traight from the soil and from his own heart. It was, no doubt, a
scholarly instinct which first turned his mind in this direction: the
desire of one who had studied the principles of the language and knew
every winding of its historical origins to trace their working in the
daily speech of the present. He has told us so himself, and we may
readily believe it. But, if he first came to the dales as learner and
scholar, he soon found his way back as welcome visitor and friend. The
more he saw of the dalesmen, the more his heart went out to them: the
more readily, as if by an inborn instinct, did he enter into their
manner of life, their mood and temper, their way of meeting the joys and
sorrows brought by each day as it passed. And so it was that the
scholar's curiosity, which had first carried him thither, rapidly gave
way to a feeling far deeper and more human. His interest in forms of
speech and fine shades of vowelling fell into the background; a simple
craving for friendly intercourse, inspired by a deep sense of human
brotherhood, took its place. And _Songs of the Ridings_(7) is the
spontaneous outgrowth of the fresh experience and the ever-widening
sympathies which had come to him as a man. The same is true of _Tales of
the Ridings_, published for the first time in the following pages.

The last five years of his life (1914-1919) had, to him as to others,
been years of unusual stress. Disqualified for active service, he had
readily undertaken the extra work entailed by the departure of his
younger colleagues for the war. He had also discharged the semi-military
duties, such as acting on guard against enemy aircraft, which fell
within his powers; and, both on the outskirts of Leeds and round his
Lytton Dale cottage, he had devoted all the time he could spare to
allotment work, so as to take his share--it was, in truth, much more
than his share--in increasing the yield of the soil. All this, with a
host of miscellaneous duties which he voluntarily shouldered, had put an
undue strain upon his strength. Yet, with his usual buoyancy, he had
seemed to stand it all without flagging; and even when warned by the
army medical authorities that his heart showed some weakness, he had
paid little heed to the warning, had certainly in no way allowed it
either to interfere with his various undertakings or to prey upon his
spirits.

The Armistice naturally brought some relief. Among other things, it
opened the prospect of the retu