Chapter VI: Part 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTE:

[6] Qu. Had a grant of?

THE ABBOT OF CALDER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOTES TO "THE ABBOT OF CALDER."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE ARMBOTH BANQUET.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOTES TO "THE ARMBOTH BANQUET."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FOOTNOTE:

[7] Birth of Christ.

THE LADY OF WORKINGTON HALL.

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

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

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

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