At six we were on the roof of the stage-coach on our return to London after this long journey. We saw symptoms of our vicinity to Scotland upon the road. Scotch drovers were on their way home, men who are employed in driving lean cattle into England to be fattened for the English market; they wore instead of a hat a sort of flat turban, and had a large mantle of gray checquered cloth scarft round them, a costume far more graceful than the English. One woman we saw walking barefoot, and carrying her shoes in her hand.—"'Tis the way they do in Scotland," said the coachman, who seemed to pride himself on having been born the south side of the border. Skiddaw appeared to our right, in a new form, and of more impressive magnitude than when we first beheld it at its foot, because we were aware of the distance, and knew by experience its height. During the whole of the first stage the road inclined towards the mountains which we had left:—we did not look at them without something of regret, remembering hours and days spent among them, in that happy state of health, both bodily and mental, which extracts enjoyment even from difficulty and toil.
We breakfasted at Penrith. There are the remains of a castle here on a little eminence, which have been much dilapidated of late;—a fine gateway has been pulled down for the sake of the materials, and after it had been demolished, the stones were found to be so excellently cemented together, that it was cheaper to dig fresh ones than to separate them. This habit of quarrying in castles and abbeys has been fatal to some of the most interesting ruins in England. Richard III. resided here when Duke of Gloucester: the character of this prince, like that of our Pedro, has been vindicated by late historians; and the prevailing opinion is, that he has been atrociously calumniated to gratify the Tudors, an able but a wicked race of princes. It is a proof of his popular qualities at least, that his memory is still in good odour here, where he could not have been beloved unless he had eminently deserved to be so, because the country was attached to the hostile party.
We had an intelligent companion on the roof, a native of the country, who seemed to take a pleasure in communicating information to us concerning it, perceiving me to be a foreigner, and that I listened to him with attention. This rendered the next stage, for unfortunately he proceeded no farther with us, particularly interesting. The road ran parallel with the sierra of Crossfell, at some little distance from it; its length and uniformity of outline so diminished its apparent height, that I listened to him at first with incredulity when he told me it exceeded any of the mountains in the lake country: yet books confirm his statement, and appearances must not be weighed against measurement. It formed a fine screen to the east. Immediately near Penrith we crossed two rivers which still retained the wild character of mountain streams. The country is beautiful, and its scenery enriched by the ruins of many castles, the strong-holds in former times of the Banditti of the Border. These Borderers carried the art of cow-stealing to its greatest possible perfection; they are now reduced to a state of subordination and law, and their district is as orderly as any in the kingdom; yet in those parts which are remote from the great roads, though their plundering habits are laid aside, they retain much of their old rude manners and barbarous spirit. An instance of this we heard from our companion. A Borderer, who was at mortal enmity with one of his neighbours, fell sick, and, being given over, sent for his enemy, that they might be reconciled. "Ah," said he, when the man entered the room, "I am very bad, very bad indeed;—d'ye think I shall die?" "Why, hope not," replied his visitor,—"hope not;—to be sure you are very bad, but for all that perhaps you may do yet." "No, no," said the other, "I shall die, I know I shall die,—and so I have sent for you that I may not go out of the world in enmity with any one. So, d'ye see, we'll be friends. The quarrel between us is all over,—all over,—and so give me your hand." Accordingly this token of reconciliation was performed, and the other took his leave; when, just as he was closing the door after him, the sick man cried out, "But stop," said he,—"if I should not die this time, this is to go for nothing: Mind now,—it's all to be just as it was before, if I do not die."
Not far from Penrith is a pillar of stone, well wrought, and formerly well emblazoned, with dials on each side, and this inscription upon a brazen plate:
This pillar was erected anno 1656, by the Right Honourable Anne, Countess Dowager of Pembroke, and sole heir of the right honourable George Earl of Cumberland, &c., for a memorial of her last parting in this place with her good and pious mother, the right honourable Margaret Countess Dowager of Cumberland, the 2d of April, 1616. In memory whereof she also left an annuity of four pounds to be distributed to the poor within the parish of Brougham every 2d day of April, for ever, upon the Stone Table hard by.
The little low stone table stands close at hand, on which the distribution of this alms is still made. I have seldom been so interested by any monument or inscription, as by this, which relates wholly to the private feelings of an individual. She was an admirable woman, and her name is still held in veneration.
A little distant, though not in sight of the road, is the scene of a circumstance which I have seen more frequently related than any other single anecdote in English books: so deep an interest do these people, one and all, take either in the practice or the tales of hunting. It is the park,—Whinfield is its name,—where a hart was once started, and chased by a single buck-hound from thence to Red Kirk in Scotland, which is sixty English miles off, and back again, thirty leagues in all. The hart returned to die upon his lair: he leaped the park pales, and expired immediately; and the hound, not having strength for the leap, died on the outside. Their heads were nailed against a hawthorn-tree, with these lines under them:
Hercules killed Hart-o-Greece,
And Hart-o-Greece killed Hercules.
We passed through Kirkby Thur, that is, the Church by Thor, one of the few etymological vestiges of Saxon idolatry in England. The worship of this god was common in these parts; the name Thor occurs in a pedigree, as that of the lord of one of the manors in Cumberland. Through Temple Sowerby next, where the Knights Templars were once established. It was not unusual formerly, for men who found it necessary to limit their expenses as much as possible, to retire into this neighbourhood, where thirty years ago they could live in a respectable family for so small a pension as eighteen English pounds;—a sort of banishment, for there was then little intercourse between the metropolis and these remote parts, and no stage coach nearer than York. Then we reached Appleby, the county town of Westmoreland, though apparently a smaller place than Kendal. The road runs close by it, but does not enter, a river dividing it from the town. A castle, one of the few which are still habitable, overlooks it from a wooded eminence; the river and bridge come into the foreground, and the whole forms a highly beautiful scene. Here we lost our companion. He told us that Appleby was almost in as high a state of faction about horse-racing as ever Constantinople had been from the same cause.