|  | Calgarth Hall 
 
 CALGARTH HALL, WESTMORLAND.
 
 
 And is not this a haunted hall?
 Are not the spells of time
 Still lingering round its hoary walls
 With eloquence sublime?
 THE tourist, or in the older fashioned phraseology of the  
dalesman the laker, who in his light skiff glides o'er the  
azure depths of the wide clear waters of Windermere, when at 
the close of day the rays of the westering Sun glorify with  
the witchery of eventide the whole of the eastern shore,  
cannot fail at such an hour of surpassing loveliness to have 
had his attention drawn to the remains of an old manor  
house, situate on the side I speak of, about midway between  
the head of the lake and the pretty-looking village of  
Bowness. Should the beholder be one of who "in thir present  
days," as Edie Ochiltree says, "when things o' the auld  
warld sort are na keepit in mind round winter fire-sides as  
they used to be," has a feeling for old names and events, he 
perchance may find his fondness for the spirit of by-gone  
ages gratified by a visit to the mansion in question, and  
his inquiries after the family who once owned it not  
unattended with a portion of that interest which the  
examination of the fading things of a remote era always more 
or less excites.
 Landing in the nearest of the tiny bays that indent the  
margin of this lovely lake, the stranger may proceed along a 
plain until the gables and round buttressed chimneys of the  
mansion, overgrown by ivy of the richest foliage (and which, 
by the way, I may observe grows in more luxuriant profusion  
in Westmerland than in most other parts of England,  
verifying the saying in the sweet old ballad, that -
 
 - the oak, the ash, and the bonnie ivy tree,
 That flourish best at home in the north countrie.)
 attract observation to where the Hall of Calgarth, rearing  
those lofty remnants of its former state, amidst still more  
stately trees, stands in the glittering flood of sunshine a  
ruined monument of times that are no more.
 The situation of the house, whose history belongs to the  
world of shadows, but whose ruins still form an object of  
interest, is within a short distance of the water, upon the  
narrowest part of the small and pleasant plain; and I know  
of but few spots in the neighbourhood where the lover of  
picturesque antiquity could so lose himself in dreams of the 
past as in contemplating this dilapidated fabric.
 Of old, the country around was comprised within a park  
belonging to the crown; and here and there may yet be met  
with, thinly scattered in hoary magnificence, the trunks of  
massive trees, whose giant forms bear testimony to the  
dignity of the primaeval forest, of which they are alone the 
solitary remains. Centuries have gone by since it was  
disparked, and, from being the lair and covert of the wild  
animals which erstwhile were almost its only tenants, its  
inhabitancy by man has long converted it to more benficial  
purposes.
 Alas! for the woodland glories of Windermere; like the  
forest shades of Rydal, where but a score or so survive of  
those old dwellers of the woods which saw its earliest  
lords, the Norman de Lancasters, they will soon have no  
existence, save in the recorded recollections of some  
enthusiast who, like me, has loved their green retreats, and 
feelingly laments their indiscriminate destruction. The  
changeful utilitarianism of the age has invaded and much  
altered the landscape around since the days of the original  
owners of Calgarth. The Dryads of its forests have forsaken  
their desecrated abodes, and the lake country, no longer  
what it was, even but a quarter of a century ago, is fast  
surrendereing the remaining vestiges of its ancient  
picturesque appearance. It is true it is environed by the  
mountains and valleys with which past generations were  
familiar; but those indestructible features, the majestic  
fells, do not present the same alluring garb upon which our  
forefathers loved to look. In losing the wilder and more  
untrimmed
 
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