We had to listen to another version of the story of the two Calgarth skulls, from which it appeared that the Phillipsons wanted a piece of land that belonged to Dorothy, the wife of Kraster Cook, who refused to sell it, although asked repeatedly to do so.  Myles Phillipson swore he would have that land “be they alive or dead.”  After a quiet interval he invited Kraster and his wife Dorothy to a feast, and afterwards accused them of stealing a silver cup.  This they strongly denied, but the cup was found in their house, where it had been purposely hidden by the squire’s orders.  Stealing was at that time a capital offence, and as Phillipson was the magistrate he sentenced them both to death.  In the court-room Dorothy arose, and, glaring at the magistrate, said loudly, “Guard thyself, Myles Phillipson.  Thou thinkest thou hast managed grandly; but that tiny lump of land is the dearest a Phillipson has ever bought or stolen; for you will never prosper, neither your breed:  whatever scheme you undertake will wither in your hand; the side you take will always lose; the time shall come when no Phillipson will own one inch of land; and while Calgarth walls shall stand, we’ll haunt it night and day—­never will ye be rid of us.”  They were both executed and their property appropriated, but ever afterwards the Phillipsons had two skulls for their guests.  They were found at Christmas at the head of a stairway; they were buried in a distant region, but they turned up in the old house again; they were brazed to dust and cast to the wind; they were several years sunk in the lake; but the Phillipsons never could get rid of them.  Meanwhile old Dorothy’s prophecy came true, and the family of Phillipson came to poverty and eventually disappeared.

We left Hawkshead by a road leading to Ulverston, for we had decided to visit Furness Abbey.  Had the weather been fine and clear, we should have had some splendid views, since we had Windermere on one side and Coniston Water on the other; but the showers continued, and we could not even see the “Coniston Old Man,” although he raised his head to the height of 2,577 feet above sea-level.  We were, in fact, passing through the district of Seathwaite, where the rainfall is very much heavier than in any other district in England.  We consoled ourselves, however, with the thought that we could not expect to see fine lakes in a land where there was no rainfall, and after walking a considerable distance in the darkness, two weary and rain-soddened pedestrians took refuge for the remainder of the night in the well-appointed Temperance Hotel at Ulverston.

(Distance walked twenty-four and a half miles.)

Wednesday, October 18th.