There is a tradition of this part of the country which seems not a great deal more modern than the urns or their ornaments, and which bears the character of the savage nearly as distinctly impressed on it. On the summit of Knock-Ferril, a steep hill which rises a few miles to the west of Dingwall, there are the remains of one of those vitrified forts which so puzzle and interest the antiquary; and which was originally constructed, says tradition, by a gigantic tribe of Fions, for the protection of their wives and children, when they themselves were engaged in hunting.

It chanced in one of their excursions that a mean-spirited little fellow of the party, not much more than fifteen feet in height, was so distanced by his more active brethren, that, leaving them to follow out the chase, he returned home, and throwing himself down, much fatigued, on the side of the eminence, fell fast asleep. Garry, for so the unlucky hunter was called, was no favourite with the women of the tribe; - he was spiritless and diminutive, and ill tempered; and as they could make little else of him that they cared for, they converted him into the butt of all their severer joke, and less agreeable humours. On seeing that he had fallen asleep they stole out to where he lay, and after fastening his long hair with pegs to the grass, awakened him with their shouts and their laughter. He strove to extricate himself, but in vain; until at length infuriated by their gibes, and the pain of his own exertions, he wrenched up his head, leaving half his locks behind him, and hurrying after them, set fire to the stronghold into which they had rushed for shelter. The flames rose till they mounted over the roof, and broke out at every slit and opening; but Garry, unmoved by the shrieks and groans of the sufferers within, held fast the door until all was silent; when he fled into the remote Highlands, towards the west.

The males of the tribe, who had, meanwhile, been engaged in hunting on that part of the northern Sutor which bears the name of the hill of Nig, -- alarmed by the vast column of smoke which they saw ascending from their dwelling, came pressing to the frith of Cromarty, and leaping across on their hunting spears, they hurried home. But they arrived to find only a huge pile of embers in which the very stones of the building were sputtering and bubbling with the intense heat like the contents of a boiling caldron. Wild with rage and astonishment, and yet collected enough to conclude that none but Garry could be the author of a deed so barbarous, they tracked him into a nameless Highland glen, which has ever since been known as Glen-Garry, and there tore him to pieces. And as all the women of the tribe had perished in the flames, there was an end, when this forlorn and widowed generation had passed away, to the whole race of the Fions.

There is a large and very ponderous stone in the parish of Edderton, which a giantess of the [giants'] tribe is said to have flung from the point of a spindle across the Dornoch frith...

This morn after having heard Cathedral Service very well and decently performd at Wells, we proceeded to Glastonbury. Saw Tor hill, a very remarkable Point of view all over the Countrey, being a hill detachd from everything else, on the Top of which stands a tower which was the steeple of a church dedicated to St Michael, which is now totally demolishd and nothing but the shell of the Tower left standing. About the sides of this hill searchd for Lathyrus luteus, but without success - fancy it is hardly yet come into flower. From hence proceed to bloody well, a Spring so Calld from the reddish rust colour with which it tinges the stones over which it Passes. It has a very mineral appearance, but very little taste. The people here hold it in great Repute for astma, scurvy and Dropsy telling of several cures it has and continues to make every day. Not far from this on the other side of town, is the hill on which the Glastonbury thorn is said to have grown, but it has been dead several years, so long that we have not met with anybody who remembers it.

At some distance from the church, in a woody nook, issues a spring named St Bathan's well, which, according to the superstition of ancient times, had the power of healing diseases; and which still, as is the belief in the neighbourhood, neither fogs nor freeze, and even prevents a mill-lead into which it flows from being locked up with ice in the winter.

In the Cornouaille district of Brittany, where pagan ceremonies still linger in most force, there is a custom which Villemarque believes to be Druidical. In June the youths and maidens above sixteen years of age assemble at some lichen-clad dolmen, the young men wearing green ears of corn in their hats, and the girls having flowers of flax in their bosoms. The flowers are deposited on the dolmen, and from the manner in which they remain or wither the young lovers believe they can divine the constancy of their selected partner. The whole party then dance round the dolmen, and at sunset return to their villages, each young man holding his partner by the tip of the little finger. At whatever time this practice originated, it may be presumed the dolmen was not then considered a sepulchre, as we cannot suppose the youthful population of a district assembled to deposit the offerings of love on a tomb, or to disturb the dwellings of the dead with their joyous revelry.

