Through the valley of Wensleydale, in the North Riding of Yorkshire, flows the river Yore or Ure, passing onward to Boroughbridge, below which town it receives an insignificant affluent—the Ouse—when it assumes that name, under which appellation it washes the walls of York, and proceeds hence to unite with the Trent in forming the estuary of the Humber; but although it loses its name of Yore before reaching York, the capital city of the county is indebted to it for the name it bears. The river in passing through Wensleydale reflects on its surface some of the most romantic and charming landscape scenery of Yorkshire, and that is saying a great deal, for no other county can equal it in the variety, loveliness, and wild grandeur of its natural features.

"In this district, Wensleydale, otherwise Yorevale or Yorevalle," says Barker, "a variety of scenery exists, unsurpassed in beauty by any in England. Mountains clothed at their summits with purple heather, interspersed with huge crags, and at their bases with luxuriant herbage, bound the view on either hand. Down the valley's centre flows the winding Yore, one of the most serpentine rivers our island boasts—now boiling and foaming, in a narrow channel, over sheets of limestone—now forming cascades only equalled by the cataracts of the Nile—and anon spreading out into a broad, smooth stream, as calm and placid as a lowland lake. On the banks lie rich pastures, occasionally relieved, at the eastern extremity of the valley, by cornfields. There are several smaller dales branching out of Wensleydale—of which they may, indeed, be accounted part. Of these the principal are Bishopdale and Raydale, or Roedale—the valley of the Roe—which last contains Lake Semerwater, a sheet of water covering a hundred and five acres, and about forty-five feet deep. Besides this lake, the natural objects of interest in the district best known are Aysgarth Force, Hardraw-scaur, Mill Gill, and Leyburn Shall—the last a lofty natural terrace from which the eye may range from the Cleveland Hills at the mouth of the Tees to those bordering upon Westmoreland."

The valley is exceedingly rich in historic memories and noble monuments of the architectural past—"castles and halls inseparably united with English story, and abbeys whose names, whilst our national records shall be written, must for ever remain on the scroll; with fortresses which have been the palaces and prisons of kings. Of these, Bolton Castle, the home of the Scropes, and one of the prisons of Mary, Queen of Scots, and Middleham Castle, where dwelt the great Nevill, the king-maker, and the frequent and favourite residence of the Duke of Gloucester, afterwards King Richard III., and the venerable remains of Yorevale, or Jervaux, and of Coverham Abbeys, are alone sufficient to immortalise a district of country."

In former times the dale was covered by a dense forest, the home of countless herds of deer, wild boars, wolves, and other wild animals. There were no roads, but glades and trackways, intricate and winding, very difficult and puzzling to traverse, so that travellers often became benighted, without being able to find other shelter than that afforded by trees and bushes. At the village of Bainbridge there is still preserved the "forest horn," which was blown every night at ten o'clock from Holyrood to Shrovetide, to guide wanderers who had lost their way to shelter and safety from the prowling beasts of prey. A bell also was rung at Chantry, and a gun fired at Camhouse with the same object. In the first century of the Christian era there existed in the valley of Roedale a large and for that time splendid city, inhabited by the Brigantian Celts. It nestled in a deep hollow, surrounded by picturesque hills and uplands, and was environed by the majestic trees of the forest, where the Druids performed the mystical rites and ceremonials of their religion. The houses were built of mud and wattles, and thatched with straw or reeds, and the city was a mere assemblage of such private residences, without any of the public buildings, such as churches, chapels, town houses, assembly rooms, baths, or literary institutions, such as now-a-days appertain to every small market town; yet it was spoken of as a "magnificent city," and such it perhaps might be as compared with other and smaller towns and villages.

It was about the time when Flavius Vespasian annexed Britain to the Roman Empire, and the Brigantes had been partially subdued by Octavius Scapula, the Roman Governor of Britain, but before York had become Eboracum—the Altera Roma of Britain—and the influence of the conquerors of the world had not penetrated to this remote and secluded spot in the forest of Wensleydale, so that the people of the city still retained their old religion, customs, and habits of life; still stained their bodies with woad, clothed themselves with the skins of animals, and still fabricated their weapons and implements of bronze. Joseph of Arimathea had planted the cross on Glastonbury Hill, but the people of this city had never even heard of the new religion that had sprung up in Judea, and went on sacrificing human beings to their bloodthirsty god, cutting the sacred mistletoe from the oaks of their forest, and drawing the beaver from the water, emblematic of the salvation of Noah and his family at the deluge, of which they had a dim tradition.

