was then Lord of Middleham, and it is evident not unmindful of his forresters' spiritual welfare. A new church has lately been built. William III., on the 28th of February, 1699, granted a charter to Matthew Wetherald, gent., and his heirs, to hold a market on every Tuesday, and two fairs yearly; one on the 28th and 29th of April, the other on the 17th and 18th of September.

Remote as Hawes is, it possesses a claim to literary distinction superior to any other place in the dale.(1)

(1) Mr. W. Howitt, in an article on Wensleydale in the Penny Magazine, has thought proper to say that "the inhabitants of this valley, are, like the people in most of the secluded districts of the north, ignorant, prejudiced against improvement, and exceedingly superstitious." Now, as to the ignorance of the people, so far as it can be estimated from their power of reading and writing, the inhabitants of Wensleydale may be compared, and with decided advantage to themselves, with the inhabitants of many a rural village in the south of England, to which the term secluded cannot be applied. It would rather seem Mr. Howitt, as a stranger, has been struck by the uncouthness of their appearance, and the difference of their idiom from his own, and has taken upon himself to animadvert where he did not comprehend. True, their manners are simple, and to the accomplished and travelled man of the world, may appear rude enough, but ignorance forms no constituent in the Dalemens' character.

"O thrice, thrice happy he, who shuns the cares

Of city troubles, and of state affairs;

And, serving Ceres, tills with his own team
His own free land, left by his friends to him!

Never pale Envy's poisoning heads do hiss

To knaw his heart: nor Vulture Avarice:

His fields' bounds bound his thoughts: he never sups,

For nectar, poison mixed in silver cups;

Milk, cheese, and fruit (fruits of his own endeavour)
Drest without dressing, hath he ready ever.

Sly pettifoggers, wranglers at the bar,
Proud purse leeches, harpies of Westminster,
With feigned chiding, and foul jarring noise,
Break not his brain, nor interrupt his joys;

But cheerful birds chirping him sweet good morrows,
With nature's music do beguile his sorrows;
Teaching the fragrant forests day by day
The diapason of their heavenly lay,

His wandering vessel, reeling to and fro
On the ireful ocean (as the winds do blow)
With sudden tempest is not overwhurled,
To seek his sad death in another world:
But leading all his life at home in peace,
Always in sight of his own smoke, no seas,

After several abortive attempts, on the 22nd of January, 1844, Mr. Fletcher Clarke, a spirited bookseller and printer in the town, issued No. 1 of "The Wensleydale Advertiser," a newspaper published once a fortnight, and devoted to local news and correspondence, not without a due spicing of poetry, tales, and antiquarian discussion. Strange to say this was the only stamped, and therefore the only legal journal in the whole North Riding. It was well supported, but in July, 1848, Mr. Clarke disposed of it to Mr. Thomas Blayds, and on the 30th of January, 1849, No. 135, of Vol. VI. appeared. It proved the last, for without reason assigned, the publication was discontinued. (1) There is a good deal of fine scenery around Hawes, as where in Wensleydale is there not?

No other seas he knows, no other torrent,
Than that which waters with its silver current
His native meadows; and that very earth
Shall give him burial which first gave him birth.
To summon timely sleep, he doth not need
Ethiop's cold rush, nor drowsy poppy-seed;
But on green carpets thrum'd with mossy bever,
Fringing the round skirts of his winding river,
The stream's mild murmur, as it gently gushes,
His healthy limbs in quiet slumber hushes.

Drum, fife, and trumpet, with their loud alarms,
Make him not start out of his sleep to arms;
Nor dear respect of some great General,
Him from his bed unto the block doth call.
The crested cock sings " Hunt-is-up" to him,
Limits his rest, and makes him stir betime,
To walk the mountains and the flow'ry meads
Impearl'd with tears which great Aurora sheds.
Never gross air poisoned in stinking streets,
To choke his spirit, his tender nostril meets;
But the open sky, where at full breath he lives,
Still keeps him sound, and still new stomach gives :
And Death, dread Serjeant of the Eternal Judge,
Comes very late to his sole-seated lodge."

DU BARTAS.

(1) Although expiring after so brief an existence, the "Wensleydale Advertiser" had a happier fate and infinitely longer life, than fell to the lot of a similar periodical attempted in Livonia some years since, of which Kohl tells an amusing story in his "Russia." It seems a few of the little towns in that district "agreed to publish a weekly newspaper in common. They succeeded in scraping together some interesting matter, which they published in the first number,

K K

About a mile and a half distant is Hardraw. Here is a waterfall of peculiar and almost unrivalled character. "It is a grand column of water projected from the edge of a rock, so as to detach itself completely from the strata beneath, and to plunge without dispersion or interruption into a black and boiling cauldron below. This singular and happy effect has been produced by two causes— first, the bed of the torrent above is a stratum of rock, broken off at the point from which the projection takes place, so hard that the perpetual attrition of a violently agitated current has made little impression upon its edge. And, secondly, the strata beneath are schistus, perpetually decompounding by the action of the air, and widening the interval between the face of the rock and this vast column of liquid crystal, which may be surrounded and viewed in its ever varying refractions on every side." (1) In the huge cavern thus formed behind the cascade, which is easy of access, hawks and jackdaws build their nests, and in the hottest noon of summer it is refreshingly cool and pleasant.

