomed them each by name, knowing 
 well their ways and needs. Yea, even the elements 
 were obedient to him. For there is a certain spring 
 of water .... 
 
 [The rest of the story is hardly decipherable. It seems to refer to 
 the miracle by which the virtues of this holy-well were established, 
 and goes on to relate the hermit's dealings with the Fleming family : 
 how the elder son William was struck with an incurable disease, and 
 the daughter Joan was married to John le Towers of Lowick, which 
 we know happened in 1333. There is mention of two tenants 
 of the Lowick family, Thomas Scale and Nicholas Child, and^ 
 ccetera desunij. 
 
 65
 
 THE LEAGUER OF CARLISLE. 
 
 [It is told in the book of the Reverend Hugh Todd, Doctor in 
 Divinity, and sometime a prebendary of Carlisle, how the Scots, in 
 the year 1382, having- burnt Penrith and a part of Carlisle, were put 
 to flight by the appearance of a great army, which was shown them 
 by a lady, thought to be "ye blessed Virgin Mary ye patroness of 
 ye citty": for which cause "her impress wth our Saviour in her 
 arms is ye publick seale of ye corporacon to this day."] 
 
 " O yonder comes a wetherlamb, 
 
 And yonder comes a yowe, 
 And yonder comes a young lad,- 
 
 And what's the tidings now? 
 Young man, shepherd lad, 
 
 Whistling blithe and gay, 
 Wi' the white ling in thy bonnet, 
 
 It is good news to-day ? " 
 
 " O lasses, harken hither, 
 
 It's tidings, and it's true, — 
 Doings of a lady fair 
 
 That never man could do." 
 " Nay th'en, shepherd lad. 
 
 Sit thee down and tell ; 
 A tale's a tale i' Dunnerdale, 
 
 So far beyond the fell." 
 
 66
 
 " Ye kent the Scots were raiding?" — 
 
 " Nay, how should we be told?" — 
 "And Perith Castle was a-lowe?" — 
 
 " Good Lord, they waxen bold." — 
 " And when they co' till Carlisle town 
 
 They kessen fire therein. 
 They burnt a street " — " Eh, lady sweet ! 
 
 They wrought a deadly sin ! " 
 
 "Now fair befall your faces, 
 
 And fair's the word ye say ; 
 And fair is yonder lady 
 
 That keeps the town to-day." — 
 " Young lad, shepherd lad. 
 
 Thy riddle's hard at read ! " — 
 " It's she that stands for merry Carlisle 
 
 And who so good at need ? 
 
 " It was about the gloaming, 
 
 And folk were all foredone 
 With hungering sore and fighting hard 
 
 From dawn till set o' sun ; 
 The leaguer of the Scottish thieves 
 
 Was round about the town, 
 And to-night, said they, or break of day 
 
 Yon towers shall topple down. 
 
 " And it was about the gloaming 
 
 A lady mought they spy, 
 A barn she bare on her arm so fair 
 
 And softly tripped she by. 
 
 67
 
 Stand ! they cried, and Yield thee now ! 
 
 But she ever smiled the more : — 
 Good men, I seek wi' your chief to speak 
 
 For need is passing sore. — 
 
 " Thy errand ! — Will ye know it, 
 
 My errand ? answered she. 
 Then turn you round and gaze a stound 
 
 Yonder on Haribee ! — 
 And lo ! upon the landward edge 
 
 They saw a ferly thing, 
 A grand array, as clear as day. 
 
 And the banner of the king ! 
 
 " No more they stayed for babe nor maid 
 
 When that ferly thing they spied. 
 But Devil tak' the hindermost ! 
 
 Was all the bravest cried. 
 And this ran and that ran, 
 
 Though heart and heartstrings crack ; 
 Till Esk was won and flight was done 
 
 They never looked aback. 
 
 " It was the castle warder 
 
 And he looked from Carlisle wall, 
 The red was on the little clouds 
 
 And the night began to fall. 
 He saw the host on Haribee, 
 
 He saw the lady speak, 
 He saw the Scot flit o'er the vvath 
 
 Like sparkles through the reek. 
 
 68
 
 " He blew a note on his bugle-horn, 
 
 And up the newel-stair 
 Who skips amain but Sir Captain ? 
 
 Who puffs but Master Mayor? 
 And bells ring out, and windows shine. 
 
 And the bishop in golden weed, 
 He cries to the folk in the Minster aisle,- 
 Our Lady stands for Merry Carlisle, 
 
 And who so good at need ? " 
 
 Now gloze the marvel as you may. 
 
