The Project Gutenberg eBook ofBeautiful Lakeland

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofBeautiful LakelandThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Beautiful LakelandAuthor: Ashley Perry AbrahamPhotographer: G. P. AbrahamRelease date: May 20, 2018 [eBook #57188]Most recently updated: January 24, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTIFUL LAKELAND ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Beautiful LakelandAuthor: Ashley Perry AbrahamPhotographer: G. P. AbrahamRelease date: May 20, 2018 [eBook #57188]Most recently updated: January 24, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

Title: Beautiful Lakeland

Author: Ashley Perry AbrahamPhotographer: G. P. Abraham

Author: Ashley Perry Abraham

Photographer: G. P. Abraham

Release date: May 20, 2018 [eBook #57188]Most recently updated: January 24, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEAUTIFUL LAKELAND ***

Contents.

List of Illustrations(In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.)

(etext transcriber's note)

Near Ferry Nab, Windermere“An August Afternoon.”

Near Ferry Nab, Windermere

“An August Afternoon.”

BeautifulLakeland

By ASHLEY P. ABRAHAM

Nature I’ll court in her sequestered haunts,By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove or dell,Where the poisèd lark his evening ditty chants,And health, and peace, and contemplation dwell.—Smollett.

With 32 full page Monogravure Illustrations (copyright)ByG. P. Abraham, F.R.P.S., Keswick.published byG. P. Abraham, Keswick.1912.

IT may be fearlessly asserted that those portions of the counties of Cumberland, Westmoreland and Lancashire known as the Lake District, contain more natural beauty, more literary associations and more diversity of charm than any other similar area of the whole of the Earth’s surface.

Within the small space of thirty square miles, scenes of the wildest grandeur and the most tranquil beauty exist side by side. From the grim recesses of Scawfell and Great Gable one can pass in two or three hours to the placid haunts of Windermere. The stern solitudes of Wastwater can be visited upon the same day as the peaceful shores of Derwentwater, “set like a gem amid the encircling hills.”

The moors and bare corries of Scotland, the foliage-clad slopes and llyns of North Wales, the lakes and valleys of Switzerland, all have their counterpart and seem to meet in Lakeland. Indeed, the diversity of the landscape in so small a tract of country is nothing short of marvellous. This diversity is perhaps the feature that first impresses a stranger, but almost at the same time the compactness of the whole claims his notice. Here one picture succeeds another withoutpause. Half an hour’s walk will accomplish as great a change as would half a day’s walk in most of the other beauty spots of the country.

It is no doubt a fact that there are isolated prospects elsewhere which are as beautiful and impressive as these, but in most cases they are separated by tracts of intervening country which are deadly dull. Here is no dulness. The feasts of beauty are as great on the way from Derwentwater to Ullswater, or between Coniston and Windermere, as they are at these prospects themselves. The indefinable line of beauty is omnipresent. From end to end and from side to side of this favoured spot there is scarcely an unlovely feature, if we except the quarries and mines which mar some few localities.

It may be thought that because the higher mountains barely top three thousand feet the sense of space and immensity will be lacking. But really this is not so. The truth is that the proportions of a mountain are determining factors of greater moment than its mere height in feet or its bulk. Who that has traversed Kirkstone Pass or skirted the edge of Buttermere on a hazy August day, can doubt this? The atmospheric conditions of Lakeland lend a sense of altitude and suggestiveness such as the clearer air of great mountain ranges rarely conveys. This exquisiteness of proportion impressed Wordsworth so greatly that he actually compared the beauties of Lakeland with those of Switzerland, and, needless to say, our homeland lost very little in the comparison. Wordsworth may be thought to be a biassed authority, yet it is the repeated testimony of a very great number of travellers that, whilst they have seen wilder, more sublime and grander scenes elsewhere, they have seen nothing so beautiful as Lakeland.

And such is my own impression. My vocation takes me for a month or two every year to Switzerland, yet not a summer passes but I return from the glacier world of the great Alps feeling, as Penrith is neared and glimpses of the Langdale Pikes and the sweep of St. Sunday’s

Grasmere and the Island“At Evening.”

Grasmere and the Island

“At Evening.”

Crag over Ullswater are caught, that I have seen nothing better in all my wanderings abroad. Indeed, it ought to have been Lakeland’s own poet, and not Kingsley, who wrote

“While we see God’s signetFresh on English ground,Why go gallivantingWith the nations round?”

