(afterwards Vickers, Sons & Maxim), the noise of which we had heard in the distance, was a native of the district, having been born in a small cottage near Ulverston in 1764.  He travelled in China and South Africa, and in 1804 became Secretary to the Admiralty, a position he held for forty years, during which he took part in fitting out Lord Nelson’s fleet for the Battle of Trafalgar.  He also assisted in promoting the expedition to the Arctic Regions which was commanded by Sir John Franklin.  We were informed that his favourite saying was:  “A man’s riches consist not so much in his possessions as in the fewness of his wants”—­a saying we were glad to adopt for ourselves.

We passed through the entrance to the monument, but could see no one about.  On a desk in the entrance-room lay a Visitors’ Book, in which we wrote our names, and then ascended to the top of the monument by a rather dangerous staircase of over a hundred steps.  As the well of the tower was open from top to bottom the ascent and descent were very risky for nervous people, and we felt thankful when we reached the foot of the staircase safely, though disappointed because the weather had prevented our enjoying the splendid view from the top that we had anticipated.  As we were leaving the monument we met an old man who had charge of it, carrying some large mushrooms, which he told us he had seen from the top of the monument, and very fine ones they were too.

[Illustration:  ULVERSTON, BARROWS MONUMENT IN THE DISTANCE.]

But we are forgetting to mention that we had passed through Dalton—­formerly the capital of Furness—­where George Romney, the celebrated painter, was born in 1734.  West, the inventor of the key bugle, the forerunner of the modern cornet, was also a native of Dalton-in-Furness.  As the days were rapidly becoming shorter and the gloomy weather made them appear shorter still, it was growing quite dark when we called for tea at a village inn, the sign on which informed us that it was “Clarke’s Arms,” and where we were very quickly served in the parlour.  During our tea a tall, haggard-looking man, whose hands were trembling and whose eyes were bloodshot, entered the room, and asked us to have a glass each with him at his expense, saying, “I’m drunken Jim Topping as ‘as had aw that heap o’ money left him.”  He pressed us very hard again and again to have the drink, but we showed him the tea we were drinking, and we felt relieved when the landlord came in and persuaded him to go into the other room, where we soon heard an uproarious company helping “Jim” to spend his “heap o’ money” and to hasten him into eternity.  The landlord afterwards informed us that “Drunken Jim” was a stonemason by trade, and that a relation of his had just died, leaving him L80,000, as well as some property.

[Illustration:  SIR JOHN BARROW’S MONUMENT.]