On the embankment enclosing the prehistoric camp there has been placed in the last few years a monument, in the shape of an Iona cross, to the patriotism of four natives of Eamont Bridge. But let the inscription on the cross itself tell the tale: “At that crisis in the history of the Empire, when volunteers were invited for active service in the South African War, this village of Eamont Bridge sent four: John Hindson, William Todd, and Arthur Warwick, of the 24th Coy. (Westmoreland and Cumberland) Imperial Yeomanry, and William Hindson, of the Volunteer Coy. of the Border Regt. Of these John Hindson and William Todd were killed in action at Faber’s Put, 30th May, 1900. This monument was erected by public subscription on this historic spot granted by Lord Brougham and Vaux, 1901. _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori._” The old bridge, built in 1425, spanning the Eamont River, has given its name to the village that has in the course of years sprung up here. It is a small, scattered place, but some of the houses are old, and several bear inscriptions. “Omne solum forti patria est,” says one, with initials “H. P.” and date “1671” appended. “H. P.” was evidently a student of Ovidius Naso. The road over Eamont Bridge is very steep and narrow and the ascent beyond it steeper still; so that the stranger, observing the fury with which the drivers of the excursion wagonettes and motor chars-a-banc take the ascents and descents on their wild way to and from Penrith and Ullswater, confidently expects an accident “while he waits.” But whether it be skill, or luck, the accidents do not happen, and expectant strangers, to have their expectations realised, would have to wait on the spot until the moss grew on them. According to the writers of guide-books, there may be found, carved on the parapet of the bridge, the hospitable phrase, “Welcome into Cumberland.” You, in fact, in crossing it leave Westmoreland for Cumberland, and, having read so much of this kindly sentiment, you seek diligently for the inscription. Alas! in vain. There is not, nor was there ever, anything of the kind. Instead, what meets your eye is an inn whose sign, “The Welcome into Cumberland,” is adorned with a representation of pipes and punch-bowl, and with a weird picture of a Personage—he must be a Personage, for he wears frock-coat and silk hat—effusively greeting a Highlander arrayed in full Highland fig. Each looks astonished at the other, and the pilgrim of the roads, gazing fascinated, is astonished at both. This, then, is the “Welcome,” and one by no means so disinterested as you were led to expect. Another vanished illusion! [Illustration: EAMONT BRIDGE.]