Morning journal and courier., 1894-01-06

rushbearing, or strewing their saorsd tsm-
 ples with rushes and with flowers.
 This monday the ancient village seemed
 smilingly half waking from centuries of
 fspose. The tiny church windows stood oPen. There were wreaths upon the gravss of Wentworth and Hartley Cole xidgs. A white haired sexton. . besutiful yeung woman and . s,aluart young man were leaning over the churchyard wall, e | if listening to the melodies of the Rothay stream belew. A few mountain carts stood at the doors of white cottages laden with green rushes ''sieves" the peasants call them, gathered from the breezy up- land fslls. A "vagrom" crew with carts and vans had halted at the village edge and were whummeling their carts, tsther- ing their cattle, turning loose their frowsy children, and disposing the ragged ends of Punch and Judy booth and e patched and splintered merry go-'round. Sweet slaves of hymns to St. Oswald, of rush- bearing hymns and of choral even songs were waited from unseen places. The lit- tie inns were being lszIly put to rights. From some far and smothered retreat foated unrestrainsble notes of the village band, tuning anew the martial strains of Jsmmy Dawson's fiddle; and fuiI in the drowsy sunlight, on the old inn porch, where Southey, Wordsworth, Ooleridge, De Quincsy and Scott once sat In loving converse, the white-haired ravens of the
 ancient hamlet sat and sssely oawsd and crooked.
 These were Christopher, or Cursty, Harris, Jemmy Railton. Willy Bsnn and Tommy Bamthet; all serving men to the Westmoreland country gentry in their time, and now patriarohal Grssmere oot- ters who met ct each others ingls-neuks, ct the public house, or wherever the sun of village hospitality or of heaven shone warmest, there to plaint upon the fsshless present times or to purr and croon over the brave and braw old days that were. Cursty Harris had just joined his com- panions. He sat down pstulantly ct the end of the stone bench. His shaggy brows were drawn tightly; and his lip. were grotesquely pursed; the corners of the under lip being strained by some unu- sual inner emotion almost to the bottom of his chin. His old friends knew this wac c portentious omen, and they kept silence for time, in.erchanging sly nudges of mute and expsctaut prophecy. Soon Will ly Benn said softly,
 9Th suld toun is toonin' up bilE" "Oh, aye; tn mornin's ru.hbesrin';;" ventured Johnny Railton-
 "An' St. Ossvuld's Neet.r piped Tom my Bsmthet, with . wink st Jem and Will. '.is bogle meet on tn holt by the Wush'n Gsst. whssu maister Curtty Harris holp ' lay tn ghsist tn morrer neeir
 "NsbuddyI" retorted Cursty so savage ly that his three oronies gave three sudden starts and uttered three 'Lans a mArcissf" together.
 "Nabuddyr' he repeated with vehe- mence. '-Na mAir O th' Wush'n GeAt bo- gle for Cursty Harris. Whats ,ysnt deeath I kna nit; but I'll clap ees nA mAir on ghsists r this lesf, If can holp itI" Every one in the lovely valley knew of the bosle. ghost or spirit, of the Wishing Gate. It had appeared every rushbearinH night for a quarter of a century. The ap-
 partition was that of q white haired, white
 bearded old man. fsntast!cslly garlsndsd
 with rushes and Aovers. It appeared be- side the Wishing Gate precisely al mid night, and stood for 6 little time ks If waiting for some one that never came. Then 1t went away. Some one had heard
 1t moan as 1t disappeared.
 'shs will surely cone next oswAld's night"
 This plaint of the bos,e hsd passed into
 s sort of saying among the valley folk
 regarding anything expected or desired
 at the rushbearing season of the year.
 Many were in terror of the wrath, and not few of the older peasant folk com
 plained of the vicar of St. Oswsld's for
 not '1syipg the ghaist,n ss any good
 priest might do If he would; ss hsd been done in Westmoreland times without number before him. There were strange whispers, too. that this bogls bore some
 mysterious relation to the almost deadly
 hatred that had shsdowed the lives of
 two of the oldest families of Westmore- lsnd-the Seacrofts of Rosedale Manor,
 which stood smong noble sycsmores on the Grasmere side of Fairfield mountain,
 just above the hamlet, and the Oldgarths of Deepdale Hall, on the eastern side of
 Fairfield, one of the remaining stately
 mansions of the olden kings of Pat;er- dale and Ullswster.
 It was slso believed by a few that old Geordie Nicholson, for nearly half cen tury the most trusted servant of the Sea crofts, had been instrumental many years bsfore, in preventing & tryst. which If kept might have changed the fortunes of both families, between the fair Margaret Csrew, who afterwards became the lady
 of Rosedsle Manor, and her then lover, an Oldgsrth. As dimly but as surely, | too, 1t had grown into popular belief that old Geordie was somehow responsible for the Bogle of the Wishing Gate. Piqued | former fellow servant, Cursty Harris. as | trusted companion, he had undertaken | to 'lay" this troublesome wrath. and | come out of the valorous effort with ht tie more than his life. What had CO.,
 cured had never been divulged; but the Bogle of the Wishing Gate had taken on
 added terrors; and Cursty Harris had never got 90 near the grewsome subject,
 even with his boon companions, as st
 this moment he seemed to be.
 of yen promish f keep 1t girt t' yer | sells, lads" continued Cursty, edging
 close to his friends with a sht splsh but
 what hsp'd last rushbesrin' meet"
 They promised bravely, and the -four
 old heads were together in an instant.
 "Weel, Geordis Nicholson com'd t
 mea, an' says. 'Cursty, can't stan It
 no losnger. I says t Geordie, 'Dosn't. Geordie, If ee can't' T vii na, fore q
 LordI If ye'n gse vii mes, ssys Geordie.
 'Gae wher. monf says I. worrited wi th'
 fearcs way he looket. 'Ts tn holt f lay
 tn ghsist O th' Wush'n Gsstr says Geor-
 die, grsave as a pssson. Yen be daft If
 ys do,' says I. 'I'll be daft if I doAnt,
 says he, bestin' his head and his breastie, like he'd ssir consencs.
 ''Seein' sumbuddy must gse wi Gsordie, | gev in, but telt him to his head, I'd hsv
 na ham vi tn ehsist. Leave th' ghsist t
 meal ssys Geordie, shakin' his stoot stick,
 an akin wud hev pint O yell afore go-
 in' Its dovly war. we're at, Ge0rdie,
 says l, 'an' I'd teyter hev a swoap O rum
 nor pint O yell Geordie bro't 1t fra tn
 Dove, an we set cot.
 "rwor e half hour t midneei; fer Geor-
 dls war bund to mat thb Wush'n Geat
 sfosre th' bogle. We clon6 tn holt wi'- | oot jowrln or freet, though th' meet war c
 bit scsumy, an war suin dodderin' an