 Or deem it all a lie, 
 But so the town was kept and saved 
 
 Five hundred years gone by. 
 And hardy heads of Cumbrian breed, 
 
 And hands that loved a sword. 
 For Carlisle's public seal decreed 
 To grave, in memory of the deed. 
 These, whom they knew their best at need, 
 
 Their Lady, and their Lord. 
 
 69
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Dosta mind when we were barns, brother, what hoHday 
 
 laiks we had, 
 When thoo was nobut a Hie un, and I was a mandrin' 
 
 lad, 
 And they sent us away fra Lirple, set lowse from tewin' 
 
 at school, 
 For lonterin' months o' summer and rattlin' weeks o' 
 
 Yule? 
 Eh, t' brecks we had togither, and t' aid spots ivery yan 
 By t' side o' Winthermer watter, — dosta mind them, 
 
 Davie man ? 
 
 For now thoo's nea mair t' lile un. They tell ma thoo's 
 
 coomt on fine, — 
 What, coach and six horses is nowt tuU't, ner t' lectric 
 
 raalay line ! 
 And folk co's bock o'er t' ocean and cracks o' thy dewin 
 
 wi' praise. 
 Sea happen thou's gitten o'er grand-like at care for t' 
 
 ancient days. 
 Bit naya, lad ! Fse uphod it, thoo's nin sic a nowt-at-dowe 
 As forgits aid days, aid friends, — though it's thretty 
 
 year sen by now. 
 
 What ! wer rambles i' coppy and larch-wood, wer dims 
 
 i' t' cherry-tree, 
 Wer trots i' t' bock-loan sna when a blaazan moon 
 
 was bee ; 
 
 70
 
 Eftherneans i' t' laithe or t' boathus-loft, wi' chips and 
 hammer and nails, 
 
 Conthriving a deck for t' centreboord, or cutting a suit 
 
 o' sails ; 
 And neets by a girt chat fire, wi' daame cooking 
 
 poddish and tates, 
 And aid Billy a-spinnin' his yarns while he fettled his 
 
 troUing-baits. 
 
 Sic teals as he used at tell us, — and a many he kent, 
 
 dud Will ; 
 There was Hugh, t' giant o' Troutbeck, and Adam o' 
 
 Rattlegill, 
 Rows wi' Scotch Rebels, he co'd 'em, and Forness 
 
 monks lang sen, 
 And t' Bassick boggle, and t' Beech-hill yan, — there 
 
 was boggles i' plenty then. 
 He's gone now, poor aid Billy, and t'dame, and t' good 
 
 aid folk ; 
 And many's t' change sen I and ye sat under his 
 
 rannal-boak. 
 
 Why, I's gitten aid mysel, and it's my turn now for a 
 
 yarn; 
 And we've beath on us barns o' wer own, and nowt 
 
 caps teals for a barn. 
 If it's nobut an aid hair-reap, will ye tak it wi' love fra 
 
 heam ? — 
 
 71
 
 For it's twined on t' seam aid creaks, and a deal o' t' 
 
 stuff's t' seam : 
 If it's telt in a heamly way, as t' aid folk used at crack, 
 Then read it as thoo knas how : thoo's sean finnd 
 
 trick co' back. 
 
 Happen it's fond, but I'm fain at a reet warm spot sud 
 
 bide 
 r t' brust o' thy barns for a beam on t' round world 
 
 riper side. 
 It's grand, where t' Southern Cross leets up their sky of 
 
 a lowe. 
 Yet t' Wain rolls round wer northern fells in a land o' 
 
 long ago : 
 It's bonny, their garden-bower of a summery Kirsmas- 
 
 day. 
 But ye were young where t' sweet-gale grows, sea far 
 
 and far away. 
 
 7«
 
 A PILGRIMAGE TO THE 
 
 SAGA-STEADS 
 
 OF 
 
 ICELAN D 
 
 BV 
 
 W. G. COLLINGWOOD, M.A., OXON, 
 
 Author of " The Life and Work of John Ruskin" etc. 
 
 AND 
 
 JON STEFANSSON, PH.D., COPENHAGEN, 
 
 Author of '•'■ Robert Bmvnlng, et Llteratnrbillede fra 
 det modenie England" 
 
 PP. XII. and 187 ; with coloured frontispiece and twelve 
 coloured plates ; map and 140 illustrations in black and white. 
 
