Lays and Legends of the English Lake Country

In Westmorland and Cumberland, thanks to the piety and local attachments of our ancestors, endowed, or, as they are more commonly called, free, schools abound. Grammar schools were established on the verge of, and even within, the lake district, prior to the dissolution of monasteries. From these institutions a host of learned and valuable men were distributed over England; many of them rose to great eminence in the literary world; and contributed to the establishment of Schools in the villages where they were born. Before the conclusion of the 17th century, seminaries of this kind were commenced in every parish, and in almost every considerable village; and education to learned professions, especially to the pulpit, continued the favourite method of the yeomanry of bringing up their younger sons, till about the year 1760, when commerce became the high road to wealth, and Greek and Latin began reluctantly, and by slow gradation, to give way to an education consisting chiefly in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Many of this new species of scholars were annually taken into the employment of merchants and bankers in London, and several of them into the Excise. The clergyman generally found preferment at a distance from home, where he settled and died; but the merchant brought his riches and new manners and habits among his kindred.

The predilection for ancient literature and the learned professions seems to have been a kind of instinctive propensity among the people of these secluded vales. In the grammar schools the discipline was severe, and the instruction imparted was respectable. In addition to the endowment, the master's industry was usually rewarded at Shrovetide with a gift in money or provisions, proportioned to his desert, and the circumstances of the donor. This present was called Cock-penny, a name derived from the master being obliged by ancient usage and the "barring-out" rules, to give the boys a prize to fight cocks for; which cock-fighting was held either at Shrovetide or Easter. Indeed this custom seems to have originated in the care which was taken to instil into youth a martial and enterprising spirit. This appears from the founders, in many of the schools, having made half of the master's salary to depend on the cock-pennies; and if the master refused to give the customary prize, the scholars withheld the present. The vacations were at Christmas and Pentecost, for about a fortnight; and all red-letter days were half-holidays. But between the former seasons the Barring-out occurred; which consisted in the boys taking possession of the schoolroom early in the morning, and refusing the master admittance until he had signed certain rules for the regulation of the holidays, and a general pardon for all past offences, demanding a bondsman to the instrument. Then followed a feast and a day of idleness.

The youths of a neighbourhood, rich and poor, were all educated together; a circumstance which diffused and kept alive a plain familiarity of intercourse among all ranks of people, which inspired the lowest with independence of sentiment, and infused no insolent or unreal consequence into the wealthy. Thus it was no unusual thing for the yeoman and the shepherd to enliven their employments or festivities with recitations from the bucolics of Virgil, the idyls of Theocrites, or the wars of Troy. A story is told of the late Mr. John Gunson, a worthy miller, who formerly kept the Plough Inn, a small public-house near the Church at Ulpha. Two or three young fellows from a neighbouring town, or, as some say, a party of students from St. Bees School, being out on a holiday excursion, called at John's, and after regaling themselves with his ale, and indulging in a good deal of quizzing and banter at the landlord's expense, demanded their bill. John in his homely country dialect, said, "Nay, we niver mak' any bills here, ye hev so much to pay"—mentioning the sum. "O," replied one of the wags, "you cannot write: that is the cause of your excuse." John, who had quietly suffered them to proceed in their remarks, retired, and in a short time brought them in a bill written out in the Hebrew language, which it need scarcely be said quite puzzled them. He then sent them one in Greek, and afterwards in Latin, neither of which they could make out. They then begged that he would tell them in plain English what they had to pay. John laughed heartily at their ignorance, which on this occasion shone as conspicuous as their impertinence to their learned and unassuming host.

If such was the level upon which the yeomanry stood in an educational sense, their favourite plan of bringing up their younger sons to the learned professions, and especially the pulpit, may account for a saying which is almost proverbial in Cumberland, "Owt 'll mak' a parson!" meaning thereby that if one of their sons proved more stupid than another, the church was the proper destination for him.

In the more secluded valleys the scholars were taught in the church; the curate, who was also schoolmaster, sitting within the communion rails, and using the table as a desk, while the children occupied the pews or the open space beside him.

In the parish register of the last named chapelry is a notice, that a youth who had quitted the valley, and died in one of the towns on the coast of Cumberland, had requested that his body should be brought and interred at the foot of the pillar by which he had been accustomed to sit while a school-boy.

Teachers of writing and arithmetic also wandered from village to village, being remunerated by a whittle gate. The churches and chapels have mostly a little school-house adjoining. In some places the school-house was a sort of antichapel to the place of worship, being under the same roof, an arrangement which was abandoned as irreverent. It continues however to this day in Borrowdale and some other chapelries.