Barmby Moor.
On the south side of the churchyard lies a rude rough stone, measuring six feet in length, twenty-two inches in breadth at the wide end, and nine inches thick. After rain, water lodges in a weathered basin on its surface, which tradition says was a certain cure for warts.

On more than twenty different spots of this moor were large cairns, in many of which fine yellow dust, and in one of which an old spear head, was found. Two unhewn massive stones still stand, about 100 yards distant from each other, which doubtless are monuments of the dead. The real tradition simply bears that here a deadly feud was settled by dint of arms: the upright stones mark the place where the two lords or leaders fell, and the bodies of their followers were thrown into a marshy pool called the Dead Lake, in the adjoining haugh. It is probable that this is the locality of "the Dowie Dens of Yarrow."

About 300 yards westward, when the cultivation of this moor began, the plough struck upon a large flat stone of unhewn greywacke bearing a Latin inscription. Bones and ashes lay beneath it, and on every side the surface presented verdant patches of grass. It was examined by Sir Walter Scott, Dr John Leyden, Mungo Park, and others of antiquarian lore. From the rudeness and indistinctness of the carving upon the hard rock, only the following characters can be deciphered--
"Hic memoria et... hic jacent in tumulo duo filii liberali."

A correspondent of the London "Daily Mail" gives some particulars of a mysterious East Riding stream which comes and goes like a will-o'-the-wisp and the appearance of which superstitious folk regard as the harbinger of evil, and which is just now almost the sole topic of conversation in the villages and hamlets among the wolds and dales of North-East Yorkshire.

To solve the mystery of the "Gypsey Race," as the strange waters are called, has been the ambition of many modern scientists. Little, however, has yet been discovered to account for its eccentricities. Almost as suddenly as they came, some six weeks ago, the waters will shortly disappear, and may not be seen again for years. Only five or six times during the last twenty-one years has this brook run its eerie course. Its source of origin is a hidden mystery. The strange workings of Nature, however, appeal to the curiosity and imagination of the Yorkshire wold-dweller.

Day by day young and old watch the stream running its twenty-mile course of hide and seek among the chalk to the sea at Bridlington. Astonishment is often mingled with awe, for according to tradition dire disasters follow in the wake of the brook, and which in consequence bears the sinister title of "The waters of woe." Superstitions die hard, and in these out-of-the-way wolds people are still to be found whom it is difficult to dissuade that the running of a stream fed by an intermittent spring is not in some way associated with the supernatural.

I have tried hard, however, to find someone who can give personal testimony in support of the theory that the appearance of the mysterious waters is a prognostication of trouble. With the exception of some heavy floods in the winter of 1860 and a great storm at sea in 1880, no one can remember that the coming of the stream has been attended by any particular local woe. The legend seems to be founded on incidents belonging to a very distant past.

The "gipsey," it is said, appeared just before the great plague, before the restoration of Charles II., and a few weeks prior to the landing of the Prince of Orange. Its appearance in 1795 is also reported to have synchronised with the descent of a huge meteorite in the village of Wold Newton.

The mysterious stream meanders through this quaint little village, some of the inhabitants of which have not yet ceased to talk of the "bolt from the sky" and its supposed affinity with the "woe-waters" of the wold. Originating from an intermittent spring which bursts through the chalk strata to the east of the village of Wharram-le-street the gipsey stream performs at times so many queer pranks that its vagaries may have given rise to some of the superstitions associated with its appearance.

For instance, the waters may be running strangely at one end of a field and the other end of the bed of the stream be quite dry. On one occasion the stream literally passed through some cottages at Kirby Grindalythe, the water forcing its way through the ground floors and only being released by artificial means. At times trout have been seen in the mystic brook.

