Morning journal and courier., 1891-01-24

Iron tne personel OF It's savage owner and
his family, with wild and desolate physi-
cal surroundings in keeping with the hope
lessness of the school-life of the place it
self, was the Dotheboys Hall, still standing
in Bowes. where "Nicholas Nickleby. " his
protege in misery, the wretched ''Smike, y
and scores of other helpless young lifes,
are depicted as undergoing an almost in
conceivable life of servitude, starvation
and cruelty. Investigations showed that
the horrible picture drawn was not an ex-
aggeration, and bore out Dickens own
statement in the original preface that ''Mr.
Squeers and his school are faint and feeble
pictures of an existing reality, purposely
subdued and kept down lest they should
be deemed impossible This, Dickens
second, and in some respects his greatest,
novel was begun in April, 1888, and fin
ished in October, 1882 At the appearance
of the first part he ran away from Lon
don, as he always did, to remain in hiding
until distinct measure of public favor or
disfavor was shown. In the case of
Nicholas Nickleby" his forgivable skulk-
ing was of short duration. The first DAVIS
sale of the first part exceeded fifty thou
sand copies. Not six months had passed
before the torture and cruelty to helpless
scholars in these remote prison-pens were
abated, and before the last chapter of
Nicholas Nickleby" had been read, pub
lie feeling, which in many portions Of the
country barely escaped expression in riot,
had annihilated every child-hen of the
Dotheboys Hall variety in England.
Famous and infamous as Dickens made
Bowes, few in England had ever before
heard of the village. To the millions who
learned Bowes-every object in it, its sur
roundings, and every room in Dotheboys
Hall, by heart-it was a purely fictitional
town. | asked over five hundred intelli-
gent people in England where Bowes was
and never found an individual who knew
until 1 came to Kirkby Stephen, in the
moorland wilds of northeastern West
moreland, sixteen miles away. Even in
that town nobody seemed to know until 1
found a rustic antiquarian who had at one
time discovered an old Roman coin at
Bowes, and who, after hard struggle, re-
membered where it lay, over beyond wild
old Stanemoor mountain, dead in its
she'll" as he put it, in ending an adjura-
ton not to cross Stansmoor that day, un-
til willing to risk being blown from the
road into the rock-beds of its passes, or
worse, meeting the howhng, ferocious war
lock hags which, during every wild noun
tain storm, vaylay belated travellers at the
lonely site of Rere Cross. But the pill
grimage was to rescue from oblivion the
actual sight of "A national infainy, and fix
in the real geography of literature the To-
cation and environs of a spot, dim, fleet
ing and phantom-like in the minds of mil
lions in the old world and the new No
two stout American legs could SHRINK from
this, even though the wind fairly shrieked
in its mad way from Solway Firth to the
German Ocean, pounding the sides of
Westmoreland moors and fells with NIGH
ty balls of fog which slid and ricocheted
over Langdale Fell and Brownber Edge to
rebound against the sides of the loftier
Stanemoor heights, and finally be hurled
ovsr the mountain upon dreary, dead
Bowes, as if to crush every remaining sliv-
er of its meager old shell.
If you came from London to Bowes over
the same coach-road as did Nicholas Mic
kleby, when, nearing the end of his drea-
ry journey, sat about six o'clock that
night, he and Mr.. Squeers and the little
boys and their united luggage were put
down at the George and New Inn," you
would have come by the old coach road
from London to Edinburgh and Glasgow
On leaving the ancient city of York you
would have struck into highway two
thousand years old. Masses of Roman le-
gions have swept, tide on tide, back and
forth over the same stone road. Stern
lAC
Servius himself have ridden towards the
unconquerable north upon it. The latter
left fifty thousand of his army dead among
the Scotch mists and mountains, and with
his face set towards Rome and home, only
reached York to die of his wounds and
chagrin. 1t is the great Roman road of
England. Waiting, or Waithling, street
it is called. Away in the north of York
shire, a few miles above Catterick bridge.
one stem of this highway goes ON through
Durham and Northumberland, and thence
to Edinburgh. The other swings around
to the westward, trayersing Westmoreland
and Cumberland through Carlisle to The
great Roman wall, which once protected
Britain from the Caledonian hordes. and
thence, in more modern coach road.
winds through the olden lovers haven,
Gretna Green, TO Glasgow. On this west
ern stem, between the rivers Tees and
Greta, at the eastern edge of Stanemoor,
nearly surrounded by desolate moors, and
in the northwest corner of Yorkshire, lies
what is left of Bowes.
Coming on foot to Bowes from Kirkby
Stephen, the wild, grand sweep of coun-
try usually visible from the top of Stane-
moor was denied. But ii was a treat to
stand by Rere Cross, unmolested by witch
or warlock, and recall the meaning of the
gray old relic that has stood there so sturd-
lily for more than eight hundred years
William the Conquerer and Malcolm, King
of Scotland, met here with their armies to
decide, by battle, the boundaries of their
respective kingdoms. Instead of fighting
they wisely feasted. Wiser still, they de-
cided that the very spot should mark the
boundary. Thereupon they caused cross
to be set up. On one side was craven the
~ William. la 9th -ha+ of
Malcolm. They named it the ROi Cross,
the "Cross of the Kings" Time has cor
rupted the name to Rere Cross 1t has
eaten away its images, Topped off the arms
and gnawed out its head. But il is Roi,
or Rere, Cross still, and marks the boun-
dary of the shires of York and Westmore'
land to-day. II was the one thing to be
clung to as the storm swept me over the
mountain. The night seemed TO fall on
Stanemoor as though driven upon the
earth ont of the storm itself. Descending
the eastern declivity, the roar of invisible
torrents, the creation of an hour, was ter
rible. Thanks to the Romans who had
built that road, it was broad, sure and as
eternal as Stanemoor itself. Whipped,
pounded and beaten along for what seemed
hours, my feet suddenly struck cobble-
stones. Bowes at last! No human being
ever loved SO much to be in Bowes before.
But where was the place, after alls Not a
candle or lamp light cleaned from window
within it. Here and there along the zig
gag street faint glimmer flushed against
some tiny panes. Peering within, old and
palsied crones, bent and trembling, were
here and there seen crOuching over flicker
ing embers of meager fires. Drenched
from rotten thatches, startled by the storm
lashed trees, and now thoroughly fright
ened with the prospect of no resting place
for the night, felt my way along what
seemed to be the street-facade of some
large structure, and, coming to its corner,
shrunk along this, where l halted for q
little, well out of the full power of the
tempest.
Scarcely had sufficient time elapsed to
permit my getting my back against the
building before there was a startling,
splattering rush. The calves of my legs
escaped the fury of the object making it,
but with q return rush the ample tails OF
my storm-coat We're gathered in sort OF
yoiceless wise which only death or a mas
ter's command can loosen. Few were the
snuffies and snortings caused by the work,
ing of the four-legged mechanism. Its
forces were exclusively devoted to effort.
That effort was certainly one of bringing
prize into port. Yielding without pro-
test to the spirit of the occasion, moved
with its movements, tackled with its tack
ings. In a zig-zag attitude of gentle