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Gentleman's Magazine 1792 p.1115
present is the little alien. His mother knew her frailties
too well; and was too honest to swear to a father; therefore
the villagers have taken the boy amongst them, and are going
to send him to school, They said, with concern, until a
fortnight ago they had no regular schoolmaster these two
years; in short, since the period of chusing their clergyman
was taken from them. The chapel and the school serves for
both purposes, and I could almost reach the roof with my
head. The inhabitants, time out of mind, used to appoint
their own clergyman, and he was generally chosen with full
consent. Perhaps it was the very poorest livelihood in the
kingdom, even with the addition of Queen Anne's bounty; but
it was a vehicle for a minor priest to get superior orders;
and there never was a want of candidates. They now say they
have lost their right; at any rate, they are afraid to claim
it, as they are more in dread of the Great Eagle of the
North than the eagles which build in their mountains; they
think it a judgment upon them for unanimously voting au
contraire at a contested election. But, whatever may be
the reason, they are left to go to heaven as quietly as they
can. The Schoolmaster, without being a Parson, officiates as
such; and a clergyman from Lorton, the parish-church, comes
over about once in six weeks to administer the Sacrament,
which may be the means of preserving the bounty. In this
forlorn manner is the service* performed in
the village of Buttermere. Luckily, it could not have
happened in a village where it appears less wanted; but as
good, harmless people always regret the loss of a good
custom, they regret it.
"The village consists of fourteen families, and some of them
are rich people; that is, they may have fifty pounds a-year
landed property, and healthful flocks of sheep. We had salt
provisions and vegetables for dinner; and I do not think
there was a fresh joint in the valley. The ale was
home-brewed, and good, but rather too strong for our taste.
If you are fond of strong ale, Buttermere is famous for it.
Wine and spirits are not sold here; and they are so far from
the excise, they pay their duty by compromise, ten pence
halfpenny a-week. The landlady says they do not sometimes
sell six pennyworths a-week .... On our return, we met a
woman with a loaded horse. She had been to Keswick market,
laying-in meat and other necessaries for herself and
neighbours. This amicable custom is equaled by the
following: when a person is sick, or a woman about to
lie-in, a horseman is sent express to Keswick or Cockermouth
for a surgeon, and the neighbours send a relay of horses to
expedite him. When we came to the Cockermouth road, we had a
rich sight of a rainbow extending from Keswick, and just
including Lowdore fall. It was rendered more beautiful by a
watery tinge on the tops of the hills, and by the sun's
partially leaving them, shewing which was the highest.
"SALLY OF BUTTERMERE.
"Her mother and she were spinning woollen yarn in the back
kitchen. On our going into it, the girl flew away as swift
as a mountain-sheep, and it was until our return from
Scale-Force that we could say we first saw her. She
brought-in part of our dinner, and seemed to be about
fifteen. Her hair was thick and long, of a dark brown, and,
though unadorned with ringlets, did not seem to want them.
Her face was a fine contour, with full eyes, and lips as red
as vermillion. Her cheeks had more of the lily than the
rose; and although she had never been out of the village
(and, I hope, will have no ambition to wish it), she had a
manner about her which seemed better calculated to set off
dress than dress her. She was a very Lavinia, 'Seeming, when
unadorn'd, adorn'd the most,' When we first saw her at her
distaff, after she got the better of her first fears, she
looked an angel; and I doubt not but she is the reigning
lily of the valley. Ye travellers of the Lakes, if you
visit this obscure place, such will find the fair Sally of
Buttermere!"
"The inhabitants in general about these mountainous
countries are not so tall or lusty as in many others;
perhaps, as it requires great industry to get a livelihood,
the growth of their children is checked by early labour.
They live to a very advanced age; and the faces of the very
old are strong and healthfully marked with deep short
wrinkles. The middle-aged are commonnly handsome; their
youth are ruddy and sun-burnt; their children have the faces
of Cherubim, and seem to have "the milk of Dorothy" flowing
purely in their veins. They are not only affectionate to
their parents, but friendly amongst each other; and a man
would run risk of his life in deep snow, in venturing over
the steepest mountains to attend the funeral of a friend.
They have the highest respect for the dead; perhaps to a
degree bordering upon superstition; and they rather rob the
living by the expence they put themselves to at a funeral.
But as a livelihood, not a love of gain, is their grand
consideration, they are too friendly and industrious to
want; and I did not see (except some little vagrants at
Keswick) one person that asked our charity. Their food is
homely: they prefer thin oat-cake to wheat-bread; and they
are fond of the natural products of the earth, which may be
the reason of seeing large families in every house, for we
did not call at a cottage that had less than three children.
Their drink consists of butter-milk and whey, and,
occasionally, a draught of
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