Some authorities declare that the stream derives its origin from the Greek word Gupos (chalk), while others aver that it means the same as the ordinary gipsey wanderer. Only once during the last fourteen years have the limpid waters of this strange rivulet run as strongly as they have during the last few days. There are already indications, however, that the waters are about to ebb. Soon the stream will have entirely disappeared and children will again play in its dry and erstwhile channel. The waters, however, will not be forgotten, and not a few old folk will quietly, but anxiously, wait to see whether the gipsy's warning of 1910 of "battle, plague, and famine" come true or not. - Y.H. April 5th, 1910.

The descent to Dartmeet [from New Bridge] by the road is one of over five hundred feet. Halfway is the Coffin-stone, on which five crosses are cut, and which is split in half - the story goes, by lightning. On this it is customary to rest a dead man on his way from the moor beyond Dartmeet to his final resting-place at Widdecombe. When the coffin is laid on this stone, custom exacts the production of the whisky bottle, and a libation all round to the manes of the deceased.

One day a man of very evil life, a terror to his neighbours, was being carried to his burial, and his corpse was laid on the stone whilst the bearers regaled themselves. All at once, out of a passing cloud shot a flash, and tore the coffin and the dead man to pieces, consuming them to cinders, and splitting the stone. Do you doubt the tale? See the stone cleft by the flash.

Over against the foot of Hawkshaw-Burn in a Kairn beside the High road is the Giants Grave, so called from a huge and mighty Fellow, that robbed all on the way, but was at length from a Mount in the over side of the River supprised and shor to Death as Tradition goes.

In effecting some improvements, a few years ago, on the farm of Ardross, it was found necessary to remove one of these cairns; but the people had a tradition that "the plague was buried under it," and refused to touch it; and it was with no small difficulty, that they were at length induced to assist in its removal.

In some of the cairns which were removed, sculls and bones of a very large size were found. One of these cairns bears the name of Carna nam Fiann, i.e. the cairn of the Fingalians.

The next example of reputed Druidical remains in this county, which I shall describe, is to be found in Saddleworth. There is a lofty hill, called by the neighbouring people Pots and Pans. Upon its summit are abundance of craggy stones scattered up and down, which, when viewed from the east, look like the foundation or ruins of some stupendous fabric.

One of these stones, or rather two of them, closely joined together, is called the Pancake. It has upon its surface four basins hollowed in the stone, the largest, being nearly in the centre, is capable of holding 8 or 10 gallons; but it is not possible to ascertain whether these hollows are artificial or natural. This stone is about 76 feet in circumference; another long uneven hole upon this stone is called Robin Hood's Bed.

A little westward of this is another stone, about 20 feet in heght, and about 56 feet in circumference at the base, but much narrower at the top, from whence proceed irregular flutings or ridges down one side, of about 2 feet long, by some supposed the effect of time, and by others the workmanship of art.

More westward, and nearer the valley of Greenfield, the ground is called Alderman's, and overlooks that valley, opposite to a large and high rock called Alphian. Upon the level of this ground is a fissure in the earth, about 12 or 14 yards long, each end terminating in a cavernous hole in the rock, one of which is capable of admitting dogs, foxes, or sheep: the other large enough to receive men. Neither of these caverns has been thoroughly explored by anyone within memory.* One person who went into the larger with a light, returned after having gone down a sloping descent of about 60 yards. Tradition says, into the other hole, once went a dog in full chase after a fox, but neither of them ever returned.

*This is an extract from an account of these rocks written fifty years ago. Since that time demolition has been at work, and what time has spared has been wantonly injured. Many of these large and ponderous stones have been removed by crows and levers, for the purpose of trying how far they would tumble. Thus we find the hand of violence uniting with the devouring teeth of time, determined scarcely to leave one stone upon another upon this once sacred ground.

In modern times, everything unaccountable, however harmless it might be in itself, was ascribed to the agency of the devil. By the hope of a trifling reward - too often the soul of his employer - he might be induced to undertake the execution of any kind of structure. The Pikes on Carrock Fell are specimens of his diabolical architecture, though for what they were intended, tradition does not inform us; and the stones scattered about the summit of the hill, are the result of an accident that happened to him whilst engaged in their erection. He had finished one, and was bringing in his apron a sufficient quantity of stones to complete the second, when the apron-strings burst, and the greater part of his materials scattered in all directions. And this, it appears, is the reason why one of the Pikes is so much smaller than the other. The heap of stones in Ullswater is ascribed to a similar accident. On this occasion also he had his apron laden, and was striding in great haste from the Nab to Barton Fell, when the stones fell into the lake, and formed a bank dangerous to boats at some seasons.

