Inquiring
further, I found that it was the Clapham family, and another that was
called Morley, that were so buried; and then it occurred to me that this
was the vault Wordsworth refers to in one of his poems,--the burial-place
of the Claphams and Mauleverers, whose skeletons, for aught I know, were
even then standing upright under our feet. It is but a narrow place,
perhaps a square of ten feet. We saw little or nothing else that was
memorable, unless it were the signature of Queen Adelaide in a visitors'
book.
On our way back to Skipton it rained and hailed, but the sun again shone
out before we arrived. We took the train for Leeds at half past ten, and
arrived there in the afternoon, passing the ruined Abbey of Kirkstall on
our way. The ruins looked more interesting than those of Bolton, though
not so delightfully situated, and now in the close vicinity of
manufactories, and only two or three miles from Leeds. We took a dish of
soup, and spent a miserable hour in and about the railway station of
Leeds; whence we departed at four, and reached
YORK
in an hour or two. We put up at the Black Swan, and before tea went out,
on the cool bright edge of evening, to get a glimpse of the cathedral,
which impressed me more grandly than when I first saw it, nearly a year
ago.
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