Recent research through public archives has ascertained that the family of the Philipsons was established in Westmorland at least as far back as the reign of Edward III., for in an inquisition relative to the possessions of the chantry on Saint Mary's Holme, taken in 1355, the name of John Philipson is recorded as tenant to certain lands belonging to that religious foundation. This family owned not only Calgarth Hall and extensive domains which reached along the shores of Windermere, from Low Wood to Rayrigg, consisting of beautiful woods and rich pastures, but also Crook and Holling Halls, with much of the surrounding country, as well as the large island in the centre of the lake, opposite to Bowness, in documents of the 13th century especially designated "Le Holme," but the earliest name of which was Wynandermere Isle, afterwards changed to the "Long Holme," which latter word signifies, in the old vernacular, "an island or plain by the water side," and in which they had a mansion of the old fashioned Westmorland kind, strongly fortified, called the Holme House. Their alliances having connected them with many of the chief families of the county, they fixed their principal dwelling places at Holling, and at Crook or Thwatterden Halls; which latter abode in the time of Queen Elizabeth again became the seat of a younger branch of the house at Calgarth. With Sir Christopher Philipson, the last heir male of the family of Crook Hall, who, according to Mr. West, lived in the Holme in 1705, and who died in that year, the race was extinguished. Their mouldered dust lies beneath the pavement in Windermere Church, and their homes, for the most part but grey and naked ruins, know them no more. THE LAY OF LORD LUCY OF EGREMOND. On that Mount surnamed "of Sorrow" Glass'd in Enna's winding flood, Looking forth through many a morrow Both the warriors, Lucies, stood; Stood beside the ramparts hoary, Brothers, vow'd their brows to wreathe In the Holy Land with glory, Or its sands to rest beneath. Quietly the vale was lying, Farm and meadow, forge and mill, As the day-star faintly dying Paled above the eastern hill. But beneath the cullis'd portal Press'd the pent-up throng of war, Eager for the strife immortal With the Soldan's hosts afar. Fame has all his soul's embraces-- Clasps Lord Lucy maid nor wife. As the warriors' vizor'd faces Turn towards the land of strife. Through the gate beneath the towering Pile they wind in shining mail. Soon afar the fortress lowering Sinks beneath them in the vale.