Even the smoky region in the county of the Red Rose robs us not of our gladness, though Nature there appears cruelly vexed; for with us 'tis holiday. Crossing the Ribble reminds us of our last year's walk in Craven; glimpses of Yorkshire hills appear in the east; then Lancaster rises before us, a cone of houses clean and picturesque, crowned by the castle; then the broad blue flashing waters of Morecambe Bay open on the west; anon Kendal is seen, a gray and twinkling patch on the green slope of a distant vale; and soon we are under the dark shadows of the hills.

Then Shap, a bleak-looking place even in summer; and the sight of the great wild sweep of the fells reminds me of my struggle through snowdrifts there in early days. New to the hill-country, I thought it sport at starting to see the vast white landscape, to plough through the levels, and take a leap at the ridges; but was sobered when the grim wintry daylight failed and evening overtook me, with nine miles yet to walk.

A pause at Clifton gives us time to look out upon the place where the dragoons and Highlanders had a sharp skirmish in the Forty-five. It was nightfall when the Duke of Cumberland came up, and he would have fallen into ambuscades, had not a certain Jonathan Savage stolen out, and warned him thereof. The Duke, says our historian, took up his quarters in the house of Thomas Savage the Quaker, "who rejoiced much in spirit."

Seeing, as I lean from the carriage-window, that the place has somewhat of the wild, ragged appearance of an American settlement, with stacks of wood here and there, I ask, "Station-master, does anybody ever get out here ? "

"Oh, yes," he answers, with a smile, "a deal. Excursions get out here to go and see Ulleswater. We had one last week.”

Then trees overshadow us as we speed along, and from a high viaduct we glance for an instant upon the sylvan course of the Lowther; and presently, the ruinous old castle looks imposing, as, our long journey ended, we alight at Penrith: more imposing in the cool dim twilight than in sunshine.

Sweet is the pleasure of going home, as we all know; but what can equal the pleasure of going forth? To rise ere the dawn has lost its rosy blush on a fine summer morning, and feel that you are free to go whithersoever you will; to wander as inclination prompts for the whole of a summer month, and with feet as willing to stir as your heart to enjoy—what pleasure can equal that? Before you stretches a long vista of anticipations; a plan floats loosely in your mind, to be shaped day by day, or hour by hour, and there is a sense of power and quiet satisfaction in the reflection that the shaping depends chiefly on your own wayfaring capabilities. Where among robust

pleasures can this be matched?

It is as if a sceptre were placed in your hand by virtue of which you become a monarch, going forth on a progress; not with glittering train or cumbrous ceremonial, but with health, imagination, and fancy as attendants. Yet more than royal pomp may be yours; for your matins and vespers shall glow with the splendours of the eastern and western sky, and in the blaze of noon there shall be around you the garniture of woods, and your pathway shall be strewn with flowers. You shall be careless of measured hours: why should a king count time who can do what he

will, whose days are to be reckoned, not by minutes, but by happy emotions? For my part, I can clap my hands and sing when the social yoke is loosened, and I am fairly off, with no heavier burden than my knapsack.

I turn my steps northwards once more, actuated by the same desire as in the former year, to revisit longremembered scenes while exploring new ones. It may be that in renewing acquaintance with historical landmarks, we shall meet again with names and personages already familiar to us; and we will make it a pleasure to recognise them in passing.

One word more, gracious reader: If I begin my story in Cumberland, do not be impatient, and insist upon the title-page as a rigorous text; but consider the appeal with which this chapter begins, and remember that my beginning is within sight of the hill on which rises the South Tyne-a branch of the great Northumbrian river. To the Sea-Kings every wind was favourable, for, wherever borne they conquered; so to an Englishman, any starting-place within his own country will be fortunate, for travel whithersoever he will, he finds something lovely and of good report; some nobleness of the Past that shall make our Present nobler; some triumph of industry to inform the mind and rouse its admiration; and, with all this, faults and blots which he may help to wipe away, and still be a conqueror. He finds,

moreover,

"Dreams that the soul of youth engage

Ere Fancy has been quelled;
Old legends of the monkish page,
Traditions of the saint and sage,
Tales that have the rime of age,

And chronicles of Eld."

THE BEACON PIKE.

5

CHAPTER II.

Penrith-Beacon Pike-Old Times-The Last Tree-The Queen's Hames -The Giant's Grave-Who was the Giant?-Isey Perlis - The Giant's Thumb-The Cockatrice Killer-Eamont Brig-A WelcomeCanny aul Cummerlan-The Round Table-King Arthur-The Maybrough-Lowther Brig-Reminiscence of the Forty-five-Brougham Hall-Antiquities-The Skull and Prickspur-An Agreeable Survey -View from the Tower-Crossfell-The Windsor of the NorthLady Clifford's Chapel-Miraculous Font-The Countess's PillarHart's-horn Tree-Brougham Castle The Oratory-The Feast of Brougham.

My recollections of Penrith were less favourable. than it deserves, as I saw on the morrow when looking down from the Beacon Pike on a landscape agreeably diversified by hill and dale, woods and waters, and signs of fruitful culture. The view combines richness with grandeur; for scattered around lie the wellplanted domains of ancient families, and in the distance rise the mountains of the Lake country-the pride of Cumberland-and a gleamy level in a break on their margin, shows where Ulleswater spreads its broad surface to the sun. The prospect is a glad surprise, and well repays the time spent in the ascent.

In the days when the the Scottish kings claimed Cumberland as their principality, the region between Penrith and " merry Carlisle," a distance of sixteen miles, was overgrown by the forest of Inglewood: "a goodly great forest," says the chronicle of Lanercost, "full of woods, red deer and fallow, wild swine, and

all manner of wild beasts." Edward I. might well find time, with brief tarrying during one of his advances upon the north, to kill two hundred bucks! Many a gallant chase with horn and hound, has there been run. And there through hundreds of years marched hostile armies; and fierce outlaws, and wild mosstroopers hurried for slaughter and pillage, harassing the inhabitants, and vexing the soul of the Lord Warden of the Marches, whose proclamation for all under his authority, both horse and foot, to prepare their arrediness and come forward with ten days victuals," was in perpetual request. If, one time the Scots succeeded in carrying off four thousand cattle; the next, they were so sorely beset by the English, "that they never durst go out for victuailles, nor give their bodies to sleep." Yet they inspired so much terror, that watchers, armed and mounted, were stationed day and night at all the fords, and the known approaches to the county. They even stole the lead from the church to cut up for bullets; for nothing came amiss to them. See what the town records say in the year 1600:-"This Tyme was great spoiling and robing in this countrie, especially in Cumberland, burning in Gilsland, and other places;" and the following year: "such watching in Penreth on the night as was not a hundreth yeres before, fiftie watchers nightlie." No wonder the civilisation of the northern counties is so recent compared with that of the south! And yet ten thousand of these same borderers, armed with flails, scythes, and other implements, took to flight, as chaff before the wind, on the approach of the Pretender's little army of Highlanders; perhaps because Nicolson bishop of Carlisle was one of their commanders.