The date on the old Jacobean Manor House, 1682, had been much worn. When first built, the Hall had stood in its own grounds, a little back from the cliff and within open view of the sea – much exposed to the corroding forces of northerly gales, and easterly sea-frets. Often had its latticed and mullioned windows been darkened by sea-blown foam, raw, cold, and cutting. It had need to be of stout material to withstand such onslaughts. John Dove, its first owner, came of hardy yeoman stock, amongst the first to adopt the Quaker doctrine, and possessed all the characteristics of that remarkable sect. In building the Hall, he had caused to be carved on the apex of the east gable, a representation of a dove, quaintly symbolical of his name. Seeing that the rude carving, even in the days of its inception, bore a rather striking resemblance to a sparrow-hawk, it is no cause for surprise that in course of generations the Dove Hall, its original name, became, and is still known, by no other name than the “Aad Sparrer Haal.” The Family were now long deceased, or become scattered and divided, and the name is no longer known in the district, the remains of the old Hall being occupied by humble and picturesque fisher-folk, who claim decent from the old family. The house was an ordinary example of the Stuart period, three stories high, with the centre gable projecting. This was reached by a flight of broad open wooden stairs, and known as the South View – much beloved by artists. Its charm lay in its quaintness, its colouring, and its old-world flavour of fisher people in it later days. A Special feature was its pantile roof, showing much diversity of red colouring, with patches of blue. Here and there along its decaying spouts, tufts of grass, from the green leaf to the fall, hung mournfully over. Where the water had over-flowed variegated patches of mossy green stained its yellow sandstone front, while from the well-worn joints hung many a straw and feather swaying in the wind – the nests and sheltering places of generations of starlings and sparrows. We can guess the happy inspiration it would give to those envied, and apparently care-free Bohemians, who came hither to paint its charms. How we see them in our mind's eye step jauntily forth under the weight of paint-box and easel, and (as befitting such importance, and indelibly stamping the hall-mark of their profession) dressed in knicker-bocker trousers, short velvet jacket, and Trilby hat of large and shadowy brim, surmounting a profusion of hair distinctly feminine. And, of course, the inevitable rounded pipe of large dimensions belching forth smoke worthy of a miniature volcano. Their industry was untiring, painting the fisher-folk, with the old building as a background. How picturesquely they composed ! Fisherwomen baiting the lines, fishermen engaged in the subtleties of making or mending crab-pots; and, to add further interest and colour to the resultant picture, wicker-work creels and baskets, with all the paraphernalia of the fisherman's calling, lying littered about. Here would we see oilskins and Sou'-westers, registered according to the artistic temperament of the artist, but with a strong bias towards “Yaller,” while further notes of contrast would be blue woollen garments hanging from very rusty nails, and still further staining the walls with their colours and rust. Gowns and petticoats, with many a tuck, the number increasing, one might almost think, with the social rank of its owner. The artistic eye would greedily seize upon, and many a fine picture now scattered the world over had its origin here. As they bend to their work we catch the notes of crooning in the quaint Northumberland dialect – a fisher maiden singing in a low, sweet, voice some homely melody, yet with an appeal so tender and so haunting: “Whistle, an' aa'll cum te ye, me lad, Whistle, an' aa'll cum te ye, me lad, For it‘s me wi' the creel, and ye with the gad, O, whistle, an' aa'll cum to ye, me lad.” We are haunted with the spirit of the scene, and as we watch the artists we try to picture the vicissitudes the old building has experienced. Had it originally been surrounded by shrubs and flowers ? Tradition said that it had. They are now all gone, and the remnant of the old Hall is completely hemmed in by other buildings, its one-time gardens now resounding with the ring of cobbled pavements. Tracing each change-onward with the spirit of Romance, the ghosts of time past come trooping before us, episode following episode. What tales of seafaring love and adventure ! How our imagination runs riot ! Surely, if anywhere, smugglers lived here ? How many a cask of brandy, and Holland's gin, together with kegs of tobacco, and bales of silk, had been hidden away in its numerous false lofts, under floors, or in other cunning hiding places in its thick walls. Ever since the Old Hall had been built, and had become almost sacred as a family heirloom, a fairly large picture on a wooden panel was built into the fireplace breast above the wide open chimney in the dining room. It was more like the ghost of a picture, darkened with time, compelling and mysterious, and formed the subject of much conjecture. Those who had ventured to express an opinion as claiming any knowledge of Art, had generally agreed that it bore some resemblance to a forest scene, a glade, with a stag mirroring its reflection in a pool. Beyond that tradition was silent. No name had ever been found as signature. With succeeding generations taking of the mournful and decaying characteristics of the house it seemed to fade more and more into the past, and become the more darkened and obscure. Strange none had ever attempted to either remove or restore it, the only cleaning it ever received being a goodly wash with soap and water at intervals, when pride of cleanliness, and strength of house-wifely limb, showed much in excess of artistic appreciation. What was its history ? Who can now say. Perhaps it was the work of some local artisan, but then, seeing that the small fishing haven over which the Old Hall stood guard was once a thriving port, shipping coal and salt to the Continent, and seeing the words “Holland's Gin” were so frequently mentioned, might it not have been some old Dutch masterpiece, perhaps a Ruyesdael or a Hobbena.

At length the Old Hall went the way of all flesh. It was sold to a builder, the greater part pulled down and reconstructed almost beyond recognition. The picture, regarded as possibly of some value, was taken down and entrusted to a novice, who professed his ability to restore it, and using that alleged ability completely destroyed it with a plentiful supply of soda, taking off the whole of the paint down to the bare wood. The old picture, which had seen the beginning, and had, together with the emblem of the stone dove, watched through its varying fortunes, perished with its fall. Editor's Note. There is an illustration of the Old Hall in the County History, from which our sketch had been taken.

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