CHAPTER XXVII. Brampton-Dying a Fair Death-A Delightful Play-ground-A Reason for Sobriety-Naworth-Belted Will's Gallows-The Castle The Warden's Chambers-A Raid-Pleasant Walks-Lanercost-A Picturesque Ruin-Valley of the Gelt-The Inscribed Rock-The Helbeck-Talkin Tarn-Warwick Bridge-The Eden-Wetherall-View from a Viaduct-Corby Castle-Carlisle-A Barrister's Rhyme-The Cathedral -The Castle-Stanwix. BRAMPTON being the capital of a barony, where the Earl of Carlisle holds his courts, and gives a yearly feast, inviting whomsoever he will among the three thousand inhabitants, is a place of some pretence, as manifest by a few stylish houses and smooth red brick among the old weather-beaten stone and rough-cast walls which maintain the rustic character. The old Moot Hall is gone from the market-place; but the Moot Hill still remains on the edge of the town, easy of access, and as favourable for a view as a church tower. After all it is a very rustic capital: you see women fetching buckets of water; and, if it be marketday as at the time of my stroll, not a few of Old Homespun's descendants driving in with their clumsy carts. They enjoy, I am told, a reputation for hospitality, and a wholesome dread of physic, "Did he dee his ain fair deeth, or did he hae the doctor?" is the remark with which some of them receive news of a neighbour's decease. The Professor kept his word; and the next morning took me to a house standing on a pleasant rise at the edge of the town, where a few minutes made me aware that the duties of schoolmaster and magistrate can be worthily combined. When I saw the generous diet, the playground, with its means and appliances for gymnastic feats, and the wide open prospect it commands, bounded by the hills of Dumfriesshire, on one of which Malcolm's monument is discernible, I almost wished to be a boy once more. It would be so delightful to play in such a playground as that! Ere long we started on our walk. The neighbourhood of the town is remarkable for low rounded eminences of sandy formation, highly favourable to the growth of potatoes. The road is paved for a short distance on the skirts of the town, and thereby hangs a tale. A farmer well known for his love of good liquor was accosted by an acquaintance-"Ye've no been drunk on the road lately, Jamie." "Na," answered Jamie, "the road's na been sa saft to fall on sin' they paved it." Ere long we started on our walk, and met rustic lads and lasses, and carts, and now and then even a gig hastening to market; and in less than an hour came to Naworth. The gradual rise up which we have walked reaches its summit at the uplands of the park, and the view all across the country to Scotland is seen to perfection. A troop of workmen were busy, some painting the gates, others clipping the edges of the road and paths; a sign that "my Lord" was expected. A noble oak which stretches its branches far around is pointed out as the "gallows tree" on which Belted Will used to hang border thieves with but a short shrift, and without benefit of trial by jury. It is a magnificent tree, and the huge branch which stretches across the walk, a tree of itself, looks as if it must have been the one where the Liddelsdale rogues met their doom. According to Sir David Lindsay their last dying speech A little farther and we come to the castle, which is not all ancient, for the fire in 1844 destroyed a considerable portion; but the restorations by Mr. Salvin preserve the character of the former edifice while adding greatly to convenience. The first impression is favourable; an ivied wall: a gateway with the motto carved above: Fort en Loyalté, and towers rising behind. The gateway opens into a paved inner court, at one corner of which are the steps leading to the great hall, where visitors are admitted. It is a spacious room, with timbered roof, mullioned windows, family portraits round the walls, and a huge fire-place with a Scriptural motto on the arch. There are suits of armour, and effigies of the crests of the house of Howard, a deer, and a bull rampant holding banners, and a great fish, which we might fancy to be a spoil from the temple of Dagon, and a screen at upper end near the dais. There is a visitors' book; and looking over a few pages, you will see a remarkable number of names from the United States. It is the showy part of the building; all the rest is quiet elegance; and must be more comfortable than what Pennant saw. "The whole house," he says, "is a true specimen of ancient inconvenience, of magnificence and littleness, the rooms numerous, accessible by sixteen staircases, with most frequent and sudden ascents and descents into the bargain." There is quite enough of the old left to confirm the antiquary's description; as we see when mounting the tower to Belted Will's apartments. We climb a narrrow stair to two or three small rooms in which the resolute Warden dwelt, a few books his only companions, and with nothing else to solace him for the fatigues of office. Having his library, chapel, and sleeping-room, he found wherewith to satisfy his thought when not engaged in active duties. Fortunately the tower and his books escaped the flames: the books are old manuscripts, one of which contains the legend of Joseph of Arimathea, on three large leaves of vellum, within a wooden cover. And when he shut himself up to meditate, he was brave who dared disturb him. As the oft-told story runs-" Hang the fellow," he cried, intending nothing more than an angry exclamation at the intruder, when one day a retainer burst in with news of the capture of a prisoner. But it was otherwise interpreted; and some hours afterwards, on ordering that the moss-trooper should be brought before him, the answer was that the unlucky captive had been really hanged. A nobleman who could content himself with such a lodging, must have had something monkish in his disposition. Yet what says the minstrel of the Warden in the field ? "Belted Will Howard is marching here, And all the German hack but-men Who have long lain at Askerten : They cross'd the Liddel at curfew-hour, And burn'd my little lonely tower: It had not been burnt this year and more." The tower stands on a tongue of land, round which the Irthing makes a quick bend; and a very pretty view there is from the window. You look down upon the Irthing running cheerfully below, bordered by tall trees. We could not see the books, because of some setting to rights, which, as our guide said, was not yet completed. I wished to go out on the roof, but was told there was no way up. The walks along the banks of the river are delightful; the paths wind among trees and rocks bordered by ferns and mosses overhung by foliage, and the music of running water mingles with that of the leaves. We followed the paths to their outlet, and on emerging by the bridge saw Lanercost Priory in the meadow beyond. A little farther, and we are at the old arched gateway, through which the view of the ruin is so striking, the west front as a picture set in a framework, that you pause for awhile in the road to gaze thereon. And while crossing the level meadow within, there is time to note the picturesque features, and admire the work of the "dark ages." The offices are now fitted and occupied as a farmhouse, and the nave is repaired and used as a church; but having passed through, we tread upon the soft green turf, amid columns and arches, and tombs, on which are carved the arms of the Dacres and other lordly possessors. And while your eye roves from arch to arch, and moulding to moulding, finding here and there some grace to linger on, it is refreshed by the sight of trailing weeds, brambles, and shrubs, and masses of ivy that beautify the crumbling masonry. And there are stairs by which you can mount to the galleries, and pass round the choir, and into the transept, and look down from one elevation after another, upon the |