It is hardly the province of a work like the present to treat of the geology of this beautiful district, but it may prove of interest to touch concisely upon the processes which have conduced to the formation of such a wonderful whole.

Why are Skiddaw and several of the hills in the north of Lakeland rounded in contour and possessed of no precipices worthy the name? What accounts for the cliffs and jagged outlines of the Langdale Pikes, the Pillar, or Scawfell? Wherefore all the various beautiful and retiring dales and side valleys, and, most pregnant question of all, whence came the Lakes themselves? No appreciative or thoughtful visitor but must have pondered upon these things and been somewhat puzzled. Many, I know, have dismissed the matter by concluding that the whole district is due to some vast upheaval of bygone ages. No such simple explanation will cover all the facts.

The earliest causes of Lakeland were complex and various. It has several times been submerged beneath the sea, when layer upon layer of mud and sediment was deposited to the thickness of thousands of feet. Skiddaw, Saddleback and others of our Northern fells are composed of these layers of soft rock. Weathering processes have rounded their contours and left to them the graceful flowing outlines which we now admire. Volcanoes also have played no unimportant part. Violent eruptions took place near Keswick and to the south of it and ejected material—boulders, huge masses of rock and finedust—the greater part of which fell again almost vertically and deposited rock to the depth of at least twelve thousand feet. This has since been exposed to climatic influences, and been greatly reduced in bulk. The mountains of Borrowdale, Scawfell and Great Gable, amongst others, are formed of this volcanicdébris; hence their hard, jagged and precipitous nature. A great part of them was ejected from Castle Head, the favourite view-point above Keswick, which is beyond doubt the crater of an extinct volcano.

Thus we see that the Lake District is mainly composed of two different kinds of rocks, one of a clayey and easily-moulded nature, the other of an unyielding volcanic type, jagged and angular. It is very greatly due to the juxtaposition of these two different types that the Lake District possesses such diversity of outline. So much for the rocks of which the mountains are formed. But how came they to assume their present shapes? The answer is fairly simple. The Lake District, as we know it to-day, was quite recently, that is in a geological sense (a little matter of ninety-three million years ago!) a vast dome-like tract situated about four-thousand feet above the level of the surrounding country. After it had finally emerged from the sea, rain in torrents fell upon this dome. Rivers were formed. These followed the usual downward course of water, and as they flowed they slowly wore definite channels for themselves. Down these channels they swept, carrying with them small pebbles and earth which wore away the softer rocks underneath. This went on for millions upon millions of years. Hundreds of streams flowing in various directions, eating the rock out and bearing it in minute particles to the sea, left the higher grounds untouched and it is these higher grounds which we now know as the mountains of Lakeland.

And now as regards the Lakes themselves. Influences into

The Old Mill, Ambleside

which it would be tedious to enquire led to the warm winds and waters of the Gulf Stream being cut off from the district. The atmosphere became intensely cold. Instead of warm rain as heretofore, snow fell. This heaped up thicker and thicker until it compressed into ice which, in the form of glaciers, began to slide down the valleys previously hollowed out by the streams. The great Glacial Period set in. The glaciers tore up stones, earth and rocks and carried them along in their course. These great file-like masses of rock-embedded ice scooped out huge hollows in the river beds beneath.

Then the Gulf Stream again brought its benignant influence to bear upon the district. Warmth came and rain fell again. The glaciers began slowly to melt and disappear: the rivers resumed their normal flow. At once the great hollows were filled with water and it was these water-filled hollows which first constituted our lakes. Since that time the lakes have in many cases been altered in shape. For instance, Derwentwater and Bassenthwaite were in times past one lake, but thedébrisbrought down and deposited by the river Greta has divided it into the two beautiful sheets of water with which we are now familiar. Incidentally, the glaciers had a great influence upon the shape and contours of our mountains, rounding, polishing and smoothing them into their present forms.

Such is a very incompleteresuméof the happenings of by-gone æons which have given to us our lovely district.

It would be pleasing could we follow its history with such certainty, but this is where Lakeland falls short. Of legend, folklore and historic records it possesses comparatively little. In early times this wildly secluded corner of England was given over for the most part to swamps, wild beasts and dense forest. Its earliest inhabitants were the Brigantes, one of the tribes of aboriginal Britons. Tacitus mentions them in a half-hearted uncertain manner and their dealingswith the Romans, but as to the extent to which they occupied the district, or in what numbers, is not known. Several of the local names of villages and mountains were given by them, and these place-names, together with some few relics, are the strongest confirmation we have of the existence here of these early Britons.

