could, of being Northumbrian of the Northumbrians, as they
were seated here before the days of the Conqueror, who made such a
general upsetting amongst the Saxon landowners.

The beauty of the two miles walk along the banks of the Wansbeck from
here to Morpeth is not easy to surpass in all the county, though several
parts of the Coquet valley may justly compete with it. William Howitt
has left on record his admiration for this lovely region, and said
Morpeth was "more like a town in a dream" than a reality. Especially is
this so when looking at the town from the neighbourhood of the river.
Before actually reaching Morpeth the Wansbeck waters the fair fields
that once held Newminster Abbey in its pride; now, nothing remains but
an arch or so and a few stones, to remind us of the noble abbey which
Ralph de Merley built so long ago. When only half built it was
demolished by the Scots under King David; but willing hands set to work
again, and the abbey and monastery were completed.

In the town of Morpeth, though newer buildings are stretching out
towards the outskirts, many of the ancient buildings and streets remain,
and the general aspect of this part of it is much the same as when the
Jacobites of Northumberland gathered together here, and the clergyman,
Mr. Buxton, proclaimed James III. in its Market Place. Of Morpeth
Castle, built by a De Merley soon after the Conquest, only the gateway
tower remains, but the outlines of the original boundary walls can be
clearly traced. A company of five hundred Scots, whom Leslie had left as
a garrison in 1644, held out here for three weeks against two thousand
Royalists under Montrose. After the cannonading received during that
siege, the walls were not repaired again, and the castle fell into
decay. The inhabitants of Morpeth have a daily reminder of times yet
more remote, for the Curfew Bell still rings out over the little town
every evening at eight o'clock.

Another walk of three miles along the still beautiful banks of the
Wansbeck brings us to Bothal, another little village of great beauty,
embowered and almost hidden amongst luxuriant woods. Its curious name is
derived from the Anglo-Saxon _bottell_, a place of abode (as in
Walbottle). The name conjures up memories of the knights of old, their
loves and their fortunes, fair or disastrous; for the best-known version
of "The Hermit of Warkworth" tells us that it was a Bertram of Bothal
who was the luckless hero of that tale