Into iSallatr-iLantr. 



" I love a ballad but even too well" Winter's Tale. 



A DISCRIMINATING traveller cares little for the loveliest country 

 unless it possess associations. Even Switzerland would lose 

 much of the interest with which we now regard it, did not a 

 halo gleam over its mountains, flung there by the struggles of 

 patriotism and the poetry of Byron. Without that glow it 

 would have been as void of sentiment, save to mere Alpine 

 climbers, as are the huge rocky fortresses of South America. 

 Lincolnshire has become much more tolerable to imaginative 

 folk since Tennyson glorified its marshes and water-courses. 

 When people of cultivated minds, therefore, take a holiday, 

 they should be especially careful to choose some district which 

 possesses historic or romantic memories. Thus, to go no 

 farther afield than Yorkshire, besides its sands and breezy 

 upland walks, Whitby is redolent of St. Hilda and the penance 

 of Ralph de Percy and the youth of St. John of Beverley ; of 

 King Oswi and Wilfrid and Bishop Chad ; of Caedmon and 

 the Princess Elfleda ; of Scandinavian pirates and Saxon eccle- 

 siastics ; of the great Council which settled the Easter con- 

 troversy, and the celebrated school of learning which shines 

 through the darkness of early English Christianity ; while its 

 pretentious northern neighbour, Saltburn, does not possess a 

 single attraction for the antiquary. It consists of a few houses, 

 a big hotel, and a modern church. With some the ideal 

 element so preponderates that all they care for in a place is 

 its associations. Thus, when fresh from mental excursions 



