The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1894-01-07
TIE cnoAK1xa OF TIE RAVENS

THE CROAKING OF THE RAVENS.
In the heart of that loveliest and grand
est region of England, the Lake district
of Cumberland and Westmoreland, fair as
dream of beauty and repose, lie the vale,
the lake and the hamlet of Grasmere.
Towards the north trails the ever as
cending highway to Dunmail Raise, where
more than a thousand years ago the first
Edward crushed the kingdom of North
umbria and buried the slaughtered
monarch, Dunmail, beneath the cairn or
Raise Of pebbles which stands as he left
it to this day; while the Striding Edge Of
lordly Helvellyn rises dark and fierce be-
yonn.
To the west wind the lofty, serrated
edges Of Steel Fell and Helm Crag like
half-ruined mighty castle walls, with the
black, cone-like Langdale Pixies behind !;
and shutting in this vale of peace in the
east are the nights of Seat Sandal, Fair
field and Nab Scar. The lake of Gras-
mere, blue and deep and still, and specked
by one emerald islet, rests rippleless and
shadOwless between.
south towards shimmering Rydal Water
and Royal Windermere, on the hamlet
side Of the lake a round, high half-moun-
taln-whlch the peasants call "the holt, p"
provincial dialect for the peaked hill''-
Iuts out boldly from Nab Scar. 1t Is for
est crowned and dark with centuries-old
trees. The coach road now winds around
and below it beside the lake. The an
Gent highway to rose-embowered Amble-
SIDE which once with Umbrian stubborn
ness pushed straight across the hight, is
sui worn bare, brown and smooth by
valley fork in haste, by Cupid-teased
swans and bluShing lasses, by wandering
artlsts and poets seeking the haunts of
MordsWorth, Southey and Coleridge and
Dy all those tourists from far-off lands
who ever loved enough to love to dream
again beside hallowed shrine of Love.
just there at the top of the hill where
snence IS soundless, where the trees in
terrace above the old highway like the
massive arches of some splendid cathedral
nave, tne sunshine floods in as through an
orlel window, through which again,
across meadow, mere, valley and noun
IAN sldes, In uttermost longings with the
teuuerest visions of human eyes, the very
PEAKS OF heaven through centuries have
oeeu seen. For there, famous in legend,
ttoushce and song, stands England's
T TTTuqierest OF all love shrines, the ancient
omorlan Wishing Gate.
AT nOontide of an AUGUST dav next he
iore the day Of it patron saint, Grasmere
ISLllet lay snug and sunny at the head of
E TIe mere beside its most venerable of
0 11nsllS9 parish churches, gray old ST.
fInmaiu S. This good saints festal day
oS1 S, On aug, .. Almost from the dawn
~ CurlsJlanlty in Britain it has been cele-
IaIed at Grasmere on the Saturday
, Ugalest st. Oswald's Day, by that else
mere nearly obsolete ceremony. treas
o uLeu by Umbrian folk with something
TAU TAU 10 1erce affection from even pagan
s sues, OF rushbearing, or strewing their
ff"Treu temples with rushes and with
This monday the ancient village
f Tenleu smllingly half waking from cen
S Sarles OF repose. The tiny Church win
TUmS stood open. There were wreaths
H. toa tne graves of Wordsworth and
tor uey Colerldge. A white-haired sex
wan wa, a yea. beautiful young woman and a stall
cbnroIoun man were leaning over the
rioJioaSSulyard wall, as if listening to the
fe v1V ,.'. OF The Rothay stream below. A
mountain carts stood at the doors of
N siovoS C,UytI,ages laden with green rushes.
from 60 Ghe peasants call them, gathered
cra,,, , ~ oreezy upland fells. A 'tVagrom'
The WIN WIN carts and vans had halted at
. NELL village edge and were whum-
' cattias their carts, lettering their
cbTGa turning loose their frowsy
ends en- and disposing the ragged
paTcbo 81 Punch and Judy booth ana a
Sweote ana splintered merry-go- round.
rus SSGs slaves of hymns to St. Oswald. of
sonre llhg hymns and of choral even
Tbes Jit We're waited from unseen places.
rights ''I Elm, inns were being lazily put to
retire., a = rom some far and smothered
viIl iea' lioated understandable notes Of the
strains pan Pa4d' tuning anew the martial
MARCH, VI Jenny Dawson's Rushbearing
the stri winch in olden days leaped from
and f 5S5Tlings of Jenny Dawson's fiddle:
inn po I.l IA me drowsy sunlight, on the oid
Coler5Conl' where SoUthey, Wordsworth.
inlovirsse, ne Quincey and Scott once sat
Of thea Z converse the white haired ravens
al -. croaked. 0aV anu sagely cawea
Harris r We're Christopher, or Curstv
TonmTy5 Jenny RaiIton, willy Bonn and
hamtheti all serving men to the