old farm house, lies sunning itself in the
warm glow of the September afternoon, in the green fields at the foot
of the sheltering hills.

Looking southward now, up the stream, there is stretching away to the
left the long ridge of Newton Tor, and away behind it Great Hetha and
Little Hetha; while half-way down the vale the Colledge Water tumbles
over the rocks at Hethpoole Linn (or Heathpool, as the modern rendering
has it), breaking into amber spray deep down beneath overhanging trees
and boulders and golden bracken.

This brings our thoughts to days comparatively modern, for when Admiral
Collingwood was raised to the peerage of Great Britain, it was by the
title of "Baron Collingwood of Caldburn and Hethpoole, in the county of
Northumberland." The brave Admiral was fond of planting an oak tree
whenever he found an opportunity, to secure the continuance of those
wooden walls which in his hands, and in those of his life-long friend,
Nelson, had proved such a sure defence to his country. In a letter dated
March, 1806, he wrote to his wife, "I wish some parts of Hethpoole could
be selected for plantations of larch, oak, and beech, where the ground
could best be spared. Even the sides of a bleak hill would grow larch
and fir." In another letter some months later he told her what
"agreeable news" it was to hear that she was taking care of his oaks,
and planting some at Hethpoole; and saying that if he ever returned he
would plant a good deal there; adding, however, that he feared before
that could take place both he and Lady Collingwood might themselves be
planted in the churchyard beneath some old yew tree.

Hethpoole presents us with a link not only with history, but with
romance as well. An ivied ruin near at hand, with walls of enormous
strength, is said to be the remains of the castle where the final
tragedy in "The Hermit of Warkworth" took place. Here, it is said, the
distracted lover came upon his lady and his brother, who had at that
moment effected her escape, and not recognising the youth, rushed upon
the pair with drawn sword, only to discover too late his terrible
mistake, and lose both brother and bride--for the lady received a mortal
wound in trying to save her rescuer.

Turning our eyes now northward across the Glen from Yeavering Bell, we
are looking towards Coupland Castle, and the fact that it was built so
late as the reign of James I. bears eloquent testimony to the insecurity
of life and property