Chapter II: Part 2

The ‘20’ evidently indicated the day of the month; but to what month could ‘r . . m’ refer? Could it mean _rosarum mensis_—the month of roses? Might not a poetical conspirator thus paraphrase the month of June? Norfolk certainly was not beheaded till June 1572; but it was possible that a fellow-plotter might have decided on betraying him a full year before that date. ‘Br’ perhaps stood for _brevi_, by way of urging that the deed should be accomplished summarily; and 1571 spoke for itself. The ‘k’ which followed might be either a small or a capital ‘k,’ but Mr Grope concluded that it was the initial of another proper name; and he had soon persuaded himself that the sentence ‘K .. to ret’ ran: ‘K—— tollite retinete,’ and was intended as an injunction to take and retain K——. Who or what K—— was did not much signify, since there was no doubt about Norfolk.

It was the second line which continued to puzzle Mr Grope. He brooded over it when he went to bed, and could not sleep because of it; but in the small-hours of the morning, that season of daring inspirations, it flashed across him that ‘Capt T..ck’ meant neither more nor less than ‘Caput Turci,’ a Turk’s head. ‘The man may have written _k_ for _i_ by inadvertence. But why should a Turk’s head be written about in the cave near Q——?’ It struck Mr Grope that the battle of Lepanto had been fought in 1571, and that the conspirator might be alluding to an invasion of England which was to take place, when the Turk’s head should be figuratively cut off. On the following morning, a Dictionary of Dates accompanied the ham and toast on Mr Grope’s breakfast-table; and he ascertained that the battle of Lepanto had been fought in October, whereas he had decided that the inscription was written in June, and that it had something to do with English refugees and the Turkish fleet. This interpretation certainly gave a wider and more European interest to the writing in the Q—— bone-cave. But on further consideration, it seemed to Mr Grope that he would hardly be able to maintain it in printed controversy with the learned. The Turk’s head was pitchforked with so much abruptness among the directions to secure Norfolk and K——, that unless it were supposed to be a watchword among the conspirators, it seemed impossible to dovetail it in.

The antiquary did not go out that morning; he retired to his study and reflected on the difficulties of the Turk’s head. At last another light came in upon him, reminding him that there were many inns in the country with the sign of the Saracen’s Head, relics of the medieval time when the Saracens were the bugbears of Europe. Very likely there had been inns called the Turk’s Head in the sixteenth century, when Europe was always in terror of the Turks, and Mr Grope even fancied that he remembered seeing one with that sign in a village in the east of England. Looked at in this new light, the meaning of the inscription appeared to be: ‘Betray and take Norfolk at the “Turk’s Head” inn, on the 20th of June 1571, with all possible haste. Take and retain K——.’

Writing this out at full length, Mr Grope read it over with fond pride. He had thoughts of sending a letter on the subject to that scientific paper the _Minerva_ at once, but prudence intervened, and he determined that he would first consult Sir H—— T——, the great archæologist, whom he had helped to lionise at Q——. It would be as well to say, when he wrote to the _Minerva_, that his friend Sir H—— T—— agreed with him as to the solution of the mystery; and he accordingly despatched a full account of the matter to the great man. That evening Mr Grope dined out, and could not refrain from imparting his triumph to a select circle of his acquaintances. Mr Grope was generally admitted to be the most intellectual resident at Q——. If a strange fish was caught in the bay, a strange fossil found in a quarry, or a coin dug up in a field, it was always referred to Mr Grope; and there were only one or two people who ever presumed to smile at his conclusions. And now when Mr Grope dilated on the conspirator and the inscription in the newly-found cavern, addressing in his drawling tones the small audience in the drawing-room after dinner—for he had kept the sensation for the benefit of the ladies—no one arose to dispute his explanation. The conspirator’s mention of the month of roses was especially attractive and convincing.

But it came to pass that Sir H—— T—— was not quite convinced. That savant thought it not impossible that the inscription might have something to do with the Ridolfi Plot, as the date was 1571; but as to the rest he differed from Mr Grope, courteously but decidedly. He did not believe in the Latin, and especially in Mr Grope’s Latin. He did not believe in the poetic paraphrase of June. He had read a good deal of sixteenth-century correspondence, and had never found a conspirator or any one else who spoke of June as the month of roses. ‘Nor’ might stand for Norfolk, though such was not Sir H—— T——’s opinion. Did Mr Grope think that the inscription was either partly or wholly written in cipher?

To say that Mr Grope was not disappointed, would not be adhering to the truth. He had arranged the matter in his mind, and had foreseen a triumphant career for his inscription among the archæologists and historians. It seemed impossible that Sir H—— could doubt such inevitable conclusions. The whole thing, as Mr Grope made it out, had fitted together like a Chinese puzzle. Yes, he almost resolved to persevere in his own view. To hold a controversy with Sir H—— T—— might make him nearly as great a man as Sir H—— himself. But he felt in his heart that no one would side with the Turk’s Head and the month of roses when Sir H—— was against them. Mr Grope was convinced of the truth of his own interpretation; but he would collect another possible meaning or two, and while pronouncing in favour of the first, submit the others to the learned public. After all, the idea of a cipher opened out a pleasing vista of conjecture. Much conjecture there must of course be, when conspirators would write in disjointed fragments. In the Ridolfi Plot he possessed at least a basis of operations.

