Gents Mag 1800 p.21

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	Gentleman's Magazine 1800 p.21 the heels, with a pike to my hazle-stick, my efforts were useless: I tumbled twice, and slid bodily down the hill again. Difficultues increased my ideas of its magnificient state; bedsides the innate dislike we feel in being overcome. I changed the mode of attack, and took a sweep by the left; the rise through which we had in the summer 1792 been wet by splashes from loose stones, and which in the Ramble called "beau-traps," one of your correspondents wished for an explanation. Although the surface was ice, the rough grass and water oozing through had made it both hollow and rotten. I soon got over my shoe tops, and up to one knee, and I then felt myself conquered, gave up the pursuit, and determined to bear a great disappointment with due meekness; but could not nevertheless help resting upon my thoughts, and deeply regretting the fight I had lost. I had a bad mile and a half of this uneven slippery road, and night was closing fast. Too wet to care where I trod, I kept on the margin of Crummack-lake, till I had passed the head of it; and reached an apology for a bridge, over the rapid brook that fills the lake: half the hand-rail of the bridge was forced away, with only a narrow birch-tree and broken turf in a separation between it and a crooked plank; I stood considering how I was to get over, and congratulated myself on being a good swimmer, in case I should be doused in the attempt. To wait for assistance would have been useless; the passage was too well known by the natives to be trusted to, and strangers were never seen at this season of the year; no house was within call; and I had not seen a human being for several hours. What could a weary stranger do? I got a pole, and thumped against the planks to try their strength; finding they did not give way, and having fixed upon some oziers I would attempt to seize in case of a plunge, I first threw my faithful hazle over, mounted stride, with my shoes in one hand, and coat across my shoulder: luckily these honest precautions were useless, for I crept over in safety. After jumping about a little, the natural consequence of an escape, I became as bold as a lion; though must frankly confess, there were certain qualms about me, when at the other side, which were somewhat akin to fear. I was all hurry to reach the village of Buttermere, and made up to the public-house, in which I was received by the chief object of this Ramble; and was given to understand I might have a bed, but should be much disturbed, as they were going to have an annual dance, for the benefit of one Askew, a blind fiddler of Whitehaven. Nothing could more delight me than this information, because, amidst the life and unaffected mazes of a rustic dance, an observer can look deeply into the hearts of the happy throng. This Askew, bye the bye, is not only a great favourite with the Cumberland lads and lasses, but has much more musical skill than inspires the itinerants of his profession; and much more humour in playing, than many who have the advantage of eyes to lead them by. And though he does not come up to old blind Metcalfe, of Harrogate, who has made so many roads and built so many bridges, like him he can find his way every where; and can actually go (where there are paths) over these tremendous mountains unattended. "His staff," he says, is "his friend, and his God his guide." I found him at dinner, having just arrived; and I mellowed his meat with some sound beer. I was no sooner seated in a two-armed chair, but the daughter of the house, seeing the dirty condition of my legs, brought me ere I asked some warm water, and her old father's shoes and stockings: as this unaffected kindness was performing about me, how true to my heart it was to find,
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