We went to the Minster, v. 505.—The Minster at Rippon is a fine gothic structure, it formerly contained a narrow passage called the Needle of St. Wilfred, used by the monks as an ordeal for female purity.—The Bone-house contains many thousand skulls, and is generally shewn as a curiosity.
Editor's Note.
Fam'd Brimham rocks, &c.—v. 1009.—These prodigious masses of natural rock, together with a druidical temple near them, form one of the objects of curiosity in this neighbourhood; they are distant about eleven miles.
Editor's Note.
To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton. v. 1011.—Bolton-Priory stands upon a beautiful curviture of the Wharfe, on a level sufficiently elevated to protect it from inundation, and low enough for every purpose of picturesque effect.—In the latter respect it has no equal among the northern houses, perhaps not in the kingdom.—To the south all is soft and delicious, the eye reposes upon a few rich pastures, a moderate reach of the river sufficiently tranquil to form a mirror for the sun, and the bounding fells beyond neither too near, nor too lofty, to exclude even in winter any considerable portion of his rays.
But after all, the glories of Bolton are on the north, whatever the most fastidious taste could require to form a perfect landscape, is not only found here, but in its proper place; in front and immediately under the eye, is a smooth expanse of park-like inclosure, spotted with native elm, ash, &c. of the finest growth; on the right a skirting oak wood with jutting points of grey rock; on the left a rising copse, still forward are the aged groves of Bolton-park the growth of centuries, and further yet the barren and rocky distances of Simon Seat and Barden Fell, contrasted with the warmth, fertility, and luxuriant foliage of the valley below—about half a mile above Bolton-Priory the valley closes, and either side of the Wharfe is overhung with deep and solemn woods, intermingled with huge masses of perpendicular rocks which jut out at intervals.
This sequestered scene was inaccessible till of late, when under the judicious direction of the Rev. W. Carr, B. D. Rector of Bolton-ridings, were cut in the woods, and the most interesting parts laid open to the eye, at the request of the noble proprietor, His Grace the Duke of Devonshire.
Extract from Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven.
Howl o'er the Strid, &c.—v. 1085.—In the deep solitude of the woods above Bolton, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with a violence proportioned to its confinement. The place is called the Strid from a feat sometimes exercised by persons of great agility and little prudence, who skip from brink to brink regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step. An accident caused by this rashness has given a dreadful and sensible interest to this awful spot, in addition to the commending one it has received by nature, and which is immediately connected with the records of Bolton.
In the 12th century, William Fitz Duncan at the command of David King of Scotland, who was besieging Narham, laid waste this part of Yorkshire with fire and sword, committing every species of cruelty which barbarity could suggest, and humanity deplore. In fourteen years after, David established him by force in the domain he had impoverished, and he married Aaliza daughter and heiress of William de Meschines a neighbouring Earl. They had a son commonly called the Boy of Egremont (from one of his grandfather's baronies where he was born) and who surviving his eldest brother became the sole hope of his family.
This youth in his sixteenth year, inconsiderately bounding over this terrific chasm with a greyhound in his leash, the affrighted animal hung back and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent.—The forester who accompanied young Romillé (the Boy of Egremont) returned to the Lady Aaliza, and with a despairing countenance said, "What is good for a bootless bene?" to which the mother apprehending some great calamity had befallen her son, answered, "endless sorrow."—The language of this question proves the antiquity of the story; its meaning appears to have been, what remains when prayer is useless.