It so happened that our antiquarian friend had some acquaintance with a gentleman who was now searching the archives at Simancas for facts to confirm a favourite theory, and who had on one occasion dined with him at Q——; and to him Mr Grope now conceived the happy thought of writing, with a request that he would send him a few of the ciphers used by Philip II. and his correspondents. In due time he received the keys of five or six ciphers, inclosed in a courteous note. The historian himself had sympathy with Mr Grope’s efforts in the cause of archæological science, and had besides, a lively recollection of Mr Grope’s ’47 port.

And now Mr Grope spent a long morning in his study with the ciphers before him, labouring to make them fit in with the inscription. If cipher really had been used, it seemed probable that English would have been used also. On this assumption, therefore, he proceeded; but the first few keys which he applied unlocked nothing but sheer nonsense. The next especially attracted Mr Grope, inasmuch as the historian told him that it had been used by Mary Queen of Scots. He had reserved it as his last hope; and on further investigation he found that in this cipher, London was termed Norway, and thus written plainly without further disguise. With regard to words which were not proper names, the fifth and sixth letters from the one intended _were used alternately_. When Mr Grope applied this key to the inscription, he came to the conclusion that it suited it admirably, with the exception of that unfortunate second line, which had puzzled him so much before. He really thought, that as those two words ‘Capt T..ck,’ were written in larger letters than the others, and conspicuously placed by themselves, they might be actually put down as a watchword; Why not, after all, ‘Caput Turci?’ The rest of the inscription he transposed as follows:

h..rr yu Lon
w . . . s 20 g w
1571 p yu wky.

The sequence of letters was not kept up in the second ‘yu,’ the fifth being used where the sixth ought to be; but as the word was apparently the second person plural, Mr Grope thought it probable that the conspirator would not be particular in his counting where so small a word was concerned. It is convenient in such matters to allow for a little negligence. In its new aspect Mr Grope saw the inscription thus:

hurry you Londonwards
with speed twenty great wagons
1571. pay you weekly.

Mr Grope’s head now absolutely ached with his efforts, and he drew his hand down his long gray beard with a feeling of relief as he leaned back in his chair. He nevertheless believed that this last labour was in a measure thrown away, and that the first solution was the right one. Still there was an air of probability about that ‘pay you weekly,’ a matter-of-fact air such as he remembered to have observed when reading a printed volume of _Domestic State Papers_; and it would sound well to have tried five ciphers on the inscription and found a possible solution at last. That same day Mr Grope wrote at length to the _Minerva_, describing his discovery of the new cavern and the inscription, and giving his two explanations. For himself, he said, he believed in the Latin version, though he was aware that he had the disadvantage of differing from his learned friend Sir H—— T——. In deference to that gentleman’s opinion, he had compared the writing with many ciphers in use in the sixteenth century, and now submitted the result to the attention of the scientific world.

The learned were only too willing to discuss it, and several letters on the subject appeared in the next number of the _Minerva_. One gentleman approved the deciphered version; others proposed solutions of their own, much more absurd than any which Mr Grope had thought of. Next week a letter from Sir H—— T—— himself was printed, in which he expressed his opinion in favour of Mr Grope’s second explanation. Mr Grope and his new cavern had become famous. The intellectual world at Q—— itself was greatly impressed with the erudition of his researches. Fashion and science ran into each other a good deal at Q——; and there were some needlessly pretty toilets among the party of friends whom Mr Grope conducted to visit the muddy recesses of his new cavern. There was also a geologist, but he rather despised the inscription as being too recent, and talked chiefly about eyeless fish. The young ladies, knowing little of either the Duke of Norfolk or the eyeless fish, explored the gloomy recesses, and filled them with the sounds of laughter and fun. Only one young lady observed to her companions: ‘I shouldn’t wonder if Mr Grope is wrong after all.’

A few days later the antiquary met at an evening party, the son of an old inhabitant of Q——, who had been dead for some years, but whom Mr Grope had formerly known. He had known the son too, who was now a Fellow of his college. He was a little blunt, bullet-headed man, and when presently the subject of the Q—— bone-cave came up, he said what he thought without any preface.

‘I fancy, Mr Grope, you’re wrong about that inscription after all. I suppose you never heard my father speak of old Truck the smuggler?’

‘No; I did not,’ said Mr Grope, concealing his feelings, which were not of the most comfortable description.

‘Old Truck the smuggling captain,’ continued the little man, ‘used that cave pretty freely. That was before the geologists had appropriated it, and the barrier was put up. I should not wonder if he sometimes wrote hints to his friends on the walls.’

‘But I should not imagine that your father knew any one who lived in 1571,’ said Mr Grope.

