"Big bees fly high; Little bees make the honey: Poor men do the work; Rich men get the money."
One of the party, lively enough to have lived when the island was "merry England," hearing that I intended to walk through Bay Town on the morrow, said, laughingly, "You'll find nought but _Tudds_ and _Pooads_ down there;" meaning that Todd and Poad were the prevalent names.
From Cloughton to Haiburn Wyke--The embowered Path--Approach to the Sea--Rock, Water, and Foliage--Heavy Walking--Staintondale Cliffs--The Undercliff--The Peak--Raven Hall--Robin Hood's Bay --A Trespass--Alum Works--Waterfalls--Bay Town--Manners and Customs of the Natives--Coal Trade--The Churchyard--Epitaphs-- Black-a-moor--Hawsker--Vale of Pickering--Robin Hood and Little John's Archery--Whitby Abbey--Beautiful Ruin--St. Hilda, Wilfrid, and Coedmon--Legends--A Fallen Tower--St. Mary's Church--Whitby--The Vale of Esk--Specimens of Popular Hymns.
The next morning looked unpromising; the heavy rain which began to fall the evening before had continued all night, and when I started, trees and hedges were still dripping and the grass drooping, overburdened with watery beads. Bye-paths are not enticing under such circumstances: however, the range of cliffs between Haiburn Wyke and Robin Hood's Bay is so continuously grand and lofty that I made up my mind to walk along their summit whether or not.
About half an hour from Cloughton brought me to a 'crammle gate,' as the natives call it; that is, a rustic gate with zigzaggy rails, from which a private road curves down through a grove to a farm-house on the right. Here, finding no outlet, I had to inquire, and was told to cross the garden. All praise to the good-nature which trusts a stranger to lift the "clinking latch" and walk unwatched through a garden so pretty, teeming with fruit, flowers, and vegetables; where a path overarched by busy climbers leads you into pleasing ins and outs, and along blooming borders to the edge of a wooded glen, and that is Haiburn Wyke. The path, not trimly kept as in the garden, invites you onwards beneath a thick shade of oak, ash, and hazel; between clumps of honeysuckle and wild roses, and broken slopes hung with ferns and ivy, and a very forest of grasses; while, to heighten the charm, a little brook descends prattling confidingly to the many stones that lie in its crooked channel. The path winds, now steep, now gradual, and at the bends a seat offers a resting-place if you incline to pause and meditate.