It is interesting to remember here the legendary story of the foundation of Durham Cathedral, which explains certain carving on the north front of that majestic pile. While the final resting-place of St. Cuthbert was still undetermined, "it was revealed to Eadmer, a virtuous man, that he should be carried to Dunholme, where he should find a place of rest. His followers were in distress, not knowing where Dunholme lay; but as they proceeded, a woman, wanting her cow, called aloud to her companion to know if she had seen her, when the other answered that she was in Dunholme. This was happy news to the distressed monks, who thereby knew that their journey's end was at hand, and the saint's body near its resting-place." It has been said that the after riches of the See of Durham gave rise to the proverb, "The dun cow's milk makes the prebend's wives go in silk." But to return to the dun cow slain by Guy. That the champion was credited of old with having overcome some such animal is evident from the matter-of-fact fashion in which it is recorded by ancient chroniclers. In Percy's "Reliques of Antient Poetry," occur the following verses in a black-letter ballad which sings the exploits of Guy:-- "On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe A monstrous wyld and cruell beast, Called the Dun-Cow of Dunsmore heath, Which manye people had opprest. Some of her bons in Warwicke yett Still for a monument doe lye; Which unto every lookers viewe As wondrous strange, they may espye." A circumstantial account is given in the "Noble and Renowned History of Guy, Earl of Warwick," as translated from the curious old French black-letter volume in Warwick Castle, and of this a somewhat modernised version may be submitted. "Fame made known in every corner of the land that a dun cow of enormous size, 'at least four yards in height, and six in length, and a head proportionable,' was making dreadful devastations, and destroying man and beast. The king was at York when he heard of the havoc and slaughter which this monstrous animal had made. He offered knighthood to anyone who would destroy her, and many lamented the absence in Normandy of Guy, who, hearing of the beast, went privately to give it battle. With bow and sword and axe he came, and found every village desolate, every cottage empty. His heart filled with compassion, and he waited for the encounter. The furious beast glared at him with her eyes of fire. His arrows flew from her sides as from adamant itself. Like the wind from the mountain side the beast came on. Her horns pierced his armour of proof, though his mighty battle-axe struck her in the forehead. He wheeled his gallant steed about and struck her again. He wounded her behind the ear. The monster roared and snorted as she felt the anguish of the wound. At last she fell, and Guy, alighting, hewed at her until she expired, deluged with her blood. He then rode to the next town, and made known the monster's death, and then went to his