‘Ah! but is the 1571 a date at all? That’s the question,’ said the Fellow. ‘My father took an interest in that old sinner, and saw something of Truck in his last days in the cottage. The sea has encroached now and washed most of it away. And Truck left him his curiosities—stuffed birds and china, and his old order-books and log-books. I’ll look them out. I would lay a wager that he wrote that inscription.’

‘It will take very strong evidence to make that believed,’ said Mr Grope. Nevertheless he felt uneasy, and heartily wished that the Fellow had not happened to take the matter up. Meanwhile the Fellow searched for Truck’s relics, which were now in the possession of his brother; and the next morning saw him in Mr Grope’s study together with an antique volume, not bound in ‘brass and wild boar’s hide,’ but in dilapidated leather, with a musty-fusty odour half a century old. With a sinking heart, Mr Grope felt, when first he looked at it, that the historical grandeur of his inscription was about to fall to the ground.

‘This was Truck’s note-book,’ said the Fellow. ‘Look here, Mr Grope.’ And there, on the first page, written in a manner which implied that the paper had been rather greasy from the first, were the words ‘Capt Truck.’

‘And the cave at Q—— is mentioned pretty often among his hieroglyphics,’ said the ruthless Fellow, turning over the dirty pages. ‘“Directions to be left in the Q—— cave.” I expect there are others there besides the inscription you found. Look here; don’t you think this must be the identical one?’ And he pointed to some lines which ran obliquely across a page: ‘Directions left for Scroggs. Follow to Normandy. Rum 20, brandy 15, 71 kegs to return.’

Mr Grope stood stricken to the soul, but not a muscle of his face moved. He silently compared this newest discovery with the copy he had made in his note-book, in the first flush of his hopes.

There was no denying that this was the true solution of the mystery, and that the Ridolfi Plot was nowhere. It was singular that neither he himself, nor Sir H—— T——, nor the other gentlemen who had written on the subject, had thought of the possibility of the man in the cave using straightforward English. At least Mr Grope erred in good company; but still he felt that he should have to bear most of the ridicule, as the originator of the historical theory, and the investigator who had attacked the smuggler’s prosaic inscription with five ciphers used by queens and princes in the sixteenth century. However, he was determined not to shew his chagrin, and even asked the Fellow to dine with him that evening.

Mr Grope wrote honourably to the _Minerva_ to explain the true state of the case. He acknowledged that further research proved both himself and his friend Sir H—— T—— to be mistaken on the subject of the writing in the cave at Q——. Then he mentioned Truck and the smugglers, and gave the new interpretation, not without a groan as he wrote ‘rum’ where formerly he had written ‘_rosarum mensis_.’ He also communicated with Sir H—— on the subject, and Sir H—— dryly replied that he wondered the writing should look as if it were three hundred years old, when it was really only sixty or seventy. No more was said about it in the _Minerva_. And as to the Q—— people, of course they politely refrained from letting Mr Grope see that they laughed at him, all except a bluff old personage who exclaimed: ‘So your conspirator against Queen Elizabeth turned out to be an old smuggler after all!’

The wounds of Mr Grope’s vanity began to heal in time. They smarted somewhat when the course of winter lectures at the Q—— Athenæum was opened, for he had intended to hold forth triumphantly on the bone-cave and the historical inscription. And they bled afresh in the following spring when the annual fashionable pilgrimage to the cave took place. Still the high-priest has not deserted the temple, for Mr Grope is not easily put down; and he often repairs to his old subterranean haunts and picks up bones and flint implements. But the entrance to the new cavern containing the inscription has been mysteriously filled up again; and the gnome who is the nominal custodian of the cave whispers to a subordinate official of the Q—— Athenæum: ‘’Twas Mr Grope, he closed it ’imself, I’ll warrant. You see, he couldn’t abide it, after that there mistake of ’is that they laughed at so. Smugglers ’iding there; and Mr Grope, he takes the writin’ for summut to do with grand folks that lived three ’undred year ago!’

Poor Mr Grope! That was all that came of the inscription in the Q—— bone-cave.

THE ‘HEARTS OF OAK’ SOCIETY.

One of the oldest and perhaps the largest of the Friendly Societies for the benefit of the operative classes, is the ‘Hearts of Oak,’ which at the present time numbers over eighty thousand members, and has a reserve fund of nearly a quarter of a million. Such extraordinarily large proportions has this society of late years assumed, and so widespread is its influence and usefulness, that we feel sure a short account of its origin and working system will not be without interest, and maybe profit to the reader.

Thirty-five years ago—in 1842—the ‘Hearts of Oak Benefit Society’ was started at the _Bird-in-Hand_ Tavern, Long Acre, London. Of its history for the next twenty years little can be said, save that, although its progress was not anything remarkable, it worked steadily and honestly at the object it had in view, and thus firmly established itself, if it did not produce any extraordinary success. In 1863 the number of members had reached eight thousand, a circumstance which rendered a removal to more commodious premises necessary; and these were purchased freehold in Greek Street, Soho. Notwithstanding, however, this increase of business the amount transacted was not considered by the promoters of the society in satisfactory proportion to the justifiable expectations of such an undertaking, the total number of members having in 1865 only reached ten thousand, and this was attributed to the result of bad administration on the part of the existing management. A change was made in consequence; when the present form of government was inaugurated, which had at once the beneficial effect of materially increasing the society’s business. So perceptible and rapid indeed was the progress of the ‘Hearts of Oak’ after this event, that in the year 1874 another removal had to be undertaken; and for this purpose, noble premises in Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, W., were bought and adapted at a cost of twenty thousand pounds, and have since served for all the business requirements of the society.

