judgment. If Keeper did not have a crack to his heart's content, it certainly was not my fault. Those unhappy people who find it hard to dine on a thousand a-year, might have envied us. We talked till the lengthening shadows marked the approach of evening; and not without a little violence to the strenuous hospitality did I get leave to continue my walk to Wooler, of which by far the longer half remained to be accomplished.

The boy was

Even then it was not to be my way. ordered to saddle a horse: then I must take a stirrup-cup, just one more before starting, and my plea about the distance to Wooler was overruled by "Hey, mon, a spur in the head is worth two on the heel." Then I mounted, and away we went, Keeper leading on foot, across fields, skirting pastures, along bits of ragged bridle-road, up and down, the shortest course to the hills. I had put many questions about Cheviot and his satellites, and my entertainer, as I may well call him, had planned an excursion to the edge of the range for my gratification. Soon we saw the swelling eminences rolling smoothly away to the higher summits in the rear, verifying the couplet :

"Though Cheviot's top be frosty yet,
He's green belaw the knee :"

and I fancied the horse enjoyed treading the soft green turf of Ryle Hill, on the top of which we made a brief halt. The view is eminently pastoral; miles of short sweet grass, dotted with sheep and patched here and there with bracken. Your Cheviot sheep is a gentleman among the fleeces: he has a pleasing open countenance; his disposition is sprightly; he is a good judge of grass and air, and does not mind wandering

a few miles in search of proper diet. Moreover, he is patriotic; and when an attempt was made some years ago to get him to colonise Crossfell, he would in no wise be persuaded to accept the change. For this I do not blame him. Who wants to go and live on Crossfell?

Every height has its name: Camp Hill-we crossed it, and passed through the camp-Church, Old Fawdon, Chubden, and others dear to the Northumbrian heart. The shepherd panting far away on the scorching plains of Australia, thinks regretfully of the pleasant green slopes of Cheviot, and their sparkling rills.

Another hour of pleasant ups and downs brought us within sight of Ingram, or Ing-ram, as the natives pronounce it; a lonely village of which, as it seemed to me in the distance, the manse is bigger than the church. Here we crossed the Breamish, a stream which a few miles lower changes its name to Till. "Hey, mon, it's a wicked water," said Keeper in reply to my remark about the width of the stony bed, as the horse splashed through the shallow current; yet though furious in time of flood the Breamish is a generous stream for the angler. Perhaps I had better not tell how many dozen trout have been taken from it by a single rod in the course of a forenoon.

Then I dismounted; Keeper instructed me how to find the way to Wooler seven miles distant, along the fringe of the hills, and springing into the saddle, was soon out of sight. I had to follow a byeway across large hilly barley-fields, for here the plough encroaches on the pastures, into a district remarkable for the excellence of its agriculture. By and by there was a descent into a romantic dell, where a lively burn and

A TWILIGHT WALK.

pretty woods create a pleasant surprise.

209

At Ilderton,

a village on a hill-top, the villagers sat in little groups about their doors, enjoying a quiet chat in the gloaming. The clock struck nine, the shadows grew broader and darker, and the hills rose black and solemn on my left, while I walked the last three miles to my restingplace at the Black Bull at Wooler.

CHAPTER XV.

Wooler, a Rustic Metropolis-Historical Neighbourhood-Scott in the Cheviots-Reason for drinking Goats' whey-The top of Cheviot— Northumbrian Agriculture-Improvements-Economy of Wheels— Glorious Turnips-Backend-How to grow Turnips-Clever Operations-Yeavering Bell-A Steep Climb-Windy Summit-Druids or Saxons ?-Paulinus the Missionary-Good Fights in Olden TimeThomson's Winter-Sir Guy and the Dragon-Faws and MuggersA Northumbrian Bard-Lilburne-Breamish and Till-Chillingham -Hospitable Steward-Ancient Mansion-The Toad-stone-Learning in Latin-An Interpretation-The Wild Cattle-Stalking-A Sight of the Herd-A Hint to move-Beauty of Kine-Danger-Pugnacious Calves-Tossing a Keeper-Shooting a Bull-Wild Hill-Top-The Three Dogs-Black Waste-Ugly Farm-place-Belford.

WOOLER is such a town as you would expect to see in the heart of the county, decidedly rustic, with roofs of thatch here and there to temper aspiring notions, with shops that remind you of the days of George III., but yet with indications of homely prosperity. The parson preached in a thatched church till it was burnt down about a hundred years ago. With two thousand inhabitants it is an important metropolis, drawing folk to its fairs and markets from miles around, and, as I saw, careful to send its boys and girls to school.

Invalids used to resort to Wooler for the goats' whey cure; though less agreeable than Rothbury, it is not devoid of attraction. The Till flows past at the foot of the hill; historical sites throng the neighbourhood: Hedgeley Moor, the scene of Sir Ralph the Loyal's fatal skirmish with Lord Montacute,

A TOUCH OF SCOTT.

211

and Yeavering Bell, and other memorable places to be presently enumerated, are all within a morning's walk.

6

It was at the Whitsun Tryste, or Wooler sheep fair, that Scott's grandfather spent his old shepherd's thirty pounds in buying a horse instead of sheep, but with such happy results in the sequel. And Scott himself came hither, as he relates in a letter written to his friend Clerk, in August, 1791, from which I may perhaps borrow a passage without fear of reproof. "Behold a letter from the mountains," he writes; "for I am very snugly settled here, in a farmer's house, about six miles from Wooler, in the very centre of the Cheviot hills, in one of the wildest and most romantic situations which your imagination, fertile upon the subject of cottages, ever suggested. And what the deuce are you about there?' methinks I hear you say. Why, sir, of all things in the world, drinking goats' whey; not that I stand in the least need of it, but my unele having a slight cold, and being a little tired of home, asked me last Sunday evening if I would like to go with him to Wooler; and I answering in the affirmative, next morning's sun beheld us on our journey through a pass in the Cheviots, upon the backs of two special nags, and man Thomas behind with a portmanteau, and two fishing-rods fastened across his back, much in the style of St. Andrew's cross. Upon reaching Wooler we found the accommodation so bad that we were forced to use some interest to get lodgings here, where we are most delightfully appointed indeed. To add to my satisfaction we are amidst places renowned by the feats of former days; each hill is crowned with a tower, or camp, or cairn; and in no situation can you be near more fields of battle :-Flodden, Otter