The old boundary of Westmoreland and Lancashire, somewhat varied in recent times, is seen marked on a brass plate on the way to Burton-in-Kendal, opposite a group of old cottages standing in a hollow beside the modern raised road. The place is called Heron Syke, and the deep hollow and surviving fragment of old road illustrate the ancient name, indicating a marshy place with a brook, once frequented by herons. [Illustration: THE BUCKSTONE.] [Sidenote: _WESTMORELAND_] And here we are in Westmoreland. Authorities have not yet done disputing whether it was originally “Westmoreland,” or “Westmereland,” for the moors and the meres, _i.e._ the lakes, are equally prominent in the county; and, by the same token, there is no settled spelling of the name, “Westmoreland”; with two “e’s” or with one. The one “e” appears to be now the more favoured of these versions, but, for my part, I plump for the more romantic-looking old style. The old wool-market of Burton-in-Kendal is extinct, and that is a very quiet uneventful place nowadays, in which a narrow street of grey stone houses opens into a little square where the granite pillar of a market-cross, reared upon three steps, stands, bearing witness to an importance otherwise not only past, but almost forgotten. The market-cross was by way of being stocks and pillory as well, for the steps were fitted with contrivances by which petty offenders were literally “laid by the heels.” There were two pairs of them, as the inquisitive may readily see: and there, thus securely fastened, the rogues and vagabonds of Burton’s busier days were exposed to gibe, insult, and missile. [Illustration: THE MARKET CROSS AND PILLORY, BURTON-IN-KENDAL.] On the night of April 30th, 1812, some evil-disposed persons placed no fewer than eleven gates across the road between Lancaster and Burton-in-Kendal, with intent to upset the mail; which indeed only narrowly escaped. These scoundrels were never caught. Burton is, or was, a loyal place, and does what it can to celebrate national events. It cannot, in the very nature of things, with the slender resources at its command, do much, and its high-water-mark of effort is seen in a very ordinary gas-lamp, erected to commemorate the wedding of the Prince of Wales in 1863. [Illustration: THE “DUKE OF CUMBERLAND” INN, AND FARLETON KNOTT.] [Sidenote: _FARLETON KNOTT_] Farleton Knott—most hills in these parts are “Knotts”—strikingly overhangs the road to Kendal, rising in grey scarps, ridges, and terraces above a level stretch, where the humble old whitewashed “Duke of Cumberland” inn stands beside the lonely way. This is followed, at a considerable interval, by Crooklands inn, with the church of Preston Patrick on the right, and the hamlet of End Moor, all seated in, or overlooking, a green and fertile valley, where a silvery beck winds away in shining loops. The scene, with its rich grass and fine trees, might be in one of the bolder parts of Surrey, rather than in the north.