Having said so much for the history of the ‘Hearts of Oak,’ let us now briefly turn to the main features and working of the system pursued by this huge benefit society.

The predominating principle upon which the system acts seems to be a complete reliance upon actual merits and on them alone. As a consequence, a total absence of all external show and attraction will be found in the administration of the society. It clings to the term ‘society’ in opposition to ‘club’ with a most jealous tenacity, although we confess to seeing very little difference between the strictly lexical significance of the two words. Mr Marshall, the able secretary to the society, is of a different opinion, however, and holds that the associations which are respectively bound up with each term differ considerably; a club being generally looked upon as a meeting for social purposes, held as a rule at a public-house. ‘It involves,’ he goes on to say, ‘the glass, the pipe, the song, and other incidents of what is called good-fellowship; and also in many cases regalia, processions, dinners, suppers, and other devices for wasting money and weaning men from their homes and their families.’ Whether such ‘incidents’ are the associations attached alone to a club or not, it is not necessary here to determine, it being sufficient to know that at all events the ‘Hearts of Oak’ does not rely upon any of these things—although it is common to think that only by such inducements and attractions can the working classes be brought into habits and ways of thrift and saving—and in so doing, the society is a standing contradiction to all such opinions. It has never had to resort to any such extraneous aid. It does not make use of either public-houses or lodges; it indulges in no dinners or suppers, no regalia or processions, no pipe, glass, or song; it employs no agents, canvassers, or collectors; and it spends no money in commission nor yet in advertisements, generally so indispensable an aid to institutions of all kinds. Notwithstanding all this, the ‘Hearts of Oak’ has of late years admitted more new members than the increase shewn by the Odd-fellows, who possess lodges and branches in every part of the civilised world.

As already stated, the society now numbers more than eighty thousand members, and these are formed into divisions of one thousand each; and each of these divisions holds a meeting at the society’s house once every month for the transaction of business, &c. Every candidate for membership must earn not less than twenty-two shillings per week, and his age must not be more than thirty-six; while before election he has of course to satisfy the committee upon certain points relating to himself and (if married) his wife, and has finally to be generally approved of by them. There are certain trades and occupations which are considered dangerous and injurious by the society, and persons belonging thereto are therefore held ineligible for membership. Each member has to pay on entrance a fee of two shillings and sixpence if under thirty-two years of age; and three shillings and sixpence if over that age and under thirty-six, the highest limit for admittance. The periodical contributions amount to about nine shillings and sixpence each member per quarter; this sum having been found, however, rather more than the total average payment for the last six years. The separate items consist of two and twopence a month to the society’s stock; and at each quarterly meeting an equal proportion of the claims met by the society during the preceding quarter on account of the various benefits (not including sickness) it has during that period conferred. In fact, each quarter every member is required to clear the books of all demands. After having belonged to the society for twelve calendar months, a member who up to that time has paid all his contributions, can by the payment of an additional fee of two shillings and sixpence, become what is termed a _free member_, such members having the right to participate in all the benefits which the society affords.

The benefits offered by the ‘Hearts of Oak’ are: (1) Sick-pay at the rate of eighteen shillings a week to _free members_ for twenty-six weeks; and should the illness continue beyond that period, half that amount for a further twenty-six weeks; after which the sick member becomes entitled to relief from further contributions, and to a pension payable at a rate in accordance with the length of his membership. _Non-free_ members participate in this benefit, but of course on a smaller scale, which, however, is very liberal. (2) Funeral benefits; being the allowance of a sum of ten pounds on the death of a _free member’s_ wife, and double that amount to the survivors of a free member upon his death. Certain proportionate rates are granted on the death of a _non-free_ member, half such rates being allowed in the event of such a member’s wife dying. (3) Lying-in benefit; which is the grant of a sum of thirty shillings on the confinement of a _free member’s_ wife; the marriage and birth certificates, duly signed, requiring of course to be produced on such occasions. And (4) Loss by fire; being a compensation allowance of not more than fifteen pounds in the case of any _free member’s_ tools or implements of trade getting destroyed or damaged by fire. There are besides these some miscellaneous benefits to which _free members_ are entitled, such as allowances for imprisonment for debt contracted under circumstances that are in a sense justifiable, or allowances to help towards defraying the cost of a substitute to _free members_ who are drawn and liable to serve in the militia.

These benefits seem to anticipate the chief emergencies that may happen in the course of one’s life, as well as providing for the expenses always attendant upon death; and the allowances made in respect of them are, it must be admitted, very liberal, and are doubtless the means of causing so many poor persons to save in this simple manner against the occurrence of such untoward incidents.