In the great frost of 1739-40, the water became congealed, forming a hollow column of ice, measuring in height 90 feet, and as much in circumference, in the centre of which the unfrozen current was distinctly seen to flow, as through a glass tube. Many persons were attracted from remote distances to view this magnificent and unusual sight.

"Noble the mountain stream

Bursting in grandeur from its vantage ground;

Glory is in its gleam

Of brightness;-thunder in its deafening sound!

but the next week a new number was wanted, and all they had to say had been already published. In order, therefore, not to go to the ground immediately, they republished the first number, and the subscribers had to take it as a new and improved edition. The third week, however, came, and all were in despair, for in no way could they collect matter for a third number; and, in order not to warm up the same dish a third time, the periodical declared itself insolvent, and the undertaking exploded amidst general laughter." Kohl's " Russia" p. 342. London edition.

(1) Whitaker Vol. 1. p. 413.

Mark! how its foamy spray

Tinged by the sunbeams with reflected dyes,
Mimics the bow of day

Arching in majesty the vaulted skies:—

Thence, in a summer shower,

Steeping the rocks around: -O! tell me where
Could majesty and power

Be clothed in forms more beautifully fair?"
BERNARD BARTON.

This exquisite waterfall is situated at the extremity of a picturesque gill, along which the stream winds, amongst detached masses of rock, and in early summer the slopes and banks are literally blue with a greater profusion of the poetical "Forget-me-not" than I ever saw in any other part of England. As Hardere is a common Saxon name, Dr. Whitaker conjectures Hardraw to be Hardere-aw,-i. e., the water of Hardere. There is a chapel at this place, rebuilt in 1772. At Simonstone, close by, Lord Wharncliffe has a shooting box.

One waterfall on the Yore remains unnoticed, that where its waters receive Morsdale Beck, the latter also forming a cataract, so that both are visible from the same point of view.

From hence into Westmorland all is wild and dreary. Ranges of partly unenclosed pasturage meet the river, uniting with the moors, which having crested the mountains all the way from the easternmost part of the dale, here descend, and form a most romantic landscape; whilst the river itself, now not far from its fountain, diminishes to a stream; and so proceeding "the traveller finds himself on a level peat moss, suddenly appalled by a dreadful and perpendicular disruption in the rock, where a stream is heard to murmur at a vast depth beneath. This is Hell Gill, the Stygian rivulet of Camden, which forms a striking natural boundary to the counties of York and Westmorland." (1)

(1) Whitaker p. 413.

Very near the source of the Yore, at Helbeck Lunds, is a small chapel, subject to the great mother church of Aysgarth, distant some sixteen or seventeen miles. The chapel itself" says a recent author (1) "is a small, low, wretched looking hovel, for a place devoted to religious worship; the scanty and unambitious population, which does not exceed seventy or eighty souls, appear not to trouble themselves much about keeping the place in a state of comfortable repair, and still less, if possible, about outward appearances. The writer well remembers his having attended divine service in the chapel of Lunds when the snow was two or three inches in depth, not only over every portion of the partly flagged and partly earthen floor, but also upon the forms and planks where the four or five individuals present (that number being about an average winter congregation) had to seat themselves as well as they were able. There was no mystery in discovering how and where the snow had penetrated the holy sanctuary; for on casting the eye upwards to the low roof (ceiling there never had been any), between the divisions of the coarse, irregular, and unpointed slates might be seen numerous small openings, through which the sky was visible; besides, the narrow windows that admitted a dubious light, as well as the ancient and time-worn door, were in no condition to obstruct the passage of the fine frozen particles of the drifting snow.

There is a traditionary report quite current in that part of the country, that during several years there was no door whatever to this chapel, in lieu of which the chapelclerk procured an old thorn, with a bushy top, which he used to place in the doorway to prevent the sheep and cattle from taking up their abode within these consecrated walls. About the same time the small bell was missing from the place where it hung, not more than ten or twelve feet from the ground, to remedy the loss of which the same ingenious person (the chapel-clerk) used to come (1) Mr. W. Howitt, in The Penny Magazine, Aug. 3, 1839.