And how of thousand snakes each one
Was changed into a coil of stone,
When holy Hilda pray'd.
Themselves within their holy bound,
Their stony folds had often found.
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail
As over Whitby's towers they sail,
And sinking down with flutterings faint,
They do their homage to the saint."

Marmion. Canto II.

So does even antiquity gather youth and freshness from the invigorating touch of genius and eloquence.

Mount Grace, another of our Cleveland Priories, is also well worthy the study and attention of the pilgrim. This fine ruin stands near the Tontine, and on the left hand side of the road to Thirsk. It is completely surrounded with the dense forest scenery, and is well adapted for that repose and solitude necessary to religious contemplation. The walls and portion of the tower are yet well preserved, and will outlast some centuries to come, if ordinarily preserved. Though not on a grand scale, this priory is entitled to the praise of the poet,— its deep, profound loneliness, the unusual extent and variety of the scenery, and the beauty of the ruins, presenting ample food for observation and admiration.

Last, not least, is Guisborough Priory. History will tell you it was founded by De Bruce; but the old Saxon arch, in Church-street, and the fragments of old stone contained in the more modern building, will inform you

that the original fabric was Saxon, quite antecedent to any of the De Bruces, and contemporary, it is probable, with the earliest introduction of Christianity into this kingdom. This important fact we consider it necessary to mention, partly on antiquarian grounds, partly as a verification of the modern controversy respecting the Roman Catholic, and the true Catholic faith in England. Nothing can be more attractive than the site of Guisborough Abbey, From its summit, where oft in childhood I have clomb with dismay, the eye embraces the diversified scenery of the Spa Woods, Cass Rock, Highcliffe, Roseberry Topping, Upleatham Fir-rigs, the Park, Redcar, and the Sea. The town of Guisborough lies reposingly beneath its shadow, half built out of its ruins, and the fields of wheat waving in the breeze, the tall walnut trees within its precincts, the woods in the distance, blooming freshly in the sun, and the rich verdant valley, thickly interspersed with neat, elegant farmhouses, present a landscape rarely equalled throughout Great Britain.

The priory now consists of but one stupendous arch, though at a former period, according to an eminent local poet (?)

"To John Dale the sadler's corner it went."

This arch is the enormous oriel window, and through the eastern panes of painted glass the mellow hues of morning would beam forth over the altar, on the monks at prayer. From excavations made at a distance, the original building must have been of vast extent. Even now, that one lofty graceful arch presents a most im

posing appearance, and is well worthy the consideration of every admirer of classical ancient architecture. The roofs and walls of the abbey are completely gone, and its interior is open to the blue vault of heaven. The floor where monks were wont to kneel in prayer, is covered with weeds, nettles, and rankest grass; the tall stately arch is shrouded with ivy, wild-flowers, and climbing plants; in the hollow stairs, the owl, the starling, and even the house-sparrow build their nests; where the silver bells were wont to sound to vespers, now all is silent, save the tempestuous winds howling amongst the crannies;-the altar is broken, the pillars are mouldered away, the carved statuary is vanished, even the tombs of the ancient priesthood are past from the earth for ever!

"Yet do we love these ancient ruins;

We never tread upon them but we set
Our foot upon some reverend history;
And, questionless, here in this open court,
(Which now lies naked to the injuries
Of stormy tempests) some men lie interr'd
Who lov'd the church right well, gave largely to it,
And thought it should have canopied their bones
Till Domesday. But all things have their end:
Churches and cities (which have decease like men)
Must have like death that we have."

Webster's Duchess of Malfey.

CLEVELAND SKETCHES.

THE HERMIT OF ESKDALESIDE.

(After the manner of the " Battle of Otterbourne,"see Percy's Ballads, and Scott's Minstrelsy.)

"Then Whitbys nuns exulting told,

How to their house three barons bold

Must menial service do ;

While horns blow out a note of shame,
And monks cry "Fie upon your name.'
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game,

St. Hilda's priest ye slew."

Marmion, CANTO II.

It fell about the may-day time,

When the wild-flowers sweetly lie,

When the primrose decks the green-shaw copse,
When the lark salutes the sky.-

That Piercie, Bruce, and Allatson,

And the Herberts light and gay,

From their proud mountain-homes went forth

To spend a hunting day.

And they have left fair Kildale's halls,

And Skelton's Castle fair,

And the stately towers of Ghestborough*
To seek the wild-boars lair.

And up spake proud Lord Piercie then,
And o, but he spake hie-

"This day among the Eskdale woods
Our prowess we will try.

"O, Eskdale is a bonnie wood,

And Esk a bonnie stream,

The Eskdale hills are high and bright,
And lovely as a dream!

"The deer runs wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild from tree to tree,
The silver trouts glide numberless,
The wild-flowers blossom free."

They lighted high on Eskdale side,
Upon the bent so brown,

They lighted where that wild-boar lay,
The dread of Whitby town!

They luncheon'd by the mossy hill,

They drank the blood-red wine,

They swore an oath the boar must die,
Ere they would sit to dine.

* Ancient name of Gisborough-"Ghestborough, vel spiritualis

burgus."