The success of the ‘Hearts of Oak’ is largely due, however, to other causes. Principally, we think, it may be attributed to the great economy in its management; as, for instance, it saves a large sum by the fact of its not being what is commonly known as a ‘collecting society.’ On the contrary, the members bring or send their money quite of their own accord; the consequence being that, while the managerial expenses of some collecting societies vary from 25 to 70 per cent. on the annual income, the expenses of the ‘Hearts of Oak’ amount only to 3¾ or 4 per cent.

Another favourable point in the system pursued by this society is, that all members pay alike. Technically of course this must be considered unscientific, but in the aggregate the system is found to pay; just as the same charge for a telegram whether it be to Aberdeen or to the next street is also unscientific, but practically answers well. The great argument in favour of the system seems to be the fact that it promotes business—and what more is wanted? Our large insurance companies report about one thousand policies as good work for one year; whereas the ‘Hearts of Oak’ on its system reports over sixteen thousand new members during the same period. On some such system as this it were not impossible, we think, for the whole life-insurance business of the city of London to be done by one well-conducted office; in which case the insured would certainly derive one great benefit—namely, that of having to pay very much less, perhaps only one-half of the usual premium.

Another counterpoise to the disadvantage of charging all members alike is, that a lying-in benefit of thirty shillings—as already shewn—is allowed. To young men this has a great attraction; and the result is that the average age of joining the society is only twenty-seven. So rapid indeed has been the growth of the ‘Hearts of Oak,’ that an average age of the whole society, which ten years ago was nearly thirty-four years, is now only about thirty-three years.

One other circumstance which we fancy may have something to do with the success of the society is worth mentioning—it is the business-like manner in which the system adopted is carried out. Perfect discipline among the members is maintained, and a strict adherence to the rules that have been made enforced. Every infraction of a rule is promptly visited by the imposition of a fine on the offending member; and so stringent is the society in this respect, that the amount which annually accrues under this head is very large. In the accounts of the ‘Hearts of Oak’ for 1876 we notice that this item reaches the large sum of L.6949, 13s. 6d.; which not only served to defray the year’s expenses of the society (namely, L.5819, 9s. 7d.), but left a balance of L.1130, 3s. 11d. It can hardly be considered as exactly any merit of the society that it is thus able to pay its expenses; yet there stands the fact, whatever we may think of it. It is only fair, however, to state that the greater part of this large amount arises from a fine of ninepence imposed upon members who fail to clear the books by their quarterly night. This is levied more as a sort of interest for a month’s longer use of the money; and it is a striking instance of innate want of thrift on the part of the working classes, that so many are willing to pay ninepence for the use of ten shillings for the month, rather than arrange to be prompt in their payments. The revenue derived from this fine alone is about four thousand pounds a year. It is a curious fact too, that of the total number of members on the books at any one time, it is always found that just one-third will not pay at the quarter, and have therefore to be fined. In thus deferring their payments, these members are the means of allowing both the monthly and quarterly payments being reserved entirely for the purposes of the benefits already enumerated, and for profit; under which head the surplus now amounts to forty thousand pounds per annum; in point of fact, the cost of management has always been paid for by these miscellaneous receipts. This substantial advantage is probably caused unwittingly on the members’ part, but it is not the less felt or beneficial for all that.

Having briefly pointed out the main features and benefits of the ‘Hearts of Oak,’ it only remains for us to add one word as to the great usefulness of such societies. Notwithstanding the great success of the Post-office savings-banks and such other banks as are intended for the deposit of small sums, it is our belief that they are not so conducive to permanent saving and thrift among the poorer classes as may be supposed. The number of deposits in the postal banks in any one year is no doubt very great; but on the other hand, the number of withdrawals is also great; and from this fact we infer that the larger part of the sums placed there is more for the sake of temporary safety than with any view of permanent saving. Hence then the great usefulness of societies which yield ultimate benefits for present contributions. As already pointed out, the difficulty of persuading the poorer classes to save in this manner is by no means great; and once, therefore, a working man has become a member of such a society, he knows he must pay regularly; which when he becomes accustomed to it, he only feels as a natural duty, like the house-rent he has to pay, or any other such tax. A further advantage of societies too is, that his contributions cannot be regained, except indeed at a considerable loss; but in the savings-banks it is always at his own discretion to draw out his deposits; a discretion often not very wisely used. In this comparison, however, it is by no means our wish to suggest the slightest disparagement of savings-banks, which in their way are most useful to all who are really anxious to lay by. We have only desired to shew more forcibly the benefits of societies like the ‘Hearts of Oak,’ that thereby those whom it may concern may be induced—if they have not already done so—to become members.

THE DALESFOLK.

