and dignified ecclesiastics, they were mighty hunters, enjoying their privileges unmolested through a vast region of forest land then unenclosed, and were only inferior in jurisdiction to the feudal lords of these domains.  “On the whole, then, it appears,” says Dr Whitaker, “that the Dean of Whalley was compounded of patron, incumbent, ordinary, and lord of the manor; an assemblage which may possibly have met in later times, and in some places of exempt jurisdiction, but at that time probably an unique in the history of the English church.”

Robert de Whalley, the incumbent before named, was not a whit behind his progenitors in that laudable exercise of worldly wisdom and forethought, as it regarded matters of a temporal and transitory nature.  His bearing was proud, and his aspect keen; his form was muscular, and more fitted for some hardy and rigorous exercise than for the generally self-denying and peaceful offices of the Catholic Church.  In his youth he had the reputation of being much disposed to gallantry; and the same proneness to intrigue was yet manifest, though employed in pursuits of a less transitory nature.  His disappointment was, in consequence, greatly augmented when these long-coveted possessions were given to another, and his ambitious dreams dissipated.  Yet was he not without hope that the succession of the Fitz-Eustace family might be frustrated.  The leper would of necessity be passed over, and, Roger being either dead or in captivity, the revenues and usurpation of this distant and almost inaccessible territory might still be enjoyed without molestation or inquiry.  Such were the meditations of this plotting ecclesiastic, as he knelt before the altar in that solemn hour, in the chapel of “St Michael in Castro.”

The walls of the chapel, or rather chantry, were smeared with black; and in front of the screen were portrayed uncouth representations of the arms and insignia of the deceased.  A pall was thrown over the body, and a plate of salt, as an emblem of incorruptibility, placed on the corpse—­a heathenish custom borrowed from the Druids.  The candles burnt dimly at the little altar, and the cold and bitter wind threw the shadows in many a grotesque and startling shape on the dark bare walls which enclosed them.  It was an hour and a scene that superstition might have chosen for manifesting her power; and many an anxious glance was thrown towards the dark recesses out of which imagination was ready to conjure some grim spectre, invested with all the horrors that monkish legends had created.  The priest who officiated was an unbeneficed clergyman, long known as an inmate of the castle.  He was of a quiet and inoffensive disposition, but much attached to his lord; often during the service grief stayed his utterance, and he mingled his loud sobs with those of the surrounding worshippers.