The Romans who followed after them left numerous proofs of their occupation—bridges, roads, stations and various articles of household use. What the Romans did in Lakeland is not clear. Perchance they were enticed here by the suspected mineral wealth of the mountains, or were engaged in subduing the savage Brigantes. Perhaps, being cultivated people, they rowed about on Windermere, held pic-nics on Belle Isle or lazed about the countryside admiring the beauties of nature! All this is the merest conjecture.

After the Romans had left Britain, and the Danes and Saxons had usurped the rest of England, the Lake District was probably held by the Lakeland Britons as one of their last strongholds and places of refuge. The tourist passing over Dunmail Raise—the high pass between Grasmere and Thirlmere—is shown to this day the heap of stones marking the grave of Dunmail, the last of the Cumbrian Kings. Near here, in the year 945, he and his gallant band gave battle to the Saxon King Edmund. Dunmail held the high ground for some considerable time, fighting valiantly until he was treacherously attacked in the rear and ultimately cut down. Thus disappeared the Britons from Lakeland. So goes the story, and the heap of stones on Dunmail Raise certainly gives local confirmation. It is said, also, that Dunmail’s crown was sunk in Grisedale Tarn, but here corroborative evidence is lacking for it has not yet been recovered.

Under the Heptarchy, Cumberland and Westmoreland no doubt witnessed their share of border warfare, but at this time, and for long after the Norman Conquest, the Lake District itself appears to have

The Middle Reach of Ullswater“After Rain.”

The Middle Reach of Ullswater

“After Rain.”

been the abode of outlaws and was practically unvisited. Later, the Abbots of Furness allotted great portions of land in their domain to their “villeins.” This gave a lead to the Feudal Lords who gradually followed suit, and thus the outlying parts of the district became dotted with farms and homesteads. These ultimately encroached further and further into the mountains.

With nobody to dispute their ownership, these “small holders” built stone walls up the mountain sides to mark the boundary of their claim and to form enclosures for their stock. These walls, hundreds of years old and apparently meaningless to us to-day, still form a very characteristic feature of the scenery. It may be thought by some that they are a disfigurement, but if so this is due to the cutting down of much timber and woods which no doubt formerly hid them from view. In any case they are grey, lichen-covered, and in entire keeping with the district. From this period onward, whilst guarding their homes and possessions from predatory bands of freebooters, the Lakeland yeomen or “statesmen” steadily improved their holdings, cleared the forests, reclaimed the marshes and gradually gave to the countryside the aspect it wears to-day.

It was about the year 1700 that people first began to take an interest in its scenery, the poet Gray being, in 1767, the first person of note to visit it. His writings and descriptions of the scenery did much to make it known to the outside world. Indeed, he was the real discoverer of Lakeland, the precursor of those bands of tourists who, in yearly increasing numbers, visit it for the sole purposes of feasting upon its beauty and drinking in its elevating and healthful influences.

WINDERMERE recalls the name of one who made it peculiarly his own—that genial-hearted philosopher, Christopher North (Professor Wilson), who has left on record that “the best time to visit it is from January 1st to December 31st.” A true lover of our largest lake, he also said that “it has the widest breadth of water, the richest foreground of wood, and the most magnificent background of mountains, not only in Westmoreland, but, believe us, in the whole world.”

Although perhaps some of us may consider that the worthy Professor’s enthusiasm carried him too far, few will deny that as a combination of wood, mountains and water, Windermere, when surveyed from certain aspects, would be difficult to surpass. It is probably the most famous of all the lakes. Many people, upon being asked if they know the Lake District answer in the affirmative, but further questioning often elicits the fact that they have only been to Windermere. Yet they have not been disappointed; and little wonder, for this lake and its surroundings form a good summary of Lakeland. Here we have sylvan beauty in perfection, dignity lent by some of our shapeliest mountains, the peculiar impression of “ancient homeliness” that most of the lakes convey, wooded islands and seductive creeks and bays, a wealth of colouring and, to complete the summary, many associations of the Lakes Poets.

The best way to see Windermere, and indeed to enter Lakeland at all, is to board one of the Furness Railway Company’s comfortable

WindermereLooking south from Orrest Head, with Furness Fells behind, and Lake Side, the entrance to Lakeland from the south, in the far distance. On the left is the village of Windermere.