Before the spinning-jenny and the steam-engine revolutionised our manner of living, there existed among the hills and dales of the Lake countries a little community which had its own peculiar manners, laws, and customs, and which was something unique in its way, for it seemed to be a kind of republic existing in the midst of a great empire. The people were what are now called peasant proprietors, but in Cumberland and Westmoreland they have always been named ‘statesmen.’ A few of these ancient land-owners still exist, and their tenure of the land which they possess is not feudal but allodial, in so far as that they acquired their estates at a very remote period, either by establishing themselves on unoccupied lands like the ‘settlers’ in Australia or America, or by conquering previous possessors. Several of these statesmen possess estates which have descended uninterruptedly in their families since the time of Richard II., and always as ‘customary freeholds;’ while one family, the Holmes of Mardale, have inherited their land in unbroken succession since the year 1060, when a certain John Holme came from Norway and settled in the district.

When James II. came to the throne he set up a claim to all those small estates, on the plea that the statesmen were merely tenants of the crown. But his claim was met by the sturdy Dalesfolk in a manner which he little expected. They met to the number of two thousand, at a place called Ratten Heath, and publicly declared that ‘they had won their lands by the sword, and by the sword they would keep them.’

Owing to the smallness of the estates, there was not sufficient employment in farm-work at all times for a statesman and his family, and carding, spinning, and weaving formed the employment for the winter months. The men carded, and the women spun the wool yielded by the previous clipping. Nearly every household had its weaving-shop, where one or two looms were kept, and many of the men were able to weave the cloth which served for their own wear and that of their families. The linsey-woolsey dresses worn by the women were homespun, and they also manufactured linen for domestic purposes.

The process of preparing the cloth was a curious one, and deserves mention. After a web of woollen cloth was turned out of the loom, it was taken to the ‘beck’ or stream and soaked in the water; then it was placed on a flat stone called the ‘battling-stone’ and well pounded with a wooden mallet. This primitive operation served instead of the elaborate processes through which woollen cloth now passes at the fuller’s mill.

The costume of the Dalesmen was rather picturesque, being composed of homespun fleeces of white or black, with occasionally a mixture of the two colours to save the expense of dyeing. This homely material, which is still made in some parts of Scotland and Ireland, has lately become fashionable, and is pronounced to be superior for country wear to the most finished products of our steam-looms. The coats were ornamented with brass buttons, as were also the waistcoats, which were made open in front to shew a frilled shirt-breast. Knee-breeches were the fashion for centuries, and these were worn without braces, which are quite a modern invention. Those used on Sundays or holidays had a knot of ribbon and four or five bright buttons at the knee, and those who could afford it had them made of buckskin. Their stockings, which were of course a conspicuous part of their dress, were also made from their own wool, the colour being either blue or gray. Clogs were their ordinary ‘shoon,’ but when dressed in holiday costume they had low shoes fastened with buckles, which were often of silver.

At the present day this picturesque costume is nearly obsolete, but some of the old Dalesmen still adhere to the fashion of their youth. About five or six years ago a few of them happened to meet at Grasmere Fair and stood chatting together for some time without noticing what many other persons were remarking, namely, that all of them were dressed in the old costume. When they did notice it they all agreed that it was a somewhat singular coincidence, and a proper occasion for a friendly glass in honour of ‘auld lang syne.’ They were the connecting link between the old times and the new, and would probably be the last of the Dalesfolk to wear the costume of the bygone age.

The dress of the Daleswomen was not less primitive than that of the men. They wore homespun linsey-woolsey petticoats and gowns, a blue linen apron completing their attire. The statesman’s daughter who first communicated to her native place a knowledge of the glories of printed calico is said to have created a great sensation, and was more than a nine days’ wonder. The clogs worn by the women were pointed at the toes and were clasped with brass instead of iron. Their bonnets were made of pasteboard covered with black silk, and in shape resembled a coal-scuttle, with the front projecting about a foot beyond the face of the wearer.

The houses of the Dalesfolk were not of the most comfortable kind, and were similar to those which exist at the present day in many of the southern counties of England. Badly constructed with rough-hewn stones, and joined with clay instead of mortar, they did not always shelter the inmates from the ‘cauld blast;’ while it was no uncommon thing for the roofs to be in such a state that when a snow-storm took place in the night, people in bed would often find several inches of snow on their bed-clothes the next morning. The wood used in the construction of the houses was oak; doors, floors, and window-frames being all of that sturdy material. The beams were made of whole trees roughly squared, while the smaller rafters and joists were split. Most of these old buildings had a porch before the outer door, the latter being of massive oak, two planks thick, and fastened together with wooden pegs (for the carpenters in those days used very few nails), which were put in parallel rows about three or four inches apart and left projecting about three-quarters of an inch on the outside. About six hundred of these pegs were used in its construction, and the making of them occupied as much time as it would take to make a dozen doors in our busier times. A degree of sanctity was, however, attached to a door by these simple folk, and certain charms to be used only at the threshold are remembered even now in the Dales.

In dwellings of the usual size there were not more than three rooms on the ground floor, namely the living-apartment, the dairy, and the parlour, the last being generally used as the bedroom of the master and mistress. In some cases there was an out-kitchen, but not in all.

Long after the use of coal and fire-grates became general throughout England these people still continued to burn peat and wood upon the open hearth, and it was not until half the present century had elapsed that, railway communication making coal cheaper, and the increased value of labour making peat dearer, coal finally triumphed and open fire-places gave place to grates. The old chimneys had no flues, and were very wide at the bottom, gradually contracting towards the top, and in these chimneys hams, legs of beef, flitches of bacon, and whole carcases of mutton were hung up to dry for winter consumption.

