Fort Worth gazette. [volume] (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1891-1898, 1891-05-03

MS tour OF discovery, WHICH uFSt opened
the eyes of England to the beauties of the
Cumbrian lakes. and made it possible for
all the host that followed to know their
inspiration. Here, at your feet in old
Keswick town, dwelt, sang and lies
buried in Crossthwaite churchyard,
near the murnuripgs of the River
Greta he so loved, that high-souled
poet Of pensive remembrance ard medi
tative calm, Robert Southey. Here, too,
the unhappy Coleridge passed the most
fruitful, though still the most miserable,
years of his baleful slavery to deadly
drug. Beside him in this wrath procession
of Intellectual genii of the lake region, APP
pears that one who of all Englishmen OF
letters existed in the dream-life madness of
opium, Thomas De Quincy. Down there in
one of Keswick's cottages, Shelley passed,
with his girl-wife Harriet, the only happy
hours of his unfortunate life. Sturdy
iconoclastic, yet true and Christian if hereto,
Harriet Martineau stands bright and clear
in the picture among the blossoms Of Am
bleside. Good Felicia Hemans, with a tinge
OF sadness in her patient face, is near Sun
ny-hearted, great Drained Professor Wilson
christopher North) with his huge frame
and benign face, as if the very spirit OF the
lovely region shone from his kindly eyes,
makes the way SUMMER for his strong, sure
tread. With him l see another one, firm,
calm, tender, noble, one who through his
British educational system the rule of bru-
tality and dread, noble DR.. Arnold. And
that one who is first and last, whom your
eyes Of fancy calls from the pastto confront
you wherever your human eyes may rest, is
Wordsworth
INTERPRETER OF NATURE TO MAN.
Descending into old Keswick, this ever
recurring influence of Identification Of
everything connected with the lovely re
gion with this now silent though never
voiceless host, is strong upon you. They
walk with You through these quaint and
narrow Streets They lived, or lodged, or
We're 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 ma
ture glories here in the same chambers
where you find food and rest. Through
all this loving train of reflection the pleas
ing recognition of the Keswick of to-day
steals over you. It is not much different
than in the times when 500 pakc ponies
passed and repassed with their Cumbrian
mountain traffic. 1t is just a bit newer
and brighter in places on account Of the
thrOngs that come in summer. You viii
find plenty of houses, with legends, in iron
set in intels, in carvings on oalen ceiling
beams, or wrought in ancient stucco, that
tell of their building in the Fifteenth,
Sixteenth and Seventeenth centu-
ricS. Some of the most GU
rious old innyards of England are
here. And as to old, old folk, | never saw
50 many in any town, ancient or new. l sat
upon the coping of the Grcta bridge with
one, John Rlgg. He is two years older than
this century. He had wandered, he said,
when 4 lad of twelve, with Southcy and the
first Coleridge, over all the fellS and through
all the daleS about keSwic6; and had seen
them all, from Southey to Wordsworth,
come and sing and gO-into the churchyards
Of CrOssthwaite and GraSmere, or away TO
other lands; as anywhere away from Cum
brian shadow and shine seemed 10 his dim
old thought.
Not more than 4 stones throw from
where we sat, on gentle emiuence in the
northern edge of keswick, stands Grcma
hall
sOCTHEY's OLD HOME.
1t is now occupied by Mr.. John Kennedy.
gentleman, and owned by a maiden lady of
ripe age and wealth named Gibson. Just
ninety years ago COleridge, who had then
occupied Greta hall, wrote Southey invit-
ing him to share his home with him. deScrib-
ing the place as follows: Our house
stands on low hill the whole front of
which Is one field and an enormous garden, |
nine-ten1hs of which is a nursery garden. |
Behind the house Is an orchard and Il 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 giant camp-an |
encamped army of tent-like mountains !
which, by an inverted arch, gives a view of |
another vale. On our right the lovely vale |
and the wedgd-shaped lake of Bassenth- |
waite; and on our left Derwentwater and |
LOdore (the falls afterward made famous by |
SOuthey' playful rhyme for his childrenj |
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 it |
was written. The beeches surrounding |
the mansion are more majestic; the quaint |
square, two-Storied, bowwindowed, old |
place may be a trie grayer; but the rocks |
clamor and cav about overarching trees the |
Greta sings over its graceful bend of shall |
lows, and one can almost imagine that up
there in that famous second-story library |
some one must stand by the broad panes of
the high bow-vindow and drink in the
glory of the prospect to reveal it again to
men
JUST As THEN.
Turning from the old home of Southey. |
the eye follows a winding, struggling half |
village. half country street, and is arrested
by the huge square tower and the low wide
walls of one of the eldest churches in Eng
land. 1t is nearly a mile from keswick
town. but the heart and feet turn instinct
lively to it. Crossthwaite church it is |
called, because its patron, Saint Kenti-
germ, here first set up the cross on this
very spot, then a ''thvaite" or wood
clearing of Derwent vale, in the year 553.
That was nearly 1910 years ago. Portions
Of its walls are more than 1000 years old.
II is rich in conservation crosses, in Won
derful font given for the rest of the soul of
Sir Thomas of Eskhead in quaint old trace
ries, in effigies and memorial brasseS. A
great earl lies beneath its chancel floor and |
a knight whose foot was never out of his
stirrup' sleeps within its walls Its choir
has fifty members; its vicar Rawnsley is
poet; its Octogenerian verger, good old John
Beckett, can recall TO you more pleasant
memories of Coleridge, of whom he says:
If t only kept aw right, he right. he
waur cleverest O. lott" of Southey, of Shell
ey and of Wordsworth himself, than can be
found within the lids of books; and it is
visited often by the royal family. But for
Ill these things none of US are pilgrims
here. Within its hushed aisles, in marble,
les, and beside its gray old walls is the
grave of Robert Southey, that poet whose
Life to heaven was vowed
Through a long life and pure"
EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.
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