The Booths and Mary of Buttermere. 1 2 1 



Gilsland, and anon a walk of a couple of miles from 

 Haydon bridge finds us grasping the hand of John 

 Grey of Dilston, a very honoured name in all the 

 North Countrie. To sit with the fine old man was 

 indeed like 



" Converse with old Time ;" 



but we once only had that happiness, and although 

 we often corresponded, we never met again. It was 

 something even for that short space to quarry in such 

 a rich mine of thought and experience. 



He was at Dr. Tate's of Richmond, that renowned 

 " grinder of gerunds," and " digger of Greek roots," 

 along with the two Booths. Richard was stout then 

 and did not care for running, but in water he was 

 " good enough to drown a salmon." He would float 

 miles out to sea, and he would sit and tie his shoes in 

 some of those twelve-feet pools on the Scvale. The 

 pair lodged in the market-place at Mis. Geldard's, 

 who gave them the character of being "both quiet 

 boys." John was not then given to those constant 

 flashes of drollery, which made him the best of all 

 good companie at manhood. Mr. Grey was also with 

 the Rev. William Sewell in the Vale of Lorton, and he 

 entertained the most lively recollections of reading 

 Virgil in the yew tree, and of the steaming brown 

 dishes of potato pot, which every dalesman loves. It 

 was for the latter that the poor students from St. 

 Bees looked out so affectionately at noontide when 

 they served the churches in the lake district, in con- 

 sideration of a hempsack, 20s. a year, and a whittle- 

 gate or free dinner run. Once there came a man who 

 did better at the whittlegate than the service. To 

 explain it in his own words, " I was in such a hurry to 

 be at them with the homily, that I quite forgot the 

 litany." Mary of Buttermere had bloomed when Mr. 

 Grey was at Richmond, but he never failed to tell 

 how, when he visited Lorton and Buttermere again, he 