The food of the Dalesmen was confined almost wholly to the simple products of their own farms. They consumed a large portion of animal food, and as sheep and cattle were in the best condition for slaughtering in autumn, it was then that the Dalesfolk stocked their wide chimneys with a supply of meat for the winter and spring. Tea, coffee, and wheaten bread were very little known in the Dales; oatcake (Anglicè), or ‘haver-bread’ as it was termed, being used. The people brewed their own beer and drank it at nearly every meal. Such, with milk, butter, and cheese, was the food of these honest folk, and they seemed to have thriven well on it. When tea, coffee, and sugar came into general use, an old Dalesman remarked that he wondered ‘what t’ warl’ wod cum tew after a bit when fowk nooadays couldn’t git their breakfast without hevvin stuff fra baith East and West Indies.’

Until the middle of last century the roads of the two counties were in a wretched state; and instead of wheeled carriages, pack-horses and in some cases sledges were used for conveying things from one place to another. There is an old man now living in Grasmere whose grandmother could remember the present church bells being brought thither by sledges along the old road over the top of White Moss, then the main road between Ambleside and Grasmere. A man and his wife often rode to market together on the same horse, the woman sitting behind on what was called a pillion. But the Dalesfolk were not very particular as to their turn-out, for a piece of turf dried and cut into the proper shape often served them as a saddle. Other saddles were pads of straw; and on market-days, after business was over, such of the farmers as were convivially disposed stayed on at the public-house or inn, holding a ‘crack’ and drinking till a late hour; and while a spree of this kind was going on, it often happened that the poor hungry horses would break loose and eat up all the straw pads, thus leaving their owners to ride home bareback!

The Dalesfolk were rather superstitious; and there is an old story in the local records about the way in which the first lime was introduced to the district. It was carried on the back of a horse, and as they neared Borrowdale a thunder-storm came on, and the lime in the sack began to smoke. Thinking the sack was on fire, the man in charge went and filled his hat with water from a ditch, and threw it into the sack. As this made things worse, he grew terribly alarmed, and thinking the Evil One had something to do with it, he pitched the lime into the ditch, and leaping on to the horse, galloped home as fast as he could go.

Ploughing was attended with hard labour to those employed, and it required at least three men and three horses to work one plough. The horses were yoked one before another, and it was as much as one man could do to drive them. A second man held the plough-beam down, to prevent the plough from slipping out of the earth; while it was the work of a third to guide the whole concern, this part of the business requiring the most skill. Sometimes a fourth man was employed with pick and spade to turn up the places missed by the plough. Very little skill or labour was expended in the making of the implement, and it was nothing unusual for a tree growing in the morning to be cut down during the day, and made into a plough, with which a good stroke of work was done before night.

These good people worked much harder than their descendants of the present day. Their hours of labour were much longer, and much of what they did by hand is now done by machinery. Though ignorant and unrefined, they were honest and hospitable, and possessed a great deal of sound shrewd common-sense. In those days many of them followed several handicrafts, for the division of labour was not such as it is now; and a remarkable instance of this diversified ability is to be found in the life of the man who was the parish priest of Wordsworth’s poem, _The Excursion_. This worthy man—whose history we have slightly alluded to in an article in this _Journal_ on the Lake Country—was the son of a poor statesman, and was the youngest of twelve. At the age of seventeen he became a village schoolmaster, and a little later both minister and schoolmaster. Before and after school-hours he laboured at manual occupation, rising between three and four in the summer, and working in the fields with the scythe or sickle. He ploughed, he planted, tended sheep, or clipped and salved, all for hire; wrote his own sermons, and did his duty at chapel twice on Sundays. In all these labours he excelled. In winter-time he occupied himself in reading, writing his own sermons, spinning, and making his own clothes and those of his family, knitting and mending his own stockings, and making his own shoes, the leather of which was of his own tanning. In his walks he never neglected to gather and bring home the wool from the hedges. He was also the physician and lawyer of his parishioners; drew up their wills, conveyances, bonds, &c., wrote all their letters, and settled their accounts, and often went to market with sheep or wool for the farmers.

He married a respectable maid-servant, who brought him forty pounds; and shortly afterwards he became curate of Seathwaite, where he lived and officiated for sixty-seven years. We are told that when his family wanted cloth, he often took the spinning-wheel into the school-room, where he also kept a cradle—of course of his own making. Not unfrequently the wheel, the cradle, and the scholars all claiming his attention at the same moment, taxed the ingenuity of this wonderful man to keep them all going. To all these attainments Mr Walker—or ‘Wonderful Walker,’ as he was called—also added a knowledge of fossils and plants, and a ‘habit’ of observing the stars and winds. In summer he also collected various insects, and by his entertaining descriptions of them amused and instructed his children. After a long and extremely useful, nay we might say heroic life, which extended over nearly the whole of the last century (he having been born in 1709), this remarkable Dalesman died on the 25th of June 1802, in the ninety-third year of his age. In the course of his life he had, besides bringing up and settling in life a family of twelve children, amassed the sum of two thousand pounds, the result of marvellous industry and self-denial.

