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Gentleman's Magazine 1805 p.1011
On the 22nd we stopped at Rydal, in our route to Keswick,
and lingered away an hour in the rich woods of Sir Michael.
Ascending under a close covert shade, about 200 yards from
the mansion-house, our progress was suddenly arrested by the
broad bed of the Rothay dashing with a foamy fury over the
precipitous sides of a tremendous gill, "bosomed high in
tufted trees." After tumbling with a horrid roar, nearly
an hundred perpendicular feet, it is hurried down a gradual
declivity into a current perpetually agitated by smaller
impediments. Hence we dived into a narrower glen, which the
rampant boughs have wrapped in almost Cimmerian gloom. After
walking some steps, the guide who preceeded us flung open
the door of a small summer-house in ruins, nodding over the
brink of the river. The momentary effect was electrical! and
we drew back with involuntary surprize. The suddenness and
velocity of these impressions defy every attempt to describe
the effect they produce upon the sensations of the
spectator. The water of a small bason, hollowed in a bed of
stone, and darkened by the impending foliage is thrown into
a tremendous agitation by two small steams falling six or
eight feet from the clefts of a small shelf of rock. One of
them is a broad ribband torrent, fretting itself into a
white foam; the other a little rippling stream. whose
current disperses as it falls. The fine marble slabs that
form the sides of the bason, are carpeted by a thick brown
moss; and the light which is denied admittance through the
trees, is ushered in at the arch of a small wooden bridge
above the falls, and reflected from the surface of the
water.
This finished miniature, the beauties of which are elegantly
delineated by the pen of Mr. Mason, affords every effect
that is striking in the arrangement of light and shade, and
all that is exquisite in the delicacies of contrast.
Nothing can exceed the interest of the ride form Ambleside
to Keswick. From the bridge of Grasmere the eye ranges with
rapture over its secluded valley, and contemplates with
astonishment the awful grandeur of the mountains by which it
is environed. At the foot of Helme Crag, an immense broken
pile, which, like the ruins of some giant citadel, guards
the North East side of the valley, the road winds through
the romantic vales of Legberthwaite and St. John.
We now ascended Dunmail Raise, so named from Dunmail, the
last King of Cumberland, who was defeated and buried here by
Edward the Saxon. The place of his interment, marked by a
rude heap of stones, is still retained as the line of
demarkation between the counties. On the right of the road
Helvellyn lifts its awful form, a mountain of tremendous
grandeur, upon whose brow the snow hangs as upon a glacier.
The cottagers, nestling at its base, pride themselves in the
shelter of this impenetrable rampire, and stoutly repel the
imputation of the Keswick peasantry, who assert the greater
altitude of their native Skiddaw. Here we passed the little
modest chapel of Wythburn, noticed by Mr. Gray. The antient
salary of its Curate, we were credibly informed, amounted to
2l. 10s. per annum! Leathes-water is a picturesque
expanse in the bosom of the valley. The surrounding
mountains fling a deep shade over the surface of the water,
and a narrow peninsula jutting from the margin, affords an
easy intercourse to the shepherds of the opposite border.
The Western edge swells into a little promontory, decorated
with a neat manor-house shrouded in trees. But the objects
of greatest beauty are a group of Rocks, which raise the
closing screen of the landscape. These wear a variety of
figure and ornament; some of them are pyramidal, and dressed
in green wood to the very summit; other magnificently
turreted, project boldly, as if to display their naked sides
of silver grey. In the back ground are seen the broad gloomy
ridges of Saddleback and Threlkeld Fells, hung with a pall
of the deepest sable. On Castle Rigg, an eminence, distant
about a mile from Keswick, we rested to examine the prospect
which has been distinguished by the rapturous encomiums of
Mr. Gray. It is a bird's-eye view of the vale, discovering a
large extent of variegated enclosure, to the exclusion of
those points from which is derived its particular and
prominent character.
Of the Lake of Derwent by much the finer part lies
concealed; the poor town of Keswick is an unassimilated and
discordant feature in the bottom; nor is there any picture
in the naked object of Crossthwaite church. The
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