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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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