Superstitious fears were sometimes entertained lest a boy should learn too far. It was usual to consider all schoolmasters as wise men or conjurors. Wise men were such as had spent their lives in the pursuit of science, and had learned too much. For conjuration was supposed to be a science which as naturally followed other parts of learning as compound addition followed simple addition. The wise man possessed wonderful power. He could recover stolen goods, either by fetching back the articles, showing the thief in a black mirror, or making him walk round the cross on a market day, with the stolen goods on his shoulders. The last, however, he could not do, if the culprit wore a piece of green sod upon his head. When any person applied to the wise man for information, it was necessary for him to reach home before midnight, as a storm was the certain consequence of the application, and the applicant ran great risk of being tormented by the devil all the way home. The wise men were supposed to have made a compact with the devil, that he was to serve them for a certain number of years, and then have them, body and soul, after death. They were compelled to give the devil some living animal whenever he called upon them, as a pledge that they intended to give themselves at last. Instances are recorded of boys, in the master's absence, having got to his books, and raised the devil. The difficulty was to lay him again. He must be kept employed, or have one of the boys for the trouble given to him. The broken flag through which he rose is no doubt shown to this day. Such superstitions are not so completely exploded in the country, but that many equally improbable tales are told and believed.

The old register-book of the parish of Penrith, which appears to have been commenced about the year 1599, contains some entries of an earlier date, which have been either copied from a former register, or inserted from memory. The following entries occur:—

"Liber Registerii de Penrith scriptus in anno dni 1599 anno regni regine Elizabethe 41.

Proper nots worth keeping as followethe.

Floden feild was in anno dni 15....

Comotion in these north parts 1536.

St. George day dyd fall on good friday.

Queene Elizabethe begene her rainge 1558.

Plague was in Penrith and Kendal 1554.

Sollome Mose was in the yere....

Rebellion in the North Partes by the two earls of Northumberland & Westmorland & leonard Dacres in the year of our lord god 1569 & the 9th day of November.

A sore plague was in London, notinghome Derbie & lincolne in the year 1593.

A sore plague in new castle, durrome & Dernton in the year of our lord god 1597.

A sore plague in Richmond Kendal Penrith Carliell Apulbie and other places in Westmorland and Cumberland in the year of our lord god 1598 of this plague there dyed at Kendal"—a few words more, now very indistinct, follow, and the remainder of the page is cut or torn off.

Several records of the ravages committed by the plague in Cumberland and Westmorland are preserved in the more populous parts. The following inscription on the wall in Penrith Church is singular:—

AD MDXCVIIIEx gravi peste quæ regionibus hisceincubuit, obierunt apudPenrith 2260Kendal 2500Richmond 2200Carlisle 1196PosteriAvertite vos et viviteEzek. 18th – 32 –

From the Register it appears that William Wallis was vicar at the time; the following entries noting the beginning and end of the calamity are interesting:—

"1597. 22d of September, Andrew Hodgson, a foreigner, was buried."

"Here begonne the plague (God's punismet in Perith.)"

"All those that are noted with the ltre P. dyed of the infection; and those noted with F. were buried on the Fell."

"December 13th, 1598, Here ended the visitation."

The fear of infection prevented the continuance of the usual markets; and places without the town were appointed for purchasing the provisions brought by the country people.

The Church register in the neighbouring parish of Edenhall takes notice of 42 persons dying in the same year, of the plague, in that village.

Some centuries previous to this, in 1380, when the Scots made an inroad into Cumberland, under the Earl of Douglas, Penrith was suffering from a visitation of the same nature; they surprised the place at the time of a fair, and returned with immense booty; but they introduced into their country the plague contracted in this town, which swept away one-third of the inhabitants of Scotland.

It is not at all likely that these calamitous visitations were confined to the towns and villages. Although few traces may be found of this frightful disease having invaded the more remote and scattered population of the dales. Records of isolated cases might easily be lost in the course of ages; and, as mere memorials of domestic affliction, were not likely to be preserved in families. Yet tradition has its utterances where purer history fails. On the side of Lingmoor in Great Langdale, a small stone-fenced enclosure, a few feet across, of green and shining laurels, indicates a spot which the pestilence had reached. This bright circular patch of evergreens is very conspicuous amid the ferns, from the heights on the opposite side of the valley. On a near approach, the foundations of what appear to be the remains of an ancient dwelling may be traced at a little distance from it. Still more distant are the ruins of one or two deserted cottages, where the sheep pasture along the base of the mountain. What has been gathered from the dalespeople about the laurels, so singular in such a spot, is, that in the time of the great plague in England a woman and her son occupied a cottage near the place. The youth went from this remote district, in the spirit of enterprise, to push his fortunes in London, was smitten by the pestilence, and died. After a time some clothes and other things belonging to him were sent to his home among the hills, infected the mother, and spread terror throughout the neighbourhood. The woman having fallen a victim to the disease, so great was the dread of the pestilence that the ordinary rites of burial could not be obtained for her. The body could not be borne for interment in consecrated ground. It mouldered away, it is supposed, on the spot which to this day is marked by the little enclosure of evergreens, a memorial of the fearful visitation in the lonely dale.

