The description of this place given by Hutchinson at the latter end of last century is as follows:--"This place is about 300 yards long, from east to west; and 100 yards broad, from north to south; now walled round, save at the east end, near three feet in height; there appears to have been a long street, with several cross ones: the remains of housesteads, within the walls, are not very numerous, but on the outside of the walls they are innumerable, especially on the south side and west end; the circumference of the city and suburbs is near three computed miles; the figure an oblong square." It is added that about the year 1730, a considerable quantity of silver coin was found in the ruins of one of the houses, concealed in a cavity, formed in a beam; none of which unfortunately has been preserved, to throw light upon the name, the race, or character and habits of its possessors. From the Pow to the Duddon innumerable objects of interest lie scattered between the mountains and the sea coast, of which little more can be said than was stated, as above, by Camden's editor--"Some tell you abundance of stories about them"--as well as "about King Eveling, who had his palace here." SIR LANCELOT THRELKELD. The widows were sitting in Threlkeld Hall; The corn stood green on Midsummer-day; Their little grand-children were tossing the ball; And the farmers leaned over the garden wall; And the widows were spinning the eve away. They busily talk'd of the days long gone, While the corn stood green on Midsummer-day; How old Sir Lancelot's armour had shone On the panels of oak by the broad hearthstone, Where the widows sat spinning that eve away. For, Threlkeld Hall of his mansions three-- Where the corn stood green on Midsummer-day-- Was his noblest house; and a stately tree Was the good old Knight, and of high degree; And a braver rode never in battle array. Now peaceful farmers think of their corn-- The corn so green on Midsummer-day-- Where once, at the blast of Sir Lancelot's horn, His horsemen all mustered, his banner was borne; And he went like a Chief in his pride to the fray. And there the good Clifford, the Shepherd-Lord, When the corn stood green on Midsummer-day, Sat, humbly clad, at Sir Lancelot's board; And tended the flocks, while rusted his sword In the hall where the widows were spinning away; Till the new King called him back to his own-- When the corn stood green on Midsummer-day-- To his honours and name of high renown; When Sir Lancelot old and feeble had grown; From his rude shepherd-life called Lord Clifford away. And sad was that morrow in Threlkeld Hall-- And the corn was green on that Midsummer-day-- When the Clifford stood ready to part from all; And his shepherd's staff was hung up on the wall, In that room where the widows sat spinning away.