The record-union., 1893-07-29
Special Correspondence of the RECORD
UNION. CopYrlght 1881

Special Correspondence OF the RECORD
UNION. Copyright 1881
KEswICK. England. July Is, 1893.
My first nights experience in this an
cient Cumbrian capital of the English
lake district was so peculiar a one that, in
my pilgrimings in Britain, am often
drawn back here at this pleasant season
of the year for an undefinable sort of
contemplation and rest. 1 had come over
the mountains on foot from vagrant lott
erings among the peasantry of Miterdale.
Wasdale, Watendlath and Borrowdale,
and striking into the old ceach road from
WiDdermere, had fingered a bit in the
mystic vale of st. John.
Resuming my way along the coach road
leading over bold Castle Rigg into Kes-
wick, being dusty and travel-stained, and
doubtless regarded as a tramp by the
hundreds of tourists passing in their gay
coaches, traps, gigs and wagonettes, l
saw American manners abroad illus
trated by millionaire tourist. whom 1
recognized, tossing the remains of lunch
hamper upon my head and shoulders, at
which point his diamond-spangled brood
laughed merrily and long; English man
ners exempliied by several gentlemen
whips" attempting to cut my shoulders
or face as they dashed past; and Scotch
and Irish manners shown by delicious
old Scotchman and an equally delicious
young Dublin barrister-men of account
IN their separate places, in their vacation
time, really seeing the lake country on
their own legs-jogging along towards
Grasmere together, contending, with
IN y a for rpnf - IL, i
priority in Britain, and both, as they met
me, as valiantly insisting on being the
nrSt to accost me and offer me roadside
consolation from their respective TASKS.
With these, and like engaging diver
sions, trudged cheerily to the north up
Castle Rigg. Reaching its top l turned
for farewell look towards the glorious
southern scenes of the lake region. On
the one hand were the seemingly endless
fells, odorous with the ew-blooming
heath, and here and there masses of blue
from banks Of Violets, gentle breeze
stirring the sea-like expanse of color as if
with riotous motion and delight. On the
other, as if some misty caldron fashioned
out OF neither earth, the purple shapes
and shadows of st. Johns Vale, and
above it-below, within and above the
clouds, Monarch Helvellyn-forest-hu
at its base, cleft and SCARED above, still
higher striped with far-descending tor
ITS lofty broken summit and famous
'Striding- Edge" showing thousands of
bIackened, almost vertical burrows, in the
eternal stone OF peaks and ridges.
If here was one of those ravishing
scenes which can never be effaced from
the memory, but few steps over the
mountain top furnished another of equal
beauty and impressiveness. 1t was, per-
haps, an hour before sunset, and the plo-
riOus vale of Keswick or Derwentwater,
thousand feet below. came full and fair
IN view. keswick gray and snug was
half hidden within it's bosom. 10 the
right Saddleback and Souter Fell lay in
lofty blllowy moors against the horizon,
and the silvery threads of Greta River
wound i'll and out of the lush meadows
below. 10 the left and the west cleaned
the upper reaches of DerwentWater with
the nights of Causey Pike and Grassmoor
beyond, peaks of saffron and purple in
the slant rays of the sinking sun. Be-
yond the tower of old Crossthwaite
Church, whore Southey lies buried, shone
the blue bed of Bassenthwaite Water.
And beyond the whole lovely vale,
where the farms were spread in check
cred splatches of color between sinuous
threads of hedge and wall, lofty Skiddaw
stood monarch sublime of the Cumbrian
North.
On my lettering way down into the
town l came to a quaint, little crooked
roof house, trim and neat and tidy as a
clipper old woman at a pleasant fair.
Chestnut Hip was the inscription upon
the stone gatepost. A huge sycamore
sentry beside the cottage. An old serving
man was cropping the hedge by the gate.
stood and looked at the place for a little
time, for 1t seemed to me the house must
have history. The old man, observing
my own observance paused in his toll
drew his horny fingers slowly along the
hedge-shears, and said, with an air of pro-
prietary superiority:
An ye ma weel leuk agin an agin,
neebor."
l looked and looked again as bidden
but so inquiringly that the old man. re-
Stunning his hedge-clipping and clearing
his throat as II for portentious announce
mont, condescended to explain:
Twas in this vera hoos Master Shell
ley lid wi Z babbey wife, laing svne.
Tha pleed played) an pleed, am niver
wark'd till T. laird dreav N oot. T. beuk-
lsh (bookish) folk oalas (always) ha' nowt
but plee y maunder'n n yewlment (sor-
row. Tha be nowte at doweW Git for
nothing.l
1 thanked him for the bitter reminder
OF great truth, which carried the sad
memory with it that this was indeed the
Verltable cottage where Shelley broupht
his schoolgirl bride, and where thew
chased each other like happy Children
about Its flower beds and little lawn
until the stern Cumbrian landlord chased
them both away for lack of rent. and
with this plaintive romance still in mind
turned up past Greta bridge into the quiet
though crowded streets of Keswick.
Inc old Cumbrian Capital clusters
closely on either side of one long street
which turns abruptly at its center. and at
some distance from this begins to strag-
Yle away northward, countryward. to
lonely and ancient CrosSthwaifa rb,,.aL
racing this street, or just removed within
curious and often winsome courts and
closes, are centuries-old shops, homes
stood almost so long ago as when this re-
gion was Little Britain, and hundreds of
pack-horses passed and repassed daily
with their rude mountain traffic. The
homes are almost as they were in the six
teenth and seventeenth centuries, with
their solid old doors, tiny windows. pro-
trudlng upper stories, picturesque gables.