There is a reputed well in the rock of Clegyr Voya that is supposed always to have water in it, but to fill especially when the tide flows. It is a small hollow in the igneous rock, from which a core or crystal has fallen, and is about large enough for the fist to be inserted. This "Fynnon" is still in repute, and its water is regarded as sovereign, especially for sore eyes.

Whilst I was engaged on the exploration of Clegyr Voya, I went several times a day to the reputed spring, but never found water in it, though the rock and sediment at the bottom remained wet.


A tradition exists that, eighty years ago, a party of men resolved on treasure seeking in the camp. The first day, they had hardly begun to dig before a pouring rain came on which drove them away. They went again, and next day a thunderstorm broke over them; but they did not leave till they had uncovered a kettle. They attempted the third day to dig out the kettle, but on reaching the rock thunder and lightning played about it, and the storm continued with such violence, and so long, that they retreated and abandoned the attempt. The origin of the story seem to be this:-- It is commonly held that a subterranean passage connects Clegyr Voya with St. David's Cathedral, and that considerable treasure is hidden in it.

The solitary pillar of the circle at Ballinrait is said to have served the purpose of a sun dial, just as a tree or post in the same neighbourhood was the clock of the clachan. The other stones of the circle were broken up some sixty years ago. It is related that one old man used every morning to walk round the circle three times before beginning work, from the belief that his so doing would bring him good luck.

In the parish of Rosskeen there is a large boulder-stone called Clach ceann nam meur, the "Stone of the Finger Ends," at the east of the Farm of Dalnacloich, "the field of the stone." Connected with this stone is a tradition which shows it as a horrible memorial of feudal times - that a laird of Achnacloich, when settling marches, asked a youth, whom he had taken to witness the settlement, whether he would remember that as the march-stone. On his replying that he would, the Laird commanded him to lay his hand flat upon the stone, and with a stroke of his sword cut off the tips of the lad's fingers, saying, "You will remember it now." And posterity still remembers it.

Holy Well, Humphrey Head. -- This celebrated medicinal well is said to have been used by lead miners from the time of the Romans. The patients come for a two or three days' stay to "get the poison out of their systems." The site is three and a half miles nearly due south from Cartmel. The water, which has a very peculiar taste, comes down from the hillside and flows into a small artificial basin or grotto. The key of the door is kept at a neighbouring farmhouse. Close to the well is an untenanted building formerly used by indigent sufferers. The wooded cliff forming "The Head" is of singular beauty, overlooking the waters and sands of Morecambe Bay. On Hennet's map of Lancashire (1828) the well is called "Spa Holy Well." ..

Mr. W. O. Roper, in his Churches, Castles, and Ancient Halls of North Lancashire, writes: "One other appendage to the Priory of Cartmel should be mentioned, and that is the well known as the Holy Well. On the sea-shore, close under the towering cliffs of Humphrey Head, and almost immediately below the natural arch of rock which leads to the recess known as the Fairy Chapel, bubbles the well to which in former days the Priors journeyed in state from their neighbouring Priory, and to which in more recent times large numbers of people resorted, hoping to derive benefit from its medicinal qualities."

Mr. James Stockdle, in Annals of Cartmel, writes: "Near to this holy well (Humphrey Head) are two cavities in the mountain limestone rock called the 'Fairy Church' and the 'Fairy Chapel,' and about three hundred yards to the north there used to be another well, called 'Pin Well', into which in superstitious times it was thought indispensiable that all who sought healing by drinking the waters of the holy well should, on passing it, drop a pin; nor was this custom entirely given up till about the year 1804, when the Cartmel Commoners' Enclosure Commissioners, on making a road to Rougham, covered up this 'Pin Well'. I have myself long ago seen pins in this well, the offerings, no doubt, of the devotees of that day."

Mr. Hope, in his Holy Wells of England, says that "this is a brackish spring celebrated as a remedy for stone, gout, and cutaneous complaints.."