The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1908-08-02

pany's steam yachts for the other end Of
the, lake.
When the little boat begins to slip over
the shining watere OF Windermere you
suddenly find yourself in the glory Of this
and OF song and In o region Of romance
and home of history. The first sight on
your left 10 Graythwaite Hall. once the
residence Of Cir Henry Roscoe, the barrister,
son OF William Roscoe. the historian. and
father Of Henry Enfield Roscoe. the chemist,
whose study Of the chemical properties OF
light made him famous In the world of
science. Next you come to Storn, where
Christopher North on q wondrous day In
1s2s gathered into his net Wordsworth.
Southey. Canning and Scott. all lursd Il
$50 a regatta In honor Of the SCOTCH novelist.
Presently you see Belle Island, where In
the daye when surly Roundheads hummed
their hymns one Major Pbillipson. called
Robin the Devil, withstood a s!ege Of eight
months by Cromwellian troope. Again
you spy Hteray. the estate bought by
Christopher North when he went to live
In the lake district and try to be a Words
worth or q Southey by merely inhaling
the charmed atmosphere.
You can look into the mountains whore
dwelt one Hogarth. O farmer, whose o
name will live forever, beoauss he laid
certain lines and oolors on canvas On
the wooded hill Of Wansfell site Dove Nest,
once the. home OF Felicia Hemans, At
length you come to the upper reach OF the
lake, the widest part. and here the rivers
Brathay and Rothay come ripping down
out Of enchanted wales whose sunny slopes
are golden with traditions Of the poets.
From the landing 1t Ii th~rse-quarters OF q
mile to Ambleside, and thence II 10 but
four miles by Rydal Water TO Grasmere.
Here you pass the spot where Harriet
M~artineau lived and where she had a. q
visitor Charlotte Bronts. Again you sight
Fox How, the home Of Arnold. the great
Rugby master and father of that Matthew
Arnold who told us Americans 80 many
things for our betterment. There too lies
Fox Gill, once the residence Of W. e. Forster,
a parliamentarian Of some renown in his
day.
A few miles along the coach road will
bring you to Coniston, another enchanting
lake, beside which. sits in gracious beauty
Brentwood, the famous home Of Ruskin.
They speak Of the master In the village
and they have q Ruskin museum. Yet
before Ruskin1 Linton, the great wood en-
graver, and Gerald Massey, the poet, lived
in Brentwood. They have no museums.
When one gazes on Brentwood, nesting
in it's bosky grove amid the peaceful undu-
lations Of green and gray that slip away
into the clear blues Of the distance, he
naturally meditates for a moment on the
aristooracy Of this sweet seciusion ando on
the heaving ahewers Of wood and drawers
Of water" in whom the n time tenant
found so little to commend. But presently
his fancy will fly on it's own soundless wings
to that mystic old Byzantine pile crowned
with it's five quaint domes, with It's reft and
billowing pave. it's lettering pillars and it's
wondrous swinging lamp, as II. stands fac
ing the blazing square where the chafering
and pickering under the colonnade never
cease and the pigeons whimper in the fiery
sunlight, while behind 1t through the yellow
canals the dusky gondolas make their
endless round. For while these homelike
green hills Of England lie around the former
domicile Of the art preacher. it 10 down
there where the splendor Of Lorenzo the
Magnificent still illumines the land that
his fame seems to live in the embrace Of q
past whose dying glory smiles Ger the far
times" 80. ...
Brentwood is a stifnecked house, white
as italian stucco and square headed as
Rule Britannia 1t has many chimneys
and insolent British windows which dare any
bold intruder to peer into them. 1t sits
firmly behind a wall Of slate, whose native
ugliness is but partly disguised by a small
forest Of shrubs and bushes. Doubtless
many a youthful student of art principles
and orotund English has @gazed Upon the
historic. pile with mingled emotions but
after all the figure Of Ruskin does not loom
as large a. it once did, while the tender
beauty of Coniston Lake will for years
earn money for the busy coaches.
Southey wrote Of the waters Of Lodore
in this region, and Byron dedicated Don
Juan" to him. Indeed the whole country
reeks OF literary history; but the final image
that fingers in the mind is that Of a shy
and self -contained man, retrospective,
strangely absorbed, sitting opposite a GER
tain hill--the last that parleys with the
setting sun"-and gazing out upon the
mounts and waters made Immortality glori-
ors by his unaffected lines, the naive utter
ances Of a chaste spirit.
W. J.. HENDERSON.