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Gentleman's Magazine 1849 part 2 p.138
luxuriance of its fresher years - in the sweeping away of
its primal woods, and in the eradication of the furze and
heath which decked every height with the gorgeous colouring
of those incense-breathing shrubs - it has lost something
for which the so-called improvements afford no substitute.
Few are now the old and gnarled trees, and fewer still the
tall dense woods which for ages shaded the lonely shores and
promontories of the lake, or, amid grey fern, plumed rocks
waved o'er the mountains' sides.
It was about 1790 that Rydal - which, within the memory of
persons yet alive, looked so grand in umbrageous honours -
ceased to be considered a wondrous scene of woodland beauty;
the grey oaks of Gowbarrow, which rendered the Cumberland
shores of Ullswater so glorious to behold, fell under the
exterminating axe in 1780. The woods which clothed all the
shores and islands of Derwentwater with the sylvan nobility
of centuries, and which, according to the record furnished
by an eye-witness, exhibited, not a century ago, a picture
of wide-spread leafy splendour, succumbed beneath the same
relentless fate some twenty years before. About the same
period, also, the memorable Westmerland forest of Whinfell -
the ground of so much legendary story, which had seen the
huntings of a Baliol and a Clifford, and beheld the
enamoured Clifford of a later generation, with a faithful
and life-long love, devoting himself to that peerless
mistress whose memory is preserved by the lone farmstead
that occupies the site of his fair "Julian's Bower" - was
stripped of its stately trees and consigned to its present
unsheltered state. Where are the long green shady lanes,
with their many windings and hawthorn-scented hedges, rich
with wild roses and fragrant honeysuckle, tall hazels, and
glistening hollies, and the creeping ivy, which, hanging
from tree to tree in graceful wreaths, screened the
passer-by from each rude blast? Where the moss-covered
dwellings, with their picturesque porches, low mullioned
windows, and buttressed chimneys of the stalwart and
independent statesmen? And where is now the ancient hall of
the manorial lord, whose charities, after the bountiful old
fashion, were the comfort of those who once felt that they
would not be deserted while the antique manor-house stood?
Most of those landmarks of other days have long disappeared,
together with the cells of the holy eremites of Troutbeck,
St. Katharine's, and St. Mary's Holme, without leaving more
than some broken ruins, or here and there a solitary
shattered tree to greet the eye, and tell that such things
were. Trim hedge rows, homely kept square fields, their
formal plantations and garish modern villas, usurp their
places, while other novelties proclaim that the outward air
of the land, as well as its age of romance and adventure, is
altogether changed and passed away for ever. It is M.
Montalembert who, in his work on the "Historical Monuments
of France," with true antiquarian conservatism, feelingly
alludes to the changes taking place in its external
appearance; and, as his sentiments, with some allowance, are
applicable to a similar conditions of things in England, the
following eloquent passage in the book in question may not
imaptly close these brief observations on the yearly
increasing impoverishment of the fairest beauties of the
land:-
"It is impossible not to be struck with the contrast which
the actual world presents with the world of that period (the
middle ages) in reference to beauty. The beautiful is one of
the wants of man - one of his noblest wants - a want that is
less satisfied from day to day in this our modern society. I
imagine that one of our barbarous ancestors of the fifteenth
or sixteenth centuries would complain bitterly, if,
returning from the tomb, he compared France, such as he had
left it, with the France that we have made it, a country
then dotted over with innumerable monuments as marvellous
for their beauty as for their inexhaustible variety, but
whose surface is now becoming daily more and more flat and
uniform. Those towns that were discerned from afar by their
forest of steeples, by their majestic ramparts and gates,
would, in his view, contrast strangely with our new
quartiers erected on the same model in all the
subprefectures of the kingdom - those chateaux on every
hill, and abbeys in every valley, with our shapeless
manufacturing masses - those churches and steeples in every
village, abounding with sculptures and original pictures,
with the hideous products of official architecture in our
own times. Let us then at least leave things
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