History tells that Derwentwater was brave and open-hearted and generous, and that his fate drew tears from the spectators, and was a great misfortune to his country. He was kind to the people on his estates, to the poor, the widow and the orphan. His request to be buried with his ancestors was refused, and he was interred at St Giles, Holborn, but his corpse was afterwards removed and carried secretly to Northumberland, where it was deposited in Dilston Chapel. The aurora borealis, which appeared remarkably vivid on the night of his execution, was long called in that part of the country "Lord Derwentwater’s Lights." Immediately after Derwentwater’s execution, Lord Kenmure also suffered death. After his execution, a letter was found in his pocket addressed to the Pretender, by the title of King James, saying that he died in his faithful service, and asking him to provide for his wife and children. The following ballad describes his rising in the Stuart cause— "O Kenmure’s on and awa’, Willie, O Kenmure’s on and awa’; And Kenmure’s lord’s the bravest lord That ever Galloway saw. Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie! Success to Kenmure’s band! There’s no a heart that fears a Whig, That rides by Kenmure’s hand. His lady’s cheek was red, Willie, His lady’s cheek was red, When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on, Which smell’d o’ deadly feud. Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine, Willie, Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine; There ne’er was a coward o’ Kenmure’s blude, Nor yet o’ Gordon’s line. [#] armour. There’s a rose in Kenmure’s cap, Willie, There’s a rose in Kenmure’s cap, He’ll steep it red in ruddie heart’s blade, Afore the battle drap. Here’s him that’s far awa’, Willie, Here’s him that’s far awa’, And here’s the flower that I lo’e best, The rose that’s like the snaw. O Kenmure’s lads are men, Willie, O Kenmure’s lads are men, Their hearts and swords are metal true, And that their foes shall ken. They’ll live, or die wi’ fame, Willie, They’ll live, or die wi’ fame, And soon wi’ sound o’ victorie May Kenmure’s lord come hame." *Chapter XLVIII* *The Nine Nicks o’ Thirlwall* If you stand upon Rose Hill, which rises from the banks of the river Irthing just where Northumberland meets Cumberland, you have lying around you one of the finest wild prospects in the United Kingdom. Hills to the north, stretching away into Scotland; hills to the east, broken into picturesque valleys, especially the great gap through which rushes the young Tyne; hills to the south, dominated by the powerful head of Cross Fell, a great sprawling mountain, not a peaked one, the highest stretch of which is nearly three thousand feet above sea level.