The angels of heaven took great interest in the efforts of the apostles who, in obedience to their Master's command, went forth from Judea to preach the gospel of glad tidings and the doctrine of the cross to all mankind, and had especially noted the erection of the Christian standard on Glastonbury Hill, in the barbarous and benighted island of the Atlantic. One of the heavenly host, indeed, became so much interested in the conversion of the natives of this isle—which he foresaw would, in the distant centuries, become a great centre of evangelical truth, and, by means of missionaries, the foremost promulgator of religious light to other benighted peoples of the earth—that he determined to descend thither, and, under the guise of a human form, go about amongst the people, and in some measure prepare them for the reception of the teachings of the companions of St. Joseph.

Midwinter had come, the period when the sun seemed to the Britons to be farthest away from the earth, and when, according to the experience of the past, he would commence his return with his vivifying rays; and the Druids were holding joyous ceremonial in celebration of this annually recurring event. The sun was viewed as a superhuman beneficent being who journeyed across the heavens daily to dispense heat and life, and to cause the fruits and flowers and cereals to bloom and fructify, and give forth food for men and animals, who in summer approached near to the earth, and in winter retired to a distance from it—for what end or purpose they knew not. Nevertheless they deemed it wise to propitiate him by two great ceremonials of worship—the one at midsummer, attended by blazing "Baal-fires" on the hills (a custom which still survives in some parts of Yorkshire, where, on Midsummer-eve, "beal-fires" are lighted), a festival of rejoicing and thanksgiving for the ripening crops and fruits; the other at midwinter, which partook more of the character of a supplicating worship, imploring him, now that he was far distant, not to withdraw himself entirely from the earth, but return as he had been wont to do, and again cheer the world with his beams of brightness and warmth. On the occasion of this particular festival, the weather was stormy and cold; the pools were frozen over, and the ground covered with snow, whilst a chilling sleet, driven by a biting north-eastern wind, beat upon those who were exposed to its influence in the open air. The festival was proceeding in a cleared space of the forest circled round by lofty trees, which was the open-air natural temple of the Druids; its walls built by the hand of their god, and its dome-like roof the floor of the habitation where he dwelt. Whilst the Druids were engaged in offering up prayers, the bards in singing anthems of praise, and the vates investigating the entrails of slain animals, to read therein forecasts of the future and the will of the gods, especially of the Sun God, in whose honour the festival was held, the venerable figure of an aged man might be seen descending the hill and approaching the city. He seemed to be bowed down with the infirmities of age, and to breast with difficulty the forcible rushing of the wind. His white flowing beard, which reached almost to his waist, was glittering with incrustations of ice; and his legs trembled as he came along, leaning on his staff, with feeble and uncertain footsteps. He was clad in a long gabardine, which he wrapped tightly round him, to protect his frame as much as possible from the inclemency of the weather; his head was covered by a hat with broad flapping brim; and his feet were sandalled, to shield them from the roughness of the road.

He came amongst the cottages and passed from door to door, asking for shelter and food, but everywhere was repulsed, and at times with contumely and opprobrious epithets. No one would take him in beneath their roof; no one had charity enough to give him a crust or a cup of metheglin, and onward he went until he came to the spot where the festival was progressing under the direction of the Arch-Druid, a man of extreme age, but of commanding stature and majestic port.

The appearance of the angel (for he it was, in the guise of infirm and poverty-stricken humanity) caused some sensation, chiefly in consequence of his peculiar and outlandish dress, and all eyes were directed upon him as he walked boldly and unhesitatingly, but with halting step, to the centre of the circle where the hierarchs were grouped.

The angel, addressing himself to the Arch-Druid, inquired, "Whom is it that you worship in this fashion?"

"Who are you," replied the Druid, "that you know not that our midwinter festival is in honour of the great and gloriously shining God, who reveals himself to us in his daily march across the sky?"

"Then you worship the creature instead of the creator?"

"How the creature? He whom we worship was never created, but has existed from all eternity."

"Alas! blind mortals, you labour under a Satanic delusion. Know that what you, in your ignorance, worship is but an atom in the great and resplendent universe of worlds and suns, called into existence by the fiat of Him whom I serve, who alone is self-existent, immortal, and the Creator of all men and all things."