One of the most pleasing characteristics of manners in secluded and thinly-peopled districts, is a sense of the degree in which human happiness and comfort are dependent on the contingency of neighbourhood. This is implied by a rhyming adage common here, "Friends are far, when neighbours are nar" (near). This mutual helpfulness is not confined to out-of-doors work; but is ready upon all occasions. Formerly, if a person became sick, especially the mistress of a family, it was usual for those of the neighbours who were more particularly connected with the party by amicable offices, to visit the house, carrying a present; this practice, which is by no means obsolete, is called owning the family, and is regarded as a pledge of a disposition to be otherwise serviceable in a time of disability and distress.

THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN

The morn was fresh; and ere we wonThe famous Valley of Saint John,For many a rood our thoughts had plann'dThe scenery of that magic land.We pictured bowers where ladies fairHad breathed of old enchanted air;Groves where Sir Knights had uttered vowsTo Genii through the silvery boughs;Piles of the pride of ages goneCleft between night and morning's sun,Or veiled by mighty Merlin's power;And her, too, Britain's peerless flower—Her, chained in slumbering beauty fastWhile generations rose and pass'd,Gyneth 'mid the Wizard's dens,King Arthur's child and Guendolen's!So, led by many a wandering gleamFrom youth and poetry's sweet dream,We climbed the old created hills,And cross'd the everlasting rills,Which lay between us and the unwonBut glorious Valley of Saint John.The morn was fresh, and bright the sunBurst o'er the drowsy mountains dun.A moment's pause for strength renewed,And we our pleasant march pursued.Blythely we scaled the steep, surpass'dBy steeps each loftier than the last;O'er rocks and heaths and wilds we followThe vapoury path from height to hollow;And through the winding vale below,Where yellowing fields with plenty glow;And, scattered wide and far between,Lay white-walled farms and orchards green;The hedge-rows with their verdure crownedHemming the little plots of ground;The happy kine for pastures lowing;The rivulets through the meadows flowing;The sunshine glittering on the slopes;The white lambs on the mountain tops;No vision and no gleam to callEnchantment from her airy hall;But beauty through all seasons wonFrom Nature and her parent sun,There brightening as through ages gone,Lay round us as our hearts sped onTo reach the Valley of Saint John.The noon was past; the sun's bright raySloped slowly down his westering wayWith mellower light; the sobering gleamsTouched Glenderamakin's farthest streams;Flung all the richness of their charmsRound lonely Threlkeld's wastes and farms:And high beyond fired with their glowBlencathra's steep and lofty brow;When suddenly—as if by powerOf Magic wrought in that bright hour—Shone out, with all the circumstanceAnd splendour of restored Romance,Southwards afar behind us spread,With its grey fortress at its head,The Valley, spell-bound as of old,In all its mingling green and gold;In all the glory of the timeWhen Uther's son was in his prime,And chivalry ranged every clime;And peaceful as when Gyneth, keptIn Merlin's halls, beneath it slept.There had we roamed the live-long daySaint John's fair fields and winding way,With hearts unconsciously beguiledBy witcheries and enchantment wild!And not till steps that toiled no moreIt's utmost bound had vanish'd o'er,Knew youth's wild thought our hearts had won,And thrid the Valley of Saint John.

NOTES TO "THE VALE OF SAINT JOHN."

Near the village of Threlkeld, the road from Keswick to Penrith, branching off on the right, discloses obliquely to the view, the Vale of St. John. The well known description of this beautiful dell by Mr. Hutchinson, who visited it in the year 1773, conferred upon it a reputation which was greatly increased when the genius of Scott made it the scene of his tale of enchantment "The Bridal of Triermain." The interest which it derives from its traditional connection with the wiles of Merlin, whose magic fortress continues to attract and elude the gaze of the traveller, is well given in the words of the former writer.

