James Radcliffe’s friends were allowed to have his body, though they were forbidden to carry it home for burial; for such were the love and esteem borne for the young Earl in the hearts of all his North-country friends and dependents, that the authorities feared a disturbance of the peace should his body be brought amongst them while their rage and grief were still at their height. Notwithstanding the prohibition, however, the body was brought secretly to Dilston, and buried in the vault of the chapel, which, with the ruined tower, are all that remain of the home of the Radcliffes. Standing amidst luxuriant foliage, and overlooking a romantic dell, the ruins of tower and chapel remain as they fell into decay on the death of their luckless owners. The confiscated estates were bestowed on Greenwich Hospital, whose agents administer them still, with the exception of certain portions purchased from time to time by various landowners. No other family took the place of the Radcliffes in the deserted halls; but tradition holds that the unfortunate Earl and his sorrowful lady still revisit their ancient home. The Earl’s body is now at Thorndon, in Essex. Below is Surtees’ beautiful ballad, “Lord Derwentwater’s Farewell.” LORD DERWENTWATER’S FAREWELL “Farewell to pleasant Dilston Hall, My father’s ancient seat; A stranger now must call thee his, Which gars my heart to greet. Farewell each kindly well-known face My heart has held so dear; My tenants now must leave their lord Or hold their lives in fear. No more along the banks of Tyne I’ll rove in autumn grey; No more I’ll hear, at early dawn, The lav’rocks wake the day; Then fare thee well, brave Witherington, And Forster ever true; Dear Shaftsbury and Errington, Receive my last adieu. And fare thee well, George Collingwood, Since fate has put us down; If thou and I have lost our lives, Our king has lost his crown. Farewell, farewell, my lady dear, Ill, ill thou counsell’dst me; I never more may see the babe That smiles upon thy knee. And fare thee well, my bonny gray steed, That carried me aye so free; I wish I had been asleep in my bed The last time I mounted thee; The warning bell now bids me cease, My trouble’s nearly o’er; Yon sun that rises from the sea Shall rise on me no more. Albeit that here in London Town It is my fate to die; O carry me to Northumberland, In my father’s grave to lie. There chant my solemn requiem In Hexham’s holy towers; And let six maids of fair Tynedale Scatter my grave with flowers. And when the head that wears the crown Shall be laid low like mine; Some honest hearts may then lament For Radcliffe’s fallen line. Farewell to pleasant Dilston Hall, My father’s ancient seat; A stranger now must call thee his, Which gars my heart to greet.”