Out of this pavement, however, grows a yew-tree,
ascending to the tops of the towers, and completely filling, with its
branches and foliage, the whole open space between them. Some small
birds--quite a flock of them--were twittering and fluttering among the
upper branches. We went upward, through two or three stories of dismal
rooms,--among others, through the ancient guard-room,--till we came out
on the roof of one of the towers, and had a very fine view of an
amphitheatre of ridgy hills which shut in and seclude the castle and the
town. The upper foliage was within our reach, close to the parapet of
the tower; so we gathered a few twigs as memorials. The housekeeper told
us that the yew-tree is supposed to be eight hundred years old, and,
comparing it with other yews that I have seen, I should judge that it
must measure its antiquity by centuries, at all events. It still seems
to be in its prime.
Along the base of the castle, on the opposite side to the entrance, flows
a stream, sending up a pleasant murmur from among the trees. The
housekeeper said it was not a stream, but only a "wash," whatever that
may be; and I conjecture that it creates the motive-power of some
factory-looking edifices, which we saw on our first arrival at Skipton.
We now took our leave of the housekeeper, and came homeward to our inn,
where I have written the foregoing pages by a bright fire; but I think I
write better descriptions after letting the subject lie in my mind a day
or two.
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