 PRICE 30s. 
 
 73
 
 SO/AE PRESS NOTICES. 
 
 The Speaker. 
 
 "The sentimental journey, even in these prosaic days, has not 
 quite lost its vogue, and the latest proof of that assertion is before us 
 now in "A Pilgrimag-e to the Saga Lands of Iceland." The book — 
 it is exceptionally well illustrated — is written in collaboration by Mr. 
 Colling-wood, whose name is familiar to all students and lovers of 
 Ruskin, and Dr. Stefansson, of Copenhagen, who has done his best 
 to interpret, in a critical sense, the virile, subtle menage of Robert 
 Browning to the Scandinavian mind. The work is, whatever it 
 professes to be, an attempt to illustrate the ancient sagas of the North. 
 Too much, for the modern world at least, was taken for granted by 
 the old heroic chroniclers, and this is a well-considered and capable 
 effort to present the background of their strange tales. "The old 
 saga-teller's audience knew the country, and needed no landscape 
 description, except here and there a work to fix the weather or time 
 of year ; or, in some romantic adventures, like those of Grettir, to 
 conjure up the mysterious giant's dale or the demon's awful chasm." 
 In other words, what we get is an attempt to "stage" the old dramas. 
 Mr. Collingwood's clever pencil and Dr. StefAnsson's scholarly pen 
 have worked in perfect harmony in this attractive book, and as we 
 read its pages and glance at its pictures we feel that they make good 
 their preliminary assertion, since for " every touch of human interest 
 in the sagas^pastoral, romantic, or sublime — there was, and still 
 remains, a landscape setting no less sweet, or strange, or stern." 
 The book is not merely beautiful in a pictorial sense, but full also ot 
 intimate literary aids to interpretation." 
 
 Liverpool Couriet, 
 
 " A handsome book of fascinating interest, in which the capital 
 sketches have been splendidly reproduced, the coloured plates in 
 particular being veritable works of art." 
 
 Yorkshire Post. 
 
 " A picture-book of romantic interest . . . the dozen or so of 
 coloured plates in the book, full of softly resplendent colour very 
 magical to English eyes." 
 
 74
 
 Manchestet Guardian. 
 
 "This modest and beautiful little book does for all lovers of the 
 Icelandic Sagas what has been long- wanted ; it supplies the setting 
 of landscape and sea, the background of form and colour, that makes 
 the well-known figures stand out in their real light and atmosphere. 
 When the late Dean Stanley published his admirable word-sketches 
 of the Holy Land, one felt that such names as Carmel and Engedi 
 came to have a significance that threw fresh illumination on the well- 
 known texts. And so it is with this unassuming little quarto ; the 
 scenes where Gunnar and Nial died, where Egil and Glum and 
 Grettir and Snorri moved and had their being, are brought before us 
 in a simple, direct way, by grey process wash and line drawings, and 
 by grey process pictures (the last often charmingly felt and sympa- 
 thetically rendered). . . , 
 
 That this book of Messrs. Collingwood and Stefansson may have 
 the effect of sending more Englishmen to see the 'Attica of the 
 North,' with its Greek atmosphere and colour and its noble associa- 
 tions is greatly to be wished. It would be unjust not to praise 
 Mr. Holmes for his excellent rendering of the water-colour drawings 
 of Mr. Collingwood. Ulverston deserves credit for turning out such 
 excellent work." 
 
 Tlie Scotsman. 
 
 "This handsome volume, which is a credit to the local press 
 whence it has issued, is a work of collaboration that carries out with 
 much skill and success a happy idea for the illustration of the 
 Icelandic Sagas. . In this volume Iceland and its legendary 
 
 and historic past are not only illustrated but illumined." 
 
 The Glasgoiv Herald. 
 
 " This beautifully equipped volume . . . an invaluable album 
 to the old legends, a get-up of admirable sketches in which each 
 story finds its proper landscape setting. From an artistic point of 
 view, the 151 illustrations which the volume contains, and which 
 include a splendid series of delicately executed water-colours, are of 
 the highest interest. To look through them is to obtain such a real 
 and vivid notion of the country as no description, however faithful 
 and however minute, could possibly convey. But the authors have 
 not contented themselves with providing pictures for the sagas. 
 They have also given the sagas that belong to the pictures. . . . 
 All this makes up a charming volume— a volume which does the 
 highest credit, not only to the authors themselves, but also to those 
 whose technical skill has contributed so materially to the production 
 of such an artistic masterpiece." 
 