"We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John's, a very narrow dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a small brook makes many meanderings, washing little enclosures of grass ground, which stretch up the risings of the hills. In the widest part of the dale you are struck with the appearance of an ancient ruined castle, which seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount, the mountains around forming an amphitheatre. This massive bulwark shews a front of various towers, and makes an awful, rude, and Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and rugged battlements: we traced the galleries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest antiquity stands characterized in its architecture; the inhabitants near it assert it is an antidiluvian structure.

"The traveller's curiosity is roused, and he prepares to make a nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the rack, by his being assured that, if he advances, certain genii, who govern the place, by virtue of their supernatural arts and necromancy will strip it of all its beauties, and by enchantment transform the magic walls. The vale seems adapted for the habitation of such beings; its gloomy recesses and retirements look like the haunts of evil spirits. There was no delusion in the report; we were soon convinced of its truth; for this piece of antiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, as we drew near, changed its figure, and proved no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks, which stand in the midst of this little vale, disunited from the adjoining mountains, and have so much the real form and resemblance of a castle, that they bear the name of The Castle Rocks of St. John's."

The more familiar appellation of this rocky pile among the dalesmen is Green Crag. The approach into the valley from Threlkeld displays it in the most poetical point of view, and under some states of atmosphere it requires no stretch of the imagination to transform its grey perpendicular masses into an impregnable castle, whose walls and turrets waving with ivy and other parasitical plants, form the prison of the immortal Merlin.

Other atmospheric effects, which occasionally occur in this District, have been alluded to elsewhere in these notes; as the aerial armies seen on Souter Fell, and the Helm Cloud and Bar, with their accompanying wind, generated upon Cross Fell.

Phenomena of a singular character, which may be ascribed to reflections from pure and still water in the lakes, have also attracted observation. Mr. Wordsworth has described two of which he was an eye-witness. "Walking by the side of Ulswater," says he, "upon a calm September morning, I saw deep within the bosom of the lake, a magnificent Castle, with towers and battlements; nothing could be more distinct than the whole edifice;—after gazing with delight upon it for some time, as upon a work of enchantment, I could not but regret that my previous knowledge of the place enabled me to account for the appearance. It was in fact the reflection of a pleasure house called Lyulph's Tower—the towers and battlements magnified and so much changed in shape as not to be immediately recognised. In the meanwhile, the pleasure house itself was altogether hidden from my view by a body of vapour stretching over it and along the hill-side on which it extends, but not so as to have intercepted its communication with the lake; and hence this novel and most impressive object, which, if I had been a stranger to the spot, would, from its being inexplicable, have long detained the mind in a state of pleasing astonishment. Appearances of this kind, acting upon the credulity of early ages, may have given birth to, and favoured the belief in, stories of sub-aqueous palaces, gardens, and pleasure-grounds—the brilliant ornaments of Romance.

"With this inverted scene," he continues, "I will couple a much more extraordinary phenomenon, which will shew how other elegant fancies may have had their origin, less in invention than in the actual process of nature.

"About eleven o'clock on the forenoon of a winter's day, coming suddenly, in company of a friend, into view of the Lake of Grasmere, we were alarmed by the sight of a newly created Island; the transitory thought of the moment was, that it had been produced by an earthquake or some convulsion of nature. Recovering from the alarm, which was greater than the reader can possibly sympathize with, but which was shared to its full extent by my companion, we proceeded to examine the object before us. The elevation of this new island exceeded considerably that of the old one, its neighbour; it was likewise larger in circumference, comprehending a space of about five acres; its surface rocky, speckled with snow, and sprinkled over with birch trees; it was divided towards the south from the other island by a firth, and in like manner from the northern shore of the lake; on the east and west it was separated from the shore by a much larger space of smooth water.

"Marvellous was the illusion! comparing the new with the old Island, the surface of which is soft, green, and unvaried, I do not scruple to say that, as an object of sight, it was much the more distinct. 'How little faith,' we exclaimed, 'is due to one sense, unless its evidence be confirmed by some of its fellows! What stranger could possibly be persuaded that this, which we know to be an unsubstantial mockery, is really so; and that there exists only a single Island on this beautiful Lake?' At length the appearance underwent a gradual transmutation; it lost its prominence and passed into a glimmering and dim inversion, and then totally disappeared;—leaving behind it a clear open area of ice of the same dimensions. We now perceived that this bed of ice, which was thinly suffused with water, had produced the illusion, by reflecting and refracting (as persons skilled in optics would no doubt easily explain,) a rocky and woody section of the opposite mountain named Silver-how."