Windermere

Looking south from Orrest Head, with Furness Fells behind, and Lake Side, the entrance to Lakeland from the south, in the far distance. On the left is the village of Windermere.

The Langdale PikesAnd the New Dungeon Ghyll Hotel.

The Langdale Pikes

And the New Dungeon Ghyll Hotel.

steam yachts at Lakeside. This is the entrance to the district from the south. The pastoral, comparatively tame country hereabouts is a fitting introduction to the more impressive scenery which meets us as we sail up the lake towards Bowness and Waterhead. The steamers run in connection with the trains and the pier is alongside the railway station. The view up the lake gives promise of the good things to come. A wide expanse of water, with luxuriant woods running down to its very edge, and in the distant blue the fells of Lakeland! Hereabouts the lake is very narrow; in fact it is literally “Wooded Winandermere, the river-lake” of the poet.

For a mile or so after starting, the scene changes but little and then gradually it unfolds itself like the opening petals of some gorgeous flower. The shoulder of the “mighty Helvellyn” thrusts its bare mass above the trees on the left; further round is the flat-topped Fairfield mountain, then the rounded back of Red Screes dominated by the High Street Range and the conical spur of Ill Bell. These are the dim blue fells we noticed from Lakeside. If we keep a sharp eye above the wooded ridge on our left, Finsthwaite Heights, we shall catch a glimpse of the top of Coniston Old Man. This has hardly disappeared before, looking up to our left front, the Langdale Pikes are momentarily seen—an elusive little peep which causes us to keep a look out for them as we sail further up the lake. They are the shapeliest and most distinctive mountains to be seen from Windermere; indeed, it is the opinion of many that Lakeland itself has nothing more beautiful to show than these Twin Peaks.

On our right the white walls of Storrs Hall gleam through the trees. It is now a hotel, but it will always be reminiscent of the historic occasion when Wordsworth, Southey and Christopher North foregathered here to welcome Sir Walter Scott and Canning to a yachting regatta held in honour of the “great Northern Minstrel.” Erelong the islands claim our attention and then we touch at the Ferry, “one of the sweetest spots on Windermere.” The steam ferry-boat which plies all day long from shore to shore, carrying objects of all possible descriptions—pedestrian and otherwise—motor cars, carts and char-a-bancs, possesses an antiquity that renders it in keeping with the surroundings.

After leaving the Ferry pier we pass the largest of the islands, Belle Isle, with the cupola of a residence peeping through the trees. The islands, apart from their picturesqueness, supply one of the few “stirring incidents” that have happened hereabouts. On Belle Isle, Major Robert Philipson, locally known as “Robin the Devil,” withstood for eight months a siege carried on by a certain Colonel Briggs, an officer in Cromwell’s army and a magistrate of Kendal. Briggs ultimately failed to apprehend the gallant major and tiring of his job, withdrew to Kendal. Major Philipson followed him with a small body of picked men. They reached Kendal on a Sunday and all its inhabitants had gone to church. Not quite all, however, for Philipson went to church and, to the surprised horror of the congregation, rode his horse up one aisle and down the other in quest of his enemy; but Briggs was not there, a defection which no doubt saved his life. Philipson had reached the door again in safety when someone, plucking up courage, made a grab at his girth and succeeded in unhorsing the daring intruder. Him the major killed on the spot, succeeded in regaining his girthless saddle, mounted and was away through the church porch without further hindrance, and thence to Windermere. His head violently struck the top of the doorway as he dashed out, however, and his helmet was knocked to the ground. This was all his assailants secured, and until quite recently it hung, as a voucher for the truth of the story, in one of the aisles of Kendal Church.

To resume our sail, the pretty little village of Bowness and the

Windermere from Furness FellThe large island is Belle Isle, Bowness being on the far shore, with the village of Windermere on the hill above.

Windermere from Furness Fell

The large island is Belle Isle, Bowness being on the far shore, with the village of Windermere on the hill above.

ivy-clad, but in every way modern and first-class Old England Hotel are now in sight, with the town of Windermere above it on the hillside. As we near the pier the view opens out wonderfully and distracts our attention from the red-cushioned rowboats, electric launches, yachts, promenade and other paraphernalia that go to make up the bustling foreshore of Bowness. From the steamer deck will be noticed, peeping over the top of the boathouses, the tower of Saint Martin’s Church, an ancient structure well worth a visit, if only to see the remains of a chancel window which originally graced Furness Abbey—

“All garlanded with carven imagerieAnd diamonded with panes of quaint device.”

