Neat gates, white walls--nought was sparing,
Pots brimful--no thought of caring;
They eat, drink, laugh; are still mirth-making,
Nought they see that's worth care-taking.
The men of the North were always warlike, and when in the year 1688, in
the time of James II, a rumour was circulated that a large French Army
had landed on the coast of Yorkshire, a great number of men assembled on
the outskirts of the town and were waiting there ready for the call to
arms, when news came that it was a false alarm. Of course this event had
to be recorded by the local poet, who wrote:
In eighty-eight, was Kirby feight.
When nivver a man was slain;
They ate the'r mey't, an' drank the'r drink,
An' sae com' merrily heame again.
We were sorry we could not stay longer in the neighbourhood of Kirkby
Lonsdale, as the scenery in both directions along the valley of the
River Lune was very beautiful. As we crossed the bridge over it we
noticed an old stone inscribed:
Fear God
Honer the
King 1633,
and some other words which we could not decipher. The bridge was rather
narrow, and at some unknown period had replaced a ford, which was at all
times difficult to cross, and often dangerous, and at flood-times quite
impassable, as the river here ran between rocks and across great
boulders; it was, however, the only ready access to the country beyond
for people living in Kirkby Lonsdale.
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