Southey describes a scene that he had witnessed on Derwent Lake, as "a sight more dreamy and wonderful than any scenery that fancy ever yet devised for Faery-land. We had walked down," he writes, "to the lake side, it was a delightful day, the sun shining, and a few white clouds hanging motionless in the sky. The opposite shore of Derwentwater consists of one long mountain, which suddenly terminates in an arch, thus [arch symbol], and through that opening you see a long valley between mountains, and bounded by mountain beyond mountain; to the right of the arch the heights are more varied and of greater elevation. Now, as there was not a breath of air stirring, the surface of the lake was so perfectly still, that it became one great mirror, and all its waters disappeared; the whole line of shore was represented as vividly and steadily as it existed in its actual being—the arch, the vale within, the single houses far within the vale, the smoke from the chimneys, the farthest hills, and the shadow and substance joined at their bases so indivisibly, that you could make no separation even in your judgment. As I stood on the shore, heaven and the clouds seemed lying under me; I was looking down into the sky, and the whole range of mountains, having the line of summits under my feet, and another above me, seemed to be suspended between the firmaments. Shut your eyes and dream of a scene so unnatural and so beautiful. What I have said is most strictly and scrupulously true; but it was one of those happy moments that can seldom occur, for the least breath stirring would have shaken the whole vision, and at once unrealised it. I have before seen a partial appearance, but never before did, and perhaps never again may, lose sight of the lake entirely; for it literally seemed like an abyss of sky before me, not fog and clouds from a mountain, but the blue heaven spotted with a few fleecy pillows of cloud, that looked placed there for angels to rest upon them."

THE LUCK OF EDENHALL

The martial Musgraves sheathed the sword,And held in peace sweet Edenhall.For never that house or that house's lordMay evil luck or mischance befal,While their crystal chalice can soundly ring,Or sparkle brim-full at St. Cuthbert's spring.Rude warlike men were the race of old:And seldom with priest of holy roodOr penance discoursed their knights so bold,Who won them the Forest of Inglewood.For better lov'd they to grasp the spear,Than beads to count or masses to hear.There came a bright Lady from over the sea,Once to look on their youthful heir.Saintly and like a spirit was she;And sweetest words did her tongue declare;When filling a beautiful glass to the brimAt St. Cuthbert's Well, she gave it to him.Radiant and rare—from her garment's hemTo her shining forehead, all dazzling o'er,As of crystal and gold and enamel the gemOf sparkling light from the fount she bore—Her snow-white fingers unringed she spreadOn the gallant young Musgrave's lordly head.With his ruby lips he touch'd the glass,And quaff'd off the crystal draught within."From thee and from thine if ever shall passThe pledge of this hour, shall their doom begin.Whenever that cup shall break or fall,Farewell the luck of Edenhall!"While marvelling much at so fair a sight,And wooing a vision so sweet to stay,Like a vanishing dream of the closing nightWithin the dark Forest she pass'd away;And left him musing, with senses dim,On the gifts the bright chalice had brought to him.He clasped it close, and he turn'd it o'er;Within and without its form survey'd;Till the deeds and thoughts of his sires of yoreSeem'd to him like rust on a goodly blade.And the more the glass in his hands he turned,The more for a nobler life he yearned.And there on the verge of the Forest, where stoodThe Hall for ages, he vow'd to beThe servant of Him who died on the Rood,And lay in the Tomb of Arimathee;And to drink of that cup at the Holy Well.So wrought within him the Lady's spell.And down the twilight came on his thought;And sleep fell on him beneath the trees;When an errand for water the butler broughtTo the spot, where around the slumberer's kneesThe envious fairies, a glittering band,Were loosing the cup from his slackening hand.He scared them forth: and in fierce despiteThey mocked, and mowed, and sang in his ear,—"See you yon horsemen along the height?They had harried the Hall had'st thou not come near.Whenever that cup shall break or fall,Farewell the luck of Edenhall."And the martial lords of EdenhallThey kept their cup with enamel and goldWhere never the goblet could break or fall,Or fail its measure of luck to hold;That birth or bridal, beneath its sway,Might never befal on an evil day;And land and lordship stretching wide,And honour and worship might still be theirs;As long as that cup, preserved with pride,Should be honoured and prized by Musgrave's heirs:The goblet the Lady from over the waveTo their sire in the Forest of Inglewood gave.It has sparkled high o'er the cradled babe:It has pledged the bride on her nuptial day:It has bless'd their lips at life's last ebb,With its sacred juice to cleanse the clay.For the touch the bright Lady left on its brimCan give light to the soul when all else is dim.Long prosper the luck of that noble line.May never the Musgrave's name decay.And to crown their board, when the goblets shine,May the crystal chalice be found alway!For Whenever that cup shall break or fall,Farewell the luck of Edenhall!