The village itself is not lacking in distinctive qualities, the juxtaposition of the antique and the modern in architecture being certainly very quaint. Its up-to-date and well-kept shops and hotels and general air of cleanliness, are features of the place. It is a favourite “excursion” centre and rightly so, for most of the outlying districts are within easy reach—a remark that applies also to Windermere village. They are now-a-days almost one town, although the nucleus of each is over a mile apart. Houses and shops line the connecting road,—a steady climb up the hill, almost continuously, to Windermere Railway Station. Above the station is the eminence of Orrest Head, one of the most excellent view-points in the whole of Lakeland. It was this prospect that inspired the words which introduce this chapter. Those who walk up Orrest Head on a fine summer’s day will certainly condone, and some will endorse, this description by Christopher North.

The natives of Windermere are the direct descendants of those sturdy independent sons of the soil, the Westmerian statesmen. They perpetuate many of the best qualities of their forebears, and in spite of contact with a polyglot tourist element they also retain much of their original dialect. Only the other day I ventured to ask the opinionof one them regarding the weather. The old dalesman looked knowingly to windward and then delivered himself as follows: “Weel, it’ll mappen donk an’ dezzle a la’al bit, mappen kest a snifter, but there’ll be neah gurt pelt,” which was his way of saying that it would perhaps drizzle a bit, perhaps throw a shower, but there would be no great downpour!

But our steamer does not stay long enough to permit of much divergence, and we are soon out on the quiet water again, making for the head of the Lake. Every hundred yards now enhances the beauty of the scene. The mountains draw nearer, the details of the craggy shoulders of Wetherlam and the fine crest of Bowfell can be well seen. With the Langdale Pikes beyond, and the slopes of Wansfell Pike and the Troutbeck Hundreds a-head, they rivet one’s attention almost entirely until, after rounding a promontory, we come in sight of the Scotch firs and pier of Low Wood. The signal to call is lacking, so our vessel keeps steadily on up the lake passing Wray Castle, a picturesque, but not historical building, on our left, and on our right the tree-embowered cottage called “Dove Nest.” This was for some time the home of the gentle Mrs. Hemans who, having visited Wordsworth in 1830, could not resist the call of the beauty and solitude of Lakeland. Her descriptions of Windermere and “Dove Nest” are amongst the most spontaneous and charming word-paintings which even Lakeland has evoked, and of course this is saying a good deal. All too soon now we realize that we are at our journey’s end and that the jetty on the right, past the row of somewhat pretentious-looking lodging houses, is Waterhead. It is worth remembering that there is only one thing better than this first sail up Windermere and that is ... to repeat the performance! Certain it is that some fresh beauty, some added interest will disclose itself on the occasion of each trip.

A mile from the head of the lake is the thriving little town of

Waterhead, WindermereIn the foreground is the Furness Railway Company’s steamer pier, whence passengers are landed for Ambleside, about one mile distant. The Langdale Pikes and Bowfell show to advantage in the background.

Waterhead, Windermere

In the foreground is the Furness Railway Company’s steamer pier, whence passengers are landed for Ambleside, about one mile distant. The Langdale Pikes and Bowfell show to advantage in the background.

AmblesideFrom the shoulder of Loughrigg, showing Wansfell Pike behind.

Ambleside

From the shoulder of Loughrigg, showing Wansfell Pike behind.

Ambleside. Beautifully situated on the hillside above the murmuring Rothay, it is one of the best places for the tourist to “pitch his tent,” as the Romans undoubtedly did many centuries ago. Several remains of a Roman station have been unearthed in the fields at the head of Windermere—urns, coins and fragments of tesselated pavement, amongst other things—but the traces to be found now-a-days are very slight.

