Daily Yellowstone journal. [volume] (Miles City, Mont.) 1882-1893, 1891-05-05

the Isle Of Man. seems % float upon the
waves. T0the south and southeast, where
huge HelvcliyL does not shut out the sight,
Cumberland, WestmOrelaud and Lanca-
shire seem an iuterminable maze of billowy
scenic spleudOr. To the north. across the
SOlway, those sweet old shires wherein
Burns lived, sang and died, spread their
sunny dales, even their very fields and
homes, 70 view, sentineled by hoary Crif-
fel. at !5olway side, and blend into purples
and grays along thu range Of misty hills
behind
There is another matchless panorama
that with the eye of fancy and the heart
Of memory can be seen and felt from grim
old Skiddaw's heights. The eyes mist with
tears as they trace the saffruny Solway, and
recall the struggles and endless tragedy of
that mighty heart that broke in the bitter
fight, and is now at peace beneath the
mausoleum in old Dumfries town, while
every true man that lives pays tender trib-
ute 70 the memory Of Robert Burns. The
melancholy Gray, author Of the "Elegy,"
on foot and with the pretty toy, the Claude-
Lorraine glass, in hand, in the autumn Of
l769 wandered past SkiddAw in his tour of
discovery, which first opened the eyes of
England to the beauties Of the CumbriAn
lakes, and made IL possible for all the host
that followed 70 know their inspiration
Here at your feet, in old Keswick town,
dwelt, sang and lies buried IN Crussthwaite
churchyard. near the murmunngs Of the
river Greta be so loved, that high souled
poet of pensive remembrance and medtta-
tive calm, Robert Southey. Here, too, the
unhappy COleridge passed the most fruit
full, though still the most miserable, years
Of his baleful slavery 70 deadly drug. Be
side him, in this wrath procession of in
tellectual genii Of the lake region, appezs
that one who, Of all English men of letters,
existed in the dream-life Of madness Of
opium, Thomas DeQuincey. Down there
in one OF Keswick' 8 cottages Shelley passed,
with his girl wife Harriet, the only happy
hours OF his unfortunate life Sturdy,
iconoclastic, yet true and Christian If here
tic, Harriet Martineau stands bright and
clear in the picture among the blossoms Of
Ambleside. Good Felicia Hemans, with a
tiEge Of sadness in her patient face, is near.
Sunny hearted, great brained Professor
Wilson christopher North, with his huge
frame and benign face, as il the very spirit
Of the lovely region shOne from his kindly
eyes, makes the way SUMNER for his strong
sure tread. With him / see another one,
firm, calm, tender, noble, one who through
his labor at Rugby swept forever from
the British educational system the rule OF
brutality and dread-noble DR. Arnold.
And that one who is first and last, whom
your eyes Of fancy calls from the past 10
confront you wherever your human eyes
may rest, is Wordsworth, interpreter Of
nature 10 man.
Descending into old Keswick, this ever
recurring influence of Identification Of ev-
erything connected with the lovely region
with this now silent though never voice
less host, is strong upon you. They walk
with you through these quaint and narrow
streets. They lived or lodged or were
guests in the many gabled, trellised and
tiny-paned houses you see. Men like Scott,
Fitzgerald and Tennyson have eaten at the
same tables, and dreamed Of the nature
glories here in the same chambers where
you find food and rest. Through all this
loving train Of reflection the pleasant rec
ognition Of the keswick Of today steals
over you. IL il not much different than in
the times when 500 pack ponies passed and
repassed with their Cumbrian mountain
traffic IL is just a bit newer and brighter
in places on account Of the throngs that
come in summer. You will find plenty Of
houses, with legends, in iron set in lintels,
in carvings on oaken ceiling beams, OF
wrought in ancient stucco, that tell OF
their building in the Fifteenth, Sixteenth
and Seventeenth centuries.
Some Of the most curious old inn yards
of England are here. And as to old, old
folk, never saw so many in any town, an
cient or new. / sat upon the coping Of the
Greta bridge with one John Rigg. He is
two years older than this century. He had
wandered, he said, when a lad of twelve
with Southey and the first Coleridge over
all the fells and through all the dales about
Keswick, and had seen them all, from
SOuthey to Wordsworth, come and sing
and go-into the churchyards of Cross
thwaite and Grasmere OF away to other
lands, as anywhere away from Cumbrian
shadow and shine seemed to his dim old
thought
Not more than a stones throw from
where we sat, on a gentle eminence in the
northern edge Of Keswick, stands Greta
Hall, Southey's old home. Il is now Oc-
cupied by Mr. John Kennedy, gentleman,
and owned by maiden lady OF ripe age
and wealth named Gibson. Just ninety
years ago Coleridge, who had then occu-
pied Greta Hall, wrote Southey, inviting
him TO share his home with him, describ-
ing the place as follows; "Our house stands
on a low hill, the whole front Of which is
one field and an enormous garden, nine
tenths Of which is nursery garden. Be
hind the house is an orchard and a small
wood on a steep slope, at the foot Of which
is the river Greta, which winds round and
catches the evening light in front Of the
house. In front we have a giant camp
an encamped army Of tent-like mountains
which, by an inverted arch, gives view Of
another vale. On our right the lovely vale
and the wedge-shaped lake OF Bassen-
thwaite, and on our left Derwentwater and
Lodore 1.-THE falls afterward made famous by
Southey's playful rhyme for his childrenl
full in view, and the fantastic mountains OF
BOrrowdale. Behind is the massive Skid
daw, smooth. green, high, with two chasms
and a tent-like ridge in the larger" This
description is now as true Of Greta Hall and
its scenic surroundings as when il was
written. The beeches surrounding the |
mansion are more majestic; the quaint, |
square, two stored, bow windowed old
place may be a trihe grayer, but the rooks |
clamor and cav about the overarching |
trees; the Greta sings over its graceful
benz OF snaiiuNs; and one can almost i'm
agine that up there in that famous second