"You speak in parables, stranger, and in an impious strain. Mean you to say that the god-sun is not great and powerful, he who causes the herbage to grow and the trees to give forth fruit? Can he do this if he be not a god?"

"He is merely the instrument of the one Almighty God, whose Son, on the anniversary of this day, became incarnate on earth, and died on the cross in a land far distant from this, that man might not be subjected to the penalty for disobedience to His laws, thus dying in his stead, to satisfy the ends of justice."

"And you say that he, a mere man, who died in the distant land you speak of, was the son of one who created the sun?"

"Most certainly."

"Then I must say that you speak rank blasphemy."

And the priests and other officials re-echoed the shout, "Blasphemy! blasphemy!" and the people around took it up, and the cry of "Blasphemy!" rose up from a thousand tongues.

"Slay him! stone him!" was then cried by the excited people, and they began to take up stones and hurl them at the old man, who, shaking the snow of the city from his sandals, and saying "Woe be unto you," passed through the surrounding crowd, and disappeared amongst the forest trees.

The dusky shades of evening, or rather afternoon, were drawing in as the angel passed through the wood; and as, in his incarnate form, he was subject to all the sufferings and discomforts humanity is liable to, he feared that he would have to pass the night, with all its inclemency of weather, with no other shelter than that afforded by a tree trunk or the branches of a bramble bush, but after wandering some time he came upon a cleared space, where he found some sheep huddling together on the lee side of a rising ground, and judging that where sheep were men would not be far distant, he passed up the hillside and gladly hailed a gleam of light issuing from a cottage window. He approached and knocked at the door, which was opened by a comely, middle-aged dame, whilst, by the fire of peat, sat a man whom he presumed to be her husband, occupied in eating his evening meal, with a shepherd dog by his side, eagerly looking out for the bones and chance pieces of meat which his master might think proper to throw him.

"Good dame," said he to the woman, "have you charity enough to give me shelter from the storm, a crust of bread to allay the cravings of hunger, and permission to imbibe warmth from your fire into my aged and frozen limbs?"

"Yes, that indeed we have, venerable father," replied she. "Come in and seat you by the fire, and we will see what the cottage can supply in the way of victuals."

He stepped in, and was welcomed with equal kindness by the husband, who placed for him a seat near the fire, took off his coat, which he suspended before the fire to dry, and gave him a sheepskin to throw over his shoulders; whilst the dame bustled about in the way of cooking some slices of mutton and bringing out some of her best bread, with a wooden drinking vessel filled with home-made barley liquor, not unlike the ale of after days.

He was then invited to seat himself at the table, a board resting on two trestles, and ate heartily of the viands before him. After the meal, and when he was thoroughly warmed and made comfortable, he entered into conversation with the worthy couple, and ascertained that the man was a shepherd, and made a fairly comfortable living out of his small flock of sheep, which supplied him and his wife with raiment and flesh meat for food, besides a small surplus for barter to procure other necessaries. He told them that he was a wanderer on the face of the earth, not a Briton, but allied to people who lived in the far east near the sun rising, and that he had come hither to tell the Britons of the true God, and that they whom they worshipped were not gods at all; to all which they listened with wonderment and awe, but displayed none of the bigotry and hostility to adverse faiths which had been so practically shown in the city. With eloquent tongue he explained to them the mysteries of the Christian religion, but they comprehended him not, such matters being entirely beyond the capacities of their understandings. Nevertheless they were much interested in some of the narratives, such as the nativity and the visit of the Magi; the miraculous cures of the sick; the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the ascension, all which were told with great graphic power, and listened to with rapt ears; and they sat on late into the night in this converse, and then a bed of several layers of straw was made for the stranger in a warm corner of the cottage, and a couple of sheep skins given him for coverlets.

