aptly called "the
city of the waters." Its situation certainly is all but perfect, whilst
the picturesqueness and the extensiveness of its surrounding scenery are
the admiration of all who see it. Built upon a hill which its walls
once enclosed but which would now shut out its most populous suburbs,
Carlisle commands a prospect only limited by the lofty mountain chain
that encircles the great basin in which Cumberland lies. From the summit
of the Cathedral or from the Keep of the Castle, the eye sweeps without
interruption a vast prepossessing landscape, rich in wood and water and
fertile valleys, over which the light and shade are ever gambolling, and
the seasons spreading their variegated hues. Southward, across this fair
expanse, the majestic Skiddaw rears his noble crest, and Helvellyn his
wedge-like peak, radiant with the first and last rays of the sun.
Saddleback, and the lesser hills, link the apparently unbroken chain
with Crossfell and the eastern range; while further to the left the
Northumberland fells bound the horizon. Then come the uplands by
Bewcastle and the Border and the pastoral Cheviots. Away round to the
west, the magnificent belt is terminated by "huge Criffel's hoary top"
standing in solemn grandeur above the Solway.

PLATE 10

VIEW OF PRUDHOE-ON-TYNE

FROM A WATER-COLOUR SKETCH

PAINTED BY

JAMES ORROCK, R.I.

(_See pp. 39 and 56_)

[Illustration]

There are few fairer or wider panoramas in Britain, and none more
permeated with the very spirit of romance. What Lockhart said of
Sandyknowe is equally true of this singularly fascinating view-point. To
whichever hand we turn we may be sure there is "not a field but has its
battle, and not a rivulet without its song."

Unlike Melrose, which may claim to be the literary capital of the Border
Country, Carlisle is the fighting capital. Its most stirring memories
are of raiders and rescues, and its very air is

"full of ballad notes
Borne out of long ago."

Despite its Cathedral, Carlisle is really more Scottish than English. A
town which proclaimed the Pretender must be Scottish enough. No other
English town fills so large a place in Scottish history. And even its
present manners and customs, and no little part of its dialect, are
coloured with Scottish sentiment and tradition. For which it cannot be a
whit the worse! Walk about Carlisle, and one is charmed with the
exquisite pleasantness of the place, the sen