The chapel where this celebrated man entered upon his sacred duties was the smallest in the Dales, the poet Wordsworth, Mr Walker’s biographer, describing it as scarcely larger than many of the fragments of rock lying near it. Most of these small chapelries were presided over by ‘readers,’ men who generally exercised the trades of clogger, tailor, and butter-print maker, in order to eke out their small stipend. The livings were not worth more than two or three pounds a year, and the ministers were dependent upon the voluntary contributions of their parishioners. Their stipends, beside the small money-payment mentioned above, comprised ‘clothes yearly and whittlegate.’ The former meant one suit of clothes, two pairs of shoes, and one pair of clogs; and the latter, two or three weeks’ victuals at each house according to the ability of the inhabitants, which was settled among themselves; so that the minister could ‘go his course’ as regularly as the sun, and complete it annually. Few houses having more than one or two knives, he was obliged to carry his own knife or ‘whittle.’ He marched from house to house, and as master of the flock, had the elbow-chair at the table-head. Some remarkable scenes were often the result of this droll arrangement, and many good stories are current with reference to it. A story is told in Whythburn of a minister who had but two sermons, which he preached in turn. The walls of the chapel were at that time unplastered, and the sermons were usually placed in a hole in the wall behind the pulpit. On Sunday, before the service began, some wag pushed the sermons so far into the hole that they could not be got out with the hand. When the time for the sermon had arrived, the minister tried in vain to get them out. He then turned to the congregation and said that he could touch them with his forefinger, but couldn’t get his thumb in to grasp them. ‘But however,’ said he, ‘I will read you a chapter of Job instead, and that’s worth both of them put together!’

There was a curious custom at one time in the Dales of holding market at the church. Meat and all kinds of things were displayed at the church doors, and it often happened that people would make their bargains first and hang their goods over the backs of their seats. Though such practices have long been discontinued, there are still people living who have heard the clerk give out in the churchyard the advertisements of the several sales which were to be held in the neighbourhood. One good custom there was, however, which might be often practised now with advantage in small towns and villages, namely, that of the churchwardens going round the village during divine service and driving all the loungers into church.

The Dalesfolk had their sports too, the chief of which was the one for which Cumberland and Westmoreland have ever been famous, namely wrestling. They were also keen hunters; and until quite a recent period a few couples of hounds were kept in every dale, and when the presence of a fox was betrayed by a missing lamb or a decimated hen-roost, all the dogs and nearly all the men in the parish entered in pursuit of the depredator, and were seldom balked by their victim.

Some songs that were in vogue in the Dales a hundred years ago are still sung, chiefly at fairs by itinerant ballad-mongers. Some of the tunes are very antique, as for instance, _St Dunstan’s Hunt’s Up_, mentioned by Sir Walter Scott as lost and forgotten, but which is still played on the fiddle every Christmas-eve. The festivals held from time to time in the Dales were such as were very common in all parts of ‘Merrie England’ when our forefathers worked hard, and money was much scarcer than it is now. That they worked harder on the whole is a thing which admits of two opinions; but one thing is certain, namely, that their work was of a steady, careful, easy-going kind, whilst now it is all bustle and drive, in the endeavour to cram into a few fleeting hours as much as they could do in a whole week. Such as we find the world, however, we must put up with it, content, like them, to keep pegging away, and meeting the storms and buffetings of life with the same courageous spirit which enabled them to add their mite towards the honour, glory, and welfare of our common country.

A SPRING MORNING.

When sparrows in the brightening sun
Chirped blithe of summer half-begun
And sure to prosper—over-bold
With rifled stores of crocus gold—
When lilacs fresh with morning rain
Tapped laughing at my window pane,
And soft with coming warmth and good
Mild breezes shook the leafy wood:

Then, ere the first delight was spent,
Adown the sunny slope I went,
Until the narrowing path across,
Soft shadows flickered on the moss
Of beechen buds that burst their sheath,
And twining tendrils, while beneath,
Where twisted roots made hollows meet,
Grew budding primrose at my feet.

There all the riddles of a life
Which vexes me with aimless strife;
The broken thoughts, that not with pain
Nor patience ere will meet again,
Were laid aside, nay, seemed to drop
As, when loud jarring voices stop,
The waves of silence rise, and spread,
And meet in circles overhead.

How life might grow I seemed to guess;
Life knowing no uneasy stress
Of partial increase; strong in growth,
Yet ever perfect, dawning truth
Which swayed each hour that took its flight
An added empiry of light,
That neither cloud nor mist might stay,
Slow brightening to the perfect day.

Though autumn hours will come again,
And leafless branches drip with rain
On sodden moss, yet having seen,
I keep my faith: each spring-tide green—
When drooping life puts off its gloom,
And burned roots bear scented bloom—
With tender prophecy makes sure
My heart to labour and endure.

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Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

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