The following morning broke bright and cheerful, a complete contrast to the preceding day. The sun came out with a radiance as brilliant as it was possible for a midwinter sun to do, and lighted up the hills, on which the snow crystals glistened, and the roofs of the houses in the valley below, with a splendour seldom beheld at that period of the year, and the people of the city hailed the sight as a response to their festival prayers, that the God of Day would still continue to shower his blessings upon them, and bring forth their crops and fruits in due course. The guest at the shepherd's cottage, wearied with his wanderings and the buffeting of the storm, slept long after the sun had risen; but his hosts had been up betimes, the shepherd having gone to look after his sheep, and his wife to prepare a warm breakfast for him on his return. When this was ready, and the shepherd had come home, their guest was awakened, and partook with them of their meal of sheep's flesh, brown bread, and ewe's milk. He had performed certain devotions on rising, such as his entertainers understood not, but which they assumed to be acts of adoration and thanksgiving to his God.

Resuming his cloak, now thoroughly dried, his flapped hat, and his long walking staff, he went out to pursue his journey. With his hosts he stood on the elevated ground on which the cottage was situated, and looked down upon the city in the valley below, from which there rose up the busy hum of voices of men going about their vocations for the day, with them the first of their new-born year.

The stranger looked down upon the city for some moments in silence; then stretching forth his arms towards it, he exclaimed, "Oh city! thou art fair to look upon, but thou art the habitation of hard, unfeeling, and uncharitable men, who regard themselves alone, and neither respect age nor sympathise with poverty and infirmity! Thou art the abode of those who worship false gods, and shut their ears to, nay, more, maltreat those who would point out their errors and lead them into the path of truth; therefore, oh city! it is fitting that thou shouldst cease to cumber the earth; that thou shouldst be swept away as were Sodom and Gomorrah. As for you," he added, turning to the shepherd and his wife, "you took the stranger in under your roof, sheltered him from the storm, fed him when ahungered, and comforted him as far as your means permitted. For this accept my thanks and benison, and know that my benison is worth the acceptance, for I am not what I seem—a frail mortal—but one of those who stand round the throne of the God I told you of last evening, which is in the midst of the stars of the firmament. May your flocks increase, and your crops never fail; may you live to advanced age, and see your children and children's children grow up around you, wealthy in this world's wealth, honoured, and respected." Turning again towards the city, and again stretching forth his arms over it, the mysterious stranger cried out in a voice that might be heard in the streets below:—

Immediately a loud noise was heard, as of the bursting up of a hundred fountains from the earth, and the water rushed upward from every part of the city like the vomiting of volcanoes; the inhabitants cried out with terror-fraught shouts, and attempted to escape up the hills, but were swept back by the surging flood, which waved and dashed like the waves of the tempestuous sea. Higher and higher rose the water; overwhelmed the houses and advanced up the sides of the hill, engulfing everything and destroying every vestige of life, and eventually it settled down into the vast lake as it may now be seen.

It may be thought that this was a cruel act of revenge on the part of the angel, but we have the authority of Milton, that the angelic mind was susceptible of the human weakness of ambition; why, therefore, should it not be actuated by that other human passion of revenge?

The shepherd and his wife gazed on the spectacle of the destruction of the city with awe-stricken countenances, when another spectacle filled them with equal amazement. They turned their eyes upon their guest, who still stood by them, but who was undergoing a wonderful transformation. From an aged and infirm man he was becoming youthful in appearance, of noble figure, with lineaments of celestial beauty, and an aureola of golden light flashing round his head. His tattered and way-worn garments seemed to be melting into thin air and passing away, and in their place appeared a long white robe, as if woven of the snow crystals of the surrounding hills; whilst from his shoulders there streamed forth a pair of pinions, which he now expanded, and waving an adieu to his late entertainers, he rose up into the air, and in a few minutes had passed beyond their sight.

The shepherd's flocks soon began to multiply wonderfully, and he speedily became one of the richest men of the countryside. His sons grew up and prospered as their father had, and their descendants flourished for many generations in their several branches as some of the most important and wealthy families of the district. The old man and his wife abandoned the old Druidical religion, and prayed to the unknown God of whom their guest spoke on the memorable evening preceding the destruction of the city; and when the Apostles of Christianity came hither, were among the first converts. There may be sceptics who may doubt the truth of this legend, but there the Lake of Semerwater still remains, and what can be a more convincing proof of its truth, as old Willet was wont to say, when pointing to the block of wood at the door of his inn at Chigwell, as a triumphant proof of the truth of the story he had been narrating. The rustics of the neighbourhood also assert that they have seen, fathoms deep in the lake, the chimneys and church spires of the engulfed city; but as there were neither churches nor chimneys when that city was in existence, we are inclined to believe that this is an optical delusion.