Above the main entrance, a coat-of-arms and the {212} initials "T.D.," for Thomas Dacre, are seen, carved in stone; and two stone griffins with outspread wings are perched high up on a level with the chimneys. There is a fine flight of steps up to the main door, which is a heavy oak door studded thickly with nails. The steps and balustrade, when I saw them, were coated with red ochre, such as is used for marking sheep. They told me this was done to preserve the stone, and prevent moss from growing on it. The ochre is mixed with buttermilk, and then it does not wash off, and the steps are never slippery for walking on. But, oh, the vandalism of it! Even the Roman altar which stands at the top of the steps had been given its coat of brick-red! Is it worth preserving the stones at such a cost? I could not help picturing to myself a brick-red Roman Wall, running along the tops of the crags! Ugh! The present occupiers are not responsible, for they have merely carried on the tradition of their predecessors, and the "doorstep" custom of the neighbourhood. I called at a less pretentious entrance, which was evidently mostly used, and asked for permission to see inside the Castle. The farmer's wife was busy at the time, but she kindly promised to show me round on my return journey from Bowness. I will describe the interior here, though I saw it later. {213} Its chief beauty is its panelled room, the principal room of the house, on the first floor, with windows looking north and south, across the village street in front, and over the garden behind. The walls are completely covered with beautiful oak panelling, the panels being about a foot square. In this room I was amused to see a reproduction of a picture of my own, which had found its way to this remote spot, _via_ "Bibby's Annual." We went up on to the roof to see the view, which is very fine. Battlements still protect it at the western end. On the way up we passed over a floor with holes in it, and my guide begged me to be careful. Blackness of darkness was visible through the holes, and she told me I was looking into a sealed room. Presently she showed me where the door leading into it had been covered up and whitewashed over; and when I looked up later at the front of the house, I saw the window had been filled in with two large blocks of stone and cemented over. All this seemed very mysterious, but the mistress of the house treated it in a perfectly matter-of-fact way. "I'm very glad," said she; "there's a deal to keep clean as it is; no doubt they thought so too, whoever did it. But the servant-girls hear stories in the village, and sometimes they won't stop." She unbolted the heavy oak door to let me out. That entrance is never used, so the wide hall of the {214} manor-house is now merely a bare whitewashed store-room, hung with hams, and decorated with bacon.