“Drunken Barnaby” was not of that opinion. Doubtless the two drank many a noggin together; Barnaby writing him down— A Jaylor ripe and mellow The world hath not suche a fellow. John Taylor, the so-called “Water Poet,” who on his “Pennyless Pilgrimage” to Edinburgh and back levied toll on many men’s hospitable tables, tells how The Iayler kept an Inne, good beds, good cheere, Where, paying nothing, I found nothing deere; and in short he was very much, in the amateur way, what his brother was professionally, who kept the “George” inn, in the town; and, strange to say, his wife was no less hospitable than himself. We are not accustomed to think of Lancaster as a seaport, but it was once much more important in that way than Liverpool itself. To be sure, that was long ago, but not so very, very long: no further back, indeed, than the time of Charles the First, who, in levying what has been called the “objectionable” tax—but what tax is not, to the taxee?—of Ship Money, assessed Lancaster at £30, Liverpool at £25, and Preston at £20. What Manchester has laboriously and expensively done in its Ship Canal might more easily and cheaply be effected by Preston and Lancaster, lying nearer the sea: and doubtless a time will come—but with that we have no concern. Meanwhile there are salmon in the Lune, as wanderers along the riverside by Crook o’ Lune may discover, and Lancaster as yet knows nothing of great commercial docks. With modern developments, however, the Town Council has felt the need of a borough motto. “Time-honoured Lancaster” was suggested, but the Heralds’ College, sticklers for accuracy, pointing out that this referred to John o’ Gaunt and not to the town, suggested “Luck to Loyne” instead; and accordingly, “Luck to Loyne” it is. The finest view of Lancaster is from the Skerton Bridge crossing the river Lune at a point where the castle and the old church of St. Mary group finely on the castle hill, and rightly form the most prominent objects, historical as they are. Unfortunately for the view, railway developments have done a good deal to destroy its majestic simplicity. A railway bridge of the most atrocious lattice-girder type, crossing from the point known by the curious name of “Green Ayre,” cuts the finest picture in half, and a number of sidings have abolished the verdant banks of the Lune for a good distance and form undesirable neighbours to the embowered beauty of Ladies’ Walk. Skerton Bridge, which takes the road out of Lancaster to Carlisle, in 1900 replaced the old Lune Bridge built in 1788, which itself replaced a much older structure. [Sidenote: _OILCLOTH_]