THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

In olden times, gloomy forest gorges were tenanted only by the solitary bear or packs of famished wolves, while the mistrustful lynx looked down from the giddy heights, and the chamois leaped unchecked from rock to rock.  The people who lived westward of this mountain rampart, knowing but little or nothing of the country on either side, designated it as Transylvania, or the land beyond the forest, just as we sometimes talk of the “land beyond the clouds”.

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The old-world charm still lingers around and about many things.  It is floating everywhere and anywhere – in the forests and on the mountains, in medieval churches and ruined watch-towers, in mysterious caverns and in ancient gold-mines, in the songs of the people and the legends they tell.  Like a subtle performance evaporating under the rays of a burning sun, it is growing daily fainter and fainter, and all lovers of the past should hasten to collect this fleeting fragrance ere it be gone forever.

Gerard/Forest