Curiously, instead of most of the legends being of an ecclesiastical nature, as one would naturally expect in a county where the Church has predominated for many centuries, the contrary is the case. All the best-known legends are of deadly war waged with some uncouth or venomous monster, in which, without exception, some local hero, Jack-the-Giant-Killer-like, comes off victorious. _The Dun Cow._ Visitors to Durham rarely leave without having the sculptured panel representing the famous Dun Cow on the cathedral front pointed out to them. The legend runs that the monks, having fled from Chester-le-Street and rested with the body of the saint for some time at Ripon, were desirous of returning to Chester. "Coming with him (St. Cuthbert) on the east side of Durham to a place called Ward-lawe, they could not with all their force remove his body from thence, which seemed to be fastened to the ground, which strange and unexpected accident wrought great admiration in the heart of the bishops, monks, and their associates, and, ergo, they fasted and prayed three days with great reverence and devotion, desiring to know by revelation what they should do with the holy body of St. Cuthbert, which thing was granted unto them, and therein they were directed to carry him to Dunholme (Durham). But being distressed because they were ignorant where Dunholme was, see their good fortune. As they were going a woman that lacked her cow did call aloud to her companion to know if she did not see her, who answered with a loud voice that her cow was in Dunholme, a happy and heavenly echo to the distressed monks, who by that means were at the end of their journey, where they should find a resting-place for the body of their honoured saint." [Illustration: THE DUN COW.] _The Brawn of Brancepeth._ At what time the brawn, or boar, ceased to exist as a wild animal in Britain is uncertain, but it was at one time a common inhabitant of our British forests, and protected by the law in the tenth and eleventh centuries. The village of Brancepeth (a corruption of Brawn’s path) is said to have derived its name from a formidable brawn of vast size, which made his lair on Brandon Hill, and walked the forest in ancient times, and was a terror to all the inhabitants from the Wear to the Gaunless. The marshy, and then woody, vale extending from Croxdale to Ferry Wood was one of the brawn’s favourite haunts. According to tradition, Hodge of Ferry, after carefully marking the boar’s track near Cleves Cross, dug a pitfall, slightly covered with boughs and turf, and then, toiling on his victim by some bait to the treacherous spot, stood, armed with his good sword, across the pitfall--“at once with hope and fear his heart rebounds."