Ambleside has considerable claims to beauty, not only in itself and the irregularity and picturesqueness of its buildings, but in its immediate surroundings. The short walks to be made from it are unsurpassable, that through Rothay Park, past Fox Howe, the home of Dr. Arnold, of Rugby School memory, and across the old stepping stones near by, being simply charming. To those of a more strenuous turn of mind the walk up to Sweden Bridge affords a variety of scenery, “from gay to grave, from lively to severe,” difficult to surpass even in this land of quick transitions. Then there is Loughrigg, the ridgy fell on the opposite side of the Rothay, which commands the whole sylvan length of Windermere Lake to the south, with the wild recesses of Langdale, enclosed by the Pikes, Crinkle Crags and the massive buttressed peak of Bowfell away to the west. There are several other walks of equal beauty and interest, and Stock Ghyll Force, in the beautiful glen above the little town, must not be forgotten.

Many coaching excursions start from the Queen’s and Salutation Hotels at Ambleside; the scene in the Market Square on any morning in the season at about ten o’clock is one of great bustle and stir. Coniston, Ullswater and Derwentwater, with intermediate beauty spots, are within easy driving distance. The congregated vehicles range from the six-horsed char-a-banc for Kirkstone Pass, and the old-world stagecoaches to the more pretentious and hackneyed landau; to say nothingof motors of all sorts and sizes. That calm, introspective frame of mind which people seek and often find at the Lakes will be wooed in vain in Ambleside Market Square when the excursionists are getting “under way.”

Stock Ghyll Force, Ambleside

Grasmere Lake and VillageThe “Peaceful Vale” of Wordsworth, seen from Hunting Stile, with Seat Sandal and Rydal Fell behind.

Grasmere Lake and Village

The “Peaceful Vale” of Wordsworth, seen from Hunting Stile, with Seat Sandal and Rydal Fell behind.

GRASMERE has been called the heart of the Lake District, and not without good reason. As a centre for driving or walking it is ideal, for it is situated within an easy day’s march of nearly all the lakes. The summits of most of the higher mountains can be attained and Grasmere again be reached by nightfall.

In itself the vale of Grasmere, a happy mixture of beauty and domesticity, with its pretty little lake and surrounding mountains dotted here and there with farmsteads, cottages and villas, has strong claims upon the tourist. In addition to its innate beauty, it possesses the distinction of being the home of Lakeland’s richest literary associations. Not a nook or corner in it but breathes the memory of the Lake Poets, for it was here that the greatest of them lived, worshipped and died. William Wordsworth chose this spot for his home. First at the cottage at Town End, then at Allan Bank and ultimately at Rydal Mount, but a very short distance away, he “communed with solitude” and gave to the world the beautiful poems which have done so much to immortalize both Lakeland and himself.

To the tourist who passes through on the main road in the day’s excursion, Grasmere and Rydal are beautiful—perhaps delectable is a better word—but to see them properly and rightly to appreciate them, it is necessary to stroll along the fellsides by which they are overlooked. At the northern end of Rydal a wooden bridge crosses the stream—Rothay Beck, which joins Grasmere and Rydal—and gives access toa path known as Loughrigg Terrace. This was one of Wordsworth’s favourite walks, and as we follow along the breast of Loughrigg Fell and gaze down upon Grasmere, with its rich cordon of mountains and woods, we can easily realize the influences which chained a man of his temperament to this vale. Away at the far end of the lake is the little village with its square-towered church, in whose God’s Acre he is laid to rest. Beyond and above it is the gap in the mountains called Dunmail Raise, the entrance to Grasmere from the north. To the right of it rise the bare shoulders of Helvellyn and Seat Sandal; to the left Helm Crag—with its shattered rock summit—and further round the wildly secluded valley of Easedale, bounded by the wooded slopes of Silverhow. Truly a scene of singular charm!

Grasmere Church is the chief object of attraction in the valley. A quaint old edifice, its once time-weathered beauty has now been greatly marred by a coating of cement, rendered necessary by the ravages of time and a congregation which prefers to worship in a dry building. The inside of the church is quite old-time, however, and Wordsworth’s lines are still true in every detail,

“Not raised in nice proportions was the pile,But large and massy for duration built,With pillars crowded and the roof upheldBy naked rafters intricately crossed.”

The rest of the description is in the fifth book of “The Excursion.” On the north side of the nave is a tablet to Wordsworth which contains a portrait by Woolner with an appreciative inscription underneath. Out from the gloomy church we pass into the sunshine and, whether we have read his poetry or not, visit the sheltered corner under the yew-trees where a simple slate slab bears the plain inscription, and nothing more, “William Wordsworth, 1850,” “Mary Wordsworth, 1858,”—a tombstone in keeping with his simplicity of character and freedom from all that pertained to artificiality. The yew-trees were brought

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