 75
 
 THE 
 
 North Lonsdale Magazine, 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 REV. CANON AYRE, M.A. 
 
 Printed and Published every alternate month 
 
 BY 
 
 W. H0LME5, 
 
 OTTO PRINTING WORKS, 
 
 ULVERSTON. 
 PRICE 1/- 
 
 Demy 4to., 20 pag'es and cover, printed on fine Art paper, 
 and beautifully illustrated. 
 
 See Pi ess Notices. 
 76
 
 -A'3 
 
 PRESS NOTICES. 1^ 
 
 Kendal Mercury/^ June 2nd, 1894, speaking- of the first number, says : — 
 
 "The illustrations are very beautifully reproduced plates of an 
 exceeding-ly fine type, carefully selected and printed in a fiawless 
 manner, which makes them delightful to look upon. The publisher 
 must be congratulated on the fine smooth paper and choice type with 
 which he has produced so excellent a periodical, which, in that 
 department, will hold its own against any London production." 
 
 August 17th, 1894. — " This, the second number of this new local 
 venture, is fully up to the high standard of typographical excellence 
 attained by its predecessor." 
 
 Newport and Market Drayton Advertiser, June i6th, 1894. 
 
 " It is evidently intended to be a Magazine of Art — every leaf 
 worked with a clearness and delicacy worthy of all praise." 
 
 Westmorland Gazette, August nth, 1894. 
 " The second number is even better than the first." 
 
 Whitehaven News, August 9th, 1894. 
 
 " We had nothing but praise for that (the first number), and we 
 can but repeat it now. The same excellencies attract our eye in this 
 part as in the last. The large and shapely 4to pages, the fine rolled 
 paper, the perfect type, the admirable taste of its selection and display, 
 the first-rate process work of the beautiful illustrations and the fault- 
 less printing of the whole. In his advertisement of printing, Mr. 
 Holmes may well content himself with simply pointing to the Nortli 
 Lonsdale Magazine as an example of what he can do in the way of 
 tirst-rate bookwork. The contents, both literary and artistic, continue 
 to be equally interesting." 
 
 Kendal Mercury, October 6th, 1894. 
 
 " Fully maintains the very high standard of beautiful work which 
 was shewn in its two predecessors." 
 
 Whitehaven News, November 29th, 1894. 
 
 "The illustrations are marked by all the excellence of execution 
 and beauty of printing which has distinguished this Magazine from 
 the start." 
 
 77
 
 Kendal Me^cuty, March 2nd, 1895. 
 
 "This beautifully produced Magazine has reached its fifth 
 number and continues to improve, notwithstanding- the very high 
 level estabhshed in the initial number of the Magazine." 
 
 July 3rd, 1896. — "This notable number." 
 
 WhiteJtaven Nnvs, August 13th, 1896. 
 
 "The whole Magazine is as usual most creditable to the technical 
 resources and skill of its printer and publisher." 
 
 December 17th, 1896. — "The Magazine is as usual beautifully 
 turned out, and a great treat, not only to anyone interested in the 
 charming district to which it is devoted, but to any local reader." 
 
 June 24th, 1897. — " Executed with the artistic effect for which 
 Mr. Holmes' work has established a well founded reputation." 
 
 Kendal Metciiry, May 6th, 1898. 
 
 " The present number, similar to its predecessors, is issued in 
 faultless style of production." 
 
 Lakes Hemld, November 14th, 1898. 
 
 " The number for the present month is far superior to any local 
 publication in the style of its production, both in a pictorial and 
 literary sense, and may be szid to outvie in interest many of the 
 numbers which have preceded it. One of the apparent missions of 
 the Magazine is to preserve from oblivion the undiluted dialect of the 
 district, which is rapidly disappearing." 
 
 Whitehaven News, October 20th, 1898. 
 "The work continues to be beautifully printed and illustrated." 
 
 Ke?idal Mercury, May 5th, 1899. 
 
 "This interesting local publication is invariably a conspicuous 
 example of good workmanship, however regarded, and always affords 
 pleasant and instructive reading. In the present number the fortunes 
 of the Huddlestons of Millom are further traced through many 
 branches of this famous family. 
 
 The illustrations throughout are quite up to the usual level." 
 
 Whitehaven News, June 22nd, 1899. 
 
 " This Magazine is one which should be in the hands of everyone 
 who is interested in its special district and in the Lake Country, 
 which it describes and illustrates most attractively." 
 
 78 
 
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